Re-Thinking Subjectivation beyond Work and Appropriation: The Yanomami Anti-Production Strategies

Abstract

Western culture has assigned an essential role to productive activity in defining our lives. In Locke’s and Hegel’s thought, we see the model that became dominant in modern political philosophy: that of conceiving the subject as a result of, and only possible within, the triad of work–property–subject. Nowadays, this has reached the level of shaping the meaning of living, and our entire existences seem to be subjected to a concept of lives-as-work. Combining anthropology and philosophy, this article seeks to rethink subjectivation beyond the process of work and appropriation, delving into worldviews different from those of the West. Specifically, we will focus on the Yanomami form of life, a non-stratified indigenous people living in the Brazilian Amazon. We will analyze how the Yanomami prevent the process of subjectification by the objectification of one’s own work through a sort of anti-work and anti-property apparatus. This is achieved through specific techniques of underproduction, which constitute another approach to work, as well as through a completely different way of conceiving subjectivity. Furthermore, the Yanomami’s view of all entities as subjects endowed with intentionality appears as de-ontologizing the subject position and deactivating the dyads of subject/object and own/common. The result is a worldview where, with everyone being subjects—humans and non-humans, living and dead, entities and things of nature—no one can be dominus of anyone.

1. Introduction

The entire life of societies governed by modern conditions of production is permeated by productive activity. Only what is productive seems worthy of recognition, whether it is at the level of history or individual biography [1]. Consequently, a great part of so-called “humanity” has shaped its modes of production and subjected its existences to a concept of lives-as-work.

It is no wonder that philosophers, representing various perspectives and traditions, have, at different times, turned their attention to understanding what motivates human beings to dedicate their lives to fulfilling the demands of production and conservation [2,3,4,5]. The following question remains pertinent: why do we feel the need to continually increase production even when all the basic needs of existence are met? While the answer to this question will inevitable be complex and multidimensional, this paper focuses on some of the philosophical assumptions and ideas behind the West’s primacy of productive activity.

The reduction of the sense of life to work is a modern phenomenon built thanks to a complex economic and political–philosophical worldview (Weltanschauung), partly having grown out of religious asceticism [6,7], and directly intertwined with the property apparatus [8,9]. Having linked property to human work, political theorists, ranging from Locke to Arendt (Hegel and Marx included), established a proprietary mechanism of subjectivation, where I can only recognize myself as a subject when I can objectify myself through my production. As a result, modern political philosophy has bequeathed us a sort of a proprietary “typology” of the subject [2,10], where the subject is identified according to having or not property, and work was socially assumed as the subjective essence of ownership ([10], p. 93). In this context, re-thinking subjectivation beyond the notion of appropriation can be a challenging task.

This paper undertakes this task by attempting to comprehend how worldviews different from those of the West, i.e., other ontologies, experience human praxis. It focuses on the thinking and ways of life of the non-stratified indigenous communities of South American Lowlands1, particularly the Yanomami people, which, despite continuous attempts to “civilize” them2, continue to keep up their own socio-political logics. Belonging to the land, rather than the other way round [13], these communities seemingly evade both the property and work apparatuses through their specific ways of life. Therefore, reflecting on their thought and practices is not only of philosophical interest but also relates to the practical needs of our time. With the environmental and climate catastrophes [14] demanding social inventiveness from us, we must strive to conceptualize alternative approaches to human praxis that are detached from the West’s tripartite paradigm of “work-property-subject”. Furthermore, it is an urgent task imagining other ontologies and exploring ethical–political potentialities beyond the established modes of production.

Our hypothesis is that through specific techniques of underproduction, that is, techniques of resistance against the enlargement of production and surplus, such as (i) the underuse of labor force, (ii) the economy of needs, and (iii) unproductive expenditure (practices of generosity and destruction of goods), indigenous communities can prevent subjectification through the objectification of work, enabling an experience of objects closer to the notion of use rather than that of property. Ontologically, “use” refers to a third sphere of praxis: a “pure mean” able to destitute the apparatuses in whatever field they operate ([4], pp. 24–26)3. In the field of the work and property apparatuses, we see the indigenous strategies as deactivating the dyads own/common and, more deeply, subject/object.

We adopt a post-structuralist approach to delve into the socio-political potentialities of indigenous worldviews. Pioneered by Pierre Clastres and further developed by Eduardo Viveiros de Castro, the post-structuralist approach reverses the positivist conception of anthropology and reaffirms the mutual involvement of anthropology and philosophy. Viveiros de Castro, whose work is recognized for promoting an ontological turn in anthropology [15], overturns the traditional stance of the anthropologist as a subject that considers the Other as an object of study, proposing instead a fearless plunge into difference, into the fluxes of the Other’s thought. The goal is to delve into the Amerindians’ own anthropology, seeking to understand how they conceive the human, how they formulate their thought, and how they transmit it beyond the traditional structures of anthropology ([16], p. 54). This approach encourages us to question our pre-established intellectual beliefs, re-think our identities through the lens of difference, and reflect on “an image of ourselves in which we do not recognize ourselves” [17]. Categories such as Clastres’ “primitive society”, Sahlins’ “domestic mode of production”, and Viveiros de Castro’s “intensive sufficiency” and “perspectivist multinaturalism” will inform our analysis. For its corpus, the paper will focus on a selection of anthropological studies dedicated to the topics of production and constitution of the subject in non-stratified indigenous communities in Brazil, especially the Yanomami people4.

Prior to analyzing the Yanomami’s strategies—their anti-work and anti-property apparatuses, as well as their hyper-subjectification of the world—we will explore how the paradigm of “work-property-subject” was established in Western thought, with Locke and Hegel as two key thinkers. The choice of these authors stems from their pivotal role in modern thought concerning the formation of the subject through work and property. After that, we will analyze how the Yanomami avoid surplus, resist the hierarchization of society, and prevent the process of subjectification through objectification. Moreover, we will present an interpretation of the Yanomami’s hyper-subjectivation of the world as a form of destitution of the sovereign subject, resulting in a worldview inhabited by a sort of “asubjective multiplicity”.

2. The Subject’s Self-Production through the Production of the Object: A Paradigm of the Western Philosophy

Who are we, and how does our work play a role in defining our identities? [21]. This question, which pervades up to this day the political philosophy of work, was at the center of the philosophies of Locke and Hegel. In this paper, we analyze these authors’ propositions in view of identifying how modern Western philosophy created a paradigm by coupling the constitution of the subject with the production and appropriation of the object. Re-thinking the grounds sustaining this process implies re-thinking the metaphysics that is behind the hegemonic vision of the subject as a result of, and only possible within, the triad of “work-property-subject”.

In his Second Treatise of Government, Locke developed a theory of property according to which it transcends the realm of mere material possessions and permeates all spheres of life, including, with significant weight for political theory, that of subjectivity. According to Locke, human beings are owners of their person, their actions, and their labor, from which it follows that their own life and liberty, together with their material possessions, constitute what the English philosopher calls Property. Here lies the cornerstone of Locke’s ([22], [V, 44], p. 24) theory of property: its basis lies within the individual human beings (“had still in himself the great Foundation of Property”). For Locke, the notion of “his” stems from the Latin concept of suum, also derived from swe, signifying an inviolable sphere of personality, not encompassing the body, with personality being the creative activity of a free and conscious agent. The term suum was also extendable to objects appropriated by that individual, transformed into part of “his” ([23], p. 183). In the field of historical linguistics, Benveniste [24] explains that the Indo-European possessive pronoun swe derives from familial relationships, implying a sense of “distinction from all else”, “closure upon oneself”, and “effort to separate” from all things and people not corresponding to one’s own. This is why several 17th century natural law theorists translated the Latin term suum as “Property” [25].

Since individuals carry within themselves the subjective basis of private property, i.e., the ownership of oneself and one’s own actions, they cause a change in the status of the thing from common to individual property when they apply their labor to it. For Locke ([22], [V, 27], pp. 15–16, 27), labor is conceived as the universal individual property, naturally inherent in each of us. From there stems the logical transition from a world given in common by God to a world governed by private property: it is through one’s own labor that the individual removes things from their primitive state and thereby creates greater wealth and well-being for all. Labor thus guarantees this right to individual appropriation, making it not only lawful but desirable.

Any type of labor is capable of effecting such a change, even the gathering of a fruit, hunting, fishing, or enclosing land, since for Locke, it is impossible to use something without appropriating it. The gatherer and the hunter, according to this view, appropriate the food they obtain through their labor because, otherwise, they would not even be able to use it; that is, eat it ([22], [V, 26], p. 15). Notably, Locke’s thought breaks with the medieval tradition of commons but remains tied to a pre-industrial paradigm of personal labor. When he states that through labor individuals extract goods from a common state, and such goods become their property, Locke is referring to labor directly exerted on nature (on land and natural resources), which presupposes a material link between property and labor: “The Fruit, or Venison, which nourishes the wild Indian, who knows no Inclosure, and is still a Tenant in common, must be his, and so his, i.e., a part of him, that another can no longer have any right to it, before it can do him any Good for the Support of his Life”. Since the fruit or venison individually nourishes the “wild Indian”, this matter becomes part of his body. Thus, one mixes their own labor with the object by gathering or catching it; however, the consumption of the object also implies ownership, based on the logical constraint that once consumed, the thing belongs to the individual’s metabolism.

Although rooted in a pre-industrial framework of work, Locke’s concept of personal labor extends beyond mere subsistence goals. Insofar as an individual can work without waste or destruction of the good, they can accumulate properties. Regarding land ownership, the limitation would be to accumulate as much as one can work on, as long as there is enough land left for others (Lockean proviso): “For this Labour being the unquestionable Property of the Labourer, no Man but he can have a Right to what that is once joyned to, at least where there is enough, and as good left in common for others.” ([22], [V, 27], pp. 15–16)5.

The central point of Locke’s theory is that when individuals seize objects or land from their natural state and transform them through labor, they imbue these goods with a part of themselves. The labor is thus imprinted on the object, creating an interest in it for the worker. Locke’s idea, as Waldron ([23], pp. 184–189) asserts, is that labor is “literally mixed into the object”, a symbiosis of energy and matter, fully conceivable in the realm of physics since matter and energy are convertible. In this process of expending energy on the thing, the ownership of one’s own labor is transferred to the product of labor, making it private property. Consequently, “the labour of the first occupier” generates individual property rights erga omnes ([22], [V, 27], pp. 15–16; [21], p. 18). Therefore, Locke establishes labor as the subjective dimension of private property, elevating it to the principle and goal of all Property (which encompasses life, freedom and ownership).

In this sense, the English philosopher known as “the father of liberalism” was also the one who embedded property in the working body, or rather, embedded property in the labor of the body. The process of “mixing one’s labour” is only possible because everyone is endowed with intrinsic properties, thus providing the logical thread of transmission of this power of dominion in the formula work–property. Waldron ([23], p. 181) refers to this part of Locke’s theory, also centered on labor, as “self-ownership”. For Locke, self-ownership, as well as ownership over one’s own actions, constitute a right to personal freedom. As a result, all subjective aspects of human life, except for the disposal of the body6, came to be understood in terms of property: the first property each one possesses is that over their own person, and everyone is the owner of their rights ([26], p. 21), personality, identity, and labor.

A subjectivist perspective on ownership will also be explored, later, by Hegel. In Chapter IV of his Phenomenology of Spirit (1807) he discusses how the servant imprints his labor on the produced goods and thereby constitute himself as a subject. Hegel ascribes crucial importance to the connection between subjectivity and work: following the life-and-death struggle, the relation between master and servant—two exemplary figures of consciousness, not historical figures—concerns the understanding of work as a means of shaping the self-conscious subject. Hegel’s interest lies in understanding the process of “‘duplication’ of self-consciousness in itself–or in its positioning itself in front of another self-consciousness, the dialectical result, and, thus, the consciousness of the object foundation.”([27], pp. 18–19).

As Ryan ([28], p. 141) comments, in his master–slave dialectic Hegel “defends the view that work rather than enjoyment is the way to liberation,” since “it is in work rather than in consumption that human beings show their creative and intelligent capacities.” Hegel understands work as a dialectical moment of demonstrating freedom in history, and thus, “cannot conceive of a free being without the work it develops in its world and in itself.” For Hegel, “the reality that man works and changes, as a free being, is not, in this case, only natural reality (stricto sensu), but his own human reality.” [29].

In Hegel’s parable, it is through labor that the servant can move from their unfree, servile consciousness to self-consciousness. Facing the fear of death, the servant submits to the master (who “preserves” him as a thing). The master, independent and self-conscious, possesses the slave and orders him to produce what he desires, affirming his independence through the slave and the thing: “the Master does not recognize the Slave as another self-consciousness, but as a mediator of his action on the world.” ([27], p. 22). At this moment, only the master occupies the position of subject, since he sees the slave as an instrument of production, which, along with the thing produced, serves him. On the other hand, to fulfil the master’s desire, the servant obeys and works. His servile consciousness relates to the independent consciousness of the master, confirming it. However, by working, the servant restrains his desire, leaves the realm of animality, of the natural Dasein, and enters the world of culture. In Hegel’s words: “Through his service he rids himself of his attachment to the natural existence in every single detail; and gets rid of it by working on it,” because work “is desire held in check”, “work forms and shapes the thing”. By working, the slave shapes the world, giving form to the worked objects and to himself: “in fashioning the thing, he becomes aware that being-for-self belongs to him, that he himself exists essentially and actually in his own right” [30]. This is because, by working, the servant impresses something of his own onto the object of work, and thus can perceive that he exists as a subject. Through work, he recognizes himself as free, with his free consciousness reflected in the created (or modified) object ([27], p. 21).

The dialectical movement of self and other theorized by Hegel in his parable describes a movement of appropriation: it is through work that the slave reaches self-consciousness and understands himself as free, and therefore can appropriate “his own.” Individuals come to understand themselves not as a thing, an object of the master, but as beings with self-ownership. Work here does not appear to be associated with the history of the object, as it was in Locke ([23], p. 173), but with a phenomenology of the consciousness, whose movement towards self-awareness is an appropriative movement7.

This approach to work, viewed as a manifestation of the autonomous subject and a formative element thereof, carries a secondary implication: it is the role of property to enable individuals to objectify their freedoms in the object created through work, as well as to achieve recognition among equally free human beings ([32], p. 685)8. That is, as Ryan ([28], p. 123) notes, because of “the way in which an individual’s projects for self-formation and self-expression are embodied in what he creates and owns”.

There is an autopoietic movement between production and self-production, between the appropriation of the world and the formation of one’s proprietor identity. The producer not only imparts their own labor onto the object by adding something to it, but also modifies and constructs themselves through this process: by working on the object, they imbue their spiritual essence into it, and the reflexive movement is that the object becomes a part of them in their subjective constitution. Thus, the act of appropriation of one’s own work shapes not only the material world but also the personality and identity of the subject.

Therefore, if Locke begins with the subject—inherently endowed with a “first property” (the property of oneself and one’s actions)—Hegel presents an inversion in the movement between oneself, work, and property: one is only a subject if one has become objective to oneself, a status achieved through labor and property. Thus, while Locke conceived the process of subject constitution under the formula subject–work–property, Hegel reverses this sequence to work–property–subject.

In his Phenomenology, Hegel establishes labor as a means for the servant to recognize himself as a free subject. On the other hand, in his Elements of the Philosophy of Right, he asserts that the “first existence” of exercising our freedom is property, which is also “an essential end” for ourselves. Moreover, if freedom is the main characteristic of a person, property is the “existence [Dasein]” of personality. In property, the will is transferred to the thing, and one only becomes real to oneself when one becomes objective through property ([31], [§45, §51, §59], pp. 76–77, 81–82, 88–89). At the same time, as a person, I cannot objectify my freedom through a thing unless I establish a relationship with others ([27], p. 15; [33]), since individuals are “self-conscious subjects who are rationally compelled to recognize each other as free.” ([32], p. 689). Whether through contract (owner/owner) or through conscious dialectics (master/servant), the relationship between two subjects who, at some point, recognize each other as free, enables the same freedom to be externalized–that is, objectified in a thing.

It is important to keep in mind that for Hegel, it is impossible to separate forms of thought from forms of objective reality. What truly exists, namely the external reality as it is given to us, is inseparable from thought (the action of consciousness). Together, they form what Hegel terms actual reality, a convergence of essence and existence that enables the realization of essence itself. In this sense, the development of forms of consciousness (subjective development) occurs hand in hand with objective development because “Geist or Spirit creates a world which is initially blankly alien or other, object not subject.” Thus, similarly to what occurs in the master–slave parable, “this world, though it is the creation of Geist, is not seen to be such until it is wholly understood, until Geist has, so to speak, recapitulated in understanding its creative achievement and comes to see the world not as object but as subject.” ([28], p. 118). This perspective does not imply, however, a convergence between nature and law, or between the human and the natural. On the contrary, the things of nature are viewed by Hegel as a simple matter, which has no purpose itself if unoccupied by a human agent, who is the “locus of will, mind and reason”. Matter is subservient to mind, and “individual appropriation is an aspect of, and is valued as, the general permeation of the non-mental by the mental, of the object by the subject”, transferring to them the human goals and purposes. The idea is that while “we endow a thing with a new essence by working on it”, and so, acquire the right to ownership over it, we also embody our self-formation and self-expression in what we create and own ([28], pp. 122–125).

In summary, what we can observe in both Locke’s and Hegel’s philosophies is the assertion of a paradigm in which the subject is only conceivable in relation to work and property. While in Locke, the subject appears first from the objectification of the own work, but not as a substrate (sub iectum)9, since this position is occupied by the more fundamental notion of Property (self-ownership). In Hegel, we observe an inversion in the order of factors. The subject is a result of work and property; it emerges as a product of the interaction between human beings and things, mediated by work. In modern political history, this triadic philosophical paradigm—work–property–subject—was subsequently reinforced by the state through positive law. As a result, the subject was transformed into a legal category defining who has the capacity to be an owner, even if this ownership only rests on their own labor force.

3. The Indigenous Anti-Work Apparatus

In his essay The Society Against the State, the political anthropologist Pierre Clastres ([18], p. 193) synthetizes a common prejudice of the colonialist narratives on the Indians of Brazil: “great was their disapproval on seeing that those strapping men glowing with health preferred to deck themselves out like women with paint and feathers instead of perspiring away in their gardens”; “the Savage is lazy”. The categorical imperative behind this position is “man must work”. This historical prejudice was accompanied by attempts to teach the indigenous peoples to work, resulting in several catastrophic demographic declines and ethnocides in the early colonial period10, also pointed out by the colonizer as an indication of their inability to work. Historians and anthropologists have debunked this prejudice with empirical evidence, demonstrating that the derogatory portrayal of Brazil’s natives has consistently been inaccurate, since the supposed “Indian laziness […] can rather be understood as a form of resistance to slavery.” [37]11. It is noteworthy, for example, how the first contact between Portuguese and indigenous peoples living along the Brazilian coast was not bellicose12; however, when the Portuguese began enslaving them, requiring “the ownership of the Indian labor force”, conflicts multiplied [38].

Resistance against slavery drove a march of Indians from the coast to deep Brazil ([36], pp. 107–108), which often led to ethnic groups seeking hidden places, and sometimes even poorer soils, to settle safely [39,40]. For instance, it is a plausible hypothesis, especially today, based on recent archaeological discoveries13, that the Amazonian peoples have greatly modified their social forms as a way of resisting colonization. Therefore, the category of “primitive society”, with which we will analyze the indigenous’ praxis, is not an a-historical truth, but a historical contingency.

Even though the Portuguese crown prohibited the enslavement of indigenous people in the 16th century, this law never had effectiveness. “The colonists were always attempting to seize a workforce that was also constantly trying to evade them. Even the Jesuits, who seemed to take an unblemished position in defending indigenous freedom, ultimately confined the catechumens to villages where they were forced to work.” ([42], p. 7). Furthermore, historical accounts indicate that the secular Pombaline indigenous policy14 in the second half of the 18th century, whose aim was to bring civilization, encountered enormous difficulties in persuading the indigenous people to accept the Portuguese conceptions of work, wealth, or progress [43]. There is obviously a vast difference between the European perspectives on these issues and those of the indigenous peoples. While the natives’ ways of life were based on activities essential for their sustenance and they invested their energy and creativity in rituals, festivals, and warfare, the Europeans demanded continuous and increasingly productive labor [44]15.

Given this historical background, Clastres’ category of “primitive society” seems interesting lens to reflect on the singularities of indigenous praxis. Prefacing an edition of Clastres’ Archeology of Violence, the Brazilian social anthropologist Viveiros de Castro affirms that, philosophically, the idea of a “primitive society” corresponds to an “immanent exterior of the state”, a “force of anti-production always threatening the productive forces”, a real anti-production machine. According to Clastres, human collectivities possess political agency over their fate, prioritizing “political intentionality” over “economic rationality”16. Such “primitive” societies combined two strategies: a “social control of the political”, preventing the centralization of power, and a “political control of the economy”, practicing sufficient work and blocking the accumulation through redistribution of assets or ritual dilapidation ([20], pp. 304, 301–302). In the following subsection, we will analyze the latter strategy, delving into its characteristics through ethnographic studies on the Yanomami17 and the personal narrative of the Yanomami shaman David Kopenawa in The Falling Sky.

Underuse of Labor Force, Economy of Needs, and Unproductive Expenditure

Classical studies on economic anthropology, such as the Marshall David Sahlins’ Stone Age Economics [46], demonstrate how, through a domestic mode of production (DMP), indigenous tribes from different parts of the world have been able to supply the community’s nutritional needs, devoting very little time to productive activities (4 or 5 h by day on average). Specifically with regard to the Yanomami18, J. Lizot ([49], pp. 513, 497) describes in an empirical analysis that the daily time dedicated to agriculture, hunting, fishing, and gathering were, on average, 2 h 50 for the men and 2 h 26 for the women. As Lizot has shown, the assumption that people face starvation in “primitive” economies is quite wrong. At the time of his study, the Yanomami’s diet was balanced, and “variations in the level of consumption between different communities depended more on the attitude towards work than on the supply of game”19. That is because the food requirements were “easily satisfied by a very moderate amount of work”.

In Yanomami communities of Brazil, productive activities were seasonal, adapting productivity to the dry and wet seasons, the time when the fishes reproduce, the planting and harvesting times. According to Bruce Albert, hunting and gathering were more productive during the wet season, and fishing and agriculture during the dry season. On the other hand, N. Chagnon ([50], p. 128) noted that only “little agricultural work is done during the peak of the dry season,” because the Yanomami would prioritize social activities during this period:

The [Yanomami] prefer to do the heavy work of gardening—cutting the large trees—during the wet season, since it is somewhat cooler at that time. Very little agricultural work is done during the peak of the dry season, largely because intervillage visiting and feasting take place at this time of the year, for as the dry season approaches, swamps and rivers that were impassable during the wet season can be easily crossed and friendly groups can entertain each other.

The Yanomami historically have an itinerant system of slash and burn (shifting or pioneering cultivation) ([50], p. 124), with each community planting an area of three hectares on average. Pioneering implies that primary forests around the collective house (1 or 2 km on the perimeter) are cleared and cultivated. “After five to seven years, a new collective house, called yano, is built near a recent agricultural site located within a maximum radius of around ten kilometers.”([47], pp. 10–22). As Albert ([47], p. 20) explains,

The abandonment of a garden is justified more by the excessive work it would entail to maintain it over a long period (clearing impenetrable and thorny secondary vegetation, uprooting degenerated crops, etc.) than by soil exhaustion, which progresses at a relatively slow pace (Lizot 1980, pp. 40–41). Other factors also significantly influence this abandonment process: the increasing distance between gardens and dwellings increases the time and difficulties of transporting harvested crops […].

Regarding the Yanomami’s predation activities, hunting and gathering above all, they could be carried out individually and daily (in the perimeter of the collective house), or on expeditions lasting a few days or weeks (in a perimeter ranging from 20 to 30 km of the collective house). The latter, so-called henimu, is more common when a large quantity of meat is required for a feast ([49], p. 507). During a hunting expedition of a week or ten days, “the main goal is assembling […] the biggest quantity possible of prey.” For this purpose, they spent about ten hours per day on intensive hunting ([47], p. 18).

Anthropologists agree in describing Amerindians’ cosmovisions as resistant to “develop” centralized political power, market production, and intensive labor. More engaged with unproductive activities (feasts, rituals, leisure, pleasure, and warfare)20, it would be more important for them to establish and reinforce social relationships and alliances than to increase production. In the Yanomami case, anthropologists even point out that the occasion of a feast or an alliance is the only reason for increasing productivity in hunting and agriculture. As Lizot ([49], p. 507) observes:

When a large quantity of meat is required for a major feast to which neighbours have been invited, or for a funerary rite, the hunters go into areas not normally visited. They set up camp there where they remain from four to six days. During these expeditions food is abundant and the amount of meat which is smoked is often impressive […]21.

Similarly, N. Chagnon ([50], p. 130) relates the emergence of alliances with “a greater commitment to cultivation”:

Where reciprocal feasting and alliance occur, villages tend to have substantially larger gardens. Thus a village at the center of the tribal distribution must not only produce enough food to feed its members but it must also produce a surplus beyond this that is used either for entertaining guests at feasts or to feed the members of a beleaguered village […].

Related to the underuse of labor force, the underuse of agricultural potential is also a characteristic of the Yanomami way of life. As noted in Albert’s ethnography ([47], p. 22), the Yanomami only cultivate 0.34% to 0.38% of their land for agriculture. However, the efficiency of this limited production is remarkable: they achieve a productivity rate of approximately 20 when comparing production to energy expenditure.

According to Lizot ([49], pp. 513–515), Yanomami’s deliberate selectivity in food gathering, coupled with their strategic exploitation of abundant and varied forest resources, indicated, at the time of his study, a lifestyle of abundance and an economy in harmony with nature’s provisions. The Yanomami intentionally avoided exerting excessive effort and prioritized meeting daily subsistence needs with minimal labor: “The Indians never work more than is strictly necessary”. Rather than pre-emptively addressing issues such as defective hammock cords or deteriorating roofs, they wait until these become unbearable. Even when faced with inadequate yields from their gardens, they adapted by consuming previously disregarded plants and fruits and intensifying labor, as well as by seeking support from neighboring communities. The first two techniques reflect an adaptability of the Yanomami, or rather, the “inconstancy of their souls”22.

Furthermore, the Yanomami form of life depends on dynamism. As Albert indicates, hunting is the main source of proteins for them, and its productivity declines due to the length of the time they occupy the same place: “After a period of five to seven years, the area of immediate predation concentric to the collective house tends to reach a level of exploitation that imposes a productivity rate felt as insufficient by its inhabitants (increased hunting times, increased hunting distances, decrease in the quantity of caught)”. Certainly, the economic aspect of Yanomami life is not the only factor involved in migrations, as we are dealing with a complex social network of communities where supernatural factors ([49], p. 505), political relationships, and warfare are of great importance for their culture ([47], pp. 20–21, 23–29). However, this does not exclude an interesting economic observation: housing must move to occupy new predation zones, as well as to explore new cultivable lands; otherwise, inhabitants would need to spend more time and energy on subsistence activities. Thus, the Yanomami’s preference for mobility over increasing the labor force, and establishing a stable settlement, seems to function as a way of preventing excessive labor.

It is noteworthy that the Yanomami do not have the same concept of land ownership23 and prioritize maintaining their freedom over increasing comfort. Albert emphasizes that each Yanomami community conceives their perimeter of predation activities as relatively exclusive, except in cases of political agreement among them. That implies a zone for exclusive use by each community, which is called by Yanomami people “our forest”24. The same possessive pronoun appears in the narrative of the Yanomami shaman David Kopenawa, when, commenting on how white people consumed their forests, he says: “Now they want to do the same thing in our land” ([54], p. 406). However, despite the use of a possessive pronoun, the Yanomami do not have the same notion of ownership. Firstly, because exclusive use is defined by them in relation to external groups, not to the community members. Secondly, exceptions for shared use are possible, based on political alliances instead economic gain. Thirdly, this exclusivity is always temporary, varying according to the community displacements. It is a sort of transient, community-based exclusive-use zone, where the ius utendi is communal, and the ius abutendi does not exist for land.

The absence of the sense of ownership is also notable regarding objects, either produced by their own work or received from someone else. As Kopenawa describes, “[…] we, the Yanomami, never keep the objects we produce or receive, even if we miss them later. We promptly give them to anyone who asks, and thus, they quickly move away from us and pass from hand to hand without stopping, until far away. That’s why we don’t really have own possessions” ([54], p. 412). This behavior is compatible with an affluent economy of needs, whose goal is living in “intensive sufficiency”, and maintaining what really matters: the forest, sociability, and health. While the whites “don’t stop manufacturing”, the Yanomami “have few things and are satisfied with that”. In Kopenawa’s words, “we want the forest to remain silent and the sky to remain clear, so that we can see the stars when night falls” ([54], p. 420).

Furthermore, through practices of generosity and prodigality—which correspond to another resource mobilized by some Amerindian peoples to prevent the concentration of wealth—the Yanomami can dispose of the agricultural surplus and prevent the accumulation of objects. These practices constitute a sort of “unproductive expenditure”.

It was Georges Bataille who coined the term “unproductive expenditure”25 when commenting on Marcel Mauss’ study of the potlatch among indigenous peoples in North America. From a utilitarian perspective, leisure activities such as playing, partying, or resting are viewed as necessary concessions for maintaining productivity. In other words, they serve a productive purpose: we need free time to consistently return to work. In this sense, allocating time to do nothing would play only a subsidiary role, enabling the maintenance of a continuous work rhythm. On the other hand, “unproductive expenditure” would be a different form of consumption, whose focus would be on loss, “which must be as great as possible for the activity to acquire its true meaning” [55]. Typical manifestations of unproductive expenditure would be luxury goods, exuberances, wars, cults, sumptuous monuments, spectacles, sexual activities diverted from their reproductive purpose, etc.

In the Yanomami culture, we can see the strategy of “unproductive expenditure” being implemented through two techniques of generosity or prodigality: (i) continuous donation of objects; (ii) ritual dilapidation, which occurs through the provision of large quantities of food spent all at once in a reahu feast, as well as through the destruction of objects left by a deceased person.

The objects (Matihipë) serve solely to foster social relationships within and between communities (political and matrimonial alliances). Yanomami people exchange goods with the aim of nurturing friendships. Consequently, an individual’s or community’s social standing is proportional to their ability to give generously: “praise for this great man spreads throughout the forest”; “He only stops giving when he has nothing left and truly becomes devoid!”; “we only appreciate to remind the generous men” ([54], pp. 415, 420).

Aware of their mortality, the Yanomami consider it their duty to continuously give away their possessions ([56], p. 254). For them, the special function of the human hand is not to produce or hoard something, but instead its ability to give26. Because their “true goods are the things of the forest” ([54], p. 410), which are not conceived as objects of property but as real subjects connected with themselves27, they also promote the destruction of things of the deceased people. This destruction is equally carried out for the benefit of the community—with the aim of reducing the grieving process. In Kopenawa’s words:

[…] when someone dies, we immediately dispose of all their objects. We crush their bead necklaces, burn their hammock, arrows, quiver, gourds, and feather ornaments. We crush their pots and throw them into the river. We break their machete against a rock and then hide the shards in a termite mound. We try not to leave any trace of them behind ([54], p. 410).

However, the question that remains in our minds is the following: what would distinguish the Yanomami approach to objects from the classical Western notion of ownership? If through practices of unproductive expenditure, they exercise the primary attribute of property—the power to dispose of it (ius abutendi)—can we still not consider them as true owners? Would not preventing the surpluses trough their destruction constitute an appropriation of the “squandering of this surplus itself”? ([3], p. 72). We will seek to answer these questions in the next section. For now, we can keep in mind that the Yanomami’s unique approach to the subject/object relationship appears to be key to understanding why the belongings of deceased individuals must be destroyed. As Albert ([56], p. 253) comments, “in destroying the objects, it is emphasized that it is the unsustainable perspective of the post-mortem autonomy of the objects that destines them to continuous circulation among the living: it is said that one cannot ‘possess them firmly’ because ‘they do not die and remain alone on the ground after death’.

4. Asubjective Multiplicity and Destitution

As observed in Locke’s and Hegel’s theories, the process of subjectivation through the objectification of one’s own work is a central paradigm of Western philosophy, with notable repercussions extending from political economy to the most intimate aspects of our lives. On the other hand, Amerindian ontologies present not only different approaches to work but also to subjectivity. Following this path, we will endeavor to comprehend a fraction of this different perspective, seeking to understand how the Amerindian’s hyper-subjectivation of the world implies the de-ontologization of the subject position.

It is commonplace to encounter descriptions in ethnographies and general Amerindian literature regarding how indigenous peoples perceive animals and other entities (rivers, mountains, trees) as subjects. In other words, these beings are regarded as subjects of discourse, actively participating in the cosmology and life of the community, thereby integrating themselves into it. Examples illustrating this perspective abound. According to Krenak ([57], pp. 10, 5), “I learned that that mountain range has a name, Takukrak, and personality”; “the Rio Doce River, known as Watu to us, the Krenak people, is our grandfather”. In Kopenawa’s ([58], p. 24) words: “What we call Urihinari a is the spirit of the forest: the spirits of the trees huutihiri pë, of the leaves yaahanari pë. These spirits are very numerous and play on the forest floor. We call them urihi a, ‘nature’, just like the animal spirits yarori pë and even those of bees, turtles, or snails”.

According to Viveiros de Castro ([16], p. 60), while for Western epistemology “subjects, just like objects, are regarded as the results of a process of objectification,” Amerindian cosmovision, especially illustrated by the shamanistic practices, “is guided by the inverse ideal: to know is to ‘personify’, to take the point of view of what should be known or, rather, the one whom should be known.” That is, Amerindians would approach the world through a perspectivist view, which understands all the entities as subjects (humans and non-humans, living and dead, entities and things of the nature, existent or mythological). Humanity is not an attribute of Homo sapiens, but it is immanent to all that exists in the real world or in language, since the Amerindians’ cosmologies comprise “a multiplicity of subjective positions”: “all the inhabitants of the cosmos are humans in their own department; potential occupants of the deictic position of ‘first-person’ or ‘subject’ of the cosmological discourse.” ([20], p. 355).

Western tradition has conceptualized the human being as a body/spirit complex, confidently recognizing human bodies across different cultures, even if raising doubts about the existence of souls in certain categories of them. In contrast, Amerindians perceive the “virtual dimension”, i.e., the soul, as a universal attribute of everything, independent of their physical form, which is multiple and variable (humans and non-humans living beings, things of the nature, and so on). As Viveiros de Castro ([16], p. 53) comments:

European praxis consists in “making souls” (and differentiating cultures) on the basis of a given corporeal-material ground—nature—while indigenous praxis consists in “making bodies” (and differentiating species) on the basis of a socio-spiritual continuum, itself also given […].

For the Yanomami, a person consists of both a physical and a spiritual body. The spiritual body is dual in nature, formed by the interaction between two specific entities: a pair consisting of a human and an associated, given, animal being. Each of these spirits is linked to the physical bodies of a human and an animal, respectively, whose lives and fates are in synchrony. The Yanomami refer to this intricate relationship as the “vital image” of the self, a representation of the qualities and characteristics that define individuality. Moral and practical attributes are associated with “the vital image of a network of animals, through which certain behaviours reflect esteemed human qualities.” Furthermore, “the human being shares […] this incorporeal attribute with all animated and inanimate beings,” that is, all “animals, vegetables, elements or substances, and natural or manufactured objects” have a vital image. ([47], pp. 156, 147).

Each person has a vital image that confers certain characteristics, often linked to abilities in subsistence activities or warfare. For example, a skilled hunter may be inhabited by the vital image of a raptorial bird, while someone adept at clearing may be associated with a leafcutter ant, and a person resistant to sunlight may be likened to a lizard. However, Bruce Albert does not elaborate on when this vital image forms, whether it emerges after a person demonstrates proficiency in certain activities, or if it can vary or change throughout a person’s life due to the influence of other entities.

Nonetheless, this mutation of vital image appears common in Amazonian mythologies. As Viveiros de Castro ([16], p. 67) describes, “the supposed lack of differentiation between mythic subjects is a function of their being constitutively irreducible to essences or fixed identities, whether generic, specific, or even individual”. For instance,

If a human begins to see, as a vulture would, the worms infesting a cadaver as grilled fish, he will draw the following conclusion: vultures have stolen his soul, he himself is in the course of being transformed into one, and he and his kin will cease being human to each other. In short, he is gravely ill, or even dead. In other words (but this amounts to the same thing), he is en route to becoming a shaman ([16], pp. 70–71).

However, if humanity is shared by all that exists, but a human can become an animal, the question remains: is personality defined by activity? The answer seems to be affirmative:

[…] all beings see (“represent”) the world in the same way; what changes is the world they see. Animals rely on the same “categories” and “values” as humans: their worlds revolve around hunting, fishing, food, fermented beverages, cross-cousins, war, initiation rites, shamans, chiefs, spirits… ([16], p. 71).

Animals also share the same human occupations. Similar to humans, they also acquire characteristics from the activities they engage in. The same occurs where these entities are virtual, that is, existent in mythical language, as present in Kopenawa’s discourse, who qualifies, for example, various spirits as the “‘fathers of ecology’ (ecologia hwii epë), whose task is ‘holding up’ the celestial vault or ‘cleansing’ the ‘universe-forest’.” ([56], p. 261).

The difference from the Western conception of subject-constitution through work is that the indigenous’ subjectivity is not a result of productive activity, but a sum of all activities that inform the indigenous’ sociability. Being multiple, all subjects assume human activities, and these subjects are characterized according to their abilities. However, in contrast to the Western triadic paradigm of “work-property-subject”, indigenous vital images are not “natural” appropriators of world. Proof of this is, for example, the Yanomami interdiction of the so-called “alimentary incest”. One cannot consume the meat killed by oneself, at the risk of losing one’s hunting abilities. According to the Yanomami narrative, this appears in the following words: “If we eat ‘in return’ the catch we have killed, our mouth becomes dirty. […] My mouth is afraid… I would become a bad shooter… I would be overcome by sleep… I would cease to love the forest.” ([47], p. 162).

In this sense, Amerindians conceive the subject as unrelated to work and reification not because they do not recognize human qualities derived from human activity (indeed, human activity, e.g., being a skilled hunter or warrior28, has a great role in defining their personal characters). Instead, it is precisely because they conceive all that exists (real or linguistic) as subject that they inhabit a world that cannot be appropriated. This is because the hyper-subjectivation of the world implies the de-ontologization of the subject. If all beings and things (real or virtual) are subjects, it makes no sense to consider an object as opposed to a subject. Therefore, if all “things of nature” are endowed with intentionality, we are not discussing a mere inversion of signals (from a world of objects to a world of subjects)29. Rather, we would face the destitution of this dyad in a world formed by a plethora of intentionalities. With everyone being subjects, no one can be the dominus of anyone.

5. Conclusions

Amerindians’ culture, and especially that of the Yanomami, is anchored in an absence of separation between society and nature, subject and object. Through strategies of underproduction—such as underuse of labor force, economy of needs, and unproductive expenditure—they not only avoid the surplus and the hierarchization of society but also prevent the subjectivation through objectification of work and appropriation of nature. The result is a lack of the sovereign subject, in the Western way, who would constitute the self through the domination of nature. The subject for Amerindian, and particularly that of the Yanomami culture, is not an attribute of Homo sapiens: all that existing is subject of action and discourse and is endowed with intentionality.

In contrast to the dominant Western view of the subject as a result of, and only possible within, the triad “work-property-subject”—a legacy from Locke’s and Hegel’s philosophy—the Yanomami worldview prevents the separation between individual work and the other social activities. In addition, the absence of the link between work and appropriation is key in Yanomami thought. While human beings, along with other animals, have personal characteristics aligned with their abilities for certain activities, this does not make them natural appropriators of the fruits of individual labor. On the contrary, the interdiction of “alimentary incest”, for example, illustrates how they establish a relationship with nature that is seen as inappropriable. Since all living beings are endowed with intentionality, it is not possible to truly dominate anyone. Even the game captured retains the memory of the caught intentionality, forbidding the hunter from consuming it himself under the penalty of forfeiting his love for the forest.

If we transpose these conclusions to current environmental discussions, it becomes clear why concepts such as the exploitation or preservation of nature are not part of the indigenous socio-political lexicon: because these concepts presuppose a nature-as-object separated from human subjectivity. As Albert ([56], p. 257) explains, “nothing could be stranger than this separation and anthropocentrism for the cosmologies of Amazonian societies, which conceive the universe as a social totality governed by a complex system of symbolic exchanges between human and non-human subjects”30. We are not discussing an inversion from a world of complete objectification to a world of total subjectification. In a worldview where everything that exists is a subject, imbued with intentionality, the notion of one creature having dominion over another becomes untenable. That is because, acting as vectors, these intentionalities, when directed towards one another, ultimately deactivate each other.

In our current geological-human epoch in which we are experiencing the disruption of definitions “of the best-established categories”, such as the nature/culture, individual/collective, local/global, it is no longer possible to think in terms of a “simple superposition–or even the dialectical reconciliation–of ‘nature’ and ‘humanity’, each one taken as a whole”. Instead, we are all confronted with a “falling together” of both realities in this new climate regime [59]. Given this context, it is up to us to reflect on how Yanomami thought can inspire us to reconsider the way we produce and, thereby, produce ourselves in the same process. In this sense, rethinking the ways we relate to ourselves and the planet will require reconsidering what is own and what is common, as well as how we perceive nature and its “things”.