By Eric Vandenbroeck and co-workers
New Model of Urbanization
What happened to the
great cities of the Mayans? The prevailing theory is that their
civilization and cities were brought down by prolonged drought, or some
Malthusian combination of horrors involving overpopulation, climate change, and
overexploitation of the land, possibly augmented by disease.
Actually,
the Mayans produced two phases of
urbanization: the Preclassic of small cities, which collapsed, and the Classic
period, when urban hubs with great temples would arise. The apogee was around
700-750 C.E. By around 900, most of the cities had returned to the jungle.
Analyzing the
Urbanization Paradox and using Mesoamerica as a model has upended the paradigm
of the rise and collapse of the Mayan cities.
The earliest cities
were formed by Neolithic farmers who left the land and congregated, but why
would they do that? At the level of the individual, why would he suddenly
abandon the land, the home, the animals, and the local network and move away?
Farmers pay a huge cost for abandoning the security of farm,
home, and community only to risk starving on the road,
and that is the so-called urbanization
paradox.

Spears and Butter
Nearly half the
planet's population lives in cities: 45 percent of Earth's 8.2 billion people.
That's up from 20 percent in 1950. Yet how cities arose in the first place has
been a riddle.
There was some
surprise in archaeological circles when permanent settlement turned out to predate
agriculture. The theory had been that until people could grow food, they had to roam. Yet in some places that could offer
food security, the earliest permanent homes outside caves predated farming and
the Neolithic revolution by thousands of years.

A reproduction of a mural depicting a pre-Hispanic
ceremony of maize brew being served.
Actual cities did,
however, only arise after farming: Jericho about 10,000 years ago, Catalhoyuk in Turkey 9,500 years, Eridu in Sumer some
7,500 years ago. At the same time, the Cucuteni-Trypillian culture was coalescing in the form
of tremendous settlements in central Europe, though researchers argue whether
tens of thousands of people constitute a
city if there is no
evidence of hierarchy, specialized craftsmanship, or monuments. In China, the earliest cities seem to have
appeared around 7,000 years ago.
McCool qualifies that
it's difficult to nail down the birth of cities because the classic
characteristics don't all emerge at once, and some are causes of urbanization,
and some are consequences. The thresholds are arbitrary. So
the paper doesn't bog down on what an early city was or wasn't. They care that
it was costly for farmers to uproot and ask why they did, and why cities arose
where they did.
Their answer boils
down to hard times that render the farm unsafe: war, gradual environmental
change, or climate shocks in a mixed environment. The farmers abandon the
"butter" in the bad and cluster in the good, and if enough food can
be produced to sustain an expanding population in the good place, then a
village, a town, and then a city may arise.

As of
writing, there are 33 megacities, each with more than 10 million people.
Indonesia's largest capital, Jakarta, heads the pack with 42 million residents.
Of course, some cities are shrinking, the UN adds, among them Mexico City, though how many people live
there apparently depends on who you ask.

Panel portraying Mayan royal ceremonies, uncovered in
Guatemala.
So, early cities
began with fleeing farmers, the authors posit. War is one plausible cause. As
people claimed desirable land, they became vulnerable in a new way. When
powerful invaders escaping their own troubles came, farmers fled; and where
afflicted farmers gathered, they could afford each other protection, but this
can only go on for so long.

The more people
congregate at a spot, the more depleted the local environment will become, and
the more competition over resources will ensue. Ultimately, the environmental
destruction will outweigh the added benefit of more people. So once peace
descends, the risk of war is replaced by the risk of famine. People will leave
the city, which dissolves – unless they learn to scale up food production.

The Mayan pyramid of Calakmul, Mexico.
So conflict can get people to aggregate, but alone, it's
unstable. Big cities can grow only in productive areas, and where the people
learn to achieve economies of scale in agriculture.
The necessity of
achieving economies of scale had not been understood before, he adds.
But this can only go
on for so long, too. To advance further and reach megacity status in antiquity,
which they did, mere economies of scale won't cut it.
As the population
density increases, even the most fertile land will inevitably become exhausted.
"You will get to the point where the populations outstrip the food supply.
So the people have to intensify
production, working
harder to produce more food per unit of land. You have to get more
technological."

A limestone depiction of captives being presented to
the Maya ruler, circa 785.
From the Near East to
the forests of South America, the solutions would include fencing in animals,
building canals and dams, terracing slopes, and so on. It increases yield, but
you have to work a lot harder for that to happen.
Note that the great
Mayan cities grew in lowlands, with ample land suitable for cultivation. The
Preclassic villages began to coalesce about 3,000 years ago, coalescing where
conditions were favorable. Then came "the first Mayan collapse" in the
first century. Many of these cities were abandoned, and then the Mayans'
fortunes picked up again.

During the Classic
period, their populations exploded, especially from the year 500 or so. At its
heyday, Tikal housed tens of thousands, according to some scholars, though how
many tens of thousands is debatable. Claims range from 40,000 to over 100,000,
which has been called a "preposterous"
overestimation. Then
came the final decline, starting in the eighth century.

The Mayan ruins of Tikal, 500 km north of Guatemala
City.
Canals From Space
The scale of the
decline and collapse is inevitably colored by how large the city populations
had been, which is unclear: If there were 100,000, the collapse is tremendous; if there were 1,000, one is
less moved. So the gravity of the phenomenon may be unclear but the trend isn't.
"People don't
intensify until they have to," McCool adds. We hit population thresholds,
then must increase carrying capacity by intensifying production. When farmers
start to build agriculture infrastructure, like big reservoirs or large terraces
or gigantic canals, the startup costs are enormous – but they unlock the
economies of scale.
The economies of
scale in agricultural infrastructure mean, the more people work on a project,
the more you pool costs and the less the cost per person.
In the conflict
model, everybody does worse, but they have to cluster
because it's not safe to live outside. But once economy of scale enters the
model, the more people arrive, the better each one does. When the threshold is
reached again, as it inevitably will be, they can intensify again; build more
complex, larger agricultural infrastructure. This can go on for centuries. The
Mayan infrastructure, canals, raised fields, and terraces, can be seen from
space.
Water reclamation was
developed all over the arid Near East, in Israel and Jordan's Black Desert.
Here and in South America and Asia, whole mountains were terraced. Massive
infrastructure unlocks economies of scale, and people migrate in. But this too
can only go on for so long.

One of the first
battles in the war between Bonampak and Yaxchilan is
elaborately painted at the Maya ruins of Bonampak, 537–583 C.E.
Sick of the Gods
Investment projects
that unlock economies of scale encourage aggregation so big we think of them as
cities, but they also fuel inequality. The first arrivers become the
established residents and typically have better claim to land than migrants;
they may let in desperate incomers, but not for free – rather, in exchange for
rent or labor. The elites can exploit everybody else, and everybody else is not
necessarily grateful.
"Circling back
to the Classic Mayan collapse, the theory had been that they were destroyed by
drought. But the hard data shows the period between 800 and 900 was wet. The
agrarian economy of scale was starting to collapse. No more was being constructed,
and what they had wasn't being maintained. It seems the land
was becoming less productive.

letting ritual; King Itzamnaaj B'alam II is shown
holding a torch, while his wife Lady K'ab'al Xook
draws a barbed rope through her pierced tongue.
King Itzamnaaj B'alam II, also known
as Shield Jaguar II, was a powerful Mayan ruler of the city of Yaxchilán from 681 to 742 AD. He presided over a period of
growth for the city and is famously depicted in its art, particularly on Lintel
24, performing a bloodletting ritual with his wife, Lady K'ab'al
Xook (Lady Xoc).
A lot of tropical
forest was disturbed during the Classic period, the data show – trees were
chopped down to grow food. This decreases ecological resilience in the long
run. As the environments become denuded and the cities
become less productive, the economy of scale weakens. The Maya had afforded
their elites a godlike status, so there was certainly
inequality and exploitation, the professor adds. We all know how that ends.
Their cities didn't
end in drought. The data shows the weather grew wetter. Apparently, the
oppressed simply went back to the countryside to farm for themselves and regain
their autonomy. Under favorable climate conditions, the benefits of city life
no longer outweigh the costs.

And how would this
model apply to the Near Eastern condition? When our earliest cities arose, it
was the Holocene, and the Sahara and Arabia were wetter. Most arose later, in climatic conditions with which we are more familiar.
But this never does seem to have been a peaceful region, so the war aspect of
the model applies beautifully, as do the aspects of climate change and shocks,
all plausibly leading our early farmers to flee, from flash floods or drought
and/or enemies, and congregate for protection in good places, such as a
perennial spring or a riverbank, where they would set their stake, establish a
right and start to demand rent or labor from the next lot on the run.
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