Studying identities in the past permits a diverse and situationally contextual reading of a foundational characteristic of humanity—the lived and embodied experience of performing “sameness” or “difference” (Appiah 2005; Butler 1990; Fowler 2010). Dominant trends in archaeological theory have dictated how scholars have conceptualized identity. Culture-historians of the early 20th century presumed that social identities were channeled through material culture and only changed in the wake of crisis or population replacement (Childe 1926). Later, efforts to categorize societies led processual archaeologists to regard culture as a means of adaptation, where identities functioned to fulfill basic human needs and adapt to changing environments (Binford 1971; Deetz 1967). Evolutionary views of identity were more dynamic, but they tended to oversimplify the complex ideational relations that account for the emergence of different identities, particularly how people experienced, recapitulated, and contested them. Critiques levied by the post-processualists of the later 20th century brought identity to the fore by positioning people as social agents that could reflect on and change the material conditions of their existence (Conkey and Spector 1984; Joyce 2000b; Sassaman 2000). Similar practices among groups did not necessarily correlate with a shared identity, however. Some practices may be undertaken by different identity groups or may become a means of identifying a group, rather than the other way around. As Christopher Tilley (1989) argued, just as we cannot glean a single interpretation from the archaeological record, people of separate identity groups may have interpreted identifying characteristics differently. In this way, identity is relational and contextual (Hepp et al. 2022).
Archaeological discussions of identity in the last century largely agreed on one fundamental tenet—that identity was socially constructed (Fowler 2010). The notion that identities manifest solely through people’s actions is problematic because it foists a Cartesian view of subjectivity and agency on the past that would not be familiar to societies outside of the modern West (Harris 2016). This “humanist” framework makes things and the materiality of the human body secondary to ideas (Harris and Robb 2012). Further, it transforms the other-than-human world into a passive slate on which people inscribe cultural forms. What ends up mattering is not the material character of the world, but rather the representations of ideas with which people engage symbolically. People certainly represent concepts through objects, but to privilege the ideational plane ignores the “vibrancy” of matter: its propensity to act independently of human intention (Bennett 2010). Attempts to break down the material-ideational dualism present in representationalist approaches have been bolstered by the “ontological turn” in anthropology (Bird-David 1999; Descola 2013; Viveiros de Castro 2004). Though not yet mainstream in archaeology, a renewed interest in non-Western ontologies has challenged the opposition of people and things by demonstrating that the boundaries between them are quite permeable (Alberti 2016; Harris 2016; Olsen 2010). Such a perspective does not merely afford agency to humans or things independently. Instead, what matters is the fluid relationality between entities that allows them to cohere, mutate, dissolve, and recombine.
An emphasis on relations also allows us to question the very meaning of “personhood”—the state or condition of being a person—and consequently, identity. For instance, does “personhood” refer to a unique condition of the human mind, or can other-than-humans take on person-like qualities? Do the things that delineate identity simply stand in for ideas, or can they affect the makeup of identities independently of human thought? Archaeological approaches that probe the issue of personhood have come closest to avoiding the humanist binds that complicate research on identity (Harris 2016:23–25). These studies share the fundamental tenet that personhood emerges from the relations in which a person is enmeshed (Chapman 2000; Fowler 2004, 2010; Gillespie 2001; Strathern 1988, 1992; Watts 2013; Harrison-Buck and Hendon 2018). The attribution of person-like qualities to other-than-humans is widely attested in the ethnographic and ethnohistoric record of Mesoamerica. For the Chatino of Oaxaca—the ethnolinguistic group most closely associated with the earliest complex societies of the lower Río Verde Valley—humans are infused with Tyi’i, an immaterial “soul substance” located inside the heart, to which it offers its strength (Bartolome and Barabas 1996:225). When a person faints, it is a sign that the Tyi’i has moved away from the body momentarily. Though Tyi’i embodies human vitality, modern Chatino ontology dictates that humans are not separate from the animal kingdom. Therefore, humans also possess Ni’cone, a vital essence shared with their unique animal companion (Bartolome and Barabas 1996:226).
Ceremonies involving birth and death rites also afforded personhood to architecture by animating or terminating the vitality of buildings (Brown and Emery 2008; Greenberg 1981; Stross 1998).
Greenberg (1981) shows, for example, how “houses” and “doors” are metaphors for bonds among humans, deities, and nature in the Chatino belief system. Acts of provisioning structures or landforms with sustenance to maintain their animacy have also been documented across Mesoamerica (Christenson 2008; Durán 1971:368, 463; Stross 1998). In many highland Maya towns, images of saints like Hermano San Simón are said to eat, drink, and smoke the offerings that are left for them (Polk et al. 2005). For the Tzotzil Maya, many components of houses such as daub, thatch, and wood posts are endowed with vitality by the animate earth and forest prior to manipulation by humans (Brown and Emery 2008).
Not everything was a person, however. We must be cautious to avoid indiscriminately applying to the past an ontology that was historically, geographically, and situationally contextual (Fowles 2013). One way to navigate through this potential trap is to explore the relationships that stitch together humans and other-than-humans to highlight animacy and the qualities that constitute identities. Archaeologists inspired by the Actor-Network Theory (ANT) of Bruno Latour (1993, 1999, 2005) have argued that agency emerges from the relations that arrange an entity’s components (Olsen 2007; Webmoor 2007; Webmoor and Witmore 2008). In referring to “relations,” I draw on Pauketat and Alt’s (2018:73) definition:
Relations are the physical properties, experiential qualities, and other flows or movements of substances, materials, and phenomena that become attached to, entangled, or associated with others and, in the process, define not only people but other organisms, things, places, and the like.
Conceptualizing relationality in this way highlights the properties, qualities, and movements of things “out in the world” that are foundational to the human condition. For example, an experiential quality such as “heat” requires connecting an encountered substance with the degree to which that substance reacts against the senses. According to Tzotzil Maya philosophy, a human life is a cycle of heat, beginning as a cold fetus and gaining spiritual heat as the individual moves through life (Gasco et al. 2016). Physical properties such as the “brittleness” of obsidian or the “compactness” of clayey sediments need not be filtered through human perception, but nonetheless facilitate acts like bloodletting and mound construction, respectively.
An ontological approach to identity acknowledges that people and things are the outcomes of affective relations. “Affect” refers to the way bodies—not just human bodies, but organic and inorganic bodies of all kinds—may encounter one another, alter the capacities of other bodies to act, and subsequently transform themselves (Deleuze and Guattari 1987; Deleuze 1988; Spinoza 1996). Affect can also relate to how the senses elicit emotion (Hamilakis 2014). In ancient Mesoamerica, some other-than-human entities facilitated access to the divine realm—an affect that assembled animate beings in unique ways. For example, the fundamental religious principle known as the “sacred covenant” holds that, in return for permission to practice agriculture, which causes deities of the earth, rain, and sky considerable pain, humans must sacrifice their bodies and vitality in death to be consumed by the deities (Hamann 2002; Joyce 2000; Monaghan 1990:562, 1995). Failing to provide sacrifices could result in cosmic calamity (López Austin 1988). The most potent sacrifices involved human blood, but the covenant could also be fulfilled with copal incense, maize dough, jade, quetzal feathers, deity masks, ceramic vessels, figurines, and sherds (Brzezinski et al. 2017; Freidel et al. 1993; Joyce et al. 2016; Joyce and Barber 2015; López Luján 2005; Monaghan 1990). Zedeño (2009:412) defines such items as “index objects,” which were unique in Native American ontologies in their ability to alter, transfer, or reposition vitality in relation to other bodies.
Humans and other animate inhabitants of the ancient Mesoamerican world were infused with the same fundamental vitality, but it was only through processes of signification that one could experience the other. Recent archaeological engagement with the semiosis of American philosopher Charles Sanders Peirce (1958-65) presents a path toward elucidating meaning from relations between seemingly disparate entities (Cipolla 2013; Crossland 2018; Harris 2021; Harris and Cipolla 2017; Preucel 2010; Swenson 2018). Pierce’s semiotic philosophy was grounded in three modalities of being that crosscut the mind-matter divide—categories defined by potential, force, and habit. Potential, elsewhere referred to in Peirce’s esoteric nomenclature as “firstness,” refers to the quality of something that exists independently of anything else. In archaeological terms, potential can be seen in a raw material such as obsidian that exists, with its own qualities, independent of other objects. “Secondness” is reflected in the category of force wherein the potential of the world is actualized, thereby affecting and constraining experiences (Crossland and Bauer 2017). It is the quality of reaction, response, or resistance to something else. For example, considering the way that people used fire to cook food or water to irrigate crops situates actions as responses to the environment. Peirce defined “thirdness,” his third category of being, to reflect the tendency of the world to form habits as part of self-organizing processes that allow us to think about the emergence of life and of other new and emergent patterns in the natural world (Crossland and Bauer 2017).
Peirce’s framework accommodates the phenomenology of the other-than-human world by going beyond the purely representationalist model of signification popularized by linguist Ferdinand de Saussure, which rested on the binary of “signifier” and “signified.” In Peirce’s model, signs stand in an indivisible triadic relationship, first to themselves, second to an “object,” and third for an “interpretant” (Fig. 1a). Archaeologists have drawn extensively on Peirce’s three sign types—icons, indexes, and symbols. Icons relate two things that share a physical likeness, such as a portrait carved in stone and the ruler it depicts. Indexes demonstrate a cause-and-effect relation that signals the “contextual existence of an entity,” illustrated by the classic example of a weathervane pointing in the direction of the wind (Preucel 2010:68). Finally, symbols create an arbitrary link between a sign and what it indicates, as is the case with most written language. Identities, both personal and communal, are constituted by all three types of signs in Peirce’s model.
The application of Peirce’s semiosis allows us to transcend the Cartesian mind-matter dichotomy by investigating the chains of material signs that constitute identities. The most consequential element in this process is the third component of Peirce’s triad, the interpretant. The interpretant is dynamic in that it is a product or mediation of the initial sign-object relationship that designates responses, feelings, or affective reactions (Swenson 2018:356–357). The temporality of materials is a key component of interpretants as they are strung together. Old objects such as heirlooms often irrupt in the present and point to new material signs that produce further interpretants (Fig. 1b). Temporality for ancient Mesoamericans was not only a linear sequence of events, but was also a complex, multi-dimensional, and continuous process that was enfolded within material objects and their interactions. I use the term "enfolding" time to refer to the ways in which material objects both reflect and shape the cultural contexts in which they are created and used. In doing so, they become imbued with historical and temporal significance. Meanings and functions of objects are constantly changing over time as they are reinterpreted and repurposed by successive generations. Thinking of time as “enfolded” allows us to understand how material objects carry traces of the past and become transformed by the present. In the next section, I examine the animate entities that were linked together spatially and temporally by chains of interpretants embedded in the landscape of coastal Oaxaca.
Animacy in the Natural and Built Landscape
Archaeological research on the later Formative Period in the lower Rio Verde Valley has shed light on the milieu of collective identities in the hinterland surrounding the early political center of Rio Viejo (Barber 2013; Barber et al. 2014; Brzezinski et al. 2022b; Joyce et al. 2016; Joyce and Barber 2015; Workinger 2002). Among these rural communities is Cerro de la Virgen, an archaeological site located on a large hill, 10 km east of the Río Verde and 14 km north of the Pacific Ocean (Fig. 2). The site was occupied as early as the Late Formative (400–150 BCE), reaching its peak size of 72 hectares during the Terminal Formative (Joyce et al. 2009). Recent fieldwork at Cerro de la Virgen has focused on the monumental architecture of the site’s ceremonial center, which consists of a series of terraces that cover over one hectare supporting a plaza, several architectural complexes, and a ballcourt (Fig. 3; Barber 2013; Brzezinski 2019). At the eastern end, a monumental stairway leads to Structure 1—a small, restricted public building that served as a temple. Situated near the top of the hill is Residence 1, an elite household that was occupied during the late Terminal Formative Chacahua phase (Barber 2005). People living at Residence 1 had preferential access to Structure 1 and may have constituted a founding kin-based group. Other residents of the site lived on the dozens of terraces that surround the ceremonial center.
Structure 1
The best evidence for the transfer of life-giving vitality to architecture at Cerro de la Virgen comes from Terrace 10. Immediately preceding the first construction phase of the terrace, residents placed a bundle of stone objects and nine miniature ceramic vessels directly on bedrock (Brzezinski 2019:186–191; Brzezinski et al. 2017). The stone objects were purposefully broken and wrapped with a textile or some other perishable material prior to placement. Included were the mask of a rain deity, a fragment of a second mask, two miniature tabular thrones, and a figurine (Fig. 4). Ritual activities on the terrace culminated with the burning of a perishable wattle-and-daub structure that sealed a deposit of ceramic vessels overlying the bundled offering. One small vessel was placed upside down with a human long bone balanced on the upturned base. Residents then built Structure 1-sub, a low masonry platform with its center point oriented directly above the bundle. Ceramic serving vessels were placed at the base of the building’s earthen fill during construction. The end of Structure 1-sub’s use was marked by a deposit of ceramic vessels placed in a pit near the occupational surface. The final phase of occupation of Terrace 10 witnessed the construction of Structure 1 atop the earlier masonry foundation. Ceramic vessels were deposited within the building’s fill in a similar pattern to Structure 1-sub. A final deposit of ceramic vessels just below the occupational surface in the patio adjacent to Structure 1 coincided with the abandonment of the site at the end of the Formative.
The stone objects of the bundled offering index a variety of animate properties. The ergonomic features of the rain deity mask, particularly the strapping holes, chin rest, and sensorial openings for the mouth, eyes, and nostrils, indicate that it was worn by a ritual specialist (Hepp et al. 2020). The miniature thrones indexed the political authority of rulers or powerful nobles that sat upon them, but they also iconically referenced life-sized thrones as the stage on which offerings were transferred to the divine realm (Miller and Martin 2004:105). Similarly, the figurine is simultaneously an icon that physically resembles a deceased ancestor and an index that points to the presence of the ancestor’s life force in the building, like a fingerprint indexing a person’s presence at a crime scene (Crossland and Bauer 2017). The inclusion of pottery encircling the bundle may point to its personhood as an entity that required sustenance, as ceramic vessels had the capacity to transfer vital material elements such as the earth from which they were made and the food and drink they may have held (Joyce 2020a; Overholtzer 2021). My colleagues and I have suggested that the bundled offering was a petition to the rain deity for agricultural fertility, mediated by a revered ancestor and consecrated through the gathering of the objects (Brzezinski et al. 2017:524–525).
Breaking the objects released their vitality and established the associated architecture as an animate intermediary through which petitions to the divine realm could be witnessed. The phenomenon of fragmentation in ancient Mesoamerica was part of a complex social matrix concerned with expressions of personhood and its inherent divisibility (Guernsey 2020). For example, body parts that were disassociated from whole bodies were powerful and often deposited in monuments as an act of commemoration or placemaking (Fitzsimmons 2009; Geller 2012). Transferring or releasing life forces through fragmentation also extended to the world of objects and the environment (Freidel et al. 1998; Harrison-Buck et al. 2007; Stanton et al. 2008; Stross 1998; Zedeño 2008). Pieces of each mask were missing from the bundled offering, which suggests that the life force that inhabited the objects could be distributed amongst its constituent parts. Even when objects are physically complete, their potential to be part of other assemblages emphasizes the “inherent partibility of existence, from the scale of the individual body to the scale of the settlement” (R. Joyce 2018:42).
The archaeology of Structure 1 overlying the bundled offering reveals the life cycles of other-than-humans such as sacred buildings that were actualized through a complex semiosis involving ritual practices, the unique properties of things, and multiple temporalities. Builders of Structure 1 combined ceramic vessels and unconsolidated sediment to form the construction fill of the low platform. Both elements index the animate landscape. Pottery affords the capacity to hold and transfer matter in a receptacle made purely from vital elements like earth, water, and fire. Sediment forms the medium through which life-sustaining maize and other flora grow and mature. At present, it is unclear what types of substances, if any, were included in the vessels. A preliminary analysis of microbotanical residues extracted from a small sample of vessels suggested that they were not filled with plant-based ingredients such as maize kernels or fermented liquids. Broader chemical analyses of residues may shed light on the substances that were included in the vessels. Within the sandy, loamy matrix of the unconsolidated sediment of the platform fill, builders also included pieces of burned daub, likely recovered from the charred remains of perishable superstructures. These small bits of debris highlight the multiple, overlapping temporalities of construction, occupation, and destruction that characterize earthen architecture in coastal Oaxaca. Just as buildings were “ensouled” through the incorporation of index objects, they could also be ritually terminated (Joyce and Barber 2015; Stross 2008). Structure 1-sub was terminated through an offering of vessels placed in a shallow pit and sealed by the construction fill of the subsequent version of the building. Subsequently, Structure 1 was animated by an offering of vessels during construction and terminated later as the site was abandoned at the beginning of the Early Classic period (250–600 CE).
Complex A
Public architecture adjacent to Structure 1 was subject to a wider range of practices reflecting the relational ontology of animate buildings. Complex A consists of two modular building foundations oriented at a right angle, flanked to the north and south by patios. In the north patio, people placed a deposit of 260 ceramic vessels and more than 600 thin stone slabs over an extended period spanning the Terminal Formative period (Fig. 5). The offering covered 62 m2, an area rivalled only by some of the lower Verde’s largest communal cemeteries of the later Formative (Barber et al. 2013). The ceramic assemblage was comprised primarily of cylindrical vessels and globular jars, both of which were not typically associated with cooking or storage (Joyce 1991). Some had eccentric forms, including square-walled vessels, “quincunx” vessels with four lobes, and cylindrical vessels with anthropomorphic appliques. The thin stone slabs were composed of granitic rock mined from the many outcrops that dotted the surrounding piedmont landscape. Occasionally they were arranged in triangular or square compartments that housed one or more vessels, but more often were placed vertically in parallel groups (Fig. 6). Many vessels and slabs were placed directly on top of previous deposits and the surrounding sediment was loosely packed and mottled with organic material, suggesting the cache may have been periodically reopened after its initial installation (Clark and Colman 2013:23). To maintain the integrity of the north patio and prevent erosion, residents built a stone drain running beneath Structure 2 that carried water off Terrace 11 to the southwest.
The extraordinary scale of the offering in Complex A suggests that groups of people may have gathered in the plaza of the ceremonial center to engage in communal rituals, including object caching, feasting, playing the ballgame, and mortuary ceremonialism. Early in the construction of the plaza, residents placed a small ceramic effigy vessel of a human foot directly on bedrock. The vessel was found in pieces, but it is unclear whether it was smashed intentionally (Fig. 7). Given its placement at the base of a layer of construction fill, and its resemblance to the anthropomorphic contents of the bundled offering beneath Structure 1, the smashed effigy vessel likely indexed the transfer of vitality to the surrounding architecture. Further, the prevalence of anthropomorphic characteristics may suggest that index objects with human features were imbued with an especially potent degree of vitality (Grove and Gillespie 1984; May et al. 2018; Stanton et al. 2008:235). In subsequent phases of construction, residents placed several series of objects that may have sustained the animacy of (or, “fed”) the plaza, including five large ceramic vessels and at least three dense deposits of thin stone slabs. The stone slabs were identical in form to those found in other offerings at the site.
While the cached deposits may have constituted a collective ritual resource located in a central, accessible place, their stratigraphic position beneath an occupational surface suggests that they were offerings. Witnessing the placement of the slabs and vessels may have accompanied commensal feasts that were prepared in an expansive earth oven located in the nearby patio of Complex C. The refuse of the earth oven was distributed across an area of estimated 5.5 m in diameter and utilized granite stones as heating elements. Residents also cooked in at least six small hearths that were interspersed among the vessels and slabs of the Complex A offering, as well as larger hearths in the south patio of Complex A and the interior patio of Complex B.
Complex B
Complex B is situated centrally along the northern edge of the ceremonial plaza, immediately adjacent to Complex A. During the early construction episodes of the complex’s supporting terrace, people may have imbued the architecture with vitality through the placement of human remains as well as caches of objects. Of the four burials recorded at Cerro de la Virgen to date, three were discovered within the earliest fill layers of Terrace 12. The earliest was Burial 2–Individual 2, a primary interment of an adult female placed in a flexed position facing east (Brzezinski 2019:247). Stratigraphic evidence indicates that residents placed B2–I2 within the construction fill as the terrace was built. During subsequent building phases, the disarticulated remains of two adults—Burial 1–Individual 1 and Burial 3–Individual 3—were interred in separate layers of fill. B1–I1 and B3–I3 were secondarily deposited, but it is unclear whether the remains were purposely moved from their original locations or were haphazardly redeposited with the fill. None of the burials in Complex B were accompanied by grave goods, suggesting that the bodies constituted offerings to the associated architecture (Joyce and Barber 2015). Like offerings of objects, burials constituted sacrifices that fulfilled the obligations of the sacred covenant and imparted vitality to other-than-human beings such as architecture (Joyce and Barber 2015:824). In return, buildings embodied the social relations that constituted communities by acting as “receptacles” for the sharing or transference of animacy that accompanied death (Hendon 2000:42). The close association of Complex B with the site’s ballcourt suggests that the placement of human remains during construction may have been coupled with ballgame rituals.
Many ontological principles are referenced in Mesoamerican ballgames, including agricultural fertility, the (re)generation of life, and the maintenance of cosmic order (Blomster and Salazar Chavez 2020; Schele and Miller 1986; Whittington 2001). The gathering of human burials, ballgame players and observers, and cached objects may have established Complex B and the ballcourt as animate beings that witnessed petitions to the Underworld. Though the characteristics of the ballgame as it was experienced at Cerro de la Virgen are unknown, the rituals associated with the game likely brought together broader groups of people, some of whom may have traveled from neighboring communities. Some participants may have watched the ballgame activities from Structure 5–a low platform built at the western edge of Terrace 12 that overlooked the playing lane. People placed objects just beneath the occupational surface of Structure 5, including a deposit of smashed ceramic vessels that may have animated the structure. The patio adjacent to the east of Structure 5 was the locus of an offering of at least 42 ceramic vessels, over 100 thin stone slabs, and several ground stone tools. Stratigraphic evidence is unclear as to whether the offering was placed during one event or several, but the similarity between the feature and the larger offering in Complex A suggests the former was placed sequentially over time to bestow sustenance on the associated architecture.
In Structure 4, an L-shaped building located on the eastern side of Complex B, locally quarried stones were shaped into formal blocks and slabs to be used in structural foundations and ritual caches, respectively. Excavations carried out in 2016 exposed a dense deposit of large stones with angular breaks and flat faces in the center of Terrace 12, as well as an assemblage of ground stone tools that collectively constituted a stone mason’s “tool kit” (Fig. 8; Brzezinski 2019:442). Included among these were hammerstones, chisels, smoothers, and an edge sharpener, all of which exhibited significant use wear. The thin stone slabs seen in many of the site’s offerings may have also been shaped at Complex B. The ground stone in the offerings of Complex B as a locus for masonry production. At present, the connection between stone working and the mortuary ceremonialism associated with the ballgame is unclear.
Complex E
The animation of other-than-humans through the gathering of index objects also took place in households but on a smaller scale (Barber 2005; Joyce 1991). The earliest residents of Complex E, a three-tiered terrace complex located 150 meters north of the ceremonial center, lived in small, perishable superstructures built on one of two low rectangular platforms. In Structure E1-sub, a modest offering of two cylindrical vessels was placed in the fill beneath the floor and seven ceramic vessels and dozens of thin stone slabs were placed below the occupational surface in an attached patio. It is unclear whether the offering was discrete or placed sequentially, but the distribution of objects follows the pattern seen in Complexes A and B.
Over time, the intensity and scope of communal activities at Complex E increased significantly, likely engaging larger numbers of people. In many ways, Complex E was a microcosm of Cerro de la Virgen’s ceremonial center. Food was prepared in a shallow hearth and an earth oven measuring 2.0 m and 1.2 m in diameter, respectively. Like the earth oven in the courtyard of Complex C, the refuse of the cooking features included burned sherds and fire-cracked rock used as heating elements. While it is possible that the hearth and earth oven were used for day-to-day cooking, they are larger than typical domestic cooking features in the region (Joyce 1991). Adjacent to the cooking features, people placed a deposit of broken ceramics in a shallow pit that included a comal, serving bowls, and storage jars. The vessels collectively indexed cooking, serving, and storing food as part of the broader assemblage of people, places, objects, and features related to feasting.
Index objects used in rituals of animation became more pervasive near the end of the Chacahua phase. Builders expanded and repositioned Structure E1 to match the orientation of buildings in the ceremonial center and added a second terrace to the complex. The first fill layer retained by the terrace’s retaining wall was the locus of the densest cache of objects found at the site to date: an offering of 81 ceramic vessels and dozens of stone slabs in an area of just 4 m2 (Fig. 9). Excavations did not expose the entire feature, but it undoubtedly extended in every direction over a larger area. Several vessels and slabs were placed directly over earlier deposits, suggesting that these offerings were placed sequentially over an extended period, to continuously sustain the vitality of Complex E. Lying flat on the surface above the offering was a rectangular monolith that may have served as a ceremonial altar. Three shallow depressions in the dorsal side of the monolith may have facilitated grinding seeds or holding liquids such as water or blood. The monolith is the only one of its kind that dates to the Terminal Formative period, so interpretations of its role are speculative. Similar objects dating to later periods suggest that it was associated with the offering of vessels and slabs. Evidence from a Late Classic offering and an Early Postclassic burial associated with Structure 2 on the Río Viejo acropolis demonstrates that large, plain monoliths were often deposited as offerings at the surface of layers of construction fill (Joyce and Barber 2013; Joyce et al. 2014).