Saints of the Atlas 1 : Siba
European anarchy remains the rebel wet dream. But on the Mediterranean coast of North Africa it was a genuine and rich social reality before the coming of industrialisation, puritanism and nationalism tried more or less successfully to bury it. Ernest Gellner’s book ‘Saints of The Atlas’ describes it. What follows is my attempt to remind readers of this social formation. Why bother? Well, anti-Muslim racism is rearing its ugly head across the world. The rise of English, Welsh and Scottish Nationalism in the recent local elections and the racist US President and his regime’s illegal and murderous actions in the Middle East are symptoms. We need to prosecute the racists in the courts but we also need to talk about Muslim society in a much more intelligent, informed and thoughtful way. Just as we refuse to think about Jewish culture solely via the prism of Israel’s current genocidal regime, we need to extend our vision of Islam so as to see its richness, variety and beauty. I admire Gellner’s work and think it gives us a slice of that richness and beauty so I thought the time was right to share.
The setting is the Berber population of the central High Atlas of Morocco, especially the groups often referred to as the Shluh. These are not a homogeneous people but a mosaic of tribes and sub tribes, organised through what Gellner repeatedly calls a segmentary lineage system. This term refers to a specific form of social organisation in which descent groups are nested within one another in a genealogical hierarchy. A lineage splits into sub lineages, which split again, producing a branching structure that is at once genealogical and political. These segments are not fixed administrative units. They are activated situationally. In one dispute, a small lineage may act as a unit. In another, several lineages may fuse into a larger segment against a common opponent. This capacity for fusion and fission is one of the central mechanisms of order in the absence of a central authority.
The High Atlas is a region of steep valleys, difficult communications, and sharply limited agricultural land. Much of the population practises a mixed economy of agriculture and pastoral transhumance. Herds are moved seasonally between lowland winter pastures and high summer grazing grounds. This movement is not incidental. It creates constant points of friction over access to land, water, and routes. The scarcity and distribution of resources generate what Gellner treats as a structurally permanent condition of potential conflict. Raiding, feud, and retaliation are not aberrations but expected possibilities within the system.
Siba is often translated as “dissidence” or “anarchy,” but Gellner insists that such translations are misleading if they suggest mere disorder. Siba names a recognised political condition in which tribes are effectively outside the control of the central government, historically the Sultan’s authority. These areas are not lawless in the sense of lacking norms. Rather, they lack a monopoly of legitimate coercion. The distinction Gellner draws is between makhzen areas, where the Sultan’s administration operates, and siba areas, where it does not. The High Atlas tribes he studies largely fall into the latter category prior to the consolidation of French colonial rule in the early twentieth century.
The sociological problem is how a society functions when it lacks a centralised apparatus capable of enforcing decisions across the whole population. Gellner’s answer is not that it approximates a state in miniature, nor that it collapses into chaos, but that it operates through a combination of segmentary structure and a set of normative institutions that regulate conflict. One such institution is the feud, which, paradoxically, is itself regulated. Feuding is not random violence. It is governed by expectations about retaliation, compensation, and the limits of escalation. The existence of these expectations allows actors to anticipate responses and therefore constrains behaviour.
Another key institution is the assembly, often referred to in Berber contexts as the jama‘a. This is a council of male elders or representatives that deliberates on matters affecting the group, such as disputes, resource allocation, and collective action. The assembly does not have coercive power in the modern sense, but its decisions carry weight because they are embedded in shared norms and because individuals depend on the group for protection and cooperation. The authority here is diffuse and moral rather than centralised and coercive.
Gellner introduces the notion of balanced opposition, a term closely associated with segmentary lineage theory. The idea is that opposition between groups is structured in such a way that no single group can dominate indefinitely. Alliances shift depending on the level of conflict. Two lineages may oppose one another in a local dispute, but unite against a third lineage at a higher level. This produces a kind of equilibrium, not in the sense of peace, but in the sense of a dynamic balance in which forces counteract one another. The system is stable not because conflict is absent but because it is patterned.
Within this framework, Gellner begins to signal the importance of religious figures, the “saints” of the book’s title, though he does not yet analyse them in full detail. These are individuals or lineages believed to possess baraka, a form of sacred power or blessing. Baraka is not merely symbolic. It has practical consequences. Saints and their descendants are often treated as neutral or quasi neutral actors in a field otherwise structured by segmentary opposition. Because they are associated with holiness, they can act as mediators in disputes, arbitrate conflicts, and provide sanctuary. Their authority does not derive from force but from a widely recognised belief in their special status.
The presence of saints introduces a second axis into the social structure, one that cuts across the segmentary organisation of tribes. Whereas the lineage system is based on descent and produces a pattern of opposition, the saintly system is based on charisma and produces a pattern of mediation. Gellner is preparing the reader to see that the coexistence of these two principles is central to the functioning of the society. The segmentary system alone would risk endless fragmentation. The saintly system introduces nodes of relative neutrality that can dampen and redirect conflict.
The concept of hurma refers to a kind of sacred inviolability. Certain persons, places, or times are treated as protected from violence. Sanctuaries associated with saints often enjoy this status. A fugitive who reaches such a sanctuary may be temporarily safe from retaliation. This creates spaces within the otherwise conflict prone landscape where negotiation can occur. Again, belief is not a superficial layer. It structures practical possibilities for action.
Gellner also pays attention to the role of honour, often tied to concepts of masculinity, lineage reputation, and the defence of group integrity. Honour is not an abstract value but a regulating principle. It shapes when retaliation is required, when it can be foregone, and how disputes are interpreted. The fear of dishonour can be as powerful a constraint as the fear of physical punishment in a state system.
Historically, Gellner situates these institutions within a long period in which the Moroccan state’s reach was limited. The Sultan’s authority, while symbolically acknowledged, did not translate into effective administration in the High Atlas. Taxation, conscription, and legal enforcement were sporadic or absent. It is only with the French colonial pacification, completed in the early 1930s, that sustained external control is established. Even then, indirect rule often preserved local structures, meaning that the segmentary and saintly systems continued to operate, though increasingly transformed. Gellner is explicit that he is not offering a purely ecological or economic explanation, even though he takes those factors seriously. His focus is on what might be called the political anthropology of the region, the forms of authority, legitimacy, and conflict regulation that allow the society to persist.
The triad he invokes, power, belief, wealth, signals this, but he privileges the first two because they are where the distinctive features of the system lie. What emerges is a picture of a society that is neither chaotic nor centrally governed but organised through a set of interlocking mechanisms.
Segmentary lineage structure provides a grammar of opposition and alliance. Institutions such as the assembly and the regulated feud provide procedures for managing disputes. Concepts like honour and inviolability supply normative constraints. The figure of the saint, endowed with baraka, introduces a cross cutting principle of mediation and sanctuary.
Order is not here the product of a sovereign power imposing rules from above. It is the emergent effect of a system in which conflict is expected, structured, and partially neutralised by institutions that do not resemble those of the modern state. The background is therefore an argument about the plurality of forms of social organisation and about the possibility of stability without centralisation.
We’re so used to thinking that order has to be centralised, that there has to be a strong state and so on. What this social structure reminds us is that you can have order through non-centralised, weak or even absent state anarchy. Siba, segmentary lineage, baraka, hurma, assembly, and balanced opposition are the elements of a system that, taken together, demonstrate how a society can sustain itself through a complex interplay of structure, belief, and practice in the absence of centralised power.
Next: 2 How is this even possible?