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The grand climax of the young man's effort would come when he
challenged a local "big man"--a high-placed figure revered for his
powerful following.  The contender would do it by inviting his older
rival to attend a feast.  At the grand dinner, the upstart would banquet
the elder with a deluge of pork dishes, coconut pies and sago almond
puddings.  The young man's followers and those of the guest would
count every dish of food that hit the table.  If the mountain of
delectables the rookie offered was large enough, the big man knew he
was in serious trouble.
The elder would go back home and spend the next year spurring
his followers to new heights of productivity.  Then he would invite the
young challenger to a feast at his place.  He, too, would heap the table
with pies, roasts and puddings.  And once again, the crowd would
keep a breathless count.  For if the older dignitary failed to lay on as
rich a feast as the young man's banquet the previous year, it would all
be over.  The venerable gentleman would be shamed.  As he plunged
down the ladder of prestige, his followers would desert him, and the
callow whippersnapper who had mounted the challenge would leap
dramatically upward in the pecking order.  Now he would be the big
man.
In New Guinea, the man who could not give as much as he
received earned only one reward--disgrace.133
The New Guineans were not alone in regarding the giveaway as
a technique for inflicting humiliation.  The Kwakiutl Indians of the
Pacific Northwest were famed for their potlatches.  In the potlatch, a
Kwakiutl chief would invite a rival and his tribe over for a visit, then
shower the guests with gifts.  The greater the pile of presents, the more
the guest would lose face, plummeting down the pecking order.
Among the Kwakiutl, to give away goods is divine.  To accept them,
less than human.134
Even our recent ancestors were aware of generosity's subversive
power.  Medieval Europeans aristocrats threw an annual feast and
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