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Never Retreat, Never Surrender: The Incredible Spartans

What follows is an interview of Professor Paul Cartledge by Richard Marranca relating to the culture and history of Sparta, an ancient Greek city-state that has fascinated many across the world for centuries. Here is what we know about the Spartans from the perspective of a world recognized scholar who has studied this ancient people for decades:

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RM (Richard Marranca): Is there much archaeology being done at Sparta now?  What’s left of ancient Sparta? 

Yes, much – typically rescue excavations in and around Sparta, but the modern town of Sparta (1834) was built smack on top of the ancient, so there’s not much left to get at easily. 

RM: From your brilliant and comprehensive book, The Spartans, I read that Sparta wasn’t much of a built-up city with an urban center, like Athens and other city-states (poleis). For most of its history, it had no wall. Where was Sparta located and who were the patron gods? What did it look like? And can you give us some of the demographics on Sparta?  

Thucydides said Sparta was settled in an ancient, pre-urban manner – by ‘villages’ (komai), of which there were 4, plus – at a distance of some 5km – Amyklai. There was no city wall until the 3rd century BCE, and you’re right, by then it was a sign of Sparta’s weakness. Sparta had one patron god(dess): Athena. Her surname Poliachos (‘City-holder’) was alternatively Chalkioikos (‘of the bronze house’) because the walls of her official 6th-century temple on the ‘acropolis’ was adorned with bronze plates probably on the inside walls (maybe designed or fashioned by a local man named Gitiadas). Demographics: perhaps as many as 35,000-40,000 Spartans (men, women and children) citizens by c. 550, perhaps 30,000 in 480, then after the 460s a steep decline to just over 1000 adult male citizens in the late 370s. Besides Spartans, there lived within the bounds of the Spartan state (huge – max 8400 km. squared) two other population groups: local free Greek Perioikoi (about 50 communities – if of average size, about 75,000 adult male citizens in all) and Helots (unknowable – a guesstimate would be 100,000 men women and children, i.e. about 3 times as big as the Spartans).

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A section of surviving wall that surrounded Sparta. StanTravels, Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 4.0 International, Wikimedia Commons

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RM: What are some of the main factors that created this unique and highly successful culture and war machine? And whether real or not, who was Lycurgus? 

Factors:  topography, geopolitics – the Spartans managed to acquire easily the biggest city territory in all Hellas, all the Greek world, a territory protected by difficulty of access from without and within by the Taygetos mountain chain. After finally conquering and incorporating Messenia, by 600 BCE, elite aristocratic Spartans came to a compromise with ordinary poorer Spartans to adopt a common, self-denying, communally oriented lifestyle, including Greece’s only compulsory educational cycle for all (agoge), and a strong military orientation – to keep the Helots in their place! Lycurgus: probably at least semi-fictional ‘lawgiver’ to whom most of Sparta’s historical institutions including the agoge were credited. I personally think of him as a convenient fiction.

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Map showing the ancient territory of Sparta. Marsyas, Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 4.0 International, Wikimedia Commons

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RM: Can you tell us some key aspects of the political system of Sparta? You have chapters on the great leaders in Spartan history. Can you tell us about a few?  

Political system: there’s great controversy over how precisely to define Sparta’s ‘constitution’, as it had strong elements of kingship, aristocracy and a sort of quasi-democratic equality. Basically I’d say it was a peculiar kind of aristocratic oligarchy, i.e. ruled top down but requiring popular assent to the decisions taken in advance by the elite (esp. Gerousia + Ephorate). 

Great leaders: 2 kings, 2 commoners: Kleomenes I (r.c. 520-490) – most powerful mainland Greek figure of his day, key to beefing up Greek/Athenian resistance to Persia in late 490s but died – murdered? – in odd circumstances. Agesilaus II (b. c. 445, r. c. 400-360): ditto, failed in Asia but succeeded in getting his hardline, pro-oligarchic policy implemented throughout Peloponnese. He failed in the end, however, versus Thebes and Athens, and was a major cause of Sparta’s precipitous decline in the 360s. Brasidas (flourished 431-death in 422): served as ephor and as commander of both the land-based commando force in 425 and of a major allied army in 424 to keep Thessaly from going over to Athens in the Peloponnesian War. He died in winning a battle in 422 that successfully kept the key northern strategic base of Amphipolis in permanent revolt from its founder Athens. Lysander (c. 450s to 395): the older lover of adolescent Agesilaus, came to prominence as a victorious naval commander at the end of the Peloponnesian war, securing massive Persian financial support. He failed in an apparent attempt to have the kingship thrown open to families besides the Agiads and Eurypontids, but crucially backed Agesilaus in the disputed royal succession within the Eurypontid house, then fell out with him later in a big way and died at Haliartos in the imprudent invasion of Boeotia.

RM: Can you explain the education of boys – leaving the home and going into the barracks and the rigorous education and all that – as you mention in The Spartans: “the compulsory and communal educational system known as Agoge or Raising/Upbringing.” 

Agoge: As mentioned, it was unique in all Greece – and for that reason commended by both Plato and Aristotle, but also heavily criticized by Aristotle for being excessively military, producing citizens more like wild beasts than civilized! It was, I believe, a repurposed and comprehensively redefined version of male maturation rituals, principally adolescent, designed to ease and mark transition from boy (pais), lad (paidiskos) to man (anêr), hence the inclusion (I believe) of a pederastic dimension (Agesilaus nb went through the agoge, with Lysander as his love).

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RM: How did Athens and other democracies differ from Sparta?  

Let me count the ways… but first I must make clear that Athens was exceptionally – not normatively – democratic. Sparta had kings (very very un-democratic) and an aristocratic Gerousia (senate). Athens had no kings, had a pre-deliberative Council of 500 (chosen by lot), and a decision-making Assembly. At Athens, most offices were filled by lot – the democratic way. Sparta had no sortitive offices – all offices were filled by election (and a very undemocratic sort of ‘popular’ election – ‘childish’ according to Aristotle). Athens had a popular judiciary (all juror-judges chosen by lot) a key part of its function being to act as a second sovereign body checking on, i.e. either overturning or corroborating, decisions of the Assembly. There were perhaps as many as several hundred other cities which had some form of ‘democratic’ constitution but all of them were less democratically developed than those of Athens.

RM: Who were the helots? Did having a huge local slave class under its heels give Sparta a bad reputation in Greece? Did it also encourage Spartan xenophobia and provincialism? I guess I’m asking, what were the benefits and detriments of controlling the helots for so long?  

Helots: Scholars differ over when Helots became helotized, and over whether all Helots – Messenians and Laconians – were Helots on the same terms, and over what those terms precisely were! I’d say they all suffered the same terms and conditions – ultimately they all lived under threat of being judicially murdered on grounds of being enemies of the state – and that those terms and conditions had been established by 600, if not soon after. They worshipped the same gods as their Spartan masters, they spoke the same dialect of Greek, they were allowed – unlike slaves proper, e.g. in Athens – to have families (wives, children). But they had no personal or political freedoms: ‘Heilotai’ means ‘captives’, i.e. war-captives, and that’s ultimately how the Spartans treated them all in law. But some (Messenians) felt their loss of freedom more and were more hostile than other Helots, some (Laconians) actually lived in the homes of their Spartan masters and mistresses as domestic servants, and no doubt some of them enjoyed quite good personal relations, just as some of them were probably treated quite brutally (cf. house slaves in the Old US South). Spartan men had sex with female Helots, hence a category of ‘halfbreeds’ called mothakes

The benefit of having a slave class of Helots was – quite simply – having a state of the Spartan type, at all, since the Helots were the basis of it – economic and cultural. They were the basis of Spartan military might – until the Peloponnesian War, and especially in the 370s, when they became a liability—their hostility exploited as such, especially by the Thebans who liberated the Messenians in 370/69. That was the end of Sparta as a great power.

Xenophobia: the Spartans were indeed exceptionally xenophobic, partly for security reasons (ditto their treatment of the Helots). They conducted periodic ‘expulsions of xenoi’.

RM: So, the helots made it possible for the Spartans to focus on preparing / conducting war; even Spartan women seemed to benefit from freedoms that Greek women of that time didn’t have. So, they had more time to exercise and be healthy and raise great warriors?  

Spartan women: see my article in Classical Quarterly 1981, in my Spartan Reflections collection (2001). They were indeed freed – by their Helot maidservants – from having to perform the routine tedious daily chores performed by ordinary free Geek citizen women elsewhere (cooking, clothes-making, housecleaning etc). As adolescent girls, they ate more than other Greek females of their age, and they exercised more, and publicly (i.e. were less closely chaperoned).

RM: I recall two women that you mentioned in your book, Gorgo and the royal woman, Cynisca, who won horse races at the Olympics. Can you tell us about these two and others that are extraordinary?  

Those two are the only Spartan women (before the 3rd century BC) about whom we know anything much, and they certainly were extraordinary, apart from being royals. Gorgo: daughter of a king (see Kleomenes I above) and wife of a king, Leonidas (Kleomenes’ half-brother) of Thermopylae fame. Clearly very intelligent – see her two mentions in Herodotus.  Cynisca: as her prizewinning epigram at Olympia (396 BC) boasts, she was the daughter of a king (Archidamos II – see Thucydides) and full sister of a king (Agesilaus) and half-sister of another, older king (Agis II). She was the first woman to win an Olympic crown (owning, not driving a 4-horse chariot) but opinions differ whether it was her idea – or Agesilaus’s – to go seriously for that sport, normally the preserve of men, including Spartan men.

RM: How did the girls grow up? Did they study? Did they have a good diet and was that for eugenics? You also mentioned the Spartan fondness for dance – did it have a purpose or just for pleasure?  

See the article mentioned above. Eugenics, yes, in the sense that the Spartans wished to minimize maternal death in childbirth and not in the sense of wishing to produce a ‘master race’ in a Nazi sort of way. Dance: yes, the Spartans – men as well as women – were very keen on dance (choros in Greek) and devised many native dances. Among them were dances for nubile adolescent girls on the threshold of marriage (c. 17 or 18) called parthenoi, hence e.g. the Partheneia (songs composed for them to sing and dance to, by Spartan Alcman c. 600 BC).

RM: You mentioned the ‘Sayings of Spartan Women’. Can you elaborate on that?

Plutarch (c. 100 AD/CE) made a collection of such Apophthegmata (as he did one of Spartan men, and one of Greek kings and commanders). Sparta famously produced ‘laconic’ speech. Gorgo has some ‘Sayings’ attributed to her in Plutarch’s collection. Not all such Sayings are authentic.

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Bronze figure of a running girl, 520-500 BC. Spartan. Caeciliusinhorto, Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 4.0 International, Wikimedia Commons

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RM: I recall that Pericles’s Funeral Oration evinces disdain for the Spartan system – it’s lack of freedoms and culture. What was Pericles’ overall message and critique?  

His overall message was that democracy is good and the Spartans didn’t have it. Instead, they had to be coerced into being brave rather than being brave by free, educated choice. Of course the contrast was overdrawn.

RM: Did Sparta influence Plato in his writing of The Republic (the first study of an ordered society)?

Yes, heavily – also the later Laws. But Plato was not a slavish follower or advocate of Spartan mores. The Spartans would not have begun to understand either his philosophical argument or the education program he prescribed for the Guardians of his Ideal City.

RM: In my literature classes last semester, I had the students look at Aristophanes’ Lysistrata, so I was especially fascinated by your portrait of Lampito. Can you tell us about her? And might she be based on a real person?  

Her name is a real Spartan name (mother or grandmother of King Archidamos II). But she needn’t have been based on any one particular Spartan woman. Her physique was a – comic – tribute to Spartan physical education. What mattered for Aristophanes was that she, a Spartan woman representing her city, was prepared to join the enemy – Athenian women – in declaring a sex-strike!

RM: Can you tell us about the Persians Wars? How did the Greeks defeat the Persians and what were the special qualities of Sparta, Athens and other Greek states that led to this incredible victory over the superpower, Persia? 

Too big a question to be answered briefly! It took Herodotus a huge, massive book. Basically these are the key considerations/factors: (1) the resisting Greeks (only a little over 30 cities out of 700 or so in the Aegean region!!) were fighting for their homeland and families as well as for their own lives and political freedom, whereas the heterogeneous polyglot Persian army was a ramshackle, pick-up mob. (2) the resisters – especially Themistocles of Athens at sea – knew the terrain and their military capacity far better than Xerxes’ Persians. (3) thanks to Sparta and Athens agreeing to bury their differences and join in resistance, the morale of the resisting Greeks was far higher than that of the Persians, especially after Salamis.

RM: Do you have any favorite passages or themes in Herodotus?

I do: 1.207 (cycle of fortune);  3.38 (human communities develop powerful local customs, so powerful that each community thinks it’s always doing the ‘right thing’ even though the ‘right thing’ for one community might violently contradict the norm of another (e.g over cannibalism)); 8.3 (war is hell, civil war being worse than ordinary war against an external enemy).

RM: In The Spartans, you discussed the powerful “What if” – if the Persians had overtaken the coast of Asia Minor and the rest of Greece. That’s big stuff – a top ten. Would that have changed history?   

Persia – Achaemenid Persia – did control its Asia Minor western seaboard and its Greek cities there for long stretches: c. 550-479, 386-330. The key moment, so far as Western and other history goes, was 479, the battle of Plataea. Had the resisting Greeks lost that one, well, probably there would have been no Athenian-led cultural revolution of c. 450-400, no Athenian democracy, no Socrates, no Plato, no Parthenon, no Sophocles, no Democritus, etc. Sparta, in contrast, gained no special cultural benefit and in the 460s suffered a catastrophic earthquake. Sparta’s victory in the Peloponnesian War therefore brought no cultural benefit – whereas the restoration of democracy at Athens in 403 did (Plato, Demosthenes, etc) as did the victory of Thebes at Leuctra (freedom for Messenian helots, extension of federalism to Arcadia…)

These would not have been inevitable, nothing in human history is strictly that, but quite likely! Thucydides had to try to answer the question: why did the Peloponnesian war happen at all (not only why it happened as and when it did), and why did the Spartans start it? His answer: the Spartans were convinced of three things: (1) that the empire of the Athenians constituted a threat both to their own alliance and ultimately to their own status and power and therefore they had no choice but to attack, (2) that they would win and quite soon/easily, and (3) that (partly because) the gods, especially Apollo, were on their side against the impious Athenians who had broken an oath-sworn treaty.

RM: In 370 BC the Battle of Leuctra shocked Greece. Can you tell us about this incredible game-changer? How did Xenophon report on this? 

Xenophon, though an Athenian, was often pro-Spartan in his Hellenica (Greek history, 411-362) which was really a Peloponnesian history told from a Spartan viewpoint. He was so disgusted that the Spartans broke a solemn oath (cf. above) by invading and occupying Thebes in 382 that he believed the Leuctra victory of the Thebans in 371 to be divine retribution! Thebes won, actually, because of the military reforms engineered and presided over by the great Pelopidas and the even greater Epaminondas, and because the morale both of the Spartans themselves and of their allies was at a low point.  The misguided foreign policy that resulted in Leuctra was essentially Agesilaus’s, but the commanding king who died was Cleombrotus. Xenophon says he was drunk. Sparta lost 400 out of 700 citizens present, about one third of their entire adult male citizen body.

So, Sparta went from top dog—for centuries—to losing its might and its helots. Other city-states, such as Thebes, gained the upper hand. Soon Philip and Alexander and the Successors conquered, followed by Rome. You mentioned that Sparta became a vacation spot and got obsessed with antiquarianism. Is it fair to say that Sparta got swallowed up by a changing world that it was not prepared for? 

Yes that would be fair. Spartan temperament and ideology had always been conservative – by the 4th century it had become outright reactionary.

RM: Did Sparta remain a powerful image for others, including Romans? Even today there are towns and teams named Sparta and Spartans, etc. 

Yes, indeed, to the extent that some Romans claimed they were related, even that they were descended from the Spartans. Yes in the early modern, neoclassical period hundreds of north Amrrican towns have ‘Sparta’ as or in their name, e.g. Sparta, Wisconsin.

RM: You ended your book with the chapter on Leonidas who many people know from his undaunted leadership at Thermopylae – and from the movie “300”, of course. What does this leader represent to Sparta, to Greece, to the world? You mentioned the admirations of Michel de Montaigne, Lord Byron, Cavafy and others. Should we be as impressed with Sparta as we are with Athens?

Marble statue of a helmed hoplite (5th century BC), maybe Leonidas, Sparta, Archæological Museum of Sparta, Greece. de:Benutzer:Ticinese, GNU Free Documentation License, Wikimedia Commons

I think Leonidas followed in his half-brother Kleomenes I’s footsteps – convinced that the Persians constituted a mortal danger not only to Sparta but to all Hellas, and that therefore they must be resisted militarily, wherever and whenever, at all costs (hence Thermopylae and his famous 300) – a view, however, that not all Spartans let alone all Greeks (viz esp. the Thebans!) agreed with. I believe he was even prepared to play fast and loose with an alleged Delphic oracle saying a Spartan king had to die or all Sparta would be destroyed….hence his own death. We should be mightily impressed with that sort of morale attitude – it made the key contribution, I believe, to the Greeks’ and especially the Spartans’ decisive victory at Plataea (see above) – but we should be equally or more unimpressed by the ‘dark side’ of Spartan society, the Helots.

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About Paul Cartledge

Professor Paul Anthony Cartledge is a British ancient historian and academic whose field of study is Athens and Sparta in the Classical Age. From 2008 to 2014 he was the A. G. Leventis Professor of Greek Culture at the University of Cambridge. He was chief historical consultant for the BBC TV series The Greeks and the Channel 4 series The Spartans, presented by Bettany Hughes. Cartledge is also a holder of the Gold Cross of the Order of Honour of Greece and an Honorary Citizen of (modern) Sparta.

Cover Image, Top Left: EyeShotYou, Pixabay

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In Search of the Fisherman

Professor Frank J. Korn has retired from his teaching position on the Classical Studies faculty at Seton Hall University.  He is a Fulbright Scholar at the American Academy in Rome and the author of nine books on various aspects of the Eternal City.  He is listed in Marquis Who’s Who as “a notable classical educator and writer.”  Recipient of the Princeton Prize for Distinguished Teaching, he resides with his wife Camille in Scotch Plains, N.J.  The couple’s three sons –  Frank, Ronald, and John and their families live nearby.  His latest book    Below Rome, the Story of the Catacombs    which he co-authored with his wife, is available on Amazon or from the publisher, St. Johann Press, Haworth, N.J.

After the great fire of Rome in July, A.D. 64, the suspected arsonist, Emperor Nero himself, set the Imperial propaganda machinery into high gear to get the word out among the surviving populace that the conflagration had been the work of the tiny Christian community in the city. To strengthen his story, he cited the “weird” rituals of the “fanatical cultists,”  their sacrilege by worshiping not the pagan deities of the Roman pantheon but an ”absurd” man-god instead, and their disloyalty to the state. As a clincher, Nero charged the followers of Christ with many other heinous crimes, including cannibalism. To support this last allegation, he quoted from Chrisitan writings: “Unless you eat my flesh and drink my blood you shall not have life in you.”

Moreover, he had the Senate enact legislation outlawing Christianity as a subversive organization, issuing a warrant for the arrest of the leaders of the “organization” (i.e. Peter and Paul) and launching the first persecution of the Christians. Eventually, the first Supreme Pontiff (i.e. the Bishop of Rome or Pope), Peter the Apostle, was arrested and forcibly taken to the unspeakable horror of the Mamertine Prison, adjacent to the Forum.

For nine months Peter suffered the brutalities of the jail guards and was then informed that Nero had given the word for his execution. Peter, along with some of his flock, was crucified before an enormous crowd jammed into the stadium known as the Circus of Nero, on the southern slope of Vatican Hill.  Behind this race course was a public cemetery of streets lined with the mausolea of affluent pagan Romans. Adjoining these streets was a sort of potter’s field where the grieving friends of the apostle interred his remains

A Sacred Tomb

For the next quarter of a century or so, the location of the grave was marked     as a safeguard against desecration  – only in the memories of these Christians.  During this period too, an unofficial Christian necropolis developed around the grave of Peter since many    facing martyrdom    made it known that they wished to lie forever near their beloved bishop.

Pope Anacletus, as depicted on the wall of the Sistine Chapel. Wikimedia Commons, Public Domain

When in A.D. 90 the first pogrom against the Christians had abated somewhat, Anacletus, the second successor to St. Peter as Bishop of Rome, built a simple shrine directly over the grave of Peter. To this site would come, daily, groups of Christians in pious pilgrimage. These pilgrimages would, in the early centuries of the Church, cease each time a new wave of anti-Christian atrocities would be instigated by the state. Yet, as much as the government wished to suppress the infant religion, it would not go so far as to desecrate or destroy the grave of Peter, in compliance with its own statute, Violatio Sepulchri, which declared all burial grounds  – Pagan, Jewish, Christian alike     to be inviolable.

A persistent tradition tells us, however, that the persecution by the Emperor Valerian in 257-258 was so savage that the Christians feared for the security of the apostle’s mortal remains and thus secretly exhumed them for transferral to the catacomb of St. Sebastian on the Appian Way. Graffiti and inscriptions in this subterranean necropolis (one reads:  Domus Petri, Home of Peter) seem to corroborate the claim by some scholars that Peter was indeed for a short period entombed therein. Valerian did confiscate all Christian cemeteries during his reign of terror but when, under his successor Gallienus, these grounds were restored to the Christian community, the apostle’s relics were re-interred in their original grave, still indicated by a memorial.

A letter from about the year 200 by a certain Roman presbyter (priest) named Gaius perhaps refers to this shrine. From the letter and later archeological evidence we learn that the Christian community in time built a brick wall around their potter’s field to prevent further encroachment by pagan mausolea. Since the wall crossed directly over the apostle’s tomb, it incorporated into its fabric, at that point, a “trophy” as Gaius calls it.  (Trophy in the ancient idiom meant monument.)  This was either the memorial erected by Pope Anacletus or one by a later  pontiff. From a manufacturer’s stamp in the tile of a drain in this plot it can be plausibly inferred that the wall project dates to about A.D. 150.

With the victory of Constantine over Maxentius in the famous battle of the Milvian Bridge, there opened a new chapter in the history of Rome and of Christianity. Crediting the Christians’ God for his victory, the new emperor, Constantine, in gratitude, gave two state properties (the Lateran and the Vatican) to the beleaguered community, ordered a temple to be built over the site of Christ’s tomb on Golgotha in the Roman province of Judea, and in 326 began the building of an immense, splendid five-aisle basilica to honor the apostle, with the main altar placed directly over the modest oratory of Anacletus.

Tradition informs us that Constantine was most reverential in caring for the holy remains. The Liber Pontificalis, a book of biographies of popes from St. Peter until the 15th century, describes how the tomb of the apostle was opened in the presence of Pope St. Sylvestor and the Emperor, the bones collected and placed in a small but precious chest of gilt bronze surmounted by a solid gold cross weighing 160 pounds, and entombed beneath the main altar of the massive church.

In 594, due to the troubled times, Pope Gregory the Great ordered the raising of the basilica’s floor so that the apostolic tomb, now a veritable repository of gold and silver and jewels, might be more secure out of sight. It could now be viewed only by going through a passage in the crypt beneath the church.  Subsequent floor elevations and new altars by later popes, Clement VIII for one, relocated the tomb of Peter even deeper underground.

In 846, the hapless Eternal City was plundered by the non-Christian Saracens, who destroyed everything in their violent path and even plundered the temple and the tomb of Peter. From this point on there was to be no trace of  Constantine’s gold cross and precious stones.

After the departure of the merciless Saracens, the damages to the great basilica were repaired by Pope Leo IV (who also raised the lofty fortifications that we still see today encircling the Vatican, which accounts for the enclave’s other name, “The Leonine City”). Nearly all of Leo’s successors continued to embellish the ancient church with rare and costly productions of old and contemporary Christian art. The European nations which had by now been illuminated by the glow of Christianity also sent marvelous gifts of art to enrich St. Peter’s.

The 1300’s marked the beginning of another significant chapter in the basilica’s history. Upon the election of the French Pope, CLement V, the papal residence was transferred, for political reasons, from Rome to the sleepy town of Avignon in southern France.  Here the papacy stayed for 70 years. During that time St. Peter’s fell dark and abandoned.  From sheer neglect the basilica began to deteriorate. Its south wall bulged outward more than six feet out of true and the roof started to collapse. In 1378, Pope Gregory XI brought the papal throne back to Rome, but too late to save the crumbling basilica.

Finally, in 1450, the decay of St. Peter’s had reached such alarming dimensions that the architects of Pope Nicholas VI exhorted him to raze the sacred edifice lest it someday fall down upon the Holy Father and his flock gathered there for a pontifical Mass. But Nicholas died before he could carry out his intention to level the old structure and replace it with a far more splendid one. It wasn’t until eight popes and more than a half century later that the Constantinian basilica was pulled down to make way for the magnificent St. Peter’s we know and love today.

Testing the Tradition

The passage of so many centuries notwithstanding, Catholic tradition continued to hold that St. Peter’s Church    both the old and the new     stood expressly as a monument over the grave of the apostolic prince, Peter. In 1939, the newly elected Pope Pius XII had the faith and the fortitude to put this tradition to the test. As preparations were being made in the grottoes under the basilica for the tomb of his predecessor Pius XI, the digging had accidentally led to the discovery of an ancient pagan burial ground. Pius XII then authorized further excavations far below the nave of the church and gave orders for a specific search for the tomb of St. Peter.

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St. Peter’s Basilica. bmarxdueren, Pixabay.

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Previous pontiffs had shied away from such a quest. One deterrent was the frightening warning by Pope Gregory the Great back in 594 that anyone who would commit such a sacrilege as to disturb the bones of the apostle would suffer awful consequences. Another was the well-documented calamity, coincidental or not, that accompanied the last disturbance of the holy earth around Peter’s grave. When the architect Bernini in the early 1600’s informed Clement VIII that the massive columns supporting his proposed bronze baldacchino would need strong and deep foundations that required extensive digging near the apostolic tomb, the Holy Father, acutely aware of Gregory’s curse, was most reluctant to grant permission. Bernini ultimately prevailed. Work was initiated, auspiciously, on the Feast of Sts. Peter and Paul, June 29.

Within a week, the foreman in charge of the work died. Hours following his death, his assistant passed away. Hysteria swept over Rome and intensified when a few days later another official involved in the project died. When the pontiff himself took seriously ill, a short time later, all the laborers walked off the job, terrified by the omens. Eventually the panic eased, Rome regained its composure, and Bernini, via a promise of pay raises, was able to get the diggers back to the task.

Through their work, Pius XII’s excavators found a cemeterial street lined with house-like sepulchers whose interiors contained niches with urns of ashes or bones of Romans from the Imperial Age. At the very least, this supported the long-standing belief that Constantine had built the original St. Peter’s over a cemetery.

The excitement in the Vatican became palpable when, early in the digging, deep and directly under the papal altar, a small, ruined, immured monument was uncovered, fitting the description of Gaius’ “trophy.” More exciting still, however, was the slab, undoubtedly a gravestone, found at the foot of this wall shrine.  When upon raising the stone the excavators unfortunately found an empty grave — the long trail seemed to have come to a hopeless dead end.

Lost and Found

But a humble, learned professor from the University of Rome, Margherita Guarducci, was granted permission by Pius XII to continue the search. An expert in ancient graffiti, she spent the next six years scrutinizing the crude etchings on the wall above and near the vacant grave. In her customary scholarly thoroughness, Professor Guarducci wandered through the catacombs of Rome, comparing the etchings with the graffiti of the subterranean galleries to further authenticate the former.

One day she deciphered a Greek inscription near a recess in a side wall.  It revealed this simple message:  “Peter is within.”  Now the professor examined the recess itself and was persuaded that it was indeed a burial niche for human bones. And though Constantine’s marble enclosure of this original shrine was gone, it would have doubtlessly incorporated this side wall, too.

Another dead-end? Not to the dedicated academic detective. Interrogating workmen who had helped in the digging from the start, she learned that a monsignor assigned to the excavation work had some 10 years earlier come upon some bones in the niche in question, gathered them in a box, and moved them to a nearby storage room. By this time, Pius XII and his successor John XXIII had entered the ages, and it was Pope Paul VI who authorized the professor to attempt to identify the relics. With the aid of fellow scholars from the university, she determined the bones to be those of a man of 60 or 70 in age. Some handfuls of soil and shreds of purple and gold fabric were also found in the box along with the bones. All of this, plus the inscriptions, in addition to what ancient writings and tradition had to say on the matter, added up to one irrefutable fact as far as Professor Guarducci was concerned: Here indeed were the mortal remains of Peter the apostle! 

Tradition relates that he would have been about 70 years of age at his death and that he was buried in the earth. Constantine, in encasing the remains, would appropriately have wrapped them in precious cloth. As for the remains being found in a place other than that marked by Pope Anacletus, that was simple to explain: In an age where grave robbing and desecration were virtual national pastimes, Constantine, or someone in charge of the basilica soon after him, would likely have taken the precaution of transferring the holy relics to a safe, clandestine place nearby.

The evidence was persuasive enough to Pope Paul VI. On June 26, 1968, at a splendid ceremony in the Basilica, he settled the issue for the Catholic world.  From the papal altar, sunlit by golden beams streaming through the little windows of Michelangelo’s dome, beneath the towering letters at the base of the cupola declaring:  TU ES PETRUS…” the Holy Father, 262nd successor to the apostle, announced that the remains of St. Peter, the Fisherman from Galilee, had been found.

Cover Photo Image, Top Left: View of St. Peter’s Basilica at sunset. Anna Klein, Pixabay

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Hunger for Fame: The Extraordinary Life and Death of Alexander the Great

Alexander the Great is perhaps best known in popular literature as arguably the most accomplished military conqueror in world history. But he was far more than a conqueror.

He had his roots in the land of ancient Macedonia………..

The Early Setting 

Geographically speaking, ancient Macedonia was mountainous with lowlands,  highlands and thick forests. It spanned parts of what is today Northern Greece and the Balkan Peninsula. The ancient Macedonians were substantially influenced by Greeks to the south as well as the massive Persian Empire to the east, which had nearly conquered Greece. The Macedonians prayed to the same gods as other Greeks and sent a contingent to the Olympics. Their language was a dialect of Greek. Unlike the rest of Greece, the Macedonian nobility practiced polygamy. Greeks tended to prefer wine mixed with water (see the example of Plato’s dialogue on love, Symposium), whereas Macedonians drank undiluted wine. Many Greeks thought of Macedon as rough and barbarian – the proverbial country mouse compared to the more sophisticated city-states, such as Athens, Corinth, and Thebes to the south. 

Yet for all their Homeric impulses, the Macedonians did not have an early history of success: sometimes in battle or regicide their kings died before their time. But a revolution in warfare, a new paradigm, emerged in the persons of Philip and his son, Alexander. 

In ancient times, princes of one kingdom might live in another kingdom as hostages in order to maintain the collective peace. As a youth, Philip was sent to Thebes and was treated very well by the ruling family. It was his great luck and pluck to immerse himself in the revolutionary changes of King Epaminondas, who had accomplished the near-miraculous by defeating Sparta at the Battle of Leuctra in 371 BC (all dates herein are BC). Epaminondas was a genius at military innovations, such as increasing the rows of the phalanx to fifty and using an oblique attack, which broke the Spartan army – a shock and game-changer in military strategy. 

In 359, Philip’s older brother, King Perdiccas III, was killed in battle against the Illyrians. Philip served as regent to Perdiccas’s infant child, but he assumed the kingship (basileus) for himself. As usual, this change of kingship was accompanied by mayhem and murder. It was a fit start for Philip, a foreshadowing of his eventual demise. He was ruthless – he had to be. He increased the size of the Macedonian phalanx and the length of the sarissa (pike) to 18-20 feet, added more regular and elite units, such as the Foot Companions and Companion Cavalry. Not a tall or large person, what Philip lacked in physical stature he more than made up with brilliance, diplomacy, and fighting spirit. He was known as a philanderer with many wives and relationships. His body featured battle wounds and was blind in one eye, possibly from an Athenian arrow. Olympias became Philip’s fourth wife. She was from Epirus, a mountainous land now shared by Greece and Albania. She and Philip were possibly initiates of the cult of the Great Gods and, in addition, Olympias was a follower of the Dionysian Mysteries (the Bacchae of Euripides hints at the wildness of this religion). It was said that Philip was afraid of her because she slept with snakes and behaved ‘witchy’. But Olympias may have contended with bad press. Professor Kara Cooney, Chair of the Department of Near Eastern Languages and Cultures at UCLA and author of When Women Ruled the World, shared this applicable reflection: “Powerful women did not receive fair treatment from historians, not at all.”   

Alexander was born on 20 July 356 in Pella, the capital of Macedon. One tale relates that the goddess Artemis was so attentive at Alexander’s birth that she was not aware of a madman torching her temple at Ephesus. About Alexander there is much myth-making, a common practice among luminaries of world history. Olympias apparently instilled in Alexander the notion that Zeus visited her one night, which brought Alexander closer to divinity, conferring on him dual descent from Philip and Zeus. Alexander’s parents believed they were related to Dionysus (god of wine) and Herakles (divine hero). Alexander was thrilled by the exploits of Achilles. (He is said to have kept a copy of Homer’s Iliad annotated by Aristotle, and a dagger under his pillow at night.)

Alexander’s Youth and Aristotle as Teacher

When Alexander was twelve, Philip bought a Thessalian stallion, Bucephalus (oxhead), black with a white patch on its forehead. The horse proved unmanageable, but Alexander bragged that he could handle him. Legend says that father and son made a bet. Alexander realized Bucephalus was afraid of his shadow, so Alexander turned the horse’s head toward the sun. Alexander was able to gallop on the horse. “Find yourself another kingdom,” said King Philip. “Macedonia is not large enough.” This gift later carried Alexander across swaths of Europe and the Middle East, before dying in India. (In those times, horses did not have stirrups or much of a saddle.) 

Alexander had a circle of friends who later became important military and political luminaries: Hephaestion, Ptolemy, Nearchus, Harpalus, to name a few. Alexander was known as an excellent runner and hunter and very precocious. Being a successful hunter was one way a young Macedonian received special privileges. Alexander had two teachers, Lysimachus and the austere Leonidas (a relative), who early on trained him in war and physical education 

In 334, when Alexander was thirteen, Aristotle began teaching Alexander. There were political and educational reasons for this. Plutarch writes that they met in “the precinct of the nymphs near Mieza, where to this day visitors are shown the stone seats and shady walks of Aristotle. It would appear, moreover, that Alexander not only received from his master his ethical and political doctrines, but also participated in those secret and more profound teachings.” For three years Aristotle taught Alexander and his circle philosophy, politics, science, literature, geography, medicine (later Alexander sometimes helped the wounded after battle), and more. (In years to come, with both personal interest and financial support, Alexander often showed a love of the arts, music, and drama, especially the plays of Euripides. Apelles was Alexander’s favorite painter and court portraitist.) 

The emphasis on science, thinking, and logic surely had a hand in Alexander’s success. Aristotle’s Organon shows some of what concerned Aristotle and Alexander.  Alexander would bring scientists, historians, and philosophers on his conquests – just like Napoleon in Egypt two thousand years later. During his conquests, Alexander also sent back flora and fauna to Aristotle. 

Alexander was able to see larger than his brilliant teacher Aristotle, who wrote on every subject possible, but whose geographical knowledge was limited. The earth was much larger than Aristotle believed. Aristotle also believed in the kingship of the man with outstanding excellence who is like a god, and in the inferiority of non-Greeks:   Alexander believed in the first but not in the second, as we’ll see later with his politics and his marriages to three foreign princesses. Unlike most Greeks, Alexander rejected the notion that foreigners were to be treated as inferiors — like “plants and animals” (Aristotle). Over the coming years, Alexander developed a plan, a vision, larger than the independent polis and Greece itself; it would include foreigners at the highest levels. 

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Map of the Kingdom of Macedon at the death of Philip II in 336 BC. Marsyas (French original); Kordas (Spanish translation), CC BY-SA 2.5, Wikimedia Commons

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Philip’s Triumphs, 7 Wives and Assassination

Many Greeks, especially those such as the Athenian orator Demosthenes (384-322), were justly apprehensive about Philip’s ambitions. Demosthenes (like Churchill in the 1930s) warned Athens against the growing danger of the Macedonians, but there was a delay in others realizing this. Through war and diplomacy, the sly king was looming closer. At last, a coalition of city-states led by Athens and Thebes combined forces to stop Philip. 

The Battle of Chaeronea, a game-changer, broke out in Boeotia in August 338. Philip seems to have feigned a retreat to draw out the inexperienced Athenians. Alexander (eighteen years of age) led the Companion Cavalry. “This in itself speaks worlds both for Alexander’s prowess and for Philip’s faith in his command abilities,” Paul Cartledge, Emeritus A. G. Leventis Professor of Greek Culture, Cambridge University, writes in Alexander the Great (86). Alexander ruptured the wall-like phalanx that dispersed the opposition. Plutarch writes that Alexander was the “first to break the ranks of the Sacred Band of Thebans.” Even when the battle was lost, the perfect courage of the Sacred Band led to their annihilation. (Two hundred and fifty-four skeletons of the Sacred Band have been found in a mass grave in Chaeronea.)

In winning the battle, Philip ended the independent polis in Greece and upended the balance of powers. Now leader over most of Greece, he punished Thebes but spared Athens. Philip didn’t want to destroy his allies, since he needed them to fight Persia. Athens had a great navy – so why weaken Athens? Philip set up the Hellenic League (aka League of Corinth) whose purpose was to unify the Greeks and fight the Persian Achaemenid Empire. Philip conquered powerful neighbors, wisely used diplomacy, created buffer states, filled his coffers, and was in a powerful position. He now turned his eyes to the East, sending an expeditionary force across the Hellespont into Asia Minor.   

Philip, who had six wives, married Eurydice, the seventh. He was 46 and she was a full-blooded Macedonian teenager. This put Alexander and his mother Olympias at some risk. At the wedding feast, Eurydice’s intoxicated uncle, Attalus, spoke of the need for a legitimate heir to the throne. Alexander jumped up, saying, “Villain, you take me for a bastard?” Philip drew his sword but was so drunk that he fell to the floor. 

Alexander and Olympias mistrusted Philip, especially because Philip and Eurydice had a son, a full-blooded Macedonian prince. Alexander was half Macedonian. Alexander and Olympias ended up going into exile for six months. Still, Philip didn’t want to be on the bad side of his own family; he planned on having his daughter, Cleopatra, marry her uncle, Olympias’ brother, the King of Epirus. It was a wise strategy in this power equation. Everyone seemed reconciled, or so it seemed. 

It is easy to understand Olympias and Alexander’s mistrust and fear. In those times, it would be dangerous to be out of favor in any royal family. Over the years, Philip had often been away campaigning; perhaps Alexander was not very close to him and, in fact, had Oedipal leanings toward Philip. Did Olympias and Alexander want Philip dead? If true, the timing was exquisite, and fate seemed to join ambition. Historians suggest that Philip had humiliated Pausanias (one of the royal bodyguards), with whom he had a sexual relationship. In Alexander the Great, Robin Lane Fox points how that Pausanias was from Epirus, which was also Olympias’ homeland, “and she might not have found it hard to work on a nobleman whom Philip had recruited away from his local friendships” (22) 

At the wedding, in a white robe, alongside his daughter Cleopatra, Philip walked without his bodyguards. This was in a theater in Aegae (modern Vergina). Pausanias ran up and stabbed Philip between the ribs. Pausanias fled toward his horses stationed near the walls. But he tripped on a vine and was dispatched by guards, including Alexander’s friends. Diodorus writes: “Such was the end of Philip, who had made himself the greatest of the kings in Europe in his time, and because of the extent of his kingdom had made himself a throned companion of the twelve gods.” This has been an intriguing “who done it?” Just as in the assassination of John F. Kennedy, a looming question is, was anyone else involved? 

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Philip II of Macedon, Roman copy after a Greek original of the 4th century BC. Public Domain, Wikimedia Commons

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The Beginning of Kingship     

In late summer 336: Alexander, at the age of twenty, assumed the kingship. “The army signed off on this quickly, suggesting he had prepared the ground before the murder of Philip,” Prof. Jean Alvares, Classics Professor at Montclair State University, suggested to me. As usual, there was a purge of real and imagined rivals. Alexander also made sure that allies stayed faithful. He advanced into Thrace to secure his borders and to crush revolts, as well as the Danube region to defeat the Getae.  

Some Greek city-states (poleis) rebelled against the Macedonians. There was also a rumor of Alexander’s death. Thebes, suffering from the presence of a Macedonian garrison since the Battle of Chaeronea, revolted. Thebes needed allies and much assistance, but not much of anything arrived. Alexander and the Macedonians raced to Thebes before anyone joined the proud, beleaguered city. The Macedonian force was much larger, but the Thebans fought bravely. The Macedonians fought their way into the city. Thebans not killed were enslaved and the city was razed. The house of the great poet, Pindar, was spared. 

Diogenes the Cynic and the Oracle of Delphi

On a visit to Corinth, Alexander visited Diogenes the Cynic (Cynicism is a school of philosophy meaning “dog-like” in Greek). It is said that Diogenes lived in a barrel. While he was sunbathing, Alexander stopped by and asked if he needed anything. Diogenes requested that Alexander “could get out of the sun.” Alexander remarked that if he were not Alexander, he would like to be Diogenes. More likely and important was Alexander’s visit to the Oracle of Delphi. The Pythia (the visionary priestess-prophet on her tripod chair) was not meeting anyone that day, but Alexander forced her to do so. The Pythia uttered, “You are invincible, my son.” 

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Remains at the Oracle of Delphi, Greece. Walkerssk, Public Domain, Pixabay

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In the spring of 334, Alexander and his army, cavalry and ships crossed the Hellespont, the narrow straight that separates Greece from Asia Minor and the Persian Empire. He jumped off the ship and threw his spear into the soil, declaring Asia “spear won.” Alexander and his best friend Hephaestion ran around the walls of Troy and left offerings at the Tombs of Achilles and Patroclus. Homer’s heroes always loomed large in Alexander’s mind from childhood to kingship. Alexander’s plan was to defeat the Persian Empire — an incredible ambition. He claimed that it was retribution for when the Persians destroyed Athens. He wanted to free the Greek cities under Persian rule and replace the Persian king. Clearly, there were a few motivations of a political and personal nature. He wanted to see and conquer more than anyone, to be the Goat (Greatest of All Time), and to live on the lips of people.

The Persian Empire and Battle of the River Granicus 

The Persian Empire, a multicultural superpower, was the largest of its day, stretching across the Balkans and Middle East to the Indus Valley. Its origins go back further, but it was around 550 when Cyrus the Great founded the empire, larger than any other empire of his time or before. Cyrus had a positive reputation for respecting the customs and religions of others and for restoring the Israelites back to their homeland. He is revered in the books of Isaiah and Ezra in the Old Testament. Xenophon wrote that Cyrus was “most generous of heart, most devoted to learning.” 

The imagery on the Apadana walls at Persepolis show that the concept of many people (vispadana) was significant to a multicultural empire. The official religion of the Persians was Zoroastrianism, which had a god of wisdom and light (Ahura Mazda) and a god of darkness (Ahriman), featuring fire altars under the open sky. Zoroastrianism influenced Judaism, Christianity, and Islam. 

During Alexander’s time, the Great King, the King of Kings, was Darius III (reigned from 336-330). Like the empire itself, the military consisted of many peoples, including Greek mercenaries such as Memnon of Rhodes. Memnon was a crafty leader and was married to Barsine, daughter of a satrap. Unfortunately, Darius did not follow Memnon’s advice. Memnon had recommended an attack on Greece and also a scorched earth policy – to wear down Alexander’s Hellenic League and avoid them for the time being. It can be effective against a powerful invader. Starve it, tire it out, look for a better position, wait for luck to turn. “He will win when he knows when to fight and when not to fight,” writes the Chinese military genius Sun Tzu.   

Darius objected to Memnon’s strategy. In fact, Darius had other worries and was not present at the battle. He did not know Alexander yet. In May 334 Alexander, in a white-plumed helmet and medusa-adorned breastplate, atop Bucephalus, led the Hellenic League against the Persians at the Battle of the Granicus, the first of three earth-shattering battles.

Parmenion (aka Parmenio) commanded the forces on the left, while Alexander commanded the Companion Cavalry on the right. Memnon commanded the Greek mercenaries fighting for Darius. Memnon was one of the many Greeks who hated and feared Alexander. (More Greeks fought against than with Alexander.) With the blare of trumpets, Alexander led his forces across the river and encountered the Persians. There were many parts to both armies including allies, infantry, cavalry, slingers, archers, and others. 

At one point, a Persian commander, Rhosaces, struck Alexander on his helmet and was killed by Alexander. Spithridates, another Persian commander, attacked Alexander from behind. Spithridates was about to dispatch Alexander when Cleitus the Black cut off his arm, saving Alexander and the whole campaign. 

As the Persians retreated, Alexander attacked the Greek mercenaries who were not used to best effect in the battle, as they were kept back. They were surrounded by Alexander’s men; thousands were killed and enslaved, to be sent to work in the mines in Greece. Alexander’s cruelty was a warning to others – this was not the first nor would it be the last time. 

The Persian army retreated without massive losses, but the situation was precarious. They realized their foe was something very dangerous. Alexander took over Sardis, Ephesus, and Miletus. (Miletus was the center of the Ionian philosophers/scientists like Thales.) Alexander retained Persians and other natives as satraps or governors and generally respected the Persian structure of governance. 

Memnon went on the offensive. He planned to reconquer the Aegean islands and join forces with the Spartan king to liberate Greece from Alexander. However, by a stroke of good luck for Alexander and the Hellenic League, Memnon suddenly died at the siege of Mytilene. He seemed to be one of the last great hopes for Darius. 

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Battle of the Granicus. Painting, 1665. Public Domain, Wikimedia Commons

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The Battle of Issus, November 333

For the Battle of Issus, King Darius III was present and led his enormous war machine. Modern historians estimate the number of the Hellenic League at 40,000 and the Persian forces at 50,000 – 60,000, though ancient sources record that there were over 250,000 Persians (ancient sources can be unreliable). Darius was so eager to destroy this young interloper that he gave up a superior defensive position. 

The set-piece battle unfolded on a narrow plane with mountains in the distance. Alexander led the Companion Cavalry on the right, with Parmenio leading the forces on the left. Alexander’s youth, zeal and unclouded confidence were balanced by Parmenio’s maturity and general caution. At one point, Alexander and the Companion Cavalry crashed through the Persian line and headed right for Darius on his chariot.

The battleground was red with blood and cluttered with the wounded and dead. Darius had made a huge miscalculation and fled in order to fight another day. Alexander was a lightning bolt into the body of the Persian Empire. Alexander was proving something that others suspected: the Persian Empire had fault lines, weaknesses. The Persian Wars (in 490 and 480) won by Greece, as well as the Ten Thousand Greek mercenaries in 401 (recounted by Xenophon) who returned home safely, were solid indications. The gods and luck seemed to be on Alexander’s side. it all added up to morale, though soldiers do not always feel so confident before battle. In BBC Radio’s In Our Time (hosted by Melvyn Bragg), Prof. Paul Cartledge said that Napoleon viewed the morale factor as decisive in battle.

I asked Professor Cartledge to share more about Alexander’s mindset:  

A combination of luck, bravery, charisma and inspired leadership – and that’s only Alexander. Behind him he had, to start with, his dad’s army, the best in Greece then, mainly because of its combo of superb cavalry with infantry and different grades of infantry fused into a harmonious interlocking whole. The luck came in when Alexander was NOT killed as he might well have been at the first major set piece battle, The Granicus River of 334. 

Darius III left behind his family, including Queen Stateira and the Queen-Mother Sisygambis. Darius expected the opportunity to ransom them. He may have been the Great King, but he was losing the kingdom. Alexander was kind and befriended the family. Many historians note that there is much evidence that Alexander was kind to women — perhaps a reflection of his closeness to his Olympias, his mother. Alexander referred to Sisygambis as “mother.” Both sides were wise to play this game. Darius made an offer: Alexander would get the western half of the empire, his daughter in marriage, and a huge ransom for his family members if Alexander would stop his juggernaut. Parmenio said that if he were Alexander, he would accept the offer. Alexander replied, “If I were Parmenio, that is what I would do. But I am Alexander and so will answer it another way.”

The long sarissa made the enlarged phalanx especially effective, and the cavalry was a major shock. Alexander was flexible and creative even under the strains of battle and could predict his foes well. He read a battlefield better than anyone. This would bode poorly for his next foe, the island-fortress of Tyre. 

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Reconstruction of a mosaic depiction of the Battle of Issus after a painting supposed to be by Apelles or Philoxenus of Eretria found in the House of the Faun at Pompeii. Public Domain, Wikimedia Commons

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The Siege of Tyre

In January of 332, Alexander reached Tyre (coast of today’s Lebanon), the largest Phoenician city and the stronghold of the Persian fleet. He could not bypass it and have the fleet threatening his advance. So, Alexander sent envoys, but they were tossed from the walls into the sea. Surrounded by blue seas and high walls, the city was imposing, possibly impregnable. Alexander decided to build a half-mile causeway 200 feet wide, along with siege engines 150 feet high (fireproofed with battering rams), with catapults on top. This machinery was a leap forward in military ingenuity. There were also ballistae to hurl rocks from below. At one point, the Tyrians sent a burning ship into the causeway to destroy the siege towers – it worked, but it would not be enough to save Tyre. Alexander, who before had disbanded his own navy, now got hold of many ships from Phoenician city-states he had conquered. He used these ships to blockade the island city. 

After a siege of seven painful months, during which the Hellenic League was attacked with rocks and fire, the city fell. It was reported that Alexander enslaved thousands of Tyrians; even worse, he ordered 2,000 of them to be crucified along the shore.

After Tyre, Alexander lay siege to Gaza in the autumn of 332, which also had a horrible ending for the inhabitants. In emulation of Achilles dragging Hector’s corpse behind his chariot, Persian General Batis was dragged behind a chariot whilst still alive.

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Map of the Siege of Tyre. Public Domain, Wikimedia Commons

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Egypt Welcomes Alexander and the Famous Visit to Siwah

Egypt was a rich civilization with a long history going back thousands of years before Persian control. The fourth century was a burgeoning period for Egypt under native rule. Egypt’s power and prestige had been declining for centuries and included foreign rule by Libyans, Kushites, Assyrians, and Persians. Many Greeks including Herodotus (who wrote that “Egypt was the gift of the Nile”) and Plato had visited Egypt. 

The Persians were harsh overlords and disrespectful of Egyptian religion. The Egyptians were eager to toss out the former. “Here,” writes Prof. Paul Cartledge, “Alexander found himself gifted with an advantage only rarely on offer in other parts of the Persian Empire: a friendly native upper class” (Alexander the Great 150). Alexander was welcomed by the Persian governor Mazaces (with 800 talents and the royal furniture). In Memphis, Alexander was pronounced “son of Ammon” and given the double-crown of Egypt. It is highly likely that Alexander was in awe of the gleaming pyramids, rich land, life-giving Nile, and temples.

In the winter of 332, Alexander was “seized with a longing to visit” an important, far-off oracle 300 miles into the hot desert. “His intention was to consult the god, as the oracle of Ammon was reputed to be truthful,” wrote the historian Arrian. 

With some companions, Alexander headed into the desert to find the Oracle of Ammon at the Siwah oasis. Arrian, Plutarch and Rufus offer differing accounts. Alexander got lost and nearly perished from thirst. Arrian writes that “travellers lose their bearings like sailors at sea.” Either two crows or snakes (Ptolemy’s lost account apparently introduced the snakes) led them to the oasis oracle with its abundant water and date palms. Alexander went into the sanctum sanctorum and perhaps asked the oracle priest about his origins and destiny. There are differing accounts of this and what he learned will never be known. Prof. Paul Cartledge argues that after Siwah, Alexander “claimed a close relationship, possibly even physical filiation, with non-Greek Ammon” (244).

In the spring of 331, Alexander founded what would become one of the greatest cities of the ancient world: Alexandria. Plutarch writes that “since there was no chalk available, they used barley-meal to describe a rounded area on the dark soil…” Alexander wanted harbors for trade, greater control over his growing empire, and a Greek city on the coast that bore his name. Alexander left the area after a few months. His friend and a leader in his army, Ptolemy (and his family), would in the coming years transform Alexander’s vision and plans into an incredible city. 

The Battle of Gaugamela

The third great clash with the Persians, the Battle of Gaugamela (literally the Camel’s House; near today’s Arbil, Iraq) happened days after an eclipse of the moon: 1 October 331. The Persian force may have been as much as twice Alexander’s 47,000 soldiers. Darius’s force included cavalry, scythed chariots, elephants, the Immortals (his bodyguard), Greek mercenaries, and others. Mazaeus (satrap of Babylon) commanded the right flank of Persia’s infantry and cavalry, including Parthians, Syrians, Cappadocians, Armenians, Mesopotamians, and Indians. Bessus, the satrap of Bactria and a relative of Darius, commanded the left flank. The night before the battle, Darius and Alexander were of course very nervous. Darius, aware of the danger of a night attack, had his soldiers armed and ready, which had to be exhausting. Alexander met with Aristander, his seer. Plutarch writes that Alexander’s army saw the Persian camp “agleam with the watch-fires of the barbarians.” Alexander disagreed with Parmenio’s suggestion of a night attack, saying, “I will not steal my victory.” As usual, Alexander led from the right with the Companion Cavalry; on the left Parmenio commanded infantry and cavalry. Alexander was aware of the danger of envelopment by the much larger Persian force. There is much to say about geography, plans, the battle itself and the aftermath, but in short Alexander created and took advantage of a gap in the Persian side, allowing the Companion Cavalry to pour in like killer T-cells.

It was reported that when Darius saw that his military was being defeated, that his bodyguard got beat back, and that his chariots wheels were clogged with dead bodies, he fled. Darius, escaping by horseback with a small force, lived to fight another day. But it was a disaster for the Great King who, in a short time, lost it all and (soon) his life. Alexander continued onto Babylon (and Susa and Persepolis). 

According to Quintus Curtius Rufus, Alexander was welcomed to Babylon by Mazaeus and his children, as well as chanting Magians, Chaldeans, Babylonian priests, and musicians. The storied city was surrounded by an enormous wall, and the Euphrates River passed through the city, over which bridges connected the two halves of the city. Rufus wrote that two chariots could pass each other atop the walls and described the loveliness of the Hanging Gardens, known today historically as one of the Wonders of the Ancient World. 

Susa, located in the lower Zagros Mountains, was the capital of the Achaemenid Persian Empire. (It has been extensively examined and excavated beginning in the 1800s with Henry Rawlinson, A. H. Layard, and others recently). Alexander found an enormous amount of gold and silver and sat on Darius’ throne. He was too short for the throne, so one of the attendants provided a footstool. 

Next, the city of Persepolis, the ceremonial capital of the empire, with its ornate and lofty temples and palaces, was torched. Why? Were the young Macedonians just drunk and goaded by the Athenian prostitute Thais (Ptolemy’s mistress), or had this been a planned revenge? There is no way to know. It was unusual for Alexander to destroy temples. Taking after his mother, he was religious and, as a military man, superstitious. 

Meanwhile, Darius refused to surrender the throne: his courtiers, led by Bessus, arrested Darius and fled. Alexander and his men followed in hot pursuit. Arrian tells us that with Alexander “close upon them,” two satraps stabbed Darius and fled, leaving him to die. The new king of Persia, Bessus, did not have much success in that position. Most of the satraps declared their allegiance to Alexander. 

Alexander gave orders for Darius to be buried with full honors at Persepolis “like the kings before him” (Arrian). Darius’ death signaled the end of the Achaemenid Persian Empire.

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Darius’ flight at the Battle of Gaugamela. Relief inspired by Charles Le Brun’s painting Battle of Arbela (1669). Photograph: Luis García (Zaqarbal), 3 December 2008. GNU Free Documentation License, version 1.2. Wikimedia Commons

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Alexander’s New Clothes and The Philotas Affair

Alexander inherited a huge harem and plenty of eunuch servants, as well.  He often wore a purple and white chiton, a royal diadem, sometimes a Macedonian cavalry hat, which had a swagger to it. Sometimes he wore pants, a Persian mode of dress at that time. Many Macedonians did not like his new habits and beliefs. 

In the fall of 330, whilst in Bactria, there was an assassination attempt against Alexander known as the Philotas Affair. Some young Macedonian guards decided to kill Alexander. Philotas — Parmenio’s son and a commander of the Companion Cavalry — was accused of knowing about the murder plot but not informing Alexander. Philotas and the guards were tortured and executed. It is not known if the charges against Philotas were true. Philotas was arrogant and found himself in trouble with Alexander before. More executions were to follow, including Philotas’ father, the old and very successful general Parmenio. This was tragic for this family, and realpolitik for Alexander. The way was clear for Cleitus and Hephaestion to be co-commanders; such power could not be concentrated in one person. 

In the coming months, Alexander founded Alexandria-by-the-Caucasus. The Hellenic League crossed the Hindu Kush. Older men and some volunteers were sent back to Greece. The Hellenic League crossed the Oxus River. Bessus, satrap of Bactria and pretender to the Persian throne, was captured by Ptolemy and tortured and executed. Alexander and his military had to contend with revolts and fierce guerilla warfare.   

Dionysus’ Gifts and Headaches and the Murder of Cleitus 

In Alexander the Great: The Invisible Enemy, John Maxwell O’Brien focuses – through the symbol of Dionysus — on Alexander’s emotional decline, megalomania, and drunkenness. Wine drinking was common; parties and celebrations commemorated a festival or victory, announced a new campaign, honored someone, and so on. Participants told stories, bragged, drank wine. This eased the strains of war and served as a safety valve. But these events could erupt into violence. 

In November of 328, at the palace in Maracanda (Samarkand), Alexander organized a banquet during a feast dedicated to Dionysus. Cleitus, one of two commanders of the Companion Cavalry (and the brother of Lanike, Alexander’s nurse), was unhappy about his new orders and possibly about Alexander’s turn toward Persian customs. Alexander was drunk. They got into an argument: Cleitus saying Alexander’s conquests were possible because of his father Philip and reminding Alexander who saved him at the Battle of the Granicus – it was Cleitus. 

Alexander threw an apple at Cleitus’ head. The officers ushered Cleitus out of the room. When Cleitus returned, Alexander ran him through with a spear. Alexander immediately felt revulsion and grieved in his tent for days. The officers put together evidence of Cleitus’ treason, which helped Alexander move beyond the murder.

The Sogdian Rock

In the spring of 327, Alexander and his army encountered the Sogdian Rock, a fortress high atop the mountains (near Samarkand), ruled by Ariamazes. Another local ruler, Oxyartes, placed his wife and children, including Roxana, in what was believed to be an impregnable fortress. The Sogdians refused to surrender, telling the invaders that they needed wings to conquer the Rock. That only encouraged Alexander. During the night, Alexander sent up 300 climbers using tent pegs and rope; and “about thirty lost their lives during the ascent – falling in various places in the snow,” Arrian recounts. The following morning, the Sogdians looked up in shock, and surrendered.  

At the peace celebration, Alexander saw Roxana (little star) dancing. Roxana was said to be a very beautiful woman, second only to Darius’ wife. Alexander was smitten. Were there political motivations to add territory and unity to his empire? Was Alexander in love? Perhaps yes for all of those reasons. (See the fascinating and colorful wedding dramatization of Alexander and Roxana in Michael Wood’s BBC series, In the Footsteps of Alexander the Great.) 

The Page Boys Conspiracy

In the spring of 327, during a hunt with the king, there was a breach of protocol. One of the page boys, Hermolaus, shot a wild boar before Alexander had the chance. Alexander had him whipped. Hermolaus and a few of the other pages planned on killing Alexander, but their plot came to light. Callisthenes, the nephew of Aristotle, was implicated because he was the teacher of the page boys. Alexander was enraged: Callisthenes encouraged their independent thinking, and he didn’t believe in prostrating (proskynesis) himself before the king. It is unclear if Callisthenes had anything to do with the plot, though at the time he had fallen out of favor. Hermolaus, a few page boys, and Callisthenes were executed.

India: Rock of Aornus, the Naked Philosophers, and Battling King Porus

In the winter of 326, on the way to India, Alexander encountered a mountaintop stronghold called the Rock of Aornus (possibly Pir Sarai in Pakistan). It was a formidable place with a water supply and land for growing food – the defenders could not be starved out. Alexander accomplished the win by storming a nearby mountain and threatening the Rock with catapults. The path was now open to enter India. 

In spring 326, Alexander and his forces advanced into Taxila (Punjab), a city renowned for culture, education, and trade at the juncture of very important trade routes. (In the mid-19th century, Sir Alexander Cunningham identified Aornus, Taxila, and other places based, in part, on his reading of ancient chroniclers; Taxila is today a UNESCO World Heritage Site.) 

In a fascinating episode, Alexander made acquaintance with the naked philosophers (gymnosophists), who were possibly yogis, fakirs, or Brahmins; some scholars say Jains or Buddhists. (I think they were likely yogis or fakirs). A few criticized Alexander. One of them said he should stop his wanderings and settle in the center. Alexander rounded up ten of them and threatened to kill them if they got any of his questions wrong. Plutarch writes that Alexander asked the last philosopher how long a person should live. The reply was: “Until he does not regard death as better than life.” 

They all survived. Like so much of the Alexander story, the truth of this episode is open to speculation. But these gymnosophists are tantalizing. In fact, Alexander befriended one of them named Calanus, who was about seventy years old. Did Calanus and the others have a more compassionate and spiritual path that the invaders simply could not understand? Many from the Hellenic League were intrigued. As Professor Cartledge points out: the Greeks viewed foreign spiritual traditions through the lens or vocabulary of their own culture.

King Ambhi of Taxila supported Alexander against his rival, the larger-than-life King Porus. Porus led 30,000 soldiers, 2,000 cavalry, and many elephants. By now, Alexander’s army was completely battle hardened from dealing with all manner of foes. In May 326, Alexander’s last major battle was the Battle of the Hydaspes River (Punjab region of today’s Pakistan). 

It was monsoon season with fast swollen rivers. Porus’ elephants each had a mahout and about a dozen infantry – the ancient world’s version of a tank. The horses of the Hellenic League were afraid of elephants. Porus had many chariots, but the muddy conditions erased most of their menace. Alexander used feints and deceptions, some of which must have exhausted the Indians. They didn’t know when Alexander would attack across the river. Finally, Alexander’s forces crossed the river but ended up on a nearby island. Porus’ son attacked, but he was killed during the battle. 

Alexander had his men cross the river at night, a dangerous feat. Porus placed his war elephants in front of his vast infantry, with cavalry on both sides. Alexander’s infantry was smaller than Porus’ infantry, but his cavalry was larger than Porus’ cavalry. As many historians have noted: Alexander knew how to read a battlefield. The solution was to orient the battle toward his cavalry. 

Alexander ordered Coenus to bring extra cavalry to the left; this force galloped around Porus’ right side. Alexander’s Companion Cavalry attacked Porus’ frontline. The Indians soon found themselves being pushed into a smaller area with less room to maneuver. The soft ground didn’t help the Indian archers plant their bows (perhaps similar to the bow used by Arjuna in the Bhagavad Gita). The Indians fought bravely, but in the end the Hellenic League prevailed. Porus, preferring to die in battle, rebuffed the peace offerings. Alexander rode out to meet him. 

“How would you like to be treated?” Alexander asked.

“Like a king.” 

“Anything else?”

“All is contained in the first request,” replied Porus.

Alexander allowed Porus to retain his kingdom and he enlarged it. An intriguing story has come down to us from ancient accounts: Alexander was visited by a young noble, Chandragupta Maurya. He enticed Alexander with news of more kingdoms ahead. He was an ambitious young man and Alexander must have been intrigued. Later, Maurya founded the Mauryan Empire and defeated the Macedonian satrapies around twenty years after Alexander’s death. His grandson became the incredible King Ashoka who, after a terrible battle, became nonviolent and promoted Buddhism. 

Monsoons, Mutiny and Alexander Suffers an Arrow

Alexander’s soldiers became apprehensive over monsoons, giant snakes, and homesickness. Their armor rusted, they heard accounts of more immense armies ahead. Alexander’s men pondered: what’s the point of wealth and renown if you die so far from home? Like the Romans, the Greeks preferred to be in comfortable climates where olives flourished. Diodorus Siculus wrote that “his soldiers were exhausted with their constant campaigns.” The consensus: they wished to return home and see their families. Coenus, one of Alexander’s commanders, spoke for the army. 

The Hyphasis Mutiny made Alexander fume. He went into his tent and wouldn’t emerge for three days. Finally, he consulted Aristander: the answer was that the Hellenic League should return home. This gave Alexander cover, helped him save face. He would have been in a bad situation without these veterans and must have felt that he owed them. The fighting and hardship, however, were far from over.

November 326: the Mallians (Punjab)

The Mallians lived in a city with mud walls; there was some misunderstanding, as they did not pay obeisance to Alexander, who led his army to their city. Dissatisfied with the pace of the battle, Alexander climbed onto a wall, where he was open to all sorts of weapons thrown at him. His soldiers were frightened for him and they climbed up ladders, but their combined weight broke the ladders and they fell to the ground. Alexander fought furiously and one of his bodyguards was killed. Arrian tells us that “the arrow penetrated the corselet and entering his body above the breast.”

Michael Wood vividly reenacts this event — with the luck of an ambulance passing by — in his BBC series In Search of Alexander the Great. Alexander fainted. He owed his survival to Peucestas, Abreas and Leonnatus who placed over Alexander the Sacred Shield from Troy. Many feared that that the king was dead. His army, seized by panic, crashed through the walls and went on a killing spree. This was an example of the war crimes of which his army was capable. 

Alexander somehow survived. As soon as he recovered some of his health, he sailed down river so his troops could see him. When he disembarked, they were overcome with emotion and tears, crowding and touching him, tossing flowers.   

Tragedy in the Desert

In the fall of 325, Alexander’s army headed into the Gedrosian Desert (the Makran in Pakistan and Iran). Why? Perhaps Alexander was trying to prove his courage and ability. Perhaps he wanted to explore and map the region. Perhaps he was punishing his men for refusing to conquer more of India. We will never know for certain why he brought a huge army through the burning desert. It was a choice that ended in much suffering and death.  

It took about two months to cross. A third or more of his army and thousands of camp followers perished from thirst and starvation. As Arrian wrote: “Many died as if they had fallen overboard in a ship.” Not only did the desert swallow so many, for a flash flood drowned numerous soldiers and camp followers who had spent the night in what had been a dry riverbed. 

While Alexander and the army made their way through the desert, Admiral Nearchus (long-time friend), along with Onesicritus (a philosopher and helmsman of the fleet), sailed from the Indus River to the Persian Gulf. The admiral mapped the region and founded a city, reuniting with Alexander in Carmania (southern Iran) in December 325. About two months later, Alexander reached the old religious capital, Pasargadae, where he had Cyrus the Great’s Tomb repaired.  

Alexander Marries (Again), Susa Weddings and The Successors

In spring 324, there was a holiday spirit and much feasting; Alexander met officials, gave out awards like purple tunics and money, and paid off the debts of his army. Drinking contests heated up to the point where many participants died. 

And there were the famous weddings: Alexander married Stateira, the late Darius’ eldest daughter, and another Persian princess, Parysatis; and Hephaestion married Drypetis, another princess and daughter of Darius. And more was to come: Alexander encouraged 100 companions and 1,000 regular soldiers to marry Persian women. The marriage ceremonies were according to Persian custom and lasted five days, and performers even arrived from Greece. The marriages were part of Alexander’s unifying, big picture plan. (After his death, it seems that few of the marriages lasted.) Clearly, there was resistance to Alexander’s plans and overall vision. 

At Susa, the Epigoni or inheritors, who were some 30,000 Bactrians trained in Macedonian warfare, arrived; foreigners also joined the Companion Cavalry. Alexander’s orientalism caused much consternation among his troops – it was a massive change from what they were accustomed. (The Mutiny at Opis was only months away.) After this, Alexander explored the region by ship, while Hephaestion with part of the army headed to the Persian Gulf.   

Time is Always Against Us

In Susa, Alexander’s close friend and advisor, Calanus (one of the naked philosophers from Taxila), knowing that he was very sick, gave away his possession, including a horse to one of his Greek students. He climbed atop a funeral pyre which was then lit. The onlookers, especially Alexander, were horrified. Calanus proved that he was beyond pain — as tough or tougher than anyone could be. He is an invitation to wonder: how can this be possible? (We know of this kind of self-immolation by some Buddhist monks during the war in Vietnam.) 

Worse was to come. In Ecbatana (October 324), Hephaestion (Alexander’s closest friend and a Commander of the Companion Cavalry), recovering from sickness, drank much wine, relapsed, died. This devastated Alexander, who put the doctor to death. Plutarch says that Alexander’s “grief was uncontrollable.” Alexander petitioned the Oracle at Siwah, which granted him the status of divine hero. Hephaestion was given an expensive funeral and his ashes were brought to Babylon. (Alexander’s grief might remind us of Gilgamesh’s utter despair when his adventure-companion Enkidu died.) 

Babylon

Adding it all up — the risks and battles, injuries and assassination attempts, desert journeys and so on – makes one wonder how Alexander lived as long as he did. Amidst the splendor of the palaces and hanging gardens, the end for Alexander arrived in Babylon months later. The historian, Arrian, following eyewitness accounts, relates it:. Alexander came down with a fever and lost his voice. He couldn’t move. He had to be carried in a litter. The men insisted on seeing him and broke down the doors. Perhaps it was malaria or typhus, the various injuries, along with alcoholism. It is possible that Alexander, before reaching Babylon’s famous gates, contracted some disease in the swamps. 

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Remains of the ancient city of Babylon, Iraq. Osama Shukir Muhammed Amin FRCP(Glasg), CC BY-SA 4.0, Wikimedia Commons

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Alexander died on 10 June 323, just before reaching 33. He was king for twelve years and eight months. Some authors suspect that Alexander was poisoned: perhaps by the Mallian arrow that had lodged in his lung, or by a devious Macedonian. Suspects include Antipater, his sons Cassander and Iollas (a cupbearer for Alexander); this family quite reasonably feared Alexander’s return. (A few years later, Cassander killed Alexander’s mother Olympias, Roxana, and Alexander IV.) Another suspect, Medius, had invited Alexander to the party just before Alexander got feverish. 

Dying Alexander, marble copy of the 2nd century BC work by unknown Greek sculptor. National Art Museum of Azerbaijan. Urek Meniashvili. CC BY-SA 3.0, Wikimedia Commons

In Joseph Campbell’s formulation of the hero’s journey, heroes separate from their homeland, initiate (transform and journey), and return home. Alexander never achieved the homecoming – another missing part of his life. Alexander was not too young to die (for that era), but it was far too soon before he could accomplish all that he desired.

Alexander was a figure of epic proportions, who helped determine history. He was one of only a few military leaders never defeated. Through conquest and creating cities, Alexander spread Greek culture and unified an immense area, which lasted centuries after his birth, paving the way for Roman and Islamic expansion, and much else; he encouraged intermarriage and unity; founded dozens of cities including Alexandria, Egypt; encouraged trade between East and West; held women in higher regard than his contemporaries; spread Greek culture (Hellenization). In the final chapters of Alexander the Great, Robin Lane Fox covers many of the details of the East/West cross-fertilization. 

There was a unique vastness and panache to Alexander’s accomplishments and dreams. If Alexander were in competition with his real father Philip or Homer’s Achilles, there was no competition. Alexander wins. Had he lived longer, the course of history would be different, for he had plans to conquer far and wide. Perhaps Alexander would have stopped Rome before it became so mighty. About Alexander there are utopian or romantic views. Historian William Tarn believed that Alexander would have unified the world and brought peace. Historian Arnold Toynbee believed that the world would be a better place had Alexander lived twice as long. 

From my vantage point I ask, at what price? A vast number of soldiers and civilians, and many horses and elephants, died during the dozen years of conquest. Cities were flattened. But there exists no alternate history in which there’s no Alexander. He existed in a big way and had a big afterlife; to varying degrees, we live in the world that Alexander helped determine. We benefit from the changes and evolution that Alexander put into motion. Many people live in cities he founded. It is a paradox because his plans required much conquest. His life brings us into the realm of imagination with its own light and dark qualities. 

Prof. Paul Cartledge offered this assessment:

Astonishing military commander – right up there in the all-time first division with Genghis Khan, Napoleon and very very few others. Partly but not only because he was a simply superb leader of men in the field and against the odds, but also because he effected quite extraordinary sieges in seemingly impossible circumstances – Tyre, the Rock of Aornos…

However, on the debit side of the ledger, what exactly was he aiming to achieve – beyond unique personal renown? And was it really necessary to massacre quite so many non-Greek persons?  (I’m thinking esp. of the Malloi here) or to treat defeated enemies quite so brutally (the Phoenicians of Tyre – crucified; the eunuch Arab governor of Gaza – killed by being dragged behind a chariot – at least Hector was already dead when Alexander’s epic role model Achilles dragged his corpse behind his chariot!)

Professor Michael Scott, author and Professor of Classics and Ancient History at University of Warwick, stated: 

I believe he would have gone as far as he could, but he would have not been able to conquer China (at this time in the final stages of developing into a Unified nation during their Warring States period). And yes, I think if he had lived, he would then have turned west as well…

As Michael Wood says at the end of his program, In the Footsteps of Alexander, the gods gave Alexander multiple signs. Alexander felt that the gods were on his side. 

Alexander was a man of his time — not ours. His time had continuous warfare, slavery on a massive scale, infanticide, much starvation and disease and early death, limited medicine, animal sacrifice, routine torture, plague, god-kings, and more. 

Kings and Philosophers, Biology and Opportunity

It is said that Prince Siddhartha could have been either Buddha or world conqueror. Could Alexander have been a philosopher rather than a king? His parents had worldly ambitions in mind for Alexander and he did, too. It was natural for him to accept the challenge and ride that wind. The Roman emperor, Marcus Aurelius, was also a philosopher, but philosophy did not take up the better part of his time, and could not. The emperor fought to keep Rome’s enemies away from the empire, whereas Alexander fought to create an empire (mostly an overlay of the Persian Empire), with plans for enlargement.      

Alexander had incredible parents, opportunity, and boundless ambitions. Whatever luck he had at birth, he always endeavored to add to it. Anyone who reaches for the stars must make their own luck. Opportunity knocked; Alexander stepped through the doors, or actually kicked them open, one could say. He was a blend of biology and opportunity: the will to power across the continents. Yet Alexander paid a high price for his desires. He died young, and he foolishly did not choose a successor, hence the exhaustive Wars of the Successors leading to his family’s demise. The aftermath helped leave Greece vulnerable to Rome’s relentless military might. With empires, the center cannot hold, entropy settles in, no matter how solid the dreams of myth-drenched leaders.  

Would it have been better if Alexander stayed home? That was Siduri’s advice for Gilgamesh in the world’s first book. The Roman Senate wanted Julius Caesar to cut short his conquests and return to Rome. Gilgamesh failed two tests and returned to Uruk, finally pleased to be a good king. It was not in the nature of Alexander or Caesar or Napoleon, for that matter, to return home and have a peaceful life. They were crazy for conquest. 

One tradition continues to imagine Alexander long after his death: The Alexander Romance. Alexander goes to the bottom of the sea, flies through the air, and so on. The great Persian poet, Ferdowsi (born 940 ACE), applauded Alexander’s unification of East and West and for being King Darius III’s half-brother.

Moreover, Alexander, at times associated with or depicted with horns (on coins, for example), and may have ended up in the Koran:

1) The Egyptian god Amun had curled horns. Alexander was crowned pharaoh.  2) The two horns represent the two horizons – Alexander’s immense accomplishments and ambitions. 3) In the Koran, Alexander is quite possibly “the horned one.”   

The Alexander Romance, in some sense, continues; there are many Alexanders in literature, media, and art, including Andy Warhol’s “Alexander the Great” images and Oliver Stone’s Alexander. Many people explore the story of Alexander. The word “essay” means to try – which is what I’ve done here. All we can do is try to understand Alexander from the perspective of his contemporaries and from the perspective of ourselves. There is much that is missing, contradictory, or imaginative in the ancient histories. Alexander and his army journeyed and fought across land and sea to the limits of the known world.  

Body Snatcher and the Next Pharaoh: Ptolemy and the Afterlives of Alexander  

Of the circle of friends still standing when Alexander died, Ptolemy may be the most astonishing and fortunate. He also had studied with Aristotle, rose in the ranks and partook of the military venture across the world, journeyed to Siwah, and was there in Babylon at the end. As Alexander lay dying, the royal ring was handed to Perdiccas: the empire would go “to the strongest,” uttered the dying king. It doesn’t seem like a good idea. Perdiccas was disliked, and who could replace Alexander? What Alexander created was destroyed when he died: a cohesive empire. Power for Macedonians was, to a large degree, of a personal nature. By accomplishing so much, Alexander made it impossible to replace him.   

Without Alexander, the leaders jockeyed for control. Would Alexander’s unborn child eventually be allowed to rule? Would someone else grab the empire? War was the reply. Didn’t Alexander the Great foresee these troubles? 

[I asked Professor Ikram, author of The Mummy in Ancient Egypt and Distinguished University Professor of Egyptology at the American University of Cairo, if it’s possible that Alexander’s body was preserved in honey.

“It was thus reported, and it make sense,” she replied.] 

Alexander was honored in the most magnificent way with much finery – a prolific amount of gold and purple. The cortege headed to Aegae (the location of Philip’s tomb) in Macedon where Alexander would be buried. It never arrived. Diodorus, the Sicilian historian, writes that Ptolemy “doing honour to Alexander, went to meet it with an army as far as Syria, and, receiving the body, deemed it worthy of the greatest consideration.” 

Claudius Ptolemäus: Picture of 16th century book frontispiece. Public Domain, Wikimedia Commons

Ptolemy stole the body and brought it to Memphis. Ptolemy declared himself pharaoh in 305, beginning his family’s dynasty. (The last of the Ptolemies was Cleopatra VII who, with Mark Antony, lost to Octavian.) When the tomb was completed, Alexander’s body was interred in Alexandria. Under the Ptolemies, Alexandria would become one of the great cities of the world. Alexandria had a grid pattern, lighthouse (pharos), a multicultural population, and an incredible library and museum — a prototype of the modern university.

Many well-wishers, including Emperor Augustus Caesar, visited Alexander’s tomb. Emperor Septimius Severus closed the tomb to the public to preserve it. Prof. Frank Korn (Classics Department, Seton Hall University) related this to me about Julius Caesar’s admiration for Alexander: “The exploits of Alexander were well known by the military and political stars of Republican and Imperial Rome.” 

By 400 ACE, the trail goes cold, the tomb’s location a mystery. Polytheism was now persecuted. When John Chrysostom, an early Christian father, visited Alexandria and inquired about the tomb, he saw that “his tomb even his own people know not.” 

Might earthquakes and sea have destroyed Alexander’s tomb? Is Alexander the Great’s tomb somewhere below, like King Tut’s tomb before Howard Carter’s discovery? With well over one hundred attempts over the last century, archaeologists have been searching for Alexander. 

According to Arrian, Alexander could be buried at Siwah. Professor Ikram suggested that Alexander might be in Alexandria “possibly under the Elite Café or under the Baskin Robbins based on ancient geography.” 

Another researcher believes Alexander is buried in St. Mark’s in Venice. So, St. Mark is executed and buried in Alexandria. In the 800s AD, St. Mark’s corpse gets mistaken for Alexander and is brought by sea captains to Venice. Perhaps Alexander still creates myths. Wherever the tomb lies, its discovery would be an archaeological Holy Grail.  

Alexander and the Hellenic League constituted one of the wildest rides in history — to be debated in many ways and perhaps forever. We can know him as we know ourselves, at a distance. It seems that people with colossal ambitions and achievements have multiple masks and paradoxical personalities — and sometimes a huge shadow. Alexander wanted to see and conquer more than anyone, to be the Goat (Greatest of All Time), and to live on the lips of others. Toward the end of The Campaigns of Alexander, Arrian writes:

He had great personal beauty, invincible power of endurance, and a keen intellect; he was brave and adventurous, strict in the observation of his religious duties, and hungry for fame.

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Partial bust of Alexander. Sushuti, Pixabay

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About Me

Teaching myth inspired me to write this essay. I wanted to show students that myth was a big part of Alexander’s life and, in different ways, also makes us who we are. Alexander is both real and mythic – and sometimes the two aspects are seamlessly blended. Once I dived into the material, I realized that one needs facts and history and myth (and much more) to understand Alexander. Myth leads to the real, and the real leads to myth.  

I wish to thank Professors Jean Alvares, Paul Cartledge, Kara Cooney, Salima Ikram, Frank Korn and Michael Scott for their brilliant reflections on Alexander the Great and related material; and thanks to Prof. Jean Alvares and Tracey Paradiso (the latter is a fellow writer in Cranford Writers Group) for their excellent, much-appreciated editing. Any mistakes of language or thought are clearly my own, of course. I wrote this essay during three weeks in March 2022, one week of which was spent (with Renah and our child Inanna) visiting Gettysburg, PA. For me, it was a meditation on war, courage and human folly and got me thinking about Pickett’s Charge as well as Alexander’s cavalry charges. The shock of the Russian Invasion of Ukraine also unfolded over this period and tragically continues.       

As a child, I saw programs and read about Alexander in National Geographic and in picture books. The dream of travel into far-off lands was powerful, and I was too young to consider the dark side. Years later, I had a terrific semester with New York University in Greece sponsored by the late Prof. Mitchell Leaska. During a break, I went off to Egypt. 

In 2021, I was nominated for a Pushcart Prize for my short story in Coneflower Café; and my collection of interviews, stories, images – Speaking of the Dead – was accepted for publication by Blydyn Square Books in New Jersey. In 2022 I was accepted for the NEH summer seminar, Ritual Arts in Hinduism and Buddhism at College of the Holy Cross. Renah, Inanna and I (with our editor Alice Almiron, PCCC graduate and Rutgers film student) made a film, “Covid, a Child’s View,” which received honorable mention from the London Short Film Festival. It will be shown in late April at the Cranford Film Festival in New Jersey. I have been a writer and teacher for a long while, the latter culminating in a Fulbright to teach at LMU Munich. This past year, I published stories, essays, interviews, and poetry in Popular Archaeology, Parabola Magazine, The Raven’s Perch, Dash Literary Journal, Paterson Literary Review, and Minerva Magazine. 

Cover Image, Top Left: Alexander Mosaic (detail), House of the FaunPompeii. Public Domain, Wikimedia Commons

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The Endless Conquest of Yucatán

Freelance writer, researcher and photographer, Georges Fery (georgefery.com) addresses topics from history, culture, and beliefs to daily living of ancient and today’s indigenous societies of Mesoamerica and South America. His articles are published online at travelthruhistory.com, ancient-origins.net and popular-archaeology.com, and in the quarterly magazine Ancient American (ancientamerican.com). In the U.K. his articles are found in mexicolore.co.uk.

The author is a fellow of the Institute of Maya Studies instituteofmayastudies.org, Miami, FL and The Royal Geographical Society, London, U.K. (rgs.org). He is a member in good standing with the Maya Exploration Center, Austin, TX (mayaexploration.org) the Archaeological Institute of America, Boston, MA (archaeological.org), NFAA-Non Fiction Authors Association (nonfictionauthrosassociation.com) and the National Museum of the American Indian, Washington, DC. (americanindian.si.edu).

The subjugation of the Aztecs by the Spanish conquistador or conqueror, Hernan Cortez, took twenty-one years with the support of thousands of Tlaxcala and Otomi Indian allies. The unrelenting conquest of Mexico’s Yucatán peninsula, however, spanned 125 of the 374 years history of a long and adversarial coexistence. In defiance of defeat upon defeat on the battlefield, the native Maya-Yucatec fiercely resisted their foreign foe. The peninsula at that time was heavily populated, with cities of three thousand people and more, five or fewer miles from one another, interspaced with hamlets. Among numerous clashes, the fall of Aké (Ak’e’) stands out, for it was the first decisive armed confrontation between the Spanish and the indigenous people of the Yucatán. Aké, however, was only the beginning of a struggle that would only wane on the doorsteps of the twentieth century.

The First Incursions

The first entrada or incursion, by the Spanish Francisco de Montejo (the Elder), was from the east of the peninsula, between 1527 and 1529. It was followed by a second incursion from the west, headed by his son, also known as Francisco de Montejo (the Younger), from 1529 to 1535. It all started on December 8, 1526, when Spain’s Council of the Indies granted Montejo the Elder the capitulación, or patent, for the conquest of the “Islands of Cozumel and Yucatán” with the title and office of adelantado or governor and captain general. At that time, this unexplored part of Mexico was thought to be two islands. The patent was the legal foundation of the Spanish Crown policies for political, religious, and mercantile aspects of its conquered overseas possessions. Montejo sold his properties and got into debt to obtain the royal patent to finance his expeditions, an investment he expected, like all conquistadores or conquerors, to recover from captured lands. For his first incursion, he selected as his second in command, Alonso Dávila, he knew from past battles in the Indies who was wise in council. In mid-June 1527, with about four hundred men plus the ships’ crews, Montejo stepped on board the armed merchantman San Jerónimo and, accompanied by two caravels, sailed  down the Guadalquivir to the Atlantic, heading to Santo Domingo on the island of Hispaniola.

There he recruited more men and bought twenty-five more horses and a large stock of supplies. Other officers were Pedro de los Rios as lieutenant governor and Gonzalo Nieto, veteran of many battles and standard bearer of the army. Well trained officers and soldiers idle after the Reconquista, the ousting of the Moors from Spain, completed his forces, together with the Franciscan friar Juan Rodriguez de Caraveco, Montejo’s own chaplain, and surgeon Iñigo Lòpez of Seville. Among other officers was Roberto Alemán, a Fleming in charge of the light artillery, and his wife Talina, the only woman on the roster.

Montejo sailed west from Hispaniola leaving the brigantine La Gavarra to follow later with reinforcement and landed with three ships and four hundred men on the island of Cozumel off the eastern coast of the Yucatán in September of 1527. The Maya had already met the Spaniards Francisco Hernández de Córdoba in 1517, Juan de Grijalva in 1518, and Hernán Cortés in 1519. The cacique or chief, Naum Pat, greeted Montejo and his men amiably. The chief informed Montejo about the lay of the land on the continent, and the main chiefdoms he would encounter and with which he may have to contend. Toward the end of that month, Montejo sailed to the mainland and came ashore at or near the small village of Xel Há, which he called Salamanca de Xhelhá in honor of Salamanca, his birthplace, making it his main base on the coast. To quell a mutiny that had been brewing since leaving Santo Domingo, Montejo set fire to two of his ships, while the caravel Nicolasa sailed back to Santo Domingo. Thirty sailors from the burned ships who had participated in the frustrated mutiny elected to return. The Nicolasa captain was instructed to bring back supplies, horses, and men.

The remaining crews of the two burnt ships joined Montejo’s force. He then left a lieutenant in command of the outposts at Salamanca de Xhelhá, with forty men and Talina Alemán, and sent another twenty to set up camp at Polé, a few miles north on the Caribbean coast, to gather foodstuff from neighboring villages. Meanwhile, most of the natives, fearful of the newcomers, fled into the dense forest. On the way, the Spaniards had their first taste of a difficult land and the hostility of its people. The hot and humid climate was hard on the Spaniards, especially during clashes with Indian warriors. They adopted indigenous body protection for close combat, for Spanish armor was too hot and cumbersome. They used long thick tunics quilted with cotton, which they called escuipiles, to protect them to the knees. Footmen, crossbowmen and arquebusiers were likewise protected from head to toe, as were horses with quilted armor. The ferocious Spanish dogs of war were protected by their ferocity.

The notable characteristic of the Maya Early Classic period (250-550AD) was the emergence of independent states across much of the Yucatán peninsula. Sharer and Textler explain that “documentary evidence of the Early Classic era is sporadic in the north. No single major center dominated the political and economic arena of the period, but several important states developed with prominent chiefdoms such as Aké, Acanceh, Izamal and Oxtintok” (2006). The major chiefdoms on the peninsula were those of Cochuah and Ekab, while those yielding the most political power were the Tutul Xiu of Mani and the Nachi Cocom of Sotuta. Both political powerhouses played major roles during the conquest.

The Tutul Xiu promptly allied with the Spanish and kept their friendly disposition throughout the conquest, as a counterpoint no doubt, to their enduring antagonism with the hated Nachi Cocom. Most of the villages in Montejo’s report, such as Xaman Há, Mochis, and Belma, no longer exist. The latter may be identified with the settlement of El Meco, near Puerto Juárez today. From Belma, the little army proceeded to Cónil, in the province of Ekab where they were welcomed and rested for two months. As befits a military leader, Montejo did not let down his defiance of the locals, for he was wary of possible treachery. So, with his captains he organized his army’s stay at Cónil under a twenty-four-hour guard watch.

In the spring of 1528, the army left Cónil for the major town of Choaca or Chauac Há in the neighboring province of Chinkinchel. They traveled through an uninhabited area devoid of water for a week but were soon greeted by a crowd of Choaca people on the outskirts of their town. As Chamberlain explains the Choaca considered themselves “superior to other people  in culture and intelligence, for they were great traders” (1966:51). At first, the contact was respectful but ladened with mistrust, for the caciques or chiefs were warned of the Spaniards arrival. The leaders received the Europeans with gifts of food and shows of friendship. Unlike at Cónil, however, Montejo seems to have let his guard down and did not prepare for possible treachery. After a week, over a few nights, the inhabitants slowly moved their people and supplies out of the city. Montejo and Dávila eventually realized that the unusual silence  around them was ominous and understood what would be coming next.

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Deadly Aké –  ©georgefery.com

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At mid-morning of the fifth day of the second week, without warning and in complete silence, the warriors attacked shooting thick flights of arrows, using spear throwers (atlatl) to hurl javelins with fire-hardened spear tips, and hard wood clubs four to five feet in length studded with sharp obsidian flints. The Spanish officers quickly rallied their men and faced the onslaught. The Spaniards, making the most of superior weapons, military discipline, and an irresistible cavalry, together with their dogs of war, succeeded in checking the first onrush  of the Maya. After regrouping the men quartered in other parts of town, Montejo counter attacked. After the hardest kind of fighting, in which both sides showed intrepid determination, the Spaniards broke the Maya’s resistance, and dispersed them. The Europeans won a clean-cut victory in the first pitched battle of the conquest, however, they paid dearly for it, with ten or twelve of their small army killed or wounded. For the Choacas, however, it was a disaster with hundreds of lives lost, among which were ten village chiefs and other principals. After their defeat, the lords of the Chinkinchel province decided against further resistance and, the following day, they sued for peace.

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Merciless Encounter – (CC BY-SA 3.0)  ©wikipedia.org Public Domain

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After a two-week rest, the Spaniards left Choaca hampered by heat, a difficult terrain, and lack of water. They were unprepared for the absence of rivers or stream in northern Yucatán. They moved toward Aké, ten miles north of today’s town of Tizimin. The Choacas had warned Aké’s paramount chief that the Spaniards were coming to steal their food and their wives. Over a three-day trek, the cavalry, arquebusiers, foot soldiers and war dogs clashed with Aké’ warriors and remnants of Choaca fighters and their allies, who relentlessly fought to slow down the invaders. The Mayas were aware that they did not have the military expertise nor the weapons to overcome the enemy. Their plan of action, according to the Relación de Juan Farfán (1579), was to build a succession of half-moon-shaped palisades, called albarradas in Spanish, tied to tree trunks and bushes on each side of the trail leading to the town, to slow down the enemy. More than the Spanish weapons, however, the Maya were terrified of the horses and, worse still, of the fierce dogs of war.

The Spaniards entered Aké late on the fourth day. The Maya fought furiously all the way inside their city. Alonso Dávila, along with a handful of veteran officers and soldiers, was among the few Spaniards with experience in this type of warfare; he and Montejo led their men by example, at the head of the fight. Horsemen could not be used efficiently due to dense trees, a rocky ground, and bushes, but they did much damage. The merciless fight lasted all day with no relief until late afternoon, when the Maya retired for the night. At daylight the following day, the fight resumed with the same fierceness and rage, but military discipline, their swords and dogs of war again broke the Maya onslaught in mid-afternoon. According to Montejo’s notes recorded by the chronicler Cárdenas y Valencia (1937:15-16):

“…at Aké, the Indians appeared in large numbers banging drums made from the shell of large sea turtles with deer antlers used as drum sticks; they were blowing big conch-shells to rally warriors that, together with screams of rage from hundreds of throats magnified the deafening noise; they all had weapons they use in war such as bows and quivers of arrows, stone throwers, poles with their tips hardened by fire, lances with point of sharp flints, two-handed swords of very strong wood inset with obsidian blades, large conch-shells of the sea; naked except for the shameful parts which were covered with a cloth; daubed with earth of colors, they appeared as most ferocious devils; their nose and ear plugs were adorned with bones and stones of varied colors; but all this did not cause the conquistadors to flinch.”

Even though many Maya warriors were killed and wounded during the fight, many more came in to fill the gaps and kept fighting not allowing the Spaniards any respite. The casualties were important for the Spaniards, with twenty-three men dead or seriously wounded, and three horses killed or maimed, as were dogs. The casualties, however, were horrendous for the Maya, with over 1,200 dead warriors on the battlefield in the northwest part of the large plaza, including local village chiefs. Aké was the turning point of this first entrada or incursion, showing the Mayas the resolve and military prowess of a dangerous foe.

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It’s not over –  ©georgefery.com

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The emotional impact of the disaster was devastating to the locals. “This epic battle became by tradition one of the most renowned engagements in the long and bloody conquest of Yucatán” (Chamberlain, 1966). The overwhelming victory of Spanish arms at Aké brought immediate results over a wide territory. Not only did the surviving chastened lords of Aké hastened to pledge their allegiance, but as the Spaniards victory came to be known throughout the region, many headmen sent delegates to Montejo seeking peace and friendship. The battle, however, gave the Spaniards a taste of the implacable antagonism that would simmer long into the future. In that future, the spirit of Aké would be kept alive through ceaseless strife.

Montejo remained at Aké long enough to help his wounded soldiers and reap the rewards of his victory. He then moved on to Zizha, a large town about fourteen miles away, where he and his men were well received. Montejo looked for a broad inland stream to access the hinterland from the sea; there were none. In the process, the Spaniards were coldly received, as the paramount chief and his war leaders clearly showed their dislike of the unwelcome foreigners. By this time, Montejo had achieved about all he could with the men he had. He explored a large part of northeastern Yucatán and won the nominal allegiance of a large area. In line with the requerimientos or requirements under Spanish law, if a chief or his representatives gave fealty to a Spanish leader or his captains, the entire district over which he ruled was considered to have passed under Spanish dominion.

Montejo left Loché in mid-1528 with a depleted force and, after a three-week trek, returned to Salamanca de Xelhá on the Caribbean coast, to regroup and resupply. Cogolludo (1688) records that of the 125 men Montejo led on this first incursion, only about seventy-five returned relatively unscathed. The number of men according to Cogolludo and Fernández de Oviedo (1535), seems to be less than was previously recorded in Spanish archives. On arrival at Salamanca de Xhel Há, Montejo found his settlement in desperate straits. Of the forty or so Spaniards he had left there, only twenty-seven were alive, including Talina, while all of those stationed at Polé had been massacred. The entire original force now numbered less than a hundred able men. Thankfully, the support ship was back from Santo Domingo with men, horses, weapons, and supplies. Within a few weeks, Montejo boarded the Nicolasa and sailed south along the coast while Alonso Dávila followed him overland to join him at the Bay of Chetumal.

This first incursion of the Yucatán was followed by the second in late 1532 under the command of Francisco Montejo “the Younger”, who took up the task from his father to   conquer the interior of the peninsula, moving in from the north. From the beginning, his aim was to seize and establish a major Spanish settlement at Chichén Itzá that he would call Ciudad Real. The site was elected for important communities in its vicinity. At first, the Spaniards were welcomed, but within a few years, the Mayas’ hostility increased as the result of abuses by encomenderos, conquistadors who were granted land and people for their services to the crown, and the forced conversion to the Catholic faith. Growing antagonism between Europeans and natives came to a head with the killing of the Maya paramount chief Naabon Cupul during his failed attempt at killing Montejo the Younger. The latent antagonism turned to rage and reached the breaking point when the Maya laid siege to Ciudad Real. The Spaniards took refuge in the more readily defensible  pre-Columbian ruins nearby, a refuge that quickly became a trap. An attempt to break the encirclement cost the Spaniards dearly, with over 150 men killed or captured and sacrificed. While in the past indigenous clans often warred with each other, their failures in battling the foreign foe led to unlikely alliances and, in some cases, to de facto confederation. Unlike in central Mexico with the Aztecs, the peninsula of Yucatán was ruled by seventeen chiefdoms. Cogolludo’s record is again the reference to understand what happened to the besieged Spaniards at Chichén Itzá in 1532:

The situation was dire and getting worse. They had to move out or die in Ciudad Real.  The Indians, however, had a flaw in their fighting order as found at Aké and other encounters, they did not fight at night, why? Because the twelve Lords of the Night, in Xibalba the “place of fright” or underworld Hun Came (One Death) and Vucub Came (Seven Death) in particular, did not like to be disturbed and would not look kindly on the warriors. The Indians knew they could not defy two powerful foes at the same time. The Spaniards, aware of that precept, had to leave at night but they needed to keep the Indians believing that they still were in the compound at sunrise. So, they had a dog tied up with a rope linked to a bell, with food and water several feet away, out of reach. Through the night, the Indians heard the bell they associated with Christian rituals and the dog barking. In the dead of night, the Spaniards abandoned Ciudad Real and headed for the coast about forty miles away, their only salvation route. Early in the morning the Indians realized the ploy and small groups of warriors ran after the fugitives. Short but violent battles broke the indigenous scouts attempt at stopping the Europeans. Exhausted, Montejo with the remnants of his party, safely reached the port of Dzilam.

By 1535, but for the cities of Mérida and Campeche, the Spanish had been driven out of the Yucatán. In a twist of history, however, food became so scarce that the Yucatec warriors lifted their siege of the remaining towns held by the Spaniards because, it is said, flying ants signaled the corn planting season, so they hastened to their corn fields. Ten years later, the 1542-1545 re-conquest of the east and interior of the peninsula kept the Spanish fighting again to pacify the land, to no avail.

Relentless Conflict

The Great Maya Revolt of 1546-1547 was started by a Cupul priest inspired by ancestral divinities led by the exalted priest Chilam Anbal. He set the date for the Great Uprising on the full moon of the night 8-9 November 1546, corresponding to 5-Cimi (death) and 19-Xul (end), in the Maya calendar. Chamberlain reports that “at the appointed time the Mayas of the eastern provinces rose in sudden and overwhelming fury. The carnage and unspeakable cruelty knew no bounds and killed Spaniards of all ages in large numbers together with over 600 naborias, Maya converts to Christianity. The heads, hands and feet of Spaniards were cut and sent throughout the land to incite others to greater fury and ruthless carnage” (1947). Few cities such as Valladolid were barely able to resist the onslaught, but most were on the brink of collapse when Montejo (the Younger), and his captains from Mérida and Campeche, regained control of the provinces that were emptied of Spaniards and mestizos, albeit through years of conflict interspaced with periods of precarious peace. The burden of occupation was far worse for the Maya, however, since they had to endure untold hardships from their new masters, who were dedicated to bend them to a new faith and way of life. Inter-polity warfare before the arrival of the Europeans was endemic and of a brutal nature, however, the natives found common grounds in the face of a new and deadly foe.

In 1567, another Maya prophet, the Chilam Cuoh, preached the supremacy of the ancient ways and prophesied a war of religion around the Spanish settlement of Bacalar (in today’s Quintana Roo). As armed resistance intensified, the Spaniards requested the provincial in Mérida for help in quelling Cuoh’s rebellion. The Chilam was captured in 1569 and sent under armed guard to bishop Fray Francisco de Toral in Mérida, for exemplary punishment. It would take another nineteen years of brutal and bloody conflicts for the Yucatecs to be somewhat pacified. Hostility and defiance at all times simmered close to the surface. But as Farris summarizes, “the conquest may have taken longer were it not for three separate epidemics that took a heavy toll on the Yucatecs, causing the population to fall by half and weakening traditional social structures” (1984). Nonetheless, Chamberlain further notes that “Maya culture, in common with that of other advanced peoples of New Spain, Colombia and Peru, was too ancient, too deeply grounded and too tenaciously conservative to be easily swept to one side” (1947). In Spanish colonial times, the Yucatán and most of New Spain, was set under a legal caste scheme where peninsulares (those born in Spain), were at the top of the social order. Next were the criollos, born in the colonies but of Spanish lineage. At the next level were the mestizos, or creoles of European and indigenous descent; followed by the descendants of the natives who had collaborated with the Spaniards during the conquest. At the bottom of the social system were the “others”, the indios.

Through history, the Maya showed tenacious resistance to Toltec and Spanish invaders. They overcame the hardships of the smallpox epidemic of 1514. Then there was the uprising of Bacalar 1639-1641, followed by the one of 1668-1671 and the rebellion of Jacinto Canek in 1761. The Maya showed no less tenacity during the Caste War of Yucatán (1847-1901), that bloodied the peninsula for 54 years. Central to this unremitting antagonism was the appropriation of socio-economic and political control by the Spaniards and mestizos of Indian and European descent, and their efforts at spiritual domination through conversion.

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The Caste War of Yucatan –  ©georgefery.com

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The Spaniards were helped in their quest for domination by successive epidemics of infectious diseases. The vector by which they were transmitted was not understood by European science at the time, for germ theory did not begin to take hold until 1854. Local resistance flared up time and again, until it was somewhat tamed after the brutal fifty-four years Caste War of Yucatán (1847-1901). Countless lives were lost on all sides before the Cruzob movement was crushed by the Mexican General Ignacio Bravo, that ended the Caste War on May 5, 1901. General Bravo, on instructions from the government in Mexico City, implemented reforms that stamped out the root causes of Maya rebellion.

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We shall not kneel. ©georgefery.com

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The history of wars and insurrections in the Yucatán make plain that the indigenous population at large, after three centuries of conflict and hardship, still regarded Spanish and creoles alike, as foreign domination. As Farris’ underline “The Caste War has received its name precisely because it was not a simple peasant rebellion seeking to redress grievances, one that called merely for “bread and land” for The colonial Maya could not escape the reality, which the caste barrier enforced and preserved, of belonging to a group distinct from the unassimilated overlords(2). At the core of this unremitting antagonism was the appropriation of socio-economic and political control by the Spaniards and their efforts at spiritual domination through conversion.

Forced evangelization was unrealistic for the Spaniards had limited resources. Fifty years after the first entrada, there were still not enough evangelists for such a large and diverse population, speaking hundreds of languages in towns and villages, spread out from the dry deserts and canyons of the north to the tropical jungles of the south. Hope for peaceful coexistence lingered among the Maya, but their hopes did not have the same meaning as those of the foreigners, for it was grounded in their ancient religion, their customs and a spirit that did not die with the fierce defenders of their belief, their identity, and their freedom.

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Image, Top Right: Statue of a Spanish conquistador. ©krasnyniejasny.com

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Bibliography/References:

Bernardino de Sahagun, 1905 – Historia General de las Cosas de Nueva España.

Carballo, David, M., 2020 – Collision of Worlds

Chamberlain Robert S., 1966 – The conquest and Colonization of Yucatán,

1517-1550

Diego López de Cogolludo (1610), 2006 – Historia de Yucatán

Fray Diego de Landa, 1959 – Relacion de las Cosas de Yucatán

Reed, Nelson, A., 2001 – The Caste War of Yucatán

A Symbolic Image of the Cosmos: The Hittite Rock Sanctuary at Yazılıkaya

Eberhard Zangger (born 1958 in Kamen, Germany) is a Swiss geoarchaeologist, corporate communications consultant and publicist. Eberhard Zangger studied geology and paleontology at the University of Kiel and obtained a PhD from Stanford University in 1988. After this he was a senior research associate in the Department of Earth Sciences at the University of Cambridge (1988–91). He is currently president of the board of trustees of the international non-profit foundation Luwian Studies.

In May 2016, Luwian Studies went public with a website in German, English and Turkish. As part of its research, the foundation has systematically catalogued extensive settlement sites of the Middle and Late Bronze Age in Western Asia Minor. These sites are presented in a public database on the website. The foundation provides financial support for archaeological excavations and surveys, as well as for linguistic studies dedicated to the cultures of the Middle and Late Bronze Age in western Asia Minor.

For almost 200 years, archaeologists, art historians, and philologists have tried in vain to find a plausible explanation for the unique and well-hidden rock sanctuary of Yazılıkaya, adjacent to the former Hittite capital Ḫattuša in central Turkey. Both the ruins of the city and the sanctuary with its many reliefs carved into the natural stone have been listed as UNESCO World Heritage Sites since 1986. They are the impressive remnants of a once powerful kingdom that ruled over Central Anatolia from around 1650 to 1190 BC, and whose kings were at times on a par with the mighty pharaohs of New Kingdom Egypt.

In June 2021, for the first time, an international team comprised of archaeologists, astronomers, and ancient historians have advanced a plausible explanation for the meaning of each of the more than 90 artistically carved reliefs of mythical figures and anthropomorphic deities, documented in detail in the Journal of Skyscape Archaeology. In short, they posit that the rock sanctuary symbolizes the cosmos as the Hittites imagined it. They suggest that the reliefs illustrate the three main elements of cosmic order: the earth, the sky, and the underworld. They show how these levels, and thus all portions of the cosmos, were populated by deities. In the Ancient Near Eastern belief system, the cosmic order was stabilized through constant renewal, with celestial regularities setting the pace. Renewal occurs when after a dark and cold night the sun rises to bring a bright and warm day; when from a dark moon a full moon gradually waxes; and when the withering away of vegetation and the inhospitable winter months are succeeded by blooming plant cover of spring and summer. Yazılıkaya reflects these cosmic cycles so systematically that the sanctuary can still be used as an accurate calendar.

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The ancient remains of Hattuša. The foundations of Temple 3 (foreground left), Temple 2 (right), and the king’s palace at Büyükkale (background) catch the first rays of the rising sun on the day of the winter solstice
2018 in the upper city of Hattuša (© Luwian Studies #1015).

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The main scene in Yazılıkaya’s Chamber A is where the processions of deities coming from
the left and from the right meet on the local meridian (© Luwian Studies #1216).

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Twelve identical male gods in Chamber B carrying sickle-shaped swords (© Luwian Studies
#1233).

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Schematic drawing of the reliefs of deities on the western wall and main panel in Yazılıkaya’s
Chamber A (© Luwian Studies #1404).

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The four elements of the Hittite cosmos as symbolically depicted in the rock sanctuary of Yazılıkaya: underworld, earth, sky, and celestial circumpolar zone (© Luwian Studies #1418).

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Egyptian Connotations

Some components of the sanctuary can be traced back to Sumerian and Old Babylonian traditions. The procession of the deities on the western wall, for instance, shows a clear hierarchical order in which the higher-ranking gods are identified with their names – some of which are Babylonian – written in Luwian hieroglyphics. This is a rare example of this script being used to express another language, namely Hurrian. Appropriations from neighboring cultures are obvious: the Luwian (Western Anatolian) writing system, the Hurrian language, and the Babylonian deities mixed in with those from the Old Anatolian tradition.

However, thus far, little attention has been paid to borrowings from Egypt, which are also frequent. The entire Luwian hieroglyphic system arose long after the Egyptian script and contains some signs from the Egyptian repertoire. The symbol of the winged sun disk, for example, is the epitome of Egyptian iconography. One relief in Yazılıkaya shows how the Hittite great king is embraced by his protective deity Šarruma – a scene known from two Hittite seals but that also reflects a longstanding Egyptian tradition. In Yazılıkaya, the days of the lunar months are depicted as individual deities in a way that reflects earlier and later Egyptian temple decorations.

What is completely new in the recently presented model is the interpretation of the main panel as a reference to the northern circumpolar region of the night sky. Constellations in this part of the sky dome never disappear below the horizon, and were thus considered undying. According to several ancient belief systems, the world axis (axis mundi) holding the cosmos together is fixed to the northern sky. In Egypt, people believed that the deceased king’s ba (or soul) traveled to this part of the cosmos after the king had first accompanied the sun god Ra on his twelve-hour journey through the underworld. Much like the walls of Egyptian temples, the reliefs in Yazılıkaya were apparently originally painted in bright colors. An Egyptian-style winged sun disk appears over the head of the Sun god of the heavens; and in a large relief of this deity in an artificially constructed chamber in Ḫattuša, the god is holding a sign that corresponds to the Egyptian key of life (ankh). The lower half of an Egyptian-style pyramid forms a large architectural complex in the highest part of Ḫattuša. This complex even contains a straight vaulted tunnel that is strictly oriented to the north and inclined upward, reinforcing the connection to the northern sky as well as the association with the axis mundi. The meridian obviously assumed a prominent meaning in Hittite cosmovision.

How are these allusions to Egyptian iconography explained? The Yazılıkaya sanctuary in its current form dates to around 1230 BC, though it had predecessors. The natural adytum was sealed off from the surroundings by temple buildings, and these reveal at least three different construction phases. At the time the present sanctuary was built, in the second half of the thirteenth century BC, the royal houses of Egypt and Hatti enjoyed exceptionally close relations. After the Battle of Kadesh (1274 BC) a peace treaty was signed (in 1259 BC) bringing the two royal houses closer together. The relations were so intimate that Pharaoh Ramses II requested from the great king of Hatti, Hattušili III, and his wife, queen Puduḫepa (the most famous, and also the last known, Hittite queen), one of their daughters to become his bride. The Hittite princess Sauškanu was then sent off to the Nile, with her mother accompanying her all the way to the Egyptian border. In December 1246 BC, the princess married the pharaoh, and she was renamed Maathorneferure (“One who sees Horus, the invisible splendor of Ra”).

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Astronomical ceiling of tomb KV17 of Pharaoh Seti I, reflecting the northern night sky (©
Luwian Studies #5024).

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Star trails above Yerkapı emphasize the strict northern orientation of the architecture (©
Bernd Pröschold/Luwian Studies #1041).

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Puduḫepa’s Signature

A few years after the wedding, the princess received her brother Hišmišarruma as a formal visitor in the Egyptian capital Per-Ramesses, in the eastern Nile Delta. The Hittite prince decided to remain through the winter in the region. Yazılıkaya obtained its current form only a few years after this visit. The references to Egyptian iconography could thus well be based on impressions (and perhaps even records) gathered during a period of close family ties between the royal courts. Back in Ḫattuša, Hišmišarruma would have reported in detail about his impressions of the Egyptian court. His brother Tašmišarruma was in line to succeed the king – and Yazılıkaya indeed contains two prominent reliefs of him, dating to the time when he ruled under the name Tudḫaliya (IV). After he had taken the throne, the new king was further advised on questions of religion by his mother Puduḫepa. The sanctuary in its present form thus bears Puduḫepa’s handwriting. Puduḫepa was born at the beginning of the thirteenth century BC in the city of Lawazantiya in Kizzuwatna as the daughter of the chief priest of the city’s patron deity, Ištar; and so Puduḫepa grew into the role of a priestess of the same goddess. About a year after the Battle of Kadesh, the Hittite general Hattušili met Puduḫepa, who was then perhaps only fifteen years old, and took her as his wife. Hattušili eventually usurped the Hittite throne from his nephew Muršili III, and so Puduḫepa became queen. As a priestess, she worked on the organization and rationalization of the Hittite religion. The last phase of these syncretizations was immortalized in Yazılıkaya.

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Ancient relief carving showing Queen Puduhepa on the right. Krähenstein, Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 3.0 Unported license, Wikimedia Commons

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Letter of Friendship written in Akkadian by Naptera, the wife of Ramses II, the king of Egypt, to Puduhepa, the wife of Hattusili III, the King of Hittites, between the years of 1275-1250 BCE. Isabeau, Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 4.0 International license, Wikimedia Commons

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The Hittite Demise

Around 1190 BC, the sanctuary was abandoned along with the capital. The influence and power of the great Hittite kings had declined over the course of a few generations, primarily owing to disputes within the royal family. The neighboring states of the Hittite kingdom took advantage of the weakness of the central power and from all four sides pushed the border ever further toward the capital. With their constant raids, the Kaška had always dominated the northern border, thereby preventing Hittite access to the Black Sea. Assyrian forces stormed forward to the east, conquering extensive areas including the valuable copper mines of Išuwa. Tarḫuntašša in the south had been a loyal vassal for generations, but even that state appears to have fallen away from the central government and then may have challenged it. In the west, everything depended on whether the small states based there would decide to join forces (against the great king). It was precisely during this fragile time that the so-called Sea Peoples suddenly attacked the coast of Cyprus, an island that the Hittite great king had annexed not long before. Then Ugarit in northern Syria, the last loyal vassal of the Hittite royal house, fell victim to the raids of the Sea Peoples, and Hittite forces found themselves involved in both sea and land battles. Soon after, the ruling class abandoned the capital, taking most movable objects with them or hiding them. The Hittites left most rooms swept clean. As a result, archaeological excavations brought few significant artifacts to light – apart from the extensive archives.

Rediscovery

We know nothing about the fate of the sanctuary between 1190 BC and AD 1834, when, at last, the French archaeologist Charles Texier explored the area in search of forgotten historical cities. Local farmers led him to the hidden shrine, and then he spent time there making sketches to illustrate his discovery. Upon his return to Paris, Texier’s account caused quite a stir among the bourgeoisie, partly because his drawings of the reliefs were grossly exaggerated. Yet that would not have been necessary, because there is no question that Yazılıkaya is a very special place. In the wake of Texier’s report, a number of scholars visited the area in the nineteenth century. They returned with more drawings exhibiting increasing accuracy, including some of the earliest photos.

It would be futile to ruminate on the initial attempts at interpreting the meaning and function of the shrine, which are far-fetched from today’s perspective. It is much more interesting to review the individual aspects that were recognized at an early stage and which have now been confirmed by the latest research. One of the first European visitors to the shrine observed that “those figures furthest removed from the center were perhaps being intended for inferior persons” (Hamilton 1842, 384). The two bull-men in the center of the western procession “appear to carry a barque” (von Ritter 1858, 386), which undoubtedly symbolically indicates a solar eclipse (Barth 1859, 136). Today we know that the symbol resembles the “boat of light” and that it marks the only day of the month on which a lunar eclipse may occur. Some iconographic elements, including the winged sun disk, seem to be derived from Egypt (von Ritter 1858, 392). “The chief figures are represented larger than the rest which is in accordance with Assyrian and Egyptian custom” (van Lennep 1870, 119). The hieroglyphic symbols correspond to those found in Hama and ought to be attributed to the Hittites: “And [they] must be assigned a much higher antiquity than has hitherto been supposed,” namely 1200 BC (Tozer 1881, 77–78). Many of the figures are provided with hieroglyphics in the form of ellipses with a vertical central line, marking them as deities (Belck 1901, 477). Therefore, the two largest figures must be the main deities, while the relief opposite them shows the Hittite ruler (Belck 1901, 478). Large boulders in front of the chambers belong to the foundations of temple buildings (Belck 1901, 480). John Garstang (1929, 105, Plate 24) suggested counting the figures on the west wall from center to left, which would be appropriate from today’s perspective. Garstang (1929, 97) said of the main deity: “We have here an illustration of the familiar convention, seen also in Egyptian drawing.” Kurt Bittel, excavator of Ḫattuša and Yazılıkaya from 1931 to 1977, interpreted the Hittite spring sanctuary of Eflatunpınar near Lake Beyşehir in central Anatolia as a representation of the cosmos (Bittel 1941, 63), but did not apply this notion to Yazılıkaya. The male deities at the left end of the procession on the west wall of Chamber A can be associated with the deities for the months (Cornelius 1973, 260, 345n34), and a comprehensive cosmological interpretation for Yazılıkaya was put forward by the astronomer E. C. Krupp (1997a; 1997b; 2000; 2005), who also took part in the latest inquiry. References to a deliberate astronomical orientation of the temples in front of the sanctuary can be found from 2000 onward (Belmonte 2000, 89). Prehistorian Jürgen Seeher was the first to mention that the large relief of Tudḫaliya in Chamber A only receives sunlight during the days around the summer solstice (Seeher 2011a, 85; 2011b, 157).

The most recent discoveries that the deities in Chamber A could be used to operate and display a lunisolar calendar (Zangger and Gautschy 2019) and that the sanctuary as a whole symbolized the cosmos with its levels and celestial regularities (Zangger et al. 2021) developed seamlessly from a long line of previous research. Rather than being considered as marking the end of a quest that spanned almost two centuries, they should be used as a tool to a better understanding of the Hittite religion – one that includes celestial aspects.

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Main panel in Chamber A (Reliefs 42–46) showing the chief deities Teššub and Ḫebat (©
Luwian Studies#1217).

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Proposal for the cosmological model depicted in Yazılıkaya, including all reliefs of deities and emphasizing the groups they form and how these are related to each other to symbolize recurring celestial cycles (© Luwian Studies; #1419).

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Scientific publication (Open Access)

Zangger, Eberhard, E. C. Krupp, Serkan Demirel and Rita Gautschy (2021): “Celestial Aspects of Hittite Religion, Part 2: Cosmic Symbolism at Yazılıkaya.” Journal of Skyscape Archaeology 7 (1).

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Rome’s Wonders, Above & Below: An Interview with Prof. Frank Korn

What follows is an interview with Professor Frank Korn. Now retired from Seton Hall University’s Classics Department, he has written for a variety of publications and has authored books, such as Hidden Rome, Below Rome, and A Catholic’s Guide to Rome, and more. He has traveled to Rome frequently during his lifetime, both professionally and for leisure.

 

Q.  In Hidden Rome, you wrote about the Ara Pacis, one of the greatest monuments of ancient Rome, missing for centuries, found during the Fascist era.  Can you tell us about this?

A. Of all his accomplishments, the emperor Augustus was most proud of bringing peace at last to a land torn by war throughout its then 700 years of existence.  This was the start of what future historians would call Pax Romana, an era of peace and stability that would span almost two centuries.  And so the Senate soon raised an altar, calling  it the Ara Pacis, The Altar of Peace, to honor their esteemed leader.

In his memoirs, Augustus tells us of the monument.  This shrine must have fallen victim to one of the many sacks of Rome by the barbarian hordes after the fall of the empire.  All traces of it    even its location    was lost throughout the Middle Ages.  In 1859, during renovation on a Renaissance edifice    the Palazzo Fiano – workmen discovered numerous slabs of carved marble which many scholars identified as fragments of the Ara Pacis.  In 1937, by order of Mussolini, the site was thoroughly excavated bringing to light extensive portions of the peace shrine.  These were ultimately reassembled on a platform erected near the Tiber where we can view and admire the monument in our time.

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Q.  The Tomb of Caesar Augustus is massive.  Can you tell us about its history and mystery?

A. As far back as a quarter century before the Christian era, Augustus commissioned construction of a massive mausoleum to serve as the final resting place for himself, his family, and his successors.  Marcellus, his beloved nephew, was the first to be entombed there.  He died of malaria in 23 BCE at the age of 19.  Had he lived, he would have been his uncle’s successor.  Augustus’ son-in-law and great friend Marcus Agrippa was laid to rest there a decade later. 

The historian Strabo gives us this description of the tomb:  “A huge rotunda rising on a gigantic square base, both of pure white marble richly decorated and landscaped with cypresses…”  The cypress was adopted from the Etruscans as a symbol of mourning.  Flanking the entrance were two towering obelisks brought to the imperial capital from Egypt on order of Augustus.

Even in ruins, which we see today in the Campus Martius, the tomb of Augustus is impressive and imposing.

Q. Years ago, I recall staying in a convent hotel across from the Circus Maximus and walking around what’s left of the racing area.  You wrote that the Circus Maximus sat 385,000 spectators and that Romans had “Hippomania.”  What does that mean and what was this rowdy place?

A. Hippos in ancient Greek means horse; mania means frenzy, enthusiasm, mad passion.  “Hippomania” is a neologism for the ancient Romans’ zest for horse racing.  In the sixth century before Christ, Tarquinius the King took advantage of the oblong valley between the Palatine and Aventine hills to build a race track for horses.  He ordered wooden grandstands to be constructed on the slope of each hill, and a dividing island    also of wood    to be  laid out through the center of the valley.  The starting gate was placed at the southern end of the 620-meter-long oval race track.  Thus was born the prototype for all horse-racing stadia ever since.  By the time of Caesar Augustus the arena had been transformed into stone, travertine to be precise.  The dividing island, or spina, was made into a showpiece of sculpture and architecture, centered by a lofty obelisk brought from Egypt.  The grandstands could by now seat 385,000 roaring spectators.

Under Augustus there were over 300 racing days a year, with a daily card of twelve races.  There were four stables or horse farms that sponsored the events.  These stables were known as the Reds, the Greens, the Whites, and the Blues, from the colors of the garments worn by their respective riders.

Heavy betting was rampant.  There were numerous race courses    called Circuses    in and around the city.  This was the main and largest one.  Hence the name:  Circus Maximus.

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The Circus Maximus as it appears today. Pixabay, Public Domain

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Q. Even today, the ruins of the Baths of Caracalla are massive.  Can you tell us about this “elaborate country club complex”?

A. Each July and August across more than five decades in the last century    until massive budget cuts in the 1990’s  – the Rome Opera Company would stage Verdi’s Aida and other spectacular music dramas within the brooding ruins of the third century Baths of Caracalla.

Eighteen centuries earlier the sounds here were much different.  The cavernous halls of the tepidarium (warm room), the calidarium (hot room) and the frigidarium (the cold room) rang with the cacophony produced by the whistling, hooting, jeering, laughing, and ribald singing of hundreds of bathers bent on having a good time.

But there was much more to this bathing establishment which served as a kind of ancient country club    a place to meet friends, stroll the landscaped grounds and chat, play ball, work out, get a massage, have drinks, enjoy dice games in the conference rooms, and so forth.  Imperial Rome’s jet-set crowd would pull up to the entrance in closed litters.  The “have-nots” arrived on foot, believing that any inconvenience or discomfort was well worth while just to escape, for a few hours, the dreariness of inner city tenements.  A local ordinance scheduled different times for men and women in order to prevent mixed bathing.  Every now and then there were violations of the law, resulting in scandals that became the talk of the town.

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The Baths of Caracalla. Scapin, Pixabay

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Q.  You quote Percy and Shelley, who had great joy wandering around the Bath’s ruins.  The Romantics loved ruins.  Do you and your wife Camille get a special feeling being around ruins?  What’s the aesthetic, the message?

A. Camille has been my treasured companion on most of my one hundred and seven trips to Rome across the last fifty two years.  Some of these trips were for full semesters, some for a fortnight, some for an in between length.  Like Shelley, et. al., we love visiting the relics of “the glory that was Rome”.  In the ruins of the Augusteum, the mausoleum of Caesar Augustus, we can’t help but reflect for moments on end that there once rested here the ashes of that restless, gifted man who “found Rome a city of brick and left it a city of marble”.  Down in the great Forum, amid the fallen columns and ubiquitous weeds, we never grow blasé about trodding the original paving stones of the Via Sacra that felt so often the sandal-shod feet of the consuls and senators, and the ordinary cives Romani.

Q. Trajan’s column depicts the machinery of war and conquest.  What are the particulars about this column?  It would scare any potential enemy, wouldn’t it?

A. The Column of Trajan, at one end of the forum named for that much accomplished ruler and city planner, was raised amid great panoply in the year 113.  The bands of bas reliefs circling up the full height of the slender monument    125 feet  – represent Trajan’s triumphs over the Dacians beyond the Danube.  Tiny windows illuminating the spiral staircase inside are almost concealed among the carved figures of soldiers, weapons, and p.o.w’s.

The column was originally topped with a statue of the emperor, facing the Forum, the Colosseum, the grandeur of Rome.  The effigy stood there majestically through the ages until Pope Sixtus V (1585-90) replaced it with a likeness of St. Peter, facing the Vatican in the opposite direction.  With the apostle’s back turned on the ancient splendor, Sixtus has Peter declaring:  “Roma pagana est mortua.  Viva Roma Christiana!”

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The Trajan Column as seen in Rome today. Djedj, Pixabay

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Trajan Column, detail. Scapin, Pixabay

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Q. You wrote that the Romans brought twenty-two obelisks from Egypt and that thirteen are still pointing at the sky.  Did the Romans have Egyptomania?

A. While I would not go so far as to call it “Egyptomania,” the Romans seemed to be curious about the culture and custom of the province they called “Aegyptus”, and by the exotic beauty of its women.  They, the Romans that is, could relate to the Egyptians also because both peoples were polytheistic and saw religion as a civic duty.  Both, at times, deified their rulers.  Furthermore, Egypt is mostly in Africa, that mysterious continent, except for the Sinai peninsula which is in Asia.

Pliny the Elder, in the first century of our era, was fond of saying “Ex Africa, semper aliquid novi    Out of Africa always comes something new  – probably alluding to a passage from the writings of Aristotle who was likely referring to the numerous forms of wild life, principally in Libya.  Could Pliny, now that it was a Roman province, have also had Egypt in mind?  One wonders.  Another indicator of Romans being somewhat intrigued by that land and its people is a curious monument in Piazza della Minerva.  Here where once stood a temple to that goddess of war, the sculptor/architect Bernini in 1667 placed a statue of an elephant surmounted by an obelisk with a Latin inscription claiming that it would take the strength of that enormous beast to sustain the wisdom of the Egyptians.

Q.  Before my first trip to Rome, you recommended Santa Prisca, on of the few house-churches mentioned in the New Testament.  Today it’s a small, lovely church on the Aventine Hill, and one of its treasures lies under the church:  the Mithra ruins.  Can you tell us about all this?

A. Late in his reign, the emperor Claudius ordered the expulsion of all Jews from Rome.  Among the exiled multitude was a pious couple, Aquila and his wife Prisca, who sought asylum in Corinth where they crossed paths with the apostle Paul.  Under his influence the couple converted to Christianity.  When Claudius’ edict was at last rescinded, they returned to their home on the Aventine Hill, and allowed their residence to be used as a place of Christian worship, one of the two dozen or so domus ecclesiae, i.e. house-churches, in the city of Rome.

We know this from a line in Paul’s letter to the Romans (16:3-5) which reads:  “Give my greetings to Prisca and Aquila and to the church that meets in their house.”  When Constantine ended the persecutions in 313, the Christian community erected a new church building on what was left of the original house and called it the Church of Santa Prisca. (Whenever I am back in Rome, the priests there invite me to do the readings at Mass.)

In 1933, during excavations to find the rooms of the original structure, archaeologists discovered that there had once been a Mithraeam on the site in pre-Christian times.

Q. Also, can you tell us about San Clemente and what’s below?

A.  Christian pilgrims to Rome, hoping to be swept back across a million yesterdays to apostolic times ought to make their first stop at the church of San Clemente, just four blocks down on the Via San Giovanni in Laterano from the Colosseum.

San Clemente tangibly peels away the centuries, for it is actually three churches superimposed one upon the other with massive stonework and piles of masonry from three distinct Roman epochs.  On this site, Christians have gathered for worship across two millennia.

When Peter was serving as bishop of Rome there dwelt here a pious priest named Clement who allowed his residence to be used as a house-church.  In the year 88 Clement was elected to the throne of St. Peter, becoming the fourth pope of the infant church.  In the late fourth century the faithful filled in the ground floor of Clement’s home with rubble and mortar to provide a bedrock foundation for the basilica they would soon raise there.  The basilica was given the name San Clemente.  Throughout the Middle Ages, it remained one of the most prominent of the city’s Christian shrines. In 1084 it fell victim to the Norman sack of Rome.

In 1108 Pope Paschal II constructed a new basilica on the remains of the fourth century structure.  Today it is possible to visit all three levels.

As at Santa Prisca’s, a Mithraeum was uncovered here, too.  In the center is a block of marble with a relief showing the god Mithras sacrificing a bull.

Q. Can you tell us about this Mithra religion?  Also, why did it come to Rome?  And can you tell us about the Isis religion in Rome?

A. Before the gospels reached the banks of the Tiber, a middle eastern cult known as Mithraism had taken root in the Capital.  This centered about the worship of Mithras, an Indo-Iranian divinity associated with light and the sun.  The earliest devotees claimed that since evil spirits ever lie in wait for hapless man, Mithras had come into the world as man’s friend and savior.  Unlike the mainline Roman cults, Mithraism preached the immortality of the soul and urged a perpetual quest for personal sanctification, in an ongoing preparation for a spiritual life of bliss in eternity.  It also called for new values and a fresh approach to terrestrial existence.  Instead of gravitas, the typical grim view of life, there was to be a quiet joy.  Mithraists were also expected to practice asceticism, self-control, and a fierce resistance to all impurity and decadence.

Mithraism, at least in the Roman world, found its most ardent followers in the military.  Roman legions propagated the cult throughout the empire.

With the spread of Christianity in the late fourth century, the eastern religion of Mithraism began to be suppressed.  In 377 the prefect of Rome, Gracchus, delivered the coup de grace with his orders to destroy all mithraea.

Q.  Can you tell us about the Quirinal Hill and Esquiline Hill?

A.  Il Quirinale, the Quirinal, is one of the original seven hills of Rome, all enclosed by the ancient Servian Wall.  It takes its name from a temple to the Sabine god Quirinus which was later adopted as a Roman deity.  The temple crowned the summit, where since the fourth century rises the patriarchal Basilica di Santa Maria Maggiore, so called because of all the Eternal City’s nearly seventy churches honoring Mary — this is the major one.

The ancient temple was, in the eighth century BCE, renamed the Temple of Romulus Qujirinus following the apotheosis of Romulus, mythical founder of the city.  To this shrine there was assigned a special priest  –-  the Flamen Quirinalis — among whose duties was to preside over the sacred rites to the divinity each February 17, the feast day called Quirinalia.

In the neighborhood of the temple, in the late Republic and throughout the Imperial era, could be found many fine estates of the Roman elite.

The Esquiline Hill’s etymology has many versions.  One I find fairly plausible is “ex colere” (to live outside) suggesting that much of the hill stood outside the circuit of the Servian Wall, at least early on.  This hill was an amalgamation of the beautiful and the ugly.  In the upper reaches were some fine residential areas lined with trees, especially umbrella pines.  Down lower on the slopes was the dreaded Suburra, a slum of great squalor with a high crime rate.  The satirist Juvenal wrote that no man should walk in this area of the city after dark without having first made out his will.

Q. You write about the area in Rome called Largo Argentina.  Did the Fascists order that area excavated? What did they find?

A.  Largo, like the word piazza means a city square.  One such place in Rome is called Largo Argentina.  Unlike the Eternal City’s celebrated piazzas with their splashing fountains, sidewalk cafes, strolling musicians, and a baroque church or two, Largo Argentina offers only crawling traffic and urban din.  One redeeming factor is the Teatro Argentina with its peach facade and this inscription to the appropriate Muses:

ALLE ARTI DI MELPOMENE D’EUTERPE E DI TERPSICORE

But the main attraction of the square is the sunken area in the center, some twenty five feet below the current street level, featuring the special remains of four temples from the early Republic.  Discovered as recently as 1930, these shrines are so ancient that archaeologists soon realized that they had been submerged beneath the stratification of Rome so long ago that even Caesar Augustus likely had never seen them.  The deities to which these temples were dedicated are as yet unidentified.

When Mussolini learned of this discovery he ordered further extensive digging at once.  Thus the classical world owes Il Duce somewhat of a debt of gratitude.

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Q.  In your writing on Pagan Rome, you included the dinner party, which Petronius wrote about.  So, it was a lot of excess food and wine, but also it had a somber theme about the transitoriness of life.  Can you tell us about these feasts?  Is the evidence all literary or is there some archaeological evidence?

A.  In that long ago era of no radio, no television, no I-pads, nor I-pods, an invitation to a dinner party was one of just a few things to look forward to for a Roman evening.  And that treat was only for the well-to-do.

In his witty novel, Cena Trimalchionis, the first century writer provides a glimpse of the lavishness of the food and the opulence of the setting at such gatherings.  The principal part of the meal followed an hors d’oeuvres hour and was concluded with a session of drinking and levity, which the more dissolute among the guests prolonged until dawn.  In the course of the clamorous get-togethers there would customarily be music, singing, dancing, and various parlor games.  This was the authentic time for winding down from the stresses and annoyances of the day.

Every host was eager to make a show of his financial status via plush room decorations, expensive dinnerware, and exquisite objets d’art.  We learn all this mostly from ancient writings and particularly from archaeology.  During the early excavations  at Pompeii, in the so-called House of Menander, a stunningly beautiful set of pure silver dinnerware    118  pieces –  was unearthed.  In other Pompeiian homes we see paintings depicting formal suppers and an occasional well-preserved triclinium, dining room with a sloping couch ranged on three sides of a square table, the other side open for the servants to bring course after course after course.  The paintings and the layout of the room, and the word triclinum show that the Romans did not sit, but rather reclined at the table.

One more little curious note:  as the guests arrived they would find at the entrance to the dining room a slave calling out “Pede dextro, quaeso”, Right foot please!  An old superstition held that by putting one’s left foot first over the threshold was to jinx the whole evening from the very start.

Q. Can you tell us about some of your favorite arches, gates, aqueducts and anything else you’d like to add?

A.  As for triumphal arches in Rome, our favorite is the Arch of Titus which honors his conquest of Jerusalem and provides the ceremonial entrance into the Forum.  In a remarkable state of preservation, the arch features many beautifully carved bas reliefs.  One shows the triumphal parade with soldiers bearing some of the spoils of victory among which is an enormous Menorah, the seven-stemmed candelabrum taken from the great Jewish temple.  What a compelling testimonial to the old maxim:  Ars longa, vita brevis.  The sculptor, whoever he was, has been dust for two millennia, while his splendid carvings live on.

Still clearly engraved on the tympanum are the words:  “Senatus Populusque Romanus.  Divo Tito Divi Vespasiani F.” — The Senate and the Roman People to the Divine Titus, Son of the Divine Vespasian.  Upon their deaths both emperors    father and son, were deified.

Our favorite gate is the Porta Latina, just inside of which is the fourth century church with the poetic name of:  St. John at the Latin Gate.

Of the ancient water-works we prefer the Claudian Aqueduct (4th century BCE) under whose arches our three sons    as little boys    used to play hide and seek with their Roman pals, out in the counrtyside.

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The Arch of Titus. Scapin, Pixabay

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Iconic scene of the triumphal march of soldiers carrying the great Menorah captured from Jerusalem, a bas relief carved upon the Arch of Titus. Pixabay

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Q.  Can you tell us about the most important roads, such as the Via Appia or Appian Way?

A.  An old saying claims:  “All roads lead to Rome.”  Today’s civis Romanus put it this way:  “Tutte le strade portano a Roma.”  This can be taken not only figuratively but also literally.  All the great highways that the gifted Roman road builders constructed lead from a multitude of points in the far reaches of Italy inexorably to the capital.

The oldest of these, the Via Appia, opened to traffic in 312 BCE by the consul Appius Claudiuis, and named for him was the great south road, linking Rome with the Naples area.  Terminating in a suburb called Capua, the road proved so convenient it was extended all the way to Brundisium on the Adriatic Coast.  The people called it Regina Viarum, the Queen of Roads.  Once trafficked by iron-wheeled chariots and horse-drawn delivery wagons, the original paving stones remaining in some stretches are now caressed by the rubber tires of the modern automobile.  Other routes in the ancient highway network bear names like:  Via Latina, Via Ostiense, Via Salaria, Via Aurelia, Via Cassia, Via Flaminia and so on.

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The Appia Antica, Rome. Euroforum, Pixabay

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Q.  The catacombs –  it’s a fascinating journey on ancient roadway just to reach them. What are they and who’s buried there?

A.  The catacombs are those subterranean cemeteries of the early Christians and Jews in Rome.  In fact, it was the city’s Jewish colony which first conceived of the idea of tunneling the subsoil outside the walls to provide burial grounds for their loved ones.  There were eventually dug    across the first four centuries of our era — some seventy such Christian sites and a much smaller number of Jewish ones.

Because of a law forbidding burial of ashes and bodies within the ancient city fortifications, all of these cemeteries lie beyond them, along the roads leading out of Rome.  Three of the largest  –-  the Catacomb of St. Callistus, that of St. Sebastian, and the one called St. Domitilla — are located along or near Via Appia as are the Jewish cemeteries, both under vineyards, the Vigna Randanini and the Vigna Camarra.

A catacomb (so called from the Greek Kata (down) and Kumbas (in the hollows), is a labyrinth of tunnels    some ten to twelve feet in height and about three feet in width    with niches of varying dimension one above the other, carved out of the walls.  In these recesses, called loculi, were placed the bodies, usually wrapped in linen according to an ancient Jewish custom.  The loculus would then be sealed with bricks or a slab of marble  – depending on the financial status of the bereaved family.

The bricks would soon be covered over with a layer of plaster into which would be etched    or on which would be painted    the name, the age, the date of  entombment, perhaps the occupation or some other details of the deceased.

These epitaphs tell us much about life back then about the family bond, about religious beliefs, about the hope of an after-life, about the average life span, about the sad high rate of infant and child mortality,  about the invocation of saints    particularly Peter and Paul    and especially of martyrs.  Many of the inscriptions are in Greek, for that was the liturgical language of both Christians and Jews in old Rome. 

After a burial, the grieving family would often hold a refrigerium (cold meal) in honor of their lost loved one.  This was the forerunner of the modern custom of a repast.  Some families were affluent enough to afford not merely a niche but a small room (cubiculum) for their burials and often allowed the less fortunate mourners to use the room for their refrigerium.

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What lies beneath — A view within the ancient Roman catacombs. George Syrios, Pixabay

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Q.  What movie, in your estimation, depicts Rome’s ruins and grandeur best?

A.  Most of the Hollywood productions set in Rome that I have seen feature the usual popular tourist sites, e.g. the Colosseum, the Spanish Steps, Trevi Fountain, Piazza Navona, Villa Borghese, the Via Veneto, et cetera.  I don’t recall any showing the Roman Forum, the Circus Maximus, the Baths of Diocletian and those of Caracalla, or the funeral monuments along the Appian Way, or Largo Argentina, etc.

While I have not seen the much acclaimed film, “The Gladiator,” I am told that it does an excellent job of showing the grandeur that once was Rome.

Q.  What is a must-read essay or book from ancient Rome that has a profound message for those who love history and archaeology?

A.  Of these there are several that I can enthusiastically recommend, such as the satires of Juvenal, the Annuales by Tacitus, the Commentaries on the Gallic Wars by Julius Caesar, among numerous others.

For a glimpse of the political and social goings-on of the late Republic, I eagerly suggest the six volumes of Cicero’s correspondence with the movers and shakers of the day and with his alter-ego, Atticus.  For an eyeful of family life, leisure interests, luxurious country villas, attachment to one’s home town, etc., the letters of Pliny the Younger make delightful reading, as does his eye-witness epistolary account of the burial of the decadent city of Pompeii by the eruption of Vesuvius. I’ve always found it fun to study history by opening someone else’s mail.

As for the importance of studying history I would refer you to Cicero’s quote:  “He who does not know what took place before he was born, remains forever a child.” 

As for the value of archaeology, of laboriously digging up the past, I like what one archaeologist told me:  “I dig to find out who I am”.

Cover Image, Top Left: The Roman Forum. StevoLeBlanc, Pixabay

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About Frank Horn

Frank is retired from Seton Hall University where he was an Assistant Professor of Classical Studies. He is the author of nine books, such as Hidden Rome and A Catholic’s Guide to Rome. He was a Fulbright Scholar at the American Academy in Rome, and he won the Princeton Prize for Distinguished Teaching.

Richard and his family happened to meet Frank (the interviewer) and Camille Korn at Pinho’s Bakery in Roselle, NJ. They soon realized the connections they had going back two generations. When she attended Benedictine Academy, Bonnie Marranca (Richard’s sister) wrote Frank a fan letter having to do with Rome and the study of Latin. Frank had written articles in local papers that informed and inspired countless readers.

Frank and Camille have been to Italy about sixty times and have also taken groups there. Frank’s conversation and writing, based on his travels and his life-long study of the classics, capture the magic and beauty of Rome.   

About the interviewer

Richard recently conducted interviews of Egyptologists Salima Ikram and Kara Cooney, published in Popular Archaeology. In the last year, he has authored stories published in Coneflower Café and The Raven’s Perch; poetry in The Paterson Literary Review; and his book, Speaking of the Dead, has recently been accepted for publication by Blydyn Square Books in NJ.

He has taught English and the humanities for over a quarter-century, culminating in a Fulbright to teach at LMU in Munich. He also has been awarded six NEH summer seminars. He and his wife Renah and child Hera also make travel and educational videos under the heading Childe Hera’s World. Their hobbies are yoga, hiking and travel.    _______________________________

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Book Review: Aegean Linear Script(s): Rethinking the Relationship between Linear A and Linear B

It may be time to start thinking of TWO as actually ONE.

Since their discovery, scholars have split the best-known early ancient Aegean scripts into two separate and well-attested writing systems — Linear A and Linear B. First discovered by British archaeologist Sir Arthur Evans while excavating the ancient Minoan city of Knossos on Crete at the turn of the century (1900), these scripts were manifested mostly on clay tablets and seals that survived the ages, thought by scholars to be due to baking from accidental fires. Between 1951 and 1953, Michael Ventris and John Chadwick successfully deciphered the ancient Linear B script. While Linear A was found primarily at ancient palace sites on Crete, Linear B was found mostly within palace archives at the excavated sites of Knossos, Cydonia, Pylos, Thebes and Mycenae. Linear B is considered the earliest form of Greek script. Linear A, which preceded Linear B, remains undeciphered, used mostly by the Minoans, whose language is still unknown, to document transactions as part of the administration of their palace business.

Though the respective scripts are still conventionally thought to be separate, to this day scholars continue to debate the nature of the relationship between the two and their origins, the scripts exhibiting clear similarities in both structure and paleography.

Academic Tour De Force

Enter here Dr. Ester Salgarella, who embarked on an exhaustive, in-depth study of Linear A as the basis and focus of her doctoral dissertation while pursuing her PhD at St. John’s College, University of Cambridge.

“There are no classes on LA [Linear A] at the University, so only at the graduate level could I work freely on what I liked most,” wrote Salgarella in her recently published interview with Popular Archaeology Magazine*. “I had always been intrigued by the partial knowledge we had of the LA to Linear B transmission process, and it puzzled me. When I proposed this topic for my PhD to my supervisor, I must say I was expecting a rejection. When the ‘yes’ came, I was beyond delighted! This meant I had to acquire knowledge of LA by myself, and full days, weeks and months were dedicated to that single purpose, thanks to the magnificent holdings of the Cambridge University Libraries and the ‘Mycenaean Epigraphy Room’ private collection in the Faculty of Classics.”

The result of her efforts has been nothing less than remarkable, leading in part not only to the awarding of her PhD but also the post-doctoral publication of her related book, Aegean Linear Script(s): Rethinking the Relationship between Linear A and Linear B, published by Cambridge University Press. Her efforts also led to her creation and ongoing development of a unique, searchable and free paleographical database for Linear A known as SigLA, in collaboration with computer scientist Dr Simon Castellan at INRIA, University of Rennes (France).

The book itself may stand among the world’s best academic works on the subject, arguably inducting Salgarella onto the short-list of the world’s experts on Linear A. In 380 pages parsed among 5 intricately detailed and graphically rich sections, Salgarella takes the reader on an in-depth passage to a deeper understanding of the elusive script and how it relates to the later Linear B script. “I set off to examine the peculiarities of the transmission process to assess the degree of relatedness,” between Linear A and Linear B, comments Salgarella about the purpose of her book.* She achieves her objective while acknowledging at the same time that, as is common in all academic pursuits, the content is subject to healthy debate.

Setting the stage to help the reader understand where she is going with her narrative, Salgarella reviews in detail the current state of knowledge about the script, including an analysis of the evidence, structure and paleography of both Linear A and Linear B. With this foundation, she then introduces and expounds upon the interpretive models she formulates as her method of analyzing the respective structural and paleographical characteristics of the script systems. 

Not a Replacement, But a Continuum

Most significantly, Salgarella’s research and analysis as detailed in her book points, in her view, to some game-changing conclusions about fundamentally rethinking our understanding of the two scripts. For the reader, these takeaways are spelled out in the final section of her book:

First and foremost, she argues that the long understood ‘replacement’ of Linear A with Linear B did not actually occur as traditionally reflected in the literature. “The joint result of the combined structural and paleographical analysis reveals that the two scripts (as well as systems) appear closer than previously assumed on both structural and graphic grounds,” Salgarella stated in a recent interview with Popular Archaeology. “The script is continued in its graphic form with only slight modifications; the system itself was continued.”* In other words, the transmission process between Linear A and Linear B was more fluid than conventionally described. Indeed, as she argues in the conclusive remarks in her book, Linear A and Linear B should actually be thought of as one script, not two. Additionally, Salgarella argues, “my paleographical analysis suggests that LB was ‘created’ under the graphic influences of LA writing practices in use at North and North-East coastal sites,”* where contact and influence from mainland Greece was likely most acute. 

Finally, for the historian and those familiar with the literature touching on the Mycenaean ‘conquest’ of Crete during the Late Bronze Age, Salgarella suggests an important implication from her research that may likely draw further debate: that this ancient island civilization never really saw such a clear violent takeover.  “These results may make us rethink our very interpretation of the so-called ‘Mycenaean takeover of Crete’ still found in the literature,” she stated in the recent interview. “There was indeed language change in the transition between LA and LB, and their respective administrative systems, but this is not enough to claim a ‘takeover’ of the island.”* It is clear that a Greek-speaking group/community at some point controlled the highest levels of administration, however this does not necessarily mean there was an ‘invasion’.”

So did the Mycenaeans, as we understand them from ancient mainland Greece, really overtake the island society on Crete as conventionally thought? The debate goes on, but the script, according to Salgarella, does not clearly support that scenario.

An Educational Journey 

It should be noted that Aegean Linear Script(s) is not easy grist for those of us who are uninitiated in the fields of linguistics, paleography, ancient scripts, and the study of Linear A and Linear B in particular. For this reason, for the general reader, it might be advisable to keep a dictionary close at hand while fathoming the terminology in the text. It is nonetheless, in this writer’s opinion, a work of unquestionable and exceptional academic prowess. If the reader can exercise sufficient self-discipline to find oneself arriving at the final section detailing the author’s overall conclusions, it is a richly eye-opening educational experience, and a must-read for those interested in acquiring a much deeper understanding of Aegean linear scripts.

Cover Image, Top Left: Minoan inscriptions in Linear A script. Phaistos, 1850-1450 BC. Archaeological Museum of Heraklion. Zde, Creative Commons Attribution ShareAlike 4.0 International license. Wikimedia Commons

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Aegean Linear Script(s): Rethinking the Relationship between Linear A and Linear B, can be purchased from Cambridge University Press.

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*Deciphering the Minoans, Popular Archaeology, April 15, 2021  

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Deciphering the Minoans

 

“Only joint efforts will make decipherment possible.”

Ester Salgarella

 

No one knows their names. Lost personalities of an ancient civilization, their most famous king is known to us only through Greek mythology—King Minos—if in fact he ever existed as described in the mythical narrative. But archaeological remains tell us that, whether or not King Minos was real as depicted in the mythology, there must have been kings in this land. Today the land is known as the island of Crete, a part of modern-day Greece, but as long ago as at least 3000 BCE it was the center of what has been penned in the historical literature as the ‘Minoan’ civilization—so named by the British archaeologist Sir Arthur Evans after the mythical king. It was Evans who first excavated the palatial remains at Knossos in 1900. In short, he ‘discovered’ the Minoans. Evans’ efforts were followed in succeeding years by a string of excavations and research that have revealed a remarkable ancient civilization that has left behind a wondrous legacy of monumental palaces, building complexes, tools, incredible artwork, writing systems, religion, and evidence of an expansive trade network across the Mediterranean. Remnants of their monumental past can be seen beyond Crete on multiple islands in the Aegean. They have been arguably described as representing Europe’s first great urbanized society. 

Yet even so, we do not really know their story. We do not know the chronology of their kings, the major events of their history, or the affairs and issues of their elites. That is because, outside of Greek myth and unlike what scholars have been able to determine from the decipherment of ancient inscriptions that have testified and recorded the often detailed story of civilizations like ancient Egypt, Mesopotamia, and the ancient Maya, there are to-date no successfully deciphered written records for the Minoans. Evidence of ancient writing systems, however, was discovered during excavations at Knossos and other Minoan sites. Scholars, beginning with Evans, were able to distinguish three writing systems manifested mostly on clay tablets and seals that survived the ages due to baking from accidental fires, and on other artifacts. Known as Cretan Hieroglyphic (the earliest, a pictographic script), Linear A and Linear B, with Linear A determined to be the predecessor of linear B, the decipherment of these scripts eluded scholars for decades after their first discovery. 

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Above and below: The ancient remains of Knossos, the largest known center of the Minoans on Crete. Above: Pat_Scrap, Pixabay  Below: Bigfoot, Pixabay

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Cracking the Scripts

Scholars began to open windows on this mystery when, between 1951 and 1953, Michael Ventris and John Chadwick successfully deciphered the ancient Linear B script. Linear B was found mostly within palace archives at the excavated sites of KnossosCydonia, PylosThebes and Mycenae.  Excepting Knossos and Cydonia, these sites are best known as Mycenaean centers, and Linear B is thus largely associated with the Mycenaeans. The archaeological finds indicate this script was used to record and communicate economic transactions related to palatial center administration from approximately 1600–1100 BC. Although the Mycenaeans arose after the Minoans, with their most significant centers located in present-day mainland Greece, many scholars have suggested that the Mycenaeans were significantly influenced by the Minoans, with archaeological finds evidencing a strong trade and exchange relationship. Both Linear A and Linear B scripts share many common signs, and it is generally thought that Linear B is a derivative of the yet undeciphered Linear A. However, despite decades of study, scholars have yet to decipher Cretan Hieroglyphic and Linear A. But new strides have been made in recent years.

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The ancient remains of Mycenae, on mainland Greece. This image depicts the famous Lion Gate. Zde, Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 4.0 International, Wikimedia Commons

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Clay tablet inscribed in Linear B from the Mycenaean palace of Pylos, on present-day mainland Greece. This inscription provides information on the distribution of bovine, pig and deer hides to shoe and saddle-makers. This tablet was preserved because it was baked in fire that destroyed the palace around 1200 BC. Sharon Mollerus, Creative Commons Attribution 2.0 Generic, Wikimedia Commons

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A partial tablet inscribed in Linear A, found at the Palace of Zakros, located on the island of Crete. Olauf Tausch, Creative Commons Attribution 3.0 Unported, Wikimedia Commons

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What follows is an interview with Dr. Ester Salgarella, who is a Junior Research Fellow at St. John’s College, University of Cambridge. She is most recently known for the creation of the open access SigLA database of Linear A inscriptions, a remarkable and possible game-changing tool developed in collaboration with computer scientist Dr Simon Castellan at INRIA, University of Rennes (France). Although this new tool is under ongoing development, it now features more than 3,000 individual inscription signs that are searchable. Her work, along with others, may prove to be a key to the eventual decipherment of this mysterious script, opening a long-awaited window for understanding the ancient Minoans………….

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Working Toward a Comprehension of the Minoan Script

Q: What is your background experience as it relates to the study and decipherment of Linear A? What inspired you to focus on research related to this?

ES (Ester Salgarella): My background is in Classics and Archaeology. Before coming to Cambridge, I received both my BA and MA from the University of Padova (Italy), where I started studying Aegean Prehistory and Mycenaean Greek out of passion and as optional classes (when available). I came to Cambridge for graduate study (MPhil and PhD) as I knew Cambridge is a leading institution in this field and the very place where the archive of LB decipherment is preserved. It was the most sensible place to go to follow my passion and further my knowledge. And, in hindsight, I was not mistaken!

However, my passion for the ancient world and ancient scripts is rooted in my childhood: I still remember a time when I was 6 years old. My parents took me to Venice to visit an exhibition featuring the Ancient Egyptian queen Nefertari (http://www.fondazionememmo.it/nefertari-regina-degitto/) . Needless to say, I fell in love with Egyptian Hieroglyphs more than anything else and at the exhibition shop I acquired a little booklet (for children) on how to draw hieroglyphs. Once back home, I started to cover the house with sticky labels displaying names of objects in hieroglyphic (to the extent a child would do, of course). This is my earliest memory of my passion for ancient scripts. As a teenager, at school I studied very fondly both Greek and Latin and I was mesmerized when the Aegean Bronze Age world was disclosed to me: I had a sudden and strong feeling of belonging… it was like a call. This is what I wanted to study, what I wanted to do. I wanted to work on the earliest evidence of writing on European soil, to know more about the people who invented and made use of writing there, to understand more of their history through the lens of writing. Moreover, it was a reasonably new field of study (beginning with Heinrich Schliemann’s excavations at Troy and Mycenae, and Sir Arthur Evans’ unearthing of the palace of Knossos), and this added to the excitement.

However, it was not until my PhD that I could focus on Linear A (LA). There are no classes on LA at the University, so only at the graduate level could I work freely on what I liked most. I had always been intrigued by the partial knowledge we had of the LA to Linear B (LB) transmission process, and it puzzled me. When I proposed this topic for my PhD to my supervisor, I must say I was expecting a rejection. When the ‘yes’ came, I was beyond delighted! This meant I had to acquire knowledge of LA by myself, and full days, weeks and months were dedicated to that single purpose, thanks to the magnificent holdings of the Cambridge University Libraries and the ‘Mycenaean Epigraphy Room’ private collection in the Faculty of Classics.

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Q: What is the current status of efforts to unlock the language behind Linear A and the implications or significance of this endeavor?

ES:

a). The state of the art: ‘readability’ of LA texts, within a hoped-for ‘decipherment’ framework

Despite the language difference between LB, which writes the earliest form of the Greek language known to date, and LA, which writes a language we dub ‘Minoan’, it is still possible – to some extent and with an approximation – to ‘read’ LA inscriptions. This is because of the script relationship between LA and LB. It has long been known that these scripts are related, and that the LB script (not language) is derivative from the LA script. The (to date) known context of use (primarily administrative purposes) also suggests the same. In my work (more on this below) I set off to examine the peculiarities of the transmission process to assess the degree of relatedness. 

Given that the LB script used the LA script as a template, it is assumed that those LA signs that maintained approximately the same shape in LB may also be ‘read’ with the phonetic reading (approximate, if not the same) we have reconstructed in LB. This allows us to at least ‘read’ LA texts in phonetic transcription. Such transcriptions have now been made open-access by Prof. John Younger in his website: http://people.ku.edu/~jyounger/LinearA/  Regrettably, the printed edition of LA inscriptions does not have any phonetic transcription. Although this method may well be subject to criticisms, as we do not have a way of uncontrovertibly proving all sound values remained approximately the same upon script transmission, there are a number of legitimate reasons in favor of applying this method, as it has been recently argued by two colleagues of mine, Dr. Torsten Meissner and Dr. Philippa Steele, based here at the University of Cambridge.

However, even if we could fully ‘read’ LA texts, we cannot yet understand the underlying language. To ‘decipher’ means to get to know the language encoded in a script. Hence, we are currently faced with what I call ‘readability’ of LA texts, within a hoped-for ‘decipherment’ framework. It has been demonstrated by Prof. Yves Duhoux from the University of Louvain that LA makes use of a good many prefixes and suffixes (i.e., in our case, syllabic signs that are attached to the beginning or end of a word-stem to create a new word). This makes it unlikely for it to belong to the Indo-European linguistic family, which does not show this feature to such an extent. More recently, Dr. Brent Davis from the University of Melbourne has investigated LA texts at a deeper level by using statistical and phonotactic methods (more on this below) and he has attempted to determine which linguistic family (e.g. Indo-European, Semitic, Afro-Asiatic etc.) may best fit the LA pattern. For now, none of the existing families shows a close correspondence with the features we see in LA.

In order to arrive at a decipherment, we need to carry out interdisciplinary research in a collaborative international environment. This is necessary until we eventually find a bilingual inscription (a ‘Rosetta Stone’ for LA), of which there is none to date. In light of this, in the following discussion I would rather leave aside the issue of ‘deciphering’ LA, though ultimately critical, and focus on the stepping stones that may help to pave the way to a future decipherment.

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Linear A tablets on display at the Archaeological Museum of Heraklion, Crete. Dr Ester Salgarella

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A Minoan clay tablet inscribed with Linear A, on display in Crete’s Archaeological Museum of Heraklion. Dr Ester Salgarella

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b). Significance of a long-awaited decipherment

On a local scale, knowing the language behind the LA texts shall allow us to carry out an assessment of the extent of literacy in the Bronze Age Aegean, developing insights into the workings of the palatial administrations during the Minoan period (ca. 1800-1450 BCE), and achieving a more nuanced reconstruction of ‘Minoan’ society, economy and religion. Moreover, further linguistic analysis shall allow us to assess linguistic/dialectal variation over time and space in the different parts of Crete (and the Aegean islands that have so far produced LA evidence).

On a global scale, linguistic data shall enable us to situate the language in its diachronic position, in case it can be successfully linked to one of the already known linguistic families; if not, this will nevertheless give us an astonishing example of an ‘isolated’ language (such as, e.g., Sumerian and Etruscan). Knowledge of the underlying language may also allow us to reconstruct (although with due caution) prehistoric population movements, giving us a hint as to the place of origin of the pristine nucleus of the so-called ‘Minoans’.

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Q: A recent press release article about your work stated the following: “Taking an interdisciplinary approach using evidence from linguistics, inscriptions, archaeology and palaeography (the study of the handwriting of ancient scripts), Dr Salgarella examined the two scripts in socio-historical context.”* Could you explain this in such a way that a reader from the general public would understand, perhaps giving some examples to illustrate?

ES: Let us start with the terms that may sound more familiar: archaeology and linguistics.

Archaeological analysis: in our case, this primarily concerns chronology. It is essential to know where tablets come from and the dating archaeologists have assigned to a given tablet deposit. This gives us a relative chronology of the finds being studied, and consequently allows us to situate the attestations of the script in its diachronic development.

Linguistic analysis: this involves an assessment of current approaches to the linguistic analysis of the Linear scripts. Of particular importance is the discussion about how legitimate it is to read LA signs with the phonetic values we have reconstructed for LB (see my discussion above). Moreover, we also need to take into consideration those signs that are attested in one script only: within LB, to try to understand the reasons why some signs were created anew and some others were discarded during the transmission process; within LA, to try to understand why some signs (esp. not continued into LB) are at times site-restricted, i.e. found at a given site only.

Let us now discuss two fields of study that may not be familiar: epigraphy and palaeography.

Epigraphic analysis (inscriptions): this has to do with the study of how inscriptions are made, with respect to both the implement and the support (in the case of LA and LB, the support is the clay tablet and the implement is a stylus). An examination of tablet layout and disposition of information on the writing surface also plays a key role. If we take for example the LB tablet I have annotated with a phonetic transcription and a translation in the before-mentioned St. John’s press release article, in that type of layout we can see that each spot occupied by a word is significant for administrative purposes: e.g. the first word (bigger size) is always a man-name (that of a shepherd), the slot on top is occupied by another man-name (that of the person responsible for overlooking the shepherd and its flock), finally the slot on the bottom is filled with a place-name (in this case ‘Ku-ta-to’). Epigraphy is also concerned with features like word division (e.g. in LB this could be achieved by changing the size of close-by words or by adding a word-divider in the shape of a little comma); erasures (cases in which a previously written sign or word was erased and a new one was written on top: at times we are still able to work out what had been written in the first instance and to make sense of the change); presence or absence of ruled lines to guide writing; and intentional blanks and spaces between words and/or lines. All these data give us information about how tablets were redacted and edited, and which kind of information the palace administrators (aka ‘scribes’) deemed ‘essential’ for future record.

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Linear B clay tablet with the text explained. Dr Ester Salgarella

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Palaeographical analysis: this is the study of sign forms, how a sign was designed in the first instance, the number of variant ways in which a sign can be drawn, the variation in handwriting that we witness between different ‘scribes’, the modifications signs undergo over time and place. By way of example, in Linear B palaeographic analysis has been used to detect ‘scribes’ (referred to with the more neutral term ‘scribal hand’ in the scholarship): i.e., the individuals who were responsible for writing the clay documents. Such a task has not been fully undertaken for LA, and we hope that the palaeographical analysis carried out in my book (Aegean Linear Script(s): Rethinking the Relationship between Linear A and Linear B), alongside SigLA (SigLA – The Signs of Linear A: a paleographic database), will help with the detection of individuality on Linear A tablets. This would have significant implications for our reconstruction of administrative connections in the palatial centers and it would be key to assessing the level of literacy at that time (e.g. how many people are likely to have mastered writing in the form of the LA syllabary?).

By examining the available evidence using and integrating these approaches, I was able to disentangle some of the intricacies that surround the LA to LB transmission process.

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Q: What have you specifically discovered about the relationship between Linear A and Linear B that opens up a significantly better window on understanding and deciphering Linear A, as opposed to what scholarship already knows about the two scripts?

ES: We already knew these scripts are derivative from one another, however, the precise way in which the latter was derived from the former was not straightforward, esp. in relation to the amount of change/rupture with the previous system: how much different is the LB script/system if compared to its template? In order to throw light on this, I set out to examine the structure and palaeographical features of both LA and LB.

By structure I mean the examination of the arrangement of their respective syllabaries, the function performed by a sign in context (e.g. syllabic, logographic, ideographic), the kind of sign combinations that were used in LA and which ones were continued in LB (and why so). This allows us to assess the level of ‘rupture’ with the previous system on a systemic level to get to an understanding of the degree of change (or lack thereof) upon the script transmission process from LA to LB.

As to palaeography, I produced detailed palaeographical charts of all signs attested on the LA tablets and the oldest LB tablets from Knossos (from the deposit called ‘The Room of the Chariot Tablets’) unearthed at any given site on Crete that has so far yielded written evidence. This allowed me to get a global view of all signs and their variants in each script and to assess the extent to which sign forms were modified when transmitted from LA to LB. These charts clearly showed that most of the graphic variants that we see in LA are also present in LB: this implies that the degree of change was kept to a minimum and there was no strong or drastic sign selection process (nor strong sign standardization) when LB was ‘created’.

The joint result of the combined structural and palaeographic analysis reveals that the two scripts (as well as systems) appear closer than previously assumed on both structural and graphic grounds: comparable categories of signs were transmitted from LA to LB, and also when LB innovates it appears to follow principles already operating in LA; also the graphic shapes of signs we see in LB were continued from LA antecedents most of the time, and not created completely anew. If change is likely to have been kept to a minimum during the script transmission process, this means that there may be scope for making even further comparisons between these two scripts as well as systems: in other words, we may want to test whether other features we see and know from the LB system may also be applied to the LA system to shed light on its characteristics. By way of example, LB tablets, in that they are records of economic transactions, contain a good number of words with administrative significance (e.g. ‘total’, ‘grand total’, ‘deficit in payment’, ‘allocation’, ‘contribution’, etc.): by studying contextual positions of words and their associations, we may be able to make inferences as to the plausible meaning of some LA words (and there are scholars already attempting to do so).

Moreover, by implication, these results may make us rethink our very interpretation of the so-called ‘Mycenaean takeover of Crete’ still found in the literature. From a script perspective, it is unlikely that there was an abrupt change: the script is continued in its graphic form with only slight modifications; the system itself was continued. The very purpose of clay documents was also the same as in the LA administration: documents used for the bookkeeping of palatial administrations. Moreover, this interpretation is consistent with the archaeological record: there is no evidence of a war-like context on Crete, at least on present evidence. These considerations may make us want to reconsider slightly our interpretation of the two communities dubbed ‘Minoans’ and ‘Mycenaeans’ by modernity. There was indeed language change in the transition between LA and LB, and their respective administrative systems, but this is not enough to claim a ‘takeover’ of the island.

I shall finish with a modern example: there are countries, like Switzerland for example, in which more than one language is spoken, though still they consider themselves as one nation. Language, therefore, shall not be taken a priori as a necessary condition to distinguish between different population groups. Moreover, it also needs stressing that we have to exercise due caution when projecting our modern views onto the past. We need to always question our interpretations and envisage more than one possible scenario.

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Q: What archaeological discoveries and sites have indicated the best potential for contributing to our understanding of Linear A?

ES: LA evidence does not amount to much, so we need to take into account all sites that have yielded written evidence in order to obtain as comprehensive a picture as possible. Only three sites on Crete have produced a sizeable amount of LA evidence allowing for site-internal comparison. These are: Haghia Triada in Central-South Crete (with some 1250 inscriptions: 147 tablets and 1103 sealed documents), Zakros on the North-East coast (with some 591 inscriptions: 31 tablets and 560 sealed documents) and Khania on the North-West coast (with some 309 inscriptions: 99 tablets and 210 sealed documents). The best preserved (and not only fragmentary) tablets come from these three sites, where there is potential to investigate the LA writing system at a deeper level given the higher amount of information we can retrieve from better preserved texts. However, scholars are now embarking on statistical and phonotactic analysis of the inscriptions with the aim at understanding some of the linguistic features (most importantly, Dr. Brent Davis from the University of Melbourne). Decipherment will only be made when we can say which language the tablets are written in, but in order to do so we first need to ‘tidy up’ our dataset: the structural and palaeographical analyses conducted in my work will be a stepping stone, complemented by progress in statistical and phonotactic analysis.

Thus, we need the whole LA dataset for statistical and cross-comparison analysis.

However, when it comes to examining the transmission process from LA to LB – esp. with respect to the much debated ‘place of origin’ of LB – then we can argue for some Cretan sites to have played a role in shaping up LB as we see it. My palaeographical analysis suggests that LB was ‘created’ under the graphic influences of LA writing practices in use at North and North-East coastal sites: these are primarily Khania, Arkhanes (and the area around Knossos) and Zakros. This scenario raises the issue of ‘connectivity’ and network analysis: in fact, when sailing from Mainland Greece, coastal sites are obviously more easily reached and connections between the two population groups (so-called Mainlander ‘Mycenaeans’ and Cretan ‘Minoans’) are more likely to have been more intense in such contexts. Adding to this, on Crete LB is only attested at Knossos, situated in a strategic position in the Centre-North area of the island. Only later on, we find some scattered evidence of LB at Khania (and one tablet fragment at Sissi, located near Mallia), but only at a time when LB at Knossos appears not to have been used any longer. This would be further evidence suggesting that LB is likely to have originated within a North coastal milieu.

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Q: When, for example, an inscribed tablet is discovered in archaeological context, how can you determine at first whether it is inscribed in Linear A or Linear B?

ES:  In order to distinguish between a LB tablet (or other kind of inscribed document) from a LA one, we need to look at three sets of features (and the combination thereof): pinacological features, epigraphical features, palaeographical features.

Pinacology is the study of the shape and format of a clay document (πίναξ ‘pínax’ is the Greek term for ‘tablet’): LA tablets are only page-shaped (rectangular shape, they usually fit quite nicely into the palm of a hand), while LB tablets can be either elongated (called palmleaf-shaped tablets) or page-shaped tablets (however, esp. at Knossos, the palmleaf-shaped type is more frequent than the page-shaped one, and this is a new tablet format introduced in the LB administration). Hence, tablet format already gives us a hint for the correct identification as well as classification of an inscribed clay tablet.

Epigraphy studies the disposition of information and writing on the tablet surface and the way in which the inscription was made. This also helps us in the identification process. A few examples: (i) LB inscriptions appear neater and tidier than LA ones, hence gaining in clarity (a number of LB tablet layouts show a well-thought-out disposition of information on the writing surface, with specific spaces/slots destined to a given – and recurrent – type of information, which is significant from an administrative standpoint). (ii) Often LB tablets show ruling lines to guide writing (the LB tablet with my notes shows a middle line, but bigger size page-shaped LB tablets may show much more). This is also a new feature introduced in LB. (iii) Most LB tablets also tend to clearly separate different entries occurring on the same record (e.g. one per line) and to distinguish more clearly between text and logograms by placing logograms at the far end of each entry (this does not happen in LA, where entries are often broken across lines). The examination of epigraphical features clearly shows that in the move away from the LA administration, LB both improved and systematized tablet format and layout.

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Above: Linear B clay tablet showing ruling line. Dr Ester Salgarella  Below: Linear B clay tablet KN Fp 13, showing ruling lines. It is dated to 1450-1375 BC. It records quantities of oil offered to deities. vintagedept  Creative Commons Attribution 2.0 Generic  Wikimedia Commons

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Palaeographical features also help in this undertaking. Although very many sign shapes and variants were transmitted straight from LA to LB, some degree of change/modification did occur in LB. This, of course, did not compromise the overall shape of a given sign. LB signs appear to have been graphically systematized in order to ‘resonate’ with each other, so to say: e.g. similar traits got more marked in order to make signs more alike (See the image below from my book, where I discuss this systematization process, and where you can see in different colors those traits of LB signs that became more enhanced). Moreover, most LA composite signs were not continued into LB. Hence, if we see a composite sign, the inscription is more likely to be LA than LB.

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From Fig 31, p 289, Aegean Linear Script(s): Rethinking the Relationship between Linear A and Linear B, by Ester Salgarella. Image courtesy Dr Ester Salgarella

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By combining together these approaches and examining specific features, we are able to distinguish a LB document from a LA one. However, it is also worth mentioning that chronology may help us as well (in case a new find is unearthed from a clearly datable stratigraphic deposit). As mentioned already, LA spans ca. 1800/1700 to 1450 BCE, while LB is slightly later (ca. 1400/70-1200/1190). The earliest attestations of LA are dated to either 1800 or 1700 by scholars, and this fluctuation is due to the fact that there exist (at Knossos and Mallia) a number of inscribed clay documents called ‘dubitanda’ (= doubtful), as it is not clear whether we ought to classify them as Cretan Hieroglyphic or Linear A.

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Q: What additional or new archaeological discoveries or research/analysis could help provide the key to ‘unlocking the code’ of the Minoan language behind Linear A?

ES: What we all wish we could find is a bilingual text! A real ‘Rosetta Stone’. This does not need to be an inscription on hard support (like a clay tablet or a stone inscription). What we would need from any context (even beyond Crete) would be a bilingual text that could give us some clues as to the exact meaning and interpretation of the words of LA and ultimately the reconstruction (and possible) identification of the Minoan language. This lacking, we need to use ‘every tool we have’ in order to get as much as we can from the short and laconic texts.

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Q: Regarding the new online resource of individual signs and inscriptions you created, has this resource already been used by scholars/researchers? Why has such a resource or technique/instrument not been developed and used before?

ES: The SigLA database is a new resource and shall allow in-depth and comprehensive palaeographic and epigraphic comparison both within a given site that produced LA evidence and across different sites. Searches are customizable according to users’ needs. They will be able to create their own datasets in ways unfeasible before.

Why has it not been created before? My field of research is a relatively new one: excavations and discoveries of Bronze Age ‘Mycenaean’ citadels started with Heinrich Schliemann towards the end of the 19th century, and the ‘Minoan’ civilization was brought to light with the discovery of the palace of Knossos by Sir Arthur Evans at the very beginning of the 20th century. Much progress has been made ever since, however most works and editions of inscriptions have been published in old-fashioned print form only (for obvious reasons). The ‘digital era’ had yet to touch our field until recently. Most digital resources have been developed over the last decade, with digital education as well as skills on the rise. We are eventually moving toward a ‘digital landscape’ and away from unmovable print editions.

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Homepage of SigLA database. Salgarella and Castellan 2020

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The development of this research tool is also timely, as now – after a century of study of our material – we are asking ourselves more sophisticated palaeographical, epigraphical and linguistic questions (among others) that could not be answered without the help of digital resources. I am aware of a number of colleagues who are already using SigLA, and I am sending them regular updates on its implementation. In fact, it needs stressing the database is still under construction (it was started only one year ago) and it will take long before it comes to completion. In order to track changes and updates, we have added a specific page for users to see the amount of evidence they are searching. But this database has also been created with a view to making it accessible to the wider audience: that is the reason why we opted for an interactive interface that allows users to engage with the evidence displayed and to get information about signs and words by simply hovering with the mouse over a given sign or word (with the aid of color-code). In this way the world of LA is disclosed to everyone, for research, for self-study, or just for fun. As it is, it can also be taken as an open-access ‘didactic tool’ for everyone to use and enjoy.

Last but not the least, needless to say this project is interdisciplinary, but even more: it is also collaborative. SigLA is a joint effort, developed in collaboration with Dr. Simon Castellan, computer scientist at INRIA, University of Rennes (France), who has produced the software (Sigil) from scratch to tailor it to the needs and peculiarities of the LA evidence. I am beyond delighted to say this is a clear example of how far we can go by joining forces toward a common goal.

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Close-up of Linear A tablet HT 7 (from Haghia Triada), on display at the Archaeological Museum of Heraklion, Crete. Dr Ester Salgarella

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Screenshot of the same Linear A tablet, HT 7, from SigLA database. Salgarella and Castellan 2020

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Q: What are your next steps or projects in your quest to deciphering the script, and where do you see research going on this in the future?

ES: I need to stress again that my work is not necessarily concerned with decipherment itself (see reasons stated above), but it helps to ‘tidy up’ our dataset to eventually come to a better understanding and appreciation of the LA writing system. Only joint efforts will make decipherment possible.

For now, my project is to get SigLA to completion: it will take long until all known LA inscriptions are replicated (my drawings based on the edited corpus), their data and metadata parsed and coded and finally uploaded onto the database. In fact, only when complete will SigLA show its full potential. In the long-term, I would not mind creating a comparable database for LB inscriptions, given that no such tool has yet been developed. I must say, this may be the only area where LA studies are doing better than LB ones!

Finally, my wish for the future is that the much-awaited decipherment of the Minoan language encoded in the Linear A script be the result of a collective effort and undertaking. We are one global, interconnected research community helping each other with our respective expertise: what best to foster further interdisciplinary research approaches and avenues? I hope the age of ‘individualism’ in scholarship has come to an end.

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The archaeological site of Haghia Triada in southern Crete, where the largest known collection of artifacts featuring Linear A was found. Olaf Tausch, Creative Commons Attribution 3.0 Unported license, Wikimedia Commons

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Readers may learn much more about the latest results of Dr. Ester Salgarella’s research in her new book, Aegean Linear Script(s): Rethinking the Relationship between Linear A and Linear B , published by Cambridge University Press.

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About the Interviewer

Dan McLerran is a writer, journalist, and the founder and editor of Popular Archaeology Magazine, an online venue specializing in disseminating stories related to archaeological and anthropological discoveries worldwide to a global public readership. He previously created and published Archaeological Digs, a weblog highlighting archaeological excavation opportunities across the world. He is the author of numerous articles on a variety of archaeological developments and discoveries. As a writer, artist, and publisher, he has a passion for all things archaeological. Pictured left, he walks near the graves of members of the ancient Qumran community, adjacent to the caves where the Dead Sea Scrolls were discovered. 

If you liked this article, you may like The Minoan Connection, a major feature article published by Popular Archaeology in 2011, and Stela 14: Unlocking the Maya Script.

Cover Image, Top Left: Detail of the partial tablet inscribed in Linear A, found at the Palace of Zakros. Olauf Tausch, Creative Commons Attribution 3.0 Unported, Wikimedia Commons

Above, 7th image from top, oriented left:Portrait Image of Dr Ester Salgarella: Dr Ester Salgarella began studying Linear A and B during her PhD. Her findings are revealed in her book, Aegean Linear Script(s) (Cambridge University Press) Dr Ester Salgarella.

*https://www.joh.cam.ac.uk/rosetta-stone-internet-could-help-researchers-finally-solve-puzzle-ancient-minoan-language

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The Moses Scroll: Fake or Real?

Jerusalem, 1884Rosette Shapira must have felt an overwhelming sense of foreboding when  three men, including the British consul to Jerusalem, arrived at the door of her home. After they entered, they sat opposite her and uttered those devastating words — her husband, Wilhelm Moses Shapira, was dead. He had killed himself with a gun in a rented guesthouse room near the Maas River wharf in Rotterdam, Netherlands, 2,000 miles away. Her life, and the lives of her daughters Augusta and Maria, would never be the same again.

Only days earlier, the office staff for the guesthouse began to wonder when they saw no sign of Moses leaving his room more than two days ago. A knock and shout from outside the locked door of his room yielded no sound. Soon, the police were at the door. Experiencing the same result, they broke into the room. What they found was everyone’s worst case scenario — Shapira was dead. He had apparently shot himself with a gun, leaving in the room his possessions, including a case that contained brochures, manuscripts, and letters. His body was taken and buried in an unmarked Rotterdam grave, far from his family home in Jerusalem. To this day, no one knows for certain where his body lies. It was a tragic and ignoble end to a life that mattered dearly to family and friends. 

A Forgery

Moses (pictured left) Shapira’s journey to this tragic end actually began almost six years earlier, when he owned and managed what was considered to be “the best tourist shop in Jerusalem’s Old City” on Christian Street, not far from the historic Jaffa Gate. There, he sold books and a variety of other souvenir items popular to tourists. But his most passionate occupation was that of antiquities dealer, servicing, among other things, as a correspondent to the British Museum. Ancient manuscripts were his specialty, and over the years he had developed a body of knowledge and contacts that positioned him to be ‘in the right place at the right time’ when ancient artifacts and historic and ancient documents found their way into his sphere. His travels in the desert and elsewhere afforded him the opportunity to amass a significant collection of Arabic and Hebrew manuscripts, some of which he sold to the Royal Museum at Berlin, as well as to the British Museum. But none of his collections could possibly shine a light to what came his way in 1878, when Bedouins had discovered, in a cave high above the Wadi Mujib east of the Dead Sea, a bundle wrapped in linen. The bundle contained sixteen blackened leather strips, ranging from 3 to 4 inches in width, with varying lengths. The backside of the strips was coated with an asphalt/bitumin resin. But on the front side of the darkened strips, to Shapira’s astonishment, were barely legible written characters. Shapira knew enough to recognize it as a form of paleo-Hebrew. Knowing the relative antiquity of paleo-Hebrew script, could these be authentic documents, written by one or more unknown scribes, perhaps even well before Herodian times?

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In his excitement he began to examine the strips on his own, preparing a transcription from whatever he could distinguish from leather surfaces that appeared to reflect the ravages of perhaps thousands of years. The strips appeared to document three incomplete manuscripts of a version of Deuteronomy, specifically the last speech of Moses to the Hebrews as they sojourned in the land of Moab, before his death. It contained a travelogue of the journey of the Hebrews in the wilderness, a somewhat different version of the Ten Commandments, and a series of blessings and cursings based on the commandments. One document was almost complete, another less complete, and a third represented only by a fragment. But he knew his initial transcription attempts would not be enough. The effort was a struggle. This was a job for an expert. In September, 1878, he sent his transcription to Konstantine Schlottman, a German scholar and friend, who in turn recruited the efforts of Franz Delitzsch, another German scholar. After examination, both strongly rejected the transcription as indicating the ancient documents had to be a forgery — the transcription, they maintained, deviated too radically from the traditional text of the Bible and what scholarship generally agreed was consistent with authentic scripture. Disappointed in Schlottmann and Delitzch’s determination, Shapira, still personally hopeful that the ancient strips were authentic, secured them away for a time in a vault at the Bergheim and Company Bank in Jerusalem and turned his attention back to other matters of his business.

………That is, until he got his hands on a book entitled Introduction to the Old Testament by another German scholar, Friedrich Bleek. The contents of the book convinced Shapira that the arguments that Schlottmann and Delitzsch used to refute his transcription could not be inarguably supported, and he decided to remove the strips from the vault and resurrect his efforts to seek scholarly examination and hopeful confirmation of the authenticity of the discovery. His strategy — to secure the services of other scholars in Germany and England, this time by bringing the actual documents, the strips, with him for their examination and study. If authenticated, his plan was to sell them to the British Museum for a handsome sum of, according to some newspaper accounts, as much as one million pounds, a value he felt well matched the value of the documents, which he hoped would bring financial independence to him and his family. 

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Lithograph of one of the Shapira Scroll fragments, Frederick Dangerfield for Christian David Ginsburg. Christian David Ginsburg, Public Domain

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Two photographs of Shapira scroll ‘Fragment E’, columns 1–2, and one other fragment. In the top image, Fragment E is folded in half, with column 4 (verso) partially visible behind column 1 (recto). The image of the other fragment is cropped at the bottom. Idan Dershowitz, Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International licenseWikimedia Commons

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Shapira Strips, 1883, Scientific American. Scientific American, October 27, 1883, Public Domain

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Examination resumed first with two German scholars, Hermann Guthe and Eduard Meyer, who carefully studied the strips and produced a transcript and evaluation. They leaned at first toward a determination of authenticity, but while they were finishing their work for publication, Karl Lepsius, head of the Royal Library at Berlin, convened another group of prominent scholars, consisting of professors Dillmann, Sachau, Schrader, Erman, and Steinschneider. Although these experts spent only a limited amount of time with the manuscripts, they quickly concluded that they were forgeries. They were impressed with them, however. They offered to purchase them, albeit at a lower price than Shapira was prepared to accept. These manuscripts, they maintained, were so cleverly forged they would be worth owning as an example of such outstanding effort.

Undaunted, Shapira went on to England, where, facilitated by Sir Walter Besant, secretary of the Palestine Exploration Fund, he secured the efforts of Christian David Ginsburg, one of the world’s leading authorities on Hebrew manuscripts. Ginsburg would spend weeks studying the manuscripts, including transcribing what he could successfully discern and decipher from the alleged ancient manuscript characters. Given the condition of the strips, the task was not easy. While he worked, regular updates of his progress were published in the Athenæum, a popular  British literary magazine published in London at the time. While Ginsburg continued his examination, he expressed no clear opinion. That would wait for completion of his work. Some scholars, however, based mostly upon their reading of the continuing news and the reports in the Athenæum, expressed skepticism. Nonetheless, the excitement and news of Shapira’s manuscripts splashed across British newspaper venues. In addition, two fragments of the manuscripts were placed on display for the general public in the British Museum, drawing crowds. Even Prime Minister William Gladstone, who took a special interest in things biblical and the scholarly work of Ginsburg, visited the display and engaged in personal conversation with Ginsburg and Shapira about the manuscripts. It seemed, finally, Shapira’s manuscripts were gaining the positive traction he so longingly desired — at least from the public.

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Facsimile of some of the Shapira scroll, as published in The Athenaeum, September 8, 1883, after Ginsburg. Ginsburg, Wikimedia Commons, Public Domain

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The Crash

But the new high Shapira was experiencing would not last long. Charles Clermont-Ganneau, a world-renowned French orientalist and archaeologist, heard news of the leather strips coming out of England. He was known for his skill in detecting forgeries, and was in fact instrumental in debunking ancient Moabite pottery artifacts years before, an affair in which Shapira himself was deeply involved as a dealer. Clermont-Ganneau, even from afar, already harbored suspicions about the authenticity of Shapira’s leather strips, and wanted to see them for himself. With a mandate from the French minister of public instruction, he was sent on his way to England to examine for himself what the British hype was all about. On arrival, he was given access to view and study fragments of the strips, but under very limited access and time constraints, while Ginsburg continued with his more in-depth examination.

Even with the limitations, however, it did not take long for Clermont-Ganneau to come to his conclusions. Though he was expressly permitted to publicize his finding only after Ginsburg had a chance to publish his report, Clermont-Ganneau forged ahead prematurely and announced his thoughts to the press: The manuscripts were forgeries.

Although he noted various reasons supporting his conclusion, his most cited argument was that someone, perhaps Shapira himself, had cut off the bottom blank margin of an old Torah scroll, perhaps several centuries old, creating strips upon which he (or someone) inscribed characters very much like those found on the Moabite stone and Siloam Inscription. Moreover, shortly following Clermont-Ganneau’s pronouncement, Ginsburg published his report. He agreed with Clermont-Ganneau. The manuscripts were forgeries. The scholarly consensus fell in favor of the forgery assessment.

For Shapira, it was like his world had come crashing down. With this news out to the world, he must have thought he was ruined, branded perhaps forever as a forger. Even so, still clinging to his conviction that the inscribed leather strips were authentic, he left the manuscripts behind at the British Museum and traveled on to other points in Europe. He continued with some business dealings, but ended up ultimately in Rotterdam in early March, 1884, where he presumably took his own life in a guesthouse room near the Maas River.

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Illustration used by Clermont-Ganneau to demonstrate the cutting of the Torah scroll to create the Shapira strips. Clermont-Ganneau, Wikimedia Commons, Public Domain

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A Forgery? The Case for Re-examination

Scrolls in the Desert

New discoveries can often shift the ground upon which prevailing scholarship stands. One could argue that this is what happened when, between November 1946 and February 1947, Bedouin shepherds discovered seven ancient scrolls/fragments contained in ceramic jars in caves near the ancient site of Khirbet Qumran, 1.5 miles from the northwestern shore of the Dead Sea. Known today in the popular literature as the Dead Sea Scrolls, they were the first of subsequent ancient scroll and fragment discoveries in the Dead Sea area, attesting to the continuing ancient Hebrew practice of documenting sacred texts containing beliefs and histories on leather parchment and papyrus — and, given the dating of the finds, that such material could actually survive at least 2,000 years in the Dead Sea area.

This is important for these purposes because one of the salient early arguments among the 19th century scholars against the authenticity of Shapira’s manuscripts was that leather documents were unlikely to survive for 2,000 or more years in the environment in which they were allegedly found — in this case, caves above the Wadi Mujib, not far east from the Dead Sea.

What is more, the Shapira manuscript strips were alleged to have been found wrapped in cloth and treated on the exterior with a pitch/asphalt/wax/bitumin resin coating, not unlike the state and treatment of at least some of the Dead Sea Scrolls found, here again, by Bedouin shepherds in a high desert cave not far from the Dead Sea. Could it be that, as a clever forger, Shapira simply possessed an uncanny, almost “prophetic” sense for fabricating circumstances so serendipitously similar to those characterizing the discovery of the Dead Sea Scrolls, a series of events that occurred more than 65 years later? Some noted scholars have suggested that this would not have been probable.

Menahem Mansoor, Professor Emeritus of Hebrew and Semitic Studies at the University of Wisconsin-Madison, wrote about the circumstances, and much more, related to the Shapira manuscripts: “Neither the internal nor the external evidence, so far as yet published, supports the idea of a forgery.”* His assessment was published in 1958, after the discovery of the Dead Sea Scrolls. Add to this the comments made by John Allegro, one member of the initial select team of scholars assigned to work on the Dead Sea Scrolls, wherein he stated that the Shapira manuscripts “may have been one of the most important archaeological findings of all time”.** Though Allegro’s scholarship and reputation were certainly not without controversy, it goes without saying that the Dead Sea Scrolls clearly had an impact on how he viewed the Shapira scrolls in 1965, when his book, The Shapira Affair, was published.

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View of the caves location near Qumran, where many of the Dead Sea Scrolls were discovered.

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Two scrolls from the Dead Sea Scrolls lie at their location in the Qumran Caves before being removed for scholarly examination by archaeologists. Abraham Meir Habermann, 1901–1980, Wikimedia Commons, Public Domain

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One of the original Dead Sea Scrolls before being unraveled by scholars. Abraham Meir Habermann, 1901-1980, Wikimedia Commons, Public Domain

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Add to this another prominent charge levied by scholars, led first and foremost by Clermont-Ganneau himself upon completing his initial cursory examination of the Shapira strips — in short, that Shapira’s leather strips were actually cut from the bottom blank margin of a Torah scroll and then used as the support medium upon which the paleo-Hebrew characters were written, or forged. The subject scroll may have eventually ended up in the Sutro Library in San Francisco, where today rests a Torah scroll that has been clearly intentionally cut off at its bottom margin. This, says investigative journalist Chanan Tigay in his recent book, The Lost Book of Moses, could be a candidate for the scroll. However, Idan Dershowitz, who is currently Chair of Hebrew Bible and Its Exegesis at the University of Potsdam and Faculty Member at Harvard University, has now suggested in a recent paper, The Valediction of Moses: New Evidence on the Shapira Deuteronomy Fragments, that the Torah scroll could as likely have been cut along the top edge of the bottom margin to remove clearly evident extensive water damage that effected the bottom of the scroll. Nonetheless, the cut Torah scroll argument has remained one of the pillars upon which scholars have rested their verdict for more than a century.

Enter here also the Dead Sea Leviticus scroll 11QpaleoLev, a leather parchment scroll which, like the Shapira scroll, was inscribed in paleo-Hebrew. It was discovered in “Qumran Cave 11,” about one mile north of Khirbet Qumran in January of 1956 by local Bedouin of the Taʿamireh clan. This scroll spreads lengthwise in an arc-like fashion. In like manner, the Shapira leather strips, also allegedly found by local Bedouins in a cave not far from the Dead Sea, spread lengthwise in an arc — not a characteristic that would likely be attributed to leather strips that were fraudulently cut from the bottom margin of a Torah scroll, which exhibits no such curvature.***

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Fragment E, prepared by Dangerfield Lithography (London, 1883), in consultation with Ginsburg. From Dershowitz, Idan (2021). The Valediction of Moses: A Proto-Biblical Book. Forschungen zum Alten Testament. Idan Dershowitz, Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International license, Wikimedia Commons

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The paleo-Hebrew Leviticus scroll (11QpaleoLev), discovered in Cave 11 near Qumran. [Like the Paleo-Hebrew Shapira scroll, also made of leather and in an arc-like shape.]  Shai Halevi on behalf of the Israel Antiquities Authority (IAA). Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 4.0 International license, Wikimedia Commons

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Script and Content

A major line of reasoning for characterizing the Shapira manuscripts as forgeries revolves around the script and subject matter content. To this day, there are prominent scholars of the field who continue to maintain rejection based on these grounds. One notable example is André Lemaire, a well-known and highly regarded French epigrapher, historian and philologist, who has voiced his support for the results of, among other things, Ginsburg’s examination regarding the external and internal (language, paleography and grammar) criteria cited to justify rejection of Shapira’s strips. Lemaire’s argument, however, is based on his examination of Ginsburg’s facsimile of the original manuscripts, not the original strips themselves. Idan Dershowitz has now suggested in his recent paper (noted above) that Lemair’s argument falls flat on the basis of “a fundamental methodological problem with the entire enterprise of epigraphic analysis in this particular case: The fragments are no longer extant.” In his paper, Dershowitz argues in detail why Lemaire’s analysis is faulty in that it relies on 19th century drawings, not the original manuscripts, that are “demonstrably unreliable” for accurately depicting the paleography of the manuscripts.****

Another chief argument among scholars against the authenticity of the Shapira manuscripts revolved around how radically the content of the account departed from the Masoretic text and the generally accepted canon of Deuteronomy. Scholarly tradition holds that the original ‘writings of Moses’ that constituted the core of Deuteronomy were later supplemented/changed in antiquity (for example, the Deuteronomic law codes) to create what is today the accepted canon of Deuteronomy. Others, like Jonathan Klawans, Professor of Religion at Boston University most recently, have argued that the manuscript content reflects Shapira’s Jewish-Christian beliefs and thus a ‘Christianizing tendency’ in its fabrication. Dershowitz, however, presents a starkly different view based on his extensive study and analysis as related in his recent monograph, The Valediction of Moses. In this study, Dershowitz concludes that “the text contained in Shapira’s fragments is either a direct ancestor of the biblical book of Deuteronomy or a close relative of such an ancestor…….[it] preserves an earlier and dramatically different literary structure for the entire work — one that lacked the Deuteronomic law code altogether.”**** In short, according to Dershowitz and others who hold a similar view, Shapira’s scrolls reflect what scholars have suggested the original ‘writing of Moses’ would have looked like based on source-critical analysis — an analysis that was not available during the time of Shapira. Both Dershowitz’s article and book were featured through lavishly illustrated coverage by the New York Times on March 10, 2021—causing academic waves around the world with calls both for and against reassessing the Shapira case.***** 

Finally, one puzzling conundrum lies in the question as to why Shapira, a Hebrew scholar in his own right, though not a credentialed expert, spent time and energy attempting to understand and decipher the text on the strips. Among his papers were some ruled sheets and notes of his early attempts at transcription, indicating his struggle to understand and decipher what he was looking at. If he was the forger, why would he do this? Dershowitz makes this same observation in his paper. 

Is the Scroll Extant?

All of the arguments for and against the Shapira scrolls notwithstanding, none of them can be ultimately convincing unless the original leather strips can be re-examined, using the latest scientific techniques and procedures, including dating, scanning and digital imaging, as well as application of any advancements in the knowledge of paleography and epigraphy. Certainly, with the strips finally back in hand, the side-by-side comparison with relevant Dead Sea Scrolls using current knowledge and a multi-disciplinary international team of experts would go a long way toward placing a final lid on the case.

But where are the original manuscripts today?

After the fateful announcements of forgery in London and elsewhere, Shapira departed from London to points in Europe, but left his now discredited strips behind with the British Museum. In any case, they were not among the things he left behind in the Rotterdam guesthouse room where he died. For many years it was thought the scrolls were likely destroyed in a fire near London at the home of Sir Charles Nicholson. But the latest attestation is that they were acquired by a one Dr. Philip Brookes Mason of Burton-on-Trent, Staffordshire, in 1889. He died in 1903. Were the strips among the holdings of his estate upon his death? Or did they move on yet again before that date?

“We have a good chance of recovering the scrolls, or portions thereof,” says Dr. James Tabor, a well-known Biblical scholar and Professor of Ancient Judaism and Early Christianity at the University of North Carolina at Charlotte. “There is a small private group of very initiated “Shapira researchers” who are in close touch and sharing information and ideas……..there are leads not only in the U.K. but also on the Continent, involving wills, estates, libraries, and other archives. I don’t think they were discarded and it is likely whoever has them is not aware of their value.”

The unwritten stories of priceless artifacts and art lost to the world, still languishing in oblivion in private attics or basements, would fill a book.

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The best account of the entire Shapira story, from start to finish, was published by author and researcher Ross K. Nichols, just two weeks before Dershowitz published his own academic analysis. Nichols also includes a transcription and translation, as well as the arguments for revisiting the issue of their authenticity. He presents a meticulously researched, in-depth account of their discovery, as well as their examination by 19th century scholars, including a presentation of the arguments both for and against their authenticity. Entitled The Moses Scroll, the book is highly readable and engaging for scholars and non-scholars alike.  Nichols has also begun a regular blog on all the latest Shapira discussions and issues.

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*“The Case of Shapira’s Dead Sea (Deuteronomy) Scrolls of 1883.” Transactions of the Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters (1958), p. 225 

** Allegro, John Marco. The Shapira Affair. New York: Doubleday & Company, 1965

*** Shlomo Guil (2017) The Shapira Scroll was an Authentic Dead Sea Scroll, Palestine Exploration Quarterly, 149:1, 6-27, DOI: 10.1080/00310328.2016.1185895

****Idan Dershowitz, The Valediction of Moses: New Evidence on the Shapira Deuteronomy Fragments, Zeitschrift für die Alttestamentliche Wissenschaft, 2021. https://doi.org/10.1515/zaw-2021-0001

*****see https://jamestabor.com/a-shapira-bombshell-has-just-exploded-idan-dershowitzs-research-and-the-case-for-authenticity/

Cover Image, Top Left: The Wadi Mujib, in Jordan. F.Higer, Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 3.0 Unported license. Wikimedia Commons

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Female Pharaohs, Political Power & the Glories of Egypt: An Interview with Dr. Kara Cooney

In this second installment of the Popular Archaeology Anniversary Issue, author and teacher Richard Marranca interviews Dr. Kara Cooney, the popular American Egyptologist perhaps best known for hosting television shows and authoring popular-press books on ancient Egypt. Among her books are When Women Ruled the World, The Woman Who Would Be King and, to be released in November, 2021, The Good Kings: Absolute Power in Ancient Egypt and the Modern World. Most significant, however, is her role as a professor of Egyptian Art and Architecture and Chair of the Department of Near Eastern Languages and Cultures at UCLA. Her current research focuses on ancient coffin reuse, most specifically that of Egypt’s 21st Dynasty. Generally, her research addresses the socioeconomic and political turmoil of this period, and how this was reflected in ancient Egyptian funerary and burial practices.

 

RM: Can we begin with your origin story? What are some things that led to your being an Egyptologist?

KC:  If I had been a first-generation immigrant, I don’t think I would have had that opportunity because their parents focused on getting a trade and contributing to the family. None of this silly philosophical stuff, right? So, I might be encouraged to do something else. If I were born a man, I think I would also have been encouraged by my family or society to do something else. My brother has very academic interests and yet he went to law school. He felt he needed to go to law school. And so my being a woman allows me to — allows myself to be — less practical than some of the men in my socioeconomic class. I mean it when I say I am an upper middle class white chick. That’s important, the female part is important because that allows me to follow my heart and continue on with this study.

The second part is the more personal one. Why Egypt? I have no answer for you. And it is the question that I am asked in every interview. It is the question I am asked at every talk. How did you get involved in Egyptology? What is it about ancient Egypt? And I say, this is the one question that an Egyptologist would never ask another. It would be a kind of heresy to ask another Egyptologist this because we know there is no answer. We don’t ask it because we don’t, we’re confused about it ourselves. I am confused about my own interest. Why am I am drawn to learn about these ancient people of so many thousands of years ago and why do they never bore me (laughter) and why do I continue to be interested in these people? I don’t know the answer! It’s a mystery to me as well as it is to everybody else. I know people look at me and they’re like “What the hell is going on here? Why is this woman from Texas interested in ancient Egypt and so passionate, so interested?” There must be some weird thing or connection, but about that I have no answer. When I was seven years old, I remember my mother brought back from the British Museum books about Vikings, Romans, Egyptians and medieval Europe—and Egypt was my favorite. I don’t know why. I’ve always loved everything about it. I’ve always loved this idea of time travel. I don’t know why. And my interest is, as you can tell, quite passionate and I don’t know why. So that’s just a weird little thing and again, all Egyptologists share this. There aren’t many people crazy enough or socially entitled enough to be able to follow their interests to the level that we have in order to end up teaching, forming young minds, doing research, etc. I realize every day how lucky I am to be able to do this. It is quite a blessing. It’s amazing.

RM:  Do you have any favorite archaeologists from long ago or closer to the present who were sort of dashing and romantic figures?

KC: Some people are drawn to Egyptology because of Margaret Murray or Flinders Petrie and they delve into the biographies of them. That wasn’t my gateway drug (laughter). I was more interested in the ancient Egyptians as I could find them in the ancient texts and in daily life, the way people behaved. I am happiest watching people try to spin their wool and people dressed up and speaking with their accents, trying to make mead or something. And with my graduate students, we do the same thing. We’ve done a lot of experiments on how Egyptian glue actually flows onto a piece of wood and how you apply it and what varnish is like and how you apply that. The practical aspects of life in the ancient world are more interesting to me than anything else. What it was like in the past draws me. But I’m not a dirt archaeologist, so I don’t romanticize about that part of life necessarily. I kind of treat it as a time machine of the mind where I fantasize about what it could have potentially been like to be in the ancient world.

RM: I recently showed an episode of your program, Out of Egypt, to my classes. It’s a fascinating broad approach, a true adventure that the viewer partakes. One of the things you show is how cities and civilization breed armies and large-scale violence.

KC: Essentially, complexity begets complexity; you don’t get complex violence until you have complex human systems. A bunch of roving hunter-gatherer bands, while quite violent, can’t compete in terms of the scale of that violence or the complexity of that violence. So, real war begins with agriculture. Agriculture demands settling down to form complex systems of government, with taxation, bureaucracy, stored wealth, redistributed wealth. Some people have much, some people very little, but it takes an army to protect it. If we asked anybody on the street, would you rather go back to live a hunter-gatherer existence or stay in the city?  I think there would be many people who see the hunter-gatherer existence as a peaceful time, but the opposite is true. Hunter-gatherers killed more of their men, percentage wise, than any complex society. To get out of those cycles of violence, we gave up many freedoms with our move to settled society; women especially gave up many freedoms to be a part of this complex system that demanded warfare, taxation, etc. But I think human beings repeatedly left the hunter-gatherer existence around the planet, settling down, because they wanted to avoid the constant and brutal violence that could kill 30% of your male population in a given season.

RM: What were some of the high points for you in creating Out of Egypt?

KC: My favorite part was allowing myself not to be an expert, to be an intelligent questioner, to puzzle through larger questions. It’s a rare thing that an academic cannot be the expert and instead be the one who’s learning. So in a sense, I got to be a student again. And for most of the sites visited, we brought in an expert who knew all about the site and then I could just pepper that person with questions and learn as much as I wanted; it was such a privilege to be able to learn from such extraordinary people in such extraordinary places. The place that pops out the most, that I really remember and would love to visit again, was Sri Lanka—the island that time forgot. Muslims and Hindus and Buddhists all mixed up into one place. The majority are Buddhists. The Hindu temples are pretty extraordinary in their own way. To see the way these people have been through a civil war, through bombings and revolutionary attacks and how they’ve come to a peaceful place to live with each other, is extraordinary. To see all of these different rituals and rites coexisting is something to see. I remember a Christian couple in the Buddhist temple dedicated to the tooth of the Buddha, and I said, “Well you’re not Buddhist.” They said, “It doesn’t matter. We’re here to ask for blessings from the Buddha.” So, there was a lot of crossover as well. There was also a lot of old religion, magical shamanist religion, that had nothing to do with Christian, Muslim, Buddhist or Hindu.

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Pagoda temple in Sri Lanka. Kalyanayahaluwo, Pixabay

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I remember visiting the Temple of Cursing. You could curse somebody with hot chili peppers and grind it up and curse your enemies and that was a shamanist kind of practice. And there was a practice with a devil—also a very old shamanist practice, of inviting him (who is giving you sickness or giving you poor circumstances in your life) into your space through this Dance of Devils and then feeding them and appeasing them. It was a beautiful thing; having grown up with the Judeo-Christian-Islamic traditions, it was completely strange to invite a devil in and give him an offering in order to leave you in peace, but it makes perfect sense. And this is something that everybody participates in as well. Whether you’re Christian, Buddhist, Muslim or Hindu, it seems the lines are very blurred, so I love that. 

RM: In many places that you present in that documentary, there are archetypal shapes, such as pyramids and circles. What does it mean? I’m also reminded of something Carl G. Jung might ask: how does the pyramid live in us?

KC: That’s the great thing about Out or Egypt—that I was able to ask these big questions and get scientific answers. It’s something that Erich von Däniken and John Anthony West often apply a more supernatural reasoning to. So, I can take aliens out of the equation, but I can bring the aliens back in, which was great. I mean in a sense, you stand in front of those pyramids and you think, my god, look at that. You can’t believe that it’s human hands, that human effort built this mountain of stone. It seems impossible and that’s exactly what the ancient Egyptians would have wanted you to believe. Every time we assign supernatural responsibility to the pyramids, whether it be aliens or something else, we are falling into an authoritarian trap, the propaganda trap. Their purpose in Mesoamerica or Egypt or Dubai was to show power, to show the ability to construct something that seems impossible, like the tallest building on the planet. It is also a way of proving to the people in material form that that community is at the pinnacle of a pyramidal society. And it works again and again and again—that we believe that the leader has some sort of spiritual otherworldly non-human power—and that to me is the key to nature. The fact that they are all pyramidal is obvious. You don’t have wheels to construct it, so to build a tall structure, you build it wide at the base, narrow at the top. And I am not the first to say something like that. Many engineers have said that. The pyramidal structure just happened because that’s how you build large buildings in pre-modern times. But the mountains of stone—independent of one another in Mesoamerica, in South America, in Europe, in Egypt, in China, in Indonesia, all over the planet—were there to create a political-supernatural link that cannot be denied. It creates unassailable leaders to whom you cannot say no, whom you must follow. And it worked again and again and again. And amazingly, even when the leaders are dead and gone and the pyramids are either covered with vegetation or sand and fallen into disrepair, people still look at them and say that they were built by other-worldly supernatural beings, and this still continues to work upon us today.

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Pyramids of Egypt. The Digital Artist, Pixabay

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Temple of Kukulcan at Chichen Itza, Mexico. Wallerssk, Pixabay

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In Out of Egypt, I like taking the political tack. And I think I should have gone further with it. I think I have solidified my ideas over the years, and I was only just forming those ideas when I did that show. Today, I think I would have gone further in the political realm of things.

RM: We visited some of the places presented in your program, which added so much to my understanding, plus it continued the adventure. You presented the vast creativity of civilization as well as its dark side.

CK: The city offers civilization, but at a price – perhaps more for women than men. But there were exceptions, which is what my book, When Women Ruled the World,  focuses on.

Ancient Women & Power

RM:  Your books and courses have a lot to do with powerful women in ancient times. In Athens or Rome, there would be a problem with a woman looking to gain political power. In the case of Rome, it was also the fear of a distant, foreign power who seduced Caesar and Antony. Didn’t the Romans say the most horrible things about Cleopatra?

KC:  Yes, for sure. I teach a class at UCLA called Women in Power in the Ancient World, and this is one of the reasons I can write this book so quickly. I have been thinking about it for the last four or five years. I’ve taught this class four times; we spend half of the class on Egypt because half the ancient female rulers were Egyptian—which is stunning in and of itself, but then we spend a week on Greece, a week on Rome, a week on China, a week on the Levant and Mesopotamia—and compare systems of power and female rule within those systems of power. It becomes ever so useful to see these patterns and it becomes a class on ancient power systems as big history, if you like.

Every class I start with a map of the Levant, a map of Mesopotamia, a map of Egypt, a map of Greece, a map of Rome, whatever. And I say, okay, will this place allow easy unification and easy communication like Egypt, which is the first regional state in the ancient world, or will this place, with its geography, lend itself more to constant competition, constant warfare? And if it’s the latter, and most places are the latter, then you see female power in a more limited way. Or in the case of ancient Greece – holy god! Can this place ever unify? Everyone was like, No! (laughter). How could they communicate with each other? Well, by sea. How are they going to get money? Well, by trade and shipping, mostly, and farming and animal husbandry sometimes.

And you know, Greece has an extraordinarily competitive decentralized type of system, which in Athens takes the primal form of a democratic peace effort, with only male citizens allowed in the game; if one man falls, another will take his place. And women are kept shut up in the home. There is no power for women in ancient Greece. I spend only half a week on women in Greece in my class because once we’ve discussed the system and I’ve given them two examples, we’re done. There is no power for women in this system. Rome is a little bit different because the woman is a representative of her family and can act as such, so you do see powerful women coming to the fore as representatives of a patriarchal system in times of great crisis.

But once you get this imperial hereditary monarchy in Rome, with the principate, a noblewoman can take power in the way that a woman took power in Egypt. You see Roman women taking power as the mother of the next emperor, or as a sister or wife of the emperor. The emperor system in Rome is so fraught and these emperors are killed more often than dying naturally. You can look it all up on Google. It’s great fun (laughter)—reasons for the deaths of the Roman emperors. You can spend a whole day going down that rabbit hole. But if you understand how contentious and uncertain the imperial Roman system of monarchy was, then it’s clear why women had so little chance for leadership there in any systematic way. But in the Eastern Roman Empire, as we move into the Byzantine system, we see that in Constantinople female rule was strong because it was supporting a stronger hereditary dynasty. And then I come to this conclusion again that the more unequal the social situation, the more a woman can step into power. Fittingly, the more pyramidal the social structure is, the more women can step into power.

And I ask myself if this is something that humans understand on a gut level: women who step into power like Indira Gandhi act as a representative of the patriarchy in a highly unequal situation in a time of crisis, often after there’s been an assassination. Given that, do we instinctively perceive female power as reflective of inequality, authoritarianism, unequal social systems? These women are allowed to work on behalf of their families and don’t fit the larger group of humanity. Is this one of the reasons we’re hostile towards female power? This is a puzzle I’m still trying to figure out. Our hostility towards female power, the biological sources, the social sources—these are areas of importance.

RM: I can see how getting into one specific area leads to others. Can you talk about Hatshepsut and the various positions she had in life? God’s Wife, queen, pharaoh herself? What did she achieve? What was she like as a real person?

KC:  Ancient Egypt is extraordinarily frustrating to try to pin down what someone was really like. In the same way that I presented you with those maps of ancient Greece and Rome or ancient Egypt on the other side, the more decentralized and competitive a place is, the more we can potentially learn about an individual person from the political competition, because one either has to expose their personality to people to get their vote and their support or because there were political takedowns where tidbits of their life or personality were revealed to us in the historical record, letters and more. We know about the personality of Julius Cesar or Cleopatra because the Romans wrote about them, or about Solon as an example of a Greek leader. But in an authoritarian regime, this is buttoned down. You do not have people talking about the personality of their leader. The means of communication that are left to archaeologists are sacred temple spaces where everything is idealized.

For Hatshepsut’s reign, most of my evidence, if not all of it, comes from an ideological context – temples and tombs. I don’t have diaries. I don’t have letters. Now in temples or tombs, would I expect to find personal information – people revealing their innermost thoughts about what Hatshepsut was really like? No. So I can’t, unfortunately, tell you what her personality was like, or how she was perceived or accepted or not accepted. I have no idea, which is really frustrating, but if we then take a step back we can say, okay, what can we talk about? I can tell you that from a very young age, probably from the reign of her father, Thutmose I, she inhabited the most sacred priestess position, God’s Wife of Amun.

The details of her duties were shielded from us as well because this was a highly exclusive religion. We are not meant to know what mysteries were happening inside of these sacred enclosed spaces. This is something that is meant to be shielded from our eyes. So even here, where the temple might produce something, we’re almost at a loss of what’s actually going on. But using all we can from the Gods Wives of Amun, from the titles, even if they don’t explicitly tell us what mysteries were performed, the God’s Wife of Amun was meant to be a wife to the gods and it was meant to have a sexual component. It was meant to awaken the god through sexuality, to give him a rebirth through sexuality. One of the other titles of the God’s Wife of Amun was the God’s Hand; this was meant to masturbate so that he could recreate himself into existence every day. You just got back from India, so I don’t need to tell you about the lingam stone and how it represents creation. It’s there as well and sexual intercourse is there on the temple walls.

In Egypt, it’s less overt, but the notion that the god must sexually recreate himself in the depth of the temple every night to be recreated every morning is something the Egyptians clung to and their temples were built to facilitate this daily or seasonal rebirth. And so, the God’s Wife of Amun was very powerful. Hatshepsut knew mysteries that we will never know. She was initiated into unwritten mysteries about the rebirth of the gods, the creative god incarnate that we will never be able to do more than just touch. And she would have been there with eyes closed touching those most sacred mysteries to make sure that the world continued going as it should, that the sun rises and sets and the Nile floods its banks as it should. And whether or not she saw herself as an integral cog in this, she took her position very seriously and that title – the God’s Wife of Amun – was the one she used most when she took over the regency, ruling on behalf of her young nephew Thutmose III. This was after the death of her husband Thutmose II. She knew her power had a foundation in ideology too.

Now, I skipped over her queenship; she was daughter of the king and God’s Wife of Amun in the reign of her father. And when her father died, she was married to her half-brother Thutmose II, who by all accounts and from the mummy that we have preserved, was a sickly youth who died after three years of reign. And for him Hatshepsut acted as chief queen. This would have been a woman walking through the palace and temples with eyes raised looking at everybody in the eyes expecting servility. She would have an authority to her – an authority that maybe the new king Thutmose II didn’t even have because he didn’t expect to be king. He had older brothers who died before him. This kingship was probably a surprise to him as much as anybody else. When he died after such a short reign, she was left holding the bag of a family dynasty that was only nascent, begun by her father Thutmose I.

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Thutmose III and Hatshepsut from the Red Chapel at Karnak. Markh, Wikimedia Commons, Public Domain

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The Temple of Hatshepsut. Dezalb, Pixabay

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Before Thutmose I, there was Amenhotep I, a childless king. If they had allowed the kingship to go to a different family with the death of Thutmose II, then Thutmose’s line would have been two kings and done. Hatshepsut, with the help of her courtiers and priests and elites, stepped into this breach, this vacuum of power, and made sure that the kingship continued to another Thutmose. So, Hatshepsut had an extended regency for seven years, ruling on behalf of her young nephew, before she just took the whole thing and became king in her own right. Why and how she did that is probably the most frustrating part of the story because we don’t have the details preserved. She only reveals that she is doing what her father, Amun, asked her to do by becoming king. But something must have happened to demand that she grab power and formalize it by becoming king herself.

RM:  An amazing story and history. It makes me think that Pres. Donald Trump was sort of like Thutmose III. Trump tried to erase Pres. Barack Obama’s legacy the way that Hatshepsut’s nephew tried to erase her when he becomes king. 

KC:  I don’t think that’s unusual. Let me put it this way. You either follow a good leader or a bad leader. If you follow a bad leader, then all you do is say, look what he’s done. It’s bad. Look what he’s done. If you follow a good leader, then you take credit for it. Trump was in an interesting position where he followed a very good leader when the economy rebounded and rule of law was returned in banking, etc.

But the propaganda was that he was a very bad leader. So Trump can take credit for things that are happening; he can say he did it, even though it was a legacy of Obama’s rule. Trump can claim, “Thank god I’m here and look at the bad things Obama did.” So there was a strange revision of history to Trump’s presidency. And while demonizing Obama, using a fictional account of his presidency, Trump took credit for the good things very cleverly. And it seems that most of his base goes along with this propaganda. So, Trump vilifies the black president that went before him. But this is a different discussion (laughter).

RM: The discussion of power takes us deep into the mind, in that labyrinth, into so many layers of society. Success is another loaded term too.

Success is a tricky thing and I’ve thought about this a lot and I write about this and I talked about this in the One Day University lecture that you attended. Success is abstract. It’s a very bland sort of thing. Success is not very sexy. There’s no salacious story. There is no fodder for the journalists, no big story. I spoke about this with my husband recently, who said, “Jerry Brown sure is under-appreciated.” People don’t talk about success the way they talk about failure. Anyway, in the ancient world, success is something that easily can be transferred from one ruler to another without people really noticing. It’s what they expect. It’s what they want; it’s what is assumed a ruler is going to strive for. So, Thutmose III and Amenhotep II can take credit for Hatshepsut’s achievements, saying, more or less: “We did this.” It’s easy for the people then to say, “Okay, thanks! Of course.”

On the other hand, failure is very idiosyncratic, very specific to one circumstance, one person, one time. It’s harder to transgress, nor would you want to. Cautionary tales are born; there is Cleopatra and the asp and the pearl earring dissolved in the vinegar. Stories like that recur which are more useful to transmit.

RM: It’s interesting to talk about how power operates. I bet most people don’t know that Jerry Brown actually did a great job as governor with little fanfare. Or the quality of life in Scandinavia and elsewhere, again with little fanfare and propaganda involved.

KC:  Where’s the interest and scandal? Well, success is an interesting thing to think about. But success is not all it’s cracked up to be. Obama’s most idiosyncratic—the most identifiable part of his administration—was his African American background. And that’s the part that I think people cling to, whether they want to talk about it openly or not. He put himself out there in terms of racial politics. Also, he played it all without scandal, as he himself would proudly say.

RM: Was there any scandal with Senenmut? He exemplified the ancient Egyptian system with bureaucratic patronage. Does your gut instinct plus the evidence and that sexual cartoon prove anything about a relationship with Hatshepsut? Or was her private life really just totally invisible and we’ll never know anything?

KC:  I think unfortunately the latter. I think her private life is totally invisible and we’ll never know anything. As frustrating as that is, I think it’s the truth. She certainly would have had lovers. Why not? But why would we know about them? There is absolutely no reason why we would have access to that kind of information. And so Senenmut is misread as her lover, and it’s kind of ridiculous – like he’s the only candidate. The reason I think Senenmut and Hatshepsut are so close is that he needed her and she needed him politically. I don’t think that there is any evidence – at all – that suggests a sexual relationship there. There is ample evidence for a power relationship. And that one graffito that you’re mentioning says more about Egyptologists than it does about Hatshepsut. There is nothing in that graffito that links it to Senenmut and Hatshepsut. Nothing. Not a name, not a title, not the way it’s drawn, no markers of kingship. Absolutely nothing links it to Hatshepsut and Senenmut. And yet, Egyptologists have gone crazy saying that this is evidence of their affair and what the Egyptians thought about it. But there’s nothing there but a scribe’s interest in and ability to draw a sexual scene. I don’t think we’ll ever really know. I am sure that Hatshepsut had an interesting sexual identity. What it was, I don’t think we’ll ever be able to get to it. Frustrating, yes, but I think that’s how it is with an authoritarian regime.

RM: What about the powers of the goddess and her influences. Isis, for example, is an amazing goddess, and everyone is fascinated by the Isis and Osiris story, as it says so much about Egyptian beliefs. Going all the way back to Paleolithic culture and after, there are amazing fertility figures, cave art, energetic symbols on goddesses. So, what’s the goddess code or imagery in ancient Egypt?

KC: There is typical stuff and indeed the Egyptian goddesses are quite interchangeable, almost like they’re one being, which is strange and interesting. Students who can’t read hieroglyphs will look at images of Hathor or Isis and say, “Well which is it?” And I point out that you can’t tell from what she is wearing. They both wear more or less the same thing and show themselves with the cow’s horns, with the sign in between. You have to read the text to know. And they also act very similar. So, they’re all magicians. They’re soft and kind, and they are tough and vicious sometimes. 

The Egyptians celebrated feminine power with all of its hormonal craziness. When a woman becomes incensed and angry on behalf of her son, father or family and she goes out on a rampage to destroy, the Egyptians saw that as one of the most important things to protect the king or the sun god himself. They didn’t shy away from it. In fact, they thought of it as something to honor, to celebrate and learn to appease, to control.

I’m reading a book called Moody Bitches by Julie Holland, which is essentially telling women that your hormones and your sensitivity is your greatest asset. Don’t let anybody tell you that you’re just PMS-ing and you’re imagining things. Holland says you’re seeing more clearly during those times potentially than at any other. And the Egyptians understood that as well. They understood that sensitive female power and that they have more than men – the ability to see if someone’s going to screw you over, that female intuition, that sensitivity to facial features and mannerism. Their anger and emotionality is one of the most important protective features of the family and the child. And the Egyptians had a very important festival of drunkenness which involved sexuality, drinking and temple activity in the wee hours of the night where everyone could see the goddess and connect with her through this ritual. And so again, that female, mercurial nature was something that was celebrated, honored, included.

RM: Does goddess culture and women in power work elsewhere to better the position of women? Just because Victoria was Queen of England doesn’t mean the position of regular women was better.

KC:  I agree with that, yes.

Life, Death, Mummies

RM: I know you have a fascination for mummies and have studied hundreds of them, including coffins and coffin reuse. Is there a message in that?

KC: Much. Yes, we can worry about dying, but you know, I see my son—he’s going to live forever! He’s going to live for a hundred years. Maybe global warming will get him. I don’t know. Maybe I’ll get to live for a hundred years. And I worry about my health and it’s a constant thing that I think about, but I’m not in pain constantly. I don’t have parasites coursing through my body enough to count my mitochondria (laughter). It’s a very clean existence that we live and I think we forget what real humanity is and was. You know that in the First World where we can shield ourselves so carefully and so cleanly, we forget what a struggle most people deal with.

What about the people that get strung out on opioids? What the hell else are they to do? The poor of this country with no safety net. I think it’s easy to forget what that’s like. And in a way, I’ll make a political statement here, too, because it’s more in our view than ever before. I don’t know what it’s like where you live, but in Los Angeles, homelessness is an epidemic and it is a very visible thing. And in a sense, I don’t have to close my eyes in my time machine and imagine what it was like to be an ancient person. I can go out to the streets in Los Angeles and look at somebody who has been homeless for ten years and there I have antiquity in front of me, in a sense. I have a person who is living a very hard-scrabble existence trying to survive day-to-day, living in a very uncomfortable set of circumstances, ignoring his health and looking very old before he should. This is something that I can go out and see in my own very wealthy Los Angeles cityscape quite easily; there in a way I have that humanity presented before me and that’s something I think we divorce ourselves from way too easily.

RM: Yes, for sure about patterns of wealth and poverty and total depredation continuing. C. G. Jung said that modern humans are ancient, medieval and modern at the same time. Speaking of the ancient-modern nexus, at One Day University you mentioned something most of us never realized – people are mummified today.

KC: We don’t even know why we do it, but we want that body preserved. We want it to be something we look at and we’re not facing death as overtly as if the body were decomposing in front of us. So we pump these bodies full of plastic, but there’s no real difference. Right? If people in the future look at our remains, they’ll say, “Oh look! You know Americans of the 21st Century were still mummifying the dead.”

Also, more people are cremated now than ever before. But we’re still mummifying and that is because of display. When you mummify a body, generally, it’s because you’re going to have the casket displayed in the funeral home. And so the display is essential and mummification is part of the display. And it’s no different from the ancient Egyptians. They needed to show that body to an audience. So when you see original activity, most Egyptologists and I dare say most archaeologists have been inclined to look at this ritual in a religious lens, thinking people did this because they believed that this would happen and they believed that that would happen.

And they forget that people did rituals because they wanted to compete with other families. They wanted to have a certain socioeconomic status. They wanted to show off. And they wanted to have a display in front of a large audience that gave their family a tremendous amount of power. I always hold to the old adage: the dead do not bury themselves.

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Detail of the Papyrus of Hunefer, from the Book of the Dead of Hunefer. The centerpiece of the upper scene is the mummy of Hunefer, shown supported by the god Anubis (or a priest wearing a jackal mask). Hunefer’s wife and daughter mourn, and three priests perform rituals. The two priests with white sashes are carrying out the Opening of the Mouth ritual. The white building at the right is a representation of the tomb, complete with portal doorway and small pyramid. Both these features can be seen in real tombs of this date from Thebes. To the left of the tomb is a picture of the stela which would have stood to one side of the tomb entrance. Following the normal conventions of Egyptian art, it is shown much larger than normal size, in order that its content (the deceased worshipping Osiris, together with a standard offering formula) is absolutely legible. At the right of the lower scene is a table bearing the various implements needed for the Opening of the Mouth ritual. At the left is shown a ritual, where the foreleg of a calf, cut off while the animal is alive, is offered. The animal was then sacrificed. The calf is shown together with its mother, who might be interpreted as showing signs of distress. Date: 1275 BC. Text and image from Wikimedia Commons, Public Domain

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This is a reflection of the families who are doing the burials rather than the dead. And I’m working on that in my next book, with chapter 1 including a queen who benefitted from sacrificial burials. People killed to accompany her in burial. And I could just talk about that or I could talk about the fact that she buried her dead husband with the same sacrificial victims, but she was there when her son was too young to rule on his own, ordering who would die and who would live and standing there watching as the courtiers that she grew up with are dispatched before her very eyes.

RM: She’s an Egyptian Queen from when?

KC:  The first dynasty.

RM: Was that around the time of those sacrificial burials at Ur in Mesopotamia?

KC: It is. It’s an interesting thing that the beginnings of kingship often are accompanied, not just in Egypt or Mesopotamia, with sacrificial burial. And when kingship is established the sacrificial burials often end. Only in highly competitive societies do you see the sacrificial burials continuing. It’s a very cruel practice. It’s also a very socially expensive practice and something that your courtiers are going to rebel against eventually and find ways around it.

RM: How were they dispatched?

KC: With great trauma. They used a kind of bludgeon to the back of the head and the people were probably drugged or drunk and then they just slugged them in the back of the head with a blunt object; they probably dropped where they stood. In ancient Egypt, there is no evidence of any trauma. And Flinders Petrie discovered most of these bodies at the end of the 19th century and didn’t do what would be a modern scientific forensic analysis, it’s true. And only the skulls remain. They didn’t keep the entire body.

But new sacrificial victims have been found around the enclosure of Abydos by Laurel Bestock, among others. I don’t know of any evidence of trauma, like blunt force or if you could see strangulation on the body. It’s quite possible that these people were strangled or poisoned and that it didn’t leave any evidence on the body itself. There could have been a quieter form of death as opposed to what the Egyptians would have done to an enemy, which was blunt force trauma that was used in war. You hold the enemy by the hair and you dispatch them with a blow to the head.

RM: This reminds me of the bog bodies in Northern Europe. The sacrifices got a knock on the head and more.

KC: They still have the strangulation ties around the neck as well.

RM:  And the Peruvian mummy bundles. I think some of them died of the cold and/or poison.

KC: Yes, I think you’re right. I would have to check on the Peruvian mummy bundles, but I think there was poison involved, particularly of the children. Finding cause of death in a mummy is not as easy as one would expect. And with skeletal material, which is what you have preserved for Dynasty I, of course, it’s even harder. We have Tutankhamen’s body, but do we know how he died? By no means. And people will continue to argue about that for some time. In my opinion, it’s the wrong thing to ask for Tutankhamen.

For the sacrificial burials I would like to know because you get a better understanding of how the ritual would have worked. But I have to assume in rituals of the first dynasty that courtiers would have all stood in a funeral enclosure or out on the necropolis grounds, watching their brothers and sisters and mothers and fathers killed before their eyes. And the mourning would have been heightened because of it. So, the king would have gone into burial with all of the power of that mourning, of that loss. The greater the lament, the more powerful the transformation in the next world. Stature added impetus to kill them. Also, it kept society controlled when you’re establishing kingship for the first time.

RM: As usual, a ritual works on many levels.

KC: Yes, for sure.

RM: I know you have to get going. If you have a few minutes, I wanted to ask you a few scattered questions. I recently watched one of John Romer’s older programs that focused on the dangers to archaeological sights. Is this a worry? Can you comment on the overall picture?

KC: Of course, I worry about Egyptian archaeology. I think archaeology is under threat everywhere right now. I think that whatever country you look at, whether in the west or in the east or in the Middle East, there is the threat of anti-intellectualism and there is a push against academics. And there is the possibility of seeing archaeology as frivolous, unnecessary and a waste of resources rather than seeing it as the best means of understanding human patterns, cycles of crisis and prosperity and human reaction to those cycles of crisis and prosperity.

RM: What is the message and wisdom that archaeology and related studies have for people today?

KC: We can learn so much from what we have already done, using them as cautionary tales. Using it as building blocks, using it to help us do better. And archaeology is one of the best tools that we have moving towards potential apocalypse of global climate change. People have gone through it before. I’ve studied the Bronze Age collapse, and the massive crisis that occurred because of climate change, maybe not human induced climate change, but because of climate change around 1200 BCE and what happened. How did government fail? What states collapsed? What did people do? What were the reactions? These are useful things to know going forward because we will go through this again. In many parts of this globe, people are already going though this. There are many places that are dealing with apocalypse in the here and now and archaeology can help us to understand these patterns.

Egyptology has one of the most colonial archaeological histories on the planet. 

For pure archaeological work there is not a lot of money. There’s not a lot of return on your investment. And so what you end up having is a colonial science where a lot of non-Egyptians come into Egypt to do work; that creates tensions and problems. The more sensitive we can be to Egyptian ways of doing things, the better we can be. For example, I applied for and got the grant from the American Research Center in Egypt for US AID funds and in that $70,000 grant, I asked for $25,000 to go directly to the Egyptian Museum to help with the registrar and other costs that they may have. And the next grant I do, I will do the same thing. And if we can move money towards Egyptian institutions that have so very little, then the institutions will be better for it.

Every photo that I take of objects in the Cairo museum, I gladly give with no copyright restrictions to the Egyptian Museum. They can do whatever they want with those images and I am happy to do so because I know that their embarrassment of riches is a blessing, but it is also a responsibility and a weight that is difficult to deal with and I try to make my contribution as best I can. I see other archaeologists and historians doing the same. So, the more we can cooperate and help, the better, but with the understanding that we’re working in their country and we should abide by their rules and their cultural ways.

RM: Yes, for sure. You brought up the environmental qualities of studying archaeology; it makes me think we need a required class on archaeology, history and climate change.

KC: I’m reading about the ‘70s. Just the ‘70s is incredibly useful. All of the revolutionary thinking, all of the bombs, the schism between society on the left and right, the idea of these dirty hippies on one side and intellectuals and on the other side, the rise of the republican right. You know, it’s a useful thing to look back to see how we as a country cycled through that; now, the next schism between right and left is so much more destructive. History is our best tool for understanding the future.

RM: I know you have head out. That means time for the mummy movie question: do you have a favorite movie that depicts ancient Egypt?

KC: I showed my son Raiders of the Lost Ark for the first time—and wow did he love it! I hadn’t seen it in ten years. And all the Egyptian stuff is wrong but cool; it’s such a good movie and if I have to pick any movie about Egypt, it has to be Raiders of the Lost Ark. Is it authentic? No, but it doesn’t need to be. Julian can’t wait to see the second one. I keep trying to tell him it’s not as good.

RM: Great to relive these programs with your son. Thanks so much for your time, expertise and for keeping the adventure alive.

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For the first installment of this interview, see Tutankhamun, Nefertiti, and Akhenaten, published in the Anniversary Issue of Popular Archaeology.

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Kara Cooney’s latest book, The Good Kings: Absolute Power in Ancient Egypt and the Modern World, will be released November 2, 2021. Interested readers may purchase the book by pre-order at this site.

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About the interviewer

As a child, Richard Marranca was given books on history, myth and religion that ignited his interests. When he was seven, he went with his mom, grandmother and aunt to Italy and Switzerland – a trip that lasted a lifetime. During his doctoral studies at New York University, he spent a semester in Greece with a side project in Egypt. Around the midpoint of his career, he also was awarded a Fulbright to teach at LMU Munich (and for two years was president of NJ Fulbright chapter), as well as six NEH summer seminars, including Andean Worlds in Peru/Bolivia; Concord MA; and High Plains Indians of Nebraska.

For Richard, teaching and writing go together; he teaches a variety of humanities and English courses. His most recent publications include stories in Coneflower Café, The Raven’s Perch and Months to Years Magazine; interviews in Popular Archaeology and Minerva; and poetry in the Paterson Literary Review. His manuscript, Speaking of the Dead, has been accepted for publication by Blydyn Square Books in NJ.

The latest project: His wife Renah, daughter Hera and Richard create videos, the latest being Childe Hera’s World on YouTube; so far it’s mostly travel videos, but this year the highlight was Coronavirus, A Child’s View.

Richard wishes to thank his wife Renah and Bridget Briant for their help with this interview.

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Cover Image, Top Left: By Jaredgrafik, Pixabay

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Through Pilgrim Eyes: The Creation of Significance

Samuel C. Walker was born and raised in East Africa and subsequently spent fifteen years in the Middle East including Yemen, Israel/West Bank, Jordan, Sudan, and Egypt. He currently is working in Ethiopia. He holds two Bachelor’s degrees; Religious Studies – Anthropology, and Natural Sciences & History, and two Master’s degrees; History and education (Western Oregon U) and Archaeology & Heritage Mgmt. (University of Leicester). For seven years he lived in the Micronesian Pacific islands conducting research on climate change, ecologies, and conducting research as lead field supervisory archaeologist for US Navy projects for EIS and cultural resource management. Since 2013, Walker has worked in Ethiopia, including establishing a Master’s program in Archaeology for Heritage Management and serving as lead field and supervisory archaeologist. As part of his research dissertation, he is working on creating graduate level field-intensive Cultural Resource Management teams (CRMT) specifically to address the critical needs of archaeological site identification, comprehensive field survey, data recovery and excavation field management skills, laboratory analysis and cultural material conservation, and presentation and display of these rich tangible and intangible heritages.

Much of Ethiopia’s rich cultural-social heritage lies within the history of the Ethiopian Orthodox Tewahedo Church (EOTC). After the decline of the Aksumite Empire (650CE/AD), the Zagwe dynasty (Circa 1000 – 1270 CE/AD) arose, establishing its capital in Lalibela-Lasta. This capital, founded as a monastic kingdom, served as a historical bridge between the ancient and modern era. As a platform for understanding Ethiopia’s historicity, Lalibela encompasses and builds upon religious and cultural adaptations and identity-formation yet to be fully researched.  One must not approach Lalibela or surrounding churches from the standpoint of an archaeologist or architect. Lalibela must be seen through pilgrim eyes.

As the nexus of human origins, Ethiopia constitutes a Holy Land in its own right, a sacred landscape rooted in humanity’s very creation. Ethiopia’s unbroken chain of history, reaching back to the foundations of civilizations and beyond, reflects one of humanity’s most significant chronicles of identity.  It is this brilliant, yet underrepresented narrative, which continues to inform Ethiopia’s unique ethos and self identity, steeped in its own majestic, millennia-old mythos.

Multiple indigenous cultures and societies have shaped this land, weaving a vibrant tapestry of histories, cultures, languages, and religious identities that continue to breathe life into all humankind.  Ethiopia also contains some of the most cherished cultural, historical, and archaeological sites in Africa, each serving as an integral cornerstone, undergirding age-old civilizations. At the core of much of this rich cultural, spiritual, and social-heritage mosaic is the history of the Ethiopian Orthodox Tewahedo Church (EOTC) whose Aksumite religious antecedents extend to the early Judaic-Christian and Hebraic periods, to which it owes many of its religious and historical foundations.

Historical Background

Historical references to the regions of Ethiopia and the Horn are found in some of the earliest Egyptian records and images. Additionally, biblical and Greek literature present Ethiopia as a land of Eden, and the summer abode of the gods, respectively. Both Sargon II and Sennacherib mention Ethiopia (Meluhha) as the destination of those fleeing the destruction of the Assyrian invasions of Samaria, Jerusalem, and the Eastern Levant, in the 6th and 5th centuries CE/BC (Prichard, 1958, Orlinsky, 1956).  Accounts also mention the military might of the Ethiopians, having an army “beyond counting.”

Archaeological evidence, written accounts, and local inscriptions indicate the rise of an Ethio-Sabaean culture in Ethiopia around the end of the 10th or early part of the 9th centuries BC.  The indigenization of these various communities eventually developed into the kingdom of D’mt, with its capital and main temple at Yeha (Sergew, 1972). Current archaeological excavations reveal an administrative structure of great architectural and societal complexity associated with this site. The D’mt Kingdom began its decline around the end of the 4th into the 3rd century BC/BCE, and was succeeded by the emergence of Aksum as the dominant city-state.

During the first seven centuries AD/CE, Aksum, the ancient Ethiopian capital of the future Christian Aksumite Empire, thrived upon trade with the Mediterranean cities of Rome, Constantinople, and Alexandria. Situated within the highlands of the northern region of what is now Tigrai, the powerful center of the Aksumite Kingdom grew to dominate both sides of the southern Red Sea, regions in Sudan, including the northern capital of Meroe, and traded with ports across the Indian Ocean and down along the Swahili coast, functioning as an important commercial and military partner with the Late Roman and Early Byzantine Empires (Sergew, 1972).   

As one of the largest and longest-lived African Empires, Aksum holds a unique place in the history of world civilizations. The introduction of Christianity in the mid-fourth century AD/CE by Ethiopia’s first Bishop, Frumentius, and King Ezana proved to be a pivotal historical juncture (Sergew, 1972).  To this day, Aksum serves as the focal-point for Ethiopian Orthodox Tewahedo Christianity and stands as a symbol of Ethiopia’s vibrant cultural continuity into modern history.

The development of Ge`ez as a language, with first unvocalized and then vocalized or Ethiopic, script, has left a unique written chronicle, both pre-Christian and Christian, retaining traditions and a liturgy of world importance and significance. Additionally, early manuscripts mention Aksum hosting the first Muslim communities fleeing persecution in Mecca. Many Islamic architectural and cultural elements remain across Ethiopia as witness to these broader regional influences in the 7th -11th centuries. These constitute a rich selection of heritage sites and cultures in their own right (Girma, 1997; Dagnachew, 2003).

It is not only these churches, monasteries, mosques, and holy sites, however, which constitute truly unique heritage assets. Their contents, including artifacts as old as the structures themselves: manuscripts, varieties of liturgical objects, such as icons and crosses, Qur’ans, crowns, liturgical fans, vestments, drums, lyres, sistra, etc., must also be considered. Ethiopia thus contains important historical, cultural, religious, and heritage-based sites, and a multitude of archaeological remains illustrative of the development and blossoming of major albeit underrepresented African civilizations.

Of special note are the Aksumite and Post-Aksumite rock-hewn churches located across the landscapes of Gheralta, Tembian, and regions in North Wollo. With the decline of Aksumite hegemony, population movements led settled communities to migrate progressively south, progressively inland, where they became increasingly more isolated. In the early Ethiopia medieval periods, the Zagwe dynasty (Circa 1000 – 1270 CE/AD) established its capital in Lalibela-Lasta, initiating this progressive movement of capitals southwards. The dynasty and structures of Lalibela, however, represent a particular uniqueness, serving as a historical bridge between the ancient and the modern. As a platform for understanding Ethiopia’s historicity and the uninterrupted continuity of Ethiopianness, Lalibela encompasses and builds upon religious and cultural adaptations, innovations, and the transmission of knowledge in ways yet to be fully appreciated, researched, or understood. 

Construction out of Chaos 

In 1520, one of the first outsiders to visit and record the church complexes of Lalibela, Chaplain Fransico Alverez of the Portuguese Embassy, viewed them two and a half centuries after they had been abandoned (Alvarez, 1881).  Even in that state, however, these surreal edifices inspired him to wax eloquent on the grandeur and uniqueness of churches and other structures hewn completely out of living rock. But then he hesitated, concerned that if he continued in his descriptions, his readers might begin to disbelieve him. Such reticence, or perhaps a lack of  context with which to accurately expound the wonders of the Lalibela complex and surrounding churches, continues to this day.

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Fig. 1 – Beta Giorgyis – The Church of St. George in Lalibela. (Photo SCW)

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Prior to my first visit to Lalibela, I read various accounts: Alverez, 18th and 19th century visitors, and contemporary travelers and scholars. But it wasn’t until I stood atop the unworked bedrock peering into the carved out cavity and beheld the standing structures for myself that I apprehended what constrained previous writers. Incongruous was the first word that came to mind. That early medieval churches, literally chiseled free from stone, both inside and out, would be situated on a remote hillside in the central highlands of Ethiopia, made little sense.

Monumental hewn structures are not unique to Lalibela. Abu Simbal, the Valley of the Kings, among many other carved sites across Egypt, plus Cappadocia in Turkey, Petra in Jordan, and structures in India, are tied to trade networks, or located at crossroads or borders, and were specifically designed and situated to impress. Lalibela, however, fits none of these parameters. Something genuinely different was at play here. Its structures, and therefore its history, transcend the physical. These remain living, vibrant, churches, functioning within a pilgrim ethos still founded in the early medieval worldview. Something much deeper, more visceral, requires the story to be told in a radically different way.

For a thousand years, Lalibela has stood sentinel, overlooking an expansive valley to nowhere. Why? A mystery.  As an archaeologist visiting a site for the first time, I examine the overall environment, the geology, the topography, the vegetation. Like reading an ancient crime scene, I look for the small clues, indications of humanity’s mark upon his or her landscape.

Like a sleuth, I tracked the slopes and bedrock overlooking the churches, the hewn river valleys, the two breast-shaped hills, Mount Tabor and the Mount of Olives, sites named after biblical locations thousands of kilometers to the north.  Having traipsed the hills of Jerusalem and Israel for close to a decade, I was at first surprised at Lalibela’s smallness, its compactness.

Soon, however, clues emerged. Remnants of tombs carved atop the bedrock, foundation trenches of free-standing, stone-built structures, notches cut in the sides of the deep cut trenches, even a smoothed surface along a cliff-face that may have held a painted icon or an inscription, required a good deal more soil atop the bedrock back in antiquity. The Lalibela of today is not the Lalibela of the eleventh and twelfth centuries. Scoured through centuries, the original vibrancy had long ago eroded away. Today’s remnants comprise the revitalized relics of a long-past dynasty.

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Fig. 2 – Eroded surface above the Dual Chapels of Sinai and Golgotha, showing evidence of tombs and foundation trenches from the earliest phases of occupation in Lalibela. (Photo SCW)

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A Second Look

Since the collapse of the Aksumite Empire circa CE/AD 650, nearly four hundred silent years had limped by before the rise of the Zagwe dynasty. During this interval, no central capital, no nexus for defining “Ethiopianness” emerged. The hidden rock-hewn churches that dot the landscape of Tigrai and south into Gheralta and Tembien, retain impressive masterpieces of early ecclesiastical art and architecture, but a large, central, settled community has yet to be discovered. Previous research attributed this to the pressures of Islam, the newly dominant religion of Arabia and the Red Sea trade routes. Was Lalibela therefore all about security? The Lalibela-Lasta context failed to fit so simple or pedestrian an answer.

Contextual Framing 

For my dissertation in Jordan, I researched the late Roman/early Byzantine rural structures, monasteries, and remote military outposts of the Jordanian desert from the reign of Diocletian (AD 296-304) to the eventual dominance of Constantine the Great (AD 308-330) as a newly-Christian Emperor (Walker, 2004). Such a major shift in the Eastern Mediterranean ushered in the emergence of a politically, newly powerful, Christianity.

With the evolution of a new ecclesiastical architecture came a new triumphalism. Adorning the highest cupulas of the grandest churches of the Byzantine Empire, icons flaunted Christ as Pantocrator – The Divine, undisputed champion, ruler of the universe. As an added measure of subjugation, the Hebraic terms, Yahweh Sabaoth – Lord of Hosts, and El Shaddai – Lord God Almighty, were pirated and ascribed to this Jesus of Nazareth, King of the Jews, as evidence that this new God of gods, had become the ultimate conqueror.

From Christianity’s humble origins as a peasant fellowship of fishermen along the shores of the Sea of Galilee, through three hundred years as a persecuted sect, Christendom burst forth as the state religion of one of the most powerful empires of its day. Many saw this as evidence that such a feat was ordained by God.

Christendom’s newly acquired dominance along with the subsequent, often politically motivated church councils, starting with that of Nicea (325 AD), ignited the counter-measure: the monastic movement in the deserts of Judea, Jordan, Syria, the Negev, the Sinai, and Egypt.  Additionally, the Ethiopian church had maintained a presence in Jerusalem from the beginning, attending the church councils, through to the Council of Chalcedon (AD 451), where it disavowed the monophysite heresy, but maintained the miaphysite doctrine (Tewahedo), “One nature of God the Word incarnate” (Melaju, 2008).

The continuity of this history is illustrated not only by the intimate knowledge the Ethiopian Orthodox Church had of church history, but because it was integral in helping to write it.  Mosaics in various 5th and 6th century Byzantine churches across Jordan, including Mt. Nebo and Petra, depict Ethiopians, evidence that communication between the two branches of Christianity were commonplace.

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Fig. 3- Mosaic in Mt. Nebo, Jordan, depicting Ethiopian person with an ostrich, zebra, and giraffe, shown as a “camel-leopard” as it was known. (Photo SCW)

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The word ‘monk’ comes from the Greek root mono, for “one who lives alone.”  Monasticism remains the ultimate test of faithfulness to the call of discipleship. Allaying physical distractions tempered through the mortification of the flesh, prepared one for the daunting demands of spiritual discipline. What better way to be tested and proven faithful than to emulate Christ who withdrew to a deserted place for fasting and praying?

There is a deeply incarnational dimension to communing one-on-one with the Divine. Regardless of one’s faith-walk, isolation and reflection produce their own measure of spiritual reward. As opposed to the blatant political and economic messages broadcast by the architecture of the Byzantine Empire, or the earlier structures of Abu Simbal and Petra, it became increasingly clear that Lalibela-Lasta had been founded, inspired by an overarching need to dwell as a remote, monastic kingdom.

Lead me to the Rock . . . 

Returning, I poured over the maps. And then, there it was. The massif of Mt. Lasta upon which the Lalibela complex is built, is situated just south of Mt. Abuna Yusef. At 4190 meters above sea level, it is the highest mountain in the region and only 430 meters lower than Ethiopia’s highest peak, Ras Dashen. A series of watersheds cuts the highlands of Ethiopia into four quadrants. Lalibela is situated just north-west of the convergence of the main mountain ridges that divides this rugged land. The Priest-Kings of the Zagwe Dynasty chose this isolation, purposely, as an island situated within an ocean of basaltic mountains. As near the center of that convergence as geographically possible, as far away from the corruption of the world, upon the farthest edge of Christendom, at the headwaters of the Tecazze River, the first Priest-Kings of the Zagwe Dynasty founded their monastic capital.

One must not, therefore, approach the Lalibela complex or surrounding churches from the standpoint simply of an archaeologist, historian, architect, or tourist. Lalibela must be seen through pilgrims’ eyes. These stone-hewn structures now retain the skeletal framework of their truer, more spiritual story. I have revisited Lalibela multiple times, seeking the greater contexts of Ethiopia’s previous identity formation in relation to the Aksumite Empire, and the direct connection this “Ethiopian Jerusalem” holds with the Jerusalem of Gold. Especially today, one must sit at the feet of ages past in order to grasp the broader medieval pilgrimage ethos surrounding the collapse of the corrupt, despotic Crusader Kingdoms in the Eastern Levant. 

Seeing through pilgrims’ eyes unlocks this most extraordinary of sites to new avenues of comprehension. It creates a means of embracing the essence of the Lalibela-Lasta complex, that of greater Ethiopia, and ultimately, the whole of Africa. It illustrates just how significant and splendid these structures are, not simply as artifacts of devotion, but even more, as icons of faith, edifices of an eternal, yet grounded hope, amidst the darkness of Western Christendom’s early-medieval decay. It is within this light that the earlier churches and those of Lalibela need to be experienced.

From this elevated standpoint, the Lalibela-Lasta churches brilliantly epitomize the initial resurrection of a post-Crusader, Ethiopian kingdom of faith, that shone beyond the shadows of defeat in the Eastern Mediterranean and across North Africa. This sacred space specifically was designed to be a beacon for the many Christian-African kingdoms of the interior, even at times, casting its light upon the dim shores of Europe, stumbling in the pre-Renaissance era. Lalibela’s essence hearkens back to our origins. It remains a message across the centuries, calling all of us home to rest in the embrace of our common mother, Africa.

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Fig. 4 – Relief Map of Ethiopia and Eretria – Note the division of Ethiopia’s highlands into distinct quadrants and watersheds, with Lalibela situated centrally.

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Geology, Jewels, and a Miracle

The structures of Lalibela are constructed within a finger of tuff, a soft volcanic stone, which juts out into the valley. Tuff, as a softer stone made more of compacted volcanic ashes, absorbs water. When it is first exposed, one can easily carve and shape the stone with basic iron tools.  I have seen masons and quarrymen dig out huge boulders of tuff and, with hammer and chisel, knock out building blocks, level, square, uniform, in minutes. And then a miracle happens. Once the stone is doused with water and exposed to air, it hardens to near concrete.

Tradition holds that after his 14-year sojourn in Jerusalem and the Holy Lands, King Lalibela received a vision. He was to build a new Jerusalem for a new priesthood serving a new chosen people of God. Visualizing Lalibela within its broader geological location, one grasps the perception of the miraculous. Consider that the site upon which the churches of Lalibela are built is less than two square kilometers of tuff in a region where, for literally hundreds of thousands of square kilometers to the north, and in an east-westerly direction, there is none (Morton, 1978, Williams, 2016). For those spiritually inclined, it is as if when God was crafting the world from time immemorial, he secreted away an infinitesimal nugget of constructional tuff in this land of ever-present, uplifted, hard basalt, for just such a time as this.

From this reddish-gray stone, King Lalibela hews a precious jewel, one of the truly magnificent world masterpieces of religious art. But it is not simply the structures themselves which speak of this brilliance. The churches, as wonderful as each are, are more than simply ecclesiastical edifices. The whole is far greater than the sum of its parts. Like all true art, Lalibela contains an astounding, hidden magic.

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Fig. 5 – An original stone from the initial carving out of the structures, kept in a pile beside the church of Beta Giyorgis. Note the chisel marks indicating the types of tools and force used to excavate. The fact such stones were retained on site indicates they were likely considered part of the sacredness of the “work is prayer” adage. (Photo SCW)

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. . . To the Rock that is Higher Than I

In order to gain a deeper understanding of why the Lalibela complex is such a sacred space, one must grasp the ascetic world view within a monastic mental landscape. The most ancient traditions related to the birth of Jesus place it in a cave dwelling adjacent to the house of Joseph’s family in Bethlehem (Murphey-O’Conner, 1992). The fanciful stories of a wooden manger in a wooden stable behind an inn are fabrications of Renaissance artists. Given Christ’s nativity occurs in a cave, this holds special emphasis within ancient monasticism. And then there is the burial after the crucifixion, also within a cave, that completes the incarnational circle to the monastic narrative. Living one’s life in a cave is as close as one can get to living as Christ. And thus, a monastic church in a cave or a church carved out of rock is the epitome of the dwelling of God with man, or the Beta Emmanuel (Hirscfeld, 1999).

The dominant focus on the Lalibela churches and complexes continues to be architectural and art history-based. Subsequently, a critical factor for adequately and accurately expounding the wonders of the Lalibela complex and surrounding churches remains unexplored. By continually ignoring the broader political, social, and cultural formations of the Zagwe Dynasty, scholars have limited the lexicon for creating the richer narrative of Lalibela-Lasta’s far deeper significance.

The era of the Zagwe Dynasty is one of the most impressive periods of Ethiopia’s history (Pankhurst, 1990, Phillipson, 2009, 2012). It is incumbent upon us to endeavor to rediscover, through research of the significant data-sets, the sociological and broader cultural frameworks preceding and leading up to, the rise of the Zagwe dynasty. Further research is required to capture the message within the Lalibela heritage sites beyond merely its architectural significance.

Lasta-Lalibela heritage stands as a uniting historical monument to Ethiopia’s shared historical experience. As contemporary Ethiopia undergoes shifts of cultural and societal identity across ethno-national and linguistic lines, these heritages retain prominent historical value to enable the building of comprehensive, mutual understanding. Lalibela-Lasta represents the continual adaptation of ascribed identities across generations and landscapes. The cumulative transference of societal knowledge, variable skill-sets, practices, cultural material, along with the geographical location of these structures and associated sites, build upon, and enhance community well-being, religious expression, and societal identifiers for each new generation.

Historical Framework of Lalibela-Lasta 

Years before ascending the throne, two years after the defeat of the Crusaders in Jerusalem in 1187 by the Ayyubid dynasty, King Lalibela visited Egypt and the Holy Land. While there, he was invited for an audience with the conqueror, Salah ad-Din (Saladin). Because the Coptic Church in Alexandria was responsible for providing the Mutran (Metropolitan) for the Ethiopian Orthodox Tewahedo Church, Salah ad-Din viewed King Lalibela as under his protection and neutral in the previous Crusader conflicts. Thus, Ethiopian and Coptic Christians were again given access to, and in some instances control of, the holy sites, a privilege denied them under the Crusaders. A Metropolitan (Mutran), as overseer of an ecclesiastical community or See, serves as the primary representative of a patriarch. Under agreement, the Coptic Alexandrian Church sent a Mutran from Egypt and the Ethiopian church would not select its own bishops or Patriarch. It is conjectured that under the Zagwe dynasty, the Priest-Kings broke with this tradition.

A brilliant example of the confluence of these two worlds, Crusader and Ethiopian, is depicted as graffiti in the Church of the Nativity in Bethlehem. As one enters the sanctuary, on one of the limestone pillars, off to the far left, are the sketched images of crusader helmets and coats of arms. Two beautiful, regal African faces, in profile, grace this pillar. Staring into that face, one can easily imagine one to be King Lalibela on his sojourn. Of course, King Lalibela was no Crusader, but it is within this frame of reference, this seeking a common good for humanity and living within the core of the Christian and monastic mandate to love one’s enemies and pray for those who persecute, that we must understand his majesty. Upon this mountain, called Roha in antiquity, translated from the Ge’ez as “pure or clean,” a new focal point emerges of a new dynasty of these priest-kings, or in the local parlance, Presbyter Jan-hoy.

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Fig. 6 – Graffiti in the Church of Nativity in Bethlehem, depicting an African face in profile, atop a Crusader helmet. (Photo SCW)

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Finding Our Way 

Pilgrimage is designed to set us right, to level the playing field. And Lalibela is one of the most profound places wherein one can be set right. But it takes work. It requires a different set of eyes, spiritual eyes, to see the beauty and wonder of not simply the stone churches, but hopefully, to apprehend the hidden, beating heart of devotion of the ancient, dynamic, living Ethiopic church that forged this icon of faith out of living rock.

In the hectic pantomime of modern Christianity, most have forsaken the practice of pilgrimage. Yet, pilgrimage or sojourning as a spiritual exercise, is a searching for the fingerprint of God. The essential element of pilgrimage is, as the word implies, leaving the security of home and seeking for that which is other. It is an intention of a destination, not simply to a sacred place, but more importantly, to dwell securely within a sacred space (Hirschfeld, 1992, Tsafrir, 1988). For the wearied wayfarer among Ethiopia’s and Africa’s early medieval Christian populace, the churches of Lalibela served and still serve as just such a space.

One major aspect of pilgrimage relates to manual labor as a form of prayer. Indeed, one finds the statement, “work is prayer” among many of the guiding principles of monastic orders. Is it any wonder then we see varying influences within the architecture and decoration in the various structures, especially in windows and cross forms? The retention of Aksumite ecclesiastical architecture, however, remains obvious throughout the Lalibela complex and earlier churches. It can be conjectured that many of these stone churches represent actual, contemporary structures which were subsequently destroyed in the religious wars of 1528-1543. Of these stone-hewn churches, architectural form supersedes function, even within many representational constructed elements. Wooden frames of windows and doors, currently found in the built churches such as Debre Damo and Yimerhane Kirstos, are exquisitely retained in stone in the Lalibela churches

Transcendence 

Being religious, however, is not a requisite to appreciating or even experiencing things spiritual. The path an early-medieval pilgrim followed through the various churches illustrates how perfectly King Lalibela incorporated spiritual geography and embodied the deepest elements of the ancient pilgrimage ethos. In Zorzi’s accounts of travelers to Ethiopia in the mid-1440s, he records, “From Asquaga (modern Woldia) to Urvuar (often associated with Lalibela), and there is a king in the said great city, where are 12 churches of canons and a bishop, and the tomb of a holy king that works miracles, and has the name of Lalivela (sic); whither go very many pilgrims from all the lands.” (Crawford, 1956). But new research indicates the actual site of Urvuar to be ruins south of Istayish, serving as the administrative site to Lalibela 25 kms to the north.

The Beta Giyorgis complex, the lowest point geographically, was probably the last of the churches to be hewn. It is situated on a knoll of tuff that descends south of the main hillsides housing the other two, larger complexes. Three carved ravines designed to funnel off water, create an “island” or “mountain peak” amidst a broader ocean of stone. The eastern channel, named Gadet, meaning ‘the boundary marker between two lands’, is linked by a channel to the western gorge, referred to as the River Jordan.

In medieval times, pilgrims would initiate their pilgrimage via one of two paths at this lowest point, at the outflow of the Gadet as it runs into the south-western ravine. Via this deep cut in the bedrock, one enters Beta Giyorgis or St. George’s church within its original design.  Up slope and to the west from the Gadet is a holy water site named after the dragon-slaying, mega-martyr, St. George or Beta Giyorgis, where pilgrims in need of physical, mental, or spiritual healing, or those seeking absolution for sins past, could be cleansed and begin anew – a regenesis of sorts, toward a renewed identity.

The Churches 

Though dedicated to St. George, local traditions also state its architectural elements tie Beta Giyorgis to Noah’s Ark. Noah is often painted as a portrait of faith, because, as we find in Hebrews 11, Noah heeds God’s warning, believing something that had never before been seen. And thus, he and his family represent earth’s sole human survivors and heirs of righteousness.

Further, in the Epistles of Peter, Noah is held as an example of one whose faith saved not only his family, but also the whole of humanity. The spiritual geography of Beta Giyorgis serves as a rock-hewn ark secured to its own Mt. Ararat, with the priest-kings of the Zagwe Dynasty representing the faithful Noah, saving the broader Ethiopian communities, and consequently, humanity, from a deluge of sinfulness drowning the world as subsequent Crusades and other religious wars raged on further north.

Within the enclosure, to the northeast, as the craftsmen carved down, they hit the base rock of basalt. Too hard to hew, it was left and aptly named, Mt. Ararat, after the resting place of the original ark.  And just as Noah’s ark had three levels and a roof, so does Beta Giyorgis, with open windows only on the upper-most level. To enter, one must ascend the seven hewn steps leading into the closed confines, the sacred security of this ark of stone. Each ascending step is higher and narrower than its predecessor, symbolizing the seven heavens, illustrating how each stride in the walk of faith requires more effort, less self-assurance, in obtaining salvation and the righteousness which comes by grace alone. Viewed from above, the series of three foundation steps which encircle the entire building give it the illusion that the last waves of the flood still lap at the now-grounded ark.

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Fig. 7 – The narrowing, ascending steps to Beta Giyorgis. (Photo SCW)

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The Church structure is said to also represent the Arc of the Covenant, containing the Decalogue or ten commandments. In the Chapel of Beta Gabriel, a wooden arc, in the exact style of Beta Giyorgis, beautifully retains that tradition in miniature.

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Fig. 8 – Miniature wooden Arc of the Covenant showing similarities to Beta Giyorgis Church. (Photo SCW)

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The floral motif atop each window could be taken as the olive branch brought back by the dove, or more likely, the vine that Noah planted post-flood and from which he made the first wine. Wine, of course, becomes the essential element of the holy sacrament representing the blood of Christ. Twelve windows, three on each branch of its cruciform shape, can be any of a number of elements, but are most likely for the twelve apostles, sent to spread the good news to the four corners of the world. The roof is carved with a cross within a cross within a cross, creating a Trinitarian unity of the central symbol of Christianity.

Saved from the condemnation of the flood, one exits the ark, and ascends, up across the hand-hewn trough linking Gadet and the Jordan. It is unknown what features, in medieval times, existed upon what is now the walkway and parking lot. Further research may illuminate a passageway demarcating a causeway into the new promised land upslope. Remnants of large hewn ashlar stones demarcate a path that may represent the way through one’s own wilderness wanderings from the realm of the Old Testament into the world of the New.

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Fig. 9 – Built pathway from Beta Giyorgis leading to the narrow alley to the Tomb of Adam – (Photo SCW)

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Orthodox icons of the crucifixion usually depict the cross, planted atop Calvary or Golgotha, the place of the skull. Traditionally, the place where the cross of Christ was fixed to the Earth has been interpreted as the original burial spot of Adam, as represented by a skull and long bones.  The ascent, leading to the Tomb of Adam, takes one further up to a narrow, deeply carved alley with the closed-in feel of the Valley of the Shadow of Death. Steep steps lead up through the doorway into an enclosure, creating the impression of being enclosed within one’s tomb. Like the confined chapels within Jerusalem’s Church of the Holy Sepulcher, these spaces allowed a pilgrim to individually own that she or he is, like the original sinner, Adam, dead in sin ( I Cor 15:21 – “For since by (one) man came death, by (one) man came also the resurrection of the dead”)

From a low door, petitioning humility, one emerges from that tomb, to arrive at the twin chapels of Sinai, also referred to in the literature as Beta Mika’el, representing the giving of the Mosaic law, and Golgotha, where grace and forgiveness were bestowed upon humanity.

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Fig. 10 – Site of the Tomb of Adam looking down, with the dual chapels of Sinai (Beta Mika’el) on the far end, and Beta Golgotha, closer.  Note the original door to Sinai (indicated by the top arrow) is rarely utilized today.  It should be noted that entrance into Golgotha is only accessible through the Sinai chapel, possibly indicating that salvation comes only by passing through the law into grace. (Jn. 1:17- “Since though the law was given to Moses, grace and truth have come through Jesus Christ.” Jerusalem Bible, 1966).  (Photo SCW)

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These dual churches, representing the old and new covenants, tie the Hebraic or Judaic heritage of the earliest representations of the living church to this modern living Ethiopic heritage and traditions. One of the verses often quoted in regard to this long historicity and connectivity to the promises of God through King David, is Psalm 68:31: “Princes shall come out of Egypt; Ethiopia shall soon stretch out her hands unto God” (KJV). This entire complex reverberates with the sense that these structures are designed to boldly claim that promise fulfilled. In a sense, these structures illustrate that the Gospel has indeed been preached to the ends of the earth.

The first structure, known as Beta Mika’el, or alternatively, as Mt. Sinai, represents the giving of the law. Mt. Sinai, where Moses received the law, proves our need of salvation. Access to the sanctuaries of Mt. Sinai and then Golgotha, originally required one to nearly circumambulate the building, to the far end, and then negotiate narrow steps to traverse the slender path along the exterior wall. Just as the Children of Israel wandered for forty years, and Jesus fasted for forty days in the wilderness, this path requires of a pilgrim time to prepare for entrance into these two sanctuaries. The eastern door, now rarely used, would have ushered a penitent into the closed confines of Sinai, which contains solid pillars and an aura of heaviness.  With high, small windows, condemnation is palpable. Highly-stylized “angels’ eyes” stare, unblinkingly from every corner of each capital.

The second chapel, Golgotha, represents the giving of grace which now covers the debt of humanity’s sin. Beta Golgotha, off-limits to women, hides secrets. It is the only church with life-size relief statuary incorporated in the walls. There is argument as to whether the statuary are original, or later additions. Evidence for the argument that they are original, are similar pillar capitals, as well as a similar feature of a standing cleric, found in Kankanet Mika’el, far up slope from the main Lalibela complexes, on the way to the Hudad Plateau.

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Fig. 11- Relief statue in the chapel of Beta Golgotha – The sheen upon the stone comes from  centuries of pilgrims venerating the image in prayers and petitions.

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The back part of the nave houses what is known as the Sellassie Chapel (Phillipson, 2009, Merceier, 2012). Normally a thick curtain covers the entrance to this chamber, protecting, as far as it is known, the only chapel in Christendom with three separate altars, one for each member of the Holy Trinity: Father, Son, Holy Spirit. Typical Ethiopic icons of the Trinity represent three sagacious, identical depictions of the one nature of the triune God. All equally share that single nature of Godhead from before creation, all eternally, self-existing. This triunity strongly exemplifies the miaphysite concept of God being of a single nature, rather than the dual nature doctrine – diaphysite – of other Orthodox, Catholic, and Reformed/Protestant traditions (Melaku, 2008). 

The long Ethiopic presence in Jerusalem, especially as it relates to the Church of the Holy Sepulcher, has forged a deep link to the Holy Land and its spiritual history. Immediately after the Ayyubid re-conquest of Jerusalem in 1187, the Ethiopic church served as primary custodian of these holy sites. It is not unlikely that King Lalibela would have been intimately engaged in that administration. By recreating a tomb of Christ in Ethiopia, King Lalibela may have selected this back chapel as his final resting place, complete with a depiction of a resting or prone Christ, perhaps illustrating in stone, the incarnational aspects of the unified salvific work of both a human and divine nature, central to the belief of the Tewahedo or the miaphysite doctrine.

Having immersed oneself within the covenants of law and grace in Sinai and Golgotha, one then ascends a series of steps and navigates winding carved corridors, further upslope, to the large open area containing Beta Maryiam, the Church of Mary. Flanking this sanctuary are two smaller chapels, the chapel of the finding of the true cross (Beta Masqal) to the north, and the chapel of the 40 virgin martyrs (Beta Danagel) to the south.

Beta Maryiam is the only church that boasts an interior of colorful decorations and painted fresco icons. In the same way that St. Mary served as the vessel for incarnationally carrying Christ, so we as pilgrims, by entering this sacred space, partake in that incarnation and, as the true church, become the physical representation of Christ to the world. The open courtyard proffers the first place that pilgrims might celebrate communally. It is here the festival of incarnation at nativity, Ethiopian Genna, takes place each year. Multiple narratives coalesce within this complex. In a spiritual sense, the whole of the gospel abides herein: The Magnificat of Mary, the nativity, the incarnational ministry of Christ, the crucifixion, the faithfulness of martyrs.

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Fig. 12 – Interior of Beta Mariyam – The carved and painted designs retain the physical representations of the wood-carved, painted interiors of churches such as Yimerhane Kirstos, which predate the Lalibela churches. (Photo SCW)

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To the north lies a carved pool containing holy water where tradition states that barren women might be submerged and obtain fertility. The secret, hidden hope of barren women, also finds a place among the grandeur of this story. Just as God, through Mary, bestowed a physical child to Mary, and thus to the world, so He did for Sarai-Sarah, Revkah-Rebekah, Hanna, and the multiple nameless women who, through tears and social pain, found favor in a God who holds women in the highest esteem.

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Fig. 13 – The submersion pool with Beta Mariyam in the background.  The baptistery steps are to the left.  In the Early medieval periods, the reverse swastika motif was commonly associated with the tree of life, and can be seen represented in cultural material from Phoenician, Assyrian, and Indian cultural contexts. (Photo SCW)

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One final step, however, is required to usher the pilgrim into eternal, spiritual life. Through a constricting corridor within the imposing cliff face, like a passage through death into heavenly life, pilgrims lastly enter the large open space that houses Bete Medhane Alem, or Savior of the World Church. As the largest church, this would have served as the culmination, the high point of pilgrimage. The open area provided ample space for pilgrims to communally celebrate their renewed salvation. Inside, no imposing icon of Christ as Pantocrator looks down upon a sinful humanity. Here, it is the child-Christ, held by Mariyam, who reigns. From an Ethiopic (EOTC) perspective, this is the deity the world needs today, not the crusade-bent, angry god of so much of western Christendom. 

Having completed our pilgrimage, the steps to the north allow one to ascend further, where, with an added hope, pilgrims look uphill, to the symbolic Mount of Olives, from which Christ ascended, and upon which he will return as Savior of the World.

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Fig. 14 – The Mt. of Olives viewed from the Medhane Alem church, finalizing the pilgrimage experience. (Photo SCW)

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Much more can, and should be said about this masterpiece of ecclesiastical architecture, part of this broader narrative within Ethiopian Christianity. The administrative complex further southeast, along with Mt. Tabor commemorating Christ’s transfiguration, contain multiple mysteries in their own right, yet have not been part of the broader discussion of this paper.

Here, it is Ethiopia’s narrative that must prevail. The living church of the EOTC community constitutes the primary custodian of the centuries-old heritage, and it is, therefore, their story to tell. Often, the parochial, colloquial imposition of outside academic, disengaged, world views have dominated the retelling of what is Africa. That must change. In much of the literature about Lalibela and the larger Ethiopic Tewahedo church traditions as a whole, a subtle, or occasionally overt sentiment persists that these traditions are somehow failed attempts at emulating “our more enlightened, more scholarly and sophisticated” western churches, or post-Christian world. 

Often academia or scholars seek for minutia, or the mere stones and bones of an ancient tradition. Care is required lest we assume, because Western sacred sanctuaries have been reduced to museums or pubs, that Lalibela could be similarly defined. Continuing research sings a dynamically different story, however.

For now, our goal and honor remains to work with the Ethiopian Orthodox Tewahedo Church to train local clergy and heritage management experts and equip them to discover and discern even more of Lalibela’s enchantment. Thus might these sanctuaries and adjacent settlements reverberate with further sacredness within their deeper, intended spirituality.  Through continual co-research, it is hoped that more of the hidden messages are revealed as these Lalibela-Lasta complexes and communities still whisper secrets left nearly a thousand years ago.

Qidus, Sanctus, Holy

Like the first outsiders, however, I too must admit to only touching the surface of this mystical Holy Land. One final discovery, however, came to light while researching Ethiopic crosses. When one views the greater whole of the entire ecclesiastical complex of Lalibela, it becomes clear that the actual layout is designed to serve as more than a simple pathway for pilgrimage. The churches, chapels, and tunnels of Lalibela are themselves actually a magnificent, carved, monumental icon of the crucifixion.

Like the Ethiopian hand cross that every priest and monk carries, the bottom of the cross represents the square arc of the covenant. Other traditions relate that it represents the four corners of the world. Connecting the arc and the cross is the handle, representing the passageway to the foot of the cross, planted upon the tomb of Adam. In rare examples, the handle depicts Adam, rooted in his grave, with a shoot from the Tree of Paradise becoming the timber for the crossbeam for the crucifix. This apocryphal story is found in many older traditions, including a thread about King Solomon’s building of the Temple. The four branches of the cross emanating from the center, like the Jerusalem cross, comprise the core of the standard hand cross (Korabiewics, Waclaw, et al 1973).

As part of my research, I have come to the conclusion that every church or chapel in this complex represents an element of Christ’s sacrifice. The dual sanctuaries of Mt. Sinai (Beta Mika’el) and Golgotha comprise the two wounds of Christ’s feet. The Chapels of the Finding of the True Cross and the 40 Martyrs represent the nail-wounds in his hands. Beta Maryiam, the central place for incarnation, fully and beautifully represents the spear to his heart. For some, this similarly represents that Mary, Queen of Heaven and Co-Redemptrix, had her heart pierced as well. In the Middle Ages in Europe, the concept that St. Mary participated as an agent of redemption or salvation for humanity was promoted by the early Franciscans as a doctrine. It is not known to what extent this idea was present within the Zagwe dynasty, if at all. The Bete Medhane Alem, as the culminating sanctuary, honors the Savior of the World, and brilliantly represents his crown of thorns.

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Fig. 15 – Ethiopian hand-cross depicting Adam holding up the cross. The bottom is the Arc of the Covenant and each branch of the cross illustrates a wound, with Mary and Christ in the center (Photo SCW). A map of the Ecclesiastical structures illustrating the natural layout of the various sanctuaries (after Phillipson – 2009).

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As a sacred space, therefore, Lalibela-Lasta continues sharing the dividends of its spiritual economy, bestowing hope and identity to a nation so rich in heritage, but for so long hidden from the outside world.

Cover Image, Top Left: Bete Giyorgis (Church of St. George), Lalibela, Ethiopia.  Bernard Gagnon, GNU Free Documentation License, Wikimedia Commons

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Author details: swalkercisuog@gmail.com -ET:  +251-966262008  US 425-772-9123

Keywords  – Ethiopia; Lalibela; King Lalibela; Lasta; Ethiopianhistory; Zagwe ethiopianorthodoxtewahedochurch; EOTC; stonechurch; pilgrim; urvuar

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Tutankhamun, Nefertiti, and Akhenaten

Kathlyn (Kara) Cooney proves that the value of a great scholar and speaker is timeless and priceless. A few years ago, Richard (the interviewer) met her after her lecture on ancient Egypt at One Day University in New York City. This was a poignant example of how an afternoon immersion in the land of the Nile can lead to all sorts of tributaries and surprises. Kara (pictured below) is a professor of Egyptian Art and Architecture and Chair of the Near Eastern Studies Department at UCLA. She is currently researching coffin reuse in ancient Egypt and has studied nearly 300 coffins around the world. Her two books – The Woman Who Would Be King: Hatshepsut’s Rise to Power in Ancient Egypt (Crown, 2014) and When Women Ruled the World: Six Queens of Egypt (National Geographic Press, 2018)—have been generously reviewed. In late fall 2020, National Geographic released a special edition on Kara’s work on female pharaohs.

In 2008, Kara co-wrote and produced the Discovery Channel’s Out of Egypt, an exploration of ancient cultures, architecture and the sacred, with a special emphasis on timeless, archetypal shapes: cities and civilization go hand in hand, but disease and strife are not far behind. Kara was also co-curator of Tutankhamun and the Golden Age of the Pharaohs at the Los Angeles County Museum of Art, which opened in 2005. She was also a member of the team that excavated the artisan’s village of Deir el Medina in Egypt. This interview focuses on King Tut and his remarkable parents, Akhenaten and Nefertiti. Kara is interviewed here by author and professor Richard Marranca.  

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Kara Cooney onsite in Egypt. Courtesy Patina Productions

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RM: It is exciting that you curated the Tut (Tutankhamun) exhibit in Los Angeles. Do you think Tut returned to the old gods and rejected the “monothesism” of Akhenaten on his own, or was he forced into that? Why did he abandon the new capital, Amarna, in the desert?

KC: Interestingly, our history of Tutankhamun is inseparable from our history of Nefertiti (the queen and royal wife of Pharaoah Akhenaten); more and more Egyptologists are realizing that the end of the Amarna period was being shaped by a powerful female rather than a powerful male. Tutankhamun is famous today because of his funerary material; but one of the only reasons I’m interested in his funerary material is because it’s a reflection of Nefertiti as ruler before him. And if anybody returns to the old gods and the old ways and traditions, it was Nefertiti. It was not Tutankhamun.

He was actually the beneficiary of her activities. Yes, he was born Tutankhaten and became Tutankhamun, but that likely happened before he took the throne. It probably happened when he was quite a young boy. And even when I experience my own son, who is now 10, I consider that even though Tutankhamun was brought up in the Amarna religion as a young boy, his earliest memories would have been shaped by Nefertiti, likely moving Egypt back to traditional ways, with the entire court quickly falling in line.

So the pendulum was already swinging in that direction. Whatever the ruler did after Akhenaten, I think everybody knew they needed to swing back into that direction. It doesn’t seem that Tutankhamun was raised with any protective nature towards his father’s religion. I think that’s his earliest memories, but his most formative memories as a child, starting around six, seven or eight years of age, would have been of the old religion rather than his father’s new religion.

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Close-up detailed view of Tutankhamun’s innermost coffin found within his tomb. Jon Bodsworth, Pubic Domain, Wikimedia Commons

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The death mask of Tutankhamun. Image by Gerhard G. from Pixabay.

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The bust of Nefertiti, exhibited at the Neues Museum. Philip Pikart, GNU Free Documentation License, Wikimedia Commons

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RM: Tut’s uncle or father Akhenaten is one of the most enigmatic figures in history. Bob Brier said that he was the first “hippie” and monotheist. Can you be a monotheist if you think you’re a god yourself? Can you tell us about him?

KC:  Akhenaten may have been the father of Tutankhamun. Or he may have been the grandfather or uncle. We actually don’t really know. The lack of clarity is of itself very suspicious. Akhenaten is quite the character, and there’s been much attention on him by Egyptologists trying to figure out what made him tick and why he did what he did. Opinions are quite varied, and it’s difficult to determine the truth because of course we’ve never been able to meet the guy. He never put his thoughts into writing in a way that would allow us to understand why he did what he did. The “hippie” idea is the traditional way of looking at this guy. He implemented these great ideas, and then people didn’t like them. But there’s this hippie 1968 sort of feeling about him that he’s about peace and love and it’s an amazing time of experimentation. What is god? What is the universe? It seems all ‘poppies and rainbows’. But even hippies have a dark side. Right? There was the Summer of Love in ’69 and then things got really dark in the ‘70s. You have things like Charles Manson, Patty Hearst kidnappings and all kinds of bombs going off and revolutionary thinking — “You Say You Want a Revolution”, as the Beatles song goes. But I wouldn’t call Akhenaten a revolutionary. That’s the wrong word. A revolution comes from the grass roots of society. This is coming from the very pinnacle, from the very top, the most authoritarian regime one can possibly imagine. And I wouldn’t call him a monotheist, necessarily.

More accurately, I would say Akhenaten was likely the first fanatic. He’s the first to take religion and make it not just exclusionary, but fanatically tell people what is right and what is wrong. And when people don’t go along with what he says, there is a reaction. Here the Egyptians are not clear about what happened. But there was probably some level of coercion to what Akhenaten implemented in his country. He leaves the traditional capitals of Memphis and Thebes, funneling money away from those very archaic temple institutions. He moves them into a new direction and founds this new capital city in the middle of nowhere.

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Relief of Akhenaten, Nefertiti and two daughters adoring the Aten. 18th dynasty, reign of Akhenaten. Between -1372 and -1355 BC. The Royal Tomb, Tell el-Amarna, Egypt. Photographer Jean-Pierre Dalbéra from Paris, France. Attribution 2.0 Generic license, Public Domain, Wikimedia Commons

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RM: It was very bold and quixotic — bringing all those followers out to the desert. 

KC: When he makes that move, he marshaled his main support from the army. Because it comes from the military part of society, this implies that the priests were not interested in going along with these ideas. Does that mean he is coercing the rest of the population to either get in line or not say anything against him? It’s not clear, but the Egyptian regime was always authoritarian and people never spoke against their king in a public or documented way. This wasn’t a Greek democracy or a Roman tribunal senatorial system. This was an authoritarian divine kingship and the king was not to be questioned. And so, we wouldn’t expect to see dissent clearly recorded anywhere. And so I think the best evidence that people were suffering under Akhenaten’s rule and his fanatical religious changes was the return to the old ways in the aftermath of his rule, to the polytheism of before, and the temples functioning as they had before.

There was also a great destructive event after Akhenaten was gone. When that happened is not clear. But his new city of Amarna was destroyed down to the blocks, down to the foundation. Those blocks were subsequently hauled off to other places and reused. The statues were smashed into tiny bits that archaeologists have tried to piece together in whatever way they can. And the city itself was swallowed up by the sands, later to be discovered by a variety of archaeologists—British, German, and others.

Akhenaten is a person I’m very interested in and I think I will do some more writing about him in the future. But because of the amount of ink that’s been spilled, the research that goes into it would have to be quite thoroughly and carefully done and I would need to formulate a position on how I interpret his life and times. And then there comes the interesting tidbit that Akhenaten’s history is very much being sorted out right now, particularly the aftermath — what happened after his totalitarian fanatical regime was over and the return to the old ways. Who was really responsible for doing that?

As to Tutankhamen, it is thought that he was the major king following Akhenaten, but there seems to have been another king named Smenkhkare, who ruled in between; Smenkhkare may have been none other than Nefertiti herself, taking on a masculine role. Also, Nefertiti may have been a co-king alongside Akhenaten. So there’s a lot of interesting elements to this story that we’re just sorting out now as Egyptologists unravel these different strands of history.

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Remains of the North Palace at Tell el-Amarna. Olaf Tausch, Creative Commons Attribution 3.0 Unported license, Wikimedia Commons

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Small Temple of the Aten, at Akhetaten. Markh, GNU Free Documentation License, Wikimedia Commons

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RM:  I recall a unique image of Nefertiti in battle. And about Akhenaten – aren’t there images of him giving out necklaces? And didn’t analysis show that their people may have been starving or very low on calories?

KC: Yes. How did he get people to do what he wanted them to do? Well, he relied on the army. And secondly, he paid them off. And he’s wasn’t shy about showing it. So you see in the elite’s tombs scenes of the Window of Appearances, with the king and his bride, Nefertiti, often accompanied by their daughters, throwing gold at the people, tying the gold of honor necklace around an elite neck, essentially bribing people, paying them off, making them rich to accompany his fanatical journey. That is very clearly represented, although it has taken Egyptologists some time to see the more cynical side of that exchange.

Regarding the people (his subjects), there’s a lot of focus on that through archaeological work in Amarna now, led by Barry Kemp and his many specialists. They are examining the bodies of the laborers who built this city, comparing them to peasants’ bodies from other parts of Egypt. Forensic analysis suggests these people led a brutal existence — numerous broken bones, stress fractures in people who were too young to be working, injuries that had no time to heal; and also evidence of malnutrition, of people not having enough to eat and the right foods to eat and yet simultaneously doing this work probably at the end of a whip.

So it seems that Akhenaten was doing a lot with less and less resources as time went on. He paid off his elites with a great deal of gold. Those elites in turn wanted to keep the resources that they could, and so they didn’t let that wealth trickle down to the people who were working for them and instead ended up exploiting people quite cruelly. The scientists who examined the remains of the people who were buried in those workers’ cemeteries could see that they were treated differently than those they found in the workers’ cemeteries at Giza or Deir el-Medina, where you see stress fractures and work-related injuries but nothing like the poorly healed injuries and the evidence of back-breaking labor forced at Amarna. That was probably a nail in the coffin for Akhenaten’s fanatical religious changes.

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Detail, statue of Akhenaten from his Aten Temple at Karnak. Egyptian Museum of Cairo. Gérard Ducher, Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 2.5 Generic license, Wikimedia Commons

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Cover photo, top left: Bluesnap, Pixabay

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About the interviewer

Richard is a college teacher and author. His recent publications were in Minerva Magazine, Raven’s Perch, Paterson Literary Review and Months to Years. He has authored two books in print, Dragon Sutra and New Romantics: Ten Stories, and four books online, such as Alexander in India and NY Interviews. He, his wife Renah and daughter Inanna produce videos, the latest being Childe Hera’s World on YouTube (educational travel).

As a child, Richard was given books on history, archaeology and folklore/myth; his interests have never changed. He and his wife have traveled to sixty countries. Richard studied in Greece for a semester through New York University, from where he obtained his Ph.D. From 2002-2003 he was awarded a Fulbright to teach at LMU in Munich, Germany, as well as six NEH summer seminars, such as Andean Worlds, Transcendentalists/Concord and High Plains Indians. Richard is currently finishing up a collection of speculative stories and The Story of the Egyptian Mummy, a collection of interviews with Egyptologists about mummies.

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A Few Words About Mummies

Salima Ikram is Professor of Egyptology at the American University in Cairo. She is perhaps best known for her work with ancient Egyptian animal mummies, and is currently the founder and co-director of the Animal Mummy Project at the Egyptian Museum. As such, she is the world’s leading expert on animal mummies. Ikram has a prominent media presence, authoring articles on Egyptology in Egypt Today, National Geographic, and KMT. She has also appeared in documentaries and specials for PBS, Channel 4, Discovery Channel, History Channel, National Geographic Channel, and the BBC. Salima is interviewed here by author and professor Richard Marranca.

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RM: Why is the Isis and Osiris story so important to the idea of creating mummies and much else in ancient Egyptian religion and politics? 

SI: The Story of Isis and Osiris is so compelling because it is a love story as well as a promise of eternal life and resurrection. It has all the components for a good tale of swashbuckling, good vs evil, drama, romance, with the good guys winning in the end. For the ancient Egyptians this established and explained the role of divine kingship as well as the idea of eternal life and was key to both state religion as well as personal piety in terms of funerary beliefs.

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Isis and Osiris

The family of Osiris. Osiris on a lapis lazuli pillar in the middle, flanked by Horus on the left and Isis on the right (22nd dynasty, Louvre, Paris). Between 874 and 850 BC  Attribution-Share Alike 2.0 France license, Wikimedia Commons

 

To begin to understand ancient Egyptian religion and culture, one must fist know the story of  Osiris. It begins with the murder of the god Osiris, a primeval king of Egypt, by his brother Set. Set subsequently usurps Osiris’s throne. Osiris’s wife Isis restores her husband’s body (thus the introduction of the concept of resurrection), allowing them to posthumously conceive their son, Horus. The rest of the story revolves around Horus, who as a child is protected by his mother, but then becomes Set’s rival for the throne. Their violent conflicts end with Horus’s triumph, which restores Maat (or cosmic and social order) to Egypt after Set’s unrighteous and dark reign and ultimately completes the process of Osiris’s resurrection.

The story is key to understanding ancient Egyptian views of kingship and succession, the eternal conflict between order and disorder, and death and the afterlife. Mummification represents the process of resurrection embodied at the core of the Osiris story.

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RM: What is the history behind the study of ancient Egyptian mummification?

SI: The majority of the early mummy and skeletal studies used basic tools to extract limited information from mummies. The most simple and common method, sometimes the sole one used when in the field, is visual examination. Such examinations yield crucial information about the bandage patterns, amulets and other objects placed on the mummy, body and arm positions, cosmetics, tattooing, and hairstyles. Although the unwrappings and resulting autopsies are destructive, they still provide invaluable detailed and useful information. Several scientific autopsies were carried out on mummies during the 1970s, with multidisciplinary teams of researchers involved in the investigations (Cockburn et al. 1975; Hart et al. 1977; David 1979; Cockburn et al. 1980: 52–70; Millet et al. 1980; Reyman and Peck 1980; David and Tapp 1984; Goyon and Josset 1988).

Diseases can also be tentatively identified with the naked eye, although such identifications are unreliable. For example, visual examination identified a possible case of poliomyelitis in the mummy of the Pharaoh Siptah (Smith 1912: 70–73). Polio is a viral infection of the central nervous system that manifests itself in the paralysis of one or more muscle groups: Siptah has one short and withered leg. On the other hand, the same symptoms can result from certain types of cerebral palsy. Smallpox has also been suspected in the mummy of the pharaoh Ramesses V, due to the pox markings visible on his face (Smith 1912: 90–92). Visual examination can be augmented by scientific analyses that can provide information about other aspects of mummification, such as identification of the materials used in mummification, or a study of mummified tissues. As the sciences evolved, so did mummy studies.

The first mummy to be submitted to a professional chemical analysis (in an effort to determine the materials used in its manufacture) was the ‘Leeds Mummy’ (George 1828); although the results of this examination raised more questions than answers, it was the first such scientific investigation carried out on a mummy, setting the foundation for further studies, particularly those performed by Alfred Lucas in the early twentieth century. Lucas collaborated extensively with Egyptologists and physical anthropologists on identifying the different materials used in mummification (Lucas 1910, 1931, 1932, 1962). The first microscopic examination of ancient Egyptian tissue was performed by the Viennese laryngologist, Johan Czermak (1852). This sort of study increased dramatically in the twentieth century with the advent of ‘palaeopathology’—a term coined by Marc Armand Ruffer (1921), Professor of Bacteriology in Cairo, meaning the study of ancient diseases from the tissues. One of this field’s major aims is to trace the origins, development, and disappearance of specific diseases and to study the effects of diseases on society (Brothwell et al. 1967). Ruffer used microscopic examination on many samples from mummies and managed to identify diseases as well as organs that had dried beyond recognition (Ruffer 1921, 1911; Moodie 1931). Nowadays of course we have X-rays and very good CT scans that allow for much more nuanced imaging. Of course, it is always helpful to have the data from the earlier studies as it helps us to interpret things that might not be immediately clear or apparent on the CT scan. Imaging methods allow us to study mummy’s nondestructively, which is a great boon.

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The Mummy Mask

In ancient Egypt, mummified bodies were intended  to receive the ba, or spirit.  A mask, usually made from linen and plaster and then painted with images of gods and spells for protection, was placed over the head and shoulders of the mummy so that the spirit could recognize it and enter. The mask typically represented the young, ideal image of what the person would look like in the afterlife. The mummy and mask was placed in a painted wooden coffin and surrounded by the food, tools, and gifts needed in the afterlife. This image shows an unidentified mask currently maintained in the Smithsonian American Art Museum. Courtesy Smithsonian Open Access.

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RM: Can you tell us about the Animal Mummy Project? 

SI: Animal mummies are fascinating, as they seem such a curiosity to us today. They tell us a lot about how the ancient Egyptians thought of animals, and the complex way in which they viewed the world. Pets were beloved and they were preserved so that the souls of the animals and their owners could be united for eternity.

But animals also provided food, and thus food mummies were made to nourish the dead forever. 

Animals were thought to have a unique position in the realm of the gods, and each god had a totemic animal. In some cases, the god’s spirit would enter into one of his/her totemic animals, recognizable to the priests by special markings. The animal would be worshipped and cared for during its lifetime and after its death it would be mummified and buried with great pomp in special tombs. The god’s spirit would move to the body of another uniquely marked creature, a bit like the migratory spirit of the Dalai Lama. 

Animals were also given as votive offerings to the gods, but of course these would be animals that bore no special markings. These were sometimes killed deliberately and given as mummies by pilgrims, taking their prayers to the gods. Curiously many of the animals mummified for this purpose were killed deliberately. Perhaps the priests felt that these animals had been especially blessed as they had been chosen as messengers to the gods.

Recently, there has been an extraordinary find of cat, crocodile, and other mummies at Saqqara. One of the most wonderful was the identification of a lion cub mummy.Also at Saqqara, we found at a place that contained at least 7.8 million dog mummies!

Animal cults provided people with a more intimate relationship with the gods, and  votive offerings of animal mummies might have been seen as a more powerful way of interacting with the gods. These mummies also played a significant role in the economy as this practice involved temple personnel to look after the animals, to obtain them, to mummify them, and other people might have sourced animals as well. Additionally, natron, resins, oils, and bandages had to be obtained, as well as pottery vessels and coffins for the creatures. Thus, a network of trade with huge economic ramifications depended on this practice.

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Animal Mummies of Ancient Egypt

Sacred animal mummy containing a dog, circa 400 B.C.–100 A.D. Rogers Fund, 1913.  CC0 1.0 Universal Public Domain Dedication. Wikimedia Commons

According to Ikram, pets were loved by their owners and mummified so the animal souls could be united with them throughout eternity. They were also a source of food, so their mummies served to nourish the dead in the afterlife. The Egyptian pantheon of gods also owned totemic animals. Sometimes the spirits of the gods would possess one of their totemic animals. These animals were identified by specific marks by the temple priests, given special care while living and then mummified and memorialized after death. Additionally, animals were killed, mummified and given as votive offerings to the gods, many of which were intended to carry messages to the gods. The practice of mummifying animals was important to the ancient Egyptian economy, in that significant resources were required and exchanged to administer it, involving sourcing the animals and mummifying them, which included the acquirement of natron, resins, oils, bandaging, pottery vessels and coffins, all relying on an extensive trade network.

Recently, Akrim was involved in the discovery of a large cache of animal mummies in a tomb near the recovery of a remarkably well-preserved priestly tomb in Saqqara. The finds included cat, crocodile, and other animal mummies, including a well-preserved lion cub, a first of its kind at Saqqara. Other animal mummy discoveries at Saqqara, said Akrim, included a location containing “at least 7.8 million dog mummies”.

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RM: I viewed Secrets of the Dead: Egypt’s Darkest Hour, where you are featured. What you discussed in that film was both interesting and macabre – the mass grave of mummies and body parts strewn about from the collapse of the Old Kingdom. Can you describe that history and carnage? 

SI: The end of the Old Kingdom was brought about by a variety of factors. The most significant was of course climate change, where a series of Low Niles and an increasing desertification caused famine, and therefore unrest. In addition to that, King Pepi the second had an extraordinarily long reign, during which time a lot of power slipped out of his hand and into that of provincial nobility. He also allowed the royal women to marry provincial elites, which gave those people greater power legitimacy, diluting the power of the king.

In order to make sure that the priesthood supported him, he allowed temples not to pay taxes to him and this series of exemption decrees also decreased royal power and general control. In general, what happened is that with this decrease of central authority and control, a lot of the provincial elites started to flex their muscles and challenge central authority, particularly upon the death of the King.

Egypt then fell into a group of warring city states, with the nobles having their own armies, and probably also bringing in mercenaries, both from the south and north-east. These battles were in part responsible for the mass graves. Of course, what you saw on television was really also a result of secondary looters in modern times.

RM: Are there curses in the tombs?

SI: The idea of curses is actually a false one. Tutankhamen’s tomb had no curse inscribed within it. That was made up by journalists. There are some tombs, however,  that do have curses and they basically say that if anyone comes in to violate the tomb, or is impure, then may they be strangled like a goose and may the gods sit in judgement of the violator. A few of them do have more colorful variations on this theme, saying may the snake, may the crocodile, or may the lion destroy you. 

RM: What did ancient authorities do when they realized it wasn’t safe to keep mummies in their tombs – bring them into more secure hiding spots?

SI: Moving mummies was something that really seemed to happen mostly in the Third Intermediate period, although it is quite possible that violated tombs were reconsecrated and bones gathered together and reburied in earlier periods, as well. Of course, in times of political turmoil when raiders, whether Egyptian or from abroad, were terrorizing the countryside, burials had to be protected and this is why bodies were moved about and put into caches for safe keeping.

RM: Beginning in ancient times, the theft and abuse of mummies is rampant. Can you tell us about them being used for fuel and medicine, for amusement and parties?

SI: In addition to eating them for medicine, once the mummies got to Europe they provided people with further ghoulish entertainment: unwrappings. These became social events and were very much a part of Victorian parlor entertainment, with special invitations being sent out for them. Mummy unwrappings did not start in the nineteenth century; many other curious individuals had staged unwrapping shows in previous years. One of the earliest recorded unwrappings occurred in September 1698, when Benoit de Maillet (1656-1738), Louis XIV’s consul in Cairo, unwrapped a mummy before a group of French travelers. Unfortunately he, as with most of his successors in unwrapping, did not record anything concerning the mummy; they only mention some of the amulets found on it. Mummies were so abundant that despite the mania for collection and unwrapping, there still remained sufficient mummies in Egypt for what might be termed ‘useful purposes’.

A special paint, called Mummy Brown, was derived from fragments of mummified bodies and used in oil painting. One singularly pious artist was so upset to find that actual bodies of humans had been used to manufacture his paint, that he took all his tubes of Mummy Brown into the garden and gave them a decent burial. In the nineteenth century an American paper manufacturer from Maine, Augustus Stanwood, used linen mummy wrapping to make brown paper. This paper was sold to butchers and grocers who wrapped meat, butter, and the like in it. Once people found out the source, this stopped being common practice. Cat mummies were shipped from Egypt to Europe for a twofold purpose: first, they helped provide a bit of ballast for the boats; second, they were used as fertilizer until public outcry put a stop to it. Mummies suffered many ignominies in Egypt, as well. They were burnt as firewood. Since wood was scarce and mummies plentiful, their arms and legs were used as torches when people wished to explore sepulchres or see their way at night. Mark Twain reports (one suspects with his tongue firmly in his cheek) that they were even reported as being used as fuel to fire locomotives.

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A fragment of mummy linen, typically used to wrap the body during mummification. ca. 1550 BC. Cooper Hewitt, Smithsonian Design Museum. Courtesy Smithsonian Open Access.

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RM: Can we talk about museums and displaying mummies for the public? In “From Thebes to Cairo, the Journey, Study, and Display of Egypt’s Royal Mummies, Past, Present, and Future,” you wrote that there have been “religious and political sensibilities.” Can you speak about this?

SI: It is an issue as to whether one should display dead bodies and how one should display them if one is going to. It is hard to say that there is one right or wrong answer. I think that if I were dead and on display in a museum after my death I would not mind particularly, though I would like to be shown in a slightly decent way with some covering. We cannot ask each ancient Egyptian about what he or she thought about this display business. I think that perhaps the way they have been displayed in the Royal Mummy Room with only the heads visible is acceptable. And I also think that maybe if one says a prayer, that is also helpful, but that is a personal opinion. Depending on each person’s religious or personal beliefs, the ideas of whether one should or should not display the dead will vary.

RM: In your books (as well as essays you shared with me), there are state-of-the-art displays of mummies. I recall Meresamun, a temple singer, at the Oriental Institute. The exhibit includes objects from her life, CT scans, and forensic reconstructions of her face. Is the concept here to be very informative, respectful and holistic?

SI: I think yes because then you can see her in all of her glory as a mummy as well as a human being. And for me the most important thing is to think of the ancient Egyptians as human beings because that is why I’m interested in them. I want to know as much as I can about them as individuals, which is why I perhaps prefer non-royalty to royalty.

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Cover Image, Top Left: Mummy of a child. Greco-Roman Period Egypt, Penn Museum. Mary Harrsch.  Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 4.0 International license

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About the interviewer

Richard is a college teacher and author. His recent publications were in Minerva Magazine, Raven’s Perch, Paterson Literary Review and Months to Years. He has authored two books in print, Dragon Sutra and New Romantics: Ten Stories, and four books online, such as Alexander in India and NY Interviews. He, his wife Renah and daughter Inanna produce videos, the latest being Childe Hera’s World on YouTube (educational travel).

As a child, Richard was given books on history, archaeology and folklore/myth; his interests have never changed. He and his wife have traveled to sixty countries. Richard studied in Greece for a semester through New York University, from where he obtained his Ph.D. From 2002-2003 he was awarded a Fulbright to teach at LMU in Munich, Germany, as well as six NEH summer seminars, such as Andean Worlds, Transcendentalists/Concord and High Plains Indians. Richard is currently finishing up a collection of speculative stories and The Story of the Egyptian Mummy, a collection of interviews with Egyptologists about mummies.

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For more about mummies, see the story about the amazing work experts are doing at the Penn Museum to conserve and study mummies and coffins, and the fascinating things they are learning about them. Published previously at Popular Archaeology.

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Burning the Maya Books: The 1562 Tragedy at Mani

Freelance writer, researcher and photographer, Georges Fery (georgefery.com) addresses topics from history, culture, and beliefs to daily living of ancient and today’s indigenous societies of Mesoamerica and South America. His articles are published online at travelthruhistory.com, ancient-origins.net and popular-archaeology.com, and in the quarterly magazine Ancient American (ancientamerican.com). In the U.K. his articles are found in mexicolore.co.uk.

The author is a fellow of the Institute of Maya Studies instituteofmayastudies.org, Miami, FL and The Royal Geographical Society, London, U.K. (rgs.org). He is a member in good standing with the Maya Exploration Center, Austin, TX (mayaexploration.org) the Archaeological Institute of America, Boston, MA (archaeological.org), NFAA-Non Fiction Authors Association (nonfictionauthrosassociation.com) and the National Museum of the American Indian, Washington, DC. (americanindian.si.edu).

The destruction of indigenous peoples’ secular and religious emblems, specifically those related to the record of their past, is often a common theme in the study of the Spanish conquest of the New World. In the annals of archaeology and anthropology, one needs to investigate behind the scene to bring a sharper focus on events that are not often what they seem to be. The case of the Franciscan friar Diego de Landa Calderón’s auto-de-fe, or “act of faith,” at Mani, in the peninsula of Yucatan, Mexico, is the most significant example often regarded as the historical “landmark” concerning the destruction, or burning, of the Maya “books.” In his 1566 Relación de las Cosas de Yucatán, the friar documented the zeal and excess in his drive to “remove the demons” from the natives’ hearts. This story focuses on what led to that event and, specifically, what was really burned on July 12, 1562, and why……..

The Mission

Diego de Landa. Wikimedia Commons, Public Domain

Diego de Landa (1524-1579, portrait right) was among the first Franciscans to arrive in Yucatan. Part of Nueva España, or New Spain, it was then ruled by the Spanish viceroy and the Tribunal del Santo Oficio de la Inquisición (Holy Office of the Inquisition) in Mexico City, established by King Ferdinand II of Aragon and Queen Isabella I of Castile in 1478. Diego de Landa was born in the town of Cifuentes, in the Spanish province of Alcaria, on November 12, 1524. At that time, the Franciscan order in America had the religious monopoly in conquered lands and answered to the seat of the Holy Inquisition in Mexico City, administrator of religious affairs. Of note is the fact that the Treaty of Tordesillas of 1524 granted the rights of conquest of most of the Americas to Spain, with the understanding that the conquistadores would conquer land and riches for the Kings at Granada, but harvest souls for the Pope in Rome.

De Landa arrived in Merida from Spain in 1549, a few years after the death of his wife Inesa de Inchaurduy, with whom he had two sons, Diego and Juan. He renounced his position as Royal Notary and, in 1541, joined the Order of Friars Minor, a religious order of the Franciscans in the convent of San Juan de los Reyes in Toledo. His initial appointment in Mexico was to the mission, later convent, of San Antonio de Padua in the town of Izamal, Yucatan, where he became known as a hardworking friar. He undertook his mission by first learning the Yucatec language, walking barefoot as he visited villages on the peninsula, at that time divided into nineteen independent chiefdoms. He learned about the land, the people and local customs. His direct approach, sometimes in hostile villages where the legacy of the brutal conquest still lingered after 30 years, convinced him of his mandate to convert. He was, however, welcomed in many communities, and that helped him understand the people and his ecumenical mission. It was at that time that he saw figures and signs drawn or painted on sheets made of vegetal material, which he interpreted as idolatry and messages of the devil. They were, in fact, the only “written” record of the indigenous Yucatec communities.

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San Antonio de Padua Convent, Izamal  ©georgefery.com

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De Landa distinguished himself for his zeal in the conversion of the Mayas, resorting to excessive pressure and physical abuse. The Spanish Crown and the Inquisition, however, had already forbidden the use of duress to convert indigenous people, because it was understood that the Christian doctrine could not be grasped within a generation or two after the conquest. It was also unanimously understood that the Mayas, and other indigenous groups, needed more time to convert and, therefore, could not be guilty of heresies when they had no sense of what the Christian doctrine was all about. It took thirty-five to forty years for the religious orders to develop conversion protocols for indigenous people. The explicit mission of the Franciscans at that time was to protect the Maya communities from the abuses of the Spanish encomenderos, individuals that were duly recognized among the conquistadores of the land. As a reward for their military service to the crown, they received encomiendas or donations of populated lands; they were also called colonists.

Seal of the Tribunal of the Holy Inquisition Public Domain

De Landa, however, ignored the Inquisition’s mandate to stop forced conversion and persisted in eradicating traditional indigenous beliefs and rituals. His zeal to convert and expunge idolatry was adopted by lower ranked friars and lay people, practicing coercion so extreme that it drove many people to take their own lives by hanging (deLanda, 1959/148-9). The historic record confirms that if he was excessive in his preaching methods, he was not wrong on his views of the most egregious indigenous ritual, the practice of human sacrifice, which persisted throughout the Yucatan even forty-five years after the conquest. As a man of his time, therefore, de Landa dealt in absolutes and believed that the original Inquisition mandate to convert had to be vigorously enforced in his diocese, if for no other reason than for saving the lives of sacrificial victims.

 

 

The Secret Place

In June, 1562, two boys exploring the countryside found a traditional place of worship hidden in a cave near Mani, in southwest Yucatan, where the Mayas performed their devotions to ancestors and deities (deLanda – Documento Uno, 1959/144-5). They found clay figurines and human skulls, the latter covered with copal incense. Frightened, they called the town custodian friar. Informed of the event, from his seat then in Merida, de Landa called on local Spanish civil authorities and Merida’s alcalde mayor to investigate, while organizing an investigating team that included halac huinics, or indigenous leaders. Also attending as “ordinary inquisitors” for the Holy Inquisition, were friars Miguel de la Puebla, Juan Picarro, Pedro de Ciudad Rodrigo, Antonio Verdugo and Francisco Aparicio (deLanda – Documento Uno, 1959/147). Once on site, the team proceeded to brutally question the people of Mani and those of nearby villages about this hidden place of forbidden worship. Under extreme duress, some of them confessed even when they did not know what they were confessing about, while others in desperation committed suicide. People were burned in their thatched houses, others were flogged, and still others were hung from trees, while young children were tied up to their mother’s ankles (deLanda, 1959, XV/26-28).

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Merida Town Hall  ©georgefery.com

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The severe excesses employed by the friars to denounce the “worship of evil” and to identify priest-shamans, community leaders, and people that ministered to the forbidden ceremonies, was without doubt unjustifiable by today’s standards. It was, however, no different from what was happening in sixteenth century Spain. The events at Mani and other places merely underlines the fundamentalist religious mindset of the times. Locally, even the encomenderos and other colonists and Spanish residents were horrified by what happened at Mani (deLanda – Documento Uno, 1959, XIII/160-1). Let us then shed light on the limited, and at times contradictory, record we have of the Mani “act of faith”, or public burning, that took place on July 12, 1562, to understand what this event was truly about.

Tragedy of the Burning

Mani was the home of the Tutul-Xiu, the Yucatec Maya dynasty that moved its capital from Uxmal to Mani in the thirteenth century. The Xiu were the dominant power in western Yucatan after the fall of Mayapan in 1441. Their fierce antagonists were the Cocom of Sotuta. Mani hosts an old Franciscan monastery, the Paroquia y Convento de San Miguel Arcángel, founded in 1549. Its architecture was adapted to meet the indigenous converts to the new faith, with a large open chapel on its north side. The open chancel was covered with an exposed ramada or open shelter, built at a right angle from the building, to protect parishioners from sun and rain. Facing the monastery is the large esplanade were the bonfires of the auto-de-fe or “act of faith” were placed.

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Paroquia y Convento de San Miguel Arcángel at Mani  ©georgefery.com

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The so called “codices” burnt at Mani, Sotuta, and other locations were not in any way, shape or function related to the better known post-Classic codices. The Spanish called them “books” because they did not know what else to call them. They were in fact canvases mostly conceived of a single sheet of varying size, and locally made from local material, such as the light colored dried bark of trees (the wild fig tree amate or Ficus glabrata for example) soaked and dried, fashioned into thin mats made of woven plant fibers covered with finely ground limestone. The record of country folks were simple motifs related to community and family. They drew their homestead on crude local maps with their milpa or maize fields, family lineage, and their count-of-days calendar system, among others. The number of canvases burned that day at Mani is disputed, but estimates may suggest a hundred or less. In his Relación de las Cosas de Yucatán, de Landa tells us about the sorrow and grief of the local people at their destruction: We found a large number of books in these characters and, as they contained nothing in which were not to be seen as superstition and lies of the devil, we burned them all, which they regretted to an amazing degree, and which caused them much affliction (McAnany, 1995).

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Post Classic Dresden Codex (1250-1350AD) Public Domain

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The reason for the limited number of canvases lies in the fact that they were mostly used by halac huinics or lineage heads, the “true righteous men” and principals, while most people were illiterate. Family heads, however, knew enough to record their lineage and a rough description of their property’s location and homestead. Of note is the fact that the glyphs used on the burnt canvases were not the ones of Classic times, for the glyphs on ancient stone stelas could not be read by sixteenth century Mayas. The records of  those canvases were important, for they succinctly described information such as the cycles of the sun and moon according to agrarian cycles, numbering structure, time recording method, and concomitant religious filiation. They also recorded secular information on villages, families, water rights and properties. Furthermore, de Landa stresses that several thousand wood artifacts, and small bundles called bultos that contained remains of deified ancestors represented most of the items burned. Also burned were hundreds of small humanlike shaped clay figurines that held ancestral remains. The question then is, if there were a relatively limited number of canvases, were they the only reason why the friars insisted that they be destroyed, or were the canvases, and the wood implements and bundles with ashes of selected forebears, the real aim of the “act of faith”?

Punuk Wood Figure – Sotheby’s Sale 6733  Public Domain

From time immemorial to this day, the record of ancestors’ predominance in social groups worldwide is at the core of ancient spirituality, silent testimony of filiation to ancestry and patrimony. Figurines representative of deities were made of clay, but those made of wood were especially revered because they were carved to resemble human figurines. De Landa’s description of the process is as follows:  “…the people of position made for their deceased fathers wooden statues of which the back of the head was left hollow; they then burned a part of the body and placed its ashes there, then plugged it up; …they then buried the rest and…  preserved these statues with a great deal of veneration among their idols” (deLanda – 1959, XXXIII/59). Freedman corroborates the pattern that ancestor veneration is a selective process and does not extend equally to all deceased progenitors (1966). The Punuk (Esquimo) wood figure is the closest to those of 6th century Yucatan, for none have been found to date. The bundle tradition of carrying tutelar gods and ancestors’ remains, especially on migration, can be traced as far back as the Olmec culture (2,500BC), through Maya and Aztec times, as well as in most present-day cultures of the Americas.

These wood and clay representations of ancestors were important family heirlooms, so much so that they were integral to the descendants’ inheritance (deLanda – 1959/XXVII.48). They were intangible witnesses of the family belonging to that ethno-linguistic community, with all the rights attached to household and land. Together with the canvases, they were the family seals of property. The foreign priests did not (or did they?), understand the significance of what they called superstition and idolatry when they burned these “idols.” By destroying these articles, they literally ripped the peoples’ identity, their standing in the community and “title” to their land and property. These facts, therefore, demand that we raise the importance of how and why ancestors fitted into the economy and the daily lives of families, because ancestral traditions lie at the roots of this tragedy.

As in traditional Maya communities today, each maize field holds a foundation shrine dedicated to deified ancestors who left land and other resources to their descendants. At these sites, prayers and incantations take place at each planting-harvesting cycle, as well as at dedicated times throughout the year. Ruth Bunzel, in Barbara Tedlock (1982/95), noted that ancestors are the power whose influence on human affairs is continuous and unremitting since they are the former owners of the house and land. She further added that land is conceived as belonging to the ancestors; one lives upon it by their grace; one does not own land, it is merely loaned to one as a lodging in the world. In the final analysis, ancestors provide a bridge between generations for the benefit of the descendants standing in their community, because ancestors are invoked to legitimize and bring order to daily family and communal existence. De Landa and his friars dismissed the significance of these icons on grounds of idolatry, which in their view was merely a means of escape from the new religion. But was it the only motive, or were the Friars in partnership with local unscrupulous encomenderos and mestizo colonists who were then able, through burning the only indigenous “property record,” to seize “undocumented” land?

Lienzo de Coachimalco  ©ArqueoMex No.38/60

In Mexico today, ancient canvases found in traditional communities are recorded with the National Museum of Anthropology and History (MNA, INAH), as well as with local land survey archives. Under Article 27 of the Agrarian Law the canvases are acknowledged as legal property records. Copies of these ancient documents are still used in land claim resolution and are legally binding between parties. The case of the Lienzo de Coachimalco in the late 1970s illustrates the importance of such records. The rare lienzo or canvas is dated in the first part of the 17th century. It is made of five panels of jolote fibers sewn together, then covered with a thin coat of finely ground limestone, on which are drawn a crude map and figures of the village of Coachimalco. The lienzo is legally recognized as proof of ancestral property and residence by local landowners and they document the descendants’ claim to property.

In the appendices of the 1959 edition of the Relación are testimonies of the collusion between secular and religious members of the Yucatan government in Merida, albeit not for the same reasons. This collusion cannot be understood without bringing forward the Tax List of 1549. This list fixed the levies to be paid by each of the 175 towns in Yucatan and ten in Tabasco, as well as in other towns of the crown to its encomenderos for administrative control over an extensive administrative, military, and religious infrastructure. The taxation in kind was subject to the availability of local resources. It included, among others, manufactured material such as wool mantas or mantles, each made of nine-plus square feet at the rate of four hundred per year for an average town, beeswax (per 100-weights), drums of honey and other items and products, such as corn, beans and other foodstuff, as well as salt and dried fish from coastal communities. The record indicates that, for the year 1549, the levy of 53,285 mantles were collected upon the 175 towns, recorded on the Tax List in Yucatan” (Gates, 1937/213).

The tributes had to be delivered to encomenderos in the city of Merida at the rate of one-third every four months, with pack animals or carts for transportation supplied by the colonists. Indigenous communities had to help the colonists for this task with four Indian workmen for this service, to be fed and housed by him and taught the doctrine of Christianity. Material and products were also assigned to the crown and religious orders. For the following years, the levies varied with the size of towns, which steadily grew by reason of the forced resettlement, or repartimiento de indios of indigenous villages, when they were burned to the ground to further the policy for better socio-economic and religious control.

Among numerous testimonies is a report issued on March 15, 1563, by Hernando Dorado, Royal Notary in Merida, the ancient Ti’ho, witnessed by upstanding citizens who were deeply distressed by the abuses sustained by indigenous people at the hands of certain members of the church and the colonists. The report was sent to the Vice Royalty of New Spain in Mexico City, which was concerned with persistent rumors of civil unrest in the province. The central and local governments needed a stable church-state cooperation for the sake of socio-economic stability and development. Dorado’s report is significant in describing the use and abuse of power at the time, notably the appearance on the scene of a colorful figure, the alcalde mayor of Merida, Diego Quijada in 1561, which sheds a disturbing light on the events.

The 1563 and 1565 reports describe the events that happened at Mani, Sotuta, and other towns and villages. In Mani, flogging and burnings at the stake by the friars were directed by de Landa, assisted by friars Miguel de la Puebla, Pedro de Ciudad Rodrigo, and Juan de Picaro, referred to as “ordinary inquisitors” of the Inquisition. Mayor Diego Quijada also attended the dramatic events together with colonists. When convicted of lesser charges, Indians had their head shaved (de Landa – Documento Uno, 1959/147). and sent to forced labor for ten years or less as indentured servants in the haciendas of encomendoros and mestizo colonists’ friends of the mayor.

Palacio Montejo, Merida  ©georgefery.com

Penalties with payment in kind by indigenes were collected; the report mentions 4,340 gold pesos, 125,000 cacao beans (the local currency), as well as other charges for lesser penalties (de Landa – Documento Uno, 1959/149). The friars went further in desecrating the graves of indigenous ancestors by removing the buried bones which were then scattered in the fields or thrown into bonfires (de Landa – Documento Uno,1959/148). This was not an act of lunacy — it was grounded in a religious rationale that, by showing publicly the Maya’s ancestors’ impotence in the face of extreme adversity, it would achieve the eradication of ancestor worship.

The secular-temporal collusion in the region, if not always as extreme as at Mani, was the result of the tri-partite failure between the local governments, the encomenderos, other colonists and the religious order, each with their own agenda. This relationship went astray as such relationships often do and was highly damaging to the Yucatan socio-economic stability under the mayor and his accomplices. The friars, sanctioned by their custodian, ignored the mandate of the Holy Inquisition to cease forced conversion and maltreatment of the local people, while the mayor and his associates were driven by greed. Manuscript letters in Yucatec to the viceroy in Mexico City, signed by three governors, describe the brutality of the Franciscans, and asked for help and redress that often came too late. In many instances, local rage against the invaders ravaged the land. Near Valladolid, a revolt took the lives of seventeen Spaniards and several hundred mestizos. The villagers cut the hands and feet of their oppressors and sent them to towns and villages on the peninsula to sow a resistance movement that never had a chance to take hold.

Letter to the Viceroy, Page 3 – Archivas de Indias. Public Domain

The damning 1563 report is supported two years later by another, dated March 25, 1565, from Merida again, addressed to the Viceroyalty of New Spain in Mexico City, and to the Council of the Indies in Spain by the Royal Notary, Sebastian Bazques (de Landa – Documento Uno-1959/143-157). This second report confirms the first regarding long lasting abuses of power that resulted in serious economic damage to the province while inciting dangerous restlessness within the indigenous population. In his A Short Account of the Destruction of the Indies, published in 1552, by the Dominican friar Bartolomé de las Casas, he relates a situation then widespread in New World territories. The book raised an uproar in Spain and all over Europe at the time. The Dominican friar’s supplications for relief notwithstanding, the destruction of many idols collected during idolatry trials by the Inquisition in the Yucatan was widespread and is found to occur in every chronicle of every entrada well into the seventeenth century.

That is the deplorable condition the Franciscan Francisco de Toral (1502-1571), the first bishop of the Diocese of Yucatan, found on his arrival in 1562. He quickly identified the ills that plagued the province and focused his attention on de Landa’s treatment of the native people. De Toral was appalled at their subjection and abuse and skeptical about the use of physical punishment to exert confessions. It was obvious to de Toral that de Landa ignored the orders of the Crown and that of the Inquisition and exceeded his ecumenical mandate. The antagonism between the two priests led de Toral to force de Landa to return to Spain in 1563 to face charges of abuse of his religious obligations at the Council of the Indies’ court in Seville. De Toral freed hundreds of Mayas that de Landa had imprisoned without cause, except for those guilty of instigating the egregious crimes of idolatry and human sacrifice.

The de Landa Legacy

When he first set foot on the peninsula in 1549, de Landa’s initial zeal to convert was driven not only by faith but also by an inquisitive mind genuinely interested in the land and its people. He crisscrossed most of the Yucatan bare foot and made valuable notes that went beyond the indigenous people’s beliefs and religious practices, and into all aspects of their lives. His first-hand observations embraced community and family organization, children education, burial practices, architecture, planting techniques and cycles, the calendar and numbering system, harvested products storage and distribution, the symbology of their writing, festivals, justice, hospitality, the fauna and flora of the land, and other relevant facts on communal and family daily life.

After his removal as “Provincial” in Merida by Bishop de Toral and his return to Spain in 1563, he took advantage of his suspension to write his seminal Relación de las Cosas de Yucatán, the most comprehensive ethnographic document of his time. There is little doubt, however, that the “Relación was written in support of his claims to his duties and as exculpatory evidence to counter the accusations leveled against him.

His field work and observations, however, have been indispensable to anthropologists and scholars for the last hundred years. Among his invaluable notes, one stands out: his record of the Maya writing system based on information given to him by town and village spiritual and secular elders that phonetically and graphically helped him match glyphic symbols with the Spanish alphabet. Glyphs and letters did not always match, however, resulting in inconsistencies and duplicates that could not be resolved. Not until 1952 did the Soviet linguist and epigrapher Yuri Valentinovich Knorozov (1922-1999) realize that the transcription was not that of an alphabet but the ideograms of a syllabary (such as Egyptian hieroglyphs). It was a momentous breakthrough in Maya glyph decipherment.

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De Landa’s Notes on Yucatec-Spanish Alphabet Public Domain

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De Landa stood trial in Seville where his actions were strongly condemned, but the investigation by scholars of the Council of the Indies absolved him in 1569 on the grounds that he acted within the bounds of his ecumenical mission, and under the provisions of the Holy Inquisition. Many religious and lay people in Yucatan were clamoring for his return, both with the viceroy in Mexico and the court in Spain. While retired in the Antonio de la Cabrera convent, he was not forgotten by King Philip.II. After consultation with the Council of the Indies and Franciscan elders, the king approved the appointment of Diego de Landa in 1572 as the second bishop of Yucatan, succeeding Bishop de Toral, who died in Mexico City in 1571. The second bishop landed in Campeche, Yucatan, in early 1573, together with a retinue of thirty Franciscan friars Philip II granted the Merida bishopric to further ecumenical work. After serving the Franciscan order for thirty-eight years, most of this time in Yucatan, Diego de Landa died of natural causes on April 29, 1579; he is buried in Merida’s cathedral.

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Merida Great Maya Museum Public Domain

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Bibliography

Diego de Landa C. – Relación de la Cosas de Yucatán, Ediciones Porrua, 1959

William Gates – Yucatán Before and After the Conquest – Forgotten Books, 1937

Diego Lopez de Cogolludo – Historia de Yucatán – Linkgua, 2006

Mircea Eliade – Shamanism, Archaic Techniques of Ecstasy – Princeton-U, 1964

Fash, Agurcia Fasquelle – Visión del Pasado Maya – Centro Editorial, 2003

Joan Halifax – Shamanic Voices – Arkana Book, New York, NY,1979

Stephen Houston – The Life Within  Leslie Fitch, 2014

Barbara Tedlock – Time and the Highland Maya – University of NM Press, 1982

R.P. Ximenez – Popol Vuh – Editorial José P. de Ibarra, Guatemala, 1701 (1973)

Diego Duran – Historia de las Indias de Nueva España – Imp. Escalante, 1880
David Freidel, Linda Schele, Joy Parker – Maya Cosmos, William Morrow, 1993

L. Mendez Martinez – Historia Mayab’ – Asociación Maya Uk’Ux’B’e, 2008

Patricia A. McAnany – Living with the Ancestors – University of Texas Press, 1995

Nelson A. Reed – The Caste War of Yucatán – Stanford University Press, 2001

Bartolomé de las Casas – Brevísima Relación de la Destrucción de las Indias – 1965

Éric Taladoire – Les Trois Codex Mayas – Balland, Paris, 2012

Ruth Bunzel – Chichicastenango: A Guatemalan Village – Washinton Press.U, 1952

The Shaman’s World

Freelance writer, researcher and photographer, Georges Fery (georgefery.com) addresses topics from history, culture, and beliefs to daily living of ancient and today’s indigenous societies of Mesoamerica and South America. His articles are published online at travelthruhistory.com, ancient-origins.net and popular-archaeology.com, and in the quarterly magazine Ancient American (ancientamerican.com). In the U.K. his articles are found in mexicolore.co.uk.

The author is a fellow of the Institute of Maya Studies instituteofmayastudies.org, Miami, FL and The Royal Geographical Society, London, U.K. (rgs.org). He is a member in good standing with the Maya Exploration Center, Austin, TX (mayaexploration.org) the Archaeological Institute of America, Boston, MA (archaeological.org), NFAA-Non Fiction Authors Association (nonfictionauthrosassociation.com) and the National Museum of the American Indian, Washington, DC. (americanindian.si.edu).

The roots of shamanism reach back into the fog of time, to the very beginning of humanity. Through time and cultures, it is recorded as a coherent system of esoteric beliefs and practices that attempts to organize and explain the interrelationship between the cosmos, nature, and man (Eliade, 1964), and spans untold generations from the first ‘ring of fire’ to our present day. Shamanism is characterized by a subject-object dualism that dissociates, yet, paradoxically, at the same time associates the subjective from the objective, and culture with nature. Shamanism is linguistically and locally specific, with rituals grounded on reliance in communities’ environment for subsistence and survival. Today the shaman’s functions are as critical to the lives of traditional indigenous peoples as they were to their forefathers.

The fundamentals of shamanism rest on the bedrock of the nature-culture dichotomy or human-nature duality. Early in their long march from the depths of time, humans had to compete for survival with the claws, fangs, speed, and power of the rest of the animal world. Their only defense was an unusually powerful brain. This helped them withstand the onslaught of nature. Cooperation was essential for the sake of survival of the group. This was especially true for the protection of mothers and infants, since during the last months of pregnancy and after delivery, females could not easily fend for themselves. Hundreds of thousands of generations ago, the ‘ring of fire’ was the first awakening of hunter-gatherers to a world beyond their awareness. In the dark of night, the fire lit a circle beyond which everything was threatening. This fear of a different world beyond that of the group, paid for dearly through trial and error, lies at the heart of the nature-culture duality, a key aspect of shamanism, and it was fundamental to the organization of early human societies.

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The Ring of Fire. ©dacker.org

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Mythological perception in ancient cultures was grounded in their perception of the natural world, as their remains from the Lower Paleolithic period seem to testify, as well as long before. Back then, the nature-culture dichotomy was already deeply ingrained in organized groups as key to their survival. This ancient dual perception of the world by most indigenous people is grounded in animism, a common denominator that describes most foundational aspects of ancient cultures and their beliefs. This denominator was inherited by modern humans, who co-habited within the territorial range of Neanderthals during the Late Pleistocene. Of note is the hypothesis that Denisovans and Neanderthals may have already been aware of an “other world” beyond life. Remains in their graves appear to bear witness to rituals of individuals buried with personal items, such as carved animal bone implements and medicinal flowers (Solecki, 1971) 

Ancient societies named themselves according to their living and feeding area. Location drove their own binary interpretation of the nature-culture duality. In the rain forest of Panama, for example, the generic name for the Guaymí, an indigenous tribe, comes from the “muoi dialect and means “man.” The name does not refer to gender but stresses the exclusive prominence of the group to the exclusion of others. These “others” are not considered “man,” owing to their differences in the group’s perception of the cosmos and nature, as expressed through their customs and rites. The “others” also had their own perception of duality and identity, as had other tribes. Furthermore, the gateway to beliefs and initiation is first and foremost language. The reason rests on the conviction, found in most ancient cultures, that malevolent forces can take the shape of a member of the tribe, but cannot speak the language, quintessential to the group’s identity.

The Shaman and the Tree of Life

In traditional communities today, as in most cultures in the prehistoric and historic past, individuals are selected to communicate at the esoteric plane of their mythological universe; these individuals are referred to as shamans. The name, of Siberian origin, came to the Americas with the first wave of migrants from the Eurasian landmass during the Last Glacial Maximum (33000-16500BP). The fundamentals of archaic mythologies with spatial multi-layered organizations probably came into the New World at that time; an observation that underscores the fact that mythologies are pure products of the human imagination. In most cultures, the upper and under worlds are perceived to be made of a number of layers that vary from culture to culture, and are the reflection of a primeval mythology. What is “known or learned therefore, is more important than what is “seen or perceived, since only a member of the group who fully shares a mental and emotional make up can understand the significance of the symbols attached to that community’s mythic world. In most traditional cultures past and present, the upper world is regarded as the home of ancestors, light and life, while the underworld is identified with malevolent spirits, darkness, danger, and death.

The link between these worlds is the middle world, or field of ordinary perception; the place where the observer, the community or clan lives, and the center through which the tree of life, or “axis mundi,” passes to connect the three worlds. The “tree of life” is believed to have its branches and leaves reach into the upper world while its roots are sunk deep into the underworld. For each human group, there is only one “tree of life” in the world — theirs! It can be an actual tree or a natural feature in their landscape, such as a mountain or a cave, mythologically identified by and for that group alone. In all world cultures, the “tree of life” is the obvious manifestation of immortality as “life that never dies.” The reason for this perception, at the root of animism, lies in the fact that without exception, the natural world for all cultures is the undeniable proof of the permanence of life through its unrelenting cycles of birth and re-birth. The tree of life for Maya communities’ past and present, for example, is the ceiba tree, or “yaaché” (ceiba pentendra).

The Universe

In most world cultures, their worldview was based on a seven-point observation of the spatial universe and their endless repetition. Those are: the four cardinal points, the zenith (benevolent forces), the nadir (malevolent forces) and the center (middle/living world), which is at the intersection of the first six points, where the observer stood. Of note is the fact that the nadir was believed to be an actual place, or adobe of malevolent deities below the flat world of humankind. This ancient universal world view was based on the observable continuum of the sun, moon and planets, traveling through both the upper and under worlds. The celestial bodies were seen crossing the visible world during the day on an east-to-west path, then believed to continue their course from west-to-east in the underworld at night, to start again a new cycle the following dawn since, how else could they show up again opposite their place of disappearance? After all, sensory perception could not be denied, since the sun indeed disappeared to reappear again day after day.

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The Eternal Return. The totem pole at sunrise, Monument Valley, AZ. Credit: Floydian

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The repetitive seasonal course of the celestial bodies was observed through manmade or landscape features to ascertain their regularity. Priest-shamans needed to justify, through time, that the sun would never fail to reappear at precisely the exact same place, day after day, solstice after solstice. Hence the need to associate heavenly bodies with the gods and deities of their pantheon as reliable mediators with nature. Once more, the nature-culture dichotomy with gods (culture), assigned mediators to nature (sun, moon), is at the core of age-old beliefs, religions and shamanic rituals.

The nature-culture duality is at the root of an unshakable conviction that a human group spatial location is what stands it apart from others. Furthermore, it affirms the uniqueness of the group’s faith to the exclusion of others. Their multi-layered spiritual world is essential to their understanding that every life-form within the field of ordinary perception has its counterpart in the “other” world. The gateway between the middle world and the two others is the human mind. Through learning, rituals and esoteric exercises, the shaman is believed to master this field of opposites, as he roams through these upper and under worlds.

The Shaman as Mediator

But, who is a shaman, and how do shamans communicate and enter into the various strata of their worlds? According to the shamanic beliefs of indigenous tribes and traditional communities, the echeloned worlds lying beyond the field of ordinary perception correspond to a microcosm (or “micro-worldview) consisting of a sequence of dimensions of the individual’s own interior world, or inner scale of human consciousness. The shamans claim that their hallucinations, induced by psychotropic drugs, allow them to penetrate into the different stratas of that “other world as though through narrow openings.

The name shaman comes from the word “sàman” of Manchu-Tungus and Sim-Evenki languages of southwestern Siberia. It is gender neutral and apply to both men and women alike. The initiation rituals, however, are gender specific by reason of the candidates’ physical and emotional particulars. Shamans of both sexes may, however, act in concert for specific situations where they are called to ward off malevolent male and/or female deities and during ceremonies when under stress by multiple hostile forces. In the Americas, it is relatively common for both husband and wife in a couple to be shamans. The role of shaman is performed by intelligent individuals who fulfill a number of important functions in their communities.

They are healers, say prayers, direct puberty rituals and major ceremonies such as at the time of crop planting and harvesting, among others, and for individuals’ life cycles. They are keepers of the genealogies of the tribe, recite myths, do ritual dances and chants during traditional events. They are also very knowledgeable about nature and influence decisions for hunting and conservation of resources. Their functions as mediators in situations of social conflict within the community, or with another group, is very important. However, shamans are first and foremost mediators between this world and the supernatural world (Eliade, 1964).

Contacts between genders within a group are governed by ancestral family and community-tested rules that aim to keep antagonism and latent violence at bay. For example, the nature-culture dichotomy is underscored at the time of menstruation, and perceived in most traditional cultures as a dreaded return to nature. As such, it is perceived as a recurring antagonism to culture, given the uncontrollable periodic nature of the event. At that time, in traditional communities, a woman is confined to a separate hut, that is, she is temporarily excluded from culture. In the case of young males, initiation to adulthood aims at bridging the nature-culture duality to incorporate the individual into the cultural group by forcefully bending nature over to culture. The rituals test the young man through lengthy isolation beyond family and community, and with often painful rituals. In past non-literate societies, pain was inflicted to young individuals as a “marker of time”. In most ancient cultures, initiation for both genders took place at puberty.

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Blessings of Daily Needs. ©nathansiemers

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The position of shaman may be inherited or revealed in a vision or a dream. Someone may also become a shaman simply by following the vocation, but in this case the shaman is considered less powerful (Eliade, 1954). Apprenticeship, under the guidance of a practicing elder, takes years and extreme hardships that will end with initiation (in the Sierra Nevada de Santa Marta, in Colombia, the Kogis, descendants of the Tairona, require a double cycle of nine years each before initiation). It is practically a universal rule that the neophyte must die symbolically, to be later reborn endowed with certain supernatural powers (Reichell-Dolmatoff, 1991). As a general rule through most cultures, a shaman is not acknowledged unless he has received two essential kinds of teachings: mastering ecstasy (dreams, trances, etc.), and traditional shamanic techniques (that will include learning the names and functions of spirits, the mythology and genealogy of the tribe or community, a secret language, etc, (Eliade,1951).

In past and present traditional societies, ancestor worship is a key constituent in people’s spiritual lives. The shaman, upon request, may assist in communing with ancestors, but the descendants alone shall address their forefathers to intercede in the resolution of family or individual conflict. Ancestors are believed to influence the lives of individuals of the same patrilineage. They are also believed to help settle disputes with ancestors of other patrilineages for grievances that may have taken place a few generations before, unsettled at the time of the demise of the interested parties, the antagonism still lingering beyond the grave (Eliade, 1964). Descendants are keenly aware that they are merely a link in the precious chain of life, from grandparents to grandchildren. Above all, ancestor worship is grounded in an age-old stern but inescapable logic: No ancestor-No descendant-No Life!

In former times, the burial of an ancestor below the floor of the house or in proximity to it, meant that the ancestor was still “socially alive” in the community, thus validating claims of the family connection with that group, while upholding family rights to resources left by departed parents. The building of temple-pyramids and other major structures in ancient cultures of the Americas, for example, were representative of the high status of persons of the realm. They were an acknowledgement of the individual’s lineage and that of a powerful and often deified ancestor, protector of the community and his descendant’s rights to titles and properties. Myths and rituals are integral to the construct of the social order. In the final analysis, the essential function of beliefs and rituals is to forcefully express, and thereby secure, the social stability of the group.

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Appeal to Another Reality. Chuch’qahaw (high priest-shaman), Rigoberto Itzep Chanchavac, Momostenango, Totonicapán, Guatemala – July 10, 2013. ©georgefery.com

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Altered States and Animal Spirits

The shaman’s main communal function requires his/her association with the supernatural world through an altered state of consciousness. Altered states vary among cultures and are achieved through deep meditation, sensory deprivation, or sudden visions of supernatural beings or situations. In most parts of the Americas, however, ecstasy is more frequently attained by means of psychotropic plants, since nature is regarded as a gift from the gods, providers of food and medicinal plants on which human survival depends.

The use of hallucinogenic drugs is an ancient, worldwide cultural phenomenon. In most traditional cultures, it is closely related to the so called shamanic flight, the feeling of disassociation during which “ch’ulel” as the Maya-K’iché refer to it, is believed to separate from the body and penetrate other dimensions of the cosmos. At that time, shamans acquire their familiar totems, the spirit of animals that will become their auxiliaries. Chief among them in the Americas are the jaguar, the serpent and the eagle, representatives of the three levels of life: the underworld, the middle world of perpetual life, and the world above.

During these “flights,” shamans call on supernatural and ancestral beings about present and future events, learn new spells, chants and dances, or search for cures to ward off diseases. They will also roam the underworld for remedies to cure the souls of sick people and help those dying through the difficult the paths on their way to their last resting place. The idea of other dimensions as dwelling places of the spirits of the dead and fantastic beings is based on the experience of the ecstatic journey of the shaman. Therefore, the image that shamans form of these dimensions and the description they give of them depends on the projective process of their psychological personality and experience as practitioners, as well as on the cultural and religious tradition of the community and its environment.

Among traditional cultures, individuals are endowed at birth with the spirit of an animal companion, called “nawal” in Maya-Yucatec and “tz’iip” in K’ichè communities. It is a co-essence from the animal world. With the assistance of the shaman, a “spirit companion” is ceremonially selected at each major step of an individuals’ life, from birth to death. In other words, the “nawal” is understood to be an essential life force, an “alter ego” that must not to be confused with chu’lel or soul, in K’ichè (Uk Ux ‘Be, 2008). The “nawal” selected by a shaman is believed to follow the person’s soul to his or her death. Of note is the fact that one of the important tasks of the shaman is to search the underworld for the loss of a person’s “nawal” or for his/her soul (chu’lel), led astray by malevolent forces. The “nawal” is the intimate link between nature (animals), and culture (humans), and underlines again the fact that human attempts to distance themselves from nature through culture is a link that is never entirely abandoned.

The animal spirit companion’s abilities selected by the shaman may be speed, vision, agility, stealth, intelligence, power, grace, fierceness, or other attributes, and in the Americas they span across species from birds or butterflies to jaguars. The significance of the “nawal” is specific to a language or dialect and may have different attributes in other ethnic groups. The overriding function of the spirit-companion, however, remains the same. It is thealter ego” of a person and, as such, must be cared for during an individual’s lifetime with prayers and ceremonies at dedicated life events, since the life of the “nawal” is believed to coexist intimately with that of the person. The Yucatec Maya of Quintana Roo called the “nawal” the supernatural guardian or protector that shares ch’ulel, the “soul stuff of the living universe”, with a person (Freidel-Schele-Parker, 1993).

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Pleading for Life. ©georgefery.com

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Calendars and Cycles

The Maya-K’iché, as well as other indigenous groups in Guatemala and traditional communities of Mesoamerica, celebrate the completion of their sacred calendar. The K’iché call it Ch’olq’iij or “ordering of days”; it is called Tzol’kin or “count of days” by the Maya-Yucatec, (Tzol’kin is used here). It is understood to be a ritual or lunar calendar, while the K’iché specifically refer to it as a “Sacred Divinatory Calendar,” that orders both the lives of human beings and that of the maize plants. Maize is not only central to the Maya’s sustenance, but foremost, it is the substance with which gods created the Mayas at the beginning of time (Popol Vuh, 1701/1776). The sacred calendar is made of a succession of day/glyph-signs placed at each right angle of the Maya cross’ arms. It is a combination of numbers from 1 to 13 with one of a possible 20 “nawals” glyphs named months of 13 days.

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The Tzolk’in. ©asociación uk’ux b’e

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The Mayas, unlike Europeans, were interested not only in the quantities of life in a span of time, but also in its qualities, especially its meaning in human affairs whose foundations lay in its unified view of the world as animate, with no distinction between what we call the natural and the supernatural realms. As Barbara Tedlock underlines, we have been efficient in learning and understanding their astronomy, but our efforts to penetrate their symbolic world have proved much more difficult and demanding (Tedlock, 1982). The Maya 260-day sacred calendar of 13-days x 20-months is an essential divinatory instrument used by day-keepers or diviners, overseers of the “Sacred Divinatory Calendar” and the “order of days.

Together with their priest-shaman mentors, day-keepers complete their divinatory initiation and close their nine months training at the end of the 260-day Tzol’kin cycle. They are then “reborn” as initiates and receive “a kind of extra body soul called lightning or “coyopa”. A day-keeper with the “coyopa” born under the Ak’abal’ glyph-sign, or “nawal” of dawn, is believed to be able to communicate directly with both the natural and supernatural worlds (Tedlock, 1982). Priest-shamans are known as a “chuchk’ajaw” in K’iché, that translates as “mother-father”, gender undifferentiated, and are highly respected elders from patrilineages. They are lifetime shamans, and are called “tat” or “father” in the community.

The 20-month ceremonies that close each sacred year, are called “Waqxaqib’ B’atz” or Eight-B’atz for short. The name of the ceremonies’ first day falls on the B’atz day sign of the Tzol’kin 20-month calendar. It is used in conjunction with the number of a given day to foretell events of the past and future of a person or circumstance. The 260 days refer, among other aspects, to nine lunations, each consisting of slightly less than 29 days, or the same number of months of a human pregnancy. The oldest records of a calendar day sign with a numerical coefficient, is probably part of a 260-day cycle, and comes from Monte Albán, Period.I, dated about 600BC. (A comprehensive description of the calendar and related ceremonies is beyond the scope of this discussion).

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I Need Your Help Now. ©georgefery.com

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The Hearth of Stone

In Momostenango, Totonicapán province, Guatemala, at the completion of each 20-months Tzol’kin cycle, Eight-B’atz ceremonies take place in town and on dedicated hills in the vicinity. The rituals imperative observance is repeated in traditional Maya towns of Guatemala, and other parts of Mesoamerica, albeit with local variations. The ceremonies are headed by newly initiated day-keepers, supervised by “H-men”, Yucatec for priest-shaman mentors. At the close of the ceremonies, a new 260-day cycle will begin anew. Meanwhile, the secular 365-day solar year, the Ha’ab, rules the daily chores of communities and work in the fields.

There can be no ceremonies without fire and no fire without a “hearth of stone.” It is the seat on which ceremonial fires are built, according to specific rituals. Various products and materials may be used in the fire by individuals to support the prayers and supplications to their own ancestors and deities. Calls to ancestors are forceful and repeated over long periods of time, to call attention to personal or family plight. The petitioners are aware that ancestors must also impel deities to intercede in patrilineage conflicts that may have arisen several generations before. Thanksgiving prayers also take place around the “hearth of stone” for joyful family events, such as the introduction of a newborn to the ancestors.

During the Tzol’kin celebrations, eight “hearth of stone” are set in small stone enclosures positioned in designated places in town, in addition to the predominant Pa’klom, the focal point of the Eight-B’atz ceremonies, with multiple family fires located on a hill in the center of Momostenango. People gather around their own fires to plead with their “nan’tats” or ancestors, for help in their daily life concern or dread. Dedicated colored candles and flowers are thrown into the fires by petitioners, together with “pom” or fragrant copal nodules, as offerings to ancestors, and to pacify one’s own deities. In Momostenango, the eighth or last “hearth of stone,” the Ko’koch, burns in front the Catholic church. It faces the door of the church since, before the conquest, the Ko’koch was located at the point of intersection where the church’s transept is today, where venerated shamans are believed to still be buried.

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The Test of Time. ©georgefery.com

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Throughout history, beliefs and religions evolved and became more complex, while secular symbols and archetypes, carriers of new realities, also unfolded. It took thousands of generations, trials, errors, and blind alleys to build creeds grounded in faith, corner stones of societies, to secure an inherently unstable cohesion. Shamanism, as old as humankind, forcefully coerced by history to bend to new truths and realities, still defies the test of time.

Cover Image, Top Left: Matryx, Pixabay

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Bibliography

Asociación Maya Uk’Ux B’e  Historia Mayab’ – Editorial Papiro SA, 2008

Mircea Eliade – Shamanism, Archaic Techniques of Ecstasy – Princeton-U, 1964

Fash, Agurcia Fasquelle – Visión del Pasado Maya – Centro Editorial, 2003

Joan Halifax – Shamanic Voices – Arkana Book, New York, NY,1979

Stephen Houston – The Life Within  Leslie Fitch, 2014

Barbara Tedlock – Time and the Highland Maya – University of NM Press, 1982

R.P. Ximenez – Popol Vuh – Editorial José P. de Ibarra, Guatemala, 1701 (1973)

G. Reichel-Dolmatoff – Indians of Colombia – Editorial Villegas, Bogota, 1991
David Freidel, Linda Schele, Joy Parker – Maya Cosmos, William Morrow, 1993

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Marxism, Analogy, and Poststructural Theories in Classical Archaeology

P. J. DeMola is a postgraduate of the School of Archaeology and Ancient History at the University of Leicester in England.
His principle areas of interest are Roman history, archaeology, and politics, as well as Bronze Age Mesopotamia, and the political history of Middle Kingdom through Late Period Ancient Egypt. He has broad general interests in both Classic and Postclassic Mesoamerican sociopolitical structures.
Paul has studied Ancient Greek and Latin under Professor Graham Shipley, FRHistS, FSA (University of Leicester, British School at Athens), and researched Roman military history with Professor Simon James, FSA (University of Leicester).

Classical disciplines have made use of theoretical insights from anthropology, archaeology, history, literature, politics, geography, and sociology for many years (ECW 2013: 97-99). Each of these areas of endeavor contain or constitute a ‘body of theory’. Bodies of theory are groupings of explanatory ideas formulated by humans who critically reflect upon — or systemically interrogate — phenomena, events, and facts or data. For example, in dealing with ancient cultures, the dynamics of sociocultural interaction are locked in past processes, whilst the residual of those processes are visible to us in the present day in the form of data (e.g. artifacts, records, ruins, etc.). Through interpretive hypotheses, the intention of bridging a gap between historical ‘data’ and past social ‘dynamics’ is the focus of certain anthropological and archaeological models (Cf. Johnson 2010: 50-67).

However, do we really need theory in the classical world? Why should one speculate, theoretically, about how ancient Athenians perceived a statue of Zeus when all we need to do is read their writings? Prehistory is one thing, but with classical cultures we have textual based evidence to help us ‘understand’ past dynamics. And yet, can historical writings be trusted as ‘objective’? In other words, are historical writings devoid of subjective influences and equally representative of the masses of people? After all, texts are essentially tools of persuasion; pieces of rhetoric tuned to a specific audience (Pelling 1999; Potter 1999). The motivations governing the construction of ancient historical texts and literary writings is questionable (See TMC 2015: 36-40). Furthermore, what about the ‘little people’ — those whose voices are silent in the historical record? What can be said of their individual thoughts, ideas, beliefs, and customs if the veracity and motivations behind textual sources is called into question? To all of these problems, theory offers solutions — but also poses more questions.

How important is theory to the classical disciplines? To answer this I shall draw from four main bodies of theory: anthropology, archaeology, sociology, and politics. Specifically, I will narrow my focus to four theoretical frameworks: 1) Marxism, 2) Comparative Studies, Analogy, and Cultural Evolution, and 3) Poststructuralism and the American Polis. All the while, I shall attempt to underscore how deeply classical disciplines have been influenced by these theories and attempt to demonstrate how certain disciplines, such as Ancient History and Classical Archaeology, have been more deeply affected by them than others. Moreover, I will seek to answer the question: Do we really need theory to understand classical antiquity? Please note that several hypothetical frameworks have been imparted to classical studies (e.g. reception theory, historiography, feminist and gender studies), and I have only selected a few that I utilize in my archaeological studies.

Part I: Marxism

One such theoretical framework which has had enormous impact to nearly all branches of classical studies is Marxist theory. An import from Sociology, Marxism — or historical materialism — is one of the most transcending and influential bodies of theory (Johnson 2010: 95). In earlier forms of historical research, historians focused more on descriptive narratives of history instead of explanatory analysis. Culture history models of archaeology are an example of this (Johnson 2010: 15-21). Descriptive narratives, while theoretical in nature, do not emphasize explanatory methods as to ‘how’ or ‘why’ dynamics in the past occurred (ECW 2013: 98; See Johnson 2010: 97). Marxist approaches, however, seek to explain these cultural (and subcultural) dynamics as the product of ‘dialectic exchange’ and ‘social contradictions’ between groups of people which are categorized, traditionally, as materialistic or economically based ‘classes’ (Renfrew and Bahn 2008: 478-80). History is explained as a series of interactions between social groups in contention with each other, where one ‘class’ oppresses another which in turn ‘struggles’ against it (Fig.1) (Johnson 2010: 95-97).

In historical materialistic (pure Marxist) ideology, the two principal groups are the wealthy (ruling) and labor (subservient) classes — with the former exploiting the latter. Today, these classes are further subdivided along ethnic, racial, gender, sexual, and religious lines within theoretical bodies, such as Poststructuralism and Post-Processualism (Johnson 2010: 102-42). That being said, Marx’s thoughts on class and struggle — whether one is conscious of it or not — permeate most applications to classical inquiry with regards to interpretation of basic structures and how they are presented. For example, the layout of the workbook for this course (AR7553) critically enquires into the definition of the word ‘classical’ by emphasizing the word ‘class’ and associating it with an economic subsect of Roman élite society: the classici (ECW 2013: 16).

Hence, not only is a ‘class’ of Roman society divided along historical materialistic lines, but our understanding of how ‘classical antiquity’ is defined as a subject is interpreted through a prism of Marxist thought. The same can be said about the boundaries of ‘classical antiquity’ when the limits of its social-geographical parameters are questioned in light of ‘ethno-cultural associations’ between Classical and non-Classical communities (ECW 2013: 20-22). Here, Marxist interpretation identifies the use of cultural (Græco-Roman v ‘others’) and physical (i.e. Mediterranean) boundaries as a means of discriminating against non-Classical societies. Hence, a ‘struggle between classes’ is outlined in the textbook. This underscores the degree to which Marxist theory has influenced classical disciplines.

An interesting use of Marxism in classical studies regards the somewhat abstract distinctions between rural and urban cultures in the Greek speaking Eastern Mediterranean (Boer 1997). A case in point is the work of Ste. Croix (1981: 9-16) and his identification of the χώρα and its distinct socioeconomic characteristics. The χώρα, or khôra, was the rural periphery of a πόλις, or polis. By Roman times, this distinction took on a legal connotation which distinguished the two areas — khôra and polis — as two distinct sociocultural communities. According to Ste. Croix’s treatise, by the 1st century AD, the people who inhabited the khôra were economically exploited — if not politically subservient — to the citizens of the polis.

In other words, the rural hinterland was the ‘labor’ class that lived in direct contention to the ruling people of the polis. However, Ste. Croix goes further and asserts that a reexamining of the Gospels of the New Testament in light of this Marxist interpretation may shed new meaning on the social dynamics of Jesus’ ministry.  For example, Ste. Croix (1981: 427-32) describes the ministry of Jesus Christ as centering mainly around the khôra and that Christ’s work reflected an association with the common or ‘country folk’ or ‘poor’ as opposed to the élite of the city. Ste. Croix further reduces the Gospels as the story of a struggle between ‘rich v. poor’ with the rich inhabiting the city (polis), while the poor are exploited in the country (khôra). In other words, according to Ste Croix, Jesus’ mission is to be a voice of the poor or ‘less propertied’ people, leading an opposition to the urban wealthy classes of the city who oppress them. Therefore, according to Marxist theory, Jesus was a ‘revolutionary’.

While this is an interesting exercise in Marxist interpretation of ancient history, I would contend that Christ was merely railing against a ‘corrupt establishment’ which is the essence of His message to the Pharisees, Sadducees, and Scribes in Jerusalem and that the ‘wealthy classes’ in of themselves were not a target (See Gospel of Mathew 23:3). For example, contradicting Ste. Croix’s Marxist reinterpretation of the New Testament, Jesus clearly associated with more citified persons, such as the Pharisee Nicodemus, and had dinner with ‘tax collectors’ who were part of the Romano-Jewish plutocracy from the cities (Gospel of John 3; Gospel of Luke 5:27-32). Fascinatingly, Jesus was addressed as ‘rabbi’ by the Pharisees; that is to say a teacher of rabbinic law (Gospel of John 3:2; See also 1:38, 1:49, 6:25). Now, to be called ‘rabbi’ by Pharisees meant that in their eyes, Christ was one of them (See Falk 2003). How could this be if Christ was a proto-Marxist revolutionary? After all, these were the élite of the polis — the wealthy classes — who St. Croix clams Jesus was contentious with.

Later, another Pharisee, St. Paul of the city of Tarsus, became an apostle of Jesus (Acts 9:3-9, 26:5; Philippians 3:5). Paul was sanctioned by the original disciples who were themselves from the khôra. Yet, based upon the book of Acts, Paul maintained a status among the wealthier ‘citified’ members of the Sanhedrin. This may be deduced from the fact that Paul not only attended the Temple festivals and participated publicly in their rituals, but had studied law under Gamliel, and sponsored the religious rites of other Jews (an expensive process) at the behest of the original disciples (Acts 21:21-16; 22:3). Consequently, dividing Christ’s work into a city:rural or wealthy:poor theoretical dichotomy may lead to erroneous interpretations of early Christian doctrine. During the 1st century AD, Christian society along with its tenants were more ideologically complex.

There is an argument that can be made here that excessively applying Marxist theory to find ‘class struggles’ within a Christian community is not useful. Reverse projecting one’s ideology onto a past culture may inadvertently lead to ‘politicizing’ the past in ways alien to the people who were living it (See ECW 2013: 101). Another example may be the issue of slavery in the ancient world. For instance, Urbainczyk (2008: 32-33) argues that ancient Roman slaves wanted to abolish slavery, not just gain freedom. In other words, they were not revolting against their masters for individual freedom but seeking to overthrow the system. Urbainczyk (2008: 33-35) interprets their ‘struggle’ as a ‘revolution’ (whether the individuals understood that or not) (See ‘false consciousness’ in Morley 2004: 87). In other words, from Urbainczyk’s point of view, it may be argued that their ‘slave class’ contained the same characteristics as modern slavery and the impact of their revolts challenged existing institutions (Urbainczyk 2008: 118). Such extreme Marxist interpretations may distort reasonable interpretations of past social histories because they take ostensibly subjective interpretations of past actions.

Part II: Comparative Studies, Analogy, and Cultural Evolution

A statistical tool often utilized by archaeologists is comparative analogy. But I must give some background first. Probably the most intuitive model in archaeology of comparative studies is Middle-range Theory, a model pioneered by Lewis Binford in which he utilized ethnographic studies to draw analogous comparisons with living (present day) cultures to interpret dynamics of past (prehistory) cultures (Johnson 2010: 50-64; Cf. ECW 2013: 100). This Processual driven approach to archaeological study, rooted in anthropology, became a pillar of ‘New Archaeology’ and is interrelated with Cultural Evolutionary and Structuralist approaches, as well as scientific methodology (ECW 2013: 102. Today, the use of comparative analogy is a tool employed in comparative history and archaeology (See ECW 2013: 99-102; Cf. Kim 2009 and Scheidel 2011).

In Classical antiquity, the purpose of comparative studies is to elucidate answers for missing facts in the historical or archaeological record by inferring plausible explanations from parallel societies, living or dead, thus expanding our understanding (Scheidel 2013). For example, Humphreys’ (1978: 23-24, Cf. 17-18) notes comparative studies of ancient Greek socio-economies have helped to infer what role ecologies may have played in ancient demographics. The result was an anthropological hypothesis which augmented the historical record. Of course, the underlining assumption is that analogous trajectories are shared by the cultures being compared (See Johnson 2010: 151).

In this manner, comparative studies appear somewhat similar to intertextuality. A recent example of this can be seen in the analysis of early Imperial China (221 BC – AD 220) and the late Roman Republic/Imperial periods (c. 100 BC – AD 100) by Walter Scheidel (2011). Broadly speaking, the two cultures appear analogous in many socioeconomic, political, and ecological aspects. For example, both empires had similar environmental systems, chiefly because they lay in the North Temperate Zone (Scheidel 2011: 11-12). In both cases, the suggestion being that wetter climates to the south were responsible for surplus food production which would be transported north to imperial centers (e.g. Rome, Xianyang, Chang’an), thereby giving rise to ‘complex polities’ in otherwise divergent states (See also Whitley 2001: 166-67). The keyword here being ‘transportation’ and how both empires achieved it.

However, geographic differences are also noted, such as the lack of a ‘temperate sea core’ in China and a geography which hindered transportation of food and goods (Scheidel 2011: 13-14). In short, China did not have a Mediterranean Sea at its geopolitical center. If sea-lanes are essential for the dissemination of food and goods, let alone the political networking of disparate communities within a society, how did the Early Imperial Chinese achieve centralized unification? At this point, instead of comparison, we have contrast. This creates a problem because it becomes difficult to explain how a state maintained sociopolitical unity while not possessing a strategic waterway advantage for the transportation of goods, ideas, and military personnel.

Moreover, it may undermine emphases placed on Roman transportation networks in historical records. For example, in Geography 4.1.2, Strabo elaborates on the manner in which rivers in Gaul are interconnected with the Mediterranean and how these were exploited by the Romans. Elsewhere, Strabo (Geography 17.1.13) describes how Roman sea-lanes included the extensive use of the Red and Arabian Seas and their adjoining straits, thereby connecting the Southern and Eastern regions of the Empire. But could Strabo be exaggerating? Historical texts are literary constructions and should not be accepted at face value. After all, ancient authors did have audiences they wrote for (See Pelling 1999; Potter 1999).

Another theoretical approach will be necessary to further bridge a physical gap in the comparative analogy. Borrowing from Neo-evolutionary theory, the Chinese might have utilized overland transportation to greater extent than waterways to unify the country. This might be supported by the fact that both the Qin and Han Dynasties constructed thousands of miles of roads to link their empire (Fig.2) (Bulliet et al. 2014:164; See Scheidel 2011:13-14; Cf. Johnson 2010:155-56). For instance, at Wushan, a state-maintained plank road was utilized extensively to transport goods between north and south, buoyed by bridge supports over inhospitable topography such as mountainous regions (Chetham 2002: 41). In addition, Sanft (2014: 101-21) has argued that the construction of the ‘Direct Road’ was part of an elaborate highway system which may have aided the bureaucratic concentration of the state, and the cultural unification of Imperial China by the Qin Dynasty.

What can be said then? For the classicalist, this comparative study strengthens our understanding of the role transportation played in the formation of Mediterranean state polities. Additionally, by contrasting Early Imperial Chinese overland routes with Roman seaways, one may deduce that each society made technological adaptations in an independent (bilinear) fashion (Cf. Johnson 2010: 151). For the Romans, this may be exemplified in their shipbuilding techniques (Cf. 1986: Green 17-35). For example, the Madrague de Giens, a Roman mercantile ship which sank off the coast of ancient Gaul (modern France), has provided an interesting look into Roman nautical sophistication. Based on analysis from underwater archaeology, the ship’s design contained a heavy keel and wide frames for stability in rough waters, while possessing staggered planking along the hull to enhance its displacement (See Greene 1986: 26-27). This would make it ideal for carrying large cargos through turbulent waters.

Regardless, in the case of Roman and Chinese societies, technological adaptation occurred to overcome physical geography. Thus, differing conveyance methods were created to achieve a singular purpose: transportation. Why? Because both the Chinese and Romans understood that transportation was necessary for the building of an empire. This fact substantiates Strabo’s claim of Rome’s exploitation of sea-lanes from the Mediterranean to the Arabian Sea. Moreover, this example showcases how a variety of theories enhance our understanding of Classical Antiquity. Here, comparative analogy, cultural evolution, and archaeological analysis of material remains, helped to critically evaluate the historical texts and illuminate a small portion of the political history of the Roman Empire.

Part III: Poststructuralism and the ‘American Polis’

Marxism, with its emphases on the identification of social classes, dialectic exchanges and intersocial and intra-social ‘contradictions’ identified the underlining causes of social change in history and reduces them to competing classes. While analogy, with its emphasis on comparative analyses and quantitative methods, interprets dynamics within and between classes by inferring explanations from unrelated sources. Different approaches that work, sometimes in conjunction with each other, to explain classical antiquity. While these bodies of theory have clearly influenced the classical disciplines, the question must be asked: do we really need theory to understand classical antiquity? In short, yes. Is it infallible? No.

One must be cautious when approaching past peoples from a modern theoretical position. Returning to Ste. Croix’s theory on ‘polis v. khôra’ above, people are going to act based on many individual — not necessarily class or group — needs. Both Jesus and Paul interacted with a variety of individuals from outside their social ‘class’. Indeed, it may be argued that they did not fit into any specific ‘class’. And here lies the problem with class distinctions being applied to historical dynamics: the individual — their ideas, desires, beliefs, understandings, emotions, impulses, passions — is overlooked in favor of a ‘group’ identity superimposed upon him or her through expert consensus. In other words, one risks categorizing people according to the sum of their parts, which may lead to incorrect assumptions regarding past dynamics.

For example, a case in point may be the 2016 Presidential Elections in the United States. The general consensus by experts relied on inferential statistics and historical trends of demographic groups (classes) based upon probability models from the 2008 and 2012 electorates. All of it pointed to a theoretical victory for the Democratic Party candidate (See Sabato et al. 2016a). However, demographic groups voted contrary to historical patterns in many regional areas. Arguably against their own special interests, many voted along parallel lines with other ‘classes’ defying their social groups (Barone 2016; Trende 2016). The only way to explain this is the individual was overlooked in the analysis of data. Humans are not monolithic beings. People are not necessarily herded or subscribe to ‘group mentality’ (Cf. Fromm 1941: 203, 253).

Blinded by probability, pundits forgot people are individuals — independent agents — who may act outside of ‘character’ and divorce themselves from their ‘class’ in decision (Sabato et al. 2016b; Cf. Johnson 2010:108). This is because class distinctions are subjective ideas; a product created by humans for the sake of convention. Grippingly, Foucault suggested that any form of analysis of individual identity which inferred characteristic groups — whether ‘status, class, or gender’ based — was a form of social oppression (Morley 2004:97-99; Johnson 2010:202-03). From this perspective, one may argue against the reduction of human behavior into any interpretive ‘trend’. For instance, Ste. Croix’s khôra and any (perceived) similarities between Imperial Chinese and Roman cultures are merely human invention. Taken to its natural conclusion, the entire premise of interpreting past cultures through theoretical frameworks which involve social classes contending with each other — let alone comparing such groups — dissolves. That being said, if scholars cannot correctly infer present day dynamics from more recent data, how can they accurately ascertain past dynamics from ancient data? As nihilistic as it may sound, they probably cannot.

Conclusions

Theory does not involve making arbitrary conclusions from abstract hypotheses, rather it is about interrogating data (what is known) and drawing sound deductions (or inductions) regarding sociocultural dynamics that are unknown. In this essay, I focused on theoretical frameworks lifted from three bodies of theory: anthropological, sociological, and archaeological. Specifically, I selected Marxism, Comparative Studies and Analogy, Cultural Evolution, and Poststructuralism, with ancillary methods directly or indirectly touched upon (e.g. quantification, probability, Maritime archaeology). At every turn, I attempted to illustrate how theory works to illuminate the dynamics of classical antiquity through an analysis of present day data. I ended with the brief deconstruction of theoretical frameworks to highlight how theorizing is a subjective endeavor, while still being necessary for perspective and to expand our knowledge. After all, knowledge is inferred (contra Ashenden 2005:202-06).

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Ancient Author Cited

Strabo. Geography, trans. H. L. Jones. Cambridge: Loeb Classical Library. 1923.

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James Mellaart: Pioneer…..and Forger

Eberhard Zangger (born 1958 in Kamen, Germany) is a Swiss geoarchaeologist, corporate communications consultant and publicist. Eberhard Zangger studied geology and paleontology at the University of Kiel and obtained a PhD from Stanford University in 1988. After this he was a senior research associate in the Department of Earth Sciences at the University of Cambridge (1988–91). He is currently president of the board of trustees of the international non-profit foundation Luwian Studies.

In May 2016, Luwian Studies went public with a website in German, English and Turkish. As part of its research, the foundation has systematically catalogued extensive settlement sites of the Middle and Late Bronze Age in Western Asia Minor. These sites are presented in a public database on the website. The foundation provides financial support for archaeological excavations and surveys, as well as for linguistic studies dedicated to the cultures of the Middle and Late Bronze Age in western Asia Minor.

James Mellaart (1925–2012) is one of the most dazzling researchers in Anatolian archaeology. Almost singlehandedly, he discovered the Neolithic in Asia Minor and first initiated and then conducted excavations at Beycesultan, Hacılar Höyük, and Çatalhöyük. In the 1950s and 1960s, Mellaart was considered the world’s most famous prehistorian. An archaeologically interested audience around the globe followed his successes in the field. Nothing Mellaart did was irrelevant – both researchers and laymen admired him for his pioneering work, the fact that he had the courage to draw sweeping conclusions, his enthralling, amply illustrated lectures, and the sheer endless series of gripping books showcasing his detailed first-hand knowledge.

Despite this, accusations abound that some of the alleged archaeological artifacts that Mellaart presented in the form of drawings could have sprung from his imagination. In 1959 Mellaart published the so-called Dorak Treasure: artifacts he claimed to have seen in a house in Izmir which soon afterwards could no longer be located. Three years later, Turkish newspapers launched a campaign against Mellaart, starting with an eight-column-wide headline, accusing him of having smuggled this treasure across the border. This was followed by police and scientific investigations. In the end, Mellaart was acquitted of the accusations of smuggling and stealing artifacts. Nevertheless, he lost the support of the British Institute of Archaeology in Ankara and thus the opportunity to work in the field – for life – because of a number of undiplomatic blunders.

Dealing with Mellaart tends to polarize people: one is either a great admirer or a foe, and the intensity of these emotions apparently increases with proximity. The closer scholars were to him, the more intrigued or horrified they were. As the 100th anniversary of Mellaart’s birth approaches, the number of people who knew him personally is dwindling. For upcoming generations of scientists it would have been virtually impossible to reach a balanced judgment on Mellaart’s credibility; the facts are just too garbled.

It is therefore something of a relief that now, some sixty years after the Dorak Affair, we have finally achieved clarity. A scientific evaluation of notes found last year concealed deep in Mellaart’s former study has just been published. The documents leave no doubt that the famous prehistorian lived in a dream world. For decades he tried to substantiate his lofty fantasies with invented Neolithic murals and translations of equally fictitious Late Bronze Age tablets – always insisting that these were his modest reflections on really existing prehistoric artifacts.

Mellaart kept absolutely everything

James and Arlette Mellaart in his study on the occasion of his 80th birthday. ©Charlie Hopkinson

James Mellaart was born in London in 1925, the son of an art dealer. When he was seven years old the family moved to Amsterdam because of the global economic crisis. His mother died there shortly afterwards. Her early passing apparently left a permanent mark on Mellaart’s character. In 1947 he left the Netherlands to study Egyptology at University College London, and never returned. After completing his studies, he received a position as a lecturer in 1964, and gave up teaching entirely only in 2005. Although Mellaart never had a doctorate himself, he did train doctoral students. He lived near Finsbury Park in North London for almost forty years, together with his wife Arlette, who came from the Turkish upper class. They had acquired and connected two small adjoining apartments there. Visitors raved about the flat’s cozy atmosphere, a place replete with valuable books and Anatolian kilims. On the walls hung the gold-framed decrees of Ottoman sultans, testifying to the special status of Arlette Mellaart’s family in Turkish society.

There was a remarkable disorder in Mellaart’s study, for the great explorer was a compulsive hoarder. He kept most of the projects, each in an A3 carton that was folded in the middle. Since Mellaart dealt with many hundred topics, the room was in places stacked waist-high with such folders. A photo taken on the occasion of the 80th birthday impressively documents this chaotic filing system. Mellaart did not part with anything: even junk mail and empty cigar boxes did not leave the apartment. That is how the fantasies to which Mellaart had devoted himself over the decades finally came to light. His study did not just contain the final results of his work as intended for publication (!), but also the elaborate drafts and tool kits that were required for their fabrication.

The “Sea Peoples” and the significance of Bronze Age Western Asia Minor

James Mellaart had fooled scientists – including me – throughout his life. Although we never met, we shared a common conviction. Independently of each other, we had both arrived at the conclusion that western Turkey must contain numerous, still-hidden Middle and Late Bronze Age sites. We both also believed that a large part of the Sea Peoples had their home in this region. Their attacks on the shores of the eastern Mediterranean shortly after 1200 BC contributed to the downfall of the Bronze Age cultures of the heroic era. Some of the mercenaries who supported the Hittite king Muwatalli (c. 1295–1272 BC) in 1274 at the Battle of Kadesh came from western Anatolia. The same names then appear in the Sea People inscriptions known from Upper Egypt, and are also found again in Homer’s Iliad among the allies of the Trojans during the Trojan War. The western part of modern Turkey must therefore have been densely populated around 1200 BC. And yet few Bronze Age settlements in this region have been excavated on a substantial scale to date.

This left a huge area of uncharted territory on the map of archaeologically known cultures. Legendary Troy, of all places, lies in this no-man’s-land, but the site was simply given a special status in archaeological paradigms. The empty space between the Mycenaean dominion in southern Greece and the Hittites in central Asia Minor is otherwise filled with what appears to have been uncivilized nomads roaming across the country in yurts and possessing no knowledge of writing. In fact, the only European scholar since Heinrich Schliemann who dared to launch a large-scale archaeological excavation of a Bronze Age site in western Turkey was James Mellaart. The site, called Beycesultan, is being dug up again today under the direction of Eşref Abay of Ege University in Izmir.

In 1995 James Mellaart heard about my book, “Ein neuer Kampf um Troia,” published the year before, in which I argued (like others before and after me) that a large part of the Sea Peoples must have come from Western Asia Minor. Mellaart then wrote me two letters of 22 pages in total with incredibly detailed information about the end of the Bronze Age. He said that he had extracted this information from translations of Late Bronze Age documents. At the time, colleagues advised me against following up on Mellaart’s letters, so I paid no attention to them for over twenty years. However, because of this trusting correspondence – and our shared beliefs about the importance of Bronze Age Western Asia Minor – I was granted the privilege of being the first scientist to review Mellaart’s estate.

In June 2017, Mellaart’s son Alan handed to me what his father had considered to be the most valuable asset in his inheritance. Naturally, I considered this a special honor, and during my first visit to the apartment in London would have never thought of asking permission to examine the rest of the estate.

The fabricated “Beyköy Text”

The documents I received were called the “Beyköy Text” by Mellaart. In 1993 he had mentioned in passing in three of his publications that such a text existed. From his letters, and thanks to a telephone conversation we had in 1995, I knew that these documents were English translations of allegedly Late Bronze Age texts said to have been found near the village of Beyköy in western Turkey at the end of the 19th century. The material included some one hundred typewritten pages of a text that is said to have been originally written on bronze tablets in Akkadian cuneiform script and Hittite language. Including various copies and manuscripts of unpublished evaluations, the whole pile I received from Alan Mellaart comprised about 500 sheets of paper.

The foundation board of Luwian Studies, a charitable non-profit organization dedicated to promoting the study of Bronze Age cultures in Western Asia Minor, decided to have these texts examined by various scientists over a five-year period. Additional indications of the authenticity of the documents would be welcome to justify the application of such substantial research funds. For this reason I asked Alan Mellaart to revisit his father’s study to search for additional evidence that the documents were indeed genuine. So, in February 2018, Alan Mellaart and I returned to North London to examine James Mellaart’s former study over the course of five days. At the very end, we came across an extensive collection of handwritten drafts of the “Beyköy Text.” Mellaart had placed the items he claimed to be the unpublished translations of Late Bronze Age tablets at the entrance to his study, clearly visible and appropriately labeled. The kits he had used to fabricate these documents, however, were kept well hidden. But not only that: I also found pieces of slate with pictorial carvings that were obviously sketches that Mellaart had published as reconstructed murals from Çatalhöyük. By this point there was no longer any doubt that Mellaart was a forger. The fact that he had carefully hidden the drafts hints at a sense of wrongdoing and suggests that Jimmy Bey, as Mellaart was called in Turkey, had also concealed them from his wife.

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Alan Mellaart in his parents’ apartment in North London. ©Luwian Studies

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As the news of Mellaart’s falsification became public, several eyewitnesses came forward confirming our findings. I learned that Mellaart sometimes sketched artifacts that existed only in his imagination, even in the presence of friends. Tactfully, these companions turned a blind eye and had remained silent until today. Now we know that the allegedly “reconstructed” wall paintings from Çatalhöyük, which Mellaart had presented some twenty years after excavations were concluded, as well as the “Beyköy Text,” were pure inventions. Companions of Mellaart with whom I have been able to speak in the meantime also assume that the Dorak Treasure, which had caused a stir in 1962, was also invented, because the story follows the same pattern as the later cases. On the other hand the artifacts that were recovered in Mellaart’s excavations and which are now exhibited in the Turkish museums are without doubt genuine.

The large Luwian hieroglyph inscription remains enigmatic

In the pile of documents which Alan Mellaart passed on to me in June 2017, there were not just translations of allegedly cuneiform tablets, but also drawings of some Luwian hieroglyphic texts. Among these, one stands out, since the original must have been an almost thirty-meter-long inscription on limestone. According to Mellaart, this inscription was also found in Beyköy at the end of the 19th century; however, its research history is certainly invented. I sent the drawings of this hieroglyphic inscription to the Dutch linguist Fred Woudhuizen to ask for his opinion. He saw no reason to question the document’s authenticity and suggested a joint publication. Our work was published in December 2017 as a preliminary online publication in Talanta – Proceedings of the Dutch Archaeological and Historical Society, and is printed in the issue of Talanta that has just come out.

When word spread among colleagues that we were working on the publication of these Luwian hieroglyphic texts, we learned that the great inscription had already been shown and discussed in 1989 at an international conference in Ghent. Since then, there had been a consensus among insiders that this drawing was a forgery. In our paper, Fred Woudhuizen and I devoted five pages to linguistic arguments for and against forgery, but we came to the opposite conclusion. The now-released volume of Talanta contains another article by us with additional arguments that by and large point to the authenticity of the Luwian hieroglyphic inscription we call “Beyköy 2.”

During the past thirty years, since the inscription was first shown, important new insights have been gained in the field of Luwian linguistics. Thanks to these developments, the inscription can now be read much better. For example, it contains a sign for “great prince” which was not seen in a Luwian inscription until 2001. If Mellaart had forged the inscription, he would have invented a character whose existence was confirmed years later. It is thus more likely that Mellaart actually saw the Beyköy 2 inscription somewhere and that he had an opportunity to copy it. His unpublished translations and interpretations also show that he did not nearly understand its (grammatically correct) content.

Mellaart’s approach was always similar: in order to connect spectacular finds with his own models of interpretation, he filled the gap with invented drawings or texts. As part of his excavations in Çatalhöyük he had indeed discovered among many geometric murals one impressive landscape panorama. Twenty years later, he produced seventy additional ones! The “Beyköy Text,” which was also completely invented, may have been meant to link the Luwian inscription (Beyköy 2) with Mellaart’s theories on Bronze Age political developments. However, since the drawing of the Luwian hieroglyphic inscription was also retrieved from Mellaart’s “workshop,” this document will inevitably be treated with care until further notice, even if many linguistic arguments point to its authenticity. It would have been the find of the century – the account describing the end of the Bronze Age, composed by no lesser person than the Luwian Great King himself. Through his ruthlessness, Mellaart may have deprived archaeology of this important find.

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Allegedly “reconstructed” mural from Çatalhöyük. ©Luwian Studies

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Notes and drafts that were required to compose the “Beyköy Text”. ©Luwian Studies

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Large Luwian hieroglyphic inscription (“Beyköy 2”) retrieved from Mellaart’s estate. ©Luwian Studies

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One question remains: Why, for half a century, did the world’s most famous archaeologist invent artifacts that never really existed? The unpublished manuscripts in Mellaart’s estate reveal a feeling of superiority. Mellaart enjoys the importance of his own inventions for archaeology. His fantasies were designed to underpin his professional ideas about Anatolian prehistory with “facts.” They also brought him back into the limelight – confirming ideas that he had always claimed to boot. It was, it turns out, a juvenile prank he apparently played throughout his life. His concepts and ideas may not have been all that wrong; the evidence, however, was forged.

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Source

All contributions to the 50th volume of Talanta – Proceedings of the Dutch Archaeological and Historical Society, which has now been published, are dedicated to documents from Mellaart’s estate. This paper is a summary of the almost 60-page article “James Mellaart’s Fantasies,” which is available online as a PDF for free download from https://luwianstudies.academia.edu/EZangger.

Aksum’s Hidden Heritage

Samuel C. Walker was born and raised in East Africa and subsequently spent fifteen years in the Middle East including Yemen, Israel/West Bank, Jordan, Sudan, and Egypt. He currently is working in Ethiopia. He holds two Bachelor’s degrees; Religious Studies – Anthropology, and Natural Sciences & History, and two Master’s degrees; History and education (Western Oregon U) and Archaeology & Heritage Mgmt. (University of Leicester). For seven years he lived in the Micronesian Pacific islands conducting research on climate change, ecologies, and conducting research as lead field supervisory archaeologist for US Navy projects for EIS and cultural resource management. Since 2013, Walker has worked in Ethiopia, including establishing a Master’s program in Archaeology for Heritage Management and serving as lead field and supervisory archaeologist. As part of his research dissertation, he is working on creating graduate level field-intensive Cultural Resource Management teams (CRMT) specifically to address the critical needs of archaeological site identification, comprehensive field survey, data recovery and excavation field management skills, laboratory analysis and cultural material conservation, and presentation and display of these rich tangible and intangible heritages.

Most visitors to Aksum, Ethiopia’s 2,000-year-old capital, glimpse little of its past glory. It is estimated that over 95% of this city’s classical wonders still lie buried beneath the desolation of centuries past or languish, neglected by the more pressing demands of an emerging nation. Tourists are regularly shown a few stelae, or standing stones, some secondary-use royal tombs, and the small 7th century AD/CE Dungur villa purporting to be the palace of the Queen of Sheba (11th-10th cent. BC/BCE). The common practice of guides simply repeating fabricated myths with little grounding in archaeological or historical-geographical contexts leaves most tourists disappointed, perplexed, and cynical as they were promised one of the largest and longest-lived empires in Africa.

This, hopefully, is changing.

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Fig. 1 – Aerial view of Aksum with Old Town (top left) and the Stelae Field in central foreground. Photo is taken to the west-northwest. (Photo SCW- 2013).

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As an archaeologist born and raised in East Africa, I was invited to set up the Master’s program for Archaeology and Heritage at Aksum University in April 2012. I was enthusiastic at the prospect. During my year and a half tenure in the region, no day was ever routine. Surveying the buried old town and its immediate surroundings daily tantalized me with just enough secrets to keep me coming back for more. With every footfall, the very ground seemed to reverberate and writhe under the labor pains of this heritage’s sheer will to be re-born. That, sadly, was not to be. As with so many academic efforts over the past decades, Aksum’s amazing archaeological investigation along with its tourism opportunities were held hostage by regional bureaucratic obstacles, unfounded rumors, and orchestrated misinformation. That has yet to change.

For many and varied reasons, little archaeology has been permitted in Aksum. The reports from the 1906 Deutsche Aksum-Expedition (published 1913) still serve as the definitive archaeological work for Aksum, yet all four volumes, printed in German, are still not available in English or Amharic. Aksum has seen two other more modern excavations in 1972-74 by Dr. Chittick and in 1994-97 with Prof. David Phillipson, along with a few heritage-related smatterings related more to salvage excavations than modern scientific inquiry. Subsequently, an entire generation of Ethiopian cultural resource professionals and archaeologists has been denied thorough training in field management skills or direct access to this remarkable heritage, limiting the brilliant story Aksum can tell.

The long-term negative impacts of preventing young Ethiopian scholars from accessing their heritage in meaningful ways has created a generational gap in field-based capacities, experienced researchers, and published academicians. The short-sighted practice of allowing only outside academic PhDs to excavate continues to hamper field-training along with curtailing awareness of the full range of the phased approach to archaeology.

The decades of negligence by political appointees, however, can quickly be remedied, but it will take courage and integrity from the new leadership, along with a concerted effort and thoughtful, deliberate, field-intensive instruction. It will also require a new model for implementing best practices and modern cultural resource management principles. It is hoped with new leadership and competent authorities we will begin to address the many shortcoming of the previous regime. These decades of inattention, however, have also taken a remarkably tragic toll on existing heritages, not only in Aksum, but across the nation.

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Fig. 2 – Image of the Stelae Field from the Deutsche Aksum Expedition – 1906.

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In terms of tourism, then, this also means that anyone who visited Aksum within the last four decades would see relatively the same sites, virtually untouched. The image above, over 100 years old, illustrates how little has changed since 1906. Outside of the chance discovery of a new Ezana inscription found while digging a house foundation in 1982, few new artifacts or information are available to tourists. Compare that to similarly archaeologically-rich countries such as Greece, Italy, Egypt, Israel, and Jordan. Every year these countries have multiple new sites and cultural materials for tourists to visit. Additionally, the public relations benefits of these discoveries counter much of the negative press these countries have to deal with. Ethiopia has so many positive stories to tell, but given the limited utilization of its heritage, those stories get buried by the negative press of civil unrest or internally displaced peoples. Hopefully, this too is beginning to change.

For well over a decade, the status of the steady and relentless decline of the main heritage and cultural resources associated with Aksum were documented and repeatedly reported by archaeologists like Drs. David and Laurel Phillipson, the late Dr. Fatovich, and more recently, by myself, to the appropriate authorities in Mekele, Tigrai’s capital, and Addis Ababa. In 2013-2014, working as Coordinator of the Master’s Program in Archaeology and Heritage-management at Aksum University, I revisited and updated those previous assessments, including further recommendations and discoveries. As of August, 2019, few if any of the recommendations from previous reports have been implemented, leading to a series of emergent crises.

A Collapsing Heritage

Due to multiple natural and human factors, aside from neglect, the condition of the two main standing stelae in Aksum (No. 2 and No. 3), now face a critical situation. Stela 2, taken during Italy’s brief occupation (1936-1941), was returned from Rome in 2005 and re-erected in its original position. Unfortunately, as is too often the case, engineers conducted their project without proper oversight or consultation of cultural resource or heritage management experts, let alone archaeologists. As such, the two meters thick foundation of Stela No. 2 is pushing downward, like a piston, upon the now-collapsing, waterlogged, underground chambers of the original structures.

Stela No. 3 is currently shifting, due to the added compression of the re-erection of Stela No. 2, which when secured, was fixed within a foundation of two meters thick of concrete. Prior to the re-installation of returned Stela No. 2, a sub-surface geo-physical survey was conducted in accordance with the requirements of UNESCO. This research identified layers of clayish soils, between 2 meters to 3.5 to 4 meters depth, atop the underlying layer of non-permeable basalt, a rock similar to the hill of Mai Qoho to the southeast. In antiquity, many subterranean shaft tombs and chambers were carved through the clays and into the softer volcanic matrix atop this basalt. Several of these tombs are associated with various stelae on the surface. The underlying clays, due to an inflow of water and a heightened water table (current cause unknown) are slowly being pushed out, away by the downward pressure of the newly added mass of Stela No. 2.

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Fig. 3 – Map of Aksum – Yellow lines represent ancient roads. The old town is to the lower left. The black and red squares are the chamber tombs of Emperor Kaleb and Gebre Maskel (7th cent. CE) reutilizing an elite structure from the classic period from the 2nd cent. CE.

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Consequently, all nearby structures and sub-surface chambers, including the west mausoleum and the unexcavated east tomb, are under threat of collapse. Additionally, the huge concrete anchors holding Stela No.3 appear also to be moving. The staircase leading to the east chambers of the Mausoleum collapsed once already, and the reconstructed wall is again buckling and in danger of failing a second time. A heavy concrete slab-roof was also placed atop the Mausoleum, and the shifting clays upslope are pushing this concrete south, threatening to collapse the existing tomb chambers and south wall.

There is an immediate need to mitigate against the increasing possibility of the collapse of Stela No. 3, as this could lead not only to the destruction of the stela itself, but create a domino effect on close-by stelae and sub-surface chambers and unidentified underlying or unexcavated sites.

A more broad, long-term plan and set of recommendations must be developed by a team of professionally trained, local and international experts in archaeology, heritage management, conservation, etc. to work alongside engineers within various specialties, including, but not limited to soils, hydrology, civil, architectural, and geology, and thus begin to design a thorough data recovery plan to accurately and comprehensively address the whole stelae park and multiple associated sites neglected for years. Partners and local stake-holders should include those previously involved in work associated with Aksum archaeology, survey, conservation and assessment. The MoCT, along with the PM’s office, are mandated by the UNESCO convention to lead this project.

One of the most visible indicators of these negative effects relates to the structure of the 3rd-4th century CE Tomb of the Brick Arches, 80 meters to the east of Stela No. 3. For over a decade now, a serious rise of the water table within the tomb chambers, to over 60-80 cm of standing water even in the dry season, demonstrates a broader, ubiquitous problem. Currently a metal door is in place and the tomb is not accessible to the public. This standing water identifies the whole field as supersaturated and thus much of the cultural materials and chambers are subject to substantial degradation. If chambers begin to subside, sinkholes could cause further instability within the whole stelae park.

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Fig. 4 – Tomb of the Brick Arches with over a meter of standing water within the sub-surface chambers. Note the white lines are the water surface. The back arch, covered in water over a meter high. (photo – SCW)

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Stela 3, the largest of the decorated standing stelae, was restrained during the re-erection of Stela No. 2 to secure it in place. It currently inclines slightly to the north-northeast. Like other stelae, this represents a multi-storied, elite-building. The heavy base plate exhibits an engraved vine decoration around the perimeter and bowls in the center. The entire structure surrounding the stela is built up, with a perimeter wall and steps from the main parking lot area. Two guyed cables currently support the stela. These were installed during the re-erection of Stela No. 2 to the west, and have yet to be removed pending further study and analysis of the consequence of removing them. The degree of inclination of Stela No. 3 has been checked by the cables for the last decade, but present an uglyfying aspect to the whole park.

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Fig. 5 – Stela No. 3 with decade-old truss and guyed cables holding it in place. Looking east. (photo – SCW)

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Over the last decade, the fabric truss holding the stela has been weakened by weather and UV from the sun, with no upkeep or proper analysis from previous authorities. Earlier recommendations demanded that funds immediately be set aside to study the feasibility of removing the guyed cables and adjusting the stela to either an upright position, or stabilizing it at its present inclination, including replacing the fabric. Unfortunately, past inactions have exacerbated the present situation, leaving now the radical alternative of actually laying Stela No. 3 down upon the ground until a proper analysis and permanent solution can be found. For obvious reasons, this solution would be highly unpopular, even if the most prudent.

Stela No. 4, a smaller, nearly identical stela to No. 3, lies prone in a northern direction near the current entrance of Enda Eyasu Church, where it was toppled during the Gudit wars of mid-tenth century CE. The cover plate is decorated in a similar fashion as Stela No. 3 and is still in place, if slightly lifted, with the other placement stones in situ. A mitigation excavation of Stela No. 4 would provide a Cultural Resource Management (CRM) team an analysis of the means of assessing the similar erection techniques and technology of Stela No. 3, and therefore provide a safe, proof-of-concept for properly addressing the critical factors facing Stela No. 3.

While conducting the analytical excavation of Stela No. 4, it would make sense to improve access to the other elements of the Stelae Field North. The apex of Stela No. 4, broken into two parts, has been removed to two separate locations. The uppermost part is in the Ezana Gardens park near the Telecom offices and the bottom section is in the church complex of the Fasilidas Mary of Zion church. This apex, containing unique features of two spear points and on the obverse, a shield, also has two circles from which two plaques were affixed. It would make touristic and research sense to bring the two disparate parts back together, placing them in the Aksum museum for proper viewing and safekeeping until Stela No. 4 could be restored fully.

Stela 5 is a decorated stela broken into six pieces and fallen in the river bed of Mai Miheja. Much of the stela is now completely covered by river deposits. Only the cover-plates and the lowest sections of this stela are visible.

Stela 6, similar to Stela 4, is collapsed and mostly intact, and therefore, a good candidate for further analysis. It is the 6th largest, and is decorated on its all sides with an Aksumite elite-structure building motif. Its double apex, fractured from the main body, is well preserved and in situ.

Stela 7 is intact and located at the northern end of the Enda Yesus church compound lying on top of the undecorated Stela 36, in a north to south direction. Stela 7 displays unique decorations with what has been referred to as a house decoration atop a stylized proto-Iolic or Ionic column. The underside decoration is visible to visitors only by laying prone on the ground or kneeling. There have been requests from the public and local authorities for the re-erection of this stela, as tradition stated that its re-erection will usher in a period of wealth and fortune to Aksum as the design is said to represent the symbol of the Ark of the Covenant. Until proper research is conducted and a thorough analysis of the whole area is conducted, it is ill-advised that any shift of status be attempted. Sadly, there are many other issues related to the long-term neglect of Aksum’s heritage, but none are as critical or emergent as the various stelae and monuments within the vicinity.

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Fig. 6 – Stela No. 7 with unique proto-Ionic or –Aeolic capital design. Local tradition states this to be a representation of the chapel housing the Arc of the Covenant – (photo – SCW)

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Artifacts Reduced to Curiosities

Addressing the second critical lapse over the last decades relates to found-objects. A substantial component of any heritage management in any region relates to chance finds dug up during construction, road building, agriculture, etc. The persistent inexperience of how to manage found-objects is also a tragic consequence to the broader lack of proper field-intensive archaeological research and hands-on expertise as it relates to conservation and cultural resource management within local universities and among the various agencies and authorities.

Often while living in Aksum and conducting survey with my colleagues, farmers and priests proudly showed us many items plowed up from fields, or discovered while digging foundations, tombs, or latrines. For the most part, these simple ceramic vessels or figurines, coins, beads, or small metal objects constituted mere curiosities with marginal contextual archaeological value beyond site identification and possible chronologies. Many regional farmers and churches have baskets full of such finds which are often sold to tourists for a pittance.

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Fig. 7 – Cultural materials commonly found in fields are kept in rural churches. These ceramic vessels represent all periods of ancient Ethiopian history. The coins are from the last five centuries of the Aksumite Empire (end of the 3rd into the end of the 7th cent, CE). (photo – SCW)

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One evening in September 2103, I received a somewhat frantic call from a merchant saying some farmers had brought in some special items and would I be able to assess them. What they had uncovered was a series of cast bronze plaques, and other cultural materials the likes of which were not even found in the museum. These included large cast-bronze/copper Ethio-Sabaean inscriptions (8th-5th cent. BCE), images of lions, humans, and winged sphinx, ceramic figurines and vessels, along with various small finds such as name-stamps, and inscribed stone amulets. I photographed what I could and immediately sent the images in e-mails to the former director of the Authority for Research and Conservation of Cultural Heritage (ARCCH) and the then-director of the Bureau of Culture and Tourism in Mekele, the state capital, asking them about the best way for them to take possession of these items.

The law as stated:

From Part Three in the PROCLAMATION NO 209/2000 A Proclamation to Provide for Research and Conservation of Cultural Heritage – 35 – Fortuitous Discovery of Cultural Heritage

1/ Any person who discovers any Cultural Heritage in the course of an excavation connected with mining explorations, building works, road construction or other similar activities or in the course of any other fortuitous event, shall forthwith report same to the Authority, and shall protect and keep same intact, until the Authority takes delivery thereof.

2/ The Authority shall upon a receipt of a report submitted pursuant to Sub-Article (1) hereof, take all appropriate measures to examine, take delivery of, and register the Cultural Heritage so discovered.

3/ Where the Authority fails to take, within six months, appropriate measures in accordance with Sub-Article (2) of this Article, the person who has discovered the Cultural Heritage may be released from his responsibility by submitting a written notification, with a full description of the situation, to the Regional government official.

4/ The Authority shall ensure that the appropriate reward is granted to a person who has handed over a Cultural Heritage discovered fortuitously in accordance with Sub-Articles (1) and (2) of this article. And such person shall be entitled to reimbursement, of expenses, if any, incurred in the course of discharging his duties under this Article.

There was little interest and only a tepid response. Surprised, I brought it up to our university department head. On the advice of local colleagues, they suggested we ask the merchant if we could take some of the smaller, early Ge’ez inscriptions out of the shop and, in the presence of two respected visiting archaeologists, brought them to the Culture and Tourism office in Aksum. We implored their office to take possession of them. We were told to return them to the merchant, since their source was unidentified and therefore knowledge related to their context was lost. As such, they were perceived to have little value. This level of lack of training or understanding of heritage is incomprehensible.

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Fig. 8 – Montage of various found-artifacts from the Ethio-Sabaean period – (8th-5th cent. BCE). Top left, very rare depiction of a human face in profile; top right are fired clay fertility figurines; bottom left, cast Sabaean inscription, center, lion in profile, bottom right, winged sphinx with serpent tail. These photos were taken in a merchant’s shop and reported to the appropriate authorities at the time – 2104. (photo – SCW)

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Inscriptions are some of the most coveted finds in archaeology. Stunned, we returned all the artifacts to the shop owner and left it at that. When I had opportunity to personally meet with the authorities at the ARCCH or the Mekele Bureau of Culture and Tourism (BoCT), I inquired if anything had been done regarding the artifacts. I was told it was not in their purview and to leave it alone. Disheartened, I complied.

Strangely, six months on, using the very photographs I had sent to the authorities, the Reporter Amharic newspaper published an article, without verification or evidence, falsely accusing me of having looted the very objects I had brought to the attention of the authorities in the first place. The absurdity of these claims amply illustrated the lack of understanding, at the highest levels, of protocol related to found objects, heritage management and archaeology, let alone the stated law.

With little regard to the artifacts themselves, this quickly became a political football. When this story broke, the farmers and others with whom my university colleagues, including the Dean, had painstakingly been negotiating to transfer the materials to the museum, shied away and much of the cultural material was lost, destroyed, or reburied. According to regulation 4, the authorities apparently viewed as an appropriate reward for bringing these items to their attention, defamation of me and my colleagues and a continual retelling of their pathological nonsense. Ignoring the fact I came to Aksum on a fifth of my US salary and had reported and sent images to the authorities in the first place, the fabricated story of my looting the said objects became an easy out for the those charged with caring for, yet failed to secure them in the first place.

With over twenty years of field archaeology experience across three continents, never once has there been even a single accusation of impropriety. Imagine the irony incumbent within the framework that the only evidence they could muster to level such accusations stemmed from the fact I had reported these items in exact accordance with the law. Fortunately, despite this, and through immeasurable effort and courage, a few trusted colleagues and I were eventually able to convince the merchant to give the remaining valuable objects he had retained to the local Aksum museum for safe keeping. With my university colleague, a city representative, and the MoCT officer as witness, we deposited these items, where, I believe, they remain today in storage.

Had such accusations truly been about the artifacts, those finds could easily have been safeguarded when I initially informed the authorities. Five years on, no local authority has inquired of the museum about the finds, let alone researched or displayed them. Additionally, this falsehood remains the dominant narrative with current ARCCH authorities failing to verify any of these untruths or bothering to investigate the fiasco. This disconnect with reality is illustrated by the fact I am frequently tasked by the MoCT to conduct workshops and was requested to present as an expert at the National Conference for Strengthening Heritage Protection in Ethiopia by the Ministry of Culture and Tourism.

Sadly, this politically motivated debacle, with its subsequent loss of significant cultural materials, has been an all-too-common outcome for inadvertently discovered artifacts. This proves the need for new and clear protocols for addressing preservation of heritage with more open and directed communication between the respective authorities. For so many of my Ethiopian colleagues, the previous unqualified or corrupt political appointees created obstacles to the greater success of broader Ethiopian scholarship, leaving an unconscionable gap in professional training. This dogged fabrication has stolen five years of capacity and archaeological research from true Ethiopian scholars and Ethiopia’s future. Does this not deserve a thorough investigation? A related article can be found at https://www.ethiopia-insight.com/2018/11/07/aksums-true-glory-kept-under-wraps-by-fearful-bureaucracy/

Irrespective, these materials are here published for the first time. If they can still be found in the Aksum museum storage, it is my hope that with new, honest and intelligent leadership, these priceless, not-looted artifacts can actually be displayed and researched by a competent cohort of academics.

Ethiopia’s ongoing challenges regarding heritage management integrally relates directly to how the law concerning found-artifacts is written, or rather implemented. Does there currently exist no legal means for people in government to take possession of found items, even if freely given, without being defamed? Lessons can be learned from the experience of other countries. In the UK and many Scandinavian countries, found-items discovered in farming, building, road construction, etc. are compensated for by the state who therefore can legally take possession. This provides a very good model for ensuring especially valuable items, remain in-country for both research and presentation. It would serve Ethiopia’s long-term heritage interests to consider changing its current, but outdated law related to heritages. Today, many valuable, irreplaceable antiquities and artifacts, inadvertently excavated by farmers, builders, construction, etc. are still sold to tourists or the local antiquities dealer for a paltry sum or lay hidden in churches and homes across the country.

The Profession Dearth

A third major challenge Ethiopia faces is positively presenting its own heritage. With the growing body of skilled, committed, honest Ethiopian scholars, however, many projects, even at the university level, continue to be curtailed by the mismanagement or wrangling of a few politically appointed authorities. Whether it stems from extreme risk-aversion or a lack of clear procedures in working toward proper management or preservation of heritage, every delay sees further destruction of irreplaceable cultural material and sites, and lessens Ethiopia’s footing in launching a reputable and world-class tourism and heritage experience.

Ethiopia continues to rely almost exclusively upon outside academics, which has primarily benefited North American or European archaeologists or researchers. The primary focus of these scholars remains their own research leaving little capacity, time, or resources to adequately train Ethiopian counterparts. Thankfully, there are noted exceptions, however, even the few, field-trained, Ethiopian archaeologist working with these teams have had minimal engagement with the broader training and understanding of framing research questions, compiling desk-based analysis, or initiating comprehensive survey, let alone engaging in proper, current field management skills, formulating data recovery plans, conducting artifact analysis, or participating in full publications of excavations. Additionally, many of these outside scholars spend only a month in Ethiopia each year, exacerbating a knowledge gap in their own development of critical, applicable theories appropriate for Ethiopia’s and Africa’s unique data sets.

Academic PhDs have substantially far less field or excavation experience or expertise in field management skills and implementation than does a modern cultural resource management (CRM) specialist, let alone an entire CRM team. Yet, the ARCCH still relies solely upon such academic professionals. As a result, the vast majority of heritage or archaeological research conducted in Ethiopia over the previous decades has, therefore, focused almost exclusively upon externally driven agendas with questions, hypothesis, theories, or data sets derived from ‘Eurocentric’ academic models rather than indigenous, social-cultural interpretations of the data. Many Ethiopian scholars and their research questions are left out of the equation.

Imagine any other institution relying purely upon academics to facilitate practice. What would result if only physicians who taught in universities were allowed to practice medicine? As it is, a whole cadre of nurses, aides, certified nurse midwives, nurse practitioners, physicians, and other healthcare professionals daily care for the majority of health needs of a nation. Cultural resource management teams fulfil the same basic roles within most heritage and archaeological management issues across the globe. Yet even after decades of ARCCH approved archaeological research and excavations, Ethiopia possesses not a single Cultural Resource Management Team. Is it any wonder Ethiopia has so little to show from its astounding archaeological record and heritage corpus? Ethiopia still gleans comparatively few copper coins from tourism while it sits atop a veritable mountain of heritage gold.

This heavy-reliance on academic institutions indicates a tremendous ignorance of the shifts in the nature of global archaeological principles and best practices over the last four decades. By implementing this archaic model, Ethiopia continues to limit indigenous opportunity and lags far behind the majority of African and other developing nations in trained professionals across all fields related to heritage, cultural resource management, conservation, and tourism development. A more thorough analysis of this critical problem can be found at: https://www.ethiopia-insight.com/2018/10/29/ethiopia-must-overhaul-archaic-heritage-system-to-protect-ancient-treasures/

A Future in Waiting

Despite such challenges, I remain optimistic. During my time in Aksum, and many subsequent visits as part of my broader research, we have identified and/or recorded new sites from the Neolithic and Da’mat (5th – 2nd cent. BCE) periods, elite structures from both Early and Classic Aksumite periods (2nd  – 6th cent. CE), a necropolis, and Portuguese fortifications (16th -17th cent.), along with an encampment of Emperor Yohannes IV (1870s). I am emboldened now, with the new leadership, to publish many of these finds, and to ask the current leadership to act boldly. All these and many other remarkable discoveries remain concealed, awaiting research.

Fortunately, even as many colleagues have moved on, we continue to plan and work toward obtaining official permits for opening up the ground for proper archaeological field excavation and training in excavation and cultural resource management skills. In Tigrai, that may still be decades off. But within other regions, it is hoped that the new authorities will find the courage and integrity to clear my name and we can all get back to the business of training field-management personnel to enhance Ethiopian capacity in cultural resource management skills.

With properly trained, competent public servants in the emerging heritage and tourism sector, Ethiopia’s cadre of new archaeologists and heritage and cultural resource management specialists will be successful in preserving and presenting Ethiopia’s rich and deep heritage. I envision the next wave of exploration, discovery, and excavation under the skillful hands and careful eyes of these trustworthy Ethiopian archaeologists and technicians. Of course, this is dependent upon the resoluteness and honesty of good people to stand against the autocratic and debilitating misinformation and obstructions of the past.

Young Ethiopian model in front of the Stelae Field (Stela No. 2) where there is rightfully much national pride related to heritage.  – (photo – SCW)

Meanwhile, along with my colleagues, a veritable panoply of scholars wait. And so does a young girl sitting in the shade of the returned ancient stela in the Stelae Park, beginning to learn what it means that she is offspring of the most powerful empire sub-Saharan Africa has ever known. And herein remains the dream—this child, and so many like her, resting in the shadow of her heritage, may soon learn to apprehend her heritage in authentic ways. She will continue to visualize her emerging story of identity, as we carefully excavate and reveal this hidden, neglected jewel of ancient splendor. We will continue our research, hopeful, where our goal remains to transmit that specialized knowledge, expertise and experience of excavation and heritage management. Then, Ethiopia may sing again of her own ancient glories to the rest of the world.

The Hidden Celestial Sanctuary of the Hittites

Eberhard Zangger (born 1958 in Kamen, Germany) is a Swiss geoarchaeologist, corporate communications consultant and publicist. Eberhard Zangger studied geology and paleontology at the University of Kiel and obtained a PhD from Stanford University in 1988. After this he was a senior research associate in the Department of Earth Sciences at the University of Cambridge (1988–91). He is currently president of the board of trustees of the international non-profit foundation Luwian Studies.

In May 2016, Luwian Studies went public with a website in German, English and Turkish. As part of its research, the foundation has systematically catalogued extensive settlement sites of the Middle and Late Bronze Age in Western Asia Minor. These sites are presented in a public database on the website. The foundation provides financial support for archaeological excavations and surveys, as well as for linguistic studies dedicated to the cultures of the Middle and Late Bronze Age in western Asia Minor.

In central Anatolia, about 150 kilometers east of Ankara, lies a remarkable archaeological site. Over 3,000 years old, the rock sanctuary of Yazılıkaya is located a few hundred meters outside the city walls of the former Hittite capital Hattuša. Since 1986 it has ranked as a UNESCO World Heritage Site. Even without this accolade it emits a unique aura. Tucked away in a group of limestone cliffs near the village of Boğazkale, the sanctuary remains virtually anonymous: its Turkish name means simply “inscribed rock.” When the French archaeologist Charles Texier visited this area for the first time in 1834, he initially saw and sketched only the ruins of the former capital. But soon the villagers also led him to the well-hidden Yazılıkaya.

A few decades before the fall of the Hittite kingdom (around 1190 BC), stonemasons of the Hittite Great King chiseled over ninety reliefs of people, animals and mythical figures into the rock massif’s two natural courtyards (Chambers A and B). The figures in Chamber A form a line of reliefs and appear much like a procession of Hittite deities. There is no doubt that these are gods, for many of them bear their name in Luwian hieroglyphic signs. Mythical creatures and chimeras are also present, including two particularly striking bull-men with their arms stretched high over their heads, carrying what looks like a bowl. Charles Texier’s drawings of these reliefs made a splash in central Europe, because no one would have expected such distinctive art in remote central Anatolia. It is different from anything known from Greece, Egypt, or Mesopotamia, even today.

Part of the sanctuary’s aura may stem from the fact that it was here that for several centuries, Hittite great kings came together with their families and senior echelons of society to celebrate special festivals. The hidden location of the chambers, their obvious importance in Hittite religion, and the pictorial representation of the most important gods of the time contribute to the fascination. Yazılıkaya can also be seen as a challenge to archaeology, because the actual function of the sanctuary has always remained enigmatic. Despite numerous attempts to explain this procession of the Hittite pantheon, the complex withstood all attempts at interpretation for nearly two centuries.

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Wall on the western inside of Chamber A with 12 identical gods (Reliefs 1–12) on the far left and Relief 34, the Sun god of the heavens, on the right. (© Luwian Studies)

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Hints Suggesting a Technical Function

The German prehistorian Jürgen Seeher, a former excavator of Hattuša, says that Yazılıkaya has kept its secret to this day. In his Hattuša Guide, and in a monograph on Yazılıkaya published in 2011, he mentions in passing that the particularly imposing relief of the Great King Tuthalija IV in Chamber A is brightly lit by the sun for only a few days around the summer solstice. This detail, and the flat walls of Chamber B (up to twelve meters high), prompted me to ask a compelling question. Did Yazılıkaya have a technical function? Although the vertical walls of Chamber B seem to be essentially of natural origin, as similar structures occur nearby, their flat surfaces were extended with ashlar masonry by the builders of the sanctuary. In addition, the two chambers were never roofed over, even though this would have been easy to do. This suggested that the course of the sun, the moon, the stars, or light-shadow-effects might well have played a role in the sanctuary’s function. Some of the relief figures also imply a reference to heaven: the Sun God of the Heavens is explicitly labeled with his name. He is proceeded by the winged moon god, who in turn follows Šauška, also depicted with wings, a deity attributed to the planet Venus. And before Šauška appears Ea, the Babylonian god of heaven. Allusions to the sky thus abound – and when I first visited the place in 2014, considering a technical function involving sky-gazing and calendar-keeping seemed quite conceivable.

Rita Gautschy, who works at the Archaeological Institute of the University of Basel, holds a doctor of science degree in both archaeology and astronomy. We agreed to join forces in search of Yazılıkaya’s possible astronomical function. Fortuitously, in 2015 the Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy appeared, edited by the eminent British professor of archaeoastronomy Clive Ruggles, and comprising almost 2,300 pages in three volumes. It includes articles by the Spanish astrophysicists Juan Antonio Belmonte and A. César González-García dealing with an astral or solar orientation of the Hittite religion. These led us to more of their publications, in which they report how they measured the alignments of temples and gates in Hattuša. These were suggested to be astronomically oriented, with a high statistical probability. Belmonte and González-García also paid particular attention to the rock sanctuary at Yazılıkaya. They found that the northern wall of the gatehouse points at the sunset during the summer solstice. As early as 1990, Juan Antonio Belmonte proposed that the twelve uniform male deities in Chamber B might well correspond to the number of lunar months in a year. What is more, the American astronomer Edwin C. Krupp had also visited Yazılıkaya, and had recognized signs of celestial elements. In his opinion, the processions represented a “cosmic narrative”. These findings by renowned archaeoastronomers encouraged us to proceed.

Temple Walls Point toward the Solstices

Summer solstice sunset alignment of the northern wall of the monumental gatehouse. (© Luwian Studies)

Soon we realized that the north wall of the last building (IV) to be constructed at Yazılıkaya was aligned with the sunset at winter solstice. The oblique arrangement of the temple buildings, erected during at least three distinct construction phases, suddenly began to make sense. The earliest building was oriented to the summer solstice, the most recent to the winter solstice. Whether their functions were symbolic or technical was still unclear. Both solstice-oriented walls, however, had in their extensions a protruding piece of natural bedrock which was evidently left intentionally by the Hittite builders. In Building IV, this boulder even contained an artificial hemispherical depression of 28 centimeters in diameter. Archaeologists interpreted this as a basin for holy water.

In order to better understand the mindset that prevailed some 3000-4000 years ago, we began reading numerous scientific treatises on Hittite religion and Babylonian astronomy. We found that of the more than 33,000 documents and fragments found in Hattuša, at least 50 deal with astronomical or astrological subjects. Accordingly, the Hittites received their knowledge of celestial regularities almost entirely from Mesopotamia. The pamphlets produced by Hattuša’s first excavator, Hugo Winckler, were particularly helpful for me. Already in 1901, Winckler proffered a hypothesis that today’s world religions had a common source in ancient Babylonian astral religion. Winckler saw an astounding number of interrelationships, but did not proceed to apply them to Yazılıkaya.

Figures Symbolize the Days of the Lunar Month

Over a period of five years, we managed to gradually develop a new model for interpreting the site. During the Bronze Age, dates were determined in principle based on the phases of the moon. The lunar month consisted of either 29 or 30 days, and it began with the first appearance of the crescent moon after the new moon. Twelve lunar months added up to 354 days – and were thus 11¼ days short of a solar year. That is why as early as the 4th millennium BC, intercalary months were commonly used. Every third year or so comprised thirteen lunar months rather than twelve. Consequently, year by year the beginning of the seasons coincided more or less with the same date in the solar year.

If the twelve uniform male deities in Chamber A reflect lunar months, it would only be logical for the next thirty figures to represent the days within a lunar month. This group of thirty deities, for the most part male, is clearly separated from the actual climactic scene in Chamber A by the long staff of the Storm God of Hatti (Relief 41). We deduced that the days (and months) were counted from right to left, as in Luwian hieroglyphic writing the reading direction always runs counter to faces and hands. If the long staff of the Storm God of Hatti marked the beginning of the lunar month, the full moon would have always coincided with the two bull-men (Reliefs 28-29). The bowl they carry actually corresponds to the hieroglyphic sign for “heaven,” which in Mesopotamia was also called the “boat of light.” So the bull-men did not indicate a crescent moon as it may seem at first sight; instead they mark the full moon. They thus highlighted the only day of the month when lunar eclipses could occur. According to Babylonian beliefs, such eclipses, if they happened unexpectedly, could potentially be harmful for the king. The priests therefore had a duty to predict such events – and thus needed a calendar.

Female Deities Indicate Solar Years

We had thus found a plausible explanation for the deities on the western side of Chamber A. But we still had no clue as to the function of the climactic scene and the procession of female deities on the chamber’s eastern side. In an attempt to come to grips with this challenge, we drew all figures of Chamber A on a single sheet. Seventeen of the female deities are almost completely preserved. All that remains of one figure is the name, and yet another female deity was discovered in 1945 in a neighboring village called Yekbas, where it was used as a building block in masonry. It is now exhibited in the museum in Boğazkale. The procession of female deities thus apparently involved a total of nineteen figures. The stonemasons had left a column of natural stone to separate a subset of eight of the female figures. Eight and nineteen are the years needed to synchronize solar years and lunar months. Greek scholars later named these two cycles octaeteris and enneadecaeteris. After 19 solar years, or 235 lunar months, or 6,940 days, the sun and moon again reach almost the same constellation in the sky. The female deities thus symbolize years.

Yazılıkaya appears to be the place where the Hittite priests kept their calendar. They most likely indicated the current day, month, and year with moving markers in the form of stone or wood columns. Proceeding in this way they could determine the most important dates of the year: New Year, the solstices, the equinoxes, and monthly festivals. After all, with the Hittites never missing an opportunity to serve one of their countless deities, the priests had the challenge of setting the dates for as many as 165 festivals per year.

Festivities for the Summer Solstice

Such an interpretation makes it easier to imagine what a festival in Yazılıkaya, like the summer solstice, may have looked like. The king and his family, accompanied by priests, would have gathered in the temple court in the late afternoon. The gatehouse would have provided, above all, an entrance for the sun goddess of Arinna to the complex. Shortly before sunset, the rays of the sun would have penetrated the gatehouse and illuminated a precisely placed (probably gold-plated) statue of the Goddess herself, thereby producing an epiphany for those attending the festival. Deeply moved by this unforgettable experience, the congregation would have stepped into Chamber A, where they would have seen the now magnificently illuminated effigy of the Great King, for the rest of the year in shadow. The sacred power of the sun goddess had thus been transferred to her earthly representative, thereby reinforcing his might.

By no means will this new interpretation put an end to the search for an explanation of Yazılıkaya. It may more likely be a first step in a new direction. Many questions remain: what exactly do the five deities of the climactic group represent? What was the function of Chamber B – and what do the deities in it depict? What was the purpose of the impressive Yerkapı structure in the uppermost part of the Upper City of Hattuša? Could there have been other, perhaps smaller and less elaborate, facilities elsewhere with a similar function to that of Yazılıkaya? After more than a hundred years of systematic exploration of Hittite culture, in many ways we still seem to be at the very beginning.

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Chamber 1 in the upper city of Ḫattuša was built to catch the light of the Sun as it sets during the winter solstice. (photo taken on 21st December, 2018 – © Luwian Studies).

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The southwestern corner of the pyramidal base of Yerkapı points towards sunset at the winter solstice. (photo taken on 21st December, 2018 – © Luwian Studies).

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3D-visualization of Building II and III (gatehouse) at Yazılıkaya showing how the object on the pedestal in the courtyard may have been illuminated during a religious service on the day of the summer solstice. 
(© Oliver Bruderer / Luwian Studies)

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Reference:

Eberhard Zangger, Rita Gautschy: “Celestial Aspects of Hittite Religion: An Investigation of the Rock Sanctuary Yazılıkaya”, Journal of Skyscape Archaeology 5.1 (2019) 1–33

Contact:

Eberhard Zangger
Luwian Studies
P.O. Box 166
8024 Zurich, Switzerland

Tel. +41 44 250 74 94
e.zangger@luwianstudies.org
www.luwianstudies.org

The Milpa Way

Richard C. Kern is an independent filmmaker and lecturer. He has worked with the National Audubon Society, Handley Management, Franklin Film Artists, National Geographic Society and Encounters in Excellence. Voted best presenter of the year for the National Geographic Film Lecture Series in 1985, he has produced numerous film scripts and award-winning films and supplied footage for nationally-broadcast TV specials. 

Western Belize, Central America — Narciso travels from his home to his planting tract by bicycle. He looks fit for a man his age and moves fluidly but not rapidly, as if he is conserving energy for the day. His machete is in his hand as we wind through a few of his hectares. This particular tract is well on its way to becoming forest again. Narciso wears rubber boots and appropriately-tattered western-style clothing. Deftly, he dings off annoying palm fronds with his lethal tool, then stops and does surgery on a tuber of some kind. He slices with an accuracy impossible from a blade so long, but suffers no wound. He smiles up at me as he delivers a forest lecture. The smile is warm and easy. Narciso is generous with his time, although there is work for him all around.

I met Narciso as I visited with Dr. Anabel Ford, an anthropologist with the University of California, Santa Barbara, and her team while traveling in western Belize. In her younger days, Dr. Ford had discovered the ancient Maya city of El Pilar, which straddles the Belize-Guatemala border. But, rather than starting to dig and restore, as most archeologists do, Dr. Ford and her team began to assess the surrounding forest for clues. They discovered that 90% of the trees around El Pilar yielded useful products such as fruits, nuts, various kinds of useful wood, fiber, and medicines. It appeared that the species that had no utility had been weeded out. The ancient Maya, Ford hypothesized, had treated their forests as gardens to be managed. With her on this day were two Maya forest gardeners named Alfonso Tzul, age 77, and Narciso Torrres, age 64. These men were our introduction to an almost pure form of environmentalism. They were not only committed to sound practice, but they fully understood the contrast between what they were doing and what was happening with the chemical and machine-based western-style agriculture going on all around them. Alfonso, in particular, was philosophical in communicating his world view. “A Maya boy goes to the river with his fishing pole,” he said, relating a favorite parable. “He is very happy when he catches a large fish that can feed his family for the day, and so he returns home. A man from the West catches a fish and right away asks himself if he could devise a method to catch many fish from the river and sell them for a profit.” At its heart is the issue of how we think about resources and to whom they belong.

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Alfonso and Narciso in their Maya forest environment. RCK

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Depicted here: Dr. Anabel Ford walks through the El Pilar Archaeological Reserve. El Pilar is the largest ancient Maya city in the Belize River area. Recent excavations have revealed some twenty-five plazas, intricate palaces, and temples. Image by RCK

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At the center of Alfonso’s and Narciso’s daily industry is each man’s own milpa, which brings to mind Ford’s book, The Maya Forest Garden, co-authored by ethnologist Ronald Nigh, in which the authors hypothesize that the ancient Maya had treated their forests as gardens to be managed. We discovered that “milpa” can refer to several things. True, it can be a corn field; but in a Maya field are likely to be many other crops interspersed among the corn stalks, especially varieties of beans and squash which, together with corn, make a diet of complete protein. Some 90 varieties of edible plants have been identified in Maya plots. This contrasts strongly with the maize monocultures of nearby mechanized farms.

Milpa, however, can also refer to a cyclical way of farming that Anabel claims goes back at least 4,000 years into ancient Maya history and is integral to her ideas. What we have condemned as “slash-and-burn” farming that destroys tropical rainforest in the Yucatan may be something far more complex and beneficial. Here’s how it works:

The farmer cuts and burns a piece of his forest. He has no way to remove all trees and stumps, so he purposely conserves them. The ash from the burned vegetation provides microelements for his crops. For about four years he plants and harvests in his milpa. This is labor intensive, for he relies on his own skill and labor instead of a plough. Rather, he uses a sharpened pole to jab holes in the ground for his seeds. I was astounded to see that crops could be grown on un-ploughed land. The Maya do this to preserve the soil biology (especially earthworms), to encourage helpful annuals to sprout and to eliminate the runoff of top soil during rains. Alfonso Tzul noted that he has never witnessed a plowed field without erosion and never seen a traditional milpa with erosion. Narciso Torres also knows that untilled land sequesters 4-5 times more carbon than ploughed land and retains more moisture for plant growth.

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Burning the forest as part of the Milpa Cycle. RCK

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The absence of ploughing by the Maya should not be overlooked. It was the use of the plough by American settlers that turned over the sod of the Great Plains. On the prairies grew many species of grasses, legumes and other perennials. Big Bluestem, for example, thrust its roots eight feet into the ground, binding the soil. Once the sod was busted, fragile annual grasses moved in, setting the stage for the Dust Bowl of the 1930s where naked top soils were picked up by the wind and carried east. A vast and complex ecosystem was lost by pure ignorance.

Our Maya forest gardener adds no commercial fertilizers to his land but will apply compost, burned debris from his fields and manures. He spends most of the day in his milpa weeding, planting and harvesting. He is satisfied in his work, excited by the cycles of life. He loves the feel and smell of the soil and, if he is a religious man like Alfonzo, he thanks God for the privilege of the intimacy he has with the land. Barring untimely heavy rains or drought, the farmer’s yield will be high, and he will have more food than he and his family can eat. Some he might take to market.

After four years, with at least two crops per year, the farmer begins to allow tree seedlings to reinvade his milpa from the surrounding forest.  He keeps what will be useful and plants among the small trees and shrubs for another eight years or until there is too much shade for his annuals. At this point his milpa has been transformed.

For another eight years the trees, growing rapidly in the tropical climate, produce a closed canopy that quickly becomes home to monkeys, parrots and other rainforest animals. Eventually the farmer has reached the 20-year mark, and the cycle can start anew.

A key to the success of the Maya forest gardener is the fact that he has tracts of land in all stages of the milpa cycle at all times. At any given time, most of his land is forested, either partially or fully. Studies show that where the milpa system is used, 66-94% of the land is covered in forest both pioneering and mature. Streams run clear since topsoils, pesticides, herbicides and fertilizers are absent from the water. Areas of the landscape that are not suitable for milpa farming such as soils high in clay, cliffs, swamps and the borders of streams are left in canopy forest, with not only trees commonly used by the Maya but the full diversity of rainforest life.

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Narciso’s milpa in transition. RCK

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In the Mexican state of Chiapas we also visited forested land managed by the Lacandon branch of the Maya not far from ancient sites like Palenque, Yaxchilan, Piedras Negras and Bonampak. Here my wife Judy and I met Victor Chambor, a young man dressed in the traditional white robe of the Lacandon. Victor proudly led us through a large tract of managed forest adjacent to his milpa while his sister Ofelia made tortillas for us on an earth-filled wooden hearth called a k’oben.

In the forest we were stunned by the towering height of the trees – some reaching over 200 ft. Victor was fully knowledgeable about all the plants and animals we saw. There were giant ceiba trees nearly eight feet in diameter just above their buttressed bases. These had been sacred to Victor’s distant ancestors who believed that the gods came to earth by way of the trees’ mighty branches. A swollen cascade pointed to how much water falls in Chiapas to account for the lushness of its rainforests, remarkable in all of Mexico. As we walked, Victor produced a cell phone which he is now using to make his guiding skills known to eco-tourists and filmmakers like us.

The Lacandon are noted for an intense version of farming called high-performance milpa that can bring maize yields of 2,800 kg per hectare, or higher. As Ford says, the Lacandon men “traditionally dedicated the greater part of their days to milpa work, in addition to hunting and gathering forest resources.” Like Alfonso, Narciso and other milperos, Victor knew the signs of when to plant and harvest each of his crops. For example, the third crop of corn is planted in May when the mahogany tree flowers. I could see that Victor’s skill and knowledge of soil and plants was so vast that it could only have been figured out through countless generations.

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Above and below, aerial view of Victor in his milpa. RCK

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Victor shows a jicama tuber in his milpa. RCK

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Victor at the cascade. RCK

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The Great Collapse?

Before I met Ford, my son Richard and I prowled books and magazines for the answer to the Maya collapse and discovered that things were still in hot debate. Most scholars have cobbled together a combination of causes, all backed up by evidence of some kind. Topping the list are overpopulation, drought when populations were high, deforestation, soil degradation, warfare and the failure of kings to solve ecological problems. We sought concrete answers in preparation for filming Rainforests of the Maya – a documentary to educate youth in the public schools of Miami. Then we encountered Ford, and our house of cards came down. We realized that she was challenging one of the main hypotheses of ancient Maya studies – that Maya civilization had collapsed largely due to environmental reasons. Furthermore, she was questioning whether the Maya had collapsed at all.

Jarred Diamond, the author of the book Collapse, claimed that the worst mistake in human history was the development of agriculture. With farming, we settled ourselves down, which accelerated our inventing, mining, and drilling. As hunter gatherers we were sustainable. As “civilized” people we were not.

One of the places where the domestication of plants and animals led to a sedentary life was in Mesoamerica. Should we be tempted to think that other cradles of civilization like Mesopotamia and Egypt were more impressive, we only have to appreciate the pyramids of Tikal and Calakmul for their immense size or the Palace at Sayil for its dazzling beauty to get an idea of the level of architecture achieved by the Maya. Their buildings and plazas were even stuccoed. (The Maya had invented a better cement than the Romans). Examine the deeply-incised door lintels at Yaxchilan, the painted murals at Bonampak or the jade death mask of Pacal, Palenque’s king, and you will see artistry that will astound you. In time, new architectural styles like Puuc and Rio Bec added pillars, towers, stucco masks, monster mouths and other ornamentations to monumental structures, while lighter roof combs at Yaxchilan and Palenque allowed for larger interior spaces and more light.

The sophisticated Mesoamerican life that evolved in the greater Yucatan from before 1000 BC until the brutal Spanish conquest was made possible by the domestication of corn, beans, squash and turkeys as well as modifications to the surrounding forests. Amazingly, the Maya had no horses or oxen for hefting loads and no cows, goats or sheep for meat. Those animals were brought to the New World by the conquistadores much later.

Despite the lack of many of the things we think are important, the Maya invented a written hieroglyphic language, created an accurate calendar based on their astronomical observations, developed the mathematical concept of zero and supported a ruling class with scribes, priests and kings. Maya kingdoms were established from western Honduras and El Salvador, to Guatemala, Belize and throughout the Mexican Yucatan.  The total Maya population probably reached well over ten million, perhaps twenty million at its peak, which is greater than the population in those areas today. Then, there were alliances between kings, and there were wars.

We know little about how the common man and woman lived. However, the Maya kings boasted of military victories by directing artisans to erect limestone slabs covered in hieroglyphs, dates and human figures. These stelae ceased around 910 AD to signal the end of the Classic Period.  Something had clearly changed. To use Jared Diamond’s term, it seemed to most archeologists that the world of the Maya had collapsed. The only question was why; and it could be said that this question became the biggest mystery in all of archeology. Today tourists look at abandoned city centers at sites like Tikal and ask “Whatever happened to the Maya?” Alphonso always replies, “Nothing happened to them. You’re talking to one.”

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Structural remains in Yaxchilan, located on the bank of the Usumacinta River in the state of Chiapas, Mexico. Before the ‘collapse’, Yaxchilan was one of the most powerful Maya states in the Late Classic Period. RCK

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Above and below, structural remains at Palenque, one of the great Maya centers before the ‘collapse’. RCK

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Palenque: Detail of stela with hieroglyphs. RCK

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The massive pyramid at Calakmul, one of the great Maya centers before the ‘collapse’. RCK

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An Alternative Hypothesis

The facts gathered by Ford and Nigh as presented in The Maya Forest Garden argue strongly against the deforestation hypothesis commonly held today and paint a much more favorable picture of the Maya as examples of sustainability.

But as Ford has surmised, the knowledge of the Maya forest gardeners is a treasure that can easily be lost as older farmers pass away. It is happening now. The Maya know, as few people do, how to live sustainably with very few products from the outside world. Alfonso is saddened that he does not see an interest in his own children to pursue the life he is living. It is hard to disagree with Ford that the tremendous knowledge of the Maya master farmers, the results of thousands of years of trial and error, should not be treated lightly in a world searching for answers to environmental health and sustainability.

If, as Ford and Nigh claim, the ancient Maya used sustainable farming methods and did not suffer an environmental collapse, we must ask again: What did happen to impact a culture so grand that it could have left behind such an impressive archeological record?

We know that the Maya, sickened by European diseases, fought for their lands with the Spanish in the 1500s. The farmers still practiced the milpa cycle at that time, according to Ford and Nigh. Written works and ceremonial relics were destroyed. The Spaniards finally subdued the last Maya kingdom around Lake Peten Itza in 1697. Yet something did happen with the major centers of the Classic Period, well before the Spanish arrived. What Ford and others like her are suggesting is a political breakdown rather than an environmental one. The peasants, those doing the farming and the building, may have grown weary with the heavy conscription of their labor to build pyramids that simply paid homage to their kings. Hubris undoubtedly ran high as rulers, regaled in their jaguar skins and the colorful feathers of quetzals and parrots, sought to outdo one another. Routinely, they reconstructed the pyramids of former kings to make pyramids of their own. Costly wars, too, were matters of royal pride. The commoners may have ultimately rejected a regime of war and pomp.

Additionally, when periods of climate chaos came and the blood-letting rituals of kings and queens or the sacrificing of their wartime captives had no effect in reversing dire conditions brought on by deluge or drought, the people may have decided that they could do without their nobles, their wars and the pyramids that looked grand but could not fulfill their basic needs. During the eighth, ninth and tenth centuries, it seems that the pattern of powerful city states gradually reverted to small farms without ruling elites. The working classes shouldered on to live in a new way, only to be decimated by Spanish diseases five centuries later.

Anabel Ford and her forest gardeners would say that the great Maya civilization of the Classic Period never did collapse — it simply transformed. 

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Dr. Anabel Ford has spent decades exploring and researching at El Pilar. RCK

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