Here is the article introducing yet another large Mayan urban center stumbled upon in the jungle through the use of LIDAR technology.
As the authors say in their Conclusion,
As archaeologists work to document and characterise ancient settlement systems throughout the tropics, local scale ‘dense pasts’ are proliferating. It is increasingly clear that dense palimpsests of human modification are not exceptional in these settings, despite long-standing biases that presumed them to be. The field of archaeology now confronts the twin tasks of understanding how these settlement palimpsests accrued through time, and of charting how they varied across space—the better to appreciate just how crowded tropical antiquity may have been.
Luke Auld-Thomas et. al., published online by Cambridge University Press, Oct. 29 2024
This expectation that, when we see a sparsely populated tropical jungle, it has always been a sparsely populated tropical jungle, is coming from a perfect storm of factors.
For one thing, there is the evolutionary picture of human history, which asserts that people started out, as, essentially, animals, and then became hunter-gatherers before, after a long, agonizing process, we developed agriculture and then all our technology flowed from that. This is over against the picture presented in Genesis, where man develops civilization right away. Christians who take their Bibles seriously might have resisted this false evolutionary picture of human history, but they’ve been few and far between. We were just too intimidated. But archaeological discoveries like this one are continually confirming Genesis.
Secondly, we have the Rousseauian idea of the “noble savage.” Rousseau just comes right out and says that, although history does not show it happening this way, he’s just going to assert that all people started out in a utopian “state of nature,” that only became corrupted when we came up with the horrible, destructive idea of Private Property. (Rousseau is, of course, not the only one who has painted this picture of history.) He also says that people living in a “state of nature,” without clothes, medicine, or a reliable diet due to agriculture, would be stronger and more healthy than people living in civilization. This attractive and totally erroneous picture has led a lot of explorers and anthropologists to expect–nay, hope for–small populations of noble hunter-gatherers, rather than civilizations, in what to them constituted the far-flung corners of the world. (“We don’t have any Noble Savages in Europe, but they must exist somewhere!”)
The third factor is physical. Outsiders (and even locals) didn’t see the Mayan cities because they were literally hard to see. The jungle grows over the ruins and destroys them to boot. Even this LIDAR data wasn’t immediately obvious and had to be looked at by an archaeologist who knew what to look for.
This other article speculates that “climate change” might have been responsible for the downfall of the Mayan civilization. (I guess that’s their interpretation of the original article’s use of the word “drought.”) What we know from history is that the collapse of civilizations is usually owing to a long process and multiple external and internal factors, and that like bankruptcy, it happens gradually, then suddenly. In the case of the Maya, besides the drought and perhaps disease that had filtered its way over from Europe, I might name internal warfare, the neighboring Aztec Empire, and oh yes–the human sacrifice.
There’s a reason I’m posting about this book on Feb. 14.
It does something that I want to do with my novels.
It takes the feeling that I get when hearing about bog burials, stone circles, cave paintings — and amplifies it.
Did I mention that I love it?
I’ll be posting quotations from this book throughout the month of February. The one I posted two days ago – To The Air – could have been written about the scene in The Long Guest where the family cremates … well, I won’t give it away. It was trying for the same thing as that scene, or vice versa. But I mostly posted it for that evocative last line.
you died horribly but are beautiful,
sleeping face and pointed cap and perfect feet,
a peat cutter’s slash dug into your back
but preserved as none of your captors are —
though what a price for immortality.
–from Tollund Man, p. 39
If you’ve ever seen a picture of Tollund Man, this is exactly it.
I haven’t yet read every poem in Bone Antler Stone. They require close attention, and some of them are not short. But every so often I’ll dip into it, and find gems like this one:
The sun sets into the sea with a hiss
and rises with the sound of a driven wheel,
the creak of speaking stone, metal and wood.
The sun sets into the sea to simmer
and rises with the sound of stretched leather
and the song of the horse’s chain and bit.
ibid, p. 23
The idea of the solar system as a great big machine, perhaps made of hoops or wheels, that is alluded to in that first stanza is actually very close to how some ancient cultures conceived of the cosmos.
The last poem in the collection shows the author leaving Orkney, where he went to view the burials, with a friend who is named Pytheas for some reason. This poem raises the thought that not everyone is going to “get” a book of poems like this one.
The price to pay for a place like that,
the price to pay for poems like these…
our intensity is terrifying or just tiresome,
and so the dead and the damp doubleback
into just another of our silent, stone secrets.
It the compares the book itself to a barrow burial waiting to be discovered at the right moment:
So Pytheas proceeded in reply,
assuring me that for us, and for ours,
there was only the odd look, the old look, the awed look,
but rarely the real look of revelation,
or the consolation of having communicated.
And so the motive was to make meaning and memory
a kind of barrow burial in bloom
a garlanded grave underground
forged with turf and stone and fire and then forgotten,
Welcome to February! This February, instead of doing a bunch of posts about the gooey stuff (after all, we already read a Barbara Cartland), I’ll be doing posts about stuff I love. I hope you will love it too, and that these posts and the resources they direct you to, will bring joy to your bleak February.
If you have not seen the debate below, you are missing a treat. It may be the most entertaining debate in history, at least for those who have any interest in the Bible, ancient history, or textual criticism.
It’s two hours long, but you could just watch the first hour and be entertained. Or, you could watch it in half-hour snippets for your nightly giggle. Then it would be sort of like watching a reality show, if one of the participants on the reality show was an adult who knew what they were talking about.
Billy Carson, a prominent YouTuber who pushes a Gnostic/neopagan version of the Bible, monologues until fact-checked by an extremely patient Wes Huff, an actual New Testament textual scholar. The moderator interrupts periodically to ramble about how much he loves Jesus because Jesus got rid of all the old sexism.
No matter who has just spoken or how long a turn they have taken, Huff manages to give them a response that is calm, respectful, and adds actual biblical knowledge to what they have just said.
Deep in Montana’s remote wilderness lies the Sage Wall, a stunning megalithic structure composed of massive granite blocks intricately stacked in a straight line extending 275 feet (84 meters). Reaching up to 25 feet (8 meters) high, with some blocks weighing 91 tons, it is believed that the wall continues an additional 15 feet underground. This unique formation appears to have precise, interlocking stones resembling ancient masonry found worldwide.
Despite its remarkable features, the Sage Wall remained hidden for centuries, covered by dense foliage on private land owned by Christopher Borton and Linda Welsh. Its discovery occurred when the landowners cleared their heavily forested property, revealing the wall and sparking scientific interest.
These paragraphs are taken from the article linked below:
It turns out that I have been sitting practically on the doorstep of a potential bucket list item!
If I had money and could travel, my destinations would be all the remarkable archeological sites in the world, particularly the ones that seem to partake of what appears to have been a worldwide megalithic culture. As I have pointed out before on this very blog, new examples of these are discovered almost yearly. Anyway, this site in Montana is one that I could actually be in a position to check out.
There are other sites in Montana that some believe are intentionally erected dolmens, and others believe are natural rock formations. Sage Wall, if it really is as it appears in the picture above, looks suspiciously manmade and highly similar to sites such as Sacsayhuaman in Peru. However, I realize that anyone who takes it as a given that there was never an ancient megalithic culture in North America will argue that Sage Wall is just a natural formation, and that rock does sometimes tend to fracture this way, as demonstrated by formations like Sage Wall.
The best way to deal with this is to see it in person.
This post is about how we got our Christmas trees. For the record, I would probably still have a Christmas tree in the house even if it they were pagan in origin. (I’ll explain why in a different post, drawing on G.K. Chesterton.) But Christmas trees aren’t pagan. At least, not entirely.
My Barbarian Ancestors
Yes, I had barbarian ancestors, in Ireland, England, Friesland, and probably among the other Germanic tribes as well. Some of them were headhunters, if you go back far enough. (For example, pre-Roman Celts were.) All of us had barbarian ancestors, right? And we love them.
St. Boniface was a missionary during the 700s to pagan Germanic tribes such as the Hessians. At that time, oak trees were an important part of pagan worship all across Europe. You can trace this among the Greeks, for example, and, on the other side of the continent, among the Druids. These trees were felt to be mystical, were sacred to the more important local gods, whichever those were, and were the site of animal and in some cases human sacrifice.
God versus the false gods
St. Boniface famously cut down a huge oak tree on Mt. Gudenberg, which the Hessians held as sacred to Thor.
Now, I would like to note that marching in and destroying a culture’s most sacred symbol is not commonly accepted as good missionary practice. It is not generally the way to win hearts and minds, you might say.
The more preferred method is the one Paul took in the Areopagus, where he noticed that the Athenians had an altar “to an unknown god,” and began to talk to them about this unknown god as someone he could make known, even quoting their own poets to them (Acts 17:16 – 34). In other words, he understood the culture, knew how to speak to people in their own terms, and in these terms was able to explain the Gospel. In fact, a city clerk was able to testify, “These men have neither robbed temples nor blasphemed our goddess” (Acts 19:37). Later (for example, in Ephesus) we see pagan Greeks voluntarily burning their own spellbooks and magic charms when they convert to Christ (Acts 19:17 – 20). This is, in general, a much better way. (Although note that later in the chapter, it causes pushback from those who were losing money in the charm-and-idol trade.)
However, occasionally it is appropriate for a representative of the living God to challenge a local god directly. This is called a power encounter. Elijah, a prophet of ancient Israel, staged a power encounter when he challenged 450 priests of the pagan god Baal to get Baal to bring down fire on an animal sacrifice that had been prepared for him. When no fire came after they had chanted, prayed, and cut themselves all day, Elijah prayed to the God of Israel, who immediately sent fire that burned up not only the sacrifice that had been prepared for Him, but also the stones of the altar (I Kings chapter 18). So, there are times when a power encounter is called for.
A wise missionary who had traveled and talked to Christians all over the world once told me, during a class on the subject, that power encounters tend to be successful in the sense of winning people’s hearts only when they arise naturally. If an outsider comes in and tries to force a power encounter, “It usually just damages relationships.” But people are ready when, say, there had been disagreement in the village or nation about which god to follow, and someone in authority says, “O.K. We are going to settle this once and for all.”
That appears to be the kind of power encounter that Elijah had. Israel was ostensibly supposed to be serving their God, but the king, Ahab, had married a pagan princess and was serving her gods as well. In fact, Ahab had been waffling for years. There had been a drought (which Ahab knew that Elijah — read God — was causing). Everyone was sick of the starvation and the uncertainty. Before calling down the fire, Elijah prays, “Answer me, O LORD, answer me, so these people will know that you, O LORD, are God, and that you are turning their hearts back again.” (I Kings 18:37)
Similar circumstances appear to have been behind Boniface’s decision to cut down the great oak tree. In one of the sources I cite below, Boniface is surrounded by a crowd of bearded, long-haired Hessian chiefs and warriors, who are watching him cut down the oak and waiting for Thor to strike him down. When he is able successfully to cut down the oak, they are shaken. “If our gods are powerless to protect their own holy places, then they are nothing” (Hannula p. 62). Clearly, Boniface had been among them for some time, and the Hessians were already beginning to have doubts and questions, before the oak was felled.
Also note that, just as with Elijah, Boniface was not a colonizer coming in with superior technological power to bulldoze the Hessians’ culture. They could have killed him, just as Ahab could have had Elijah killed. A colonizer coming in with gunboats to destroy a sacred site is not a good look, and it’s not really a power encounter either, because what is being brought to bear in such a case is man’s power and not God’s.
And, Voila! a Christmas Tree
In some versions of this story, Boniface “gives” the Hessians a fir tree to replace the oak he cut down. (In some versions, it miraculously sprouts from the spot.) Instead of celebrating Winter Solstice at the oak tree, they would now celebrate Christ-mass (during Winter Solstice, because everyone needs a holiday around that time) at the fir tree. So, yes, it’s a Christian symbol.
Now, every holiday tradition, laden with symbols and accretions, draws from all kinds of streams. So let me hasten to say that St. Boniface was not the only contributor to the Christmas tree. People have been using trees as objects of decoration, celebration, and well-placed or mis-placed worship, all through history. Some of our Christmas traditions, such as decorating our houses with evergreen and holly boughs, giving gifts, and even pointed red caps, come from the Roman festival of Saturnalia. This is what holidays are like. This is what symbols are like. This is what it is like to be human.
Still, I’d like to say thanks to St. Boniface for getting some of my ancestors started on the tradition of the Christmas tree.
Bonus rant, adapted from a discussion I had …
... in a YouTube comments section with a Hebraic-roots Christian who was insisting that Christmas is a “pagan” holiday:
So, as we can see, the evergreen tree is a Christian symbol, not a pagan one, and has been from the very beginning of its usage. St. Boniface cut down the tree that was sacred to Thor, and that was an oak tree, not a Christmas tree. Sacred oaks are pagan. Christmas trees, which incidentally are not actually considered sacred, are Christian.
Yes, I am aware, as are most Christians, that Jesus was probably not actually born on Dec. 25th. Yes, I am aware that Yule was originally a pagan feast time.
But let’s look at the symbolism, shall we?
For those of us who live in northern climes, and especially before the industrial revolution, the winter solstice is the scariest time of the year. The light is getting less and less, and the weather is getting worse and worse, and all in all, this is the time of year when winter officially declares war on humanity. Winter comes around every year. It kills the sick and weak. It makes important activities like travel and agriculture impossible. It makes even basic activities, like getting water, washing things, bathing, and going to the bathroom anywhere from inconvenient to actually dangerous to do without freezing to death. If winter never went away, then we would all surely die. That is a grim but undeniable fact. Read To Build A Fire by Jack London, and tremble.
Thus, people’s vulnerability before winter is both an instance and a symbol of our vulnerable position before all the hardships and dangers in this fallen world, including the biggie, death. And including, because of death, grief and sorrow.
Yule is a time of dealing with these realities and of waiting for them to back off for another year. After the solstice, the days slowly start getting longer again. The light is coming back. Eventually, it will bring warmth with it. Eventually, life.
Thus, it is entirely appropriate that when the Germanic tribes became Christians, they picked the winter solstice as the time to celebrate Jesus’ birth. He is, after all, the light of the world. A little, tiny light – a small beginning – had come into the bitter winter of the sad, dark world, and it was the promise of life to come. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it. All this biblical, very Hebrew symbolism answers beautifully the question raised by the European pagans’ concern with the sun coming back.
Our ancestors were not “worshipping pagan gods” at Christmas. They were welcoming Christ (who is the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob) into the heart of their culture. They were recognizing that He was the light, using terms they knew, which were Germanic terms, and this is not surprising because they were Germans.
So, if you want to make the case that no holidays are lawful for Christians except those prescribed in the Old Testament for Israel, be my guest. Try to find some Scriptures to back that up. And maybe you can. But you cannot make that case by accusing people who put up a Christmas tree of worshipping pagan gods. All you’ll do then is reveal yourself to be historically ignorant.
And now to Rome, as always in December, came the Saturnalia.
“Io! Saturnalia!” That was the call that ushered in the merriest holiday of the Roman year — that hilarious, glorious, mid-December festival, the Saturnalia.
“Io! Saturnalia! Io! Io! Io!” That was the greeting that echoed through the holiday season. For it was in honor of Saturn — good, old, generous Saturn, kindest and most provident of the gods.
During those mid-December days (first three, later seven) no war was ever declared, nor battles fought, no criminals tried or punished. Courts were closed; schools dismissed; even the slave markets were shut down. During those days, all slaves were free [just] as in those golden days of old, all people had been equal. Everyone, rich, poor, young and old joined in a glorious holiday.
The day began with a sacrifice of thanksgiving in the early morning, followed by a public feast at midday, which turned into a wild, hilarious carnival before evening. In red pointed caps and colored costumes, merrymakers went singing and laughing through the streets, showering wheat and barley like confetti, and granting every wish, no matter how wild, ridiculous, or disgusting, made by the lucky one who had been chosen “King of the Saturnalia.”
The weeks ahead were always filled with preparation. Candlemakers and makers of dolls were busy pouring wax, turning out little earthenware images, and setting up booths for the doll fair. Every child would want a doll, and every household would need many candles for the Saturnalia.
Holly branches, with their bright berries, had to be cut and carted into the city, and houses trimmed with evergreen. Gifts for the family and friends must be selected and wrapped. For on the second day, after a family dinner of roast young pig, with all the trimmings, came an exchange of presents!
Augustus Caesar’s World: 44 BC to AD 14 by Genevieve Foster, Beautiful Feet Books, 1947, 1975, pp. 56 – 58
The following account has been brought to my attention three times in the last forty-eight hours, so I guess I’d better pay attention.
The Gadarene region was Greek, not Jewish, in culture. There were a lot of pigs. There was a lot of paganism. People understood power. They knew there were things out there beyond their control or ken.
Jesus and his disciples landed on these shores in their fishing boat. I am not sure why they made this decision. It’s possible that they were blown there by the recent storm and needed to touch land and regroup.
Almost as soon as they disembarked (“immediately,” Peter says, telling the tale to John Mark), they encounter the scariest sight any of them have ever seen: the town demoniac.
Peter gives us some background, which apparently was well-known to the people in area. This man “had an unclean spirit.” The local people had tried to “tame him,” but they couldn’t do it. With paranormal strength, he would break through any chains put on him. (Demons are quite reckless with the bodies of their human hosts.) He had it so bad that he couldn’t live around people. But he didn’t go far. Night and day, they could hear him screaming in the hills that surrounded the town and in the graveyard, his home base. He was apparently naked (because later, he is “clothed”), and he would cut himself with stones.
It breaks the imagination, what this man must have suffered.
The demons for some reason were attracted to the sight of Jesus stepping on their shores. The man runs up to Jesus, falls on his knees, and screams, “Why can’t you leave me alone, son of the most high God? Swear to God that you won’t torture me!”
Jesus, the only sane person in this story, asks a simple, human question. “What’s your name?”
He was asking the man, but the demons answer: “Legion, for we are many.” (This would later prove to be really really true.)
Jesus, unfazed, tells the demons to come out of the man. And they begin to bargain. I’m not sure why they thought this was possible. Was it because they were gods in their own country? Was it because there were so many of them? At any rate, rather than be banished from that region, the demons get Jesus to agree that they can go into a nearby herd of two thousand pigs.
There were enough of them to possess the entire herd.
The pigs, unable to handle what this poor man had been going through, panicked and “ran violently down a steep place into the sea” and drowned.
The swineherds, understandably horrified, went for help. By the time the people of the region had been summoned from their homes and fields and made their way to the beach, the formerly demon-possessed man was “sitting, and clothed, and in his right mind.” Jesus, still bringing the sanity and relief, had apparently rustled up clothing for him from somewhere. (One of His or His disciplines’ spare cloaks, perhaps, from the boat?) This man’s body no doubt still bore the scars of the harrowing life he had been leading. He was probably still fragile. Did he even remember the months or years he had lost to demon possession? We don’t know. But he was near Jesus.
The Gadarene people were freaked out. There were a bunch of dead pigs washing up on the beach. They were confronted with the disorienting sight of the madman’s face now looking sane. And, though they might not have known exactly what Jesus was, He clearly represented a dangerous power. They pleaded with Him to leave their region.
The delivered man, for obvious reasons, wanted to go with Jesus. But Jesus told him to go back and “tell your friends the great things the Lord has done for you.” Perhaps, during the time it took the swineherds to bring the townspeople, Jesus had been interviewing the man, finding out about relationships he had before disaster befell him fully. And this man was not a Jew, and would find it difficult to live on the west side of the sea. Going back to his old life might be hard, but going anywhere else would be a lot harder. He followed Jesus’ instructions.
This story would have been a very different horror story had Jesus not been present.
For those in the back seats, Gobekli Tepe is an archaeological site in Turkey that I love for many reasons. It clearly partakes of the ancient megalithic culture that seems to have been worldwide (why? and how???). It has been dated to about 9000 B.C., which we must take with the usual grain of salt, but according to the people dating it, this was before the discovery of agriculture, the wheel, etc. Yet it employs circles, equilateral triangles, and other such evidence of having been built by mathematically capable people. For those new to Out of Babel Books, we frequently post about how wrong conventional archaeology appears to be about when and how civilization arose among human beings. If you click through to this article, you will see them struggling with that a bit.
The article also has some entertaining turns of phrase, for example: “In the end, searching for answers concerning motives and reasons from such an ancient time involves a great deal of speculation, since we cannot go back in time and probe the perpetrators.” Yes, that does sound like an unpleasant process for everyone involved.
The main reason I’ve included this link is the new-to-me information that Gobekli Tepe means “potbelly hill,” which I find charming. And it turns out the hill had a “belly button,” which was actually a sign that the hill was not natural, but had this temple buried below. Which I find creepy, like the whole site is creepy.
Besides “have we been completely wrong about the history of agriculture?,” the other question this article raises is “Why was Gobekli Tepe apparently deliberately buried?”
Why does one bury a thing? Particularly, why does one bury a statue, an idol, a god?
While acknowledging that we don’t know, the article references other instances of “de-sacralizing,” such as when an altar is no longer in use and we don’t want to pose a danger to anyone who might blunder upon it. They also reference the defaced and buried giant heads found in the Olmec region. If a statue is defaced, such as those heads are, we can reasonably guess that it, or its people, got conquered or overthrown by someone else, who wanted to humiliate the statue and rob it of its power. There are cases in the Old Testament where a king or someone else leading a reform not only defaces the pagan altars but defiles them (e.g., turning them into public toilets), so that no more honor may go to that god or goddess.
I don’t know whether the large stones at Gobekli Tepe were defaced. In every photograph I’ve seen of them, they appear to be not only intact, but still standing, as if they were buried so as to preserve them. But it’s possible that the archaeologists are the ones who set them upright again. Still, it’s customary when destroying an enemy’s temple to “leave no stone upon another.” So, unless a lot more reconstruction than I realized has been done under Potbelly Hill, I’m thinking the temple was buried for some other reason. I’m with the authors of the article on this one: We can’t tell what went down, but we can infer that it was probably not good.
Out of Babel Books 