By Kevin Cullen
What is death? This perplexing question is perhaps one of the greatest mysteries and inevitabilities of the universe. What began in the chemical chaos of celestial origins about 13.7 billion years ago (Kirshner 2004), has resulted in an ever-expanding explosion of energy. This explosion of energy and the many manifestations of organic matter that resulted also rendered the great dichotomy of interstellar life and death. Naturally, this unpredictable yet sordid tango of life and death is manifested on our own young planet, though on a much more intimate scale. The previous topic of this forum dealt with the former theme; the latter is what I shall attempt to articulate anthropologically. More specifically, this articulation of death will be focused through the lens of archaeology, a discipline quite familiar with death on human terms.
One can tackle this immense question from a variety of vantage points and disciplines; however, in the end, most will inevitably come to the same conclusion that the human species is, as far as we can tell, unique in being aware of its own mortality. As a result, we as humans eventually have to accept our fate that one day life as we know it will end. How this end occurs depends on circumstance, sometimes within our control, but for the most part it is beyond our control. Death may come naturally in due time, by accident, taken voluntarily in desperation, or inflicted upon others. Yet, how the living ultimately come to terms with and memorialize the loss of loved ones, even those of no relation, has left an indelible impression on the physical and metaphysical landscapes throughout time and across cultures.
The archaeological record is littered with the bones of our ancestors that provide evidence of their ultimate demise, whether by passive or aggressive means. These human remains or associated burial goods can give us a tremendous amount of information about the deceased individual, as well as the broader culture and environment they belonged to. Take for instance the case of one of our earliest human ancestors known as the Taung Child. This fossilized child's skull was found encased in a limestone quarry in South Africa in 1924 (Fagan 1996:31). After the skull was examined by the renowned paleoanthropologist Raymond Dart, it was identified as a new ancestral human species Australopithecus africanus, which was subsequently dated to 2.5 million years old. Further analysis of the Taung Child indicated that it was likely 3-years-old at the time of its death. It stood 3' 6" and was approximately 20-24 pounds. Recent examination of a hole in the child's skull and damage to the eye socket has indicated that the child was likely killed by a nonhuman predator, specifically a raptor, like an eagle or a similar predatory bird. This evidence is substantiated by similar damage patterns found on the skulls of primates known to have been killed by modern eagles (Sanders, et al. 2003).
As our species evolved and developed technology to defend ourselves from both human and nonhuman predation, evidence of human-induced violence in the archaeological record becomes more widespread. For instance, evidence of human aggression toward our own kind became vividly apparent in 1991 with the discovery of the so-called Iceman (affectionately known as Ötzi), who was found by a group of climbers in alpine ice along the border of Austria and Italy. After a team of archaeologists analyzed the frozen body, the Iceman was dated to the Bronze Age (circa 3300 BC). In addition to well-preserved animal skin clothing, the Iceman wore a belt with an attached pouch around his waist, which contained a scraper, drill, flint flake, bone arrow, and a dried fungus to be used as tinder. In 2001, X-rays and a CT scans revealed that Ötzi had a stone arrowhead lodged in one shoulder when he died, which matched a small tear on his cloak. Further analysis found that the arrow's shaft had been removed before death, and close examination of the body found bruises and cuts to the hands, wrists, and chest, as well as evidence of blunt-force trauma to the head (Rollo et al. 2002). It is now believed that Ötzi had likely fled to the mountains after escaping a conflict situation, where he eventually bled to death from the arrow in his shoulder.
Further evidence of human aggression in the archaeological record can be seen in numerous examples of well-preserved bodies in the bogs of northern Europe and the
Archaeological evidence of less sinister death rites are just as ubiquitous as those exhibiting sacrificial qualities. For example, a recent double burial excavated by Italian archaeologist Elena Menotti near Verona, Italy contradicts the matrimonial trope 'til death do thee part. In what has been dubbed the Romeo and Juliet of prehistory, a male and female skeleton dated to the Neolithic period (ca. 6000-5000 BC) were buried facing one another with interlocked arms, embracing for eternity. While burials of this type are very rare, it nevertheless clearly shows the depth of human compassion throughout time. Of course, the irony in this case is that the city of Verona is where Shakespeare set the famous story of Romeo and Juliet.
In each example, these discoveries were by accident, without any indication or provocation that a deceased human was buried there. While many burials may not have had a grave marker to denote their location in the earth, others leave little doubt as to the presence of the dead in our midst. Such evidence is indicative of social stratification within the societies under examination. The visibility of many of these archaeological sites built to memorialize and venerate the deceased are exceedingly vivid throughout the world. Some are as simple as a single stone placed on the ground; others are ostentatious monuments venerating the deceased elite. One only has to conjure images of the imposing pyramids on Egypt's Giza Plateau. The most impressive of these is the pyramid of Khufu, the pharaoh for whom it was built (ca. 2560 BC), which is the sole survivor of the original seven wonders of the ancient world. The amount of manpower needed to erect this mausoleum is mind-boggling and its enigmatic construction methods are still being reconstructed (Levy 2005).
Another example of monumental architecture around the same time is the site of Stonehenge. Located on the Salisbury plain of southwestern England, this massive stone circle underwent several phases of building throughout its history, the most impressive of which came when the inner circle of blue stones were transported over 250 miles from the Welsh mountains around 2600 BC. Recent analysis and reinterpretation by archaeologists of this henge, as well as others in the vicinity, suggests that Stonehenge was a monument dedicated to the dead. Fifty-two cremations and hundreds of other burials have been uncovered at Stonehenge, which suggests it was a sacred space reserved for special rituals honoring the dead during prescribed times of the year (Alexander 2008:50).
Similar evidence of ritual architecture built to memorialize the deceased can be found in this hemisphere. A few summers ago, my wife and I spent several weeks traveling throughout southern Mexico, Guatemala, and Belize, with the intention of visiting the impressive limestone cities of the ancient Maya. At each site, I was awestruck by the immense size and organized design these urban Mayan centers evoked, particularly those structures devoted to the memory of their celebrated kings. Whether it was the tomb of Pakal (AD 603-683) inside the temple of inscriptions at Palenque or Ah Cacau’s (AD 682-734) great pyramid at Tikal, all spoke to the great labor and immense sacrifice it took to create an eternal shrine to their dead kings, not to mention the enormous amount of disposable wealth buried in their tombs.
In North America, this phenomenon of building permanent memorials to the dead was also widely practiced by prehistoric cultures. The large earthen mounds of the Hopewell (ca. 100 BC to AD 500) and Mississippian (AD 1000-1600) cultures of the Ohio and Mississippi River valleys have long been a source of public intrigue and archaeological inquiry. Take for example the burial of a high-status individual in Mound 72 at the enormous Mississippian metropolis of Cahokia, located in what is now East St. Louis. Excavations of the mound by UWM professor Dr. Melvin L. Fowler (who passed away this September) beginning in the 1970s revealed more than 250 skeletons buried in this small mound; however, one particular burial was of great importance. This male individual was buried on a bed of 20,000 marine-shell disc beads arranged in the shape of a falcon or eagle, while located near him were several retainers with grave goods accompanying them. Among these grave goods were several hundred arrow points of very fine craftsmanship, separated into distinct categories that suggest a relationship between Cahokia and areas as far away as southern Illinois, Oklahoma, Tennessee, and Wisconsin (Emerson and Lewis 1999; Fowler 1973).
Archaeological evidence of social stratification closer to home can be seen at the site of Aztalan, located near Lake Mills between Madison and Milwaukee on the Crawfish River. This site represents a satellite community of Cahokia, built atop an earlier Woodland Period village around AD 1100 (Bermingham and Goldstein 2006). Excavations at Aztalan in the 1920s and 1930s by Samuel A. Barrett of the Milwaukee Public Museum uncovered the remains of what came to be known as the “princess burial.” Much like the mound 72 burial at Cahokia, the princess burial was a female in her early twenties adorned with nearly 2,000 perforated disk-shaped clam shells, several of which were imported from the Gulf coast. These shells were part of a series of three shell- and bead-laden garments that had been wrapped around the woman (Barrett 1933). This evidence, in comparison to many of the other human remains found at Aztalan, allude to a conscious effort of the living to portray status differentiation both in life and death.
Modern examples of portraying wealth in death can be found in cemeteries across this country. Whether they are large granite obelisks, neoclassical-inspired tombs, or modest headstones, all speak to humankind's innate desire to memorialize our deceased in prescribed areas dedicated to the dead and punctuated with permanent epitaphs to their legacies here on Earth. As the modern multibillion-dollar death industry adapts to changing cultural idiosyncrasies in disposing of our dead (Laderman 2003), its physical patterns will be manifested in the future archaeological record and, as a result, reflect our attitudes towards mortality.
The roots of our ancestral human tree are widespread across this world and articulated throughout the archaeological record. This articulation will continue to become more refined as new evidence and improved technology provide a clearer image of the distant past and the many manifestations of life and death here on Earth. By learning from our deceased ancestors we can learn a great deal about social interaction, disease, nutrition, and the environment in the past. While there are countless archaeological examples one can draw from to articulate this point, certain themes are nevertheless consistent throughout time. Death is infinite yet finite, permanent yet fleeting, intangible yet certain. How we meet it is a matter of circumstance; how we honor it is a matter of cultural convention.
Kevin Cullen is an archaeology associate at Discovery World at Pier Wisconsin.
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