It's a Jumble Out There

From Thai fajitas to the Techno Bra, the incoherence of everyday life.


Illustration by Matthew Martin
 

 

 

SOMETIME later this year a three-ton slab of bluestone will complete a 240-mile journey from Mynachlogddu, in western Wales, to the ring of Stonehenge, on Salisbury Plain, in Wiltshire, England. Mynachlogddu is where some of Stonehenge's raw material is thought to have been quarried, 4,000 years ago, and archaeologists have proposed various theories to explain how the megaliths were transported. The current journey -- a demonstration of one of these theories -- involves a wooden sledge, runners made of tree trunks, two replicas of a Neolithic currach, a lot of rope, and teams of volunteers working in shifts (but not in animal skins). The volunteers began their exertions last April, dragging the bluestone slab about a mile a day for several weeks. At Milford Haven the megalith embarked by water for England. It sank and was recovered, and the journey resumed. By the time the slab gets to Stonehenge, the teams will have invested some 30,000 man-hours in the endeavor. "We still don't know exactly how they did it," a spokesperson for the organizing group explained, referring to the ancient Britons who somehow moved the megaliths. She added, "We will only be using information available at the time."
The Mynachlogddu-to-Stonehenge trek continues a long tradition of experimental archaeology, with intrepid researchers exploring historical mysteries and putting speculative solutions to the test. Admiral Samuel Eliot Morison, a skilled navigator, sought to reconstruct the voyages of Columbus. The Norwegian adventurer Thor Heyerdahl ventured out in leaky facsimiles of primitive vessels to demonstrate the seafaring capacities of ancient Polynesians and Egyptians. Today, in quieter corners of academe, scholars try to duplicate lost techniques of farming and manufacturing and craftsmanship.

Such projects may vary in value, but overall they serve as a pointed reminder of just how much seemingly basic information about the past has somehow disappeared. The exact recipe for the mortar used in the pyramids remains a matter of debate. So does the age of the Sphinx and the cause of the death of King Tut (he may have been murdered). There is no agreement on whether the ancient Greeks and Romans read silently to themselves, or only aloud. Those famous Paleolithic figurines of Rubenesque women: are they fertility icons carved by men or self-portraits carved by pregnant women? Both schools of thought have forceful advocates. Which came first, the domestication of the horse or the invention of the wheel? Did Homo erectus have language or the control of fire? Did some real calamity provide a basis for the biblical story of the Flood? The answers to all of the above are in dispute.

And these are just the narrow, focused questions. The maw of our ignorance yawns pitilessly when it comes to bigger issues, such as why Rome fell, or what feudalism really was, or how capitalism came to develop.

 

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All of which prompts one to wonder: will our own time be any easier for historians to puzzle out? The written records we leave behind will be far more abundant, although interpretation will be as much of a problem as ever. Some sources, reliably untrustworthy for years, may suddenly veer off in confounding directions. (The proprietor of the National Enquirer recently vowed to make his newspaper "a credible news-gathering force where everything you read is absolutely true.") Other sources, though factually scrupulous, raise more questions than they settle. (One can only guess what future scholars will make of the notice inserted into copies of Richard Neville's memoir Hippie Hippie Shake: "Erratum: page 71, line 4.... Germaine Greer has had a natural menopause and is still in possession of her uterus.")

But the biggest obstacle to understanding the present world is likely to be its sheer jumble. Historians and archaeologists need a certain amount of coherence in the landscape of the past. Caprice causes mischief. For years nailing down the date and location of the origin of chess was stymied by an archaeological conundrum. Experts had long believed that chess was invented in Asia in the sixth century, but this conclusion was cast into doubt by the discovery, in 1932, of a set of ivory chess pieces in a grave in Italy dating back to the third century. Six decades passed before radiocarbon dating established that the chess pieces were probably of tenth-century manufacture, reviving the original theory. How the pieces found their way into that third-century grave remains a mystery.

Presented by

Cullen Murphy

Says Cullen Murphy, "At The Atlantic we try to provide a considered look at all aspects of our national life; to write, as well, about matters that are not strictly American; to emphasize the big story that lurks, untold, behind the smaller ones that do get told; and to share the conclusions of our writers with people who count."

Murphy served as The Atlantic Monthly's managing editor from 1985 until 2005, when the magazine relocated to Washington. He has written frequently for the magazine on a great variety of subjects, from religion to language to social science to such out-of-the-way matters as ventriloquism and his mother's method for pre-packaging lunches for her seven school-aged children.

Murphy's book Rubbish! (1992), which he co-authored with William Rathje, grew out of an article that was written by Rathje, edited by Murphy, and published in the December, 1989, issue of The Atlantic Monthly. In a feature about the book's success The New York Times reported that the article "was nominated for a National Magazine Award in 1990 and became a runaway hit for The Atlantic Monthly, which eventually ran off 150,000 copies of it." Murphy's second book, Just Curious, a collection of his essays that first appeared in The Atlantic Monthly and Harper's, was published in 1995. His most recent book, The Word According to Eve: Women and The Bible in Ancient Times and Our Own, was published in 1998 by Houghton Mifflin. The book grew out of Murphy's August 1993 Atlantic cover story, "Women and the Bible."

Murphy was born in New Rochelle, New York, and grew up in Greenwich, Connecticut. He was educated at Catholic schools in Greenwich and in Dublin, Ireland, and at Amherst College, from which he graduated with honors in medieval history in 1974. Murphy's first magazine job was in the paste-up department of Change, a magazine devoted to higher education. He became an editor of The Wilson Quarterly in 1977. Since the mid-1970s Murphy has written the comic strip Prince Valiant, which appears in some 350 newspapers around the world.

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