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Of Fakes, Forgeries, and Stonehenge

Of Fakes, Forgeries, and Stonehenge February 15, 2021

This blog addresses the issue of why scholars who care about their craft absolutely have to follow the Anxious Bench if they want to stay ahead of the field. In some cases, about five years ahead. (And yes, please do read that with due tongue in cheek).

Stonehenge is one of the most spectacular archeological treasures in Europe, and probably in the world. It is also hugely important for any attempt to reconstruct the religious life and thought of earlier eras. Obviously, then, there is huge fascination about any new findings about its origins, and the past couple of years have been astonishingly productive of such insights. Just in the past few days, British media have reported a stunning new piece of evidence, suggesting how a great stone circle was originally set up in West Wales, before being transported 150 miles to its present location.

That is doubly shocking because to a degree it confirms the history given back in the twelfth century by the writer Geoffrey of Monmouth, who is among other things the source if most of what we know about King Arthur. Geoffrey writes a lot about the origins of Stonehenge, and describes how it was brought from the far West. That is so weird because even at the time, Geoffrey’s contemporaries accused him of making everything up, and being, in fact, the founder of Fake News and bogus history. So Geoffrey of Monmouth was somehow, miraculously, telling the truth?? Listen to the contemporary archaeologist, a highly trained and non-credulous professional:

Prof Parker Pearson believes the new discovery “raises the possibility that a 900-year-old legend about Stonehenge being built from an earlier stone circle contains a grain of truth”….

“My word, it’s tempting to believe it … We may well have just found what Geoffrey called the Giants’ Dance.”

Suddenly, after 900 years or so, Geoffrey of Monmouth is in the news headlines. Who could have thought such a wild thing! Who would have dared suggest it?

Before this past week, who in British archaeology was even thinking seriously about Geoffrey of Monmouth in the context of Stonehenge? Who ever thought of supplying a close analysis of what he was actually reporting?

I now take this opportunity to reprint a blogpost I published at this site back at Christmas 2015, called The Ghosts of Stonehenge. I can’t think why it suddenly seems so relevant:

The Ghosts of Stonehenge

‘Tis the year’s midnight, and ’tis the day’s, and a good time to think of lost worlds and ghosts – in this case, the phantoms of bygone faiths. I offer a strange story, which raises some intriguing questions about the possible limits of popular memory in a non-literate society. And although this concerns ancient Britain, the implications extend to other faiths and their claims to preserve early traditions.

Recently, it has been startling to read revolutionary theories of how the great monument of Stonehenge was erected. We have long known that some of the stones, namely the bluestones, came from far west of the site’s present location, namely from west Wales. Just why the builders should have gone through the agony of hefting the stones 150 miles – presumably by water – has never been clear.

Now, though, we have a possible explanation. There was apparently a gap of some centuries between the time when the stones were quarried, around 3,400 BC, and when they reached Wiltshire to form the basis of historic Stonehenge, around 2,900 BC. The archaeologists involved offer an explanation for this, namely that the stones originally stood as a stone circle in West Wales, in Pembrokeshire. They were then moved as a unit to southern England, possibly because they were of such unusual sanctity. Alternatively, perhaps a tribe of people moved and migrated, and they decided to bring their sacred remains with them. Or else, Tribe A defeated and conquered Tribe B, and annexed their sacred site as a war trophy.

Directional correspondences likely played some role. The astronomical orientations of the Wiltshire Stonehenge we know suggest an obsession with Midwinter, the Winter Solstice, and the realms of the dead, and these concerns were presumably reflected in processions, pilgrimages and dances. In many societies, death and decline are obviously enough associated with the west, and with “Going West.” If you wanted to build a mighty shrine to the dead and the forces of midwinter, how better to do so than to take something already in existence at the farthest western reaches of the island of Britain, namely Pembrokeshire and west Wales?

Really, today, who can say? The point, though, is that the core of Stonehenge is a “secondhand monument”. That is not the only recorded example of such a move of European megalithic remains to a new site during antiquity. I say right away that this theory has been challenged, and others offer different explanations of how and when the bluestones moved, but that “older circle” theory has achieved serious respect.

Other, separate, research suggests that the full Stonehenge site would have had a strong healing function, and people traveled there from far afield in Europe, presumably to seek cures. Some speak of a “Neolithic Lourdes.”

Who would have suspected such a picture? With great embarrassment, then, we turn to one of the most wholly bogus and discredited literary sources of the Middle Ages, the History of the Kings of Britain (c.1150) by Geoffrey of Monmouth. Although the work is highly influential, not least as the source for most of what we think we know about King Arthur, Geoffrey’s contemporaries recognized he was making most of it up.

Just how bad was Geoffrey’s reputation as a reliable historian? Some decades after his death, another Welsh author told a story about a man possessed by demons. “If the evil spirits oppressed him too much, the Gospel of St John was placed on his bosom, when, like birds, they immediately vanished; but when the book was removed, and the History of the Britons … was substituted in its place, they instantly reappeared in greater numbers, and remained a longer time than usual on his body and on the book.”

Geoffrey tells us about Stonehenge, and his story is flagrantly fictitious. According to him, the site was erected to commemorate a massacre around 450 AD (some 3,500 years later than the actual event), and the work was achieved by the magician Merlin.

What he also tells us, though, is that the Stonehenge that we now see in Wiltshire originally stood far to the west, and that it was relocated as a secondhand monument – dare I say, pre-owned? In both specifics, his statements appear to have been dead right.

In his Book VIII, Geoffrey tells us Merlin’s words to King Aurelius (excuse the archaic translation):

‘If thou be fain to grace the burial-place of these men with a work that shall endure for ever, send for the Dance of the Giants that is in Killaraus, a mountain in Ireland. [Chorea Gigantum, quae est in Killarao monte Hiberniae]. For a structure of stones is there that none of this age could raise save his wit were strong enough to carry his art. For the stones be big, nor is there stone anywhere of more virtue, and, so they be set up round this plot in a circle, even as they be now there set up, here shall they stand for ever.’

At these words of Merlin, Aurelius burst out laughing, and quoth he: ‘But how may this be, that stones of such bigness and in a country so far away may be brought hither, as if Britain were lacking in stones enow for the job?’

Whereunto Merlin made answer: ‘Laugh not so lightly, King, for not lightly are these words spoken. For in these stones is a mystery, and a healing virtue against many ailments. [Mystici sunt lapides et ad diversa medicamenta salubres.] Giants of old did carry them from the furthest ends of Africa [ex ultimis finibus Affricae] and did set them up in Ireland what time they did inhabit therein. And unto this end they did it, that they might make them baths therein whensoever they ailed of any malady, for they did wash the stones and pour forth the water into the baths, whereby they that were sick were made whole. Moreover, they did mix confections of herbs with the water, whereby they that were wounded had healing, for not a stone is there that lacketh in virtue of leechcraft’ [Non est ibi lapis qui medicamento careat].

When the Britons heard these things, they bethought them that it were well to send for the stones, and to harry the Irish folk by force of arms if they should be minded to withhold them.

And so it was done, amidst great celebration and religious ritual:

And when he had settled these and other matters in his realm, he bade Merlin set up the stones that he had brought from Ireland around the burial-place. Merlin accordingly obeyed his ordinance, and set them up about the compass of the burial-ground in such wise as they had stood upon Mount Killaraus in Ireland, and proved yet once again how skill surpasseth strength.

We have no idea what Geoffrey meant by his Mount Killaraus.

Never, please, ever, accuse me of giving credence to Geoffrey of Monmouth on anything. The whole story might be a lucky guess by a great story-teller and historical novelist, which is what he was. The healing element is no great stretch, as people in Geoffrey’s own time often used ancient sites for such purposes. Also, Geoffrey is wrong on so much. The stones came from west Wales, not Ireland, and he describes Merlin transporting the whole monument, not just the bluestones.

But the idea of that relocation, that second hand quality, does take me aback. Is it possible that local folklore in early medieval times remembered a story that was then reported by some writer, which Geoffrey is transmitting? And that the story just included a statement as simple as “Those healing stones were not originally from these parts. Once, long ago, they stood just as you see them now, but in the far west”? Might it even have included some kind of name of a place or region, that survives as Killaraus?

It is tempting, but the time-scale is daunting. We are after all talking about a move around 3,000 BC. The people who used Stonehenge itself might have had a long institutional memory, but the site was well past its heyday by 1300 BC or so. Greek writers like Hecataeus seem to describe the place as a still-flourishing entity c. 300 BC (and even that is controversial). Even so, the vast time frame that separates this from Geoffrey seems impossible.

Normally, I am very skeptical when ancient or medieval authors claim to pass on older traditions, because they so clearly demonstrate how rapidly accurate information fades away. In eighth century England, the author who wrote the poem The Ruin describes the country’s ruined Roman cities in such a way that shows he has not a clue about their actual operation or function. That is over a gap of just four hundred years – and yes, these cities are likewise attributed to “giants of old.” The Biblical account of the conquest of Canaan several centuries previously describes the destruction of the city of Ai, a name that means simply “heap of ruins.” That was, likely, all the memory that had survived of the site and its fate, and a story was invented accordingly. Claims that accurate tradition can survive more than a century or two without written continuity need to be examined very carefully.

So Geoffrey’s Stonehenge story might have been a lucky guess. It’s also certain that his contemporaries had some working sense of geology and building stones, and might well have recognized that some of the Stonehenge stones were not local. This was after all a huge age for building great churches and cathedrals, and people would have to have some knowledge of where good materials were to be found.

That might account for Geoffrey getting the geographic origin of the stones right. But he also wrote about Stonehenge being a second-hand monument, and he was (oddly) right about that too. Leave me, however briefly, with my illusions about oral tradition extending across several millennia.

Leave me with my ghosts.

 

So this is me again, writing in 2021. As I re-read that column, I offer a wild surmise, that involves going far out on a limb. Is it at all conceivably possible that when Geoffrey wrote about Killaraus, he was preserving the actual name of the region or the mountain or even the political unit from which the st0nes really had come, as that unit had been known in the third millennium BC? Would that not be a wonderful thought?

 

 

 


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