Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy [1 ed.] 9781461461401, 9781461461418

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Clive L.N. Ruggles Editor

Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy

1 3Reference

Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy

Clive L. N. Ruggles Editor

Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy

With 969 Figures and 88 Tables

Editor Clive L. N. Ruggles School of Archaeology and Ancient History University of Leicester University Road Leicester, UK

ISBN 978-1-4614-6140-1 978-1-4614-6141-8 (eBook) ISBN Bundle 978-1-4614-6142-5 (print and electronic bundle) DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8 Springer New York Heidelberg Dordrecht London Library of Congress Control Number: 2014942048 # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015 This work is subject to copyright. All rights are reserved by the Publisher, whether the whole or part of the material is concerned, specifically the rights of translation, reprinting, reuse of illustrations, recitation, broadcasting, reproduction on microfilms or in any other physical way, and transmission or information storage and retrieval, electronic adaptation, computer software, or by similar or dissimilar methodology now known or hereafter developed. Exempted from this legal reservation are brief excerpts in connection with reviews or scholarly analysis or material supplied specifically for the purpose of being entered and executed on a computer system, for exclusive use by the purchaser of the work. Duplication of this publication or parts thereof is permitted only under the provisions of the Copyright Law of the Publisher’s location, in its current version, and permission for use must always be obtained from Springer. Permissions for use may be obtained through RightsLink at the Copyright Clearance Center. Violations are liable to prosecution under the respective Copyright Law. The use of general descriptive names, registered names, trademarks, service marks, etc. in this publication does not imply, even in the absence of a specific statement, that such names are exempt from the relevant protective laws and regulations and therefore free for general use. While the advice and information in this book are believed to be true and accurate at the date of publication, neither the authors nor the editors nor the publisher can accept any legal responsibility for any errors or omissions that may be made. The publisher makes no warranty, express or implied, with respect to the material contained herein. Printed on acid-free paper Springer is part of Springer Science+Business Media (www.springer.com)

Preface

All human cultures have a sky. Through the ages, the celestial vault visible at night has formed a breathtaking spectacle, as it continues to do in places beyond the reach of modern lighting. For countless millennia, how people interpret what they perceive in the sky has played a vital role in human communities’ understanding of the cosmos that they inhabit. For human societies ranging from small groups of hunter-gatherers and herders through to states and empires, the sky formed a prominent and immutable part of the observed world. The repeated cycles of the sun, moon, and stars helped to regulate human activity as people strove to make sense of their world and to keep their actions in harmony with the cosmos as they perceived it. In some cases, this was simply in order to maintain seasonal subsistence cycles; in others it helped to support dominant ideologies and complex social hierarchies. This quest for knowledge and understanding – “science” in its broadest sense – links the earliest skywatchers to modern astronomers and cosmologists. Sky perceptions very different in nature from those offered by modern “Western” science persist in many indigenous cultures around the world. Archaeoastronomy and ethnoastronomy, also referred to jointly as “cultural astronomy”, are concerned with humankind’s perceptions and understanding of astronomical phenomena, throughout human history and among all cultures. Monumental and other human constructions, artifacts, cultural landscapes, historical accounts, and modern indigenous practices all bear witness to the extraordinary diversity of ways in which human communities have comprehended what they perceived in the skies and used or manipulated this knowledge for social ends. The twin disciplines have been recognized since the 1970s as a distinct academic field of endeavor of significant value in informing broader cultural questions. Research in archaeoastronomy and ethnoastronomy has been burgeoning since the 1980s, when academics from across the divide between the social sciences and the physical and formal sciences began to work together in earnest to develop common goals and approaches. The result is a rich cross-disciplinary field with input from a wide range of academic disciplines including anthropology, archaeology, history (also the history of art, history of science, and history of religions), architecture, astronomy, and statistics. Nonetheless archaeoastronomy,

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in particular, has long courted controversy and acted as a magnet for sensationalism and uncritical speculation. A contributing factor is doubtless that each of its main constituent disciplines, archaeology and astronomy, has huge popular appeal. Such uncritical or sensationalistic accounts, often widely available, tend to obscure and undermine serious scholarship in the field. This three-volume handbook sets out to provide a definitive picture of the state of the art of research in archaeoastronomy and ethnoastronomy and to be a reliable and comprehensive source of reference regarding theory, method, interpretation, and best practice. It aims to be equally accessible to interested scholars regardless of the discipline in which they are qualified, as well as for tertiary-level students and serious general readers. Its authors are drawn from a full range of relevant disciplines and geographical areas. Part I of the handbook comprises thematic essays addressing general themes such as cosmologies, perceptions of space and time, calendars, and navigation. The chapters here also highlight various aspects of the social context of astronomy such as its role in sustaining social and political power; its use in the service of world religions, particularly Christianity and Islam; and its relationship to astrology. There is discussion of various disciplinary approaches to the study of prehistoric, historical, and indigenous astronomical knowledge, a historical perspective on the development of archaeoastronomy itself, and coverage of issues relating to heritage and tourism. Part II, “Methods and Practice”, covers topics ranging from social theory to field methodology, survey procedures, data analysis, and visualization. The opening chapters are concerned with the cultural interpretation of archaeological, historical, and ethnographic evidence. Several of the remainder deal with the identification and analysis of structural orientations and putative alignments upon various astronomical bodies; one with light-and-shadow interactions. A number of chapters here also provide broad definitions and explanations of key concepts that may be useful to readers unfamiliar with background matter in the relevant disciplines. The case studies that form the remainder, and major part, of the handbook have been selected to best illustrate broader themes and issues while ranging as widely as possible both geographically and through time and also in terms of the nature of the society in question and of their astronomical perceptions and practices. The subject matter does not extend to the development of modern scientific astronomy from the European Renaissance onward, but does include topics such as Babylonian, Greek, and Islamic astronomy, focusing in the Greek case (for example) more broadly upon calendars, religious practices, and perceptions of the cosmos, rather than exclusively upon the development of mathematical astronomy. I would like to thank all the authors for taking time out from their many other commitments to complete their excellent contributions to this handbook. My particular thanks are due to the section editors without whose thoroughness, reliability, and punctuality, not to say tenacity, it simply would not have been possible to produce a work of such impressive scope. Finally, I am immensely

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grateful to the Springer staff, and particularly to our production editors Sylvia Blago and Simone Giesler, for their endless patience and good humor, as well as their unyielding support, at all stages in helping us to bring this project to a very satisfactory completion. January 2014

Clive L. N. Ruggles

About the Editor

Clive L. N. Ruggles Emeritus Professor of Archaeoastronomy, School of Archaeology and Ancient History, University of Leicester, Leicester, UK Professor Clive L.N. Ruggles obtained an M.A. in Mathematics from Cambridge University in 1974 and a D. Phil in Astrophysics from Oxford University in 1978. Having already published several papers in archaeo- and ethnoastronomy, he moved shortly after this to University College, Cardiff (now Cardiff University), where he became a research fellow in the Department of Archaeology, moving on in 1982 to the Mathematics Department at the University of Leicester to pursue research in statistical applications in archaeology and archaeoastronomy. From 1984, he held various posts at the university, first as a lecturer and subsequently senior lecturer (1989) in Computing Studies, and later directing a cross-campus computer-based-learning project while also affiliated to two different departments (Mathematics and Computer Science, and Archaeology). He moved full time into the newly created School of Archaeological Studies (now the School of Archaeology and Ancient History) in 1997, gaining promotion to a personal chair in 1999 and becoming emeritus professor in 2007. Professor Ruggles has authored over 120 research and review papers in archaeoastronomy and ethnoastronomy as well as various other subjects, and has authored,

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About the Editor

edited, or coedited 17 books including Records in Stone (Cambridge University Press, 1988), Astronomies and Cultures (University Press of Colorado, 1993), Astronomy in Prehistoric Britain and Ireland (Yale University Press, 1999), Ancient Astronomy: An Encyclopedia of Cosmologies and Myth (ABC-CLIO, 2005), Cultural Astronomy in New World Cosmologies (University Press of Colorado, 2007), and Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy: Building Bridges Between Cultures (Cambridge University Press, 2011). His early work focused on the Neolithic and Bronze Age standing stone monuments of Britain and Ireland, a topic of great controversy at the time between archaeologists and astronomers. Since then his interests have ranged from prehistoric perceptions of the skies in various contexts around the world to modern indigenous calendars in sub-Saharan Africa. He has undertaken fieldwork in several European countries, as well as in Egypt, the Americas, and Polynesia, concentrating most recently on major projects in Peru and the Hawaiian Islands. Throughout his career he has been concerned with developing sounder theoretical foundations and more robust methodologies and practice. In 2010, he was awarded the “Carlos Jaschek” prize by the European Society for Astronomy in Culture (SEAC) for outstanding contributions in the fields of cultural astronomy and archaeoastronomy. From 2009 to 2012, Professor Ruggles served as president of the Inter-Union Commission on the History of Astronomy (ICHA), a joint Commission of the International Astronomical Union (IAU) and the International Union of the History and Philosophy of Science (IUHPS). He has also served as president of the Prehistoric Society (2006–2010), the International Society for Archaeoastronomy and Astronomy in Culture (ISAAC) (1999–2004), and the European Society for Astronomy in Culture (SEAC) (1993–99). He was editor from 1987 to 2001 of Archaeoastronomy, the supplement to Journal for the History of Astronomy, and coeditor from 1998 to 2010 of Archaeoastronomy: the Journal of Astronomy in Culture. He has organized two of the ten “Oxford” International Symposia on Archaeoastronomy, the principal conferences in the field, that have taken place between 1981 and 2014: Oxford III in St Andrews, Scotland, in 1990 and Oxford IX in Lima, Peru, in 2011. He is a fellow of the Society of Antiquaries of London. Since 2008, Professor Ruggles has worked on behalf of UNESCO and the International Astronomical Union to advance their joint initiative to promote, preserve, and protect the world’s most important astronomical heritage sites. From 2008 to 2012, he chaired the IAU’s Working Group on Astronomy and World Heritage, and he continues as a special advisor to the IAU, liaising with UNESCO. He has also worked with UNESCO’s advisory body for cultural sites, ICOMOS, to produce a joint ICOMOS–IAU Thematic Study on the Heritage Sites of Astronomy and Archaeoastronomy (2010), and with their advisory body for natural sites, IUCN, as a member of the Dark Skies Advisory Group (DSAG). He is director of UNESCO’s Astronomy and World Heritage Web Portal Project.

Section Editors

Themes and Issues Juan Antonio Belmonte Instituto de Astrofı´sica de Canarias, Universidad de La Laguna, La Laguna, Tenerife, Spain Methods and Practice Stephen C. McCluskey Department of History, West Virginia University, Morgantown, WV, USA Pre-Columbian and Indigenous North America Stephen C. McCluskey Department of History, West Virginia University, Morgantown, WV, USA Pre-Columbian and Indigenous Mesoamerica Stanisław Iwaniszewski Divisio´n de Posgrado, Escuela Nacional de Antropologı´a e Historia, Tlalpan, Me´xico, D.F., Mexico Pre-Columbian and Indigenous South America Alejandro Martı´n Lo´pez Seccio´n de Etnologı´a, Instituto de Ciencias Antropolo´gicas, Facultad de Filosofı´a y Letras, Universidad de Buenos Aires, Buenos Aires, Argentina Indigenous and Islamic Astronomy in Africa Alejandro Martı´n Lo´pez Seccio´n de Etnologı´a, Instituto de Ciencias Antropolo´gicas, Facultad de Filosofı´a y Letras, Universidad de Buenos Aires, Buenos Aires, Argentina Prehistoric Europe (Western Part) Juan Antonio Belmonte Instituto de Astrofı´sica de Canarias, Universidad de La Laguna, La Laguna, Tenerife, Spain

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Section Editors

Prehistoric Europe (Central and Eastern Part) and Central Asia Stanisław Iwaniszewski Divisio´n de Posgrado, Escuela Nacional de Antropologı´a e Historia, Tlalpan, Me´xico, D.F., Mexico Ancient Egypt and the Classical World John M. Steele Department of Egyptology and Ancient Western Asian Studies, Brown University, Providence, RI, USA Traditional Astronomies in Medieval and Modern Europe Stephen C. McCluskey Department of History, West Virginia University, Morgantown, WV, USA Ancient Near East John M. Steele Department of Egyptology and Ancient Western Asian Studies, Brown University, Providence, RI, USA India and the Islamic Near East John M. Steele Department of Egyptology and Ancient Western Asian Studies, Brown University, Providence, RI, USA China and the Far East Xiaochun Sun Institute for the History of Natural Science, Chinese Academy of Sciences, Xicheng, Beijing, China Oceania (Including Australasia and Malay Archipelago) Alejandro Martı´n Lo´pez Seccio´n de Etnologı´a, Instituto de Ciencias Antropolo´gicas, Facultad de Filosofı´a y Letras, Universidad de Buenos Aires, Buenos Aires, Argentina

Contents

Volume 1 Part I Themes and Issues Juan Antonio Belmonte

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1

1

Concepts of Space, Time, and the Cosmos . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Stanisław Iwaniszewski

3

2

Calendars and Astronomy . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Clive L. N. Ruggles

15

3

Astronomy and Chronology - Babylonia, Assyria, and Egypt . . . Rolf Krauss

31

4

Astronomy and Navigation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Fernando Pimenta

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5

Astronomy and Power Edwin C. Krupp

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6

Astronomy and Politics . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . John M. Steele

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7

Astrology as Cultural Astronomy . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Nicholas Campion

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8

Astronomy, Astrology, and Medicine . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Dorian Gieseler Greenbaum

117

9

Ancient “Observatories” - A Relevant Concept? . . . . . . . . . . . . . Juan Antonio Belmonte

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10

Origins of the “Western” Constellations . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Roslyn M. Frank

147

11

Astronomy in the Service of Christianity . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Stephen C. McCluskey

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Contents

12

Astronomy in the Service of Islam . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . David A. King

13

Interactions Between “Indigenous” and “Colonial” Astronomies: Adaptation of Indigenous Astronomies in the Modern World . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Alejandro Martı´n Lo´pez

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Development of Archaeoastronomy in the English-Speaking World . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Alun Salt

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15

Disciplinary Perspectives on Archaeoastronomy . . . . . . . . . . . . . Stephen C. McCluskey

227

16

Astronomy and Rock Art Studies . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . William Breen Murray

239

17

Presentation of Archaeoastronomy in Introductions to Archaeology . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Victor B. Fisher

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18

Archaeoastronomical Concepts in Popular Culture Edwin C. Krupp

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19

Astrotourism and Archaeoastronomy Stanisław Iwaniszewski

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287

20

Archaeoastronomical Heritage and the World Heritage Convention . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Michel Cotte

301

Part II

Methods and Practice

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313

Cultural Interpretation of Archaeological Evidence Relating to Astronomy . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Stanisław Iwaniszewski

315

Cultural Interpretation of Historical Evidence Relating to Astronomy . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Stephen C. McCluskey

325

Cultural Interpretation of Ethnographic Evidence Relating to Astronomy . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Alejandro Martı´n Lo´pez

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Nature and Analysis of Material Evidence Relevant to Archaeoastronomy . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Clive L. N. Ruggles

353

Stephen C. McCluskey 21

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Contents

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Best Practice for Evaluating the Astronomical Significance of Archaeological Sites . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Clive L. N. Ruggles

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26

Techniques of Field Survey Frank Prendergast

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389

27

Analyzing Orientations . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Clive L. N. Ruggles

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28

Analyzing Light-and-Shadow Interactions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Stephen C. McCluskey

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29

Visualization Tools and Techniques . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Georg Zotti

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30

Basic Concepts of Positional Astronomy . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Clive L. N. Ruggles

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31

Long-Term Changes in the Appearance of the Sky . . . . . . . . . . . Clive L. N. Ruggles

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32

Solar Alignments - Identification and Analysis . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Juan Antonio Belmonte

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33

Lunar Alignments - Identification and Analysis A. Ce´sar Gonza´lez-Garcı´a

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34

Alignments upon Venus (and Other Planets) - Identification and Analysis . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Ivan Sˇprajc

507

Stellar Alignments - Identification and Analysis . . . . . . . . . . . . . Clive L. N. Ruggles

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Part III Pre-Columbian and Indigenous North America . . . . . . . . . Stephen C. McCluskey

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Inuit Astronomy . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . John MacDonald

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Medicine Wheels of the Great Plains . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . David Vogt

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Hohokam Archaeoastronomy . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Todd W. Bostwick

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Mesa Verde Archaeoastronomy . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Gregory E. Munson

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Contents

Great Houses and the Sun - Astronomy of Chaco Canyon . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . J. McKim Malville and Andrew Munro

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Rock Art of the Greater Southwest . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Edwin C. Krupp

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42

Hopi and Anasazi Alignments and Rock Art . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Bryan C. Bates

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43

Sun-Dagger Sites . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Ray A. Williamson

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Dine´ (Navajo) Ethno- and Archaeoastronomy . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Von Del Chamberlain

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Pueblo Ethnoastronomy . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Ray Williamson

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Hopi and Puebloan Ethnoastronomy and Ethnoscience . . . . . . . Stephen C. McCluskey

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47

Astronomy and Rock Art in Mexico William Breen Murray

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48

Boca de Potrerillos . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . William Breen Murray

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Part IV Pre-Columbian and Indigenous Mesoamerica . . . . . . . . . . Stanisław Iwaniszewski

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Astronomical Deities in Ancient Mesoamerica Susan Milbrath

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50

Astronomy in the Dresden Codex . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Gabrielle Vail

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51

Counting Lunar Phase Cycles in Mesoamerica . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Stanisław Iwaniszewski

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Astronomical Correlates of Architecture and Landscape in Mesoamerica . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Ivan Sˇprajc

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Astronomy at Teotihuacan . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Stanisław Iwaniszewski

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54

Pecked Cross-Circles . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Stanisław Iwaniszewski

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55

Templo Mayor, Tenochtitlan - Calendar and Astronomy . . . . . . Jesu´s Galindo Trejo

743

Contents

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56

Cave of the Astronomers at Xochicalco . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Arnold Lebeuf

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57

Colonial Zapotec Calendars and Calendrical Astronomy . . . . . . John Justeson

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Layout of Ancient Maya Cities . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Grant R. Aylesworth

769

59

Governor’s Palace at Uxmal . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Ivan Sˇprajc

773

60

E-Group Arrangements . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Grant R. Aylesworth

783

Volume 2 Part V

Pre-Columbian and Indigenous South America . . . . . . . . . Alejandro Martı´n Lo´pez

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61

Pre-Inca Astronomy in Peru J. McKim Malville

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795

62

Chankillo . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Iva´n Ghezzi and Clive L. N. Ruggles

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63

Geoglyphs of the Peruvian Coast . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Clive L. N. Ruggles

821

64

Inca Astronomy and Calendrics . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . David S. P. Dearborn and Brian S. Bauer

831

65

Inca Calendar . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Mariusz Zio´łkowski

839

66

Ceque System of Cuzco: A Yearly Calendar-Almanac in Space and Time . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . R. Tom Zuidema

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Inca Royal Estates in the Sacred Valley . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . J. McKim Malville

865

68

Machu Picchu . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . J. McKim Malville

879

69

Island of the Sun: Elite and Non-Elite Observations of the June Solstice . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . David S. P. Dearborn and Brian S. Bauer

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Contents

Inca Moon: Some Evidence of Lunar Observations in Tahuantinsuyu . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Mariusz Zio´łkowski, Jacek Kos´ciuk, and Fernando Astete

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71

Observations of Comets and Eclipses in the Andes . . . . . . . . . . . Mariusz Zio´łkowski

913

72

Landscape, Mountain Worship and Astronomy in Socaire . . . . . Ricardo Moyano

921

73

Skyscape of an Amazonian Diaspora: Arawak Astronomy in Historical Comparative Perspective . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Fabiola Jara

931

74

Astronomy in Brazilian Ethnohistory Fla´via Pedroza Lima

945

75

Ticuna Astronomy, Mythology and Cosmovision Priscila Faulhaber

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953

76

Moxos’ Lagoons . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Juan Antonio Belmonte and Josep F. Barba

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“Chiriguano” Astronomy - Venus and a Guarani New Year . . . Gonzalo Pereira

967

78

Astronomy and Cosmology of the Guarani of Southern Brazil . . . . Fla´via Cristina de Mello

975

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The Sky Among the Toba of Western Formosa (Gran Chaco, Argentina) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cecilia Paula Go´mez

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Astronomy in the Chaco Region, Argentina Alejandro Martı´n Lo´pez

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81

Ethnoastronomy in the Multicultural Context of the Agricultural Colonies in Northern Santa Fe Province, Argentina . . . . . . . . . . Armando Mudrik

997

Selkᛌnam Astronomy . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Sixto R. Gime´nez Benı´tez

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Part VI

Indigenous and Islamic Astronomy in Africa Alejandro Martı´n Lo´pez

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83

Cultural Astronomy in Africa South of the Sahara . . . . . . . . . . . Jarita Holbrook

1013

84

Indigenous Astronomy in Southern Africa Thebe Rodney Medupe

1031

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Contents

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“Reading” Central African Skies - A Case Study from Southeastern DRC . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Allen F. Roberts

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86

Mursi and Borana Calendars . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Clive L. N. Ruggles

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Yoruba Ethnoastronomy - “Orisha/Vodun” or How People’s Conceptions of the Sky Constructed Science . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Dafon Aime´ Se`gla

1051

Pre-Islamic Dry-Stone Monuments of the Central and Western Sahara . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Yves Gauthier

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89

Astronomy at Nabta Playa, Southern Egypt . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . J. McKim Malville

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Pre-Islamic Religious Monuments in North Africa . . . . . . . . . . . Ce´sar Esteban

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Astronomy as Practiced in the West African City of Timbuktu . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Thebe Rodney Medupe

1101

Calendar Pluralism and the Cultural Heritage of Domination and Resistance (Tuareg and Other Saharans) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Clare Oxby

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Pre-Hispanic Sanctuaries in the Canary Islands . . . . . . . . . . . . . Juan Antonio Belmonte

1115

94

A Modern Myth - The “Pyramids” of G€ u´ımar . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Antonio Aparicio and Ce´sar Esteban

1125

88

92

Part VII

Prehistoric Europe [Western Part] . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

1133

Juan Antonio Belmonte 95

Patterns of Orientation in the Megalithic Tombs of the Western Mediterranean . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Michael Hoskin

1135

96

Seven-Stone Antas . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Michael Hoskin

1149

97

Megalithic Cromlechs of Iberia . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Fernando Pimenta and Luı´s Tirapicos

1153

98

Iberian Sanctuaries . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Ce´sar Esteban

1163

xx

99

Contents

Taula Sanctuaries of Menorca . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Michael Hoskin

1169

100

Celtic Sites of Central Iberia Manuel Pe´rez Gutie´rrez

...........................

1175

101

Basque Saroiak . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Luis Mari Zaldua Etxabe

1187

102

Possible Calendrical Inscriptions on Paleolithic Artifacts . . . . . Michael A. Rappengl€uck

1197

103

Possible Astronomical Depictions in Franco-Cantabrian Paleolithic Rock Art . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Michael A. Rappengl€uck

1205

Astronomical Symbolism in Bronze-Age and Iron-Age Rock Art . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Marco V. Garcı´a Quintela and Manuel Santos-Este´vez

1213

105

Stonehenge and its Landscape . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Clive L. N. Ruggles

1223

106

The Neolithic and Bronze Age Monument Complex of Thornborough, North Yorkshire, UK . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Jan Harding

1239

107

Irish Neolithic Tombs in their Landscape . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Frank Prendergast

1249

108

Boyne Valley Tombs . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Frank Prendergast

1263

109

Recumbent Stone Circles . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Clive L. N. Ruggles

1277

110

Scottish Short Stone Rows Clive L. N. Ruggles

1287

104

.............................

Part VIII

Prehistoric Europe [Central and Eastern Part] and Central Asia . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Stanisław Iwaniszewski 111

112

1297

TRB Megalithic Tombs and Long Barrows in Central Europe . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Stanisław Iwaniszewski

1299

Neolithic Longhouses and Bronze Age Houses in Central Europe . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Emı´lia Pa´sztor and Judit P. Barna

1307

Contents

113

xxi

Neolithic Circular Ditch Systems (“Rondels”) in Central Europe . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Emı´lia Pa´sztor, Judit P. Barna, and Georg Zotti

1317

114

Celestial Symbolism of the Vucˇedol Culture . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Emı´lia Pa´sztor

1327

115

Celestial Symbolism in Central European Later Prehistory - Case Studies from the Bronze Age Carpathian Basin . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Emı´lia Pa´sztor

1337

116

Nebra Disk . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Emı´lia Pa´sztor

1349

117

Lessons of Odry . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Stanisław Iwaniszewski

1357

118

Astronomical Orientation in the Ancient Dacian Sanctuaries of Romania . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Florin Sta˘nescu

1365

119

Astronomy in the Bulgarian Neolithic . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Alexey Stoev and Penka Maglova

1377

120

Thracian Sanctuaries . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Penka Maglova and Alexey Stoev

1385

121

Thracian Dolmens . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . A. Ce´sar Gonza´lez-Garcı´a, Dimiter Kolev, and Vesselina Koleva

1395

122

Sardinian Nuraghes . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Mauro Peppino Zedda

1403

123

Nuraghic Well of Santa Cristina, Paulilatino, Oristano, Sardinia . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Arnold Lebeuf

1413

124

Temples of Malta . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Frank Ventura and Michael Hoskin

1421

125

Minoan Astronomy . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Mary Blomberg and Go¨ran Henriksson

1431

126

Astronomy in the Ancient Caucasus . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Irakli Simonia and Badri Jijelava

1443

127

Carahunge - A Critical Assessment . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . A. Ce´sar Gonza´lez-Garcı´a

1453

128

Observational and Cult Sites in Pre-Christian Georgia . . . . . . Irakli Simonia, Badri Jijelava, G. Gigauri, and Gordon Houston

1461

xxii

Contents

Volume 3 Part IX Ancient Egypt and the Classical World

..............

1469

John M. Steele 129

Egyptian Cosmology and Cosmogony James P. Allen

....................

1471

130

Egyptian Constellations . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Jose´ Lull and Juan Antonio Belmonte

1477

131

Ancient Egyptian Calendars . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Anthony Spalinger

1489

132

Egyptian “Star Clocks” Sarah Symons

...............................

1495

133

Orientation of Egyptian Temples: An Overview . . . . . . . . . . . . Juan Antonio Belmonte

1501

134

Monuments of the Giza Plateau . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Clive L. N. Ruggles

1519

135

Karnak . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Juan Antonio Belmonte

1531

136

Kingdom of Kush . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Juan Antonio Belmonte

1541

137

Greek Cosmology and Cosmogony . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Alexander Jones

1549

138

Greek Constellations . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Stamatina Mastorakou

1555

139

Ancient Greek Calendars . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Robert Hannah

1563

140

Greek Temples and Rituals Efrosyni Boutsikas

1573

141

Greek Mathematical Astronomy Alexander Jones

........................

1583

142

Material Culture of Greek and Roman Astronomy . . . . . . . . . . James Evans

1589

143

Reconstructing the Antikythera Mechanism . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Tony Freeth

1603

144

Greco-Roman Astrometeorology . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Daryn Lehoux

1625

............................

Contents

xxiii

145

Greco-Roman Astrology . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Roger Beck

1629

146

Etruscan Divination and Architecture . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Giulio Magli

1637

147

Roman City Planning and Spatial Organization . . . . . . . . . . . . A. Ce´sar Gonza´lez-Garcı´a and Giulio Magli

1643

148

Light at the Pantheon . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Robert Hannah and Giulio Magli

1651

149

Nemrud Dag . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Juan Antonio Belmonte and A. Ce´sar Gonza´lez-Garcı´a

1659

150

Mithraism . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Roger Beck

1669

Part X

Traditional Astronomies in Medieval and Early Modern Europe . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Stephen C. McCluskey

1677

151

Skylore of the Indigenous Peoples of Northern Eurasia . . . . . . Roslyn M. Frank

1679

152

Qibla in the Mediterranean Mo`nica Rius-Pinie´s

............................

1687

153

Interactions Between Islamic and Christian Traditions in the Iberian Peninsula . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . A. Ce´sar Gonza´lez-Garcı´a and Juan Antonio Belmonte

1695

154

Orientation of Christian Churches . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Stephen C. McCluskey

1703

155

Orientation of English Medieval Parish Churches Peter G. Hoare

..........

1711

156

Church Orientations in Slovenia Sasˇa Cˇaval

........................

1719

157

Church Orientations in Central and Eastern Europe . . . . . . . . Rimvydas Lauzˇikas

1727

158

Role of Light–Shadow Hierophanies in Early Medieval Art . . . Kirsten Ataoguz

1733

159

Light–Shadow Interactions in Italian Medieval Churches Manuela Incerti

....

1743

160

Lost Skies of Italian Folk Astronomy . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Piero Barale

1755

xxiv

Contents

161

Folk Calendars in the Balkan Region . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Dimiter Kolev

1767

162

Wooden Calendar Sticks in Eastern Europe . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Vesselina Koleva and Svetlana Koleva

1773

Part XI Ancient Near East . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

1781

John M. Steele 163

Orientation of Hittite Monuments . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . A. Ce´sar Gonza´lez-Garcı´a and Juan Antonio Belmonte

1783

164

Orientation of Phoenician Temples Jose´ Luis Escacena Carrasco

......................

1793

165

Astronomy in the Levant During the Bronze Age and Iron Age . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Andrea Polcaro

1801

166

Petra and the Nabataeans . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Juan Antonio Belmonte and A. Ce´sar Gonza´lez-Garcı´a

1813

167

Mesopotamian Cosmogony and Cosmology . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Wayne Horowitz

1823

168

Mesopotamian Star Lists Wayne Horowitz

..............................

1829

169

Mesopotamian Celestial Divination . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Lorenzo Verderame

1835

170

Mesopotamian Calendars . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . John M. Steele

1841

171

Astronomy, Divination, and Politics in the Neo-Assyrian Empire Lorenzo Verderame

1847

172

Babylonian Observational and Predictive Astronomy . . . . . . . . John M. Steele

1855

173

Babylonian Mathematical Astronomy . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Mathieu Ossendrijver

1863

174

Late Babylonian Astrology . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . John M. Steele

1871

175

Transmission of Babylonian Astronomy to Other Cultures Alexander Jones

1877

...

Contents

xxv

176

Ancient and Medieval Jewish Calendars . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Sacha Stern

1883

177

Astronomy in the Book of Enoch . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Jonathan Ben-Dov

1889

178

Astronomy and Calendars at Qumran . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Jonathan Ben-Dov

1895

179

Ancient Persian Skywatching and Calendars Arkadiusz Sołtysiak

1901

Part XII

..............

India and the Islamic Near East . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

1907

John M. Steele 180

Islamic Mathematical Astronomy Clemency Montelle

.......................

1909

181

Islamic Astronomical Instruments and Observatories . . . . . . . . Tofigh Heidarzadeh

1917

182

Islamic Folk Astronomy . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Petra G. Schmidl

1927

183

Folk Astronomy and Calendars in Yemen . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Daniel Martin Varisco

1935

184

Star Clocks and Water Management in Oman . . . . . . . . . . . . . Harriet Nash

1941

185

Astronomy of the Vedic Age . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ˆ hashi Yukio O

1949

186

Use of Astronomical Principles in Indian Temple Architecture . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . B. S. Shylaja

1959

Astronomy of Indian Cities, Temples, and Pilgrimage Centers . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . J. McKim Malville

1969

188

Mathematical Astronomy in India . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Kim Plofker

1981

189

Va¯kya System of Astronomy . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . M. S. Sriram

1991

190

Kerala School of Astronomy . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Krishnamurthi Ramasubramanian

2001

187

xxvi

Contents

191

Astronomical Instruments in India Sreeramula Rajeswara Sarma

......................

2007

192

Observatories of Sawai Jai Singh II . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Susan N. Johnson-Roehr

2017

Part XIII China and the Far East . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Xiaochun Sun

2029

193

Ancient Chinese Astronomy - An Overview Yunli Shi

...............

2031

194

Observation of Celestial Phenomena in Ancient China . . . . . . . Xiaochun Sun

2043

195

Chinese Constellations and Star Maps . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Xiaochun Sun

2051

196

Chinese Calendar and Mathematical Astronomy Xiaochun Sun

...........

2059

197

Shang Oracle Bones David W. Pankenier

..................................

2069

198

Excavated Documents Dealing with Chinese Astronomy Yuzhen Guan

.....

2079

199

Astronomy and City Planning in China . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . David W. Pankenier

2085

200

Gnomons in Ancient China . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Geng Li

2095

201

Taosi Observatory . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Xiaochun Sun

2105

202

Dengfeng Large Gnomon . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Fengxian Xu

2111

203

Ancient Chinese Sundials . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Kehui Deng

2117

204

Chinese Armillary Spheres . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Xiaochun Sun

2127

205

Water-Powered Astronomical Clock Tower Xiaochun Sun

...............

2133

206

Beijing Ancient Observatory Yunli Shi

...........................

2141

Contents

xxvii

207

Astronomical Aspects of Korean Dolmens . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Hong-Jin Yang

2149

208

Korean Astronomical Calendar, Chiljeongsan . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Eun Hee Lee

2157

209

Striking Clepsydras Moon-Hyon Nam

..................................

2163

210

Song I-Yeong’s Armillary Clock . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Sang Hyuk Kim and Yong Sam Lee

2179

211

Cultural Astronomy in Japan . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Steven L. Renshaw

2197

Part XIV

Oceania (Including Australasia and Malay Archipelago) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Alejandro Martı´n Lo´pez

2205

212

Cultural Production of Skylore in Indonesia . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Gene Ammarell and Anna Lowenhaupt Tsing

2207

213

Australian Aboriginal Astronomy - An Overview . . . . . . . . . . . Ray P. Norris and Duane W. Hamacher

2215

214

Australian Aboriginal Astronomy and Cosmology Philip A. Clarke

..........

2223

215

Archaeoastronomy in Polynesia . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Clive L. N. Ruggles

2231

216

Ancient Hawaiian Astronomy . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Clive L. N. Ruggles

2247

217

Archaeoastronomy of Easter Island . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Edmundo Edwards

2261

Index . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

2269

Contributors

James P. Allen Brown University, Providence, RI, USA Gene Ammarell Ohio University, Athens, OH, USA Antonio Aparicio Departamento de Astrofı´sica and Instituto de Astrofı´sica de Canarias, Universidad de La Laguna, La Laguna, Tenerife, Spain Fernando Astete Parque Arqueolo´gico Nacional de Machu Picchu, Direccio´n Regional de Cultura Cusco, Cusco, Peru Kirsten Ataoguz Indiana University-Purdue University Fort Wayne, Fort Wayne, IN, USA Grant R. Aylesworth Anthropology, St. Thomas University, Fredericton, NB, Canada Piero Barale Societa` Astronomica Italiana, Rome, Italy Josep F. Barba Centre d’Estudis Amazo`nics, Barcelona, Spain Judit P. Barna Balatoni Museum, Keszthely, Hungary Bryan C. Bates Coconino Community College, Flagstaff, AZ, USA Brian S. Bauer University of Illinois at Chicago, Chicago, IL, USA Roger Beck University of Toronto, Toronto, ON, Canada Juan Antonio Belmonte Instituto de Astrofı´sica de Canarias, Universidad de La Laguna, La Laguna, Tenerife, Spain Jonathan Ben-Dov Department of Bible, University of Haifa, Haifa, Israel Mary Blomberg Department of Archaeology and Ancient History, Uppsala University, Uppsala, Sweden Todd W. Bostwick PaleoWest Archaeology, Phoenix, AZ, USA Verde Valley Archaeology Center, Camp Verde, AZ, USA Efrosyni Boutsikas University of Kent, Canterbury, UK

xxix

xxx

Contributors

Nicholas Campion University of Wales Trinity Saint David, Lampeter, UK ˇ aval Institute of Anthropological and Spatial Studies, Scientific Research Sasˇa C Centre of the Slovenian Academy of Sciences and Arts, Ljubljana, Slovenia Department of Anthropology, Stanford University, Stanford, CA, USA Von Del Chamberlain Kanab, UT, USA Philip A. Clarke Environmental & Landscape Planning, Urban Research Program, School of Environment, Griffith University, Nathan, Qld, Australia Michel Cotte University of Nantes, Nantes, France Fla´via Cristina de Mello Department of Anthropology, Universidade Estadual de Santa Cruz – UESC, Ilheus, Bahia, Brazil David S. P. Dearborn Lawrence Livermore National Laboratory, Livermore, CA, USA Kehui Deng College of Humanities and Sciences, Donghua University, Shanghai, China Edmundo Edwards Centro de Estudios Isla de Pascua, Universidad de Chile, Santiago Metropolitan Region, Chile Jose´ Luis Escacena Carrasco Department of Prehistory and Archaeology, University of Seville, Seville, Spain Ce´sar Esteban Departamento de Astrofı´sica and Instituto de Astrofı´sica de Canarias, Universidad de La Laguna, La Laguna, Tenerife, Spain James Evans University of Puget Sound, Tacoma, WA, USA Priscila Faulhaber Museum of Astronomy and Related Sciences, Rio de Janeiro, Brazil Victor B. Fisher Department of Sociology, Anthropology, and Criminal Justice, Towson University, Towson, MD, USA Roslyn M. Frank University of Iowa, Iowa City, IA, USA Tony Freeth Antikythera Mechanism Research Project, South Ealing, London, UK Jesu´s Galindo Trejo Instituto de Investigaciones Este´ticas, Universidad Nacional Auto´noma de Me´xico (UNAM), Mexico City, Mexico Marco V. Garcı´a Quintela University of Santiago de Compostela, Santiago de Compostela, Spain Yves Gauthier Re´aumont, France Iva´n Ghezzi Instituto de Investigaciones Arqueolo´gicas, Miraflores, Lima, Peru G. Gigauri Eqvtime Takaishvili Historical Society, Tbilisi, Georgia

Contributors

xxxi

Sixto R. Gime´nez Benı´tez Universidad Nacional de La Plata, La Plata, Argentina Cecilia Paula Go´mez Faculty of Philosophy and Letters, University of Buenos Aires, Buenos Aires, Argentina A. Ce´sar Gonza´lez-Garcı´a Instituto de Ciencias del Patrimonio, Incipit, Santiago de Compostela, Spain Dorian Gieseler Greenbaum University of Wales, Trinity Saint David, Lampeter, Wales, UK Yuzhen Guan Department of Egyptology and Ancient Western Asian Studies, Brown University, Providence, RI, USA Duane W. Hamacher Nura Gili Indigenous Programs Unit, University of New South Wales, Sydney, NSW, Australia Robert Hannah University of Otago, Dunedin, New Zealand Jan Harding School of History, Classics and Archaeology, Newcastle University, Newcastle Upon Tyne, UK Tofigh Heidarzadeh University of California, Riverside, CA, USA Go¨ran Henriksson Department of Physics and Astronomy, Uppsala University, Uppsala, Sweden Peter G. Hoare Ely, Cambridgeshire, UK Jarita Holbrook University of the Western Cape, Belville, South Africa Wayne Horowitz The Hebrew University, Jerusalem, Israel Michael Hoskin Churchill College, Cambridge, UK Gordon Houston Ilia State University, Tbilisi, Georgia Manuela Incerti Department of Architecture, University of Ferrara, Ferrara, Italy Stanisław Iwaniszewski Divisio´n de Posgrado, Escuela Nacional de Antropologı´a e Historia, Tlalpan, Me´xico, D.F., Mexico Pan´stwowe Muzeum Archeologiczne, Warszawa, Poland Fabiola Jara Faculty of Social Sciences, Department of Cultural Anthropology, Utrecht University, Utrecht, The Netherlands Badri Jijelava Ilia State University, Tbilisi, Georgia Susan N. Johnson-Roehr Rutgers, The State University of New Jersey, New Brunswick, NJ, USA Alexander Jones Institute for the Study of the Ancient World, New York University, NY, USA

xxxii

Contributors

John Justeson University at Albany, Albany, NY, USA Sang Hyuk Kim Korea Astronomy and Space Science Institute, Yuseong-gu, Daejeon, Republic of Korea David A. King Johann Wolfgang Goethe University, Frankfurt am Main, Germany Dimiter Kolev Institute of Astronomy and National Astronomical Observatory, Bulgarian Academy of Sciences, Sofia, Bulgaria Svetlana Koleva Faculty of Classical and Modern Philology, Sofia University, Sofia, Bulgaria Vesselina Koleva Institute of Astronomy and National Astronomical Observatory, Bulgarian Academy of Sciences, Sofia, Bulgaria Jacek Kos´ciuk Laboratory of 3D Scanning and Modelling, Institute of History of Architecture, Arts and Technology, Wrocław University of Technology, Wrocław, Poland Rolf Krauss Humboldt-University, Berlin, Germany Edwin C. Krupp Griffith Observatory, Los Angeles, CA, USA Rimvydas Lauzˇikas Faculty of Communication, Vilnius University, Vilnius, Lithuania Arnold Lebeuf Institute for the History of Religions, Jagiellonian University, Krako´w, Poland Eun Hee Lee Yonsei University Observatory, Seoul, Republic of Korea Yong Sam Lee Chungbuk National University, Cheongju, Republic of Korea Daryn Lehoux Queen’s University, Kingston, ON, Canada Geng Li Center of Ancient Chinese Astronomy, National Astronomical Observatories, Chinese Academy of Sciences, Beijing, China Fla´via Pedroza Lima Rio de Janeiro Planetarium Foundation, Rio de Janeiro, Brazil Alejandro Martı´n Lo´pez Seccio´n de Etnologı´a, Instituto de Ciencias Antropolo´gicas, Facultad de Filosofı´a y Letras, Universidad de Buenos Aires, Buenos Aires, Argentina Jose´ Lull Universitat Auto`noma de Barcelona, Cerdanyola del Valle`s, Spain John MacDonald Nunavut Research Institute, Iqaluit, Nunavut, Canada Giulio Magli Politecnico di Milano, Milan, Italy

Contributors

xxxiii

Penka Maglova Stara Zagora Department, Space Research and Technology Institute, Bulgarian Academy of Sciences, Stara Zagora, Bulgaria J. McKim Malville Department of Astrophysical and Planetary Sciences, University of Colorado, Boulder, CO, USA Stamatina Mastorakou Institute for Research in Classical Philosophy and Science, Princeton, NJ, USA Stephen C. McCluskey Department of History, West Virginia University, Morgantown, WV, USA Thebe Rodney Medupe Department of Physics, North West University, Mahikeng, South Africa Susan Milbrath Florida Museum of Natural History, University of Florida, Gainesville, FL, USA Clemency Montelle University of Canterbury, Christchurch, New Zealand Ricardo Moyano Escuela Nacional de Antropologı´a e Historia, Me´xico, D.F., Mexico Armando Mudrik Facultad de Matema´tica, Astronomı´a y Fı´sica, Universidad Nacional de Co´rdoba, Co´rdoba, Argentina Andrew Munro Centre for Astronomy, James Cook University, Townsville, Qld, Australia Gregory E. Munson Dolores, CO, USA William Breen Murray Departamento de Ciencias Sociales, Universidad de Monterrey, San Pedro Garza Garcı´a, Nuevo Leo´n, Mexico Moon-Hyon Nam Konkuk University and Jagyeongnu Research Institute, Seoul, Republic of Korea Harriet Nash University of Exeter, Exeter, UK Ray P. Norris Department of Indigenous Studies, Macquarie University, Sydney, NSW, Australia CSIRO Astronomy & Space Science, Epping, NSW, Australia ˆ hashi Kyoto University, Kyoto, Japan Yukio O Mathieu Ossendrijver TOPOI, Humboldt University, Berlin, Germany Clare Oxby Institute of Social Anthropology, University of Bern, Bern, Switzerland David W. Pankenier Department of Modern Languages and Literatures, Lehigh University, Bethlehem, PA, USA

xxxiv

Contributors

Emı´lia Pa´sztor Magistratum Studio, Dunafo¨ldva´r, Hungary Gonzalo Pereira Planetario Max Schreier, Carrera de Fı´sica, Universidad Mayor de San Andre´s, La Paz, Bolivia ´ vila, University of Manuel Pe´rez Gutie´rrez Higher Polytechnical School of A ´ Salamanca, Avila, Castilla y Leo´n, Spain Fernando Pimenta Associac¸a˜o Portuguesa de Investigac¸a˜o Arqueolo´gica (APIA), Lisbon, Portugal Kim Plofker Union College, Schenectady, NY, USA Andrea Polcaro Universita` degli Studi di Perugia, Perugia, Italy Frank Prendergast Spatial Information Sciences, College of Engineering and Built Environment, Dublin Institute of Technology, Dublin, Ireland Krishnamurthi Ramasubramanian Cell for Indian Science and Technology in Sanskrit, Department of Humanities and Social Sciences, IIT Bombay, Mumbai, India Michael A. Rappengl€ uck Adult Education Centre and Observatory, Gilching, Germany Steven L. Renshaw Kanda University of International Studies, Chiba, Japan Mo`nica Rius-Pinie´s Arabic Studies, Universitat de Barcelona, Barcelona, Spain Allen F. Roberts University of California Los Angeles, Los Angeles, CA, USA Clive L. N. Ruggles School of Archaeology and Ancient History, University of Leicester, Leicester, UK Alun Salt University of Leicester, Leicester, UK Manuel Santos-Este´vez Centro de Ciencias Histo´ricas y Sociales (CSIC), Madrid, Spain Sreeramula Rajeswara Sarma D€usseldorf, Germany Petra G. Schmidl Institut f€ur Orient– und Asienwissenschaften – Abteilung Islamwissenschaften, Rheinische Friedrich–Wilhelms–Universit€at, Bonn, Germany Exzellenzcluster Germany

“Normative

Ordnungen”,

Goethe–Universit€at,

Frankfurt,

Dafon Aime´ Se`gla Martin–Luther University, Halle, Germany Universite´ d’Abomey Calavi UAC – Centre Universitaire d’Aplahoue´, Abomey Calavi, Benin Republic Yunli Shi University of Science and Technology of China, Hefei, China

Contributors

xxxv

B. S. Shylaja Jawaharlal Nehru Planetarium, Bangalore, India Irakli Simonia Ilia State University, Tbilisi, Georgia Arkadiusz Sołtysiak Institute of Archaeology, University of Warsaw, Warszawa, Poland Anthony Spalinger Department of Classics and Ancient History, University of Auckland, Auckland, New Zealand Ivan Sˇprajc Institute of Anthropological and Spatial Studies, Research Center of the Slovenian Academy of Sciences and Arts, Ljubljana, Slovenia M. S. Sriram Department of Theoretical Physics, University of Madras, Guindy Campus, Chennai, India Florin Sta˘nescu University “1 Decembrie 1918”, Alba Iulia, Romania John M. Steele Department of Egyptology and Ancient Western Asian Studies, Brown University, Providence, RI, USA Sacha Stern University College London, London, UK Alexey Stoev Stara Zagora Department, Space Research and Technology Institute, Bulgarian Academy of Sciences, Stara Zagora, Bulgaria Xiaochun Sun Institute for the History of Natural Science, Chinese Academy of Sciences, Xicheng, Beijing, China Sarah Symons McMaster University, Hamilton, ON, Canada Luı´s Tirapicos Centro Interuniversita´rio de Histo´ria das Cieˆncias e da Tecnologia, Universidade de Lisboa, Lisboa, Portugal Anna Lowenhaupt Tsing University of California, Santa Cruz, CA, USA Gabrielle Vail Division of Social Sciences, New College of Florida, Sarasota, FL, USA Daniel Martin Varisco Department of Anthropology, Hofstra University, Hempstead, NY, USA Frank Ventura University of Malta, Msida, Malta Lorenzo Verderame “Sapienza” Universita` di Roma, Rome, Italy David Vogt Media & Graphics Interdisciplinary Centre (MAGIC) Laboratory, University of British Columbia, Vancouver, BC, Canada Ray Williamson Secure World Foundation, Broomfield, CO, USA Fengxian Xu Institute for the History of Natural Science, Chinese Academy of Sciences, Xicheng, Beijing, China

xxxvi

Contributors

Hong-Jin Yang Korea Astronomy and Space Science Institute, Yuseong-gu, Daejeon, Republic of Korea SohNam Institute for History of Astronomy (SIHA), Seoul, Republic of Korea Luis Mari Zaldua Etxabe Urnieta, Basque Country, Spain Mauro Peppino Zedda Agora` Nuragica, Cagliari, Italy Mariusz Zio´łkowski Centre for Precolumbian Studies, University of Warsaw, Warsaw, Poland Georg Zotti Ludwig Boltzmann Institute for Archaeological Prospection and Virtual Archaeology, Vienna, Austria R. Tom Zuidema University of Illinois, Urbana, IL, USA

Part I Themes and Issues Juan Antonio Belmonte

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Concepts of Space, Time, and the Cosmos Stanisław Iwaniszewski

Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3 Basic Concepts . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4 Cultural Representations of the World . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 6 Space, Time, and Astronomy . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7 Rethinking Categories . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 8 Space . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 9 Time . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 11 Conclusions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 12 References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 13

Abstract

Space, time, and cosmos are concepts so fundamental and familiar to the Western world that they are often taken as universal. Time and space are regarded as entities in themselves that exist independently of the rest of reality, “dimensions” that are empty or neutral. Accordingly, Western societies treat them as resources or commodities. However, the assumption that space and time exist and are real is not universal to humankind.

Introduction Though space and time seem to be so fundamental and familiar to our daily experience that we consider them real, there is practically no limit to the different ways in which people conceive of space and time. While modern societies tend to

S. Iwaniszewski Divisio´n de Posgrado, Escuela Nacional de Antropologı´a e Historia, Tlalpan, Me´xico, D.F., Mexico Pan´stwowe Muzeum Archeologiczne, Warszawa, Poland e-mail: [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_2, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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depict these categories as types of independent entities, real things, or universal and objective categories (Shanks and Tilley 1988, pp. 119–126), for most premodern and non-Western societies time and space remained embedded in their activities and events. From an anthropological viewpoint, concepts of space and time should be viewed as cultural products (artifacts), products of thought, situated within Karl Popper’s (1972) third world (Renfrew and Bahn 1991, pp. 340), but remaining embedded and embodied in physical objects, events, and processes taking place in his first world. Therefore, there is no reason to suppose that space and time are real things that exist and can be universally and objectively perceived; rather they should be regarded as “imaginary constructs which generate the rationality of the relationship between people and their actions” (Iwaniszewski 2001, p. 3). In a similar way, all peoples create a concept of the universe, or cosmos, and the rules by which their world works. How their cosmos is structured affects the ways in which peoples interact with their physical, social, and mental environments. But, contrary to modern scientific theories of the universe, developed through the systematic reflection of specialized scholars, peoples’ concepts of the universe are rarely composed of formal proposals about the world in which they live. Instead, such statements can be elicited from implicit messages that are embedded in mythological and ritual structures and in everyday practices and taken-for-granted values, and embodied in symbolic representations, landscape features, individual skills, and so on. Despite the growing interest in ancient epistemologies and indigenous ontological views, archaeoastronomers rarely deal with spatial and temporal representations of cultures and peoples. On the other hand, direct evidence for the role of the astronomical knowledge in shaping peoples’ concepts of space and time may be found in the social sciences. The problem with this information is that it is often presented in a form of dispersed and anecdotal references within wider discussions (e.g., Bourdieu 1977, Eliade 1959; Hallpike 1979; Le´vi-Strauss 1979, 2005a, b). For the sake of simplicity, it is enough to say that the most explicit manifestation of the relationships between celestial phenomena and spatio-cultural categories is evident in the order manifest in monumental architecture and city plans, and timereckoning and calendars.

Basic Concepts First, I aim to describe distinctions between anthropological concepts of worldview, cosmology, and lifeworld. A worldview (the term borrowed from the philosophical concept of Weltanschauung, first used by Immanuel Kant) or cosmovisio´n is a set of fundamental beliefs and concepts by which a world (lifeworld) is apprehended, understood, and cognitively organized. Based on implicit assumptions, unquestioned beliefs, and taken-for-granted explanations, peoples’ assumptions about the world are mutually, logically, and structurally integrated, implying that social practices,

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institutions, beliefs, and structures, on the one hand, and relationships with the surrounding world, on the other, are consistent with each other and with general statements about that world. Recurrent and daily activities are organized in patterned sets which are structured in accordance with the peculiar internal logic built into the cultural system. The principles of organization by which the surrounding world appears as a self-evident reality have been variously described by structural and symbolic anthropologists either as mythologic or as symbologic systems (e.g., Galinier 1999; Hallpike 1979; Kearney 1995, pp. 52–55; Leach 1976, pp. 69–70; Le´vi-Strauss 1979). These principles are commonly known and deeply rooted in all-encompassing schemes through which each society organizes its lifeworld. The symbologic system emphasizes dual distinctions (up/down, right/left, men/women, sky/earth, and the like) that are culturally recognizable and made meaningful. Embedded in everyday activities, ancient and non-Western worldview categories are not able to transcend specific cultural and social barriers. Since worldview assumptions are organized according to an internal social dynamic (different social interests, motivations, social structure, etc.), the degree of consistency between them need not be complete. Worldviews do not produce unified or fully coherent systems of concepts and beliefs, but rather “a range of understandings sufficient so its members can be moved by the same symbols and thoughts” (Barth 1995, p. 79). In contrast with ideology, worldview is much freer from political connotations. However, even if many worldview concepts and categories are accepted as “natural”, they are far from being immutable. In sum, a worldview simultaneously acts as a descriptive model that is shaped by people’s shared experience and as a normative model that shapes that collective experience (compare Olthuis 1989, p. 29), which consists of both the cognitive and existential aspects of human life. In anthropology, cosmology (in anthropology this term is adopted from the philosophical concept of cosmology first used by Christian Wolff) implies the study of people’s concepts of the universe, and this term is often handled as a kind of terminological cover for the concepts that people use to represent their world. In examining people’s notions of time and space, anthropologists often treat them as if they were categories analogous to the concepts determined by Western societies, so people’s notions of space, time, self, and other should forcefully correspond to our notions of space, time, self, and other. It is true that in many non-Western societies, ritual and religious specialists tend to develop highly complex and elaborated concepts of the world showing a more reflexive, nuanced, and rational treatment of questions about the nature of the world that have similarities with modern cosmologies (Redfield 1952, p. 30). Such specialized knowledge of the world often needs to develop a new terminology, often hidden in metaphors known to a few initiates. However, even these concepts of native cosmologies are bounded and restricted by the same (symbologic) principles that are operating as systems of meanings encoded in peoples’ worldviews. Modern cosmologies rest on a universality that transcends cultural, religious, and ethnic frameworks and provide models of the cosmos that exists outside the

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human world. According to Brague (2003, pp. 9–16) it was the ancient Greeks who first conceptually separated the “world” from human societies and cultures. Once dehumanized and freed from human constraints (i.e., uncreated by gods or humans), the universe has been considered as a separate entity. In contrast to this, the term “world” taken from native worldviews and cosmologies is always used to refer to the human world or the inhabited world. Though particular worldviews are culture specific, they nevertheless are composed of several categories that can be universalized and used as the basis from which intercultural comparisons can be made. According to Kearney (1995, pp. 65–107), these categories are self and other, space and time, relationship and causality, and classification. Elements of these anthropologically defined categories may be found in practical actions as well as in mythological narratives and ritual representations, and in the negotiations of both actions and representations in the course of their performance. In examining the nature of the peoples’ concepts of the world, I have used the phenomenological term of lifeworld (Lebenswelt) to refer to the familiar world of everyday life (Schutz and Luckmann 2003, pp. 25–28). The lived world is the environment (material, social, and intangible) where people live as social agents, or as individuals who are more or less aware of the rules by which they should conduct their daily lives. Each lifeworld is purposefully structured to inform the acting individuals about the conditions that enable, restrict, or prohibit their actions. All things, events, and processes (plants, animals, humans, astronomical and meteorological phenomena, inanimate objects) that are perceived as being important for human life are conceptualized, labeled, classified, and assigned to specific places and moments of time in a singular and integrated “whole” (or “network” in the sense of Latour). Phenomenological notions of “being-in-the-world” advocated by Ingold (2000, pp. 5, 185–187) imply that worldview categories permeate all aspects of daily life or are embodied in things and events of daily life. Since acting in the environment is people’s way of knowing it (Ingold 2000, pp. 40–60), then the different worldview categories should be viewed as being embedded in their practical engagement with the world, concrete actions, functional uses, symbolic representations, and the shared acting in-the-world. As a result, diverse objects, events, and processes perceived in the “surrounding world” (Umwelt) are understood or interpreted within the specific conceptual framework based on takenfor-granted or commonsense categories (Habermas 2006, pp. 161–215). To sum up, lifeworld structures enable human societies to interact more effectively with their environment and to shape their worldviews.

Cultural Representations of the World A final term to which I need to refer is related to the problem of the representation (symbolization) of the world as it appears to peoples and cultures. The ability to represent the world through artifacts (things, actions, events) allows peoples to keep in mind much more information than that which can be perceived immediately.

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The great variety of types of world presentation constitutes a kind of continuum between simple and more sophisticated forms: images, pictures, maps, and textual descriptions. Depending on the theoretical viewpoint, such representations of the world are variously named. The Graeco-Roman term “cosmography” refers to the drawing or description of the “world as it appears at a given moment, with regard to its structure, its possible division into levels, regions, and so on” (Brague 2003, p. 3). The German concept of Weltbild (used in old anthropology and archaeology) is defined as a “picture” of the genesis and structure of the world. . .[that] involves basic concepts of the social order and its relation to the cosmic order” (Griffioen 1989, pp. 83–84). Imago mundi (image of the world) is the term coined by Mircea Eliade (1959) to describe actions associated with city, temple, and house building based on the divine example of the creation of worldly order out of chaos. City, temple, and house layouts very often imitated the order perceived in the heavens. Imago mundi is a representation of the cosmos on the earth. In recent times scholars in anthropology and archaeology have started to use the term “cosmogram” to refer to the symbolic image depicting the world. It seems to replace the names of mandala (taken from the Hindu and Buddhist tradition, Tucci 1974) and of the medieval schema or schemata (Yates 1966). In most cases such figures were deliberately created and based on deductive rather than inductive thinking, so they should be viewed as products of an ideological or cosmological reflection rather than of a “pure” worldview understanding. Such representations of a cosmos, with defined human activities within it, were often astronomically oriented. The diverse imagery associated with such assemblages was consistent with a society’s worldview including vertical and horizontal axes that represented the spatiotemporal order of a cosmos.

Space, Time, and Astronomy The Western concept of geometrical space enables modern societies to plot exact positions on maps regardless of countries, peoples, and cultures. For example, astronomical alignments are given in degrees, targeted positions on distant horizon are expressed in declinations, and motions in the sky are described by mathematical formulae, so that all are described in universal and value-free terms. If space exists as an independent category, then it is possible to find exact locations in the physical world. In a similar way, activities like stargazing and sunwatching are often viewed as rationally calculated because when associated with calendar making and time-reckoning, they enabled people to free themselves from the regime of irregular and unpredictable fluctuations of different environmental cycles. Consequently, the order found in the natural cycles of day and night, lunar months, and solar or sidereal years provides humans with a system of homogenous intervals of time. Nevertheless, we have already seen that within premodern and non-Western societies, the categories of space, time, and cosmos should be treated as culturespecific constructs, intimately related to socioeconomic structures and

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environmental conditions rather than as physical entities in themselves. Since all activities are performed in space and time, then space and time are equally important factors in setting up divisions and hierarchies between individuals. This means that the spatial and the temporal frameworks should be regarded as dimensions (not parameters) of all social phenomena (Giddens 1995, pp. 143–175; Shanks and Tilley 1988, pp. 119–120, 178). Together with other cultural elements, such as dress codes, cooking, farming and hunting activities, kinship rules, and mythical narratives and ceremonies, space and time are elements of the social organization that organizes and structures societies. Anthropology shows that people never live within abstract spatiotemporal frameworks; they always use space and time to mark social distinctions of gender, age, rank, status, and ethnic or religious affiliation. According to Bourdieu (1991, pp. 121–124), the image made of the lived or existential world equates to the representation of that world, and the rules making divisions in the social and natural world are the same (e.g., dichotomies like cold/hot, night/day, in/out). It therefore appears that the world around peoples, as created, inhabited, and represented, is always transformed into an ordered and significantly structured space-time. So, when anthropologists speak of space and time, they often mean concepts of social space and social time. Within archaeoastronomy, social interpretation has too often tended to utilize concepts of abstract or homogenous space and time, apprehended by Western societies in the form of geometrized or Euclidean space and clock time. In this approach, the order either perceived in the sky or imposed by the rotating heavens is regarded as independent of any particular social and cultural context. Also, astronomical time found in celestial movements has no apparent relationship to the social time found embedded in human things, activities, and events. In other words, the skies and human societies are considered as discrete categories, separated from each other. One such view maintains that concepts of space and time divisions are subordinated to celestial rhythms and cycles, which exist as independent objects of research. Another envisages a distanced and disinterested stargazer who systematically scans the skies to get insights into the universe, treating it as a sui generis neutral “backdrop” to his thinking.

Rethinking Categories Given that space, time, and cosmos are aspects of knowledge of the world, they are quite distinct from modern concepts of the universe. Ancient skywatchers did not perform theoretically neutral observations removed from the lifeworld or free from cosmovisional or cultural cosmological (religious, ideological, political, metaphysical) interpretations. People did not first follow the Sun in the sky and then come to use their rising and setting points to order their living space or to invent solar calendars. Rather, they progressively utilized celestial bodies from the beginning, from everyday activities and situated practices that produced individuals as social beings (for a treatment of a dwelling perspective, see Ingold 2000, pp. 153–297).

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Now, if we accept that concepts of space and time are not only embedded in nature, but also in artifacts (i.e., human-made tools), social processes, and relationships, then it is possible to transcend the nature/culture dualism.

Space In most contemporary (modern and non-modern) societies the trajectory of the Sun across the sky from East to West is considered as the most important axis and terms for East and West are defined by the rising and setting Sun (Brown 1983). My own research (Iwaniszewski 1993) shows that this tends to happen in societies with gendered task specialization, where the East and West quadrants are imbued with ideologically charged principles such as associations between femininity and the West and masculinity and the East (reversed-order associations are much less probable). Now, as social categories that serve as divisions for the cultural system of classification are projected onto the skies, they produce images of gendered luminaries. Important celestial bodies become gendered because they are grouped and classified in the same way as are created and reproduced social categories integrating people in the form of groups. In such a way, social values projected onto the celestial bodies may represent the Sun as male and the Moon as female, or vice versa. Now, the animate entities that represent both luminaries may be believed to maintain relationships similar to those of people; the female Moon may be considered as a consort of the Sun (or his sister) (Le´vi-Strauss 1979). Not only may these celestial bodies act as stereotyped or standard models embodying culturally shared gender attributes, but they can also maintain family ties with human communities, commonly being called people’s “ancestors”, “buddies”, or “(grand)parents”. In his influential theory Eliade (1959) noticed that non-Western societies believed they lived in an ordered world, created out of primordial chaos by mythological figures (cultural heroes, divine ancestors, or gods). Such mythical worlds were usually represented (or imitated) either in the form of sacred buildings or in layouts of human-made settlements. Inhabited space was usually organized around the center, often conceptualized as a vertical axis (called axis mundi) linking three cosmic levels (the upperworld, the earth plane, and the netherworld) and an intersection of cardinal directions. The cosmic order (the establishment of the vertical and horizontal axes) represented in architecture has been called imago mundi. Perhaps the best known examples of architectural imago mundi are the 9th-century Buddhist Borobudur Temple near Magelang (Java, Indonesia) and the 12th-century Hindu/Buddhist temple complex at Angkor Wat (Cambodia). Cardinal orientation that appears in the arrangement of ritual precincts, villages, cities, and monumental architecture is supposed to imitate the cosmic prototype, referring either to the motions of celestial bodies or to the rotation of the celestial firmament itself. The whole arrangement illustrates a quincuncial pattern: the four cardinal points and the center. Consequently, the organization of space around a system of cardinal directions may be defined by the rising and setting points of

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the Sun, while the establishment of the vertical axis may be governed by the position of the polar star (Wheatley 1971), the solar zenith passage or another brilliant star whose importance is mythologically justified. The human body and the dwelling area (house or household) are the primary domains producing spatial divisions (Bourdieu 1977; Hallpike 1979, p. 285; Parker Pearson and Richards 1994, pp. 10–11). The body is divided into left and right, and front and back sides; into upper and lower, and inner and outer parts; and so on. These can easily be projected onto the immediate dwelling space, the house. The spatiotemporal and material domains of life lived at home are socially constructed, playing an important role in the construction and expression of social difference. The house as a spatial metaphor operates as a material representation of relational spatial domains (Bourdieu 1991): specific places are usually associated with the areas associated with the female/male or young/old action domains. The spatial concepts derived from the prototypical images of the human body and the house are perceived as constituting a symbological system that provides a framework upon which all other spatial concepts are constituted (Hallpike 1979, pp. 285–296). Astronomy plays an important role here since some of the ordering principles may be derived from the heavens. Many societies develop collective spatial representations associated with the cardinal directions that are often materialized at different levels of human interaction: in a house floor plan, in a village arrangements, in a city plan, in alignments of individual buildings or assemblages, etc. As the social space of people is already organized in patterned sets, the complex grid based on the four cardinal directions provides the necessary context for mapping the celestial into the quotidian. The celestial realm becomes therefore part of the field, or the “social field” (Bourdieu 1998), the structured and meaningful space where individuals, groups, social institutions, and the like negotiate their roles and statuses. Individuals or institutions who possess certain resources (called capitals) that are valuable within a certain type of field (political, symbolic, cultural, economic, educational, etc.) are able to exert power over others and power to transform the field in which they act (Bourdieu 1998). Dwelling and architectural space and a conceptually constructed cosmos are thus implicated in the reproduction and transformation of the social order. Astronomical alignments encoded in architectural layouts create direct associations between the human and celestial realms, and in doing so, they provide a powerful symbolism often exploited by the ruling elites who initiate new constructions of public architecture to ensure legitimacy through its particular orientation that establishes a closer relation to the celestial realm (Eliade 1959; Wheatley 1971). However, the cardinal points were not abstract concepts as today are the cardinal directions defined by magnetic compass; rather as Tuan (1978, p. 9) rightly notices, they should be regarded as “value-laden localities in which the powers of nature reside”. Cardinal directions contained meanings used to qualify and classify activities and events occurring within them. For example, among the Assyrians the four winds assigned to the quarters of the inhabited world were correlated with the lunar quadrants darkened during eclipses and used to derive meanings of those phenomena (RochbergHalton 1984, pp. 127–128). In this case, cardinal directions were not mere

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coordinates for establishing location of the eclipse; they supplied the interpretative framework in which eclipsed parts became meaningful.

Time Most calendar systems are based on astronomical phenomena (see also ▶ Chap. 2, “Calendars and Astronomy”). All these phenomena are regular and periodic, and therefore offer the possibility to measure time. The reason why astronomical objects are employed in the construction of calendars is that their movements are reasonably regular and predictable. Assuming an anthropocentric viewpoint, these phenomena are the rotation of the Earth, the revolutions of the Sun and Moon, and the revolutions of certain planets or stars. The rotation of the Earth gives the basic unit, the day; the revolution of the Moon gives rise to the concept of the month; and the revolution of the Sun defines the period of a year. However, each of these basic units may be defined in different ways. The direction to the Sun defines a solar day, the direction toward a fixed position of the stars defines a sidereal day, and the direction of the vernal equinox gives a tropical day. Similarly, the period between the same lunar phases is called the synodic month (the length of the mean synodic month ¼ 29.530589 days), while the interval between two consecutive conjunctions between the Moon and a given asterism (as seen from the Earth) is called the sidereal month (27.321661 days). Finally, the interval between two consecutive conjunctions between the Sun and a given asterism (as seen from the Earth) defines the sidereal year (365.256360 days). Astronomers define a (mean) tropical year (365.24219 days) as the interval “needed for the Sun’s mean longitude to increase by 360 ” (Meeus and Savoie 1992, p. 42; see also ▶ Chap. 30, “Basic Concepts of Positional Astronomy”). The motions perceived in the skies give rise to the following types of calendar: lunar (e.g., Islamic, Javanese, Balinese calendars), solar (e.g., Mesoamerican, Egyptian and its derivatives such as the Persian, Armenian, and Julian calendars), lunisolar (e.g, Mesopotamian, Greek, Jewish, Indian lunisolar, and Chinese calendars), and sidereal (e.g., Indian solar calendar) (e.g., Richards 1998; Dershowitz and Reingold 2008) (see also ▶ Chap. 2, “Calendars and Astronomy”). Another calendar based on a numbering of days has been used in southern Mesoamerica (the so-called Long Count system); despite various interpretations proposed, its relationship to astronomical cycles remains unknown (Milbrath 1999). Basically, the shortest calendar period is the day, the longest one is the year, and the main intermediary period is the month. Larger periods such as centuries, eras, epochs, and reigns establish the framework in which years are counted, remaining in the domain of chronology. The partition of the day into smaller units is usually not regarded as being calendrical. The structure of calendars is thus determined by the number of days in the month and the number of months in the year. The almost universal use of the same term to denote either “day” or “Sun” and to refer to both “month” and “Moon” denotes the importance of solar and lunar observations. The semantic domain of the term “year” is highly heterogeneous.

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It may refer to one particular (climatic) season (such as “winter” or “summer”, “hot” or “cold” season, and “wet” or “dry” season) or to concepts such as “world”, “place”, “area”, and “region” (Kroeber 1925), thus denoting the dwelling perspective of inhabitants. The anthropological evidence suggests that “day”, “month”, and “year” were concepts used to fix collective activities and to synchronize repetitive sequences of events (lunar and solar cycles; climatic-meteorological rhythms; periods of planting and harvesting of basic food staples, of hunting and recollecting, and of other economic activities; ritual and birth seasonality; etc. – see Nilsson 1920, Ite´anu 1999; Condon and Scaglion 1982) that belong to distinct domains of cultural classifications. According to Nilsson, astronomical events such as a heliacal rise of a specific star, a sunset behind an important landmark, and a “first Moon”, together with other recurrent environmental events (first rainfall, the arrival of certain birds, the flowering of particular plants) and social and cultural cycles (political, ritual, or economic sequences), are indicators that mark the passage of time. Playing their roles as time indicators that are unevenly distributed, they did not represent uniform units of time, but represented culturally defined and socially meaningful “guide marks” informing people when a given activity should start. Thus, astronomically based calendars may be referred to as cultural devices used to synchronize distinct (social, cultural, and natural) phenomena rather than timemeasuring tools. Examinations of astronomically based calendars show that they are usually vested with cultural significance. Since most environmental events contain a strong seasonal aspect, they may often be tied to specific parts of the year. Therefore, calendars based on observations of the Sun’s movement along the horizon reveal many pragmatic uses, related to agricultural and ritual activities in the annual cycles, implying they were not specifically established to mark astronomical events. For example, in Mesoamerica the most frequently recorded dates embodied in architectural alignments may best be explained by their link with various seasonal climatic-meteorological changes (the dry and wet seasons) and crucial moments of maize agriculture (Iwaniszewski 1989; Broda 1993; Sˇprajc 2001, pp. 79–88). In addition, they may often be related to other cultural elements such as patterns of ritual activity, political strategies, and ideological constraints (see Aveni 2001; Sˇprajc 2005).

Conclusions Embedded in complex relationships with various celestial bodies, peoples often conceived the heavens as part of a single, animate universe. They perceived celestial and terrestrial planes as mutually connected realms, and, in consequence, produced ordered worlds in which seasonal, meteorological, celestial, and economic cycles were coordinated with floral, faunal, and human life cycles. They also used astronomical referents to determine cardinal directions to produce spatial order based on directionality. These temporal and spatial referents not

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only enabled them to construct a model of the cosmos but also allowed them to build up social relations within that cosmos. The use of astronomical events and objects to construct concepts of space and time demonstrates the ways in which peoples socialize the skies. The innovative importance of cultural astronomy lies in the study of such topics.

References Aveni AF (2001) Skywatchers: a revised and updated version of skywatchers of ancient Mexico. University of Texas Press, Austin Barth F (1995) Cosmologies in the making. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge Bourdieu P (1977) Outline of a theory of practice. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge Bourdieu P (1991) El sentido pra´ctico. Taurus, Madrid Bourdieu P (1998) La Distincio´n. Criterio y bases sociales del gusto. Taurus, Madrid Brague R (2003) The wisdom of the world. The University of Chicago Press, Chicago Broda J (1993) Astronomical knowledge, calendrics and sacred geography in ancient Mesoamerica. In: Ruggles CLN, Saunders NJ (eds) Astronomies and cultures. University of Colorado Press, Niwot, pp 253–295 Brown CH (1983) Where do cardinal direction terms come from? Anthropological Linguistics 25(2):121–161 Condon RG, Scaglion R (1982) The ecology of human birth seasonality. Hum Ecol 10(4):495–511 Dershowitz N, Reingold EM (2008) Calendrical calculations, 3rd edn. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge Eliade M (1959) The sacred and profane. Harcourt, Orlando Galinier J (1999) L’entendement me´soame´ricain: categories et objets du monde. L’homme 151:101–122 Giddens A (1995) La constitucio´n de la sociedad. Bases para la Teorı´a de la Estructuracio´n. Amorrortu, Buenos Aires Griffioen S (1989) The worldview approach to social theory: hazards and benefits. In: Marshall PA, Griffioen S, Mouw RJ (eds) Stained glass: worldviews and social science. University Press of America, Lanham, pp 81–117 Habermas J (2006) Teorı´a de la accio´n comunicativa, II, 2nd edn. Taurus, Madrid Hallpike CR (1979) The foundations of primitive thought. Clarendon, Oxford Ingold T (2000) The perception of the environment: essays in livelihood, dwelling and skill. Routledge, London/New York Ite´anu A (1999) Synchronisations among the Orokaiva. Social Anthropology 7(3):265–278 Iwaniszewski S (1989) Exploring some anthropological theoretical foundations for archaeoastronomy. In: Aveni AF (ed) World archaeoastronomy. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, pp 269–290 Iwaniszewski S (1993) Some social correlates of directional symbolism. In: Ruggles CLN (ed) Archaeoastronomy in the 1990s. Group D Publications, Loughborough, pp 45–56 Iwaniszewski S (2001) Time and space in social systems – further issues for theoretical archaeoastronomy. In: Ruggles CLN, Prendergast F, Ray T (eds) Astronomy, cosmology and landscape. Ocarina Books, Bognor Regis, pp 1–7 Kearney M (1995) World view. Chandler and Sharp, Novato Kroeber A L (1925) Handbook of the Indians of California. [Bureau of American Ethnology Bulletin 78]. Smithsonian Institution, Washington Leach E (1976) Culture and communication: the logic by which symbols are connected. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge Le´vi-Strauss C (1979) Antropologı´a structural. Siglo XXI Editores, Me´xico Le´vi-Strauss C (2005a) Mitolo´gicas I. Lo crudo y lo cocido. Fondo de Cultura Econo´mica, Me´xico

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Le´vi-Strauss C (2005b) Mitolo´gicas II. De la miela las cenizas. Fondo ce Cultura Econo´mica, Me´xico Meeus J, Savoie D (1992) The history of the tropical year. Journal of the British Astronomical Association 102(1):40–42 Milbrath S (1999) Star Gods of the Maya: astronomy in art, folklore, and calendars. University of Texas Press, Austin Nilsson MP (1920) Primitive time-reckoning. C W K Gleerup, Lund Olthuis JH (1989) On Worldviews. In: Marshall PA, Griffioen S, Mouw RJ (eds) Stained glass: worldviews and social science. University Press of America, Lanham/London, pp 26–40 Parker Pearson M, Richards C (1994) Ordering the world: perceptions of architecture, space and time. In: Parker Pearson M, Richards C (eds) Architecture and order. Approaches to social space. Routledge, London, pp 1–37 Popper KR (1972) Objective knowledge. The Clarendon Press, Oxford Redfield R (1952) The primitive world view. Proceedings of the American Philosophical Society 96(1):30–36 Renfrew C, Bahn P (1991) Archaeology: theories, methods and practice. Thames & Hudson, London Richards EG (1998) Mapping time: the calendar and its history. Oxford University Press, Oxford Rochberg-Halton F (1984) New evidence for the history of astrology. Journal of Near Eastern Studies 43(2):115–140 Schutz A, Luckmann T (2003) Las estructuras del mundo de la vida. Amorrortu, Buenos Aires Shanks M, Tilley C (1988) Social theory and archaeology. University of New Mexico Press, Albuquerque Sˇprajc I (2001) Orientaciones astronomicas en la arquitectura prehispa´nica del centro de Me´xico, [Coleccio´n Cientı´tica, 427]. Instituto Nacional de Antropologı´a e Historia, Me´xico Sˇprajc I (2005) More on Mesoamerican cosmology and city plans. Latin American Antiquity 16(2):209–216 Tuan YF (1978) Space, time, place: a humanistic frame. In: Carlstein T, Parkes D, Thrift N (eds) Timing space and spacing time. Vil. 1: Making sense of time. Edward Arnols, London, pp 7–15 Tucci G (1974) Teorı´a y pra´ctica del ma´ndala. Barral editores, Barcelona Wheatley P (1971) The pivot of the four quarters. A preliminary enquiry into the origins and character of the ancient Chinese city. Aldine, Chicago Yates F (1966) The art of memory. Routledge and Kegan, London

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Calendars and Astronomy Clive L. N. Ruggles

Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Calendars: Their Nature and Purpose . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Types of Astronomical Calendar . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Material Manifestations of Calendars . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The Evolution of Calendars and the Nature of Society . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Abstract

Over the widest possible range of human cultures, calendars serve to synchronize events, to arrange events chronologically, to provide a temporal framework for referencing and enacting events, and to determine durations (time intervals) between events. They are typically, although not exclusively, linked to one or more astronomical cycles such as the phase cycle of the moon, the seasonal cycle of appearances and disappearances of stars and asterisms, and the seasonal movement of the position of sunrise or sunset to and fro along the horizon. Cultural diversity, together with the fact that the principal astronomical cycles do not fit neatly together, has led different communities to create an extraordinary range of calendars fitted to particular situations and social needs, often showing remarkable ingenuity. This brief survey, which cross-references many other articles in the Handbook, begins by exploring the nature and purpose of calendars in broad terms before proceeding to examine some of the general characteristics of different types of calendar. The next section identifies some of the theoretical and methodological issues facing those who attempt to reconstruct elements of prehistoric calendars from material evidence alone. The article finishes with some remarks concerning calendrical evolution and development.

C.L.N. Ruggles School of Archaeology and Ancient History, University of Leicester, Leicester, UK e-mail: [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_4, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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Introduction It is often stated that the regular cycles of the heavens have provided a reliable basis for marking the passage of time among many types of human society in the past, likely extending right back into the Paleolithic. This may seem uncontroversial enough from a modern Western perspective; yet in thinking in these terms we must actually exercise considerable caution, since we are implicitly making at least three assumptions that are questionable in indigenous contexts: • Outside “Western” societies, time is not necessarily (and, indeed, is unlikely to be) conceptualized as an abstract axis along which events “happen” (see also ▶ Chap. 1, “Concepts of Space, Time and the Cosmos”). Making sense of the world typically involves spotting correlations between changes taking place in many parts of the environment as it is perceived in its entirety and using observed events to predict, or enact, others in order to keep everything in tune and/or ensure desired outcomes. Such outcomes could range, for example, from successful harvests to victory in war (Aveni 1989; Gosden 1994; Ruggles 2005). • There is no reason why the cycles of the heavens should be seen as temporal indicators that are intrinsically any more reliable than many other events that recurred with reasonable regularity (the role of sunwatchers among the Mursi of Ethiopia provides a good example – see ▶ Chap. 86, “Mursi and Borana Calendars”), except where astronomical observations became systematically recorded and mathematically analyzed. • The heavens are not generally perceived as passive and immutable, but filled with entities that are not only animate and can influence events but also capable of being affected by human action (Iwaniszewski 2011). That said, it is beyond question that the sky – and the night sky in particular – did form an integral and prominent part of the environment perceived by almost every human culture before the onset of modern cities and lighting (see ▶ Chap. 24, “Nature and Analysis of Material Evidence Relevant to Archaeoastronomy”) and correlations would surely have been evident between the changing configurations of the heavens and other recurrent events in the natural world, such as those relating to the passage of the seasons. It is such correlations – as perceived by the society concerned, whether or not they would be classified as “empirically real”, in other words “scientifically explicable”, according to Western rationality (Aveni 1989, pp. 333–334; Ruggles and Saunders 1993) – that typically form the basis of what we might recognize, or wish to characterize, as a calendar.

Calendars: Their Nature and Purpose In the archaeoastronomical literature, most authors freely use the term “calendar” without offering any precise definition, relying instead on the common understanding of the word. Dictionary definitions, in so far as they apply to indigenous contexts at all, tend to be framed in innately Western terms and can be loosely

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paraphrased as “a system for managing intervals of time”. In order to generalize this, one needs to replace the notion of abstract time by more broadly applicable concepts of temporality (Gell 1992; Adam 1994; Gosden 1994; Rosen 2004; see also ▶ Chap. 1, “Concepts of Space, Time, and the Cosmos”). Nonetheless attempts to continually reaffirm this point by studiously avoiding such phrases as “periods of time” and “time intervals” when discussing calendrical systems can rapidly become cumbersome, and this will not be done in what follows. To tie down what exactly archaeoastronomers tend to mean when they speak of calendars, it is helpful to identify some of the characteristics that distinguish cultural systems that can be reasonably be termed “calendrical”: • Systems that highlight temporal correlations between, and serve to synchronize, different events. • Systems that serve to arrange events chronologically. • Lists of observable events that provide a framework for referencing or enacting others. • Systems that serve to determine durations (measure time intervals) between events. Astronomical cycles need not be involved in all, or indeed any, of these systems. Among many indigenous peoples, astronomical events were not rated any more reliable as an indication of the progress of the year than a range of other natural occurrences (Nilsson 1920; Turton and Ruggles 1978), while in some more bureaucratic cultures, direct reference to astronomical observations was largely or completely abandoned in favor of arithmetical reckoning, as happened in ancient Rome with the adoption of the Julian calendar, featuring numerically defined “months” (Hannah 2005, 2009). Nor, conversely, do correlations with astronomical events – in themselves – necessarily constitute a calendar. Thus for the Barasana of Colombia, the fact that pupating caterpillars fall from trees, providing a valuable food source, when the caterpillar-jaguar constellation rises higher in the sky at dusk comes about (as the Barasana see it) because the Father of Caterpillars in the sky, by rising up, directly causes the numbers of earthly caterpillars to increase (Hugh-Jones 1982, p. 191). In other words, the perceived connection between terrestrial caterpillars and an asterism in Scorpius is in itself cosmological rather than calendrical (Ruggles 2005, pp. 43–44), although sequences of correlations such as this can clearly form the basis of what one can reasonably term calendrical systems, as among the Barasana themselves (Hugh-Jones 1982). It is clear nonetheless that the repeated cycles of various celestial bodies (whether or not perceived as particularly regular in comparison with other repeating phenomena observed in the world) provide potential temporal markers of excellent reliability, the need for clear skies being the only constraint. The moon is an obvious candidate for this purpose: it is conspicuous, and its cycle of phases is easily tracked and of a convenient periodicity which coincides broadly with the human menstrual cycle. The annual passage of the sun’s rising and setting positions to and fro along the horizon and its changing arc through the sky, which gives rise to days of different lengths, are directly related to the seasonal year. A star follows the same track

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through the sky night after night, but the changing time of night of its rising, culmination, and setting (or upper and lower culmination for circumpolar stars) is also correlated with the seasonal year. The planets also follow regular cycles, generally more complex, but nonetheless recognizable and readily observable. Astronomical methods or devices for measuring time periods shorter than a day, for example, by tracking sun shadows during daylight (e.g., ▶ Chap. 203, “Ancient Chinese Sundials”) or the position of given stars across the sky during the night, as in ancient Egypt (see ▶ Chap. 132, “Egyptian “Star Clocks””) or modern Oman (see ▶ Chap. 184, “Star Clocks and Water Management in Oman”), are conventionally regarded as “clocks” rather than “calendars”. Conversely, periods longer than a year begin to enter the realm of chronology (see ▶ Chap. 3, “Astronomy and Chronology - Babylonia, Assyria, and Egypt”). Not all astronomically related, or astronomically based, calendars have all four characteristics listed above. A classic example of a system serving to arrange seasonal events chronologically is Hesiod’s Works, a farmers’ almanac written in poetic form in Greece around 700 BC, containing advice for farmers (and specifically the poet’s brother) on using the annual first appearance or last disappearance (heliacal rise and set) of various stars, as well as observations of the sun and other natural phenomena, as a guide to when to plow, plant, and harvest (Aveni 1989, pp. 41–48; Hannah 2005; see also ▶ Chap. 139, “Ancient Greek Calendars”). This almanac clearly provides a framework for action, but it does not serve to determine or specify the length of time between these actions. Likewise the modern-day Mursi, who counted off lunations as a reference base for correlating various seasonal events, were unconcerned with actual time intervals, as is clear from the example of a farmer who tied a string around his ankle and carefully added a knot each day to determine the number of days between planting and harvest, only to find that his peers were completely uninterested in the result (Turton and Ruggles 1978, p. 592). Both of these examples also serve as a reminder that temporal referents (astronomical and otherwise) that “make sense” in a Western framework may coexist alongside (and on an equal footing with) other referents and signs (also astronomical and otherwise) that do not fit with Western rationality and hence would be dismissed as “mere superstition” (Aveni 1989, pp. 333–334). Thus Hesiod’s Works is accompanied by Days, which contains prognostications associated with the phase of the moon (Aveni 1989, pp. 48–51), while Mursi sunwatchers were also experts in divining future events using goat entrails (see ▶ Chap. 86, “Mursi and Borana Calendars”). Calendars that sought to specify time intervals in days, or larger units, with reference to astronomical phenomena could reach extraordinary levels of precision and complexity, depending on social motivations and technical capabilities. However, all such calendars depend upon at least one astronomical cycle whose periodicity cannot be expressed as an integral number of days, and which do not fit neatly with one another. The inevitable consequence is that however accurately the cycles are reckoned – typically by attempting to equate a whole number of cycles to a whole number of days, years, or larger units – the calendar will sooner or later start to conflict with actual observations and need adjustment. People’s ways of resolving these issues are many and varied, often ingenious, and always suited to circumstance.

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A distinction that is often emphasized is that between “linear” and “cyclical” calendars. Linear calendars generate distinct labels (e.g., for successive days or years) extending indefinitely into the past or future, while cyclical calendars endlessly repeat a finite set of labels. The distinction goes beyond mere nomenclature, but the extent to which it reflects deeper differences in conceptions of temporality is perhaps more questionable than is often supposed. Thus, while it is commonly claimed that most indigenous, contextual concepts of temporality are cyclical, in contrast to the Western abstract concept of time as linear, this may largely reflect defects in anthropological understanding: in reality components of linearity and cyclicity are combined in all cultures (Ingold 1994, pp. 338–339; Adam 1994). Linear calendars such as the Mayan Long Count (Aveni 2001, pp. 136–139) offer the potential to conceive of, and apply cosmogonic significance to, dates separated by arbitrarily large periods of time (e.g., Grofe 2011), but cycles may always be embedded within larger cycles, so cyclical calendars also have this capacity. An example of this is the 52-year Mesoamerican Calendar Round, which contains a whole number of 365-day years and 260-day ritual cycles (Aveni 2001, pp. 139–148). In medieval Christian tradition, recurring Sundays had an eschatological significance in that they symbolized the eternal “eighth day of the world” (McCluskey 2007). Conversely, a cyclical element is generally implicit within linear calendars: thus the final sequence of digits in Mayan Long Count dates, as the number in the sequence increases, gives the day within a succession of nested subcycles – the 20-day winal, the 18-winal (360-day) tun, the 20-tun kᛌatun, and the 20-kᛌatun (400-tun) bakᛌtun. Many such calendars explicitly contain a cyclic element, such as the 60-day gan zi (干支) cycle in the Chinese calendar (see ▶ Chap. 196, “Chinese Calendar and Mathematical Astronomy”) and the days of the week in the “Western” (Gregorian) one. Calendars serve a variety of social purposes. Rarely are they simply passive records of events: generally they prescribe and constrain action. In many contexts it is misleading to distinguish between those aspects that seem (to a modern Western view) to be of “practical” benefit, such as regulating subsistence activities so as to ensure successful harvests, and ideological or “ritualistic” aspects, such as ensuring the correct timing of ceremonial activities that, in the indigenous worldview, were equally vital to such success. Calendars serve the needs of individuals but typically – by regulating activities appropriately – help to sustain prevailing ideologies and to reinforce the power of social elites, the two often being interconnected (Stern 2012a). A classic example of this is the Inca calendar, regulated by the empire’s rulers, who claimed kinship to the sun, in the context of a powerful sun cult (see ▶ Chap. 64, “Inca Astronomy and Calendrics”). In ancient China, the need for civil and sacred practices to adhere closely to celestial rhythms was inextricably linked to the rulers’ perceived role as mediators between Heaven and Man (Steele 2012; see also ▶ Chap. 196, “Chinese Calendar and Mathematical Astronomy”). In short, calendars do not exist separately from society, as a backdrop, but form an integral part of the cultural fabric governing how a community functions. This is true whatever the nature of the society concerned.

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Types of Astronomical Calendar The diversity of astronomical calendars, and in many cases their complexity, derives in significant measure from the fact that the most obvious astronomical cycles do not fit together neatly. In particular, the length of the lunar phase cycle (synodic month) is not a whole number of days, and the length of the seasonal year is neither a whole number of days nor a whole number of synodic months (see also ▶ Chap. 1, “Concepts of Space, Time and the Cosmos”). Many calendars can be assigned to one of four broad categories according to the astronomical cycle(s) with which they are mainly linked: lunar, solar, sidereal, and lunisolar (Nilsson 1920; Richards 1998; see also Dershowitz and Reingold 2008). Others reference a mixture of temporal indicators, both astronomical and non-astronomical. The lunar phase cycle (synodic month or lunation), averaging 29.53 days, has formed the fundamental referent for calendars in a wide range of human communities up to and including the present day. It remains at the heart of some of the world’s great calendar systems, including both the Jewish and Islamic religious calendars (see ▶ Chap. 176, “Ancient and Medieval Jewish Calendars”; ▶ Chap. 12, “Astronomy in the Service of Islam”). Lunar calendars are based on this cycle alone and proceed independently of the seasonal year. A good example is the modern Islamic calendar which comprises 12 months and lasts 354 days, so that the start of each year moves back by 11 or 12 days in relation to the seasons. The simplest seasonal calendars, conceptually, are of two types: sidereal (star) calendars, which reference the annual patterns of appearance and disappearance of stars, most commonly the heliacal rise and the acronychal rise (in the empirical sense – see ▶ Chap. 30, “Basic Concepts of Positional Astronomy”), and solar horizon calendars, which reference the changing rising or setting position of the sun along the horizon over a seasonal year. Examples of the former include parapegmata, star calendars that existed in ancient Greece by the third century BC and quite possibly derived from farmers’ almanacs like that of Hesiod (see ▶ Chap. 144, “Graeco-Roman Astrometeorology”), and the traditional Yemeni system of 28 seasonal marker stars used in relation to agricultural practices (see ▶ Chap. 183, “Folk Astronomy and Calendars in Yemen”). In indigenous star calendars, the calendrical importance of an asterism is often inseparable from the mythology and meaning that attaches to it. For example, in Dine´ (Navajo) tradition in the US Southwest, Orion – whose heliacal phenomena (along with those of the Pleiades) were used to keep track of the seasons – was First Slim One, the keeper of the months (see ▶ Chap. 44, “Dine´ (Navajo) Ethno- and Archaeoastronomy”). Very few solar horizon calendars are historically or ethnographically documented that function for the entire year. An exception is the Hopi calendar, also from the US Southwest. Hopi communities follow sunset from June to December solstice and sunrise from December to June, thus always proceeding counterclockwise around the horizon (see ▶ Chap. 46, “Hopi and Puebloan Ethnoastronomy and Ethnoscience”). More commonly, however, observations of sunrise or sunset at given horizon positions form only part of more multifaceted seasonal calendars, as in the Andean village of Misminay (Urton 1981, pp. 71–78).

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Lunisolar calendars, like lunar calendars, are based on the cycle of the lunar phases, but they attempt to keep in step with the seasonal (solar) year by the intermittent addition (intercalation), or in some cases the omission, of a month. This process can be regulated by the direct observation of one or more seasonal events, not necessarily astronomical, and it is not necessary to do so systematically: the Mursi, for example, manage it by manner of institutionalized disagreement and retrospective correction (see ▶ Chap. 86, “Mursi and Borana Calendars”). The imprecision inherent in such procedures may also explain how a number of historical and indigenous calendars are recorded by ethnographers as having (sometimes) contained 14-month years, an example being the Trukese calendar (Elbert 1947, p. 289), even though the number of synodic months in a solar year is less than twelve and a half. In many ancient cultures, including early Mesopotamia and Greek city-states, intercalation was also haphazard, depending, for example, upon the decision of a king or ruling group, and influenced not only by observations but by other factors such as political expediency (Stern 2012a). On the other hand, successful intercalation can be achieved (at least in theory) by observing just a single star or asterism. Polynesian lunisolar calendars used the Pleiades, with the first new moon after the heliacal or acronychal rise of this cluster signaling new year in different island groups (Makemson 1941, pp. 76–77, see also ▶ Chap. 215, “Archaeoastronomy in Polynesia”). In ancient Egypt, according to the traditional view (although this has recently been questioned – Belmonte 2003), lunisolar calendars that preceded the establishment of a 365-day civil calendar were regulated by the heliacal rise of Sirius (Parker 1950), which (in Upper Egypt at least) coincided with the beginning of the flood of the Nile (Ruggles 2005, pp. 9–12; see also ▶ Chap. 131, “Ancient Egyptian Calendars”). Where circumstances permitted the development of numerical schemes for inserting intercalary months, such as Meton’s scheme for adding seven intercalary months in every 19 years, this meant that lunisolar calendars were no longer critically dependent upon direct observations (see ▶ Chap. 170, “Mesopotamian Calendars”; ▶ Chap. 139, “Ancient Greek Calendars”, ▶ Chap. 196, “Chinese Calendar and Mathematical Astronomy”). In the majority of lunar and lunisolar calendars, the new month is taken to start with the first appearance of the thin crescent of the new moon just after sunset, although in some cases the last crescent was used (e.g., Depuydt 2012). While the first and last sighting might seem to be clearly definable events, in practice there can be many problems such as cloudy weather, compounded if a single calendar needs to be consistently adopted over a wider area, and disagreement as to whether the moon was really seen or not by someone who claims to have done so. The Mursi resolved such issues by open debate (Turton and Ruggles 1978); in ancient Judea a court of rabbis interrogated witnesses claiming to have seen the moon before taking the decision that the new month had begun (Stern 2012b). In Mesopotamia, if the new crescent was not seen on the 30th day of a month, a new month was declared on the following day (see ▶ Chap. 170, “Mesopotamian Calendars”). By the sixth century BC, the Babylonians had developed sophisticated algorithms for predicting the visibility of the lunar crescent (Brack-Bernsen 2002; see also ▶ Chap. 170, “Mesopotamian Calendars”). Early Muslim astronomers, for

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whom the first sighting of the lunar crescent was particularly important, used technical criteria to determine the theoretical visibility of the new moon and, over the centuries, developed models of great sophistication to help in this process (see ▶ Chap. 12, “Astronomy in the Service of Islam”), but such models never replaced actual observations as the means to determine the official beginning of the month. Each individual cycle of lunar phases can be divided up in many ways. Thus, the ancient Egyptians divided each of the months of the civil year into three ten-day periods or decades, while keeping lunar festivals associated with particular phases of the actual lunation. Other cultures simply distinguished between the waxing and waning halves. Often, each day in the month was given a specific name (see, e.g., Nilsson 1920), and a variety of portents and taboos could be associated with particular “days of the moon”. This is ethnographically attested in the Hawaiian calendar (Malo 1951, pp. 31–33; see also ▶ Chap. 216, “Ancient Hawaiian Astronomy”). The idea that agriculture should be planned according to the day, or at least the phase, of the moon extends back at least to Hesiod’s Days and is still practiced by a number of indigenous farmers around the world today (e.g., in Mesoamerica, Iwaniszewski 2007). The belief that personal fate is effected by the phase of the moon when someone is born, baptized, married, and so on lives on in folk traditions in various parts of the world (e.g., the Baltic states, Vaisˇku¯nas 2001). “Schematic calendars”, where the date is determined by counting rather than direct observation, tend to retain idealized abstractions of astronomical cycles even though these can only approximate – and, in extreme cases, may no longer bear any direct relationship at all – to the cycle concerned. A good example of the latter is the “month” in the Julian and Gregorian calendars, which is completely independent of the phase cycle (or any other cycle) of the moon (Aveni 1989, pp. 111–115). Schematic calendars typically define a “year” which approximates to the tropical (seasonal) year but actually proceeds independently of it: examples include the 364-day calendar used in Judea around the first century BC (see ▶ Chap. 178, “Astronomy and Calendars at Qumran”) and the Egyptian 365-day civil calendar (see ▶ Chap. 131, “Ancient Egyptian Calendars”), which was retained for over two millennia despite gradually slipping out of step with the seasons. Mesoamerican calendars combined the 365-day year with a 260-day cycle (Maya tzolkᛌin, Aztec tonalpohualli), which, although possibly having astronomical origins, is not obviously related to any astronomical cycle even in an idealized way (Aveni 2001, pp. 139–148). Where it becomes possible to identify longer cycles, it also becomes possible to discover correlations between cycles. Thus, for example, the Classic Maya were fully aware that five synodic cycles of the planet Venus corresponded closely to eight 365-day years (Aveni 2001, pp. 184–196; see ▶ Chap. 50, “Astronomy in the Dresden Codex”), while various cultures discovered cycles that enabled them to predict eclipse danger periods to various levels of reliability (Ruggles 2005, pp. 230–234), including 1 of 10 years and 334 days (135 lunations) utilized by the Chinese, the Saros cycle of 18 years and 11 days (223 lunations) recognized by the Babylonians, and one of 405 lunations used by the Mayans themselves,

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commensurate with 46 260-day tzolkins (Aveni 2001, pp. 173–184; see also ▶ Chap. 51, “Counting Lunar Phase Cycles in Mesoamerica”). Where multiples of two astronomical cycles almost coincide, what is deemed a coincidence of nature from a Western perspective can form a pivotal element of an indigenous calendar where each cycle is seen to have a direct influence on human affairs. A good example of this is the conceptual association, in Mesoamerica, of Venus with rain, maize, and fertility (Sˇprajc 1996; see also ▶ Chap. 52, “Astronomical Correlates of Architecture and Landscape in Mesoamerica”), which is dependent upon the fact that after every fifth cycle (eighth year), Venus returns to a similar configuration at almost the same time of year. In indigenous contexts, concepts of space and time can be intertwined in ways that make little sense according to Western rationality. For example, the Mesoamerican 52-year Calendar Round was split into four 13-year periods each of which was associated with a given direction, something very much in accordance with Mesoamerican quadripartite cosmology (Aveni 2001, pp. 148–152). There is accumulating evidence, also in Mesoamerica, that it was important for architectural orientations to record the directions of sunrises or sunsets separated by intervals of time significant in the Mesoamerican calendar, i.e., multiples of 13 and 20 days (Sˇprajc 2001; see ▶ Chap. 52, “Astronomical Correlates of Architecture and Landscape in Mesoamerica”). The ceque calendar of the Incas, as reconstructed by Zuidema (1964; see ▶ Chap. 66, “Ceque System of Cuzco - A Yearly CalendarAlmanac in Space and Time”; ▶ Chap. 65, “Inca Calendar”) brought together temporal, spatial, and social organization in a landscape strictly organized to reflect and reinforce social segmentation and hierarchy. According to Zuidema, a carefully timed sequence of acts of worship, each the responsibility of a different social group, took place at shrines laid out along lines (ceques) radiating out from the capital Cusco (but see also ▶ Chap. 65, “Inca Calendar”). Human ingenuity has ensured the existence of various distinctive types of calendar suited to particular circumstances. One such is the “luni-stellar” calendar of the Borana of Ethiopia and Kenya (see ▶ Chap. 86, “Mursi and Borana Calendars”), which reckons months in a standard way using the lunar phase cycle (synodic month) but reckons days by identifying the position of the moon in right ascension relative to the stars (i.e., using the sidereal month) and effectively ignores the sun.

Material Manifestations of Calendars Where, as for prehistoric societies, there remains no written or ethnohistoric record, archaeoastronomers seeking to reconstruct information about calendars have to work from the archaeological evidence alone. Doing so can raise many theoretical and methodological issues. The fact that so many archaeoastronomers are concerned with the material evidence of alignments (see ▶ Chap. 27, “Analyzing Orientations”; ▶ Chap. 24, “Nature and Analysis of Material Evidence Relevant to Archaeoastronomy”) has

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resulted in an emphasis – undoubtedly an overemphasis – on putative solar horizon calendars. This is despite the following: • Alignments are not the only way in which calendars may be manifested in the landscape, as the ceque calendar illustrates. • An alignment upon an astronomical event does not, in itself, constitute a calendar. For example, many authors have called Stonehenge a calendar (e.g., Aveni 1989, pp. 74–75), and it is clear that the axial alignment of the monument was correlated with festivities taking place around the time of winter solstice and those practices presumably formed part of an annual round of seasonal activities and rites (see ▶ Chap. 105, “Stonehenge and its Landscape”). Furthermore, the Neolithic communities who built and used the site were evidently well aware of the seasonal shift in the position of sunrise and sunset along the horizon, having used this knowledge to set up the axial alignment in the first place. Yet there is no evidence whatsoever for any deliberate marking of sunrise or sunset positions between the solstitial limits, and we cannot even be sure that the axial alignment was intended to mark both solstices. In terms of its significance to the builders, the solstitial alignment of Stonehenge is probably better compared to that of solstitially oriented tombs such as Newgrange (see ▶ Chap. 108, “Boyne Valley Tombs”) or sites where other sunlight-and-shadow hierophanies played out at the appropriate time (see ▶ Chap. 28, “Analyzing Light-and-Shadow Interactions”). • There is a fundamental difference between a horizon solar calendar, where observations of sunrise or sunset along the horizon are used to specify the date, and the use of observations of particular sunrise or sunset positions to regulate a calendar of a different type (in particular, a lunisolar calendar). A true horizon solar calendar is likely to have been defined by what is visible and physical, not by abstract divisions of time. This is a simple consequence of the contextual nature of indigenous concepts of time and temporality, as discussed above. Yet many discussions in the archaeoastronomical literature, extending over many decades, largely or completely ignore this point and by doing so have serve to obscure two fundamental issues: • The solstitial sunrise and sunset directions have a tangible significance universally (except in the polar regions, where they do not exist) because they define the boundary between the arcs of the horizon where the sun does or does not rise or set, as well as correlating with the longest and shortest days. However, this does not imply an accurate temporal definition of the solstices because of the miniscule daily variation in the sunrise or sunset position (and in the length of the day) around these times (Ruggles 1999, pp. 24–25). • Subdivisions of the year are likely to have been dependent upon context. “Temporal reference points” may have been defined by factors such as significant points in the subsistence cycle, times when the sun was seen to rise or set behind a significant (prominent or cosmologically meaningful) point in the landscape, or (within the tropics) sunrise on the day of solar zenith passage (Aveni 2001, pp. 40–41); or they may have been defined by innumerable other factors that can never be known to us. Arithmetical divisions of the year have no

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inherent significance in such schemes, although intervals determined by counting days do feature in some contexts, such as Mesoamerica (see above). In particular, there is no a priori reason why sunrise or sunset at the “equinox”, conceived as the spatial or temporal midway point between the solstices, should have been targeted (Ruggles 1997). Many supposed equinoctial markers or alignments are readily explicable as fortuitous occurrences, misleadingly picked out from a wider range of possibilities as a result of questionable data selection strategies (see ▶ Chap. 25, “Best Practice for Evaluating the Astronomical Significance of Archaeological Sites”). Alexander Thom’s “megalithic calendar” (Thom 1967, pp. 107–117; Ruggles 1999, pp. 54–55) in Britain is a classic example that not only illustrates these issues very well but also represents this approach being taken to its logical extreme. Thom argued for existence of a calendar used up and down Neolithic Britain, in which the year was divided into 8 and perhaps 16 equal parts. Distant natural foresights were used to determine the solstices precisely, and solar and rising and setting points on the other key “epoch dates” were marked using various alignments spread over many locations. Data selection shortcomings adequately explain the apparent evidence for such a calendar (see Ruggles 1999). Conversely, Chankillo in Peru (see ▶ Chap. 62, “Chankillo”) and Taosi in China (see ▶ Chap. 201, “Taosi Observatory”) appear to represent true horizon calendars in that they enable the progress of sunrise to be tracked accurately from a single spot using man-made markers. The very fact that the thirteen towers at Chankillo are more or less equally spaced, rather than closer together toward the end of the line – as would have been needed in order to equilibrate the time interval taken by the sun to move from one tower to the next – emphasizes that the calendar here was based on direct observation rather than counting and calculation: the towers define the temporal structure, rather than the other way round. The slots between the pillars at Taosi do not demarcate equal intervals of time but are not evenly placed either, raising the possibility that they mark particular dates in what was a precursor to the historically recorded Chinese lunisolar calendars (see ▶ Chap. 196, “Chinese Calendar and Mathematical Astronomy”). In practice, horizon calendars would rarely if ever have operated in isolation from other temporal indicators, and Chankillo and Taosi may be exceptional as places where seasonal activities were orchestrated from a restricted spot by (presumably) a member of a privileged elite. The emphasis on alignments has also focused attention on lunar standstills (see ▶ Chap. 33, “Lunar Alignments - Identification and Analysis”) and the possibility that the 18.6-year lunar node cycle was significant in some prehistoric calendars. While lunar standstill alignments have been claimed, for example, in Mesoamerica (see ▶ Chap. 52, “Astronomical Correlates of Architecture and Landscape in Mesoamerica”), and a sacred well dating to around 1000 BC at Santa Cristina in Sardinia has been interpreted as a sophisticated device for tracking the node cycle (see ▶ Chap. 123, “The Nuraghic Well of Santa Cristina, Paulilatino, Oristano, Sardinia”), many supposed standstill alignments can be adequately explained as alignments upon full moon close to a solstice at arbitrary points in the node cycle (see, e.g., ▶ Chap. 109, “Recumbent Stone Circles”). We still lack convincing

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evidence that the lunar node cycle was extensively recognized among prehistoric communities in Europe or elsewhere. Throughout the ages, calendars have been represented or described in various ways in texts written in decipherable languages, monumental inscriptions and art, and on a variety of portable artifacts. Among the oldest historically attested calendrical devices are ancient Greek parapegmata rendered, from about the fifth century BC onward, in stone as tablets used like pegboards for tracking the days of the year, annotated with star configurations (see ▶ Chap. 144, “Graeco-Roman Astrometeorology”). (Such everyday contrivances contrast absolutely with the extraordinary Antikythera mechanism (see ▶ Chap. 143, “Reconstructing the Antikythera Mechanism”) from around the second century BC, which is not so much a calendrical device as a sophisticated machine for calculating a range of astronomical phenomena.) In medieval and modern times, portable calendar sticks are known to have served a variety of purposes: for example, a number of wooden calendar sticks surviving from the 14th to 19th centuries in Eastern Europe, evidently used by both clergy and laity, preserve elements of indigenous yearcycle practices embedded within Christian (Catholic, Protestant and Orthodox) calendars (see ▶ Chap. 162, “Wooden Calendar Sticks in Eastern Europe”). Native American groups such as the Zuni are known to have used calendar sticks to keep track of full moons, planting dates, and festivals (Zeilik 1986, pp. S8–S9). It has frequently been claimed that sets of similar symbols such as dots and cupmarks, either fixed in the landscape (e.g., in rock art) or on portable artifacts, could also be calendrical in that they could represent sequences of tally marks or “counts” of days or other time intervals. Many examples have been documented in the literature, extending right back to the Upper Paleolithic era, but attempting to interpret them in the absence of direct corroborating evidence from history or ethnography is often controversial for a number of reasons: • Symbolic meanings are notoriously context-specific and variable. • Sets of symbols can often be counted (by us) in different ways according to how they are selected or deemed to be grouped. • Many numbers, taken out of context, could be deemed to have astronomical significance (see ▶ Chap. 25, “Best Practice for Evaluating the Astronomical Significance of Archaeological Sites”). A 30,000-year-old bone fragment from Abri Blanchard in France contains a twisting line of what appear to be tally marks of some sort, with approximately 15 markings between each turn. Marshack (1972) argued that this represents a lunar calendar, but this interpretation has been strongly challenged (e.g., d’Errico 1989). Groupings of symbols on a range of Upper Paleolithic artifacts and cave art have also tentatively been interpreted as different types of calendars, typically synchronizing astronomical cycles with human biological cycles or those of animals (see ▶ Chap. 102, “Possible Calendrical Inscriptions on Paleolithic Artifacts”). Calendrical interpretations of counts of symbols can sometimes be strengthened by corroborating evidence from archaeology or ethnohistory. Thus, a 207-tally count found at two rock art sites in northern Mexico, Presa de la Mula (see ▶ Chap. 47, “Astronomy and Rock Art in Mexico”) and Boca de Potrerillos

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(see ▶ Chap. 48, “Boca de Potrerillos”), and the way these tally marks are broken down into subsequences, gives reason to suppose that there was an awareness of both synodic and sidereal month counts and that efforts were made to keep track of both over a 7-month period (see also Murray 1982). The basic surmise that this was a day count is borne out by associated representations of deer antlers, since the 207day period approximates to the gestation period of deer (Murray 1993). Similarly, it is supposed that Mesoamerican pecked cross-circle designs had strong calendrical associations (see ▶ Chap. 54, “Pecked Cross-Circles”) because counts of dots (cupmarks) within the designs frequently correspond to lengths of significant cycles in the Mesoamerican calendar such as 18, 20, and 260 (e.g., Aveni 1988; 2001, pp. 329–332). The argument is strongly reinforced by resemblances between some of the cross-circle designs and cosmograms found in the Codex Fe´je´rvary-Mayer (see ▶ Chap. 22, “Cultural Interpretation of Historical Evidence Relating to Astronomy”, Fig. 22.2) and Madrid Codex (Aveni 2001, p. 149). Andean cultures lacked writing systems but may have bequeathed us some material manifestations of calendars in other media. Thus, Inca khipu (quipu) (Urton and Brezine 2009) are knotted string devices that clearly recorded numerical information (Ascher and Ascher 1981) but are also known from ethnohistorical sources to be capable of being read as narratives (Quilter and Urton 2002). It has been argued that a number of them could have contained calendrical information, in particular one from Ica (Zuidema 1989) and “UR006”, one of 32 found among a burial hoard of over 200 mummies in a remote cave at Laguna de los Co´ndores in northern Peru (Urton and Brezine 2009: KGChachaCalendar.html). According to Urton, khipu UR006 contained a cord for each day in a 2-year period and most likely recorded historical or census information (Urton 2001). He has also interpreted a large decorated Inca tapestry mantle as a commemorative calendar where each of 1,824 squares represents a specific day within a 5-year period, and tukapu, geometrical designs contained within the squares, represent particular events or activities (Urton 2007). It is known from the ethnohistoric evidence that Inca administrative practices were repeated at 5-year intervals, and the irregular organization of design elements suggests that, if the calendrical interpretation is correct, the tapestry records particular actions or events extending over such a period.

The Evolution of Calendars and the Nature of Society It is fruitless to try to identify simple correlations between the development of calendars and the evolution of human societies. Just as social evolution itself occurs as the result of the complex interplay of many different causal factors, both external (such as environmental resources and demographic constraints) and internal (historical context and human agency – the motivations and actions of individuals), so the development of calendars is influenced not only by both environmental factors such as latitude, topographic situation, landscape visibility, weather conditions, and so on but also by a multitude of social ones such as ideology,

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worldview, political control, and social identity. Thus, the coexistence of several calendars among the Tuareg and others in western parts of the Sahara (see ▶ Chap. 92, “Calendar Pluralism and the Cultural Heritage of Domination and Resistance (Tuareg and Other Saharans)”) reflects the tensions between selfsufficient communities and expanding states seeking to impose centralized control. Nonetheless, some broad correlations clearly do exist between cultural characteristics and the types of calendar that they are likely to sustain. For example, a major difference between star calendars and solar horizon calendars is that the latter can only function through observations made from a fixed spot, so that the latter are more likely to arise among sedentary than among nomadic societies. Likewise, the development of efficient systematic procedures for inserting intercalary months, or of good algorithms for predicting eclipse danger periods, is only possible where robust notations for recording and manipulating numbers (positional number systems, typically with base 10, 20, or 60) can be combined with the means to undertake and record systematic and meticulous astronomical observations. This implies a social hierarchy capable of sustaining specialist astronomers and sufficient stability to ensure that consistent records can be preserved (and read) over a timescale of generations. Whether writing is a prerequisite, as is often assumed, is debatable. The same is true of environmental characteristics. For example, the Borana lunistellar calendar could only develop close to the equator, where the heavenly bodies rise in the east and set in the west almost vertically, and the position of the moon relative to stars in right ascension is easy to recognize by eye because objects at the same right ascension appear at the same level. Zenith tubes such as that at Xochicalco in Mexico (Aveni and Hartung 1981) could only be used for calendrical regulation (as opposed to lunar observations, which has also been suggested – see ▶ Chap. 56, “Cave of the Astronomers at Xochicalco”) within the tropics. Calendars are continually modified as circumstances change. And such changes are driven by a host of factors specific to each particular historical situation. For example, a systematic 364-day calendar that appeared in Judea in the third century BC had fallen into disuse by AD 100, apparently never threatening the dominance of the empirically based lunar calendar (see ▶ Chap. 176, “Ancient and Medieval Jewish Calendars”). Simplistic schemes of calendrical evolution that can be found in some texts on the history of astronomy are not only undermined by numerous counterexamples such as these but also risk being perceived as propagating a sort of “Western cultural imperialism” that attempts to judge indigenous and historical calendars according to their progress along a path of inevitable development toward the modern Western calendar (Aveni 1989, pp. 167–168).

References Adam B (1994) Perceptions of time. In: Ingold T (ed) Compamon encyclopedia of anthropology. Routledge, London/New York, pp 503–526 Ascher M, Ascher R (1981) Code of the quipu: a study in media, mathematics and culture. University of Michigan Press, Ann Arbor

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Aveni AF (1988) The Thom paradigm in the Americas: the case of the cross-circle designs. In: Ruggles CLN (ed) Records in stone. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, pp 442–472 Aveni AF (1989) Empires of time. Basic Books, New York Aveni AF (2001) Skywatchers. University of Texas Press, Austin Aveni AF, Hartung H (1981) The observation of the sun at the time of passage through the zenith in Mesoamerica. Archaeoastronomy 3 (Supplement to the Journal for the History for Astronomy 12):S51–S70 Belmonte JA (2003) Some open questions on the Egyptian calendar: an astronomer’s view. Trabajos de Egiptologı´a 2:7–56 Brack-Bernsen L (2002) Predictions of lunar phenomena in Babylonian astronomy. In Steele JM, Imhausen A (eds) Under one sky: astronomy and mathematics in the Ancient Near East. Ugarit Verlag, M€unster, pp 5–19 d’Errico F (1989) Palaeolithic lunar calendars: a case of wishful thinking? Curr Anthropol 30(117–118):494–500 Depuydt L (2012) Why Greek lunar months began a day later than Egyptian lunar months, both before first visibility of the new crescent. In: Ben-Dov J, Horowitz W, Steele JM (eds) Living the lunar calendar. Oxbow Books, Oxford, pp 119–172 Dershowitz N, Reingold EM (2008) Calendrical calculations, 3rd edn. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge Elbert SH (1947) Trukese-English and English-Trukese dictionary. United States Naval Military Government, Pearl Harbor Gell A (1992) The anthropology of time: cultural constructions of temporal maps and images. Berg, Oxford Gosden C (1994) Social being and time. Blackwell, Oxford Grofe MJ (2011) Measuring deep time: the sidereal year and the tropical year in Maya inscriptions. In: Ruggles CLN (ed) Archaeoastronomy and ethnoastronomy: building bridges between cultures. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, pp 214–230 Hannah R (2005) Greek and Roman calendars: constructions of time in the classical world. Duckworth, London Hannah R (2009) Time in antiquity. Routledge, London Hugh-Jones S (1982) The Pleiades and Scorpius in Barasana cosmology. In: Aveni AF, Urton G (eds) Ethnoastronomy and archaeoastronomy in the American tropics. New York Academy of Sciences, New York, pp 183–201 Ingold T (1994) Introduction to culture. In: Ingold T (ed) Companion encyclopedia of anthropology. Routledge, London/New York, pp 329–349 Iwaniszewski S (2007) Lunar agriculture in Mesoamerica. Mediterr Archaeol Archeom 6(3):67–75 Iwaniszewski S (2011) The sky as a social field. In: Ruggles CLN (ed) Archaeoastronomy and ethnoastronomy: building bridges between cultures. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, pp 30–37 Makemson MW (1941) The morning star rises: an account of Polynesian astronomy. Yale University Press, New Haven Malo D (1951) Hawaiian antiquities (Mo‘olelo Hawai‘i), 2nd edn. Bernice P. Bishop Museum, Honolulu (Special Publication 2) Marshack A (1972) The roots of civilization. Weidenfeld and Nicolson, New York McCluskey SC (2007) Calendrical cycles, the eighth day of the world, and the orientation of English churches. In: Ruggles CLN, Urton G (eds) Skywatching in the ancient world: new perspectives in cultural astronomy. University Press of Colorado, Boulder, pp 331–353 Murray WB (1982) Calendrical petroglyphs of northern Mexico. In: Aveni AF (ed) Archaeoastronomy in the New World. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, pp 195–204 Murray WB (1993) Counting and sky-watching at Boca de Potrerillos, Nuevo Leo´n, Mexico: clues to an ancient tradition. In: Ruggles CLN (ed) Archaeoastronomy in the 1990s. Group D Publications, Loughborough, pp 264–269

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Nilsson MP (1920) Primitive time-reckoning. C W K Gleerup, Lund Parker RA (1950) The calendars of ancient Egypt. University of Chicago Press, Chicago Quilter J, Urton G (eds) (2002) Narrative threads: accounting and recounting in Andean khipu. University of Texas Press, Austin Richards EG (1998) Mapping time: the calendar and its history. Oxford University Press, Oxford Rosen RM (ed) (2004) Time and temporality in the ancient world. University of Pennsylvania Museum of Archaeology and Anthropology, Philadelphia Ruggles CLN (1997) Whose equinox? Archaeoastronomy 22 (Supplement to the Journal for the History for Astronomy 28):S45–S50 Ruggles CLN (1999) Astronomy in prehistoric Britain and Ireland. Yale University Press, New Haven Ruggles CLN (2005) Ancient astronomy: an encyclopedia of cosmologies and myth. ABC–CLIO, Santa Barbara Ruggles CLN, Saunders NJ (1993) The study of cultural astronomy. In: Ruggles CLN, Saunders NJ (eds) Astronomies and cultures. University Press of Colorado, Niwot, pp 1–31 Sˇprajc I (1996) Venus, lluvia y maı´z: simbolismo y astronomı´a en la cosmovisio´n mesoamericana. Instituto Nacional de Antropologı´a e Historia, Mexico City Sˇprajc I (2001) Orientaciones astrono´micas en la arquitectura prehispa´nica del Centro de Me´xico. Instituto Nacional de Antropologı´a e Historia, Mexico City Steele JM (2012) Living with a lunar calendar in Mesopotamia and China. In: Ben-Dov J, Horowitz W, Steele JM (eds) Living the lunar calendar. Oxbow Books, Oxford, pp 373–387 Stern S (2012a) Calendars in antiquity: empires, states, and societies. Oxford University Press, Oxford Stern S (2012b) The Rabbinic new moon procedure: context and significance. In: Ben-Dov J, Horowitz W, Steele JM (eds) Living the lunar calendar. Oxbow Books, Oxford, pp 211–243 Thom A (1967) Megalithic sites in Britain. Oxford University Press, Oxford Turton DA, Ruggles CLN (1978) Agreeing to disagree: the measurement of duration in a southwestern Ethiopian community. Current Anthropology 19:585–600 Urton G (1981) At the crossroads of the earth and sky: an Andean cosmology. University of Texas Press, Austin Urton G (2001) A calendrical and demographic tomb text from northern Peru. Latin American Antiquity 12(2):127–147 Urton G (2007) A multi-year tukapu calendar. In: Ruggles CLN, Urton G (eds) Skywatching in the ancient world. University Press of Colorado, Boulder, pp 245–268 Urton G, Brezine C (2009). Khipu database project. http://khipukamayuq.fas.harvard.edu/. Accessed 17 June 2013 Vaisˇku¯nas J (2001) Birth and celestial bodies in Lithuanian and Latvian tradition. In: Ruggles CLN, Prendergast F, Ray TP (eds) Astronomy, cosmology and landscape. Ocarina Books, Bognor Regis, pp 158–166 Zeilik M (1986) The ethnoastronomy of the historic pueblos, II: moon watching. Archaeoastronomy 10 (Supplement to the Journal for the History for Astronomy 17):S1–S22 Zuidema RT (1964) The ceque system of Cuzco: the social organization of the capital of the Inca. Brill, Leiden Zuidema RT (1989) A quipu calendar from Ica, Peru, with a comparison to the ceque calendar from Cuzco. In: Aveni AF (ed) World archaeoastronomy. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, pp 341–351

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Astronomy and Chronology - Babylonia, Assyria, and Egypt Rolf Krauss

Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Assyrian Chronology . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Babylonian Chronology . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Egyptian Chronology . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Lunar Dating of the Third Intermediate Period: Ninth Century BC . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Lunar Dating of the Third Intermediate Period: Tenth Century BC . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Sothic and Lunar Dating of the Middle Kingdom . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Abstract

Astronomical chronology is the dating of historical events that are linked to astronomical observation. Its prerequisite is an uninterrupted and precisely known calendar in which the observations are expressed. It rests on an interplay of astronomy and relative chronology which requires more discussion than astronomy does. If relative chronology allows for a large interval for an event, then the periodic repetition of astronomical phenomena will prevent the singling out of a specific year. The astronomically datable events which are studied here refer to lunar and solar eclipses and last and first visibilities of Venus in Mesopotamian sources, and to lunar observations and Sirius risings in Egyptian sources.

R. Krauss Humboldt-University, Berlin, Germany e-mail: [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_150, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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Introduction Ptolemy’s Canon of rulers functions as a link between chronologically certain events and uncertain historical times. The astronomer lived in Alexandria under the emperors Antoninus Pius and Hadrian; he dated his observations, and those of earlier astronomers, in Egyptian calendar years of an era beginning in regnal year 1 of the Babylonian king Nabonassar. The era commenced in terms of the Julian calendar on February 26, 747 BC; the Julian calendar is used by modern astronomers for the periods preceding the Gregorian calendar reform. The Egyptian calendar year comprises 365 days, divided into 12 schematic months (I–XII) of 30 days each and 5 epagomenal days; there is no leap day every 4 years. The correlation between the Julian and the Egyptian calendar is deducible from the dates which Ptolemy cites for his observations. In Ptolemy’s treatise Almagest he lists 19 lunar eclipses as the basis for the determination of lunar motion parameters; 10 eclipses refer to Babylonian observations. Whereas modern astronomers could confirm the calendar dates, the clock times Ptolemy reported deviated from computation. The explanation turned out to be that the rotation of the earth is slowing; the average difference per day amounts to about a millionth of a second. Since the beginning of the Nabonassar era now lies over a million days in the past, a sizeable difference has accumulated in comparison to a strictly uniform length of the day. Ptolemy reported, for example: “In the fifth year of Nabopolassar, which is the 127th year from Nabonassar, Athyr [¼ month III] 27/28 in the Egyptian calendar [¼ 620 April 21/22], at the end of the 11th hour in Babylon, the Moon began to be eclipsed . . .”. Whereas the latter time corresponds to UT ¼ 1.60 h, computation using strictly uniform time results in TT ¼ 6.54 h for the beginning of the eclipse. Dt ¼ TTUT amounts in this case to 17,600 s or about 4.9 h (Stephenson 1997). The value of Dt determines not only the local observability of lunar and solar eclipses in antiquity, but also of lunar phases such as first or last visibility. Thus Ptolemy’s Canon provides a reliable chronology for the rulers named in the list, and it allows modern astronomers to estimate Dt which is a crucial parameter for astronomical chronology. Today scholars have immediate access to Babylonian astronomical records. The so-called Astronomical Diaries contain securely datable observations made in Babylon between the seventh and the first century BC (see ▶ Chap. 172, “Babylonian Observational and Predictive Astronomy”). Besides confirming the chronology of Ptolemy’s Canon, the Diaries facilitate deduction of observational parameters for first and last visibilities of the planets, of fixed stars like Sirius and the moon, parameters which are indispensable for astronomical chronology.

Assyrian Chronology The early Astronomical Diaries cover that part of Ptolemy’s Canon which is linked to pre-Canon Assyrian chronology by Assyrian kings who ruled intermittently over

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Babylon. The Diaries record, for example, observations of Mars and Mercury in 2 Esarhaddon (Canon: Asaradin) and years 14, 17, and 19 of Sˇamasˇ-sˇum-ukin (Canon: Seosduchin) identifying specific years BC, since “the same positions of both the planets on the same calendar dates would not occur again for hundreds of years” (Hunger 2009). In general, Assyrian chronology is based on the Assyrian king list (AKL), and for the 1st millenium BC, on the Assyrian Eponym Canon (AEC). Eponyms were high officials, including the king, after whom a year was named. The AEC could be reconstructed in the 1860s from various versions covering about 250 consecutive years. The series is astronomically datable, since in the 9th year after the eponymy of King Asˇsˇur-dan III an eclipse is mentioned: “In the eponymy of Bur-sagale, (governor) of Guzana: revolt in the city of Assur; in the month of Simanu, the sun made an eclipse”. In 1865, Henry Rawlinson concluded that this passage refers to the eclipse of June 15 in 763 BC. The AEC as preserved stretches back to 896 BC ¼ 16 Adad-nirari II. The chronology of earlier times has uncertainties, since in a few cases the extant versions of the AKL cite different numbers for regnal years. Thus 1 Enlil-nasir II (AKL no. 67) is dated to either 1430 BC or 1420 +2/1 BC. The regnal years of kings nos. 65 and 66 are not preserved in the AKL; therefore all earlier reigns are correspondingly uncertain by an estimated number of years.

Babylonian Chronology Middle Babylonian times began with a ‘dark period’, without any dated records preserved, which ended ca. 1400 BC. The Babylonian King Lists have important gaps and the whole period is in general not well documented. The Synchronistic History (SH) and the Synchronistic King List (SKL) cite contemporaneous Assyrian and Babylonian rulers, but without regnal years (Grayson 1975). Recent dark-period finds from Tell Muhammad attest year formulas like “year 37 that Babylon was resettled; year in which king Sˇiptaulzi . . .” (Gasche et al. 1998). “Resettlement of Babylon” apparently alludes to the destruction of Babylon by the Hittite king Mursilis I. According to SKL, Sˇiptaulzi was one of the immediate predecessors of Burnaburiasˇ I, whom the SH cites as contemporaneous with Puzur-Asˇsˇur III (AKL no. 61); the beginning of the latter’s rule can be estimated as ca. 1500 or 1490 BC at the latest. Thus the destruction of Babylon will have occurred around 1540  10 BC (Boese 2008). By contrast, the relative chronology of the preceding Old Babylonian period is well documented; it spans about 400 years in which various successive dynasties controlled Babylonia, notably those of Ur III and Babylon I. Old Babylonian astronomical material is preserved in the 1st millenium BC collection of about 7,000 astrological omens called Enuma Anu Enlil (EAE) on 70 tablets (Hunger and Pingree 1999). Tablets EAE 20 and 21 contain omens derived from lunar eclipses which are presumed to refer to historical events. But only the eclipse omen EAE 21,

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lunar month XII which predicts a destruction of Ur might have historical reference, viz. the conquest of Ur by Hammurabi of Babylon in his year 31. Since the eclipse omen EAE 21, lunar month II also predicts a destruction of Ur, the historicity of both omens is questionable (Hunger 2000). Tablet EAE 63 contains Venus omens of which at least the first 10 are plausibly identified as referring to actual observations in regnal years 1–8 of Ammizaduqa, the penultimate king of the First Dynasty of Babylon. The text of the remaining omens is either corrupt or does not refer to actual observations. The omens cite first and last visibilities of Venus as the evening or morning star. Since the Babylonian lunar month dates and the Venus phenomena coincide approximately after 7  8 and 8  8 years and after 56 + 64 ¼120 years more or less exactly, the set yields three possible solutions (high, middle, low) for 1 Ammizaduqa which imply 1651, 1595 or 1531 BC for the fall of Babylon; a recent computation arrived at 1523 BC (Mebert 2009). It appears that the information in the Tell Muhammad texts, in combination with king lists and chronicles, will allow specialists to choose the historically most probable date among the astronomical possibilities for the fall of Babylon. Modern computation of eclipses and Venus dates presupposes that the Babylonian lunisolar year began around equinox, that the lunar month began with new crescent, and the calendar day at sunset. Computation of last and first visibilities of a star like Venus is based on the arcus visionis, the vertical angular distance of the sun to the horizon, at the moment when the star is at the horizon; the respective values for Venus are determinable on the basis of observations recorded in the Babylonian Astronomical Diaries. There are reports about eclipses outside the omen literature, usually dated to an eponym or a ruler, but not to a specific month and day. An example is the so-called Assur solar eclipse, dated by an eponym to the reign of Naram-Sin (AKL 37; Mebert 2009). Attempts at identifying this eclipse risk the danger of “playing the identification game” (Stephenson 1997). Thus for the time being, the eclipse of 763 BC is the earliest unquestionably identified Mesopotamian astronomical observation which is linked to a historical event.

Egyptian Chronology By contrast to Mesopotamia, Egypt has no preserved chronicles; the so-called Manethonian king list is very corrupt (Waddell 1940). Relative chronology must rely on dead reckoning (a term which is derived from a kind of navigation at sea), i.e. adding up the coincidentally preserved highest regnal years of individual kings. A better approximation to the actual historical situation can be achieved if civil-lunar double dates and synchronisms are available. A civil-lunar double date combines a date of the Egyptian year and the coinciding day of the lunar month. It has been generally accepted that the series of 29 or 30 lunar days (LD) began with the first day of invisibility after observation of the old or last crescent (Parker 1950). Thus an Egyptian lunar date implies

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an observation of the old crescent during the onset of the calendar day. It is agreed that the Egyptian calendar day lasted from first light until the next first light (Parker 1950). Visibility criteria which are applicable to Egypt can be deduced from the observations of first and last crescents in the Babylonian Astronomical Diaries (Krauss 2012).

Lunar Dating of the Third Intermediate Period: Ninth Century BC Ptolemy’s Canon dates the reign of Persian king Cambyses to years 219–226 of the Era Nabonassar, corresponding to 529–522 BC. Cambyses conquered Egypt and thus put an end to Egyptian Dynasty 26 whose relative chronology, like that of the preceding dynasty, is fairly well known. Shabaqo, ruler of Kush, who became first king of Dynasty 25, invaded Egypt in his regnal year 2 ¼ 6 Bokchoris of Dynasty 24. The invasion occurred in ca. 721 BC, since Shabaqo ruled at least 15 years and an Assyrian inscription attests his successor Shebitqo in 707/706 BC. Furthermore, a divine Apis bull Z was buried in 5 Bokchoris; he was the sucessor of Apis Y which had been introduced in Memphis on VIII 4 in 12 Shoshenq V and had died in year 37. Apis X died in 11 Shoshenq V; he was introduced at the earliest in 2 Pami, who ruled between Shoshenq III and Shoshenq V for at least 7 years. Apis W died in 2 Pami; he was introduced on II 1 in 28 Shoshenq III and died after 26 years. According to securely dated cases, the introduction of an Apis bull took place around full moon, precisely on LD 15  3. The inferred lunar introduction dates for Apis bulls W and Y can be linked to another type of lunar date: the feast of calendar month IX (Tepi Shemu) is documented at Karnak temple from Dynasty 20 to 26. The feast began on LD 1 and ended on LD 5; two explicit Dynasty 22 feast dates are attested (A, D). Furthermore, it appears that priests were inducted during the feast, yielding two inferred feast dates (B, C). A. IX 11 in 11 Takeloth II B. IX [1] in 7 Pedubast I C. IX 19 in Pedubast I D. IX 26 in 39 Shoshenq III. The historical relationship of these kings to each other has been clarified by David Aston who argued consistently that Takeloth II and Pedubast I were rivals in Thebes when Shoshenq III ruled in Memphis (Aston 1975). The synchronism 5 Pedubast I ¼ 12 [Shoshenq III] is attested while [5 Takeloth II ¼ 1 Shoshenq III] is deducible. If Apis Z was born soon after the death of its predecessor and lived at most for the attested maximum lifespan of 26 years, then 1 Shoshenq III fell between 844 and 830 BC. Within this interval there are two possible solutions when the feast dates would fall on LDs 30 to 5 and the Apis dates on LD 15 15  3 (see Table 3.1). The solution 1 Shoshenq III ¼ 841 BC is preferable implying that in the case of date A an old crescent was missed on a LD 30, so that the preceding month still had an acceptable length of 29 days. By contrast, if 1 Shoshenq III ¼ 830 BC, old

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Table 3.1 Year 1 of Shoshenq III: lunar-based alternatives 1 Shoshenq III 845 BC 844 843 842 841 840 839 838 837 836 835 834 833 832 831 830 829

A LD 17 27 8 19 30 11 22 3 14 24 5 15 26 7 18 29 10

B LD 23 4 14 24 5 16 27 8 19 30 11 22 2 11 23 5 16

C LD 22 3 13 23 4 14 26 8 18 29 10 20 1 12 22 4 15

D LD 18 29 10 20 1 12 22 3 14 25 6 17 27 8 19 29 10

Y LD 1 12 22 3 15 25 7 17 28 9 19 30 11 22 3 13 24

W LD 29 10 21 3 14 24 5 16 26 7 18 29 10 21 2 12 23

crescent would have been missed in the cases of dates A and D on LDs 29, yielding an unacceptable length of 28 days for the preceding month. The LDs of the Apis introductions are inconclusive. The different solutions result from the periodic repetition of lunar phases within the Egyptian calendar. After 25 Egyptian years ¼ 9125 days ¼ 309 average synodic lunar months, a lunar event – for example, the first day of invisibility – repeats in 70 % of the cases. After 11 Egyptian years a lunar date tends to repeat itself plus one day and after 14 years by minus one day.

Lunar Dating of the Third Intermediate Period: Tenth Century BC A recently discovered fragment of the priestly annals of Dynasties 21/22 documents inductions of priests in three successive generations: in x Siamun, in 11 Psusennes II (date E) and in 3 Osorkon I; the 21-year reign of Shoshenq I fell in the latter interval (Fig. 3.1). The second induction took place during the Tepi Shemu feast. Under the premise that 1 Shoshenq I fell close to 945 BC, Fre´de´ric Payraudeau combined the new dates with previously known Tepi-Shemu inductions in 17 Siamun (date F) and in 2 Osorkon the Elder (date G), and concluded that 1 Psusennes II ¼ 957 BC (Payraudeau 2008). Since a year 13 is attested for Psusennes II, it follows that 1 Shoshenq I ¼ 943 BC at the earliest. Leaving aside the premise that 1 Shoshenq I  945 BC, Payraudeau’s result can be confirmed by taking into account Egyptian-Mesopotanian synchronisms and

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Fig. 3.1 Lunar dating of the third intermediate period: tenth century BC (Copyright remains in the possession of Cnrs-Cfeetk/Moraillon L. (CSA/CNRS, USR 3172))

relative chronology allotting about 450 years to the period between Shoshenq III and Ramesses II. Dead reckoning yields at least 90 + 4x years, and possibly as many as 115 years, for the interval between 841 BC ¼ 1 Shoshenq III and 1 Psusennes II, resulting in 931 + 4x to 956 BC for the latter. Table 3.2 presents the possible solutions in which the dates E-G fall on LDs 30 to 5; for further reference, Table 3.2 also presents the corresponding astronomical possibilities for 1 Ramesses II. By dead reckoning there are about 126 years for Dynasty 21 in its entirety; the sum includes 4 years for king Nefercheres whose reign-length is only listed in Manetho. Karl Jansen-Winkeln has revised the traditional reconstruction of the transition from Dynasty 20 to 21. Rather than having Piankh, High Priest (HP) of Amun during the last years of Ramesses XI, as successor of HP Herihor, he argues consistently for HP Herihor as the successor of Piankh, styling himself king subsequent to the death of Ramesses XI. Furthermore, Jansen-Winkeln points out the possibility that Herihor counted at least 6, and possibly as many as 8 years of own rule before Smendes, first king of Dynasty 21, began his regnal year count (Jansen-Winkeln 1992). Under this premise, there are 132 + x years between the last years of Ramesses XI and Psusennes II. Dead reckoning yields at least 199 years, and possibly as many as 202 years, between 1 Ramesses II of Dynasty 19 and the end of Dynasty 20 (Hornung 2006). A chronological anchor is a LD 1 that is recorded in a ship’s log as occurring on VI 27 in 52 Ramesses II; the astronomical possibilities around 1300 BC are 1304, 1290, 1279 and 1265 BC If the figures cited, arrived at by dead reckoning – Herihor’s 6 + x years included – are added to the possible first years of Psusennes II in Table 3.2, then the astronomically possible first years of Ramesses II also listed in Table 3.2 result. A decision between the possibilities can be made on the basis of the synchronisms between Egyptian and Mesopotamian kings as attested in the Amarna Letters. Asˇsˇur-uballit I (AKL 73) who ruled from 1353 to 1318 BC (shortened chronology) corresponded with Akhenaten. According to dead reckoning, 57 to 59 years elapsed between 1 Ramesses II and 1 Akhenaten, provided that Haremhab’s reign is shortened to 14 years as recently argued. Thus the synchronism Akhenaten : Asˇsˇur-uballit I is compatible with 1 Ramesses II ¼ 1265 or 1279 BC. The Babylonian kings Kadasˇman-Enlil I and Burnaburiasˇ II exchanged letters with Amenhotep III and his successor Akhenaten. Kadasˇman-Enlil I presumably

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Table 3.2 Year 1 of Psusennes II: lunar-based alternatives 1 Psusennes II 956 BC 953 945 942 931

E LD 4 4 2 4 4

F LD 30 2 or 3 30 2 1

G LD 3 5 2 5 4

1 Ramesses II 1279 BC 1276 1268 1265 1254

Astronomically possible Yes No No Yes Yes

referred in one of his letters to the Sed-festival which was celebrated in 30 or 34 Amenhotep III, i.e. 67 years at most before 1 Ramesses II. This synchronism is only compatible with 1 Ramesses II ¼ 1279 BC, since Burnaburiasˇ II ruled 1349–1321 BC  5; furthermore, the result implies that 1 Shoshenq I ¼ 943 BC.

Sothic and Lunar Dating of the Middle Kingdom A coherent relative chronology sets in around 1500 BC, at the end of the Second Intermediate Period of uncertain duration, which separates the New Kingdom (Dynasties 18–20) from the Middle Kingdom (Dynasties 11–13). A Sothic date makes absolute dating of the latter possible. The heliacal or early morning rising of Sothis (Sirius) after the yearly period of invisibility was the only astronomical event which occurred on a specific day in the Egyptian calendar. Because the calendar has no leap year or extra day every 4 years, the star rose on the same day for 4 consecutive years or a quadrennium. The concept of a Sothic cycle as a complete shift of four times 365 years ¼ 1460 years is not attested before the Hellenistic period. Few Sothic dates are on record which are associated with specific regnal years or a royal name. From the first historical cycle which ended around 1300 BC there are three such dates: (Egyptian month) VI (day) 16 in 7 [Senwosret III]; IX 9 in 9 Amenhotep I in the so-called Ebers calendar; XI 28 presumably in years 22–54 of Thutmoses III. From the second historical cycle there is one case: X 1 in 9 Ptolemy III or 238 BC (Canopic Decree); from the third and last historical cycle there is the day of its inception: I 1 in 139 AD as reported by the Roman grammarian Censorinus in his tractate De die natali. The modern computation of a Sothic date involves the known factors quadrennium and arcus visionis; the latter’s values for Sirius have been empirically determined in the Twentieth Century (Pachner 1998). The unknowns are the determination of the rising day, whether by observation or by use of a cycle, and the geographical reference point which is not attested for the Pharaonic times. Regular observation of the rising would have resulted in occasional triennial shifts of the calendric Sothic dates, since during the Pharaonic period the Sothic year was longer than the Julian year as was realized in the Nineteenth Century. Graeco-Roman sources presuppose a regular shift of the rising day of Sothis in

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4-year intervals (Meyer 1904). Thus the recorded rising dates could have depended upon a series of observations made around the introduction of the calendar in the 3rd millennium BC. Subsequently, the rising day would have been shifted cyclically 1 day every 4 years, resulting eventually in a difference between cyclical and observable rising day. Regardless of where the Egyptians observed the rising of Sothis for calendrical purposes, the date could not apply to the entire country, because Pharaonic Egypt per se extended from 24 to 31.5 north latitude and the rising of Sirius is delayed by about a day per 1 of latitude. According to literary tradition Memphis was the geographical reference point during the Late Period. Originally Egyptologists presumed that Memphis, as the capital in times of political unity, was the reference point for the Sothic dates throughout Pharaonic history. Since the 1950s Egyptologists also considered Thebes in Upper Egypt and Elephantine at Egypt’s southern border in Pharaonic times where the rising of Sothis could be seen first. The reference point could have been shifted to Memphis, if the difference between cyclical and observable rising were to be corrected. In 1899 fragments of the temple diary and administrative letters from the funerary establishment of Senwosret II in Illahun were discovered; most of these papyri came to Berlin and were initially analyzed by Ludwig Borchardt (1935). To date the material has not been published in its entirety. The documents are assignable to the reigns of Senwosret III and his successor Amenemhet III, rulers of Dynasty 12 who maintained the cult of their predecessor. The archive contains a Sothic date, civil-lunar double dates, and a series of lunar intervals; the latter has been identified by Borchardt as making up a lunar year of 354 days. Twenty-one of 40 lunar dates all told are usable for astronomical analysis; the remainder is riddled with textual uncertainties (Luft 1992). For half a century, the Illahun lunar dates resisted attempts at a meaningful analysis. Richard A. Parker realized that the series of lunar intervals connecting regnal years 30 and 31 has to be attributed to Amenemhet III (Parker 1950). After the correction of a date which had been misread by Borchardt, it became evident that the civil-lunar double dates fall naturally into two clearly defined groups implying 19 regnal years of Senwosret III. Furthermore, Ulrich Luft recognized that the lunar intervals of 30/31 Amenemhet III referred to temple service months, beginning on LD 2 and ending on LD 1; hitherto it had been presumed that the intervals referred to a calendric lunar month beginning on LD 1 and ending on a last LD. It is on this premise that the astronomical possibilities for 1 Amenemhet III are now unanimously computed as 1818/17 and 1843/42 BC. If in both cases 18 textually certain dates are computed, then in the first case there are 17 correct dates and one miss of an old crescent on a LD 30. In the second case there are 11 correct dates, 2 uncertain cases, 2 misses of old crescent on a LD 30 and 3 mistaken identifications of old crescents each on a day of lunar invisibility after a 29-day lunar month. A reign of 30 years, rather than 19 years, can be concluded for Senwosret III if textually uncertain lunar dates are considered. Thus 1 Senwosret III is computed

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either as 1836 BC, implying 19 years of reign, or as 1873 BC implying 30 years of reign. The lunar dates are used for the interpretation of the Sothic date which is unanimously accepted as referring to 7 [Senwosret III]. In that year a letter was copied on VII 25 in the temple diary, with the information: “You should know that the rising of Sothis will occur on VIII 16”. The respective rising was not observed; rather, it was predicted at least 22 days in advance. Since the offerings for the feast of the rising of Sothis were registered on VIII 17, and registration occurred in Illahun normally on the day preceding an occasion, it seems possible that the rising was celebrated on VIII 18. If 1 Senwosret III ¼ 1837/36 BC, then the Sothic date is to be emended to VIII 18 and to be interpreted as cyclical with Elephantine as reference point (Krauss 2006). If 1 Senwosret III ¼ 1873/72 BC, then the Sothic date, taken as VIII 16 or 17, was observed near Illahun or Memphis in years around 1865 BC (Gautschy 2011). The differing results pose three questions: which Illahun lunar dates are textually reliable; what kind of mistakes occur in Egyptian lunar observations; and how many of them are in general acceptable.

Cross-References ▶ Ancient Egyptian Calendars ▶ Babylonian Observational and Predictive Astronomy ▶ Counting Lunar Phase Cycles in Mesoamerica ▶ Mesopotamian Star Lists

References Aston DA (1975) Takeloth II – A king of the ‘Theban Twenty-Third Dynasty’? Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 75:139–153 Boese J (2008) Harbasˇipak, Tiptakzi und die Chronologie der €alteren Kassitenzeit. Zeitschrift f€ ur Assyriologie 98:201–210 Borchardt L (1935) Die Mittel zur zeitlichen Festlegung von Punkten der €agyptischen Geschichte und ihre Anwendung. Selbstverlag, Cairo Gasche H et al (1998) Dating the fall of Babylon. University of Ghent, Ghent Gautschy R (2011) Monddaten aus dem Archiv von Illahun: chronologie des Mittleren Reiches. Zeitschrift f€ur €agyptische Sprache und Altertumskunde 138:1–19 Grayson AK (1975) Assyrian and Babylonian chronicles. JJ Augustin, Locust Valley Hornung E (2006) The new kingdom. In: Hornung E, Krauss R, Warburton DA (eds) Ancient Egyptian chronology. Brill, Leiden/New York, pp 197–217 Hunger H (2000) Uses of Enuma Anu Enlil for chronology. Accadica 119–120:155–158 Hunger H (2009) How uncertain is Mesopotamian chronology ? In: Warburton DA (ed) Time’s up! Dating the Minoan eruption of Santorini. Aarhus University Press, Aarhus, pp 145–152 Hunger H, Pingree D (1999) Astral sciences in Mesopotamia. Brill, Leiden Jansen-Winkeln K (1992) Das Ende des Neuen Reiches. Zeitschrift f€ ur €agyptische Sprache und Altertumskunde 138:22–37

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Krauss R (2006) Egyptian Sirius/Sothic dates, and the question of the Sothis-based lunar calendar. In: Hornung E, Krauss R, Warburton DA (eds) Ancient Egyptian chronology. Brill, Leiden/ New York, pp 439–457 Krauss R (2012) Babylonian crescent observation and Ptolemaic-Roman lunar dates. PalArch’s Journal of Archaeology of Egypt/Egyptology 9(5):1–48, http://www.PalArch.nl Luft U (1992) Die chronologische Fixierung des €agyptischen Mittleren Reiches nach dem ¨ sterreichische Akademie der Wissenschaften, Wien Tempelarchiv von Illahun. O Mebert J (2009) Die Venustafeln des Ammi-saduqa und ihre Bedeutung fur die astronomische Datierung der altbabylonischen Zeit. Supplement to Archiv f€ ur Orientforschung 31 ¨ gyptische Cronologie. Akademie, Berlin Meyer E (1904) A ¨ gypten und Pachner N (1998) Zur Erfassung der Sichtbarkeitsperioden ekliptikferner Gestirne. A Levante 8:125–136 Parker R (1950) The calendars of ancient Egypt. University Press, Chicago Payraudeau F (2008) De nouvelles annales sacerdotales de Siamon, Psousenne`s II et Osorkon Ier. Bulletin de L’Institut Franc¸ais d’Arche´ologie Orientale 108:293–308 Stephenson FR (1997) Historical eclipses and earth’s rotation. University Press, Cambridge Waddell WG (1940) Manetho. Harvard University Press, Cambridge, MA

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Astronomy and Navigation Fernando Pimenta

Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The Noninstrumental Navigator’s Toolkit . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Environmental Conditions and its Consequence to Navigation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Noninstrumental Navigation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Astronomical Navigation and the Earliest Instruments . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Moon, Tides, Tidal Currents, and Time Reckoning . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Calendars and Navigation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Conceptualization of Space . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Transmission of Knowledge . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Conclusion . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

43 46 47 47 51 57 58 60 61 62 63 63

Abstract

Different people, seafaring in different parts of the world, used strategies well adapted to their environment with the purpose of safely reaching their destination. Astronomical elements, present in their navigation “toolkit” for orientation, calendar purposes, and time reckoning, contributed to their conceptualization of space and time and were eventually integrated in their ritual, social organization, and social power structure.

Introduction Tools found on the Indonesian island of Flores, dating from more than 800,000 years ago, show some sort of seagoing ability by pre-sapiens hominins and imply

F. Pimenta Associac¸a˜o Portuguesa de Investigac¸a˜o Arqueolo´gica (AIPA), Lisbon, Portugal e-mail: [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_7, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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Fig. 4.1 Map of Island Southeast Asia, showing present coastlines (darker gray) and the
116 m depth contour below sea level (light gray) at the Last Glacial Maximum, 21,000 years BP (Adapted from Sathiamurthy and Voris 2006)

that they crossed an estimated 20 km deepwater strait between Bali and Lombok, the biogeographical barrier known as “Wallace’s Line” (Fig. 4.1), that prevented for several million years the eastward dispersion of Asian land fauna (Morwood 2001; Morwood et al. 1998). The apparent absence of signs of other crossings in the region for 750,000 years may indicate that the Floresian occupation was an accidental event, in which some kind of paddled floating devices, probably without any steering, were used. Paleolithic artifacts with a dating based on geological data of about 130,000 years ago found in the Plakias region of Crete may indicate 15–20 km sea-gap crossings in the Mediterranean, in the Middle to Upper Pleistocene (Strasser et al. 2010). About 120,000 years separate these finds from the Mesolithic sites in the same area from the Pleistocene to early Holocene period. The ability of modern humans to make open ocean crossings in the Late Pleistocene is illustrated by evidence from the Philippines, dating from some 67,000 years ago (Mijares et al. 2010); from the colonization of western Melanesia 35,000–45,000 years ago (Torrence et al. 2004); and from Australia some 40,000 years ago (Bowler et al. 2003). There was also early maritime activity in this region by modern humans involved long open ocean crossings. About 14,000 years ago, the Manus islands were reached by an open sea crossing of 200–230 km, 60–90 km of which would have lain out of sight of land (Leavesley 2006, pp. 191–193; Spriggs 1997, pp. 23–31). More than 3,100 years ago, long before the first Europeans sailed out of sight of land in the Atlantic Ocean, Pacific seafarers had already arrived in Fiji, Tonga, and Samoa; later they reached the Marquesas and Hawaii and, eventually, Easter Island, in about 1200 CE (Hunt and Lipo 2006). By the time Captain Cook arrived in Polynesia, these past accomplishments had already declined.

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In the Mediterranean region, several signs of sea-crossings are found in Sicily over 30,000 years ago (Chilardi et al. 1996), and some 15,000 years later in preNeolithic sites in Sardinia and Crete, with 15–20 km sea-gap crossings. The existence of small amounts of obsidian from Melos at the Franchthi cave in the Argolid, dated about 11,000 years ago (Renfrew and Aspinall 1990), two locations separated by 120 km that could be reached by 20–35 km sea-gap crossings, is an indication of a possible seafaring route. Human presence at the Aetokremnos site in Cyprus about 11,000 years ago (Ammerman 2010, pp. 82–83) indicates at least an open sea crossing of about 65 km from the Anatolian coast (Broodbank 2006). There is evidence for a maritime pioneer colonization at the time of the origins of farming in west Mediterranean Europe (Zilha˜o 1993; 2001; Chandler et al. 2005). In this model, agricultural enclaves were formed by groups of leapfrogging seafaring colonists who moved around the Mediterranean coast. The seacraft used to make these crossings are not known, but Held (1993) has estimated that using some kind of dugout canoe, it would take about 30 h to cross from the Anatolian coast to Cyprus. A replica journey from Attica to Melos, in a papyrus reed-craft boat, in 1998, lasted 2 weeks for the one-way journey. The Pacific was colonized by a technology built with stone and shell tools, while in the Aegean, metal tools would not be required until the construction of the sailing vessels that appeared in the Early Bronze Age, by the late fourth millenium BCE (Broodbank 2010, p. 255; McGrail 2010, pp. 102–103). The use of a sail significantly improved speed and travel capability, requiring a much reduced crew and thus increasing load capacity. But to make benefit from a sail, a boat must be stabilized by an outrigger, by a twin-hulled construction (like the traditions in the Pacific), or by a keel mounted in a wider hull boat, which would require deeper water harbor facilities. Sails mounted in non-stabilized vessels would just add auxiliary boost to paddlers and be limited to be used downwind in areas with constant wind direction (Broodbank 2000, pp. 99–100). A paddled longboat of 15–20 m would have a daily range of about 50 km (27 nautical miles), while a Polynesian twin-hulled or a Micronesian outrigger sailing canoe would be expected to cover 185 to 280 km (100 to 150 nautical miles) a day in a direct course if it would not have to tack. In 1976, a 20 m Polynesian double canoe replica, named Hokule‘a (Arcturus), equipped with claw-type sails and a crew of seventeen, sailed from Hawaii to Tahiti in 31 days in a 2,500-mile voyage entirely navigated without instruments. As boat range increased, longer journeys would require the accumulation of information about currents, landmarks, reefs, and landfall method at the destination. The extended periods out of sight of land would require orientation methods for dead reckoning: without the possibility of knowing his position by other means, the navigator has to estimate it by the direction and the distance covered, to decide the course to steer. The course has to take into account the current set and the leeway, the angle between the direction of boat’s heading and the actual direction as a result of being blown off course by the wind.

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The Noninstrumental Navigator’s Toolkit The most important navigation requirement is course direction. Noninstrumental methods include: • Steering by the stars in the desired direction during night-time, which provides the most accurate indication, superior to the magnetic compass and not requiring magnetic declination corrections. • Finding the parallel (latitude) of the destination by the altitude above the horizon of a reference star (such as Polaris) and then maintaining this altitude while steering due east or west to the destination. This method can also be achieved by reaching the parallel of the destination identified by a zenith star. • Keeping course by the Sun, taking note of its star bearings at rising or setting, and interpolating its relative position during the day. • Keeping course by the ocean swells. Swells are long-wavelength waves, not generated by local wind, that originate in faraway regions of strong and persistent winds. • Keeping course by the wind, which in the high seas maintains its direction for long periods, but forcing the steersman to be constantly aware of its possible shifts using other methods (swells, Sun, or star direction). A navigator has several noninstrumental tools for land finding when sailing out of sight of land, which expands his target landfall: • Birds, flying out to their fishing grounds in the early morning or returning home in the evening, provide a reliable indication of land up to 20 miles offshore. • Cloud formations indicating land below the horizon. • Refraction or reflection of ocean swell by the presence of land. • Drifting objects, providing that the current direction is known. • Change in water coloration near a river mouth. • A crow’s nest, an invention that appeared in the Late Bronze Age, as depicted in ship scenes in Egyptian tombs, expands the theoretical visibility as the height of eye of the observer increases. An expanded target of 20 miles around a destination 450 miles away would require an arc of landfall of 5 . A longer journey would require a higher accuracy, but at the same time, the random effects of currents, drifts, and judgment errors would have more chance to be canceled out. The estimation of the distance made good requires gauging the boat speed from a multitude of indications – foam, bubbles or other objects passing along the boat, turbulence, and wind pressure – and some judgments when tacking or changing course. This is especially true when doing alternate tacking every 4–6 h: so as to be sure to remain on course, the time has to be controlled by stars or the Sun, which take 6 h from rise to culmination, or by Venus, which may take 3 h to set after sunset as an evening star or appear for up to 3 h before sunrise as a morning star (Ammarell 1999, p. 148). A continual, nearly unconscious processing and analysis of all the data available – stars, Sun, swell, wind, waves, sea life, seamarks, landmarks, leeway, and knowledge of the current – together with past experience and the integration of time and speed will enable the navigator to estimate their position, steer a course, and calculate the time to their destination.

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Gale drift estimation poses serious problems, but compensation for the current presents the most difficult task, since the entire ocean surface will be moving together with the boat and the lateral drift is hard to estimate when out of sight of land. When landmarks are visible, back or front bearings on the land provide a method of evaluating the direction and strength of the current. The effects of the current can also be estimated, when returning from a new destination, from the course steered and the place of arrival. Once a successful return is accomplished, the additional information about the current and the stars for the passage — corresponding to the geographical direction and to the course actually to be steered, compensating for the currents — is available and can be transmitted. An encyclopedic knowledge of currents in all seasons in different places and sailing directions from every known place to every other place and a good knowledge of the sky to identify stars even in very cloudy conditions, together with information about prevailing winds, swell, and reefs, accumulated by generations, had to be transmitted and memorized by the navigators of a nonliterate society.

Environmental Conditions and its Consequence to Navigation Noninstrumental Navigation In Island Southeast Asia and the western Pacific, a combination of circumstances was favorable to an early maritime proficiency. There were steady currents, moderate winds and waves (with the exception of a period during the west monsoon), clear skies rarely obscured for more than 3 days, a full tidal regime exposing marine resources, temperate seas, accessible large islands that offered bases for huntergatherers, and, particularly, the regularity of the monsoon winds that affected all of the northern Indian Ocean to the Southeast Asian and China Seas and offered two well-defined periods for navigation, one with easterly and the other with westerly trade winds. Arab, Persian, Indian, Malayan, Chinese, and Polynesian navigation occurs mainly in intertropical areas (Fig. 4.2), near the Equator, where stars rise or set approximately perpendicular to the horizon and maintain their azimuth bearings during long periods. It is understandable why Polynesians developed a highly evolved navigational system based upon steering by the stars. Unlike the stars rising or setting near east or west, those closer to north or south will describe an arc in the sky and therefore can only be used to steer for a limited time (Fig. 4.3). On average, a rising star is used until it reaches about 15 altitude or has moved too far to one side of the correct bearing, being then replaced by another rising star with the same bearing. The same principle applied for setting stars. When the steering star was obscured by clouds, stars to one side could be aligned with parts of the boat’s rigging in order to keep the appropriate course. The slope of the rigging could also be used to match the track of a star as it climbed obliquely to the horizon (Lewis 1972, pp. 90, 95).

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Fig. 4.2 European and Asian sailing navigation routes (Adapted from Pereira (2002, Fig. 9))

Since specific star courses are only usable during the period of the year where they are above the horizon during night-time, there were several steering stars with the same bearing, appropriate for each sailing season (Lewis 1972, pp. 100–101). In the Caroline Islands a further refinement appeared probably 2,000 years BP: a sidereal compass with 32 unequally spaced directions named by the associated rising and setting positions of stars or asterisms. With the exception of Polaris, which indicates north, and the Southern Cross, each star is used to identify two directions: one at rising and another at setting. The Southern Cross is used to identify five directions in the south: b Cru rising, the Southern Cross direction when a Cen is rising, the Southern Cross in the vertical position, the Southern Cross direction when a Cen is at the meridian, and d Cru setting. Table 4.1 shows, for 1950, the rising azimuth bearings for the stars and asterisms from the Carolinian compass, as described by Goodenough (1953), for latitudes between 40 N and 40 S at the altitude above extinction, for a visual extinction coefficient of 0.25 (average dry night or best wet night at sea level), according to Schaefer (1987). Values in dark gray have a difference of up to 2 and in light gray up to 4 from the value at the equator for an average altitude of 6 . If the stars were visible down to the horizon (altitude 0 ), the azimuth bearings for symmetric latitudes would be the same. Steering by the stars provides an accurate direction indication between the tropics, within an arc of landfall of 5 , especially for E-W directions, where the majority of destinations were located. Remnants of star compass navigational systems can be found in ethnographic records from other Indo-Pacific peoples (Goodenough 1953, p. 7; Halpern 1985, pp. 27–35; Ammarell 1999, p. 125), and a similar Arab stellar compass, used in the

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Fig. 4.3 Stereographic projection representing the pathways of the stars of Table 4.1: (a) at latitude 7.5 north and (b) at latitude 25 north

Indian Ocean at least from 840 CE, is described in the Fawa’id by Ibn Majid, an Arab navigator who lived in the fifteenth century on the coast of Oman (Tibbetts 1981, pp. 294–298). Several stars or asterisms are common between the different star compasses and include stars that are circumpolar or invisible in the Mediterranean. The replacement of the Southern Cross by Canopus in the Arab stellar compass may indicate its northern derivation or adaptation. In different parts of Polynesia and Micronesia, there is evidence of another concept for star orientation: the zenith stars (Lewis 1972, pp. 278–289). Each island was associated with a star that crossed the local meridian in the zenith (a star whose

Table 4.1 Rising azimuth bearings for the Carolinian compass

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declination was equal to the island’s latitude). This would enable a navigator heading north or south to reach the parallel of the destination, then change the course to due east or west to reach the destination. Lying back to sight along the mast could be one method of observing zenith stars; another could be to use a gourd or vertical cane filled with water (Lewis 1972, p. 287). This has some parallels with the use of a bamboo pole filled with water by a Dayak tribe, in Borneo, as a calendar device for determining the time to plant. The bamboo, with a mark inscribed at a certain distance from the open end, was tilted until it pointed toward a certain unrecorded star at a certain unrecorded time of night, causing some of the water to pour out. It was then made vertical and the level of the remaining water compared with the mark (Ammarell 1988, pp. 94–95; Hose and McDougall 2002, p. 51). In the ancient Mediterranean, conceptual systems of direction were known as winds. The “Rose of the winds” had eight principal “full winds” identified by the associated wind name, divided into “half winds” and “quarter winds” with a total of thirty-two points represented in pilots’ books and charts, and later incorporated into the magnetic compass. Mediterranean systems with twelve primary “winds”, as described by Aristotle, were similar to Chinese and Japanese twelve-point compasses. In the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, sailors from the Atlantic Coast and Northern Europe were still sailing without a magnetic compass or chart; they used a thirty-two-point directional system, named from the combinations of the four cardinal names (Frake 1994). Viking navigators, who mastered coastal navigation and by 1000 CE had already reached Iceland, Greenland, and North America, probably established bearings and directions according to the Sun, measured the Suns altitude, and used Polaris as a celestial bearing (Indruszewski and Godal 2006). A wooden disk found in 1948, in Uunartoq, Greenland, has been interpreted by several authors as a Viking Age sundial that could have been used as a sun compass, similar to the wooden sundial disk discovered in Wolin, Poland, dating from the tenth or eleventh century CE (Stanislawski 2000, 2002), which in turn has parallels with the tenth-century CE metal disk from Ile de Groix, in the Bay of Biscay (M€uller-Wille 1971). A theory first proposed in 1966 by Thorkild Ramskou claimed a possible association to the sundial compass of a double-refracting crystal, such as cordierite, turmalin, or calcite, which could allegedly have been used by the Vikings to identify the Sun’s direction by polarization on cloudy or foggy days.

Astronomical Navigation and the Earliest Instruments The theoretical visibility at sea depends on the observer’s eye height and on the height of the landmark above sea level. An average value of 10 nautical miles for low land can be considered, but the actual range depends on the atmospheric conditions. In the Mediterranean, there is a high degree of visibility of the mainland and between islands, including the Aegean Sea, Cyprus, and most of the area between Crete and North Africa (Fig. 4.4). But in some areas, like the Aegean Sea, the haze resulting from prevailing winds carrying dust under moderately high

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Fig. 4.4 Visibility of mainland in the Mediterranean (Adapted from Chapman 1990, Fig. 59)

Fig. 4.5 Visibilities in the eastern Mediterranean (Adapted from Davis 2001, Figs. 2–7 and Table 2.1)

pressure, unchanging throughout the summer, reduces to half the number of days with a visibility of 10 nautical miles during the sailing season (Davis 2001, pp. 27–31) (Fig. 4.5). Coastal piloting in this situation would become navigation, requiring other orientation methods for a successful journey. In the Mediterranean, due to the higher latitudes, the conditions are not appropriate to use a stellar compass or star steering techniques in the same way as in the Indian Ocean or the Pacific, since their azimuth bearings vary rapidly with the obliquity of their trajectories and when moving to different latitudes (see Fig. 4.3b). Nevertheless, classical sources clearly associate the stars with navigation (Davis 2001, pp. 168–176). In a passage of Homer’s Odyssey, Odysseus set sail and “as he watched the Pleiades, and late-setting Bootes, and the Bear, which men also call the

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Wain, which ever circles where it is and watches Orion, and alone has no part in the baths of Ocean. For this star Calypso, the beautiful goddess, had bidden him to keep on the left hand as he sailed over the sea” (Homer 1919). The third-century BC writer Aratus wrote: “It is by Helice (Ursa Major) that the Achaeans on the sea divine which way to steer their ships, but in the other (Ursa Minor) the Phoenicians put their trust when they cross the sea. But Helice, appearing large at earliest night, is bright and easy to mark; but the other is small, yet better for sailors: for in a smaller orbit wheel all her stars. By her guidance, then, the men of Sidon steer the straightest course” (Aratus 1921, p. 383). Mediterranean seafarers understood that as one traveled north or south, Ursa Major and Ursa Minor ascended higher or lower in the sky. Perhaps the Phoenicians realized that Ursa Minor was a more accurate indicator of celestial north. A reference to this method can be found in Lucan’s Civil War: “the pole-star, which never sets or sinks beneath the waves, the brightest star in the two Bears, he it is that guides our course. When I see him mount ever toward the zenith, and when the Little Bear rises above the towering yards, then we face toward the Bosporus and the Black Sea that hollows the Scythian shore. But whenever Bootes sinks from the topmast and the Little Bear moves nearer the horizon, the ship is making for the ports of Syria. Next after that conies Canopus, a star that shuns the North and limits its wanderings to the southern sky; if you keep it on the left and sail on past Pharos, your vessel will strike the Syrtis in mid-ocean” (Lucan 1928). The degree of sophistication of devices like the Antikythera Mechanism, 100 BCE (see ▶ Chap. 143, “Reconstructing the Antikythera Mechanism”), provides a clue for the possible existence of nautical instruments of some type in the Hellenistic world. A stretched arm with the little finger over the horizon line and one, two, or three fingers over it is an appropriate instrument for measuring the altitude of Polaris. This system gave rise to the Arab or Indian Ocean stellar altitude measurement, the qiyas, where the unit for angle measurement is the finger or isba in Arabic (Pereira 2003). According to Ibn Majid (Tibbetts 1981, pp. 314–315), the value for the isba would be 1 360 . In Micronesia, a similar method of measuring the altitude of the Pole Star using the fingers extended at arm’s length is described by Lewis (Lewis 1972, pp. 277–278) using as unit of measurement the ey-as, equal to 1.5 . As the Pole Star was not at the north celestial pole but separated from it about 3.5 in the fifteenth century, Ibn Majid, in his Fawa’id, gives indications about the corrections (bashi) for the celestial pole, for each lunar mansion meridian crossing. James Prinsep gave information, in an article reproduced by Gabriel Ferrand (Ferrand, 1921–1923), about the Kamal, a device described by the sixteenthcentury Turkish navigator Sidi Ali Celebi to measure star height, composed of 9 tablets of wood: the first and smaller tablet with four horizontal divisions of one isba each and the other 8 tablets, of increasing size, represented 5 to 12 isba (Pereira 2003). A similar set of 12 tablets, graduated from 1 to 12 Zhi (finger, with 1 Zhi equivalent to 1.9 ), were used by the Chinese navigator Zheng He for estimating latitude by the altitude of the Pole Star, together with the magnetic compass,

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in his seven voyages from 1405 to 1433 (Pereira 2005; Jun 1988). Later this device was simplified into a single tablet with a line with many knots attached, each knot corresponding to one isba. Pilots in the Indian Ocean would direct their ship to the parallel of destination and then sail due east or west. This technique was later used by the Portuguese when developing high seas navigation in the Atlantic. In the Mediterranean, different navigation tools appeared in the thirteenth century: • Portulanos, texts with textual descriptions of the routes, the oldest one being “Il Compasso da Navigare”, circa 1250 • Portulano charts with graphical descriptions of the routes, such as the “Carta Pisana” from the end of the thirteenth century • Toleta de marteloio, a simple trigonometric table with rules to calculate the distance made good, knowing the sailed distance in each rhumb and its bearing, when tacking or following different rhumbs between two points • Magnetic compass, with the work of Peter Peregrinus about freely pivoting compass needles (1264). In the Atlantic, when exploring the West African coast during the first half of the fifteenth century, Portuguese sailors had to return to Portugal by a route of 3,000 miles out of sight of land, because of the prevailing northeasterly winds (Fig. 4.6). From the end of the fifteenth century, the Spanish crossed more than 3,000 miles to arrive in the Antilles, and the Portuguese, in their route to India, had to stay many months at sea and out of sight of land, crossing over 70 of latitude (Fig. 4.2). Fifteenth-century navigators knew that positions estimated by magnetic compass rhumbs were affected by large errors owing to variations in the magnetic declination at different locations. Techniques for latitude estimation were a key element in their success. The estimation of latitude from the altitude of the Pole Star and the corresponding conversion from meridian degree to distance was the first step. When the Pole Star was no longer visible, the calculation of latitude was first done using the Sun’s altitude at its meridian passage at noon and eventually confirmed at night by the altitude of the Southern Cross. In the middle of the fifteenth century, measurements of the altitude of the celestial pole by Portuguese pilots were made using a wooden quadrant graduated from zero to 90 from the center of which was suspended a small string with a lead or brass weight of 100–200 g. The pilot marked directly on the instrument the readings of the altitude of Polaris, at its upper culmination, for different places. The difference in degrees between readings could be converted into distance by multiplying by 16⅔ leagues, a value later changed to 17½ (1 league was approximately 5,920 m). Experiments made at night with replicas of this instrument indicated an average error of about 17 arc minutes, corresponding approximately to 17 nautical miles (Pereira 2000). To overcome the invisibility problems for the period of the year when the upper culmination of Polaris occurred during the day, simple methods were introduced later in the “Regimento do Norte”. A wheel representing 8 different positions of Kochab (b UMi) was used to correct the altitude of the celestial pole from the measured altitude of Polaris (Fig. 4.7a, b).

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Fig. 4.6 “Return from Guinea” and “Return from Mina” (Adapted from Pereira 2002, Fig. 1)

A similar method described in the “Regimento do Cruzeiro do Sul” was later introduced at the beginning of the sixteenth century for the Southern Cross in its “upright” position as it crosses the local meridian and when a Cru and g Cru, with a similar right ascension, define a vertical line. A polar distance value of 30 was used for a Cru. Later the corrections from an 8-position wheel were also introduced. Other stars were used for the same purpose (Albuquerque 1975). A practical “Regimento do Sol” was introduced at the end of the fifteenth century with declination tables, based on the Libros del Saber de Astronomia of Alfonso X, and simple rules for the pilots to find the latitude using the Sun’s zenith distance measured at its meridian passage together with its declination. The pilot would make successive readings with a nautical astrolabe, until being sure that the Sun had reached its highest position, hanging down the astrolabe and rotating the alidade to project the sunlight from the upper pinhole into the lower pinhole. Experiments made during the day with replicas of this instrument indicated an average error of about 12 arc minutes,

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Fig. 4.7 Wheel from the “Regimento do Norte”: (a) Kochab in the SW, Polaris in the meridian (3½ should be subtracted from the altitude of Polaris), and (b) Kochab in the “east arm”, 9 h later (½ should be added to the altitude of Polaris)

corresponding to 13 nautical miles, and an average error of 18 arc minutes for night observations (Pereira 2000). The cross staff, using the same principle as the Kamal, was introduced at the beginning of the sixteenth century. When used backward for Sun altitude measurement, it performed quite well in the same experiments, giving an average error of 5 arc minutes. By the middle of the sixteenth century, the nautical astrolabe graduation was modified to give a direct reading of the zenith distance. By the end of the fifteenth century Portuguese pilots could calculate their ship’s position using the rules from the “Regimento das Le´guas”, adapted from the Toleta de Mateloio, once they knew the difference in latitude between the starting place and the present position. For the compass point steered, the pilot looked in the table for the distances traveled along the parallel (“Afastar”) and along the course (“Relevar”) per degree of latitude. The latest distance could also be compared with the estimation made from the ship’s gauged speed. This “raising the pole” calculation is quite similar to the tirfa measurement described by Ibn Majid in the Fawa’id: sailing 8 za˜m due north, the distance sailed in 1 day, would raise the Pole Star 1 isba. The values of tirfas for the different rhumbs were not given by Ibn Majid, but Sulaiman al-Mahri, a sixteenth-century Arab navigator, lists their values for the different rhumbs in his work Minhaj. The first Portuguese nautical charts were adaptations of the Mediterranean “portulano charts”. Several groups of 32 lines were drawn, diverging from several places on the chart, corresponding to the 32 winds of the compass rose. These lines were used to mark the course from the departure to the destination, using a parallel ruler. Astronomical navigation introduced an important evolution in the nautical charts: the inclusion of a latitude scale, like the one represented on the chart of Pedro Reinel in 1504 (Pereira 2002).

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Different methods were proposed for the longitude determination: • A false method relating the longitude to the magnetic declination. • Eclipse time difference between the local time in a reference meridian and the observer’s local time. This method, the oldest known, was impracticable due to the difficulty in predicting accurately the time of the eclipses and the lack of sufficiently accurate instruments. An attempt made by Columbus in Haiti, with a lunar eclipse in 1494, resulted in a 20 error. • Jupiter’s satellites: occultation, eclipse, and transit of the satellite or of its shadow. Again this method was impracticable owing to inaccurate predictions. • Occultation of stars by the Moon. The complexity of the calculations and the lack of sufficiently accurate instruments made it impracticable for use at sea. It was probably attempted in the middle of the sixteenth century by Alonso de Santa Cruz. • Lunar distances. Since the Moon’s sidereal mean daily motion is about 13 , looking in a table for the measured angular separation between the Moon and a star or the Sun will give the time at the reference meridian. The difference between this and the local time measured by the Sun will give the longitude. This method was proposed at the beginning of the sixteenth century by Johannes Werner and was attempted at sea at the beginning of the sixteenth century with a high error. Longitude determination with the required accuracy was only achieved in the second half of the eighteenth century with the first nautical clock.

Moon, Tides, Tidal Currents, and Time Reckoning Knowledge of tides and tidal currents enables a pilot to profit from tidal currents when entering or leaving harbors or straits; to compensate for the effects of tidal streams, especially the strong ones in deep waters; to pass over reefs; and to prevent their vessel from running aground. The gravitational attraction of the Moon and Sun on the ocean, together with the centrifugal force caused by the orbital rotation of the Earth-Moon system, produces the world’s longest wave, a wave whose length is half the circumference of the Earth and whose period is 12 h 25 min. If the Earth were a perfect sphere without large continents, all areas on the planet would experience two high and two low tides with a period of 24 h 50 min, the time the Moon takes between two local meridian passages. The blocking effect of the large continents and the variations in the Moon’s declination create different tidal patterns in every region: in the European Atlantic fac¸ade and some areas of North America, there is a semidiurnal pattern with two highs and two lows in a single period; in Australia and some areas of the Pacific, there is a diurnal pattern with a single high and a single low; and there is a mixed pattern, depending on the location and the time of the month or year, in some areas of the Pacific, Island Southeast Asia, and North America. In the Mediterranean, tides are irrelevant. Moderate neap tides occur during the first and third quarter, and very high and very low waters, known as spring tides, occur at new or full moon, associated with stronger currents.

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Seafaring societies in tidal areas universally associated the Moon with the tides. Coping with the tides requires time reckoning. Tides run on lunar time, but since daily life follows solar time, knowing the time of a given tide requires knowing the correlation between lunar and solar time. According to Ammarell (1999), Bugis navigators in the Flores Sea (Island Southeast Asia) used a cognitive map for the tides based on a mental 24 h clock, marking the Moon’s position. From moonrise to lunar noon, water is rising; from lunar noon to moonset, water is falling; from moonset to lunar midnight, water is rising; and from lunar midnight to moonrise, water is falling. The extrapolation of the Moon’s position when it is below the horizon requires knowledge of the Moon’s age and a sighting of the Moon before it sets. According to the same author, in Balobaloang the tidal currents were said to “follow the Moon”, flowing to the east, in the direction of the Moon, when the Moon is rising or to the west when the Moon is setting. According to Frake (1985), medieval sailors in the Atlantic fac¸ade of western Europe used the 32-point compass rose as an abstract model to mark lunar and solar time. The tidal regime for a given place was specified by the lunar time for high tide, named as a compass bearing (as represented in the tidal charts of Guillaume Brouscon dating from the sixteenth century). If, for a certain place, high tide occurs at 15:00, lunar time, then the associated compass bearing is SW (point 20). Relating lunar and solar time required knowledge of the Moon’s age. At new moon lunar and solar time are equal; the specified lunar time for high tide would be equal to the solar time. Since lunar time lags behind solar time by about 48 min per day, it can be roughly associated with the 45 min of each point of the compass rose and each day of the Moon’s age will correspond to a compass point. For the example above, for a date corresponding to a six-day-old Moon, high tide will be six compass points past SW, i.e., WNW (point 26), corresponding to 19:30, solar time (Frake 1985).

Calendars and Navigation Seasonal markers associated with navigation are related to the solar year and were directly or indirectly derived from the Sun’s annual motion. Stellar phenomena such as heliacal rising and setting, acronychal rising, and cosmical setting were used as markers. In La´motrek, Micronesia, months were named after the stars that transited the zenith in the early morning and bearings of the Sun at sunrise were associated with points of the star compass (Akerblom 1968). In Butaritari, Gilbert Islands, Micronesia, the Sun in its apparent annual movement to the north was said to journey windward of the land, linked to the navigator’s fair easterly trade winds, and observations were made before sunrise. In its apparent motion to the south the Sun was said to journey leeward of the land and observations were made after sunset. The appearance of the Pleiades and Antares at sunset and sunrise, at a particular altitude, were used to mark the start of the year and to mark the two seasons (Grimble 1931).

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Indian Ocean seafaring is dominated by the monsoons that blow in one direction for about 6 months and in the opposite direction for the rest of the year. Navigators took advantage of this fact, knowing that a return wind in 6 months’ time was guaranteed. Voyages in the north Indian Ocean from west to east were undertaken at the beginning of the southwest monsoon, from the middle of April to the middle of May. During June, July, and August, to avoid the strong winds, the high swell, and the heavy rains, most of the ports in India and the Arabian south coast were closed (Tibbetts 1981, pp. 367–369; Pereira 2003). The return voyage was undertaken during the northeast monsoon, at any time from the middle of October to the beginning of April. Since the sailing seasons are based on the solar year, the Muslim lunar year could not be used for this purpose. To define tables of seasons for sailing, the Arab navigators used instead a system that numbered the days from the first day of the year known as Nairuz, from the Persian 365-day calendar (Tibbetts 1981, pp. 361–364). According to Ammarell (1999, pp. 25; 52–54), in Island Southeast Asia the period of the east monsoon, between April and September, is the most favorable for sailing. In October, the sailing season closes as the monsoon drops off for about 2 months and this is the time for family ritual ceremonies among the people of Balobaloang. During the west monsoon between December and April, heavy rains and high seas, especially from January to February, keep the ships ashore. At the beginning of the east monsoon, ships are consecrated in a ritual celebration, before returning to sea. According to the same author, the people of Balobaloang do not recognize the Western definition of the equinox. They use several natural signs to predict the transition between the two monsoon periods, which occur around the equinoxes. The tilt of the crescent Moon is one of the signs: around the Spring equinox, when the crescent reaches the maximum tilt to the northwest (the angle of the Moon’s bright limb to the local zenith has its minimum value), the southeast monsoon begins and it is time to start sailing; around the Autumn equinox, when the crescent reaches the maximum tilt to the southwest (the angle of the Moon’s bright limb to the local zenith has its maximum value), the sea will be closed for navigation; when the lunar crescent lies flat on the horizon, around the solstices (the angle of the Moon’s bright limb to the local zenith is about 180 , so that the crescent appears as a bowl), it marks the middle period of the monsoons. According to the distributions of Fig. 4.8, these crescent Moon tilt patterns, although they occur roughly 1 month around the equinoxes and the solstices, do not allow for a precise solar calendar definition. This yearly change of the crescent tilt pattern is only valid around the equator; at very high latitudes the crescent will never be seen lying flat, and at temperate latitudes around 40 , it will reach this position with a periodicity connected with the lunar standstills. Another sign used to predict the monsoons uses the lowest low spring tides. During the east monsoon, it occurs at moonset around new moon and at moonrise around full moon. During the west monsoon, the lowest low spring tide occurs at moonrise around new moon and at moonset around full moon. The transition between the two tidal patterns occurs around the equinoxes.

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Fig. 4.8 Chronological distribution for the NW tilt (light gray dashed), SW tilt (dark dashed), flat summer (light solid), and flat winter (dark solid) young crescent Moon, from a 428-year simulation of the young crescent visibility for latitude 0

The west monsoon can also be predicted when the “ray fish” (northern half of Scorpius) disappears in the Sun’s glare (the heliacal setting of Antares is around mid-November) and the Pleiades appear in the evening sky (the acronychal rising of the Pleiades occurs in the beginning of November). In their lore, the “ray fish” disappeared from the sky, frightened by the Pleiades because he stole from them their seventh star (Ammarell 1999, pp. 25; 53–54). In the Aegean Sea during the Early Bronze Age, the open season for sailing was between April and October (Broodbank 2000, pp. 94–95), with the Etesian northern winds blowing with regularity between March and November. One of the markers for the closed season was the setting of Haedi (the kids from Auriga) at dawn, whose cosmical setting occurred at the beginning of December. Callimachus, from Alexandria in 300 BCE, warned seafarers to avoid the sea when the kids or Capella set at sunrise (Callimachus 1793, p. 221), as did Marcus Manilius, at around 1 CE, in Astronomica (Manilius 1977, p. 33), and Aratus (Aratus 1921, p. 156). Varro, from Rome in 100 BCE, advised that sailing was safe between the heliacal rising of the Pleiades (beginning of May) and the heliacal rising of Arcturus (middle of October) (Davis 2001, pp. 36–37).

Conceptualization of Space Different people, at land or sea, in different parts of the world, developed different orientation systems, equally successful, with or without material maps. In some of these the navigator is at the central point; in others, orientation is determined by

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coastlines and islands or landmarks in relation to each other. Some make use of more complex and general conceptual systems, such as cardinal or star compasses, transforming land or sea marks into bearings or points of sail. Southern African hunter-gatherers such as the Haillom “Bushmen” in Namibia have excellent orientation skills that rely on the distance covered and time elapsed as gauged by the Sun, together with a multiple set of categories that mix landscape topographic, botanical, and ecological markers with past experience of moving in the bush, including social and personal interactions with the inhabitants of different directions. Haillom orientation is not based on individual body directions, or related to cardinal directions, but related to regions characterized by topography, botany, ecology, and social relations. A continuous flow of information about places, peoples, and location of resources is permanently processed to achieve the orientation (Widlok 1997). According to Lewis (Lewis 1972, pp. 168–170), the Aboriginal peoples in Central Australia developed a kind of mental map that is continuously updated with time, distance, and bearing, especially when they change direction, so that they always remain aware of the direction to their objective and their home. The Etak system developed in the Carolines mentally divides a voyage into segments by the star bearings of a reference island which lies between the start and the destination but is off-course and not visible during the voyage. The navigator estimates his position by imaging his canoe to be stationary and the reference island to be moving under different stars, in the same way as a passenger in a train has the feeling of being stationary while a close landscape feature (such as a house) moves along successively under distant features on the horizon. As the reference island “moves” from one star to another, an etak, or segment, of the voyage is completed. The first and last segments are called “etak of sighting” and the second and penultimate segments “etak of birds” (Lewis 1972, pp. 173–179). Micronesian navigators were reported to have had difficulties in reconciling the etak concept of a moving island with the static representation of islands on a Western material map.

Transmission of Knowledge In nonliterate societies especially, the transfer of knowledge is a key feature that plays a central role in social organization. Pacific seafarers who did not develop navigational instruments display a number of educational learning instruments. According to Lewis (Lewis 1972, p. 97), Gilbertese navigators were instructed about the sky in the maneaba, the village community house that could hold hundreds of people and whose beams and rafters represented the night sky. The students would sit near the central pillar supporting the ridgepole of the building, facing the eastern slope of the roof, which represented the eastern sky. Following Grimble’s description (Grimble 1931), “The Gilbertese navigator regards the nightsky as a vast roof. He never calls it karawa, the usual term for the heavens, but applies to it the special name uma ni borau, which signifies literally, roof of voyaging. (. . .) The meridian is the ridge-pole. The roof is supported by imaginary rafters, three on the eastern slope and three to correspond on the west. The apex of

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the middle pair is held to be at the point where the star Rigel (b Ori) crosses the meridian. These middle rafters represent the Gilbertese celestial equator, which, being fixed by the declination of Rigel, is seen to be placed about 8 south of our own. The apex of the northern pair of rafters is said to be where the Pleiades cross the meridian, which is about 24 north of the true celestial equator and 32 north of the Gilbertese; while the star Antares (a Sco) marks the meeting-point of the southern pair at 26 true south declination, or 18 south of the Gilbertese equator. Lying across these rafters, like the steps of a ladder up the sky, the astronomer imagines a series of three equally-spaced cross-beams on each slope of the roof”. The transmission of knowledge from father to son or daughter took place with the help of several instructional devices such as the “stone island” or “stone canoe” that could represent an island or a canoe. This device was astronomically oriented, and pupils could sit in the rectangular center stone, like a canoe, to learn the star bearings. A piece of brain coral underneath the central stone represented the sea god. Triangular stones at the corners represented the different swell patterns when the central stone was seen as an island (Lewis 1972, pp. 228–230). In the same class of instructional devices Lewis describes the mattang, a Marshallese stick chart with the purpose of teaching swell lines (Lewis 1972, pp. 245–248; Akerblom 1968). A star-compass teaching device was also used in Micronesia: an eight-rayed octagon was laid out with sticks, with eight large coral stones at the end of each ray and three smaller stones equally spaced between each of the large stones, forming a 32-point compass with each large stone named by a star. Several exercises were developed in the Carolines to memorize the large body of information (Goodenough and Thomas 1987). In the Western world different voyages and coastal descriptions have been recorded since antiquity, but it is worth noting the Portuguese nautical guides that were printed at the beginning of the sixteenth century, collecting together in the same publication ephemeris tables and rules for sailors, the “Regimentos”, that had previously appeared as, for example, the “Guia Nautico de Munique” (1509) and “Guia Nautico de E´vora” (1516). These guides — collections of documents that had been prepared at the end of the fifteenth century (Albuquerque 1991) — along with manuals and tables, and together with nautical instruments, formed the basis of scientific instrument-based navigation. From the Arabian sailors in the Indian Ocean, we should mention the Fawa’id, a prose work by Ibn Majid, divided into 12 Fa’ida that cover the basic principles of navigation, lunar mansions, compass rhumbs, stars and planets, latitude measurements, typhoons, occurrences at sea, landfalls, seasons for seafaring, and descriptions of the coasts and islands of the Southeast and Northwest Indian Ocean, the Red Sea, and the African coast.

Conclusion A combination of social motivations, efficient adaption to the environment, and rational thinking created complex systems of knowledge, sometimes (as in the Pacific) with few material tools.

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Whatever reasons motivated seafaring – trading, fishing, adventure, raiding, or conquest — navigation challenged human skills to keep pace with their environment and shaped cognitive notions of space and time. A diversity of astronomical solutions provided the tools for time reckoning, calendar organization, and celestial navigation that opened up routes around the world.

Cross-References ▶ Ancient Hawaiian Astronomy ▶ Archaeoastronomy in Polynesia ▶ Archaeoastronomy of Easter Island ▶ Astronomical Instruments in India ▶ Calendars and Astronomy ▶ Chinese Armillary Spheres ▶ Concepts of Space, Time, and the Cosmos ▶ Islamic Astronomical Instruments and Observatories ▶ Minoan Astronomy

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5

Astronomy and Power Edwin C. Krupp

Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Celestial Power . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The Sky and the State . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Heaven’s Intentions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Calendrical Power . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The Axis of Power . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Aligned with Power . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The Center of the World . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Sacred Precincts and Cosmic Order . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The Sky Is Still in Play . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Abstract

To the ancients, the sky was a source of power that drove the seasons and ordered the world. Astronomical observation provided access to celestial power. The character of those observations, the use to which they were put, and a culture’s brokerage of the sky’s power were primarily functions of latitude, climate, and social complexity.

Introduction Common wisdom asserts, “Knowledge is power”, and our debt for that aphorism is appropriately owed to Francis Bacon, the seventeenth-century English philosopher

E.C. Krupp Griffith Observatory, Los Angeles, CA, USA e-mail: [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_5, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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who elevated the value of empiricism, promoted the scientific method, and formalized inductive reasoning. Long before the development of modern science, however, astronomical knowledge, extracted from the sky through practical observation, told people what the sky does. They recognized and made use of the sky’s engagements with cyclical, ordered change and its apparent power over circumstances on the ground. Resourceful application of that information guided fundamental enterprises, including wayfinding, timekeeping, food collection, seasonal migration, agriculture, and maritime travel and trade and empowered those who obtained and manipulated that information with status and influence (Krupp 1997). The sky delivers the templates of orientation and the patterns of periodic change that make sense out of the world. That worldview, or cosmovision, frames and authorizes the ideologies that bind communities and cultures. It cultivates an alliance with the forces of nature and with the character of the cosmos. It provides a foundation for ideology, which is sustained by religious rituals, public ceremonies, shared symbols, corporate narratives, arts and performance, civic architecture, and city planning. Astronomical elements may be found in any of these cultural endeavors (Krupp 1983). The predictive dimension of some astronomical events, especially those that accompany the seasons and signal seasonal change, confers influence and respect on those who master the celestial signs and are designated to report and interpret them. Those specialists become experts who contrive calendars and keep time. Their calendars, clocks, and markers of time are rooted in cyclic celestial events and leverage a shared sense of time that permits coordination of resources and events. As a consequence, governance is partly authorized by command of the calendar and by alliance with the rhythms of cosmic order.

Celestial Power The sun’s obvious link with the passage of day and night, the seasonal coordination of earth and sky, and the moon’s inducement of the tides all make the sky a reservoir of power. Although visible to all, that power was beyond human control. Celestial objects appeared to operate with will of their own on a scale made grand by the lofty, expansive, and enduring character of the sky. The power of these heavenly operators was implied by their appearance and their behavior. Unlike most things encountered in nature, they are revealed by light that seems to originate with them. Their light is evidence of their autonomy and high status. They also move deliberately in a realm only they can occupy. Their elevated dominion separates them from the territory mortals inhabit. They routinely appear on, disappear from, and return to the celestial stage. Through these cyclic transformations they advertise immortality. As luminous, immortal sources of cosmic order and drivers of seasons and time, they preside over the world from on high. At their discretion, the earth is energized with seasonal and celestial renewal. These attributes qualified them as gods.

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The divine power on display overhead prompted ancient and traditional peoples to recognize the sky as a resource. Through astronomical observation, they could access the intent of the gods and the terrestrial consequences of celestial will. The practical value of planning and operating in congruence with natural celestial rhythms motivated systematic observation of the sun, moon, planets, and stars. Hours, months, seasons, and years could be anticipated in advance, monitored in passing, and periodically confirmed with events that anchored the earth to the heavens. The comprehensive utility of the sky invited routine reference to its divine agents and incorporated them into the symbolic vocabularies that helped detail the relations between gods and mortals and heaven and earth. The application of these symbols and other astronomical tools to social and political institutions transferred celestial power to the various brokers of astronomical knowledge—shamans, calendar keepers, astronomers, priests, astrologers, bureaucrats, and rulers. In different degrees they all applied their command of celestial order to align their constituencies with the powers at work in the sky (Krupp 1997; Ruggles 2005).

The Sky and the State Augustus Caesar installed an imported Egyptian obelisk to perform as a giant gnomon on a sundial grid laid out on the Campus Martius of ancient Rome. Although the monumental instrument indicated time of day through the seasons with an instrument adapted to the sun’s yearly cycle, the primary function of the Augustan solarium was political and symbolic. An empire requires stability and order, and the giant sundial demonstrated that the state maintained a reliable, accurate calendar and uniform timekeeping. That calendar, contrived for Rome by Julius Caesar with the help of an Egyptian astronomer, eliminated the idiosyncratic and ambiguous traditional calendar of Rome with a system that worked more effectively on behalf of the systematic mobilization of resources and distribution of commodities. Augustus Caesar linked that astronomical power to the new order of Rome in a public instrument that invoked Egypt’s celebrated calendrical expertise as an emblem of the organizational proficiency of the Roman state (Fig. 5.1). Imperial China also standardized the calendar and formalized timekeeping as expressions of state power. In fact, the introduction and maintenance of an accurate, reliable calendar was a primary responsibility and a prerogative of the emperor, who employed bureaux of professionals to make the observations and perform the calculations on which the calendar was based. The calendar also structured imperial ritual, and the emperor’s duties included the performance of ritual sacrifices at designated altars on appropriate dates. Through these exercises of calendrically tempered ceremony, the emperor reestablished his relationships with the gods, spirits, and ancestors, and with the highest divine authority, Shang di, the unseen power of heaven. Allied with the calendar, the emperor visited suburban altars whose placement and use were linked to the passage of seasonal time and to the directional foundations of the Chinese cosmos. The emperor renewed his governance with a celestial mandate that was reinforced by his calendrically driven

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Fig. 5.1 The enormous sundial Augustus Caesar commissioned to advertise the power of the Roman state included a grid inscribed on what was the Campus Martius and an Egyptian obelisk that performed as the gnomon (Griffith Observatory, Joseph Bieniasz)

performances and pronouncements. He was the conduit between heaven and earth, and the calendar was one of the devices he employed to transport power from the sky to the world below (Fig. 5.2).

Heaven’s Intentions In some circles, the seasonally predictable aspects of the sky and the meaning they carried suggested valuable data might be read overhead in the placement and travel of other celestial objects, particularly the moon and planets. This belief was inspired by recognition of genuine connections between earth and sky, but efforts to read the will of heaven relied on subjective interpretation of the signs overhead. Celestial omens were, however, taken seriously in ancient Mesopotamia, and numerous astrological reports are preserved on cuneiform tablets. In China, Mesopotamia, and Rome, astrologers held court appointments. Rulers appreciated the political power these prognostications might possess and controlled those responsible for formulating them. In China, the astrologers were part of the imperial bureaucracy. In Rome, they were hired by rulers who worked to restrict others from accessing privileged celestial information.

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Fig. 5.2 Imperial China subsidized astronomical observation through the support of an astronomical bureaucracy responsible for timekeeping, the calendar, and observation of other celestial phenomena. In the thirteenth century, the Yuan-dynasty astronomer Guo Shoujing fabricated instruments and built observatories, including the tower at Gaocheng. The noon shadow cast upon the low wall permitted accurate determination of the date and the length of the tropical year (Griffith Observatory)

Celestial omens are at least as old as the written astronomical record. The earliest explicit records (1200–1050 BC) of astronomical divination are bronze-age Chinese inscriptions on oracle bones. These Shang dynasty (1766–1123 BC) texts indicate that celestial divination was a tool of the state. They document the date of a divination and describe the state of the sky and its meaning for the state. References to eclipses are relatively common. For example, a divination performed on day Gui Chou asked if ill fortune would fall in the following 10 days. “The king”, according to the notation, “made the prognostication and said, ‘There will be misfortune.’” Seven days later, the text adds, “the moon eclipsed” (Chang 1980). The astrological systems and divination techniques in Mesopotamia differed from those developed by the Chinese, but familiar celestial phenomena are encountered in both. A Babylonian text from the sixth century BC advanced the king’s appointment of his daughter as the moon god’s high priestess: “On the thirteenth of the month Ul€ ulu, the moon became eclipsed and set while eclipsed. It was a sign that the moon god requests a high priestess” (Reiner 1999). Eclipses and the configurations of the planet Venus are coordinated with the calendar in the Dresden Codex, one of the four surviving Maya illustrated

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hieroglyphic screenfold “books”. Functioning as a divinatory almanac, it mapped periodic astronomical events as patterns in time, offered prophecies on the meaning of those phenomena, and indicated when essential rites had to be performed. The actual recurrence of those celestial events as predicted also confirmed the calendar’s power to regulate earthly affairs with guidance from the sky (Aveni 1980) (Fig. 5.3). In the sixteenth century, Huama´n Poma, a Peruvian chief who claimed noble lineage, composed a letter of complaint about Spanish mistreatment of Peru’s indigenous people to the king of Spain and described many aspects of Inca civilization. “The Indians”, he wrote, “observed the course of the Sun and the rotation of the Sun and the Moon in order to know when to sow their fields. Over matters such as the right time for fruit-picking, pruning, ploughing and watering they were guided by their astrologers”. Elsewhere, he explained, the astrologers knew which planets brought success and which delivered disaster (Poma 1978) (Fig. 5.4). During the time of Augustus and Tiberius, when the Latin author Manilius wrote Astronomica, a poetic treatise on astrology, celestial divination had become personalized with individual horoscopes. In Book 2 of this work, Manilius invokes a power which came from heaven and “calls us heavenward to the sacred fellowship of nature” (Manilius 1977, Vol. 2, pp. 124–126). Later, he describes the signs of the zodiac and indicates, “The signs also enjoy power in their special seasons” (Manilius 1977, Vol. 2, pp. 264–265). Soon after that, he closes the deal on astrological power. Speaking of the signs and the “individual ordinances which the stars impose on men at their birth”, he asserts, “they also affect our destinies through their agreements with each other, for they rejoice in their alliances and cooperate with one another according to their nature and locations” (Manilius 1977, Vol. 2, pp. 272–275).

Calendrical Power Calendars, like astrological systems and celestial omens, vary from culture to culture, and distinctive cultural applications evolve. Nonetheless, the fundamental power of the calendar—its ability to organize and maintain the other elements of a structured society—inevitably infiltrates the protocols of power. The multiple and interlocking calendars of ancient Mesoamerica acknowledged dynastic events in commemoration of royal power. The Inca of Peru merged agriculture, imperial communion with the divine sun, and public ceremony that consolidated social cohesion with the help of astronomical events and a calendar hinged to their occurrence. Historic Pueblo Indians in the American Southwest were organized in villages, not as empires, but they, too, monitored the passage of time with celestial objects to coordinate agricultural cultivation with the seasons and to integrate daily life with a religious ceremonialism that also followed the seasons. In a land where rain is the primary uncertainty, the Pueblo peoples oriented much of their ceremonial life

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Fig. 5.3 Page 47 of the Dresden Codex, a PostClassic Maya divinatory almanac, includes Venus tables and a portrayal of Venus as a god (Griffith Observatory)

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Fig. 5.4 Huama´n Poma provided an illustration of an Inca astrologer in his account of life and circumstance under Spanish rule in Peru (Collection Griffith Observatory)

around the quest for rain and timed their ceremonies by the sun and moon. In Pueblo communities, the Sun Chief was the designated authority for the calendar, and that made him the principal official of the village. He acquired astronomical knowledge through formal observation of the sky and used that information to establish when ceremonies would occur, to initiate seasonal labors, and to unify the community. His priestly authority relied in part on his predictive power. By monitoring the sun on the horizon, he could anticipate future dates and mobilize the community to meet them. That is political power, and it was protected by community recognition of his singular and guarded possession of power from the sky (Reyman 1987) (Figs. 5.5 and 5.6). The value of astronomical information is just as evident to hunters and gatherers, and ethnographic reports indicate most, if not all, of the Indians of California monitored the sun and the moon, established the times of the solstices, and performed public ceremonies on those occasions. The Chumash of southern California saw the winter solstice as a time of cosmological crisis, when elemental spirits determined the fortunes of the coming year and when people engaged in

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Fig. 5.5 The pe’kwin, or Sun Priest, at Zuni Pueblo, photographed here at the end of the nineteenth century, was the community’s designated authority for the calendar (Collection Griffith Observatory, from Twenty Third Annual Report of the Bureau of American Ethnology, 1901–1902, Plate xviii, [opp. P. 108])

Fig. 5.6 More than a century ago, Alexander M. Stephen documented the Hopi Sun Chief’s use of the southwest horizon from the village of Walpi to monitor the approach of the sun toward winter solstice, for which major ceremonial activities had to be mobilized (Griffith Observatory, after Alexander M. Stephen)

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Fig. 5.7 The stone on the Bowers Cave Chumash sunstick has painted radial lines reminiscent of the sun’s rays (Photograph E. C. Krupp)

ritual activity to affect the outcome in their favor. Power among the Chumash was shared by elite members of the community, who comprised the ‘antap, a group of specialists who operated like shamans to engage the supernatural agents of the earth, the animals, the plants, the sea, and the sky and who performed like priests to stage and direct both closed and public ceremonies. The ‘antap included a skywatcher who kept track of what happened and conveyed that information to the rest of those in leadership and authority. This ‘alchuklash monitored the moon’s phases and tallied the moon’s cycles through the year. He determined the times of summer and winter solstice through observation of the sun on the horizon. He watched stars arrive and depart in their designated seasons. At the birth of children, he advised in the selection of a name and read their fortunes from the configuration of the sky. Collectively, the ‘antap organized and conducted Kakunupmawa, a ceremony timed to the winter solstice. This milestone in the year was regarded as a new beginning, and its Chumash name refers to the birth of the sun at this time of year. Feather-topped poles were erected. Dance enclosures were constructed. A sunstick, a wood rod with a doughnut-shaped stone, painted with radial lines, slipped over one end, was placed in the ground “to make the sun return for another year”. Rain was invoked to temper the power of the sun (Hudson and Underhay 1977) (Fig. 5.7). For the Chumash, power was fluid in the landscape. From day to day and year to year, it could be in one place or another. They saw the world was in unstable equilibrium, caught between contending powers of nature personified in the sky as Sun and Sky Coyote, who possessed the ordering stability of the north celestial pole and the North Star. Sky Coyote and Sun competed all year in a nightly gambling game that culminated in a winter-solstice world-series world-cup sweepstakes. When Sun had the most chips, food in the coming year would be

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Fig. 5.8 The anthropomorphic figure in this Chumash pictograph at Saucito Ranch on the Carrizo Plain appears to be interacting with the sun, one of the major sources of power in the Chumash cosmos (Photograph E. C. Krupp)

scarce, and he harvested human lives. When Sky Coyote held the upper hand, he gathered game and wild edible plants from the Sky World, pushed them through the hole in the sky, and let them fall to earth. The Chumash were invested in the outcome of this game and tried to shift the odds in their favor through strategically timed ritual action (Krupp 1991) (Fig. 5.8). The Chumash realized they were affected by celestial powers, and through the astronomical knowledge acquired by their skywatchers, they exerted ceremonial power to help ensure the habitability of their world. In antiquity, access to celestial power usually was linked with a place that connected earth and sky, but this was not necessarily the place where astronomical observations were made. Rather, it was a place where the astronomical event was acknowledged. Some phenomena, including the sun’s progress through the day, the phases of the moon, and the seasonal arrivals and departures of stars, do not require any designated viewing venue. Among the Southwest Pueblos, each Sun Chief tracked the sun along the horizon from a personal observatory, a place to stand and a place to look. For those who systematically followed celestial phenomena, the place chosen for observation was a point of contact between earth and sky and site of celestial power, but it did not necessarily command symbolic meaning for the entire community. In the American Southwest, at least some observations were also ritually performed at important junctions in the passage of time. Anthropologist Frank Cushing described a nineteenth-century specialist’s shrine at Zuni Pueblo, in New Mexico, that facilitated astronomical observation. It seems not to have been a site for daily observation of sunrise but served instead as the place where an anticipated sunrise was ritually observed as a prelude to wider community involvement at a key moment in the year. According to Cushing, on the appropriate morning, the Sun Priest and the Master Priest of the Bow walked to a small stone tower, which enclosed an upright stone slab on which the face of the sun, the sacred hand, the morning star, and the new moon were depicted. The Sun Priest sat by the illustrated stone pillar and voiced prayers and songs until the sun rose. At that point, an alignment of features in the

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Fig. 5.9 The Zuni sun shrine at Ma’tsakia resembles the place described by Frank Cushing as a location for the Sun Priest’s acknowledgment of the sun (Collection Griffith Observatory, from Twenty Third Annual Report of the Bureau of American Ethnology, 1901–1902, Fig. 3, [P. 118])

landscape and the shadow of the stone was acknowledged by the Sun Priest, and the Master Priest of the Bow cut “the last notch in his pine-wood calendar”. Both then quickly returned to Zuni to announce the arrival of spring (Green 1979) (Fig. 5.9).

The Axis of Power For the community, power is transferred between sky and earth in a ceremonial space that incorporates astronomical phenomena, mimics principles of cosmic order, and hosts the rituals in which the power of celestial forces is solicited. China’s emperor performed the year’s most important annual ceremony and sacrifice, on behalf of his land and his people, in the Temple of Heaven (Tian tan) complex on the south side of Beijing, the capital, on the Round Mound (Huan qiu tan). The Round Mound is a stack of three circular terraces. Its monumental open-air altar was dedicated to Shang di or Heaven. Shang di, the impersonal supreme power of the cosmos, was not the actual sky but the principle of cosmic order, most evident in the daily rotation of the sky around the north celestial pole. Because the sky was said to be round, Heaven’s altar is circular. It is surrounded by a square enclosure that symbolizes the earth, with its four cardinal directions, and the altar’s four stairways mark the four cardinal directions (Krupp 1989) (Fig. 5.10). The Chinese regarded the north celestial pole as the symbolic face of Heaven. The singularly motionless character of the north celestial pole in an otherwise dynamically active sky establishes a favored direction in the landscape, north, from which the other cardinal directions emerge. Cardinality defined the structure of the Chinese cosmos, and primary monuments and buildings and the entire city adhered to a cardinal plan. All three components of the Temple of Heaven occupied a north/south line (Fig. 5.11).

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Fig. 5.10 Beijing’s Temple of Heaven includes three temples aligned on a north/south axis (Griffith Observatory, Joseph Bieniasz)

At winter solstice, the emperor approached the Round Mound, at the south end of the Temple of Heaven’s meridian, climbed the steps on the south side, and approached Shang di, in the northern sky, as the emperor’s subjects approached him in audiences and ceremonies. The emperor acted as Shang di’s agent on earth, and on earth the emperor, enthroned on the north, completed the analogy (Fig. 5.12).

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Fig. 5.11 The visible “face” of Shang di was seen in the north celestial pole, the unmoving spot around which the sky seems to turn. It is revealed by the circumpolar trails of stars in a time exposure (Photograph E. C. Krupp)

Fig. 5.12 Imperial prerogative and celestial mandate brought China’s emperor to the top of the Round Mound at winter solstice (Photograph E. C. Krupp)

As the sole intermediary between Heaven and Earth, the emperor was the only one permitted to ascend closer to Shang di at the top of the Round Mound. On the summit of the Round Mound, the emperor lit a fire that sent smoke skyward and invited Heaven to participate. The emperor recited an account of all the year’s significant enterprises and offered incense, silk, and jade to Shang di. The emperor’s performance of the correct rituals in the correct way at the correct time synchronized him and the world he represented with Heaven’s will. His fulfillment of his vocation helped harmonize the world with the rhythms of

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Fig. 5.13 The surviving bottom frame of the sole window of the High Room of the Sun in Karnak’s great temple of Amun-Re is beyond the stone altar in the foreground. The window is aligned with winter-solstice sunrise (Photograph E. C. Krupp)

the sky, and the sky returned the favor by acknowledging his reign with a celestial mandate. He ruled with the grace and approval of Heaven, and his interaction with Heaven demonstrated his legitimacy. His execution of the Great Sacrifice at winter solstice at the Round Mound south of the center of the capital helped energize yang, the celestial, “male”, active principle in the Chinese concept of complementary opposition in nature, in winter when yin, the terrestrial, “female”, passive principle dominates. Six months later, when the imperial astronomers confirmed the arrival of summer solstice, the emperor conducted a ritual on the north side of town, at the Temple of the Earth (Di tan), to enhance yin when yang is at full strength, in an unending ceremonial cycle intended to maintain a balanced cosmos. Through these formal sacrifices, the emperor was informed by the sky, activated by the seasons, and granted celestial approval to cooperate with Heaven to keep the universe in dynamic equilibrium.

Aligned with Power Egyptian pharaohs and Egyptian priests aligned temples with significant astronomical events that empowered liturgy with seasonal meaning. Some New Kingdom (1550–1070 BC) chapels, like the High Room of the Sun at Karnak, near Luxor, face winter-solstice sunrise and allow the light of the rising sun to illuminate the room and its altar. Texts inscribed nearby suggest the sun’s appearance at the solstice was intended. Ramesses II built his rock-hewn Temple of Re-Horakhty far to the south of the Egyptian heartland, at the frontier, as an emblem of Egyptian power. A small peripheral chapel faced winter-solstice sunrise like the High Room of the Sun at Karnak, but light followed the main axis into the primary sanctuary on 18 October and 22 February to light three of the four statues of gods installed there. These dates appear to commence two of the three seasons of the Nile (Shaltout and Belmonte 2005) (Fig. 5.13).

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Fig. 5.14 The Spanish recognized the symbolic significance of Cuzco’s “central” temple and incorporated it into the Church of Santo Domingo they built on the center of the Inca world. Some of the original and massive stonework of the Coricancha provides a foundation for the church (Photograph E. C. Krupp)

The Center of the World Traditional peoples sometimes regard the place where earth and sky consort with each other as the center of the world and declare their ownership and occupation of the spot. Its importance originates in its command of the bond between heaven and earth, and it is often also believed to be the place of creation, which is sometimes energized by celestial power. This place and the monuments that mark it miniaturize and model the cosmos with architecture and layout that incorporate the fundamental directions. They also sometimes conform to celestial events that reveal the cyclically ordered framework of time. Cuzco, the Inca capital, was regarded as the center of the world, and the Coricancha, its most important temple, was the center of the center. Four primary roads departed Cuzco to the four quarters of the empire in intercardinal directions linked to the solstice sunrises and sunsets (Bauer and Dearborn 1995) (Figs. 5.14 and 5.15). On the other hand, Beijing, the capital of the Ming (1368–1644 AD) and Qing (1644–1912 AD) dynasties, was built on a cardinal cosmological plan. The Chinese regarded their capital as the center of the world. They placed the Imperial Palace at the center of the center of the world and enthroned the emperor in the Hall of Supreme Harmony, at the center of the center of the center of the world (Krupp 1989) (Figs. 5.16 and 5.17). It is reasonable to imagine Chaco Canyon, with its demonstrated cardinality and its geographic isolation, was regarded by the prehistoric Ancestral Pueblo as the center of their world. Many other traditional peoples recapitulate the principle of the world’s center in shrines, pyramids, temples, and urban designs (Fig. 5.18).

Sacred Precincts and Cosmic Order Cosmic order is engineered by the gods, and incorporation of cosmic order is what makes a place sacred. These places unify earth and sky, include symbolic expressions of celestial power, and inspire a religious response. They acknowledge the

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Fig. 5.15 Cuzco’s layout is intercardinal. Four primary roads radiated from the center to the four quarters of the empire (Griffith Observatory, Joseph Bieniasz)

gods’ creation of an ordered, stable, cyclically transformed cosmos. Our ancestors correctly judged we must align ourselves with the mechanisms of this cosmos to endure the inevitable disruptions that occur in the cycle of cosmic order. They observed they sky, understood it, and acted on that knowledge to survive. For them,

84 Fig. 5.16 Beijing’s Imperial Palace occupies the meridian of the Chinese capital (Griffith Observatory, Joseph Bieniasz)

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Fig. 5.17 The symbolic importance of the meridian and the north celestial pole was transformed into architecture in Beijing’s Imperial Palace. The meridian is indicated by the north/south walkway on which the primary buildings are threaded, and here it continues north to the Hall of Supreme Harmony (Photograph E. C. Krupp)

the sky was supernatural terrain inhabited by celestial gods who could see the world below and know all things. The power of those celestial gods allowed them to order the world, activate the powers of nature, and sustain the cyclical renewal of time. Almost any sacred precinct appropriates at least some of these attributes of celestial power and makes contact with the divine through emblems of cosmic order. The Xuanmiao Gan, or Taoist Temple of Mystery, in downtown Suzhou, China, does not sound like it has anything to do with the sky, but the presence of celestial and calendrical elements illustrates how sacred places may be consecrated by the sky. Founded in the third century AD (Six Dynasties period) and rebuilt in 1170 AD, during the Song dynasty, the temple is focused on three Taoist saints. The temple also displays 60 large statues that represent the 60 gods affiliated with the 60-day cycle, a calendrical tradition at least as old as the Shang oracle bones on which dates in that sequence are named. The statues are lined around the temple on the back and side walls, and each year the five that are linked with that year’s animal talisman in the 12-year cycle are spotlighted with decorative offerings. The entire temple is cardinally oriented with its primary entrance on the south. Dou Mu, the Dipper Mother, is enthroned on the temple’s meridian on the back side of the central altars and faces north. She is a star goddess and supervises the rest of the stars. She is the mother of the stars of Ursa Major, one of the most important Chinese asterisms and the instrument of measured governance. Regarded as

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Fig. 5.18 Chaco Canyon’s Pueblo Bonito (viewed here from the north) is cardinally oriented and deliberately bisected by a north/south wall (Photograph E. C. Krupp)

Fig. 5.19 Cardinally oriented, Suzhou’s Taoist Temple of Mystery opens to the south on the meridian of the temple grounds (Photograph E. C. Krupp)

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Fig. 5.20 Dou Mu, the Dipper Mother, faces north inside the Taoist Temple of Mystery (Photograph E. C. Krupp)

a healer and savior, she unites Taoist mystics with cosmic light (Werner 1961). There is much more in the Taoist Temple of Mystery, but cardinality, meridian design, calendar gods, and the Dipper Mother demonstrate the temple’s debt to the sky (Figs. 5.19, 5.20 and 5.21).

The Sky Is Still in Play Today’s scientific astronomy engages a very different universe than the sky-vaulted world of our ancestors, but the modern realm of stars and galaxies still does what the universe used to do. What we observe in the sky still defines that character of cosmos. At the largest scale, the distribution of galaxies reveals the fundamental structure of reality. The landscapes of other worlds, the geography of the solar system, the evolutionary transformation of stars, the dynamics of the Milky Way Galaxy, and the cosmic webbing formed from threads of clusters of clusters of galaxies all indicate where in the universe we are and how it works. There is still power in the sky. The expanding universe and the arrow of time now frame our understanding of change. It’s a different astronomy, but it still reveals much of what makes this cosmos what it is (Fig. 5.22).

88 Fig. 5.21 Each of the five spirits that can preside over the year of the ox in the 12-year cycle received special recognition with banners and ribbons in 2009 in the Taoist Temple of Mystery (Photograph E. C. Krupp)

Fig. 5.22 Today, the fundamental structure of reality is revealed in the tangled, luminous threads of clusters of clusters of galaxies. This distribution of visible matter is a product of the physical powers that shape the cosmos and make it the way it is (Griffith Observatory, Don Dixon)

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Fig. 5.23 Calendric power still commands the streets of Los Angeles, where advertising for the motion picture 2012 linked terrestrial doom to cosmic forces (Photograph E. C. Krupp)

Archaic—and sometimes incorrect—astronomical concepts still exert power and alter our behavior. This article was completed in late 2012 as the calendar transported us to a rendezvous with the winter solstice and the completion of Baktun 13 in the ancient Maya calendar Long Count. The celebrated proficiency of Maya calendrics has promoted a popular belief in the authenticity of meaning ascribed to the event, which ranges from a worldwide cultural transformation and a new age to the end of time, the world, and everything. None of this is true, but the sky obviously still has the power to ignite imaginations and influence popular culture in the twenty-first century. Anticipation of 21 December 2012 spawned more books, websites, public lectures, magazine articles, radio talk shows, television programs, planetarium presentations, and motion pictures than any one person can consume. Ancient Maya calendrics, an annual seasonal event, and bizarre and false claims about the sun, the Milky Way, pole shifts, magnetic field reversals, and wandering planets targeting earth created worldwide awareness of a circumstance that has no meaning in a scientifically accurate understanding of the sky. “2012” is, however, now irrevocably part of our cultural vocabulary. The ancient Maya astronomers have a lot to answer for (Krupp 2009, 2012) (Fig. 5.23). In the past, every astronomical endeavor was an exercise in celestial power. Celestial objects were observed to possess power. They conferred power on those

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who watched them and mastered their ways. Human agents of celestial power put the sky to work. They kept time. They consulted the calendar. They ordered the landscape. They tried to read the sky’s intent. With sacred space and ritual they symbolically harmonized human affairs with the forces and rhythms of nature on behalf of an ordered society and a stable world. In 1943, Francisco Patencio, Chief of the Palm Springs Indians in southern California, still recalled those who commanded the power of the sky and its value (Patencio 1943). There were people, he said, “who put up signs to gauge how the sun shone”, and by this means “they discovered what times the birds had their nests and what time the animals had their young, also what time the plants grew, and the times the seeds were ripe”. He added, “. . .and they got ready to go away and gather the harvest”. Everything, he said, “they learned by the sun and the moon”. Knowledge is power.

Cross-References ▶ Ancient Chinese Astronomy - An Overview ▶ Astronomy and City Planning in China ▶ Astronomy in the Dresden Codex ▶ Calendars and Astronomy ▶ Ceque System of Cuzco: A Yearly Calendar-Almanac in Space and Time ▶ Dengfeng Large Gnomon ▶ Great Houses and the Sun - Astronomy of Chaco Canyon ▶ Hopi and Puebloan Ethnoastronomy and Ethnoscience ▶ Inca Astronomy and Calendrics ▶ Karnak ▶ Light at the Pantheon ▶ Orientation of Egyptian Temples: An Overview ▶ Pueblo Ethnoastronomy ▶ Roman City Planning and Spatial Organization

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Krupp E (1991) Beyond the blue horizon: myths and legends of the sun, moon, stars, and planets. HarperCollins, New York Krupp E (1997) Skywatchers, shamans, & kings: astronomy and the archaeology of power. Wiley, New York Krupp E (2009) The great 2012 scare. Sky and Telescope 118(5):22–26 Krupp E (2012) Time’s up: 2012 and the Maya calendar end times follies. Griffith Observer 76(11):1–18 + 24 Manilius M (1977) Astronomica. Harvard University Press, Cambridge Patencio F (1943) Stories and legends of the Palm Springs Indians. Times-Mirror, Los Angeles Poma H (1978) Letter to a king. E.P. Dutton, New York Reiner E (1999) Babylonian celestial divination. In: Swedlow N (ed) Ancient astronomy and celestial divination. The MIT Press, Cambridge, pp 1–37 Reyman J (1987) Priests, power, and politics: some implications of socio-ceremonial control. In: Carlso J, Judge W (eds) Astronomy and ceremony in the prehistoric Southwest (Papers of the Maxwell Museum of Anthropology number 2). Maxwell Museum of Anthropology, Albuquerque, pp 121–147 Ruggles C (2005) Ancient astronomy: an encyclopedia of cosmologies and myth. ABC-CLIO, Santa Barbara Shaltout M, Belmonte J (2005) On the orientation of Egyptian temples: (i) upper Egypt and lower Nubia. J Hist Astron 36(3):273–298 Werner E (1961) A dictionary of Chinese mythology. The Julian Press, New York

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Astronomy and Politics John M. Steele

Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 93 The Calendar and the State . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 95 Political Factors in the Development and Adoption of Astronomical Systems . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 96 Astrology and Political Decision Making . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 97 Astrology and the Public Sphere . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 99 Conclusion . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 100 Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 100 References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 100

Abstract

The relationship between astronomy and politics is a complex but important part of understanding the practice of astronomy throughout history. This chapter explores some of the ways that astronomy, astrology, and politics have interacted, placing particular focus on the way that astronomy and astrology have been used for political purposes by both people in power and people who wish to influence a ruler’s policy. Also discussed are the effects that politics has had on the development of astronomy and, in particular, upon the recording and preservation of astronomical knowledge.

Introduction Astronomy has long had – and still has – a close relationship with politics. State and/or royal funding has provided one of the most common means of support for

J.M. Steele Department of Egyptology and Ancient Western Asian Studies, Brown University, Providence, RI, USA e-mail: [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_6, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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astronomers in many cultures over the past 3,000 years or so. This support has come in various forms including the building of astronomical instruments and observatories and the employment of scholars to provide astronomical and astrological advice to kings and governments. In return, astronomy has served the state in a wide variety of ways both directly practical (e.g., in the regulation of the calendar, in surveying and mapping, and in providing astronomical and astrological advice) and what might be called symbolic (e.g., as a means to illustrate cosmic harmony and by providing the means for a ruler to demonstrate his power and enlightened governance through the patronage of scholars). The relationship between astronomy and politics is often extremely complicated to understand because of the competing motivations of individual astronomers and the state which can lead to a variety of biases in the development, practice, and recording of astronomy. The most obvious manifestation of this is in the channeling of astronomical activity into specific areas of research directly relevant to problems of state, which might either provide the opportunity for or conversely prevent astronomers from making new astronomical developments. For example, the eighteenth century saw intense activity in area of solar system dynamics, the production of star catalogues, and the development of more accurate instruments for measuring celestial positions. A significant drive behind these astronomical developments was the need to survey new territories, to produce more accurate maps of the known world, and – most notably – to provide a method for the accurate determination of longitude at sea. Many of these activities were funded, either directly by the support of astronomers and the provision of equipment or indirectly through prizes, by governments. Work on solar system dynamics resulted in several significant advances within physics and mathematics, in particular through Euler’s development of methods of trigonometrical calculus and perturbation theory in the application of gravitational theory to the solar system bodies. The same centuries, however, saw a decline of interest in cosmological questions, which had no application to the practical needs of governments. Governments not only have funded astronomical activities but also have sometimes sought to control what types of astronomy are being done and who is doing it. In extreme cases, this has included governments prohibiting the practice of astronomy by anyone who was not a state employee. More commonly, however, it led to the suppression or manipulation of astronomical writings for political ends. A second aspect of the relationship between astronomy and politics that needs to be considered is the exploitation of this relationship by individual astronomers and the effect this has on their own astronomical practices. This manifests itself in many different ways ranging from undertaking particular astronomical projects of interest to the state in order to provide the funds to also undertake astronomical work of particular interest to the astronomer, to seeking patronage from kings or others through flattery (e.g., Galileo’s naming of the moons of Jupiter after the Medicis and Herschel’s naming of Uranus as the Georgian planet after George III), to using astronomy or astrology as a means to influence government policy. The complex relationship between astronomy and politics has had a demonstrable impact on how and in which directions astronomy has developed over the past

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3,000 years or so. In these following sections, I discuss some of the different ways in which astronomy and politics have interacted, drawing examples from a variety of different cultures. All my examples come from cultures where written sources provide direct and clear evidence for the relationship between politics and astronomy. But many of the issues relating to the relationship between astronomy and politics that I discuss here must also have counterparts in societies from which written sources are not preserved. Archaeoastronomical researchers may benefit from considering these types of issues when investigating the astronomical practices of early or traditional cultures, although often these complex social relationships between astronomers and rulers are difficult or even impossible to recover from archaeological evidence alone.

The Calendar and the State Calendars serve several purposes within a state. On a mundane level, a calendar provides a framework for the operation of many parts of a state’s bureaucracy such as the collection of taxes and tributes, while on an ideological level, a calendar can serve to strengthen national identity by ensuring that the whole population celebrate festivals and perform rituals at the same time (Steele 2012). Most calendars are based upon observable astronomical phenomena such as the cycle of the phases of the moon and the cycle of the sun’s motion through the stars or along the horizon. For example, many early calendars define the month as the period between successive first visibilities of the new moon crescent, which, barring bad weather, will be seen after either 29 or 30 days. Years are often defined as containing 12 lunar months; this is about 10 days short of the length of the solar year, and so in some calendars an extra (“intercalary”) thirteenth month is inserted roughly once every 3 years to keep the calendar in line with the seasons. Astronomical rules for regulating the calendar, simple observational rules of thumb, or more advanced methods based upon cycles or which employ mathematical astronomy to calculate the position of the sun and moon were developed in many cultures, but the decision on whether to use such rules was often a political decision, separate from the question of the accuracy of the rules. For example, a variety of rules for determining when to intercalate are found in second and early first millennium BC texts from Babylonia and Assyria, but we have no evidence for their use in the civil calendar until much later. Indeed, it is probably significant that strict astronomical rules for regulating the calendar were only adopted for use in the Babylonian civil calendar during the Achaemenid period (c. 500 BC), a time of foreign rule in Babylonia. It seems that the earlier, native Babylonian rulers were unwilling to hand over control of the calendar to their astronomers, preferring to retain the prerogative to determine the calendar themselves, probably both as an expression of their own control over the state and because of the freedom it gave them to manipulate the calendar for their own ends, for example, by postponing an expected intercalation in order that tax and tribute payments would be received 1 month earlier (Steele 2011).

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Political Factors in the Development and Adoption of Astronomical Systems States sometimes officially adopt complete systems of theoretical astronomy which provide the means to calculate astronomical phenomena by means of tables or sets of mathematical procedures (I shall call these systems “astronomical systems”). For example, Tobias Mayer’s lunar tables were adopted as the basis for the first Nautical Almanac in 1767 and as such acquired official status throughout the British Empire (Forbes 1966). Although Mayer’s work on these tables was not funded by the British government, he was encouraged in his efforts by the possibility of winning the so-called Longitude Prize set up by the government (unfortunately, Mayer died before his tables could be fully tested; his widow was eventually awarded a small part of the prize). China provides even clearer examples of the role of politics in the development of astronomical systems (Eberhard 1957). More than 50 astronomical systems (li 曆, often translated as “calendar”) were officially adopted by the Chinese emperor between the second century BC and the seventeenth century AD (Yabuuti 1963, pp. 445–492; Sivin 2011). Chinese astronomical systems serve several purposes: (1) they provide the means to calculate the day of the beginning of each month of the year and to determine whether an intercalary month is needed and where it should be placed within the year (Steele 2000, pp. 170–175), (2) they provide the means by which astronomical phenomena such as eclipses and planetary conjunctions can be calculated, and (3) they are a symbol of dynastic legitimacy by the Chinese rulers. These roles derive in part from a political philosophy referred to as the “mandate of heaven” (tianming 天命). According to this philosophical system, the emperor was granted the rule of China by heaven, but this mandate could be withdrawn if heaven was displeased with his rule (Pankenier 1995; Loewe 2004, pp. 421–456). In order to maintain the mandate, it was necessary for the emperor to perform regular rituals at specified times to maintain the harmony of the state and the cosmos. The calendar produced by the astronomical system demonstrated the emperor’s control over the whole of China (Sivin 2011). Similarly, the ability to predict astronomical phenomena using the astronomical system allowed the heavens to be brought into order, reducing the number of unexpected astronomical events which could be interpreted as omens (Sivin 1969). As a result, a functioning astronomical system was required by the Chinese emperor. The political importance of astronomical systems in China has several consequences. First and foremost, new astronomical systems could only be adopted when there was the political will to do so, which could lead to delays in adopting a proposed system, or even rejection of a system, even though the proposed system might be astronomically superior to the existing system. For example, reform of the astronomical system used in the second century BC was delayed by several decades until Emperor Wu decided the time was right to adopt a new system (Cullen 1993). Secondly, the reason for adopting a new astronomical system was sometimes itself purely political. For example, in order to establish or renew dynastic legitimacy, when a new dynasty came to power, it was common to replace existing institutions

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with new institutions, including the adoption of a new astronomical system (Yabuuti 1974). As a result, some astronomical systems only differ cosmetically from their predecessors: it was necessary to reform and launch a new system, even if that new system was essentially the same as the old system. A further consequence of the political importance of astronomical systems in China was attempts at certain periods to control astronomical knowledge so that the emperor’s political opponents could not have their own astronomical system (necessary to establish legitimacy) ready if they seized power. Such was the importance of the calendar and the astronomical system that as soon as the Mongols took control of China and established the Yuan dynasty, they began constructing a new astronomical system along traditional Chinese lines (Sivin 2009).

Astrology and Political Decision Making Many cultures have developed systems of astrology for interpreting celestial phenomena that have been utilized by the state. Astrology has been used by rulers ranging from the Neo-Assyrian kings of the eighth century BC to (it has been claimed) 1980s American president Ronald Reagan (Barton 1994, p. 4), both as a source of advice when making decisions and to provide self or public justifications for those decisions. Astrology has also been used by the political opponents of rulers either to criticize the current ruler’s performance or to claim support for the policies advocated by his opponent. In Mesopotamia, the apodoses found in traditional celestial omens always refer to the country as a whole or to the person of the king. These apodoses include references to wars, floods, famines and other environmental circumstances, and the king and his relations with members of his household. During the Neo-Assyrian period, a large body of correspondence is preserved between the Assyrian kings, in particular Esarhaddon (ruled 681–669 BC) and his successor Assurbanipal (669–c. 627 BC), and scholars employed to advise the king based upon the interpretation of omens (Hunger 1992; Parpola 1993; Brown 2000). This correspondence paints a detailed picture of the role of astronomy and astrology in the Neo-Assyrian court (see the case study Astronomy, Divination, and Politics in the Neo-Assyrian Empire). What is of interest here is the kind of advice given by the scholars and their way of presenting this advice. The subject of this advice ranges from the timing of the signing of treaties, military campaigns, and the health of the king to activities in the court and festivals. In all cases, this advice is either stated explicitly or is implied to be based upon the scholar’s interpretation of celestial events. However, some scholars took considerable liberties in the interpretation of these omens in order to provide support for the advice that the scholar wished to give the king. In particular, the scholar Bel-Usˇezib wrote several letters to the king in which he provided extremely detailed advice about tactics for an ongoing military campaign which bear little connection to the celestial omens he reports at the beginning of his letter. It is hard to avoid the conclusion that for Bel-Usˇezib, celestial divination was simply a device by which he could try to influence the king’s actions and that

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the omens he quotes are little more than window dressing for what is a purely political letter. The king avoided any single scholar having undue political influence by employing a large group of scholars who would send him independent interpretations of the omens (Koch-Westenholz 1995, pp. 137–151). Often the scholars would send the king differing interpretations – sometimes even directly opposing interpretations of the same event – providing the king with a range of advice from which he could take what he wished. The advice provided by the scholars on the basis of celestial omens can therefore be compared to the range of advice than a modern prime minister or president receives from, say, his economic or scientific advisors. Astrology alone did not determine actions by the government but was part of the political process by which the king reached decisions. Astrology also made a significant contribution to political decision making in China. As I have discussed in the previous section, astronomy and astrology played an important role in establishing and maintaining a dynasty’s heavenly mandate. Consideration of astrology was deemed to be essential to many aspects of state activity, including success in battle. By the early first millennium BC, the system known as “field-allocation astrology” had been developed which correlated parts of the heavens with provinces within China. In later periods, the system was refined, and correlations were made between individual stars and buildings, offices, and institutions of the state (e.g., the Jinshu lists the circumpolar stars and their correspondence with the Emperor and the rooms of his palace) (Ho 1966). Pankenier (1999) has shown that the principles of field-allocations astrology were applied in two major battles during the Zhou period: the battle of Muye (1046 BC) and the battle of Chengpu (632 BC). By the second century BC, portent astrology came to be seen as a means by which heaven could comment on the rule of the emperor. Auspicious and inauspicious omens were drawn from irregular occurrences in the world, including astronomical phenomena such as solar eclipses, comets, guest stars (novae or supernovae), meteors, and sunspots. Too many negative omens could be interpreted as a sign that the emperor’s mandate was failing (Eberhard 1957). The observation, memorialization, and recording of celestial and other portents were therefore of major political importance. Wu (1990) has shown that the way in which particularly important portents were presented to the emperor and the time chosen to make the presentation could be affected by political considerations. Studies by Eberhard (1957), Bielenstein (1984), Kern (2000), and others have further shown that the compilers of the dynastic histories also recognized the political significance of the records of portents and manipulated the astronomical record as a form of political commentary on earlier Chinese history by only including a subset of the observations made at the time. In the west, the most prevalent form of astrology has been the horoscope in which the position of the sun, moon, and planets and the ascendant at a specific moment are calculated and interpreted to give prediction relating to whatever is associated with that moment. Most frequently, horoscopes are cast for the birth of an individual, but horoscopes have also been cast for the founding of cities, the

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beginning of journeys, and to determine the best time to make important decisions (Barton 1994; Beck 2007). Accounts of the political use of horoscopes abound in Roman sources from the first few centuries AD (Cramer 1954; Barton 1994). Although caution must be exercised in interpreting literally the writings of many Latin literary-historical works, the picture that emerges from these works is of a society in which horoscopes were used extensively as political tools. Most commonly, we find references to the horoscopes of the emperors supposedly cast when they were children which predict that the child will become a great ruler. Some of the emperors are themselves said to be highly competent astrologers, who could cast their own horoscopes and those of their enemies. Astrologers such as Thrasyllus were portrayed as the power behind the Emperor’s throne. Many of these stories may be fictitious, but fictions only work in literature if they in some fashion reflect reality. The potential political power of horoscopes of the emperor – or of those who might challenge him – led to several attempts to control or even outlaw astrologers in Rome.

Astrology and the Public Sphere The importance of horoscopes in Roman political life was not simply confined to discussions between members of the elite but also permeated the public sphere. After seizing power, Augustus used references to astrology in order to legitimize his claim as emperor, associating himself with the zodiacal sign Capricorn. He had coins minted with Capricorn on them, and the zodiacal sign appears on many sculptures, reliefs, and pieces of jewelry dating from the time of his reign (Barton 1994, p. 40). Later emperors followed suit, making it known that their horoscope foretold that they were destined to be emperor. Septimius Severus, another who sought to legitimize his rule, reportedly published omens that had predicted that he would become emperor in his autobiography and, according to Dio, even decorated the ceilings of the rooms in his palace with his horoscope, although carefully altering the position of the ascendant in each room so that no one would know all the details of his true horoscope (Barton 1994, p. 46). The Neo-Assyrian kings also used astrology for political purposes in their public pronouncements. Several royal inscriptions include references to celestial omens (Koch-Westenholz 1994, pp. 152–161). These inscriptions were written in order to commemorate the king and his actions and incorporated into monuments constructed throughout his empire, as both a demonstration of the king’s power and a symbol of his control of (and care for?) cities across the empire. Although it is unlikely that these inscriptions could be read by most of the population given both the fairly low levels of literacy and the placement of most of the inscriptions at too great a distance from eye level to be read, people probably knew what the inscriptions said without having to read them. The inclusion of omens which supported the king’s actions in the inscriptions therefore needs to be seen in the wider context of the propagandistic use of the inscriptions and the monuments as a whole. This raises the question of whether omens were used for propaganda in other contexts such as speeches.

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Conclusion The examples I have discussed in this chapter demonstrate the important interrelation between astronomy, astrology, and politics and between astronomers, kings, and other political figures. The practice of astronomy in many cultures was significantly influenced by the political circumstances of the time, and this affected the development of astronomy in many different ways. Similarly, many political decisions were influenced by astronomical or astrological considerations. This resulted in a complex social relationship between astronomers and astrologers on the one side and kings and governments on the other, making this a profitable avenue for historical study. For the historian of science, one other consequence of the interaction between astronomy and politics is important to consider. In situations where astronomical data could be interpreted astrologically with political significance, the recording of the astronomical data or the astrological interpretation becomes itself an act with political consequences. As a result, it is necessary to consider not only how politics influenced the development and practice of astronomy but also how the preserved record on which we reconstruct out understanding of this development and practice has itself been influenced (in some case, even deliberately manipulated) for political reasons. Thus, understanding the political context within which astronomy was practiced and astronomical texts were written and transmitted through time is important for reconstructing the history of astronomy. These political factors are only occasionally explicit in written sources, but, to a greater or lesser extent, they must be present in all astronomical traditions.

Cross-References ▶ Ancient Chinese Astronomy - an Overview ▶ Astrology as Cultural Astronomy ▶ Astronomy and Power ▶ Astronomy, Divination, and Politics in the Neo-Assyrian Empire ▶ Greco-Roman Astrology ▶ Observation of Celestial Phenomena in Ancient China

References Barton T (1994) Ancient astrology. Routledge, Abingdon Beck R (2007) A brief history of ancient astrology. Blackwell, Oxford Bielenstein H (1984) Han portents and prognostications. Bull Mus Far East Antiq 56:97–112 Brown D (2000) Mesopotamian planetary astronomy-astrology. Styx, Groningen Cramer FH (1954) Astrology in Roman law and politics. American Philosophical Society, Philadelphia

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Cullen C (1993) Motivations for scientific change in ancient China: Emperor Wu and the Grand Inception astronomical reforms of 104 B.C. J Hist Astron 24:185–203 Eberhard W (1957) The Political function of astronomy and astronomers in Han China. In: Fairbank JK (ed) Chinese thought and institutions. University of Chicago Press, Chicago, pp 33–70 Forbes E (1966) Tobias Mayer’s lunar tables. Ann Sci 22:105–116 Ho PY (1966) The astronomical chapters of the Chin Shu. Mouton & Co, Paris Hunger H (1992) Astrological reports to Assyrian kings. Helsinki University Press, Helsinki Kern M (2000) Religious anxiety and political interest in Western Han Omen interpretation: the case of the Han Wudi period (141–87 B.C.). Stud Chin Hist 10:1–31 Koch-Westenholz U (1995) Mesopotamian astrology: an introduction to Babylonian and Assyrian celestial divination. Museum Tusculanum Press, Copenhagen Loewe M (2004) The men who governed Han China. Brill, Leiden Pankenier DW (1995) Astrological origins of Chinese dynastic ideology. Vistas in Astronomy 39:503–516 Pankenier DW (1999) Applied field-allocation astrology in Zhou China: Duke Wen of Chin and the battle of Chengpu (623 B.C.). J Am Orient Soc 119:261–279 Parpola S (1993) Letters from Assyrian and Babylonian scholars. Helsinki University Press, Helsinki Sivin N (1969) Cosmos and computation in early Chinese mathematical astronomy. T’oung Pao 55:1–73 Sivin N (2009) Granting the seasons: the Chinese astronomical reform of 1280, with a study of its many dimensions and a translation of its records. Springer, New York Sivin N (2011) Mathematical astronomy and the Chinese calendar. In: Steele JM (ed) Calendars and years II: astronomy and time in the ancient and medieval world. Oxbow Books, Oxford, pp 39–51 Steele JM (2000) Observations and predictions of eclipse times by early astronomers. Kluwer, Dordrecht Steele JM (2011) Making sense of time: observational and theoretical calendars. In: Radner K, Robson E (eds) The Oxford handbook of cuneiform culture. Oxford University Press, Oxford, pp 470–485 Steele JM (2012) Living with a lunar calendar in Mesopotamia and China. In: Ben-Dov J, Horowitz W, Steele JM (eds) Living the lunar calendar. Oxbow Books, Oxford, pp 373–387 Wu YY (1990) Auspicious omens and their consequences: Zhen-Ren (1006–66) literati’s perception of astral anomalies. PhD dissertation, Princeton University Yabuuti K (1963) Chu¯goku Chu¯sei Kagaku¯ Gijutsushi No Kenkyu¯. Tokyo Yabuuti K (1974) The calendar reforms in the Han dynasties and ideas in their background. Arch Int Hist Sci 24:51–65

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Astrology as Cultural Astronomy Nicholas Campion

Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Typologies and Branches of Astrology . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Function . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Fundamental Hypotheses . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Divine Intervention and Communication . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Interconnectedness . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Synchronicity . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Causality . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Celestial Influence . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The Sky as Text . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Fate and Determinism . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Case Studies . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Astrology and Archaeoastronomy: The Foundation of Cities . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Astrology and Ethnoastronomy: Native American Astrology . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Astrology and Ethnoastronomy: New Zealand . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Astrology and Ethnoastronomy: Indian Astrology . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Astrology and Ethnoastronomy: The Extent of Belief in Astrology in the Modern West . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Future Directions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Abstract

The practice of astrology can be traced in most if not all human societies, in most time periods. Astrology has prehistoric origins and flourishes in the modern world, where it may be understood as a form of ethnoastronomy – astronomy practiced by the people. The Western tradition, which originated in

N. Campion University of Wales Trinity Saint David, Lampeter, UK e-mail: [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_16, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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Mesopotamia and was developed in the Greek world, has been most studied by academics. However, India is also home to a tradition which has survived in a continuous lineage for 2,000 years. Complex systems of astrology also developed in China and Mesoamerica, while all other human societies appear to seek social and religious meaning in the stars.

Introduction Astrology, from the Greek, astro-logos, is the assumption that the stars and planets contain meaning and significance for terrestrial affairs. Logos is simply translated as “word”, so astrology is, then, the “word” of the stars: the stars “speak”. However, in the context of classical thought, we may also consider that the stars possess reason or a kind of logic that can provide important information. Until the seventeenth century, the word was frequently interchangeable with astronomy, the “regulation” or “law” of the stars. Most non-Western countries do not employ different words to distinguish traditional astronomy from astrology, except where the distinction has been imported from the modern West. In India, both are jyotish, the “science of light”; in Japan, they are onmyo¯do¯, the “yin-yang way”; and in China, li fa (calendar systems) and tian wen (sky patterns) are suitable terms (Campion 2008, 2012a, p. 100). Astrology appears to be a universal feature of human culture and may be understood as a form of cultural astronomy; an important contribution to the understanding of astronomy’s cultural uses, applications, uses, and functions; and an indication of society’s attitudes to the stars. Ruggles (2005, pp. 24–25) observes that human societies from modern indigenous communities back to prehistoric times have perceived direct associations between celestial and terrestrial events. The term “indigenous astronomy” tends to be used as a synonym for astrology by academics studying cultural astronomy in nonWestern and premodern societies. Astrology is also a central feature of Hindu and traditional Chinese culture and flourishes in the modern West, where it is an accepted part of popular culture as well as having a significant place in place in New Age and Esoteric circles (Campion 2009, pp. 239–249; 2012b, pp. 51–68). The term astrology is controversial in the modern West. As Ruggles (2005, p. 24) points out, it is “anathema” to modern astronomers. It is heavily criticized by the organized skeptic community and evangelical Christians who share the opinion that it can be dangerous (Campion 2012b, p. 267). The historiography of astrology has been shaped by disputes over its correct interpretation, mainly by whether a narrow or wide definition should be taken. Much of the literature is influenced by David Pingree’s statement that astrology is fundamentally Aristotelian and therefore only possible within the context of Greek culture and its intellectual descendants. Pingree (1973, p. 118) defined astrology as: the study of the impact of the celestial bodies - Moon, Sun, Mercury, Venus, Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, the fixed stars and sometimes the lunar nodes - upon the sublunar world. . . The influence of the celestial bodies is variously considered to be absolutely determinative of all motions of the four sublunar elements.

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Pingree’s definition may be defined as “exclusive” because it excludes such phenomena as divinely inspired astral omens or an astrology of acausal connections as proposed by Plato. Pingree’s exclusive definition has been challenged by younger scholars, such as Curry (1999), who have proposed inclusive definitions, in which a greater range of beliefs and practices can be included under the rubric “astrology”. Curry (1999, p. 55) considers that “Astrology is the practice of relating the heavenly bodies to lives and events on earth, and the tradition that has thus been generated”. Note that Curry emphasizes the word “practice” rather than the more common “belief”, or Pingree’s “study”. Hence, astrology is conceived as something which people “do”, and the action becomes more important than any underlying belief system or ideology. Ruggles (2005, p. 25) emphasizes action and considers it a consequence of belief. The term astrology can be applied to three rather different but not entirely separable ways of in which people have perceived connections between the configuration of the heavens and events on earth: the belief that particular celestial configurations can portend future events; the belief that they can determine or influence the characteristics and lives of people, most commonly at their moment of birth; and the belief that they are directly connected to (that is, influence and/or reflect) current terrestrial events. Each type of perceived connection could provoke a variety of actions in response to certain observed celestial events.

In this sense, the definition of astrology has a substantial overlap with that of archaeoastronomy, defined by Ruggles (2005, p. 19) as “the study of beliefs and practices concerning the sky in the past, and especially in prehistory, and the uses to which people’s knowledge of the skies were put”. Inclusive definitions of astrology can there extend the word’s scope to encompass omen divination, astral magic, sacred calendars, and farming calendars.

Typologies and Branches of Astrology Astrology can be broadly divided into “cosmic” and “chaotic” types (Campion 2012a, p. 23). Cosmic astrologies are highly codified and allow for complex judgments regarding action, timing, and prediction. The principal exemplars are the Greek form which developed in the Hellenistic world between the third and first centuries BCE and which is represented in both Indian and medieval and modern Western astrology. Chaotic astrology is less codified than cosmic and is technically simple and more flexible in interpretation. Central to an understanding of astrology’s diversity in the Western tradition is the distinction between “natural” and “judicial” astrology, which originates in classical discourse in the first century BCE (Campion 2012a, p. 16). Natural astrology requires no more than the observation of seasonal phenomena and natural influences deriving from the planets and was universally accepted in the medieval and Renaissance worlds. Judicial astrology, requiring the astrologer’s interpretative judgement, depended on complex deductions made from horoscopes, schematic maps of the sky cast for a precise time, place, and date. Late classical judicial astrology was typically divided into four branches, which were adopted in medieval

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Europe and India: genethlialogy (modern natal astrology) dealt with individual character and destiny usually (but not always) based on the time, date, and place of birth; interrogations (modern horary astrology) answered questions based on the exact time and place that the question had been asked; revolutions (modern mundane astrology) considered history and politics; and elections established the most auspicious moment to initiate new enterprises. To this list, we could also add astrological magic, which relies on ritual acts undertaken at auspicious moments in order to engage with and influence spiritual affairs and material existence. Also of relevance to Western astrology is Curry’s (1989) hierarchical, sociological model of three forms of astrology forming a rough analogy with the three social groups, upper, middle, and lower classes. The first, high astrology, is the astrology of the philosophers and theologians; the second, middling astrology, is characterized by the professional casting and interpretation of horoscopes, a practice requiring a considerable level of literary study and mathematical skill; the third, low astrology, is the astrology of street fortune tellers of almanacs (after the fifteenth century) and, in the modern world, newspaper and magazine “sun-sign columns”. Although developed in relation to Europe, Curry’s model can equally be applied to the Islamic world, India, and China.

Function In a traditional context, as a practice, astrology is best understood through its functions. It has been called both a system of anthropology and sociology in the sense that its purposes include the understanding of human nature and the organization of society. Prediction of the future, one of astrology’s primary functions, makes sense only in a context in which action in the present can be changed in order to alter the outcome of such predictions, a point made in the second century by Claudius Ptolemy (1940). In this sense, sociologically, astrology’s purpose is management of the present in order to preserve harmony between the sky and Earth and maintain peace and stability. This aim is achieved partly through the alignment of sacred calendars with solar and lunar cycles and the practice of attendant rituals. For example, in the Hebrew calendar, Pesach, or Passover, commenced as the full Moon appeared in the eastern horizon on the fourteenth day of the first month following the spring equinox. The timing of Passover corresponds to the great Babylonian new year festival, the Akitu, and was converted into the Christian Easter. By the fourth century, Christianity had located Christ’s birth on 25 December, the feast day of Sol Invictus, the Roman “Unconquered Sun”, immediately after the winter solstice. Solar calendar rituals were celebrated with great devotion in the Inca empire. A solar, harvest-festival ritual which took place in Cuzco in 1535 was attended by 600 magnificently dressed nobles: They stood in two rows, each of which was made up of over three hundred lords. It was like a procession, some on one side and the others on the other, and they stood very silent, waiting for sunrise. When the sun had not yet fully risen, they began slowly and in great order and harmony to intone a chant; and as they sang they each moved forward. . .and as the run went in rising, so their song intensified. . .and so they sang from the time when the sun rose until it had completely set. And since until noon the sun was rising, they

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heightened their voices, and after noon they slowly softened them, always in step with the movement of the sun. (MacCormack 1991, pp. 75–76).

In China, the New Year corresponds to the New Moon in the Western zodiac sign Aquarius. The Chinese New Year, exported to the “Chinatowns” which have been created in order to market Chinese shops and restaurants in the great cities of the Western world, from London to San Francisco, has become a feature of the latemodern commodification of Chinese culture. In the classical world, astrology also developed soteriological functions offering a means for salvation of the soul by preparing for its ascent to the stars after death. The most notable example was the Mysteries of Mithras, which flourished in the Roman Empire (Beck). In the modern West, self-understanding is widely regarded as astrology’s key function by its protagonists (Campion 2012b, pp. 167–186). Astrology as the identification of meanings can also point to the function of astronomy as the measurement of the stars. For example, according to McCluskey (1993, p. 427), “To the extent that in the high cultures of Mesoamerica cosmologies are tied to a predictive astronomy, these astronomies are arithmetical rather than geometrical and they are concerned with the prediction of the dates of astronomically and astrologically significant events”. For Aveni (1992, p. 4), the Mayan astronomical texts were “purely astrological” in their function and intent.

Fundamental Hypotheses A number of major theoretical bases for astrology can be identified.

Divine Intervention and Communication God or gods and goddesses communicate with humanity via the stars, giving notice of their intentions. This is the standard model in most cultures, notably in Mesopotamia, the origin of both most modern Western and Indian astrology (Campion 2012a, pp. 110–134). For example, in the Old Testament, Amos (8.9) prophesies “‘And on that day”, says the Lord God, “I will make the sun go down at noon, and darken the earth in broad daylight.’” In the New Testament, Acts 2.19-21 prophesied, “And I will show wonders in the heaven above and signs on the earth beneath, blood, and fire, and vapour of smoke;/ The sun shall be turned into darkness and the moon into blood, before the day of the Lord comes, the great and manifest day/ And it shall be that whoever calls on the name of the Lord shall be saved”.

Interconnectedness Ruggles (2005, p. 27) states that astrology is based on the assumption of the “interconnectedness of things”. A common analogy is of a mirror, in which sky

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and Earth reflect each other: there is no need for a causal connection between planets and terrestrial affairs, but if there is, the effects are reciprocal and human actions may affect the sky as much as the sky affects human activity. The concept of interconnectedness was formalized into the notion of “sympathy” in classical Stoic physics. According to this theory, all things contain more or less sympathy with all other things by virtue of their essential nature. In Greek astrology, for example, the Sun relates to kings, gold, pride, and the heart, and Mars to soldiers, blood, the color red, and fevers, as a result of real interconnections between these things. This system underpinned astrological medicine and magic and was gradually codified into a complex scheme which was termed the “Great Chain of Being” by Lovejoy (1936). Interconnectedness may also function mathematically, drawing on the Pythagorean notion that the universe is understood through number. In this sense, the stars and planets are not agents of change but indicators of a common mathematical order which applies equally to both sky and Earth.

Synchronicity Time is an ordering principle in which, as both terrestrial and celestial affairs follow the same processes and at any one time, patterns in the sky are indicative of conditions on Earth. Connections between Earth and sky may therefore be described as acausal. This notion is central to Chinese astrology, in its concepts of the fluctuating patterns of two corresponding but opposite patterns, yin and yang, and the notion of tian wen, or sky patterns (Pankenier 2012). In Aztec culture, the timing of warfare was regulated by the planet Venus, representing the god Quetzalcoatl (Carlson 1993). The phenomenon was complicated: partly the deity gives an instruction, but that the deity’s ability to do so is itself regulated by time; divinity itself can therefore be subject to time. In Persia from around the fifth century onward, time itself was “deified” in the form of the Zoroastrian god Zurvan: time, as in classical Greece, can be understood in two forms: chronos is quantified time and kairos is qualitative time. Acausality was suggested in Plato’s (1931) fourth-century BCE statement that “Wherefore, as a consequence of this reasoning and design on the part of God, with a view to the generation of Time, the sun and moon and five other stars, which bear the appellation of ‘planets’ [i.e., ‘wanderers’], came into existence for the determining and preserving of the numbers of Time”. The term synchronicity was coined in relation to astrology by C.G. Jung (1875–1961), the founder of analytical psychology in his statement that “Whatever is born or done at this particular moment of time has the quality of this moment of time” (Jung 1971, pp. 56–57).

Causality The concept of causes is implicit in astrology as divine intervention: not only do gods and goddesses give notice of their intentions, but they actively cause the events of which they warn. Plato identified the planets as secondary causes, acting

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not independently but on behalf of the Demiurge, the creator. Causation theory was further developed in the third century BCE by Aristotle (1933) who categorized causes into four types: the efficient cause (an object’s maker), the material cause (the matter out of which an object is made), the formal cause (the Platonic “Idea” or “Form” on which an object is based), and the final cause (the future condition toward which an object is moving). Aristotelian cosmology carried into the astrology of the West, the Islamic world and India, the idea that the cause of an event lies in its origin, nature, and future condition. The concept of a cause in the modern sense as the direct impact of object “a” on object “b” plays only a slight role in astrological causality.

Celestial Influence Aristotle also postulated the existence of motion and light as the transmitters of celestial influence, leading to a naturalistic astrology represented primarily in the work of Claudius Ptolemy (1940) in the second century. The notion of planetary influence was incorporated into Latin natural philosophy by Pliny (1929) who characterized Saturn as cold, Jupiter as warm, the Sun and Mars as hot, and Venus and the Moon as moist.

The Sky as Text Modern Western astrologers tend to describe astrology as a symbolic language in which the sky is read as a text (Campion 2012b, p. 181). This is a secularization of the model in which divinities send messages through the stars: in Mesopotamia, celestial patterns were the “writing” of the gods and goddesses, or sˇitir sˇameˆ, the “writing of heaven” (Rochberg). In China, a star or planet might constitute a xiang, an image, symbol, or analogue of some phenomenon on Earth, and the astrologer was therefore required to act as an interpreter, reading the heavenly signs (Pankenier). A double meaning of the term “symbol” is crucial to this justification for astrology (Greene 2010). In modern usage, the word implies that one thing represents another to which it is not related and may have only an arbitrary connection. In this sense, astrology as a symbolic language has no more reality than any other purely representative system. However, in late classical Platonism, symbols in astrology were thought to share the essential nature of the thing they were symbolizing. Hence, if the Sun symbolized the king, the Sun and the king shared something essential in their respective natures.

Fate and Determinism Astrological prediction is possible because a divine warning of a future event may be given in a divine message. However, reliable prediction of the date and nature of

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future events becomes possible when the mathematically understood motions of the stars and planets, once understood, can be projected into the future. Prediction implies determinism that the future is predetermined and therefore cannot be changed. The notion of a total subjection of humanity to a mathematically defined cosmic order is rare and is evident, for example, only in strict forms of Stoicism (Campion 2009, p. 212). Jung followed the Platonic concept that “necessity”, humanity’s subjection to fate, is tempered by a psychic engagement with the cosmos. Such psychic engagement is made possible by Platonic Idealism, which claims that all things in the cosmos are manifestation of Ideas or Forms (later known as Archetypes) which exist in the consciousness of the creator. All things in the universe are therefore connected by psyche, or soul, and the individual’s psyche can interact with the world soul, or Latin Anima Mundi, adapted by Jung into the Collective Unconscious. Such change may be accomplished by changes in behavior, medical treatment (in the case of disease), prayer, and ritual acts intended to appease divine powers or magically intervene in the order of time. For example, in cases of danger to the king, substitutes might be symbolically enthroned and then killed. In the Renaissance, “sympathetic” magic employed the use of music, color, meditation, and astral iconography to manipulate the cosmos and change the future. “Ritual” magic might involve the casting of spells and the raising of spirits, also at astrologically auspicious moments. There is an important distinction between determinism, which implies an absence of purpose and fate, which involves the fulfilling of a purpose, in Aristotelian terms, a formal or future cause (Brady 2012). Karl Popper (1957, pp. 210, 244) argued that astrology conforms to the paradoxical philosophy which he termed “activism”, in which an apparently inevitable future results not in passivity in the face of predetermined events but in free choice and increased activity in order to freely bring about the desired future. Activism may also be seen in the negotiation of the future through ritual and prayer and in the deliberate harmonization of Earth and sky in order to maintain peace and stability. For Popper, activism allowed a belief in a predetermined future to be reconciled with free choice.

Case Studies Astrology and Archaeoastronomy: The Foundation of Cities There is evidence of the use of astrology to select auspicious moments to found cities from the third century BCE. Tradition records that the cities of Seleucia, Constantinople, and Cairo were founded on astrologically auspicious dates, but the details are uncertain. However, firmer evidence is available for the foundation of Baghdad, which was inaugurated 30 or 31 July 762 (145 AH) as an assertion of the power of the Abbasid caliphate. The city was laid out on cosmic principles (Allawi 1988) including a quadruple system analogous to the cardinal points and a hexagonal scheme identified with the many septenary systems in the ancient word, including the seven planets, the whole envisaged as “a grand cosmic

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astrolabe” which “cannot be separated from astrology”. The round city was divided into 12 sections and related to the great circles of the universe, such as the tropics and the equator, as well as to the Sun’s apogee and perigee. As an example, the Sun covers a longer distance when at its perigee (when furthest from the Earth) than at its apogee (when closest to the Earth), and the area of the city corresponding to the Sun’s perigee therefore, Allawi claimed, contained more streets. The foundation of Baghdad was also set for an astrologically auspicious moment. The horoscope data was given by al-Yaqubi (Pingree 1970) in the ninth century and al-Biruni (1879) in the tenth–eleventh centuries. However, there are uncertainties both in the data and the interpretation of the horoscope (Campion 2013). In particular, although Jupiter, the most beneficial planet in Greek astrology, was in its  own sign, Sagittarius, rising on the eastern horizon, and a “trine” aspect (120 ) from the Sun in Leo, all of which are powerful and benevolent factors. Mars, a malefic planet, occupied a powerful and destructive position on the Western horizon. There is no textual evidence in the canon of Greek astrology which can mitigate this malign presence, which renders it very unlikely that Greek astrology was the only factor involved. However, in Indian astrology, there is a tradition that when Sagittarius is on the eastern horizon, Mars is no longer a malefic planet but becomes auspicious (Parasara). The conclusion is therefore that Indian astrology was used in the foundation of Baghdad, even if in association with Greek. There is therefore prima facie evidence of the importance of Indian cosmology in Islamic thought. A study of the archaeoastronomy of Baghdad, and perhaps of other sites in the Islamic world, might therefore benefit from the study of Indian cosmology.

Astrology and Ethnoastronomy: Native American Astrology Traditional Native American astronomy was intended to harmonize human life with celestial powers and was largely collective, expressed through the ritual pattern of life (McCluskey). In addition to the calendar ceremonies and positioning of buildings in relation to the sky, there are also accounts of individual relationships with the stars which may be considered astrology in the broad sense. As stars and people were both alive, the relationship between them could be individual and dynamic. For example, if a Skidi Pawnee child is born at night, then the stars are observed, but the only interpretive factor mentioned in the surviving accounts is the weather: a calm night followed by a clear morning signified a healthy, problem-free life, but violent weather indicated the opposite. The relationship continues into adult life. According to one Pawnee informant, “it often happens that when a person goes out on the hills at night to fast and to pray to the powers above, he will, as he is praying, become conscious that a particular star is looking at him” (Fletcher 1903, p. 11). The consequence of being singled out by an individual star in such a manner would invariably be a vision followed by the requirement to implement whatever instructions the star sends. The results might be dangerous. In one incident, a star sent a boy mad. That this was a familiar problem is suggested by the immediacy with which a healing ritual was conducted. The shaman or priest took the boy

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outside and waited for the responsible star to rise. When it did so, the boy was painted black, covered in white spots, and wrapped in a fawn skin, and a star was painted on his forehead; the treatment was successful as long as the star remained on his forehead, but when it wore off, his problem returned. In terms of the cosmicchaotic dichotomy in astrology, this version of Native American astrology is chaotic: it is uncodified, spontaneous, and depends heavily on the ability to respond spontaneously depending in circumstances.

Astrology and Ethnoastronomy: New Zealand Traditional Polynesian astronomers tended to be divided into two groups: the sky watchers, whose task was to watch for omens, keep the calendar, and arrange rituals and festivals, and the wayfinders, who presided over the knowledge necessary for navigation. The examination of celestial omens conforms to a broad definition of astrology. In New Zealand, the Maori developed a class of experts, tohunga kokorangi, who were versed in the entire range of celestial lore, including the measurement of celestial positions and evaluation of their significance; Best (1955) referred to these practices as “natural astrology”. An example of Maori practice includes the following: a lunar occultation – when the Moon passes directly in front of a certain star – is a potentially difficult military omen. If the star reappears when the Moon has passed, it was said, a fort will be captured. One informant reported that “the star knows all about the coming trouble. . . Just before the battle of Orakau we saw this sign..As we were a war party of course our warriors made much of this omen” (Best 1955, p. 68). The tohunga kokorangi would watch the sky for omens, communing with celestial deities and purging his soul. If the tohunga kokorangi saw a dangerous sign, such as a comet, he would recite ritual formulae in order to defuse the threat and protect his people. He may even have been actively engaging with the sky, acting as a cocreator, for there was a belief that certain men, with sufficient power, could cause a solar halo to appear at will.

Astrology and Ethnoastronomy: Indian Astrology In India, astrology, or jyotish, is a “vedanga”, one of the “sciences” necessary for understanding the vedas the sacred texts. A vibrant tradition of astrology has survived in India in an unbroken tradition since Greek horoscopic astrology was imported and combined with Hinduism in the first century CE. It remains an active part of Indian life and has both a presence in the temples and in mundane life. It is used at the highest levels of politics: the date and time for Burmese independence in 1948 and the proclamation of the Republic of Sri Lanka in 1971 were chosen on astrological grounds. The most widespread use of astrology is in marriage – to confirm the prospective marriage partner and to arrange the date of the wedding.

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Indian astrology’s interpretative functions are just one phase in a process in which, as human beings are creations of the cosmos, but not separate to it, they are active participants in it. There is therefore a second stage to the astrological process, which is to engage with whatever information the astrologer has imparted. The omens of future difficulties dispatched by astrological configurations can be dealt with by apotropaic rituals designed to avert a future problem or by prayer, meditation, ritual, pujas (purifications), and talismans. The Shwedagon pagoda in Rangoon provides an example in a Buddhist context. Around the base of the central 321-fthigh gilded stupa are located eight shrines to the planetary rulers of the days of the week the Sun (Sunday), the Moon (Monday), Mars (Tuesday), Mercury (Wednesday before noon), Rahu (the Moon’s north node, Wednesday afternoon), Jupiter (Thursday), Venus (Friday), and Saturn (Saturday). Dispatched by their astrologers, local people engage quietly with one of the planetary shrines, meditating in front of it, contemplating its beauty, making offerings of flowers, and pouring water or milk over it and lighting incense to carry prayers to heaven The principle is quite simple: if one is suffering from an excess of Mars – a fever perhaps or violent threats or spiritual agitation – one may counter this by performing the appropriate ritual at the Venus shrine, whose nature is calm and peaceful. On another occasion, perhaps, the solution might be to attend to the Mars shrine precisely in order to persuade the Martian principle in the cosmos to call off its threats. There are nine planets in Indian astrology: the seven traditional planets and the Moon’s north and south nodes (Rahu and Ketu). The organized planetary rituals are therefore known as nava (nine) graha (planet) rituals. Kemper (1980) described a navagraha ritual in Sri Lanka. The ritual begins with a prepubescent girl preparing a string of nine-strands, one for each planet, which then protects the client against malign planetary influence or signification. The priest then uses the string to conduct the ceremony while Buddhist monks chant protective verses, which reinforce the auspicious power of the girl and the planets as embodied in the string. Indian astrology is unique among the highly codified “cosmic” forms in that it survives in a very similar form to that practiced in the second century, unlike China where communism disrupted traditional learning and Europe, where “high” and “middling” astrology almost disappeared in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. The academic study of its claims and practices therefore offers insights into wider Indian culture, as well as to studies of Indian archaeoastronomy.

Astrology and Ethnoastronomy: The Extent of Belief in Astrology in the Modern West Western astrology survives in a continuous lineage back to second millennium BCE Mesopotamia via the Hellenistic world (Campion 2008). However, in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, the “high” and “middling” forms (Curry 1989) almost disappeared. Their revival in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries has led

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to a “detraditionalized” practice which is technically far simpler than its medieval ancestor, as well as the form which is still practiced in India. Western astrology is largely concerned with character description, with some consideration of notions of spiritual development. Campion (2012b, p. 178) considers the greater part of modern Western astrology to be a form of folk or vernacular religion, the beliefs, and practices of the people regardless of the claims of scientific or religious elites. It may also be considered a form of folk, or ethnoastronomy. In this sense, it is a counterpart to the “indigenous” astronomies of the non-Western world. There is to date only one study of modern Western astrology which takes a combined sociological and anthropological approach, both placing astrology in its societal context and soliciting personal testimony from astrologers (Campion 2012b). Among the problems tackled is the level of belief in astrology in the general population of the UK. Gallup polls generally locate belief in astrology in both the USA and UK at around 25 %. However, when measures such as occasional readership of horoscope columns are used, the figure increases to around 75 %. The usefulness of such figures as indicators of levels of belief, though, is doubtful. Previous sociological and anthropological studies have revealed problems with the notion of belief: people are reluctant to admit to believe in subjects which might be seen as ridiculous, while belief itself is not a fixed state of mind but a shifting, fluid, and highly variable condition In addition, astrology itself can be defined, as by Curry, as a practice rather than a belief: it is something which people do rather than believe in. Therefore, the questions posed by Campion to selected groups focused on behavior as well as opinion. The results indicated variability and inconsistency, depending on how questions were phrased. For example, among one group, religious studies students at Bath Spa University in England, 89 % knew their “birth sign” and 60 % regarded it as an accurate guide to character, 37 % thought that astrology can make accurate forecasts, 62 % find out the birth sign of a new boy- or girlfriend and value the advice they read in horoscope columns, but only 4 % would alter their behavior according to such advice. The figures indicated a lower acceptance of prediction as opposed to advice giving, combined with an almost complete rejection of the notion of altering one’s behavior in accord with such advice. The conclusion is that attitudes to astrology are nuanced and that there is potential for future understanding of wider social attitudes to astronomy if questions focus on items of behavior and opinion, rather than belief.

Future Directions Astrology is a universal feature of human society. The study of its theory and practice therefore needs to be included in studies of cultural astronomy and, where appropriate, archaeoastronomy. Modern astrology in India and the West, alongside “indigenous astronomies”, can be considered a folk astronomy or ethnoastronomy, and the study of its practices is a legitimate one for students of cultural astronomy.

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Cross-References ▶ Greek Cosmology and Cosmogony ▶ Inca Astronomy and Calendrics ▶ Mesopotamian Celestial Divination ▶ Origins of the “Western” Constellations

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Astronomy, Astrology, and Medicine Dorian Gieseler Greenbaum

Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . “Astronomy” and “Astrology” . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Iatromathematics: Medical Astrology . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Babylonian Astral Medicine . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Astrological Melothesia . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Decumbiture Charts . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Astronomy in the Hippocratic Corpus: The Moon, Critical Days, and Humors . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Crisis Periods . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Seasons, Qualities, and Humors . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The Influence of Galen and Pseudo-Galen . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Humors, Temperament, and Astrology . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Abu¯ Ma‘shar and Astrological Medicine . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Judging Urine . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Astronomy and Astrology in Medical Education . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Physician-Astrologers of the Middle Ages, Renaissance, and Early Modern Period . . . . . . . . . Pietro d’Abano . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cecco d’Ascoli . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Marsilio Ficino . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Girolamo Cardano . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Simon Forman . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Nicholas Culpeper . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Abstract

Astronomy and astrology were combined with medicine for thousands of years. Beginning in Mesopotamia in the second millennium BCE and continuing into

D.G. Greenbaum University of Wales, Trinity Saint David, Lampeter, Wales, UK e-mail: [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_19, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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the eighteenth century, medical practitioners used astronomy/astrology as an important part of diagnosis and prescription. Throughout this time frame, scientists cited the similarities between medicine and astrology, in addition to combining the two in practice. Hippocrates and Galen based medical theories on the relationship between heavenly bodies and human bodies. In an enduring cultural phenomenon, parts of the body as well as diseases were linked to zodiac signs and planets. In Renaissance universities, astronomy and astrology were studied by students of medicine. History records a long tradition of astrologer-physicians. This chapter covers the topic of astronomy, astrology, and medicine from the Old Babylonian period to the Enlightenment.

Introduction In virtually all human cultures, physical connections have been noted between human bodies and celestial bodies. In western medicine, Hippocrates wrote of the influence of the moon on human bodies, and the system of humors he devised led to the development of temperament theory which was taken up in medicine and subsequently incorporated into astrology. In addition, astrology assigned parts of the body to planets and zodiac signs (melothesia). While astronomy records and predicts the positions of celestial bodies, it is through astrology – the interpretation of the effects of stars and planets on humans – that medicine incorporates astronomy into its practice. Thus, the principal focus of this chapter will be astrology’s connection with medicine; measurements provided by astronomy are relevant only insofar as they provide the means for astrological and medical interpretation.

“Astronomy” and “Astrology” Until the time of Copernicus, the terms astronomia and astrologia were interchangeable (French 1994, pp. 33–34; H€ubner 1989). In the second century CE, Claudius Ptolemy defined the two uses of astronomia: Of the preparations for the goal of prognostication through astronomy, O Syrus, two are the greatest and most authoritative. One is first in order and in power, by which we comprehend for every occasion the configurations of the movements of the sun, moon, and stars which happen in relation to one another and to the earth. The second is by which, through the natural particular quality of the configurations themselves, we investigate the changes in the surrounding environment which they bring about. (Tetrabiblos I, 1, trans. Greenbaum [Ptolemy and H€ubner 1998, pp. 3.31–39])

The first use is what we now call astronomy proper; the second is astrology. Ptolemy’s Almagest dealt with the first use; his Tetrabiblos (Quadripartitum in the Latin west) concerned the second, astrology. Ptolemy’s quotation encompasses both uses in the word “astronomia”. The subject of medicine necessarily deals with the diagnosis and treatment of living bodies, so when the words “astronomy”

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or “astrology” are mentioned in a medical context in historical texts, both astronomy and astrology could be included in either term. In medicine, astrology became a resource for diagnosis and prescription.

Iatromathematics: Medical Astrology No less an authority than Ptolemy highlighted the similarities between the practices of astrology and medicine (Tetrabiblos I, 3). Both use the very same word, prognosis, and both are considered “stochastic”, that is, conjectural, arts in which prediction is not always successful, but the goal is to do what is humanly possible for success (Greenbaum 2010). Ptolemy further extolled the use of astrology in conjunction with medicine. He asserted that the Egyptians were experts in the combination of medicine with astronomy (Tetrabiblos I, 3). Furthermore, “iatromathematical systems” (Tetrabiblos I, 3) helped in understanding the kinds of commixtures and environments that affect bodies and disease, so that medicine can then deliver the correct treatment to each afflicted body. “Iatromathematics” is a compound word created from Greek iatros, doctor, and matheˆmatikos, astrologer. Iatromathematics in the west was practiced by the Babylonians, Egyptians, Greeks, and people of other Mediterranean cultures.

Babylonian Astral Medicine Astrological medicine has a very long history in Mesopotamia (Heeßel 2008). As early as the Old Babylonian period (c. 2000–1600 BCE), healers would have medications “spend the night under the stars” (literally, “in the stars”) to gain astral efficacy (Reiner 1995, p. 48 and n. 188, pp. 49–55; Heeßel 2008, p. 3 and n. 10). Since stars could send disease – “The diseases sikkatum, isˇa¯tum, miqtum, sˇanuduˆ, asˇuˆm, sa¯ma¯num, epqennu, sˇalattinnum, and girgisˇsˇum have come down from the stars of the sky” (Heeßel 2008, p. 2, citing Goetze 1955, p. 11) – it was only logical to take advantage of their influence for cures. Diseases were assigned to planets representing gods, as well as to constellations and the zodiac (Heeßel 2008, pp. 2, 8–9). Once the zodiac was introduced in the Persian period, early associations of illnesses with days of the month (hemerologies) were modified to apply to certain zodiac signs (Geller 2010b, p. 56). In Babylon, the baru-priest, associated with divination; the asuˆ, physician; and the a¯sˇipu, ritual performer, were all involved with medical diagnosis and treatment. After ca. 500 BCE, the baru-priest used celestial configurations to make predictions. Babylonian medico-zodiacal texts included the influence of the moon on both the type and course of a disease. The moon’s zodiac sign was also considered instrumental for performing efficacious rituals. The texts called “Stone, plant and tree”, dating from the fifth century BCE, were modified to include the zodiac and/or to apply to medical procedures (Heeßel 2008, pp. 9–12).

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A very late Babylonian medical commentary assigned parts of the body to planets, in this case Jupiter to the spleen and Mars to the kidneys (Reiner 1995, pp. 59–60; Heeßel 2008, pp. 14–15; Geller 2010a, p. 158; Geller 2010b, pp. 60–80). This is the earliest example of what is called “melothesia”, assigning body parts to planets or the zodiac. This concept was taken up and further developed in GrecoRoman astrology.

Astrological Melothesia While Babylon records the earliest example of melothesia, similar systems arose and developed within Greco-Roman astrology. In P. Michigan 149 (second century CE), portions of zodiacal signs are assigned to “front parts” and “back parts”, (Robbins 1936, p. 91) Zodiacal melothesia was described by Manilius, Vettius Valens, Antiochus, and Rhetorius in the Greco-Roman period and Late Antiquity (Bezza 1995, II, pp. 722–731). They assigned the head to Aries, throat to Taurus, arms and hands to Gemini, breast to Cancer, heart and back (or sides) to Leo, belly to Virgo, kidneys to Libra, genitals to Scorpius, thighs to Sagittarius, knees to Capricorn, shins or ankles to Aquarius, and feet to Pisces. This arrangement persisted into the modern period. The famous 1416 miniature of zodiac man in Les Tre`s Riches Heures of the Duc de Berry is a well-known example (http://commons. wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Anatomical_Man.jpg), but many others exist. Astrological texts detailed the body parts, diseases, and injuries covered by each sign. Vettius Valens describes Aries in the following way: Let Aries be said to signify generally those things concerning the head, the sense organs and eyes. And so the place makes . . . headaches, weak vision, apoplexy, deafness, dulling of vision, leprosy, skin eruptions, baldness, alopecia, becoming bald, lack of sensation, putrid sores, attacks on breathing, callouses, tumors and whatever is customarily associated with the sense organs, and with both the hearing and the teeth. (Vettius Valens 1986, Anthology II, 37.6–7, trans. Greenbaum)

Valens (II, 37.1–5) mentioned another unusual melothesia based on the Lots of Fortune and Daemon (predictive positions in a chart), which he claimed was the system of “the ancients”. Planetary melothesia is attested from this period and was also carried through to the modern period. In this system, planets and luminaries, beginning with the Sun and Moon, ruled over parts of the body. Again, Valens’Anthology is a convenient source: Sun: Of the parts of the body it rules over the head, sense organs, right eye, ribs, heart, respiratory or sensory movement, nerves [as organs of sensation]. . . (I, 1.2) Moon: Of the parts of the body it rules over the left eye, stomach, breasts, bladder, spleen, membranes, marrow (from which it brings about those suffering from dropsy). . . (I, 1.5) Saturn: Of the parts of the body, it rules over the legs, knees, sinews, watery fluids, phlegm, bladder, kidneys and parts hidden within. It is indicative of whatever injuries arise from cold and moisture, such as dropsies, tendinitis, gout, cough, dysentery, tumors, convulsions, daemonic possessions, unnatural lust, depravity. (I, 1.12–13)

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Jupiter: Of the outer parts of the body it rules over the thighs, feet (from which it also supplies foot-racing in the athletic contests); of the inner parts, seed, womb, liver, parts on the right . (I, 1.18) Mars: Of the parts of the body it rules over the head, rump, private part; of the inner parts, the blood, spermatic ducts, bile, excretion of excrement, hind-parts, moving backward, lying backward. (I, 1.24) Venus: Of the parts of the body it rules over the neck, face, lips, organ of smell and the foreparts from foot to head, intercourse of the genitals, of the inner [parts], the lungs. (I, 1.33) Mercury: Of the parts of the body it rules over hands, shoulders, fingers, joints, intestines, hearing, windpipe, bowels, tongue. (I, 1.42) (Vettius Valens 1986 all trans. Greenbaum)

These descriptions demonstrate the interrelationship between planetary and sign rulerships. For example Jupiter, the ruler of Sagittarius, rules the thighs, which are also assigned to Sagittarius. Venus (Taurus’s ruler) and Taurus rule the neck. Mercury, which rules Gemini and Virgo, rules, with those signs, the hands, shoulders and fingers (Gemini), and intestines (Virgo). Thus, doctors using melothesia had a structurally coherent system for diagnosing and healing disease or injury. Astrological charts could be cast for the nativity of the patient, if the time and place were known, and/or for the time the patient took to his bed, a technique called “decumbiture”.

Decumbiture Charts Casting a chart for the time at which a patient became ill enough to go to bed also has a long tradition. The earliest securely attested literary use of this practice occurs in the Apotelesmatika of Hephaestio of Thebes in the early fifth century CE. However, the practice may well have been used earlier, for example, in healing centers such as that of Apollo Grannus at Grand, France, in the second century CE (Abry 1993), where astrological boards associated with client consultations have been found (Evans 2004). Using colored markers, the healer would have laid out on the board the planetary and ascendant positions for the time the illness began. Techniques for casting and interpreting a decumbiture chart appear in Book V, 41 of Dorotheus’ Pentateuch (a.k.a. Carmen Astrologicum) (probably added at a later date). The tradition became a staple of astrological medicine, continuing into the medieval period and the Renaissance, and well into the seventeenth century (see, e.g., Nicholas Culpeper’s Astrological Judgement of Diseases from the Decumbiture of the Sick, 1655). The Moon was of primary importance in analyzing a decumbiture chart. As the Pentateuch, Book V, 41.1, 11 explains: Whoever desires to know the condition of the patient [at] the beginning of when he is ill, how long he will endure [it], let him look at the ascendent and the Moon and the lord of the ascendent and the lord of the Moon’s house and the Moon’s conjoining with a star, whatever it is, and the Moon’s dodecatemorion. . . . If you want to know the condition of the patient, when it will be heavy and when it will be light, then the indicator of this is the Moon. (trans. Pingree [Dorotheus and Pingree 1976])

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In addition, the angles of the decumbiture chart represented the different players during the course of the disease: Look concerning the matter of the patient from these four cardines [i.e., angles]. The ascendent indicates the doctor, the midheaven indicates the patient, [the sign] opposite the ascendent indicates the cause of the illness, from what thing it is, and the cardine of the fathers [the fourth] indicates his recovery and his medication, if God wishes. (Pentateuch V, 41.35–36, trans. Pingree [Dorotheus and Pingree 1976])

Finally, planetary positions in the decumbiture could be compared with the natal chart: “If you want to know the condition of the patient and his death and he is one of those whose nativity is known, then look at the Moon, if it transits in its motion in the sign in which Saturn was in his nativity”. (Pentateuch V, 41.42, trans. Pingree [Dorotheus and Pingree 1976])

Astronomy in the Hippocratic Corpus: The Moon, Critical Days, and Humors Possibly the first Greek evidence of heavenly bodies affecting health appears in Regimen IV (Dreams) of the Hippocratic corpus, where dreaming of the heavens gives indications for the dreamer’s health or illness (Regimen IV, 89, in Jones (1931), pp. 426–437). The Moon was also an important component of Greek medical diagnosis. In the corpus of treatises associated with Hippocrates, its phases (which created the month) coincided with “critical days” of illness, the days in which medical crises occurred. Moon phases and critical days were integral parts of medical diagnosis and prescription. Also integral was the doctrine of humors, the identification of four bodily fluids associated with health and disease; these were linked to the seasons, and therefore had a solar connection. Humoral theory led to the development of temperament theory, the assignment of a bodily constitution based on the relationship between the four humors and their proportions in each person. Temperament (also called “complexion”) became important in medical treatment. All of these concepts – critical days, crises, and humors – were eventually, if not initially, incorporated into iatromathematical practice.

Crisis Periods Acute diseases were judged by Moon cycles, while chronic diseases involved Sun cycles (French 2003, p. 132). The course and prognosis of an acute disease, and its crisis periods, often, though not always, corresponded with the phases of the Moon. By knowing the critical days and the circumstances surrounding them, doctors could better diagnose and treat illness. The underlying structure of critical days appears to be based on the week and month, and thus has a lunar component, although some schemes of critical days can be difficult to pinpoint to a part of the lunar cycle. Hippocratic Aphorism II, 23 states, for example: “Acute diseases come

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to a crisis in fourteen days” (Jones 1931, p. 113), suggesting the Full Moon (opposition of sun and moon); but other days do not as clearly correspond to a lunar phase (e.g., Aphorisms II, 24). In his commentaries on Hippocrates, the second-century physician Galen linked critical days much more precisely and specifically to the phases of the Moon (Pennuto 2008, pp. 77–79).

Seasons, Qualities, and Humors The Hippocratic Humors (Chap. 8) briefly relates humors and general body constitution to disease. Other Hippocratic works flesh out the theory of humors and its relationship to the seasons and qualities of hot, cold, wet, and dry. In Aphorisms, the seasonal change produced by the solar cycle brings about disease (Aphorism III, 1): “It is chiefly the changes of the seasons which produce diseases, and in the season the great changes from cold or heat, and so on according to the same rule”. (Jones 1931, p. 123) This emphasis on seasons and the observation that extremes of hot and cold produce disease combine to show how the qualities affect both disease and human constitutions. In the Hippocratic treatise On the Nature of Man, vii, the four basic humors, or fluids of the body, are in turn associated with a quality: yellow bile (choleˆ xantheˆ) with hot, black bile (choleˆ melaineˆ) with dry, blood (haima) with wet, and phlegm (phlegma) with cold. On the Nature of Man, iv says: The body of a man has in itself blood, phlegm, yellow bile and black bile; these make up the nature of his body, and through these he feels pain or enjoys health. Now he enjoys the most perfect health when these [things] are duly proportioned to one another in respect of compounding, power and bulk, and when they are perfectly mingled. (Jones 1931, p. 11)

The idea of a balanced proportion of humors in the body led to the development of temperament. A person’s basic temperament affects her response to changes in season, and to diseases associated with a particular quality or humor. Aristotle further developed the system of qualities and elements (On Coming-to-be and Passingaway, II). By the time Ptolemy wrote the Tetrabiblos, the concept of temperament had developed to the point that Ptolemy incorporated its determination into the structure of astrological practice, and it continued to be included in astrological medicine thenceforth. By knowing a temperament which could be discerned, at least partially, from the birthchart, a doctor could more accurately prescribe a particular treatment for a patient. The development of humoral theory and temperament in application to medical practice was expanded and popularized by Galen.

The Influence of Galen and Pseudo-Galen The great Greek physician Claudius Galen (b. 131 CE) is arguably the greatest influence on western medicine before 1700. His massive corpus (over 20 volumes in Greek, plus many more translated into Arabic and Latin) was subsequently reproduced, translated, and supplemented. Many pseudo-Galenic works were

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considered to be authentic in the Middle Ages and Renaissance, including a treatise on astrological medicine, On Prognosis from Decumbiture. Among authentic works are On Temperaments, On Crises, and On Critical Days. In the Middle Ages and Renaissance, an important text of medical astrology was Aggregationes de crisi et de creticis diebus, a synthesis of Galen’s On Crises and On Critical Days (O’Boyle 1991). Galen revered both Hippocrates and Aristotle, and his interpretations of their work colors the way in which they were perceived after Antiquity. The humoral model espoused by Galen became the paradigm in much medieval and Renaissance medicine. Astrological medicine, too, used the humoral model based on Aristotelian qualities and elements. There is evidence that Galen endorsed the inclusion of some astrology within medicine. Though he disdained the more exuberant claims of astrologers to predict the events of an entire life from the birthchart (see Galen, Commentary on Hippocrates’ Airs Waters and Places, III, 11) (Toomer 1985, p. 199, section 14; Cooper 1999, pp. 43–44), he acknowledged that astrological methods could be combined with medicine to treat disease. In this, he praised the Egyptians for their work on lunar effects, which he found through experience to be true (Barton 1994, p. 54 and n. 132; Nutton 2008, pp. 21–22). Galen, like Ptolemy, looked for physical causes to explain the influence of the heavens on the human body. He gave the Hippocratic critical days theory a firm foundation in the phases of the Moon. Astrologically, On Critical Days stresses the Moon’s importance in its relation to the zodiac, in conception and birth, and in the beginning of any medical event (Barton 1994, p. 54). Conception and birth were already important astrological concerns (Frommhold 2004) and the Moon was a major factor for interpretation in electional and horary charts (cast, respectively, for the times of events and questions). In On Temperaments, Galen ordered and elucidated the meanings of the qualities in application to the humors. In other works such as On the Elements According to Hippocrates, On the Natural Faculties, and On Hippocrates’ On the Nature of Man Galen developed a synthesis of humors, elements, and qualities: “. . .that all things are generated from heat, cold, dryness and wetness, and for this reason these elements are common to all. Blood, phlegm, yellow bile and black bile are the particular elements of the nature of man. . . . And it is quite clear that each of them comes from the four primary elements which we call wetness, dryness, cold and heat. . . . . . So the hot, cold, dry and wet parts seen clearly in the human body, are not the elements of the nature of man, but compositions and generations of these elements; water, fire, air and earth”. (Galen et al. (trans.) On Hippocrates’ On the Nature of Man, }}51–53, 54, trans. Lewis and Beach; see Greenbaum 2005, p. 16)

On the astrological front, Ptolemy also advanced the idea of temperament as something which could be determined from the birthchart by applying the qualities of hot, cold, wet, and dry to celestial bodies, the seasons and the chart itself. His arrangement was instrumental in promoting temperament within astrology.

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Humors, Temperament, and Astrology Claudius Ptolemy was a near contemporary of Galen (about 40 years his elder). Although he never used the word “humor” in the Tetrabiblos, he followed the doctrines of Hippocratic medicine in espousing a balance of qualities for good health. He considered temperament, a “commixture” (synkrasis) of the qualities of hot, cold, wet, and dry in every person, to be discernible from the birthchart: “. . .why can he not also perceive, for each individual person, the general quality of his particular commixture from the surrounding environment at his creation (such as, that his body is such-and-such, and his soul such-and-such). . .?” (Tetrabiblos I, 2.11, trans. Greenbaum) Ptolemy assigned planets one or more qualities based on their intrinsic nature, or their orientality or occidentality. The seasons, solstices and equinoxes, angles of the chart, and moon phases were also given qualities, as in the table above (Table 8.1). Tetrabiblos III contained Ptolemy’s instructions for delineating temperament from the birthchart, using the Ascendant (the sign rising on the eastern horizon at the time of birth), planets in the Ascendant sign and their rulers, and the Moon for the shape of the body. Fixed stars rising with the Ascendant were also incorporated to a lesser degree (Tetrabiblos III, 12; see Greenbaum 2005, pp. 18–20, 141). Other astrologers of Late Antiquity also assigned qualities and elements to the planets and zodiac signs, but except for Hephaestio (who quoted Ptolemy extensively), the use of astrological temperament was not discussed. Nevertheless, the importance given to temperament in medicine by such renowned physicians as Galen, coupled with the use of astrology in medical practice, led to further development of humors, elements and qualities in astrology, primarily under Arabic-language astrologers of the early Medieval period. By the end of the Middle Ages, astrologers began to incorporate astrological formulae for temperament into their work.

Table 8.1 Ptolemy’s assignment of qualities (Tetrabiblos I, 2, 4, 5, 8, 10, 11) Angles Hot Midheaven Cold Imum Coeli Wet Descendant Dry

Ascendant

Solstice/ equinox Summer solstice Winter solstice Vernal equinox Autumnal equinox

Moon phase Full moon New moon First quarter Last quarter

Planet phase Opposition

Planets Sun, Venus, Mars, Jupiter, Moon (slightly) Conjunction Saturn 1st station/ Moon, Venus, Jupiter square 2nd station/ Sun, Mars, Saturn square

Seasons Spring, summer Autumn, winter Winter, spring Summer, autumn

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Abu¯ Ma‘shar and Astrological Medicine Abu¯ Ma‘shar (787–886 CE) was a committed Aristotelian and successor of Ptolemy, in that he was concerned with finding a rational, physical basis for astrology. Like Ptolemy, he noted similarities between astrology and medicine, but considered astrology to be even greater than medicine because it was concerned not only with nature and the sublunar world, but with the entire universe, including the heavenly bodies and stars. His Great Introduction to Astrology gave his hierarchy of predictive professions, where medicine held the middle rank but astrology the highest, as it is “a lofty profession and its subject is the stars which do not alter and are not subject to coming-to-be and passing-away. . .” (I, 2.25; Burnett and Yano forthcoming, p. 29). Skilled doctors, he said, knew the value of astrology: For these know the excellence of the science of astrology, and they know that the science of the stars is the principle of the science of medicine, and they use the art of astrology together with the art of medicine all the time, in order to know when pains increase and decrease, and when they should be treated. (I, 5.36; Burnett and Yano forthcoming, p. 97).

Astrology can tell whether a person is about to die and thus not benefit from treatment (determining life expectancy was a common astrological practice), and when crisis days in an illness will occur (here Abu¯ Ma‘shar cites Hippocrates and Galen) (I, 5.39; Burnett and Yano forthcoming, pp. 99, 101). Abu¯ Ma‘shar codified the linking of humors to planets and signs (Tables 8.2 and 8.3): The same system appears in }347 of al-Bı¯ru¯nı¯’s (973–1048) Book of Instruction in the Elements of the Art of Astrology (al-Bı¯ru¯nı¯ and Ramsay Wright 1934, p. 211). He stated that “the signs are also indicative of the various diseases of man, of his complexion, figure, face and the like. . .” (al-Bı¯ru¯nı¯ and Ramsay Wright 1934, }359, trans. Ramsay Wright). Antonius de Montulmo’s 1396 On the Judgment of Nativities (▶ Chap. 9, “Ancient “Observatories”: A Relevant Concept?”) provided a formula (based on Ptolemy’s) for determining temperament and quality of soul from the birthchart. Such formulae were helpful not only for astrologers but also for physicians. Indeed, the development of such astrological formulae for temperament likely occurred in part because of their usefulness in medicine.

Judging Urine A text from the Medieval period presents an odd intersection of astrology and medicine. Uroscopy was the examination of a patient’s urine to give clues for diagnosis and prognosis (French 2003, p. 132). But in 1219, William of England wrote De urina non visa, which explained how to judge urine astrologically without even seeing it. This little book was taught by statute in the university at Bologna, (O’Boyle 1991, p. 5; French 1994, p. 45 and n. 43; Grendler 2002, p. 410) so it was not as evanescent as one might think.

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Table 8.2 The nature of signs according to Abu¯ Ma‘shar (Abu¯ Ma‘shar et al. 1994, Abbreviation of the Introduction to Astrology, ▶ Chap. 1, “Concepts of Space, Time, and the Cosmos”) Sign Aries Taurus Gemini Cancer Leo Virgo Libra Scorpius Sagittarius Capricorn Aquarius Pisces

Quality Hot Dry Dry Hot

Cold Cold

Hot

Dry Dry

Cold

Hot Cold Hot

Dry Dry

Wet Wet

Wet Wet

Cold

Hot Cold

Wet Wet

Element Fire Earth Air Water Fire Earth Air Water Fire Earth Air Water

Humor Choleric (yellow bile) Melancholic (black bile) Sanguine (blood) Phlegmatic (phlegm) Choleric (yellow bile) Melancholic (black bile) Sanguine (blood) Phlegmatic (phlegm) Choleric (yellow bile) Melancholic (black bile) Sanguine (blood) Phlegmatic (phlegm)

Table 8.3 The nature of planets according to Abu¯ Ma‘shar (Abu¯ Ma‘shar et al. 1994, Abbreviation of the Introduction to Astrology, ▶ Chap. 5, “Astronomy and Power”) Planet Sun Moon Venus Mars Jupiter Saturn

Quality Hot

Element Cold Cold

Hot Hot

Humor

Dry Wet Wet

Dry Wet Dry

Fire Air

Cold

Phlegmatic (phlegm) Choleric (yellow bile) Melancholic (black bile)

Astronomy and Astrology in Medical Education The universities of Paris, Montpellier, Bologna, and Padua were well-known centers for medical education beginning in the late twelfth and early thirteenth centuries. Within the university curricula, medicine was closely tied to the study of the arts; medical students were required, especially at universities with prominent medical faculties, to be conversant in logic, natural philosophy, astrology, basic mathematics, and astronomy (Siraisi 1990, pp. 66–67). Because of the traditional link between medicine and astrology, courses in medical education emphasized the teaching of astrological techniques applied to medical practice. In fact, “some measure of astrological competence was indeed one of the marks separating an educated practitioner from an empiric” (Siraisi 1990, p. 68). At Bologna, for example, future doctors were required to study philosophy and astronomy-astrology for three years each; and medicine and its associated practice each for four years (Siraisi 1990, p. 72). The astrological curriculum at Bologna, mandated by statute in 1405, shows the texts studied over a four-year period (Grendler 2002, pp. 410–412):

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1st year: an Algorismus on fractions and integers (possibly by Sacrobosco) • Euclid, Elements, Book I, with Campanus of Novara’s Commentary • Alfonsine Tables with Canons (probably John of Saxony’s version) • Anonymous, Theory of the Planets 2nd year: Sacrobosco, De sphaera • Euclid, Elements, Book II • Jean de Linie`res, Canons on the Alfonsine Tables • Ma¯sha¯’alla¯h (Messahalla), Treatise on the Astrolabe 3rd year: Al-Qabı¯s¯ı (Alcabitius), Introduction to the Art of Astrology ˙ • (pseudo-)Ptolemy, Centiloquium with ‘Alı¯ ibn Ridwa¯n’s (Haly Rodohan) ˙ commentary • Euclid, Elements, Book III • “Treatise on the Quadrant” 4th year: Ptolemy, Quadripartitum (Tetrabiblos) • De urina non visa • Ptolemy, Almagest, “third part” (possibly Book 3 on solar theory) The medical curriculum at Bologna included Avicenna’s Canon; commentaries on Hippocrates; and Galen’s works on critical days, crises, fevers, simple medicines, and temperaments.

Physician-Astrologers of the Middle Ages, Renaissance, and Early Modern Period Given the importance of astronomy and astrology in medical training, it is not surprising that a number of physicians were also accomplished astrologers – or conversely, that astrologers could also be accomplished physicians. Their combined skills in medicine and astrology enhanced the practice of both disciplines (and university-trained doctors were in demand to serve as court physicians). Some examples will serve to illustrate this genre of practitioners.

Pietro d’Abano In the thirteenth and early fourteenth centuries, Pietro d’Abano (d. ca. 1315) was a vigorous proponent of astrology in general and of the use of astrology in medicine. He taught astronomy, astrology, philosophy, and medicine at Padua (French 1994, p. 55; Siraisi 1990, p. 135). He argued, as did Abu¯ Ma‘shar, that astrology is an important part of medicine: “No one should place himself in the hands of a doctor who is ignorant of astrology” (Conciliator, p. 4r, cited in French 1994, p. 58). His scientific and astronomical knowledge was such that he could criticize Galen’s theory of critical days on the grounds that Galen’s knowledge of astronomy and astrology was insufficient to explain it properly (Siraisi 1990, p. 136). Differentia 10 of the Conciliator (1303) was wholly devoted to astrological medicine, including temperament and crises determined astrologically, melothesia, surgery based on astrological rules and astrological talismans (“immagines”) (Vescovini 1987, pp. 30–32).

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Cecco d’Ascoli Cecco d’Ascoli (d. 1327), physician, poet, and astrologer, lectured on astronomy and astrology at Bologna in the early 1320 s; his Commentary on Sacrobosco’s Sphere (before 1324) contained a summary of his lectures at Bologna, which had a strong astrological component, including justifications of astrology in medical practice (Siraisi 1990, pp. 67–68).

Marsilio Ficino In the fifteenth century, Marsilio Ficino (1433–1499), the great Renaissance translator of Plato, studied medicine, theology, philosophy, and astrology in Florence. His Three Books on Life (Ficino et al. 1998) applied astrological methods to the treatment of melancholy; advice on diet and lifestyle in the first book; medicine in the second; and talismans, astrological magic, and music in the third all provided therapy for the melancholic. Such a lengthy treatise on melancholy demonstrates how important temperament theory had become to both life in general and medical practice. Ficino considered the reason for his own melancholic temperament to be the prominence of Saturn in his birthchart (Ficino 1997, p. 160).

Girolamo Cardano Although there had always been opponents of astrology, in the sixteenth century questions about astrology’s validity, and medical astrology in particular (most famously by the Italian humanist Pico della Mirandola), found more favor, leading to an erosion of belief in its efficacy in medical practice. This was the harbinger of astrology’s eventual demise as a science in the Enlightenment and the privileging only of its sister astronomy. However, the physician and astrologer Girolamo Cardano (1501–1576) still valued astrology as a predictive science. Again like Abu¯ Ma‘shar, Cardano (in his Commentary on Ptolemy’s Tetrabiblos) listed the arts which dealt with prognosis, and proclaimed “the noblest of these is astrology”, a statement he later qualified, however (Grafton and Siraisi 2006, p. 101, citing Cardano 1554, p. 1). Within medicine, though, he considered astrologically electing times for surgery to be a valid practice (Grafton and Siraisi 2006, p. 75, citing Commentary on the Tetrabiblos, 714). On occasion, he used event charts to give after-thefact astrological analyses beginning with the time of illness or injury (Grafton and Siraisi 2006, pp. 69–71). He compared the practices of Hippocrates and Galen in determining natal temperament to astrologers determining the same from the birthchart (Grafton and Siraisi 2006, p. 104).

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Simon Forman Cardano’s antithesis in the sixteenth century was the “notorious astrological physician of London”, Simon Forman (Traister 2001). Forman (1552–1611) left historians a treasure trove: seven years of medical casebooks, in which meticulous notes and charts detailed his work with patients. Forman’s formal medical training was nonexistent; though briefly a “poor student” at Oxford, he was unaccredited as a physician until 1603, when Cambridge gave him a license to practice physic and astronomy (Kassell 2006, p. 345). On numerous occasions, he fell afoul of the law. Astrology was crucial to his medical practice: He cast charts for the time of the patient’s question about his illness, and then interpreted it for the disease and its outcome. Medically, he was a Galenist with Paracelsian leanings (Traister 2001, p. 51). However, his treatments were often brutal and repulsive, for example, the drinking and eating of excreta (Traister 2001, pp. 50–51). Forman wrote on the four humors, including a long section on melancholy, and may have treated Robert Burton (author of The Anatomy of Melancholy) (Traister 2001, p. 48). He practiced alchemy and astral magic, and dabbled in necromancy. He authored “The Astrological Judgmentes of Phisick and other Questions” in 1606, in which he explained how to cast and interpret horary charts within medical practice.

Nicholas Culpeper The seventeenth century produced Nicholas Culpeper (1616–1654), a doctorastrologer who trained as an apothecary and was a renowned herbalist. His sympathies for the common folk, whose circumstances prevented them for obtaining medical advice, led him to take up the practice of “physick” and write medical books in English, rather than the usual Latin. These included the never-out-of-print Culpeper’s Complete Herbal (originally entitled The English Physitian [1652]); a treatise on temperament based on Galen’s Ars Medica that he called Galen’s Art of Physick (1652); and the above-mentioned Astrological Judgement of Diseases from the Decumbiture of the Sick (1655) (a title possibly derived from the pseudoGalenic On Prognostication from Decumbiture). By the eighteenth century, links between astrology and medicine grew weaker as astrology continued to decline in stature. Though tenuous connections between medical treatment and the phases of the moon continued into the 1700s (Fraser 1921), astrology was effectively written out of medicine by the nineteenth century.

Cross-References ▶ Greco-Roman Astrology ▶ Late Babylonian Astrology ▶ Mesopotamian Celestial Divination

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References Abry J-H (ed) (1993) Les tablettes astrologiques de Grand (Vosges) et l’astrologie en Gaule Romaine: actes de la Table-Ronde du 18 mars 1992 organise´e au Centre d’E´tudes Romaines et Gallo-Romaines de l’Universite´ Lyon III. Centre d’E´tudes Romaines et Gallo-Romaines, Lyon Abu¯ Ma‘shar, Burnett C, Yamamoto K, Yano M (eds) (1994) The abbreviation of the introduction to astrology: together with the medieval Latin translation of Adelard of Bath. E. J. Brill, Leiden Abu¯ Ma‘shar, Burnett C, Yano M (eds) (forthcoming) Great introduction to astrology. Brill, Leiden al-Bı¯ru¯nı¯, Ramsay Wright R (ed) (1934) The Book of instruction in the elements of the art of astrology. Luzac, London Barton TS (1994, repr. 2002) Power and knowledge: astrology, physiognomics, and medicine under the Roman Empire. University of Michigan Press, Ann Arbor Bezza G (1995) Arcana Mundi: Antologia del pensiero astrologico antico. Rizzoli, Milan Cooper GM (1999) Galen’s “On Critical Days”: Greek medicine in Arabic. Dissertation, Columbia University Dorotheus of Sidon, Pingree D (ed) (1976) Carmen astrologicum. B. G. Teubner, Leipzig Evans J (2004) The astrologer’s apparatus: a picture of professional practice in Greco-Roman Egypt. J Hist Astron 35:1–44 Ficino M (1997) Meditations on the soul, selected letters of Marsilio Ficino. Inner Traditions International, Rochester, VT Ficino M, Kaske CV, Clark JR (eds) (1998) Three books on life. Medieval and Renaissance Texts and Studies/The Renaissance Society of America, Tempe, AZ Fraser JB (1921) The ifluence of astronomy on medicine. J Royal Astrononm Soc Canada 15:244–247 French R (1994) Astrology in medical practice. In: Garcı´a-Ballester L, French R, Arrizabalaga J (eds) Practical medicine from Salerno to the black death. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, pp 30–59 French R (2003) Medicine before science: the rational and learned Doctor from the middle ages to the enlightenment. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge Frommhold K (2004) Die Bedeutung und Berechnung der Empfangnis in der Astrologie der Antike. Aschendorff, M€ unster Galen C, Lewis WJ, Beach JA (trans.) On Hippocrates’ On the Nature of Man. Wellcome Trust Center for the History of Medicine at University College London. http://www.ucl.ac.uk/ ~ucgajpd/medicina%20antiqua/tr_GNatHom.html. Accessed 23 Jan 2013 Geller MJ (2010a) Ancient Babylonian medicine: theory and practice. Wiley-Blackwell, Chichester Geller MJ (2010b) Look to the stars: Babylonian medicine, magic, astrology and melothesia. Max Planck Institut f€ur Wissenschaftsgeschichte, pp 1–90. http://www.mpiwg-berlin.mpg.de/Preprints/P401.PDF Goetze A (1955) An incantation against diseases. J Cuneiform Stud 9:8–18 Grafton A, Siraisi N (2006) Between the election and my hopes: Girolamo Cardano and medical astrology. In: Newman WR, Grafton A (eds) Secrets of nature: astrology and alchemy in early Modern Europe. MIT Press, Cambridge, MA/London, pp 69–131 Greenbaum DG (2005) Temperament: astrology’s forgotten key. The Wessex Astrologer, Bournemouth, UK Greenbaum DG (2010) Arrows, aiming and divination: astrology as a stochastic art. In: Curry P (ed) Divination: perspectives for a new millennium. Ashgate, Farnham, Surrey, pp 179–209 Grendler PF (2002, repr., 2004) The universities of the Italian Renaissance. Johns Hopkins University Press, Baltimore Heeßel NP (2008) Astrological medicine in Babylonia. In: Akasoy A, Burnett C, Yoeli-Tlalim R (eds) Astro-Medicine: astrology and medicine, East and West. Sismel, Edizioni del Galluzzo, Florence, pp 1–16

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H€ubner W (1989) Die Begriffe “Astrologie” und “Astronomie” in der Antike: Wortgeschichte und Wissenschaftssystematik, mit einer Hypothese zum Terminus “Quadrivium”. Franz Steiner Verlag, Wiesbaden Jones WHS (1931, repr. 1998) Hippocrates Volume IV. Harvard University Press, Cambridge Kassell L (2006) “The food of angels”: Simon Forman’s alchemical medicine. In: Newman WR, Grafton A (eds) Secrets of nature: astrology and alchemy in early modern Europe. MIT Press, Cambridge, pp 345–384 Nutton V (2008) Greek medical astrology and the boundaries of medicine. In: Akasoy A, Burnett C, Yoeli-Tlalim R (eds) Astro-Medicine: astrology and medicine, East and West. Sismel, Edizioni del Galluzzo, Florence, pp 17–31 O’Boyle C (1991) Medieval prognosis and astrology: a working edition of the Aggregationes de crisi et creticis diebus: with introduction and English summary. Wellcome Unit for the History of Medicine, Cambridge Pennuto C (2008) The debate on critical days in Renaissance Italy. In: Akasoy A, Burnett C, YoeliTlalim R (eds) Astro-Medicien: astrology and medicine, East and West. Sismel, Edizioni del Galluzzo, Florence, pp 75–98 Ptolemy C (1998) Apotelesmatika. In: H€ ubner W (ed) B.G. Teubner, Leipzig Reiner E (1995) Astral magic in Babylonia. Trans Am Philosophic Soc 5(4), Philadelphia Robbins FE (1936) P. Michigan 149, astrological treatise. In: Winter JG (ed) Papyri in the University of Michigan collection III: miscellaneous Papyri. University of Michigan, Ann Arbor, pp 62–117 Siraisi NG (1990) Medieval & early Renaissance medicine: an introduction to knowledge and practice. University of Chicago Press, Chicago/London Toomer GJ (1985) Galen on the astronomers and astrologers. Arch Hist Exact Sci 32:193–206 Traister BH (2001) The notorious astrological physician of London: works and days of Simon Forman. University of Chicago Press, Chicago/London Vescovini GF (1987) Peter of Abano and Astrology. In: Curry P (ed) Astrology, science and society: historical essays. Boydell Press, Woodbridge, Suffolk, pp 19–39 Vettius Valens, Pingree D (ed) (1986) Anthologiarum libri novem. B.G. Teubner, Leipzig

9

Ancient “Observatories” - A Relevant Concept? Juan Antonio Belmonte

Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Discussion . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Conclusions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

133 134 142 144 145

Abstract

It is quite common, when reading popular books on astronomy, to see a place referred to as “the oldest observatory in the world”. In addition, numerous books on archaeoastronomy, of various levels of quality, frequently refer to the existence of “prehistoric” or “ancient” observatories when describing or citing monuments that were certainly not built with the primary purpose of observing the skies. Internet sources are also guilty of this practice. In this chapter, the different meanings of the word observatory will be analyzed, looking at how their significances can be easily confused or even interchanged. The proclaimed “ancient observatories” are a typical result of this situation. Finally, the relevance of the concept of the ancient observatory will be evaluated.

Introduction In modern languages such as English or Spanish, there are often words that are used with different meanings, sometimes contradictory, and frequently misleading.

J.A. Belmonte Instituto de Astrofı´sica de Canarias, Universidad de La Laguna, La Laguna, Tenerife, Spain e-mail: [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_9, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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A good example is the word theory. According to the Oxford Dictionary, “theory” has four different meanings in English: I. Supposition or a system of ideas intended to explain something, especially one based on general principles independent of the thing to be explained. II. Set of principles on which the practice of an activity is based. III. Idea used to account for a situation or justify a course of action. IV. A collection of propositions to illustrate the principles of a subject. The basic problem is that, in popular knowledge, “a theory” is normally well defined by meaning III, offering the word a series of speculative and subjective aspects not present in the other three definitions, especially I and IV. Hence, Darwin’s Theory of Evolution can be questioned, or even dismissed by creationists, because, for them, it is nothing more than the personal opinion of a layman of the nineteenth century and not “a system of ideas intended to explain something based on general principles independent of the thing to be explained”, which is the basis of science. This is not a problem exclusive to English; Spanish evolutionists face exactly the same problem because Castilian has the same dichotomy. According to the Oxford Dictionary, there are two different definitions for the word observatory: I. A room or building housing an astronomical telescope or other scientific equipment for the study of natural phenomena. II. A position or building that gives an extensive view. Again, we face two meanings, specific and general, that are somewhat contradictory. Moreover, the same two definitions can be found in other languages. For example, the Royal Spanish Academy (RAE) defines “observatory” as (1) a building with staff and appropriated instruments dedicated to observations, often either astronomical or meteorological, or (2) a place or location where observations can be performed. Both definitions are, in principle, equally valid.

Discussion The above definitions, from English and Spanish, are within the meaning a scientist or a person trained in the sciences would expect for an observatory, including the astronomical ones (Fig. 9.1). This might also apply for some historical buildings, such as the fifteenth-century astronomical observatory of the Ming Dynasty in Beijing (Fig. 9.2; see ▶ Chap. 206, “Beijing Ancient Observatory”) or the Jantar Mantar of Jaipur and Delhi, built under the Moghuls (Fig. 9.3; see ▶ Chap. 192, “Observatories of Sawai Jai Singh II”). However, the second definitions in English – a position or building that gives an extensive view – or and Spanish – place or location where observations can be performed – open the gate to such a huge variability in how one defines an observatory that, for an open-minded person, an observatory might by anything from a platform on the top of a hill to observe birds or sea turtles to a pyramid of ancient Egypt. This is the source of the dichotomy that is often faced in archaeoastronomy.

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Fig. 9.1 The splendor of the firmament at the observatory of Roque de los Muchachos, the uppermost point of the island of La Palma, in the Canaries. The Gran Telescopio Canarias (GTC), the largest on the surface on Earth at the moment of writing, looks tiny in front of such grandeur (Photograph by courtesy of Daniel Lo´pez and IAC)

Fig. 9.2 Beijing astronomical observatory. Built initially in the fifteenth century under the first Ming emperors, it was improved with the arrival of Western astronomical tradition imported by the Jesuits. This was science in the service of imperial ideology (Photograph by J.A. Belmonte)

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Fig. 9.3 The beautifully preserved Jantar Matar (observatory) built by Maharaja Jai Singh at his new capital of Jaipur between 1727 and 1734 (top). It is modeled after the one that he had built a few years earlier at the Mughal capital of Delhi (bottom). These were sites for both traditional and scientific astronomical observations (Photographs by J.A. Belmonte)

The situation grows worse when one consults the ubiquitous Wikipedia. According to this widely used and openly editable encyclopedia, an observatory is “a location used for observing terrestrial or celestial events”. Astronomy, meteorology, geology, oceanography, and volcanology are cited as examples of disciplines for which observatories have been constructed. Wikipedia’s definition states, astronomical “observatories were as simple as containing an astronomical sextant (for measuring the distance between stars) or Stonehenge (which has some alignments on astronomical phenomena)”. For nearly three generations, Stonehenge has exemplified the problem of the definition of observatory, and has been the cause of angry disputes between archeologists, serious archaeoastronomers, and even people on the lunatic fringe. Jacquetta Hawkes (1967) wrote in Antiquity that, “every age has the Stonehenge it deserves – or desires”. This is absolutely true and, as Clive Ruggles demonstrates elsewhere in this handbook (see ▶ Chap. 105, “Stonehenge and its Landscape”), it has taken several decades for archaeologists and archeoastronomers to find an approach by which Stonehenge is most accurately defined as a temple, perhaps for funerals, which includes ritualistic astronomical alignments. Such a categorization of this monument is far from the idea of an ancient observatory with the capability of eclipse prediction; it is more along the lines of many medieval cathedrals that included a meridian line for the appropriate timing of religious events. However, according to the second definitions above, Stonehenge could be indeed properly defined as an “observatory”.

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Fig. 9.4 December solstice sunrise at Chankillo, in central coastal Peru. This impressive site can be classified as an “ancient observatory” built, among many other purposes, with an astronomical objective in mind (Photograph by J.A. Belmonte)

For many years, the author was against the application of the term to Stonehenge or other Neolithic enclosures such as Goseck (Bertemes and Northe 2006). Even when lecturing on the discoveries of his team, as for example in peak sanctuaries of the Canaries, circumlocutions such as “observing site” were preferred for places, such as Bentaiga, where several clear astronomical markers of important calendrical moments, confirmed by ethnohistorical sources, had been found (Esteban et al. 1996). Similarly, Iwaniszewski (2010) recently proposed the use of “ancient sky-watching location” as a circumlocution to avoid the use of the “ancient observatory”, which he considered misleading, when discussing Group E at the Maya site of Uaxactun. This proposal, although close to reality, further complicates the discourse. However, under these circumstances it is not clear that we cannot consider “ancient observatory” as a relevant concept, provided the context is appropriately established, stated, and defended. So, in certain aspects and under certain assumptions, ancient observatories could be proposed. One such case is that of Chankillo (Ghezzi and Ruggles 2007; see ▶ Chap. 62, “Chankillo”), where the towers dominating the site, certainly used for ritual purposes, could have been used as reference foresights for actual astronomical observations (Fig. 9.4). Thus, Chankillo was not an observatory but was used as such. Other examples include the famous Caracol at Chichen Itza or the zenith tube at Xochicalco (Aveni 1997). In some cases, sites may have been used for observing the skies for millennia. For example, on the island of La Palma, the largest telescope on earth at the moment of writing, the Gran Telescopio Canarias (GTC) (see Fig. 9.1), was built in the same slope of the mountain (Lomo de las Lajitas) where, centuries earlier, the preHispanic inhabitants of the island, the benawaras, built one of their most important sacred places, with no less than 14 cairns decorated with engravings, in a special place with presumed astronomical relationships, Las Lajitas (Fig. 9.5). Given that GTC is an observatory, it would make sense to refer to the archaeological site of Las

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Fig. 9.5 Some places have been selected for centuries and generations as sky-watching sites because of some special characteristics. The GTC is located a short distance away and at exactly the same slope of the mountain as the archaeological site of Las Lajitas, where the pre-Hispanic inhabitants of La Palma built an important cult station with probable astronomical connections (Image adapted from a photograph courtesy of the IAC)

Lajitas as an ancient observatory, given that both sites, so closely located, had the same broad purpose of connecting man and the universe. A curious case is that of the well of Santa Cristina in Sardinia. This is a sacred well, similar to others encountered throughout this archaeologically extremely rich island. However, Lebeuf (2011) has suggested it could have been used as a precise lunar station or “observatory”, able to predict moon dynamics with a high degree of sophistication (see ▶ Chap. 123, “The Nuraghic well of Santa Cristina, Paulilatino, Oristano, Sardinia”). If he is correct, then Santa Cristina is either an ancient lunar observatory designed in the form of a sacred well or a sacred well hiding the possibility of lunar observations. Perhaps both solutions are correct and the appropriate expression should be used depending on the context. It remains difficult, not to say impossible, to catalogue the great temple of Abu Simbel as an observatory, despite the fact that it certainly hides suggestive alignments that probably had an important meaning for ancient Egyptians (Fig. 9.6). In this case, the ritualistic aspect of the phenomenon is so evident that it can hardly be imagined that it was used for other prosaic or practical purposes. The precise orientation of the faces, some corridors, and channels of Egyptian pyramids (Belmonte 2012) would not allow the use of the term observatory for such impressive buildings because the structures were put there in the service of the dead king and there likely never was an intention of actual sky-watching. Often, when dealing with supposed “ancient observatories”, the reader may have the impression that the investigators of a certain area have allowed themselves a high degree of speculation, forcing the data far beyond the reasonable. In the author’s opinion, Hawkes’ statement could be easily changed to “every culture has the Stonehenge it desires, but not necessarily deserves”.

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Fig. 9.6 At dawn on February 22, the light of the rising sun enters the sancta sanctorum of the main temple of Abu Simbel. The first rays illuminate the figures of Amon-Re, the divinised king and the shoulder of Re-Horakhty, all of them gods of solar character, while the figure of Ptah, god of the netherworld, stays in darkness; when the light progresses, the figure of Re-Horakhty receives the last rays of the sun. This beautiful hierophany may have occurred at the beginning of the Peret and Shemu seasons of the ancient Egyptian calendar, during the first decades of the reign of Ramses II, the temple builder (Photographs by J.A. Belmonte)

Archeoastronomy, as an auxiliary discipline of history and archaeology, suffers from similar problems to these major subjects, nationalism unfortunately being one of them. When the astronomical alignments of Goseck were discovered (Bertemes and Northe 2006), this “rondel” was quickly defined as the “German Stonehenge” and proudly proclaimed as the oldest observatory in Europe, replacing the British enclosure in prestige in the minds of the general public on the continent. Yet Goseck is merely one among a large number of monuments of the same category distributed throughout central Europe (see ▶ Chap. 113, “Neolithic Circular Ditch Systems (“Rondels”) in Central Europe”), and it is clear that humility should be the rule when performing serious archeoastronomical studies. But the best news headlines are not necessarily the best scientific arguments. Goseck could indeed include significant astronomical alignment, but it is not an observatory when considered as one of a broader group of central European Neolithic “rondels”, or Kreisgrebananlagen. Where then is the oldest observatory in Europe? If we are to believe scholars of the former Soviet Union, it is in Armenia, in a place formerly named Carahunge, or Karahunj in modern terminology (Fig. 9.7), and is indeed the “Armenian Stonehenge”. This is an impressive megalithic site, including interconnected cromlechs and stone rows, with enigmatic – certainly manmade – holes in many of the

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Fig. 9.7 An image of Carahunge, in the mountains of Armenia, showing a close-up of one of the orthostats with an artificial hole. These sorts of device were presumably used for astronomical observations (Photograph by courtesy of the astronomer Karen Tokhatyan)

standing rocks, susceptible to the most suggestive hypotheses. For Herouni (2004), these were clearly observing devices for the sun and the stars, suggesting that this impressive prehistoric “observatory” was constructed in the seventh millennium BP (see also ▶ Chap. 126, “Astronomy in the Ancient Caucasus”). However, Gonza´lez-Garcı´a reevaluates the site in his critical assessment in this handbook (see ▶ Chap. 127, “Carahunge - a Critical Assessment”), and demonstrates that most of the initial conclusions were simple overestimates of the data, resulting from strong selection effects, a quite common defect of certain types of research – or researchers – in our discipline. “Stonehenges” have also been found in such places as Senegal, Kenya, India, Peru, Australia, and Portugal, where the cromlech of Almendres is possibly the closest to the original but is nonetheless a quite distinct entity. Even Turkey has now its own “Stonehenge” in Gobekli Tepe, a place of such importance in itself that it needs no comparison. See also the Discussion section in ▶ Chap. 105, “Stonehenge and its Landscape”. Many of these places are commonly but misleadingly identified as “observatories” (even if astronomical alignments are not proven). Limits are indeed necessary. A particularly problematic case is that of Kokino, in the former Yugoslavian Republic of Macedonia. Not exactly a megalithic settlement, this is a site where different elements were carved on the rock in the flat top on a hill. These have been claimed to work as an ancient “observatory” of “incredible astronomical preciseness with central observation post and accessory observation posts” (Cenev et al. 2012). However, several elements of the observatory could be natural, or perhaps natural but re-elaborated, and the proposed use and precision have never been appropriately proven or tested. In addition, the site lacks any historical or ethnographical context. According to Cenev’s “astronomical dating”, the observatory was designed around the end of the Bronze Age and suggests a highly developed civilization, although archaeological remains on the area indicate a much later

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Fig. 9.8 A view of a distant tupa – an observatory according to Rapa Nui tradition – from the gate of another one indicating a possible astronomical alignment on the southern cliffs of Poike Peninsula in Easter Island, where Matariki’s (the Pleiades) heliacal rising would have been observed. This event was the most important one marking the beginning of the Rapa Nui year (Adapted from Belmonte and Edwards 2010)

occupation of the site and show no trace of such sophistication. The lesson we can learn when considering sites such as Carahunge or Kokino is that we must be cautious when talking about ancient “observatories” with incredible astronomical precision. Interestingly, on some occasions, there is evidence that the historical and ethnographic sources have been misunderstood. This could apply to the ancient tupas of the Rapa Nui of Easter Island (Belmonte and Edwards 2010). A tupa basically consists of a moderately sized (when compared to some huge ahu and moai) tower of volcanic dry-stone, in the form of a truncated cone, with a small false-dome chamber in the interior reached by a tiny low gate (Fig. 9.8). There are a few dozen tupas distributed on the shores of the island and a few more in the interior. Ethnographic sources of the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries identify these monuments as “observatories”. Every subsequent essay on scientific or pseudo-scientific knowledge of the islanders has translated this into “astronomical observatories” and posited sky-watching as the main purposes of these enigmatic constructions. Belmonte and Edwards (2010) have tried to test whether there could be something “astronomical” behind the location and/or orientation of the tupas, but the results have been inconclusive so far. These scholars have suggested that the term observatory was applied by early ethnographers according to the second definition of the RAE and Oxford dictionaries. This would mean that the tupas were observing

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places of different phenomena, perhaps astronomical (see Fig. 9.8), but also of other more prosaic but not necessarily less important occurrences, such as sea turtle migrations or, in a few cases, even defense of tribal territory. So tupas could actually be observatories but not (at least always) astronomical observatories. A similar but more dramatic case is that of a place frequently designated as the oldest surviving observatory in the world, and in this case the term observatory is intended in its scientific definition. This is the site of Cheomseongdae, near Gyeongju, in South Korea. Cheomseongdae means “star-gazing tower” or “platform” in Korean. And, consequently, it has been proposed as the oldest surviving observatory in East Asia, and one of the oldest scientific installations on Earth (Jeon 1998). It dates to the seventh century, to the time of the kingdom of Silla, which had its capital in Gyeongju, and was constructed under the reign of Queen Seondeok (632–647) near the capital of the kingdom. Because of its name, the site has been diligently investigated for astronomical connections and apparently there is some numerical symbolism in its constructive design. However, the nearly 10 m-high tower, without easy access, does not appear to be an ideal site for star-gazing, and it has been claimed that Cheomseongdae was not suitable for astronomical observations at all. No one has been able to demonstrate beyond any reasonable doubt how it was used, although several interesting proposals have been made. A name alone should not make an ancient observatory, but tradition often is very powerful.

Conclusions Unfortunately, there are no traces of any observatory from the Greco-Roman era, although we know that they existed (e.g., Hipparchus’ observatory in Rhodes). The earliest archaeological remains of an undoubted observatory with a scientific purpose are those of Maragha in Iran. Otherwise, few remain besides the foundations of the first observatory of the Western world, Brahe’s Uraniborg. As a matter of fact, it is difficult to know how an “ancient observatory” looked or what elements were integrated within it. A basic point is how one defines an ancient astronomical observatory. Indeed, it must be a place where sky-watching was or could have been performed. The list of sites in this case would be extensive and may include places that we have already discarded in the preceding discussion. Hence, our definition still must be a little more restrictive. A certain monument, or a spot clearly signaled by artificial elements, could be considered an observatory if it can be demonstrated that the astronomical components on site had “a practical purpose for the living” that does not need to be a purely scientific one. For example, it could have been used to regulate time for the creation and control of a calendar. Sites for the dead, such as Newgrange or the pyramids, or for the gods, like astronomically aligned temples such as Karnak or the Pantheon, should not be considered in this category. Requirements for correct identification should include predictability, falsifiability, precision, and identification of other sites of the same period or culture with

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Fig. 9.9 Different elements of the Inca site of Machu Picchu with a speculative astronomical function: the Intihuatana (a), the Torreon (b), and the “Mortars” (c). See the text for further details (Photographs by J.A. Belmonte)

similar phenomenology. These characteristics can be achieved either with elements of the observatory itself, for example, an alignment, a marker, a pole, or a special window, or by prominent elements of the surrounding landscape such as the top of a significant hill or mountain or a clear mark in the distant horizon that may act as a foresight. Indeed, the backsight, that is, the observatory itself, must be substantiated in the local landscape by archaeological, historical, or ethnographic sources and must never be defined by the astronomical phenomenon itself. Under these premises, we can actually identify several ancient observatories and a number of the case studies of this handbook might be included in this category. We have already mentioned some; the sun-dagger station at Fajada Butte in Chaco Canyon (Sofaer et al. 1979; see ▶ Chap. 41, “Rock Art of the Greater Southwest”, ▶ Chap. 43, “Sun-Dagger Sites”) is a nice example. Caution in needed, however, as the evidence can often be misleading. A good example of this is Machu Picchu (Fig. 9.9). The author still remembers with astonishment the explanations of local guides, supposedly educated persons well trained in the local traditions of their people, about the nature of the site as an “observatory” because there were several places on site that could “clearly” be identified as such. One was the Intihuatana (“hitching post of the sun”), a name invented at the beginning of the twentieth century with an appealing astronomical significance, and with a supposed astronomical use that has never been efficiently proven. Another was the Torreon, said to be a Sun Temple because it has a round section similar to the Coricancha in Cusco. Its use as a solstitial station is discussed elsewhere in this handbook (see ▶ Chap. 68, “Machu Picchu”), but the elements involved in the predictions are so elaborate – and alien to the original design – that it would be wiser to put a question mark in this speculative exercise. The worst misidentification of all is in the room called “Los Morteros”. These certainly are

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mortars for the production of maize powder, but they have being identified as mirrors – when covered by water – used to observe the stars; simply incredible! Undoubtedly, ancient amautas made their appropriate astronomical observations in Machu Picchu, as they did in many other important sites of the Inca Empire, but this does not make the site an ancient observatory and star- and sun-gazing its main purpose. The information must be verified and contrasted. Can we categorize astronomical observatories? Scholars love categories and ratings, and we could perhaps make a distinction between scientific and nonscientific uses, or even different kind of precisions. But who can argue that observing the heliacal rising of a certain star on a certain spot, at the adequate moment for planting, is not a sort of scientific behavior, not so different from the observation in a huge modern telescope of a set of distant supernovae with the intention of proving the universe’s accelerated expansion. Indeed, the “ancient observatory” could be considered a relevant concept as a place of useful interaction between humankind and the cosmos in a search for knowledge and common understanding about the behavior of nature. Acknowledgments Clive Ruggles and Ce´sar Gonza´lez Garcı´a contributed their comments for the improvement of the manuscript. The Armenian astronomer Elma Parsamian is acknowledged for offering the contact with Dr. Tokhatyan, who kindly provided the photograph for Fig. 9.7. This work is partially financed under the framework of the projects P310793 “Arqueoastronomı´a” of the IAC, and AYA2011-26759 “Orientatio ad Sidera III” of the Spanish MINECO.

Cross-References ▶ Archaeoastronomy of Easter Island ▶ Astronomy of Indian Cities, Temples, and Pilgrimage Centers ▶ Beijing Ancient Observatory ▶ Carahunge - A Critical Assessment ▶ Cave of the Astronomers at Xochicalco ▶ Chankillo ▶ Inca Royal Estates in the Sacred Valley ▶ Islamic Astronomical Instruments and Observatories ▶ Light–Shadow Interactions in Italian Medieval Churches ▶ Machu Picchu ▶ Monuments of the Giza Plateau ▶ Neolithic Circular Ditch Systems (“Rondels”) in Central Europe ▶ Nuraghic Well of Santa Cristina, Paulilatino, Oristano, Sardinia ▶ Observatories of Sawai Jai Singh II ▶ Orientation of Egyptian Temples: An Overview ▶ Pre-Hispanic Sanctuaries in the Canary Islands ▶ Stonehenge and its Landscape ▶ Sun-Dagger Sites

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References Aveni AF (1997) Stairways to the stars: skywatching in three great ancient cultures. Wiley, New York Belmonte JA (2012) Pira´mides, templos y estrellas: astronomı´a y arqueologı´a en el Egipto antiguo. Crı´tica, Barcelona Belmonte JA, Edwards E (2010) Arqueoastronomı´a: arqueologı´a, topografı´a y paisaje celeste desde el Nilo a Rapa Nui. In: Zapatero Osorio MR. Gorgas J, Maı´z Apella´niz J. Pardo JR, Gil de Paz A (eds), Highlights of Spanish astrophysics VI, Spanish Astronomical Society (SEA), Madrid, pp 786–796 Bertemes F, Northe A (2006) Neolithisches Heiligtum in pr€ahistorischer Kulturlandschaft – die Abschlussuntersuchungen in der Kreisgrabenanlage von Goseck und weitere Grabungen in deren Umgebung. Arch. Sachsen-Anhalt 4:269–281 Cenev G, Ilievski L, Mirc S (2012) Ancient secrets of Kokino observatory. CreateSpace, Skopje Esteban C, Schlueter R, Belmonte JA, Gonza´lez O (1996/1997) Equinoctial markers in Gran Canaria Island. Archaeoastronomy 21 (Supplement to the Journal for the History for Astronomy 27):S73–S79 (Part I); 22 (Supplement to the Journal for the History for Astronomy 28): S51–S56 (Part II) Ghezzi I, Ruggles C (2007) Chankillo: a 2300-year-old solar observatory in coastal Peru. Science 315:1239–1243 Hawkes J (1967) God in the machine. Antiquity 41:174–180 Herouni PM (2004) Armenians and old Armenia. Tigran Mets, Yerevan Iwaniszewski S (2010) Ancient cosmologies: understanding ancient skywatchers and worldviews. Journal of Cosmology 9:2121–2129 Jeon S (1998) A history of science in Korea. Jimoondang, Seoul Lebeuf A (2011) Il pozzo di Santa Cristina, un osservatorio lunare. Edizione Tlilan Tlapalan, Krako´w Sofaer A, Zinser V, Sinclair RM (1979) A unique solar marking construct: an archeoastronomical site in New Mexico marks the solstices and equinoxes. Science 206:283–291

Origins of the “Western” Constellations

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Roslyn M. Frank

Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Two Methodological Approaches . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Origins and Transmission of Zodiacal Constellations . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Star Groups in the Writings of Homer and Hesiod . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Problems Posed by the Writings of Eudoxus and Aratus . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Hunting the European Sky Bears . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Abstract

The development of the 48 Greek constellations is analyzed as a complex mixture of cognitive layers deriving from different cultural traditions and dating back to different epochs. The analysis begins with a discussion of the zodiacal constellations, goes on to discuss the stellar lore in Homer and Hesiod, and then examines several theories concerning the origins of the southern non-zodiacal constellations. It concludes with a commentary concerning the age and possible cultural significance of stars of the Great Bear constellation in light of ethnohistorical documentation, folklore, and beliefs related to European bear ceremonialism.

Introduction Determining the ultimate origins of the ancient Greek constellations is a complicated task and one that has occupied generations of historians of astronomy. Nonetheless, the actual number of studies dedicated exclusively to this topic is

R.M. Frank University of Iowa, Iowa City, IA, USA e-mail: [email protected]; [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_11, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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relatively few. For the most part, leaving aside the research that has been done on the development of the zodiacal constellations, the publications tend to be collections of celestial lore, primarily Greek myths that seem to have grown up around many of the constellation figures themselves. Or the studies are uncritical ones that repeat the conclusions of others but without taking into account many of the serious methodological issues that are implicit in the data (for additional bibliography and more critical approaches, cf. Krupp (1991), Rogers (1998a, b), and Schaefer (2002)). This chapter will review the basic approaches and methodologies utilized to address this question in the past, bringing into view the unstated assumptions as well as the contradictory conclusions that are sometimes encountered in such studies. The constellations known to us today go back to a definitive list of 48 figures published by the Greek astronomer Ptolemy in a work called the Almagest, about 150 AD, a list which over time would expand to a total of 88. By the sixteenth century, the Age of Exploration was well underway and navigator-astronomers soon turned their attention to charting the hitherto uncharted region of the sky in the southern hemisphere, the zone that had been below the horizon of the ancient Greeks. The result was the invention of 12 new constellations, proposed by the Dutch navigator Pieter Dirkszoon Keyser, put on a celestial globe by the theologian and cartographer Petrus Plancius in 1598, and later catalogued by Frederick de Houtman. These were rapidly accepted by astronomers across Europe and quickly incorporated into stellar globes and star charts of the times. For instance, by 1603 when the German Johann Bayer produced the first great star atlas, Uranometria, he allocated a full page to each of Ptolemy’s constellations and one page to the 12 newly minted southern constellations from Keyser’s catalogue. So in a question of only a few years, an entire set of new constellations came into being. In the next century, the list would grow, being supplemented by the addition of seven more constellations, created by Hevetius, and then additional constellation figures would be added, contributed by Lacaille who in one fell swoop split up the enormous southern constellation of Argo Navis into Carina, Puppis, and Vela. In fact, in the eighteenth century, for a while “it seemed every astronomer who mapped the skies would add a constellation of his own devising, as an attempt to gain celestial immortality for himself or some rich patron” (Ridpath 1995, p. 43). In short, after a lapse of 1800 years, Ptolemy’s list of 48 would be expanded to include a total of 88 constellations, a job among the first tackled by the newly formed International Astronomical Union in 1922. The adoption of the 88 constellations and the eventual fixing of their boundaries completed the job begun by Ptolemy and amounted to an international treaty on the demarcation of the sky (Ridpath 1995, p. 43). In summary, when contemplating the process of creating these new constellations, the dominant role of navigators and cartographers as well as members of the scientific astronomical community is readily apparent as is the rapidity with which the knowledge of the new arrivals was transmitted across space and time, all of which was a result of the literate nature of the society of the period and the fact that the process took place in an already constituted epistemic community with common goals. Stated differently, the new constellations came into being without input from

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the larger community and with no prior traditions or beliefs underpinning them. The constellations were simply “designed” or “invented” by members of a small elite who then quickly communicated them to the society at large. In short, it was a top-down process that required literacy and relied on elaborate mechanisms of transmission and diffusion of the results which in turn insured their acceptance. However, when we look at the mechanisms by which knowledge of the previous 48 constellations came to be disseminated, things are far less straightforward. Similarly, the way(s) in which these constellations first came to be projected onto the stellar screen is far from clear. Rogers (1998b, p. 79) formulates the problem in the following way: “Why were these figures put there; when and by whom; and for what purpose? Most of them are in no way suggested by the actual scatter of stars in the sky”. Moreover, the simplistic recounting of the Greek myths associated with the constellations figures is of little help for the stories told to account for the names of the constellations found in various sources, such as the pseudo-Eratosthenic Catasterismi (second or first century BC), the Astronomica (first or second century AD) attributed to Hyginus, and Ovid’s Fasti (first century AD), “provide no answer, since they are obviously mere mythological rationalizations of an already existing state of affairs” (Dicks 1970, p. 159). In other words, such narratives are best viewed as etiological stellar myths intended to explain the name, shape, or prior associations of the constellation figure, although, as will be shown, there might be a few exceptions to this rule. In other words, it is not sufficient to merely document the application of Greek mythic nomenclature to designate constellations, individual stars, and asterisms like the Pleiades and Hyades, in what are often processes of stellification of Greek gods, for this does not in and of itself provide a satisfactory explanation of the origins of these stellar phenomena.

Two Methodological Approaches Researchers who have examined these questions and attempted to formulate solutions to them can be divided into two basic groups, although there is at times a certain overlap between them. The first group consists of those who support the gradualist model which holds that “the classical sky-map was synthesised from several unrelated sources. . .” (Rogers 1998b, p. 80). The underlying hypothesis of the gradualist model alleges that the classic constellations are “a long-evolved mixture including elements from very ancient cultures. . .” (Gingerich 1984, p. 220), a position supported by many historians of astronomy (Dicks 1970) and one that the author of this chapter shares. The challenge that this model poses for the researcher is that of identifying the different layers of celestial figures that make up the whole, classifying them, and then determining where, when, and why they might have been projected onto the stellar screen. And as will be demonstrated, although significant progress has been made in this area, we are still faced with many questions whose answers are not yet forthcoming. The second group is made up of those who support the uniformist model which holds that the constellations were “designed” and came into being all at once:

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that they were based on a preconceived plan, developed and implemented at a definite time and place. This model which seeks to determine both the date of the “invention” of the constellations and the latitude that should be assigned to the hypothetical constellation makers has been utilized repeatedly by a number of historians of astronomy, starting with Proctor (1877, p. 335–346), Allen (1899, pp. 14–15), Maunder (1922 [1908]) and further elaborated upon by Crommelin (1923, pp. 644–646), Ovenden (1966), and Roy (1984). But as Dicks observes, the model carries with it tacit assumptions embedded not only in the scientific theory of late antiquity but even of our own times, for example, concerning the sophisticated kind of mathematical abstractions that the putative designers of the system would have needed to produce it. Such assumptions “are almost unconsciously made from our inability to dissociate our views on the thought of this early period from more modern concepts” (Dicks 1970, p. 161). In some cases, for example, that of Maunder and Ovenden, the model is applied to the entire set of 48 constellations alleging that they were designed “as a primitive form of celestial co-ordinates” (Ovenden 1966, p. 8), whereas in other cases the model’s uniformist application is limited to discussions of the origins of non-zodiacal constellations near to or abutting the southern “zone of invisibility” around the south celestial pole, most particularly as described in the work of Aratus (c. 270 BC), a topic that will be taken up shortly. For now, let it suffice to say that the “zone of invisibility” is that part of the sky which is not visible to northern hemisphere observers and whose size is dependent on the latitude of the observer while the sets of stars included in it are not constant since the position of the south celestial pole (SCP) on the celestial sphere slowly moves as precession advances. For this reason, as the SCP moves, it carries with it a zone of invisibility, that is, for northern hemisphere observers, centered on it. Finally, it should be noted that the uniformist model is a conceptual framework in which problems associated with the invention, transmission, and diffusion of constellation figures across time and space are rarely addressed in any depth, that is, they are not considered in the longue dure´e.

Origins and Transmission of Zodiacal Constellations Of the 48 constellations, only a small subset of them came from Babylonia, namely, the zodiac constellations and four para-zodiacal animals: serpent (Hydra), crow (Corvus), eagle (Aquila) and fish (Piscis Austrinus). (Rogers states these four animals were associated with the summer and winter solstitial signs in the old pictograph tradition and that the serpent and the crow marked the celestial equator around 2800 BC, a reference apparently to Ovenden’s (1966) work on the “zone of invisibility”. Schaefer (2002, p. 344), in contrast, basing his conclusions on his own quantitative study, points out that a case could also be made that Hydra best fits the equator at 500 BC and furthermore that Hydra goes “nicely along the equator for any epoch from roughly 6000 BC to AD 1000”.) These four are the only non-zodiacal constellations shared by Mesopotamian traditions that came to be

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incorporated into the classic set of 48. An examination of Babylonian records demonstrates that the classical constellations of the zodiac developed progressively in Mesopotamia from the fourth to the first millennium BC and finally were imported into Greece around 500 BC (Rogers 1998a; Belmonte 1999, pp. 87–123). As Rogers (1998a) has shown, these solar-oriented constellations could not have been transmitted from Mesopotamia to the west before the middle of the first millennium BC, because the zodiac itself was not complete until then. When these zodiacal constellations were finally imported into Greece, it was there that they eventually combined with other non-zodiacal constellations whose origins are unknown, to form the classical sky map. According to Rogers (1998b, p. 81), this almost certainly happened in Greece itself between about 540 and 370 BC. Once they became important to astrology, they spread rapidly throughout the Egyptian and Mediterranean worlds. Again, following Rogers (1998b, p. 81), we find that these constellations “were among the last to acquire Greek legends; Aratus did not give any for them”.

Star Groups in the Writings of Homer and Hesiod While evidence for the origins of the zodiacal constellations dates back to the fourth millennium BC, it is not until the eighth century BC with the works of two Greek writers, Homer and Hesiod, that written evidence comes into view for several of the non-zodiacal constellations. The star groups mentioned are ones that are known to all cultures. Both of the authors mention two very prominent constellations, Orion and the Great Bear, also called the Wain, composed of the seven stars of Ursa Major, as well as two star clusters, the Pleiades and the Hyades, and the two stars Sirius and Arcturus. Hesiod’s poem of over 800 verses, Works and Days, afforded the literate populace a farming almanac, a calendar based on heliacal rising and settings, and hence a concentration on constellations but incorporating references only to these few star groups. In the case of the allusions to the celestial vault found in Homer’s epic poems, the Iliad and the Odyssey, they often consist of similes drawn on comparisons to individual stars, for example, the Dog Star (Sirius). In Hesiod’s case, his interest in astronomy appears to have been purely practical and related primarily to agricultural pursuits. In contrast to Hesiod’s landlocked narrative, Homer’s hero operates in a somewhat different sphere for we are told that Odysseus set sail as he looked to the Pleiades, the late-setting Boo¨tes, and the Bear that ever circles where it is and watches Orion, and who alone among the constellations never bathes in the waters of the ocean. In the case of both writers, one must assume that the utilization of stellar references and imagery reflects the general knowledge of the same among the members of their audience. However, we need to be careful when drawing conclusions about the collective knowledge of those operating in the Mediterranean at this time. The question that needs to be asked is where are the rest of the constellations that we find inhabiting the celestial vault some 400 years later, that is, by the time that Eudoxus and Aratus were

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composing their works? Are we to believe that all the ship’s pilots who crossed the Mediterranean out of sight of land did so with access to only these few star groups to guide them? Or as Belmonte (1999, pp. 180–182) has suggested, did the Greeks acquire their familiarity with the other non-zodiacal constellations through contacts with the celestial traditions of other sea-faring peoples which were much older? Unfortunately, the written record does not provide us with any easy answers. But to assume that the writings of Hesiod and Homer are fully representative of the knowledge base and astronomical traditions of this wider region of Europe is probably ill-advised, as will be explained in the next section of this study.

Problems Posed by the Writings of Eudoxus and Aratus It is some three centuries after the time of Hesiod and Homer that we come across earliest evidence that the 48 or so constellations had been consolidated in a single system. This evidence is provided by the writings of Aratus of Soli (c. 310–240 BC) in a work called Phaenomena (c. 270 BC). This is a didactic poem that purports to describe, although in a thoroughly poetic style, the astronomical contents of an earlier work of the same name written by the astronomer Eudoxus of Cnidos (c. 406–355 BC), a text which, unfortunately, has been lost. It was nearly two centuries after the appearance of Eudoxus’s Phaenomena that Aratus was asked by the king of Macedonia to compose a work based on the writings of the former. Although the Phaenomena of Eudoxus has not survived and the little knowledge we have of it is derived from quotations from later writers, it is often assumed that when Eudoxus composed his work, he had in his possession a celestial globe which he then described in his writings. However, the globe itself is also lost. What is considered to be a faithful description of the system of Eudoxus, however, does survive in the work of Aratus which is usually viewed as the earliest extant description of the larger set of constellations. In short, it is believed to be an accurate description of the system utilized by Eudoxus. In his poem Aratus described the shapes of the constellations and the positions of the stars and gave relative times for their risings and settings as well as briefly alluding to Greek myths associated with them and explaining their use to mariners for weather-forecasting. The dominant view is that Aratus’s constellation set was a fifth-century synthesis of the knowledge of that time drawn from various traditions of different origins. Generally speaking, this position reflects the position of those subscribing to the gradualist model. Moreover, in addition to being a theory that concerns the overall development of the classic group of 48, in this case it holds that individual constellations or groups of constellations were created by people from different cultures, epochs, and places and that these came to be transmitted to the Greeks and were combined into a single set at the time of Eudoxus or shortly before (Schaefer 2002, p. 313). However, a closer look at the discrepancies found in the work of Aratus will shed a slightly different light on the temporal axis of this interpretation.

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Fig. 10.1 The constellations around the zone of invisibility. N present SCP, H SCP of Hipparchus, C earlier SCP as derived from Aratus (Ovenden 1966 L 7)

Moving the timeline another hundred and fifty years forward, we find the renowned Greek astronomer Hipparchus carrying out observations at Rhodes. It would appear that when Hipparchus (c. 190–125 BC) was writing his own description of the sky, Commentaries on the Phaenomena of Eudoxus and Aratus (c. 140 BC), he had access to a work known as The Sphere of Eudoxus as well as the poetic description of Aratus. And it was Hipparchus who first noted discrepancies in the descriptions of the risings and settings of the constellations provided by Eudoxus and Aratus. That is, the boundaries of the zone of invisibility of Hipparchus did not coincide with those described by the statements found in the work of Aratus (Fig. 10.1). Because of the effects of procession, there was a part of the sky that Hipparchus could see but which was invisible to the earlier observers, while on the other hand, there was a part of the sky visible earlier but containing stars that Hipparchus was not able to observe because they never appeared above his horizon. It is quite

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Table 10.1 Percentage of correct hits in 34 statements of Aratus (Roy 1984: 179) 5000 Date BC Score 3.5

4000 BC 3.0

3000 BC 13.0

2500 BC 25.0

2200 BC 30.5

2000 BC 33.0

1800 BC 32.5

1500 BC 30.5

1000 BC 21.5

1000 0 AD 13.0 4.5

2000 AD 4.5

possible that it was this set of data that led Hipparchus to his discovery of the precession of the equinoxes. (both Ovenden (1966, p. 9) and Roy (1984, p. 175) argued that the circle surrounding H represents the zone of invisibility at 31 N, supposedly as it would have been seen by Hipparchus. However, this is clearly a mistake since Hipparchus made his observations primarily from Rhodes, located at 36 N, and it was Ptolemy who observed from Alexandria at 31 N. This error was first noted by Frank and Arregi Bengoa (2001) and later by Schaefer (2002).) In short, the statements by Aratus had to be considered erroneous unless they referred to a much earlier epoch. And the latter fact would lead to the conclusion that many of the constellations were much older than classical Greece and that, consequently, their sources had to be sought in pre-Greek astral traditions. Stated differently, the Greeks had inherited and passed on constellations that were already in existence far earlier. Those working with the uniformist model estimated the latitude and time frame which they considered best fit the data in Aratus. Although their results are not identical, they tend to assume that the system of the ancient constellations as given in Aratus “was a deliberate attempt to provide a navigational aid for sailors, an orientation system with respect to the equator, and therefore the north celestial pole” (Roy 1984, pp. 181) and that the constellations were designed and invented all at once and specifically for this purpose. For example, whereas Ovenden analyzed lists of risings and settings in Aratus and deduced an epoch of 2600  800 BC, later, in 1984, Roy would come up with a slightly later date of 2000  200 BC. He reached this conclusion by calculating the number of correct hits of 34 statements in Aratus relating to the way in which the equator and tropics of Cancer and Capricorn cut the constellations and then scoring the percentages for each epoch (Roy 1984, p. 179) (Table 10.1). Indeed, the ranges of dates and latitudes associated with the zone of invisibility that have been assigned by those working on this problem vary considerably (Table 10.2). There is a series of assumptions that inform this approach to the data, some of which are more questionable than others. For example, the date refers to the moment when the constellations in question were “invented”, all precisely at the same time and by a small group of people living along the parallel(s) identified by the modern researchers. The approach incorporates the notion of a top-down process whereby the counterparts of modern astronomers set out to design a coordinate system that would be useful in celestial and terrestrial navigation. Moreover, the high precision of the results achieved by some of the researchers is questionable given the low precision and innate ambiguity of certain aspects of the data in Aratus that they have to work with. For instance, they often limit the latitude to a narrow band covering only 1 or

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Table 10.2 Range of dates and latitudes associated with the zone of invisibility Date assigned 690+210 360 BC 2300 BC 2200–2000 BC 2600 BC 2600  800 BC 2700 BC 2900  500 BC 4000–2500 BC

Latitude 33 N 40 N 36 N 36  ½ N 36–40 N 36 N 36–43 Nd

Source Schaefer (2002)a Roy (1984)b Proctor (1877)c Crommelin (1923) Ovenden (1966) Maunder (1922 [1908]) Roy cited in Ovenden (1966) Frank and Arregi Bengoa (2001)

a Schaefer summarizes his own rather remarkable and highly precise conclusions in this way: “. . . if all six southern constellations were created by the same culture, then the epoch of creation must have been within roughly six centuries of the birth of Christ. However, we can rule out the time interval after Eudoxus (soon after 400 BC). The formal result is a truncated Gaussian distribution where the probability falls off fast toward earlier epochs. So with the Eudoxus limit included, my result becomes 690 BC. with a 68 % probability of being from 1050 to 480 BC, i.e., 690+210 360 BC. This derived epoch of creation fits beautifully with the Babylonians and the classical Greeks. . . . So finally, if the six southern constellations have a common origin, then my estimate of the creator’s latitude is 33+1 3 N. This conclusion rejects the Minoans, the classical Greeks, and the Old Europeans, while being a perfect fit for Babylon (at 32.5 N)” (2002, p. 332) b Using other astronomical information found in Aratus’s work, Roy argued that the body of data that Eudoxus employed was “frozen to the epoch of 2300 BC” (1984, p. 183) c As early as 1899, we find Allen citing the even earlier conclusion of Proctor (1877, p. 346) that the southern pole of 2000–2400 BC was near g Hya and the Nubecula Minor, while the pole was marked by a Dra in the north. Allen adds that from “this fact came Proctor’s ingenious argument that such was the date of formation of the latest of the ancient constellations” (Allen 1899, pp. 14–15) d However, an upper limit of 43 is clearly too high, and it is more reasonable to set it closer to 41 (Belmonte 1999, p. 206)

reduce the temporal window to only a few centuries (for detailed discussion of the strengths and weaknesses of other premises embedded in the uniformist model, cf. Frank and Arregi Bengoa (2001) and Schaefer (2002)). Therefore, before moving on to the next section of this study, we need to bring into better focus one of the principal input assumptions of the uniformist model, namely, that the time period for which for many statements in Aratus appear to conform most closely should be interpreted as the moment in time when all of these southern non-zodiacal constellations (or even the entire constellation system itself) were invented and projected skyward by a group of astute proto-astronomers. Yet there is another way of looking at this problem. As we have seen, the text of Aratus is commonly viewed as the final consolidation of a long evolutionary process that culminates with the appearance of the full set of 48 constellations. Therefore, the works of Eudoxus and Aratus are understood to constitute a fifth-century synthesis of the knowledge of that time period, albeit one containing various traditions of different origins. If, on the other hand, we take into account the fossilized nature of many of statements in Aratus, the fact that they refer to a much earlier time period, it follows that in addition to the southern constellations, there might be other

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non-zodiacal star groups that date back to a much earlier period but which did not arise in Babylonia. It does not follow, however, that the dates estimated by the uniformists correspond to the moment when the constellations were “invented”, rather the dates should be understood to refer to the time frame when these constellations were already being utilized. Moreover, as noted previously, the zodiac plus four related animal figures were imported from Babylon into Greece around 500 BC. But many of Aratus’s other constellations do not have any precedent in the Babylonian material, and therefore, these are likely to have some other origin. If we accept the dates in Table 10.2 as roughly corresponding to the time period in question, leaving aside the outlier of Schaefer (2002), we are now talking about the Bronze Age. So the question is two-fold: (1) who was using these constellations at that time and for what purpose, and (2) is it possible that any of the Bronze Age constellations can be identified as reaching back beyond the Bronze Age itself? Research carried out by Belmonte affords us a vantage point from which to contemplate some of the uses to which these constellation figures might have been put in the Mediterranean zone. First, in reference to the setting of 36 N, Belmonte (1999, pp. 173–191) speaks of “the route of the 36 parallel” emphasizing its possible importance, that is, as conforming to the trade route out of Syria into and across the Mediterranean – a route that stretched across a band from 36 N to 41 N. Moreover, the sea leg of this commercial route could have played a role in giving astronomical preference specifically to the 36 parallel, which passed through Rhodes, crossing the rest of the Mediterranean and cutting neatly through the Straits of Gibraltar (Fig. 10.2). (Historians of science are familiar with the use in antiquity of the parallel passing through Rhodes which was set at 36 N. That setting is a clear sign of the early cognitive dominance of the meridian of Alexandria in literate mathematical traditions which was thought to run due north through Rhodes. For example, in his elementary textbook on astronomy and mathematical geography, Introduction to Phaenomena (c. 70 BC), Geminus of Rhodes specified that all stellar globes, or at least those used for teaching, should be constructed for the local latitude of Rhodes, that is, 36 N, so that the polar axis made an angle of 36 with the plane of the horizon (Aujac 1987, pp. 161–171).) In addition, this trans-Mediterranean sea route appears to be documented by archaeological finds dating from the end of the Bronze Age, for example, artifacts that link Middle Eastern cultures with metallurgy and the mining activities that had been going on in the Iberian Peninsula since the second millennium BC, that is, if this linkage was not established in much more remote epochs (Belmonte 1999, p. 191). It has often been assumed that during this early time period, navigating in the Mediterranean did not require the techniques of stellar navigation since the ship’s pilots would not have traveled far from the coast, keeping recognizable landmarks in view. The presence near the coast of high mountain ranges facilitated this coastal navigation. However, in the case of the Mediterranean, there are large zones where such landmarks are not visible. (taking into account the high mountains along the Mediterranean coast, Belmonte (1999, p. 189) utilized the following

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Fig. 10.2 Map of Mediterranean: zones of invisibility along “the route of the 36 parallel” (Adapted from Belmonte 1999, p. 190)

rule of thumb to determine the zones of invisibility shown on the map (Fig. 10.2): under appropriate metrological conditions, a 2,500 m. high mountain will disappear from a mariner’s view at a distance of 125 nautical miles (210 km); see also ▶ Chap. 4, “Astronomy and Navigation”.) Consequently, any group of people who wanted to operate and/or control Mediterranean trade routes would have had to traverse maritime zones where recourse to stellar navigation would have been highly useful if not imperative, as shown in Fig. 10.2. Moreover, assuming a broader band, say of 36 –41 for the trade route out of the east that crossed both land and sea, reaching the western extremes of Europe (Belmonte 1999, p. 174), we can see that statements in Aratus could reflect in some fashion the constellations and possible techniques of stellar navigation that characterized those remote populations. Finally, if one assumes that these discrepancies – the erroneous statements of Eudoxus and Aratus – are not mistakes, when viewed globally, they indicate discontinuities in the transmission of astronomical knowledge. Perhaps the harshest critic of Eudoxus and Aratus has been Delambre, a leading nineteenth-century French astronomer and historian of astronomy: Thus one can conclude that not Aratus or even Eudoxus himself had observed the settings that they describe and that they were content to collect the observations made before them without being particularly concerned with whether they had been made during the same epoch, something that could be excused out of their ignorance of the precession of the equinoxes, and perhaps also without examining whether the observations had been made from the same parallel, something which would be inexcusable, above all for Eudoxus. One suspects that instead of passing their nights observing actual risings and settings, they were rotating a poorly made globe on which the stars had been placed extremely inaccurately (Delambre 1965 [1817], pp. 72–73) [translation by the author].

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No ship’s pilot would utilize an outdated celestial coordinate system, at least not more than once, to navigate on the high seas, where landmarks were not visible. Rather, as Rogers has observed, it shows us that “Greek authors before Hipparchus had apparently been repeating star-lore for one or two millennia without realizing that it was becoming so out-of-date as to be useless” (Rogers 1998b, p. 81). In other words, what these extrapolations of the temporal axis of the statements in Aratus suggest, along with the criticisms of Hipparchus, is the following: that there must have been two traditions operating. In one, actual observations of the heavens continued to be carried out, for example, by actual navigators as well as probably by the agropastoral peoples of the times. They would have used these rising and settings for a variety of practical, calendric, and ceremonial purposes, including perhaps public rituals with an interactive stellar-timed component, all integrated into an overarching belief system that somehow incorporated or even required such performances. Alongside this traditional knowledge, we find evidence of another set of traditions, a learned and/or poetic one that lacked the observational component and therefore was not updated. Perhaps it functioned on a purely abstract level rather than in combination with, say, daily activities and/or ritual performances which required the actual observation of the movement of celestial phenomena in the heavens above. Whatever the reason, certain sociocultural factors must have contributed to the processes by which preexisting starlore recorded in Eudoxus and Aratus became obsolete. The situation might be compared to the one found today in which alongside astronomers, we find astrologers and their followers happily talking of the stars and planets without ever needing to step out of doors to confirm their beliefs. In conclusion, it would appear that the sources for Eudoxus and Aratus should be sought in a relatively fossilized tradition that, for reasons not clearly understood today, had slowly lost its moorings, so to speak, in the sky itself.

Hunting the European Sky Bears The hypothesis guiding this study has been that the 48 classic constellations represent a long-evolved mixture “including elements from very ancient cultures” (Gingerich 1984, p. 220). The various constellation figures have been viewed as composing cognitive layers that can be dated back to different time periods, using written sources, that is, to periods prior to the official astronomical systematization of the sky. The difficulty that confronts the investigator is how to differentiate these layers, especially in the case of the non-zodiacal constellations which, as has been shown, could date to the Bronze Age or earlier. At this juncture we come to the constellation that is widely recognized as being the most ancient, the Great Bear, made up of the seven stars of Ursa Major (because of the complexities involved in attempting to treat Ursa Major and Ursa Minor simultaneously, the primary focus here will be on Ursa Major). These stars along with those of Ursa Minor

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have formed a conspicuous feature of the skies for every human culture in the northern hemisphere – particularly from temperate latitudes northward, where they are circumpolar and thus remain visible on every clear night of the year. Since the two constellations have similar shapes, it is not surprising that many peoples have perceived them as larger and smaller versions of the same thing. It is more mystifying why anyone would have conceived of them as bears. The idea comes down to us (along with many other constellation identifications) from ancient Greece. It does not require too much imagination to interpret their shapes as pans or ladles, wagons or ploughs, but it is a great deal more difficult to liken them to bears (Ruggles 2005, p. 379).

The placement of a bear at the center of heaven suggests, as others have noted, the possibility that its origins go far back in time, to a hunter-gatherer cosmology rather than an agropastoral one (Gingerich 1984, p. 220; Schaefer 2002, pp. 334–335, 2006, pp. 96–98). Also, the placement of an ursine figure among these stars brings to mind the possibility of analogies with the belief systems of circumpolar peoples who also have projected a bear or bears onto the vault of heaven, as the counterparts of earthly bears. In short, there is an impressive amount of ethnohistorical documentation on bear ceremonialism and the celestial embodiment of it in the sky above that could be consulted (Belmonte 1999, pp. 32–36; Berezkin 2005; Frank 1996, in press, this volume). Until recently, when attempting to determine the possible age of the European constellation, comparisons have been made with the skylore of N. American indigenous peoples who also projected the figure of a bear or rather a bear hunt onto these stars. The question then that has been asked is whether this N. American skylore could be a continuation of a Eurasian belief system. This, however, is very speculative since the veneration of bears as ancestors or relatives of humans has survived across a large northern geographical zone inhabited by hunter-gatherer peoples (and their descendants) along with elaborate rituals in which the slain bear participates. Consequently, a more parsimonious explanation is the following: the symbolic projection of an ursine ancestral figure, a bear hunt, or the figure of a bearlike hunter onto these stars and/or the ones nearby and therefore the integration of these scenes into the wider belief system of the community in question could be the natural result of the mode of subsistence and the daily lived experiences of such hunter-gatherer peoples. This brings us back to the question of how, when, and why Europeans projected a bear onto these stars. Does it date back to a much earlier veneration of bears in this same zone, even to a possible ursine genealogy, deeply entrenched in a huntergatherer cosmology? In this respect, as Ruggles (2005, pp. 378–380) notes, the general idea of a bear, or bears, in the sky is widespread, especially in northern latitudes. Moreover, a variety of traditions – folktales, public performances, and shamanic rituals – involving terrestrial bears and connected to a celestial bear exist among cultures scattered through Europe and the northernmost parts of Asia and the Americas, for example, Finland, Siberia, the Kamchatka peninsula of eastern Russia, Alaska, and eastern Canada (see ▶ Chap. 151, “Skylore of the Indigenous Peoples of Northern Eurasia”). Curiously, the answers to many of the questions concerning the possible age of this ursine stellar lore come from European sources that have been transmitted from one generation to the next, primarily through

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mechanisms typical of orality. More specifically the evidence reflects what appears to be a pre-Indo-European, Pan-European belief that humans descended from bears, a folk belief retained by the Basque people into the twentieth century (Frank 2008, 2009). This belief appears to be linked, in turn, to a set of folktales, known collectively as the Bear’s Son which represent one of the most widespread motifs in European folklore. The narratives tell the story of the adventures of a hero, an imposing figure whose superhuman physical strength is often emphasized. He is half human, half bear, a sort of shaman apprentice whose mother is human, while his father is a bear. In other words, the hero is a kind of intermediary being, functioning in a certain sense like the figure of Christ but clearly bringing together and fusing two very different conceptual frames of personal identity (Frank in press). In addition to the narratives themselves, throughout Europe and most especially in the FrancoCantabrian region (Frank 2008), we find village-wide performances in which a bear actor is symbolically hunted, killed, and resurrected. (moreover, it should be noted that several of the hero’s animal helpers are also found taking part in European performances known as “Good Luck Visits” which incorporate a minidrama where a bear actor is hunted, dies, and is resurrected (Frank 2008).) At times, the performances include a reenactment of the first chapter of the Bear’s Son Tale itself. Finally, there is evidence that the narratives and performances – which have survived to the present day – are modern-day versions of much earlier cultural practices and that earlier the storytelling might have had a stellar component: that in the process of recounting the tales, at some point, scenes and characters from the story came to be projected upon groups of stars and integrated into subsequent acts of storytelling. In this way the actions of the characters would have been writ large on the heavens above, on that huge canvas seen by all participants. There they would have functioned to impress the listeners and at the same time convey and reinforce the meanings encoded into the tales themselves. However, it is still unclear exactly which constellations might have played such a role. Keeping in mind the tenets of this older hunter-gatherer ursine cosmology, among the most likely candidates are the following: • Ursa Major, specifically, the more visible seven stars of this constellation, eternally turning in the sky above, could have been a template upon which aspects of the tales were projected, whether as a bear hunt or as representing the celestial bear ancestor itself. Greek tales told about the origins of this constellation, for example, those related to Callisto and Artemis found in the Catasterismi, the oldest collection of Greek star myths, the Astronomica of Hygenius, and Ovid’s Metamorphoses, could be viewed as modern overlays on this much older template (Frank in press; Krupp 1991, pp. 232–234). • Boo¨tes is viewed as a male figure that follows Ursa Major in the sky and has always been associated with it, as a hunter of the bear or a guardian of the bears. This conceptualization could suggest that it had its origins in a deeper cognitive layer more hunter-gatherer in nature, far older than the associations of Boo¨tes with a herdsman of oxen, a driver of the wagon, or a ploughman with the plough,

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all of which are unquestionably connected to an agropastoral representation of the seven stars of the constellation figure of Ursa Major. • Hercules is the largest of the five giant male figures in the sky, but his original identity was unknown to the Greeks. Rather he was called Engonasin, the Kneeling-One. Aratus wrote that “no one knows his name nor the cause of his toil” (Rogers 1998b, p. 86). However, by the fifth century, he was linked to the exploits of Heracles/Hercules, and in the stellar tales, he was portrayed as subduing a dragon (Draco) and having a large club. Given the striking parallels between some of the adventures associated with Hercules and those of the Bear Son, the ultimate origins of this constellation figure could hark back to the same ursine cosmology (Frank 2000). • The constellation pair of Centaurus and Lupus represents a scene that has no concrete counterpart in Greek mythology. However, there is a possibility that the conflict between one of the Bear Son’s helper animals, the Grey Mare, and another female character, a black wolf-like creature, might provide an avenue for exploring deeper temporal horizons of this pair (Frank 1996; Frank and Arregi Bengoa 2001). In conclusion, although today we know far more about the origins of the constellations making up the set of 48 than we did only a few decades ago, we are still faced with many unanswered questions. For example, can the Bear’s Son Tales along with the surviving European performance art, masked actors, and folk beliefs about the prior veneration of bears help us understand the origins of at least some of the constellations that those Bronze Age traders and navigators saw in the night sky? And perhaps more importantly can these ursine survivals help us to reconstruct the hunter-gatherer cosmology that once informed them? In this respect, undoubtedly, one avenue that will be open to us in the future is to consider with care the cognitive analogies that can be drawn from the ethnohistorically attested starlore of the indigenous peoples of northern Europe and Asia (see ▶ Chap. 151, “Skylore of the Indigenous Peoples of Northern Eurasia”).

Cross-References ▶ Ancient Greek Calendars ▶ Ancient Persian Skywatching and Calendars ▶ Astronomy and Navigation ▶ Babylonian Observational and Predictive Astronomy ▶ Cultural Interpretation of Archaeological Evidence Relating to Astronomy ▶ Cultural Interpretation of Ethnographic Evidence Relating to Astronomy ▶ Cultural Interpretation of Historical Evidence Relating to Astronomy ▶ Greek Constellations ▶ Greek Cosmology and Cosmogony ▶ Greek Mathematical Astronomy ▶ Material Culture of Greek and Roman Astronomy ▶ Mesopotamian Celestial Divination

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▶ Mesopotamian Cosmogony and Cosmology ▶ Mesopotamian Star Lists ▶ Skylore of the Indigenous Peoples of Northern Eurasia

References Allen RH (1963 [1899]) Star names: their lore and meaning. G. E. Stechert, New York Aujac G (1987) Greek cartography in the early Roman world. In: Harley JB, Woodward D (eds) The history of cartography, vol I. Cartography in prehistoric ancient, and medieval Europe and the Mediterranean. University of Chicago Press, Chicago, pp 161–176 Belmonte JA (1999) Las Leyes del Cielo: Astronomı´a y Civilizaciones Antiguas. Temas de Hoy, Madrid Berezkin YE (2005) The cosmic hunt. Folklore: Electronic Journal of Folklore 31:79–100. http:// www.folklore.ee/folklore/vol31/berezkin.pdf. Crommelin ACD (1923) The ancient constellation figures. In: Phillips TER, Steavenson WH (eds) Hutchinson’s splendor of the heavens: a popular authoritative astronomy, vol 2. Hutchinson, London, pp 640–669 Delambre JBJ (1965 [1817]) Histoire de l’Astronomie Ancienne, vol 1. Johnson Reprint Corporation, New York/London Dicks D (1970) Early Greek astronomy to aristotle. Cornell University Press, Ithaca Frank RM (1996) Hunting the European sky bears: when bears ruled the Earth and guarded the Gate of Heaven. In: Koleva V, Dimiter Kolev D (eds) Astronomical traditions in past cultures. Institute of Astronomy, Bulgarian Academy of Sciences, National Astronomical Observatory Rozhen, Sofia, pp 116–142 Frank RM (2000) Hunting the European sky bears: Hercules meets Hartzkume. In: Belmonte JA, Esteban C (eds) Archaeoastronomy and astronomy in culture: exploring diversity. OAMC, Santa Cruz de Tenerife, pp 295–302 Frank RM (2008) Evidence in favor of the Palaeolithic Continuity Refugium Theory (PCRT): Hamalau and its linguistic and cultural relatives. Part 1. Insula: Quaderno di Cultura Sarda 4:91–131, http://tinyurl.com/Hamalau Frank RM (2009) Evidence in favor of the Palaeolithic Continuity Refugium Theory (PCRT): Hamalau and its linguistic and cultural relatives. Part 2. Insula: Quaderno di Cultura Sarda 4:91–131, http://tinyurl.com/Hamalau. Frank RM (in press) Hunting the European Sky Bears: Revisiting Candlemas Bear Day and World Renewal Ceremonies. Insula: Quaderno di Cultura Sarda. http://tinyurl.com/Hamalau Frank RM, Arregi Bengoa J (2001) Hunting the European sky bears: on the origins of the nonzodiacal constellations. In: Ruggles CLN, Prendergast F, Ray T (eds) Astronomy, cosmology and landscape. Ocarina Press, Bognor Regis, pp 15–43 Gingerich O (1984) Astronomical scrapbook. The origin of the zodiac. Sky Telesc 67(March):218–220 Krupp EC (1991) Beyond the blue horizon: myths and legends of the Sun, Moon, Stars and Planets. HarperCollins, New York Maunder EW (1922 [1908]) The astronomy of the bible, 4th edn. The Epworth Press, London Ovenden MW (1966) The origin of the constellations. Philos J 3(1):1–18 Proctor RA (1877) Myths and marvels of astronomy. G.P. Putnam’s Sons, New York Ridpath I (1995) Origin of the constellations. Astron Now 9(9):40–43 Rogers JH (1998a) Origins of the ancient constellations: I. The Mesopotamian traditions. J Br Astron Assoc 108(1):9–28 Rogers JH (1998b) Origins of the ancient constellations: II. The Mediterranean traditions. J Br Astron Assoc 108(2):79–98

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Roy AE (1984) The origins of the constellations. Vistas in Astronomy 27:171–197 Ruggles CLN (2005) Ancient astronomy: an encyclopedia of cosmologies and myth. ABC-CLIO, Santa Barbara Schaefer BE (2002) The latitude and epoch for the formation of the southern Greek constellations. Journal for the History of Astronomy 33:313–350 Schaefer BE (2006) The origin of the Greek constellations. Scientific American (Nov) 1106:96–101

Astronomy in the Service of Christianity

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Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Astronomy of the Liberal Arts . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The Paths of the Sun . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Timekeeping: Years, Months, and Days . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Solstices, Equinoxes, and the Cycle of the Saints . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Easter Computus . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The Hours of Prayer . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Watching the Stars . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The Contexts of Astronomical Practice . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Experts and Their Readers . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Builders . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Summary . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Abstract

Medieval European scholars drew on ancient traditions of astronomical knowledge to develop astronomical practices that served the needs of religious institutions by defining the sacred time and sacred space of religious ritual. Techniques employing the luni-solar calendar to determine the date of Easter, observations of the stars and Sun to determine the time of prayer, and orienting churches astronomically to face the symbolically important direction, east, were widely practiced. These varieties of religious astronomy were employed by persons of varying levels of education, working within a variety of contexts.

S.C. McCluskey Department of History, West Virginia University, Morgantown, WV, USA e-mail: [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_15, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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Introduction This discussion does not cover the entirety of Christendom; it is limited geographically, chronologically, and by subject. It is limited in space to that part of circumMediterranean Christendom where Latin was the dominant learned language; it is limited in time to the millennium from the third to the thirteenth centuries. By subject, it is limited to those aspects of astronomy that directly served Christian religious concerns: using rudimentary astronomical observations to determine the time of prayer; making astronomical computations to determine the date of Easter and the related movable feasts in the Christian calendar; and using astronomical principles to determine the orientation of churches. Thus, it largely ignores the influence of advanced Greek geometrical astronomy after the twelfth century. These astronomical practices were carried out in a Christianized society that had transformed the cultures of a wide and diverse spectrum of medieval people, ranging from aristocratic elites to modest peasants. At one level, elements of Roman (and to a much lesser extent, Greek) concepts of space and time were assimilated by the more educated members of this culture. At another level, the basic principles of time and the calendar came to guide many activities of daily life. When I began investigating the astronomies of the early Middle Ages, I sought and found evidence for the survival of traditional folk astronomies, particularly where traditional calendric festivals had been incorporated into the Christian cycle of the saints (McCluskey 1989, 1993). In most cases, however, the astronomical concepts employed in the early Middle Ages were not “bottom-up” examples of folk culture, but were also discussed in astronomical texts that had been available to those who participated in medieval written culture. It increasingly appears that, although indigenous European folk astronomies did influence some early medieval astronomical practices, to a greater extent medieval practices reflect the adaptation of Roman astronomical knowledge and calendric practice, to meet specific concerns arising within medieval Christian society (McCluskey 2006). It is useful to begin our discussion of those astronomies that explicitly concerned Christian religious activity with a consideration of those elements of Roman learning that provided a theoretical background to medieval astronomical practice.

Astronomy of the Liberal Arts The general medieval cosmological picture was presented within the Roman pedagogical tradition of the seven liberal arts, specifically within the study of the four mathematical arts of the quadrivium: astronomy and geometry, music, and arithmetic. Early medieval study of the liberal art of astronomy focused on reading, excerpting, and reinterpreting works by Macrobius, Pliny, Martianus Capella, Boethius, Calcidius, and Isidore of Seville. Such medieval interpretations appear in marginal and interlinear annotations to classical texts (Eastwood 2007, pp. 194–196; McCluskey 2011).

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The astronomy of the liberal arts was related to the continuous figures of geometry, rather than to the discrete numbers of arithmetic, and thus employed a paradigm of the continuous circular motions of the heavens (McCluskey 2011, pp. 222–225). Our concern is not with the entire scope of the Late Roman and early medieval geometrical model of the heavens. We will focus on those elements of this model that contributed directly to those astronomical practices that served the requirements of religion.

The Paths of the Sun Central to the reckoning of time are the paths of the Sun, paths which can be considered in two ways. The first is the annual motion of the Sun through the sky along the circle of the ecliptic (or along the band of the zodiac). This path is a mathematical abstraction, derived from geometrical analyses and not directly observable. More important in the early Middle Ages was another set of parallel circles describing the observed daily paths of the Sun. The daily paths of the Sun, whether considered as arcs or circles, were common objects of discussion among early medieval writers, who used the paths of the Sun to illustrate both the Sun’s daily course through the sky and the changing places of sunrise and sunset. From a modern perspective, we can look at these paths as circles of constant declination on which we can measure arcs representing the local hour angle of the Sun or another body. Thus, these daily paths provided medieval people with a conceptual framework for relating the passage of time and the orientation of churches to the motions of the Sun and stars. The concept of the Sun’s daily arcs was clearly presented by one of the most influential astronomical writers of late antiquity, Martianus Capella, who proposed that there was a separate circle for each day in the Sun’s semiannual path. Considering the Sun’s twofold motion, in which it moves obliquely along the ecliptic each year with its own proper motion from west to east, and is carried in the opposite direction each day from east to west along with the universe and all the other stars, Martianus (De nuptiis, cap. 8.872) concluded that as a consequence of these two motions, the Sun moves along 183 daily circles from the tropic of Cancer at the summer solstice to the tropic of Capricorn at the winter solstice, and then traverses the same 183 circles again when it returns from the winter solstice to the summer solstice. Martianus’s discussion of the Sun’s daily arc does not represent a mathematical abstraction but reflects the changing daily paths which the Sun appears to follow as it moves across the sky. An illustration of this motion that was familiar to Martianus’s contemporaries is the movement of the Sun’s shadow along the circles filling the hollow bowl of a classic Greco-Roman sundial. As Cassiodorus (Variae, I. 45. 8) described it early in the sixth century, in the sundial “a small, unmoving circle represents the revolution of the Sun’s amazing vastness, and equals the Sun’s flight”.

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There are recurring traces of the concept of the daily arc in many different late antique and early medieval written sources. Several centuries before Martianus Capella, a Roman surveyor or agrimensor, known as Hyginus gromaticus (Campbell 2000, pp. 144–147), discussed the problem of using the Sun to establish true directions. One of his concerns was how local topography influenced the observed direction of sunrise and sunset. A ninth-century manuscript of Hyginus’s text (Rome, Vat. Pal. Lat. 1564, fol. 92r) depicted the daily course of the Sun as an arc, labeled solis cursus, along which the Sun passes from rising (ortus) to setting (occasus) behind a mountain. In the seventh century Isidore of Seville described the path of the Sun in his Etymologies (cap. 3.52): The sun, when it rises, holds a path through the south. Afterward, it goes to the west and plunges itself into the Ocean, and it travels unknown paths under the earth, and once again runs back to the east.

Isidore also notes (cap. 3.50) that the Sun will set in a different place tomorrow, and . . . in a different place yesterday.... Wandering further to the south it makes winter.... When it approaches closer to the north, it brings summer back.

A series of diagrams in Carolingian calendars and computistical texts, beginning with a diagram in the eighth-century Calendar of St. Willibrord (Paris, BnF lat. 10837, fol. 42r), depicts the circular paths of the Sun through the southern sky from rising to setting (Obrist 2000, Fig. 11.2). The diagram is labeled a horologium, or timekeeper, and depicts both the changing positions of sunrise and sunset in the course of the year and the changing lengths of daylight and nighttime, marking the positions of the Sun at midnight and at the times of monastic prayer during the day: Prime, Terce, Sext, None, and Vespers. A similar diagram from an early ninth-century Carolingian computistical collection (Cologne, Dombibliothek ms 83(II), fol. 81v), this time facing east, depicts the daily circles of the Sun at the solstices and equinoxes. The part of the circles above the horizon is light blue, the part continuing under the Earth from setting to rising is dark blue. The lasting influence of this diagram tradition is illustrated by a diagram in a twelfth-century English computistical collection (Oxford, St. John’s College ms. 17, fol. 35v). Ninth-century glosses and commentaries in manuscripts of Martianus’s De nuptiis make it quite clear that the Sun’s daily arc was a familiar concept in the early Middle Ages. An extensively glossed ninth-century manuscript (Leiden, UB, Vossianus Latinus Folio 48) provides many interlinear and marginal explanations of obscure technical terms and diagrams to illustrate difficult astronomical concepts, but it does not provide either a technical explanation or a diagram to address the astronomy of Martianus’s discussion of the 183 daily arcs (Eastwood 2007, pp. 275–277; Teeuwen et al. 2008). Ninth-century commentators on Martianus seem to have taken the Sun’s daily arcs as sufficiently familiar to their readers that they did not need to be explained.

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Fig. 11.1 The course of the Sun from rising (ortus) to setting (occasus). Hyginus gromaticus, Constitutio limitum, (Rome, Vat. Pal. Lat. 1564, fol. 92r)

Fig. 11.2 Horologium displaying the circular paths of the Sun through the southern sky. Calendar of St. Willibrord (Paris, BnF lat. 10837, fol. 42r)

The continuing importance of the daily paths of the Sun into the High Middle Ages is illustrated by their appearance in thirteenth-century textbooks on the sphere by Robert Grosseteste, John of Sacrobosco, and John Pecham. All of them

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Fig. 11.3 The paths of the Sun, from a computistical collection (Oxford, St John’s College, ms 17, fo.l. 35v) (Reproduced by permission of the President and Fellows of St John’s College, Oxford)

Fig. 11.4 The constellation falx (the Sickle). Gregory of Tours, De cursu stellarum, (Bamberg, Staatsbibliothek, ms Patr. 61, fol. 80v, detail). Photo: Gerald Raab

Fig. 11.5 Sundial, St. Gregory’s Minster, Kirkdale. Copyright Corpus of Anglo-Saxon Stone Sculpture, photographer T. Middlemass

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discussed these daily paths, and pointed out that those who held they were circular were in error; the daily paths of the Sun are not strictly circular but are some sort of spiral. The crucial point here is that the changing path of the Sun through the sky – the kind of concept that is commonly associated with “unsophisticated” astronomical observers – appeared in a wide range of medieval astronomical texts, where it had been adapted from the writings of Roman authorities.

Timekeeping: Years, Months, and Days The courses of the Sun, the Moon, and the stars became central elements of the practical astronomies of reckoning time, time which was seen as having religious, practical, and astronomical significance. Timekeeping served religion in three ways. First, it fixed the annual cycle of religious feasts – and especially those feasts associated with the conception and birth of Jesus and his precursor, John the Baptist – in the solar framework of the Julian calendar. Secondly, it related the important feast of Easter to the lunar cycle and the spring equinox. Finally, the daily cycle of prayer was regulated – especially in monasteries – by observations of the Sun and the stars.

Solstices, Equinoxes, and the Cycle of the Saints From the Romans, medieval Europeans also inherited the temporal concepts of the Julian Calendar, which established a year of 365¼ days to approximate the annual course of the Sun. This calendar supplanted the indigenous calendars of northern Europe and the use of astronomical observations as a means to regulate the seasons. Since the calendar was a foreign import, its history and principles, the canonical dates of the solstices and equinoxes in the Roman calendar, as well as the date and astronomical reason for the leap day, were taught as part of the science of calendar reckoning known as computus and appeared in liturgical calendars. In the early Middle Ages, these calendars drew together those elements that were important to Christian readers, incorporating the regularly recurring cycles of the feast days of Christian saints, the nineteen-year cycle of the days of new moons through the year, and the limits of the movable luni-solar feasts related to Easter. Drawing on accepted Roman dates for the solstices and equinoxes, early Christian writers came to the opinion that Jesus was both conceived and died on 25 March, the spring equinox, that he was born at the winter solstice on 25 December, that John the Baptist was conceived on 24 September at the autumn equinox, and was born at the summer solstice on 24 June. Bede (De temporum ratione, cap. 30) noted the discrepancy between these dates for the equinoxes and the date of the equinoxes used for computing the date of

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Easter. Citing the expertise of unnamed Egyptians, who are “most skilled in calculation”, and the authority of the Council of Nicaea, Bede maintained that the spring equinox falls on 21 March, and that the fall equinox and the solstices should also be observed “a little before” the commonly accepted dates. All these dates for the equinoxes appear in medieval liturgical calendars, which variously give the dates of 25, 24, and 21 March for the equinoxes, as well as 18 March for the entry of the Sun into the sign of Aries (Wormald 1934). These discussions of the calendar found physical expression in the orientation of churches, since there was a long-standing Christian tradition that churches should be built facing the direction from where the Sun rises on the equinoxes. Recent surveys have indicated that many churches were oriented to face the range of directions from where the sun rose on the various days that liturgical calendars reported to be the equinoxes (McCluskey 2006).

Easter Computus The crucial calendric problem of the Early Middle Ages involved reconciling the Julian calendar, established on solar principles, with those religious festivals whose dates were defined in terms of the Jewish luni-solar calendar. Easter, the most important feast in the Christian calendar, falls on the Sunday following the Passover feast (hence, it must be celebrated on or after the 14th day of the Hebrew month, Nisan). Religious authorities came to define Easter as the Sunday following the Full Moon, following the spring equinox (McCluskey 1998, pp. 84–85; Wallis 2004, pp. xviii–xix). Determining the date of Easter in terms of the Julian calendar became a standard problem in the medieval study of astronomical calendrics called computus. The methods of computus were bookish, performing arithmetical calculations that employed the received values of astronomical periods: the nineteen-year luni-solar cycle of 235 lunations and the approximately solar Julian year of 365¼ days. At times, writers of computistical texts would consider the motion of the Sun and Moon in terms of the zodiac. In his De temporum ratione (cap. 16), Bede relates the annual motion of the Sun to the zodiac, noting that the Sun takes a full year of 365¼ days to pass through the zodiac, spending 30 days, plus 10½ hours, in each sign, and entering each sign in the middle of the month. He then notes that the Moon passes through the zodiac in only 27 days 8 hours, spending 2 days plus 6⅔ hours in each sign. His point here is not to allow exact computations of the position of the Sun and Moon, but to be sure his readers understood in a qualitative sense the different speeds of the Sun and Moon and how they influence the periodic recurrence of the phases of the Moon (Wallis 2004, pp. 288–289). Bede (cap. 30) also uses the motion of the Sun through the zodiac to explain the dates of the solstices and equinoxes. The chief concern of computus was not so much with astronomical precision as it was with ritual uniformity. From the earliest discussions of the Easter question, a central element of all disputes was that Easter be celebrated on a single, uniform

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date throughout Christendom. The Council of Arles (AD 314) had maintained that since Christ “‘died and was raised once for all,’ . . . therefore, the Lord’s Pasch should be observed on one day throughout the world”. Shortly thereafter, Constantine expressed the same ideal in his call for the Council of Nicea, adding how improper it was that some were intent on fasting while others were celebrating Easter. Three centuries later in Ireland and England, defenders of the Roman Easter dismissed local Easter practices as idiosyncratic – carried out on mere pimples on the orb of the Earth (McCluskey 2003, pp. 201–202). Standards for establishing this uniformity tended to focus on authoritative sources, whether religious authorities or the authorities of those who were considered to be experts in such astronomical calculations. Writers such as Victorius of Aquitaine and Bede of Jarrow appealed to the expertise of the Egyptians to justify the 19-year luni-solar cycle and the date of the equinoxes on 21 March. They were referring here to the Christian Egyptian computists of Alexandria rather than to Hellenistic or ancient Egyptian astronomers (McCluskey 2003, pp. 203–204). Astronomical observations played little part in this kind of astronomy, the few discussions of the changing place of sunrise seem to be either the kind of observations we find in classroom demonstrations to illustrate a point to a student, or else the kind of discussions of a potential observation that we might call thought experiments. Observations were deployed more to demonstrate the validity of accepted practice than to challenge it (McCluskey 2003, p. 205). Computus did, moreover, provide a motivation and a framework in which the fundamentals of Roman astronomy were taught (McCluskey 1998, pp. 96, 149–157). It is only in the thirteenth century, after the assimilation of the full tradition of Greek geometrical astronomy, that we begin to see scholars like Friar Roger Bacon, Bishop Robert Grosseteste, and John of Sacrobosco employing the more precise parameters found in this geometrical astronomy to challenge accepted computistical values for and the length of the lunar month, the length of the solar year, and the date of the spring equinox (McCluskey 1998, pp. 198–200).

The Hours of Prayer From the earliest foundation of monastic communities, it was required that the community assemble for prayer at regular times in the course of the day and night. The prayers began before dawn with the nocturnal prayer or vigil, as the early sixthcentury Rule of the Master (cap. 33. 1, 10–11) put it: At the night office during . . . winter the nocturns are chanted before cockcrow; as the prophet says: “At midnight I rose to give you praise” (Is 26:9). . .. In spring and summer however,. . . the brothers are to begin the nocturns at cockcrow because of the shortness ot the night.

The subsequent daily prayers were described a few decades later in the Rule of St. Benedict (cap. 16. 1–3): The Prophet says: “Seven times a day have I praised you” (Ps 118 [119]:164). We will fulfill this sacred number of seven if we satisfy our obligations of service at Lauds

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(matutinus), Prime, Terce, Sext, None, Vespers and Compline, for it was of these hours during the day that he said: “Seven times a day have I praised you.”

During winter, the rules stipulate an interval of rest between nocturns and lauds; from Easter to the autumnal equinox nocturns lead directly into lauds. This requirement of regularly scheduled hours of prayer led to a concern with the changing length of daylight in the course of the year and with reliable methods of timekeeping. The Roman aristocrat, Cassiodorus Senator, who had resigned in the middle of the sixth century from an active civic life to a monastery he established on his estate of Vivarium in southern Italy, treated the requirement for timekeeping among the practical necessities of the monastery (Institutiones, 1.30.5). Cassiodorus recognized that his monks needed a proper sundial and water-clock, just as they needed adequate lamps which he discussed in the same passage. In his correspondence (Variae, 1.45, 1.46), he praises the horologium as a portable sky which provides that ability to reckon time which distinguishes humans from beasts. He saw these timekeepers not just as practical devices but as symbols of celestial and terrestrial order.

Watching the Stars Later in the sixth century, Bishop Gregory of Tours wrote a guide, the De cursu stellarum, so that the monks of the monasteries near Tours could use the regular course of the stars to regulate the regular course of monastic prayer (McCluskey 1990). In his History of the Franks (10. 31), Gregory tells us that Martianus Capella had taught him “to trace the course of the stars” in his astronomy, and thus his descriptions of the constellations’ paths through the sky are framed in terms of Martianus’s familiar daily arcs. For example, he describes the constellation falx (the sickle) as taking “the path which the Sun follows in May or August” (De cursu stellarum, cap. 30). He then shows how the stars that appear in each month can be used to determine when monks should be called to prayer before dawn. His instructions for sounding the time of prayer in the month of October tell his reader: In October when falx [the sickle] rises, he will know it to be the middle of the night. Nocturns having then been celebrated with the crow of the cocks, you would be able to sing ninety psalms antiphonally. Then watch rubeola [the reddish one], so that if the sign for matins [lauds] is given when it comes to the second hour of the day, you can then sing ten psalms (cap. 37).

This discussion of the time for matins draws on another element of the Sun’s daily path, saying to wait until rubeola reaches the place which the Sun occupies on the second hour of the day. The Sun’s changing daily arcs provide Gregory with coordinates for describing the nightly motions of the stars. Through the subsequent centuries, a variety of monastic texts repeat the custom of keeping time by the stars, sometimes spelling out how to observe the stars in relation to local landmarks (McCluskey 1990, pp. 19–21).

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Horologia (Timekeepers) The continuing importance of astronomical timekeeping is reflected in the different kinds of astronomical instruments developed within monastic contexts for telling time (McCluskey 1998, pp. 111–112). A striking example was the star clock described early in the ninth century by Pacificus of Verona, which determined time by observing a bright star (Polaris) rotating around the faint star that was then the pole star. This instrument reflected – and demonstrated to its user – a model of the heavens in which the stars rotate around the axis of the world and their position at a given hour changes with the seasons. Late in the tenth century, an unknown scholar associated with Gerbert of Aurillac (later Pope Sylvester II) praised the astrolabe’s value for determining the time of prayer in his treatise On the Uses of the Astrolabe (5. 4): [The astrolabe can be used] to find the true time of day, whether in summer or wintertime, with no ambiguous uncertainty in the reckoning. Yet this seems to be excessive knowledge for general use and seems most suitable for celebrating the daily office of prayer. How pleasing and seemly the whole proceeds, when with the greatest reverence at the proper hour under the rule of a just judge, who will not wish the slightest shadow of error, they harmoniously complete the service of the Lord.

We see hints of the use of astrolabes for monastic timekeeping when we read that when the prior of the monastery of Great Malvern in England saw the Moon begin to grow dark shortly before dawn on 18 October 1092, he had an astrolabe at hand to measure the height of the moon and determine the time of the eclipse (McCluskey 1998, p. 180). Sundials continued to determine time during the day throughout the medieval period, although they were much simpler and less geometrically sophisticated than their Roman predecessors discussed by Cassiodorus. Two examples indicate that monastic prayer was central to timekeeping. The sundial carved on the freestanding Bewcastle Cross, erected in the eighth century on a former Roman site that later became a churchyard, marks time by the five times of prayer during daylight: Prime, Terce, Sext, None, and Vespers. The dial is further subdivided into twelve hours from sunrise to sunset. The Minster Church of St. Gregory, in Kirkdale (North Yorkshire), holds another early sundial from the middle of the eleventh century. This dial also marks the five times of prayer, but unlike the Bewcastle dial, it subdivides the day into eight parts. Despite their differences, the common elements to these dials are the hours of prayer stipulated by monastic rules.

The Contexts of Astronomical Practice We know the kind of astronomical knowledge that was available to literate scholars, but we must also ask how, and to what extent, this knowledge spread to other levels of society. At the simplest level, a peasant could “read” the simple markings on a sundial in a churchyard; a craftsman making even a simple sundial, however, required a greater level of knowledge.

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Experts and Their Readers The authors of the texts mentioned above were acknowledged experts in the areas of astronomical timekeeping that they discussed. A quick overview of their background indicates that most of those who wrote about astronomy, the calendar, and timekeeping were churchmen: abbots, monks, bishops, and, after the twelfth century, clerics affiliated with universities. Equally important, especially for archaeoastronomical concerns, are the people who studied, read, and used their works, and here the historical evidence is sketchy. The apex of early medieval literacy was found in monastic communities. The requirements of Benedict’s Rule that monks read for an hour or more each day established a basic level of monastic literacy. The literacy of parish clergy was more problematic, and in England, those who were literate were more likely to be literate in Old English than in Latin. Early in the eleventh century, Byrhtferth of Ramsey and Ælfric of Eynsham wrote introductions to computus in Old English so that clergy would “acquire some knowledge of this science” (Byrhtferth, Enchiridion, I.4.10-11). Byrhtferth presented the more advanced material for his monastic pupils in sections written in Latin, reflecting their more advanced level of education and interest. An eleventh-century English decree on the examination of candidates for the priesthood specifies that they should know computus before ordination, but in case of need, even a half-educated man be ordained. A computus was among the halfdozen books that priests were required to possess, but inventories of books actually found in churches show that computistical texts were comparatively rare. If we know little about the education of clergy, we know even less about the education of lay men and women. Byrhtferth criticized noble clerics for their lack of interest in learning, so we cannot assume a greater interest among their siblings who remained in the world. Yet, noblemen were expected to refer to law codes, letters, and other documents for guidance on legal principles (Keynes 1990, pp. 231–237). With a few noteworthy exceptions, there is little sign that nobles read computistical and calendric texts.

Builders The builders of medieval churches were clearly responsible for their orientations and their adornment with clocks and other elements of astronomical symbolism. Consequentially, they must have known the related astronomical principles. Since many persons cooperate in the building a church, the term “builder” is essentially ambiguous. Although we have found astronomical elements in many churches, determining which builders had the astronomical knowledge, the interest, and the opportunity to intentionally introduce those elements is extremely difficult. We typically have very limited information to identify the specific people responsible for these buildings, even more so when we address their astronomical components. One source of evidence is the small number of Anglo-Saxon sundials that bear

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inscriptions, suggesting a possible connection between literacy, the building or ornamenting of churches, and possession of astronomical knowledge and interest. A notable instance is the inscription on the sundial of Saint Gregory’s minster in Kirkdale. It tells us that a Norse nobleman named Orm Gamal’s son rebuilt the church which had fallen into disrepair. Responsible for the astronomical sundial were a priest named Brand and Hawarð, probably the stone-worker who made the sundial. We see a similar multiplicity of interests in the account of the reconstruction of the Church of St. Botolph, Boston, in 1309. Members of three different communities: A noblewoman, the parson of the church, and a town merchant, each contributed £5 at the ceremony laying the first stone for the church (Salzman 1967, pp. 82–83). Here, however, the craftsmen involved in the actual planning or construction were not mentioned. The documentary evidence for the sponsors of medieval English churches is quite sparse. Of the 12,000 English and Welch churches founded before the thirteenth century, the Prosopography of Anglo-Saxon England gives only fifty instances where an extant record names a person as having “built” the church in some sense; 53 % of those churches were “built” by members of the higher clergy (bishops, abbots, and abbesses), 25 % by higher nobles (kings, queens, and princesses); 20 % by lesser nobles, and one church (2 %) was sponsored by a group of townspeople. Despite the lack of written evidence about skilled craftsmen, there can be no doubt of professional involvement in the building of churches and the provision of their fittings (Salzman 1967). The buildings themselves testify to a shared tradition of architectural practices, which was repeated time and again over the countryside as churches were laid out in the same modular ground plan and sharing the same pattern of solar orientations (Blair 2005, p. 414; McCluskey 2006). We do not know, however, the extent to which these craftsmen could have read technical treatises concerning astronomical or surveying practices. At least some craftsmen were literate enough to produce the inscribed and painted texts found in village churches, although glaring errors in some inscriptions suggest a limited understanding of the words and letters they were copying (Okasha 1995). Although there are several accounts of the appearance of specialized craftsmen in the early Middle Ages (Salzman 1967), there is no evidence about their education or practices to indicate the texts they may have studied or employed.

Summary The Middle Ages provides a valuable example of the adaptation of the astronomical knowledge of Roman antiquity to serve the needs of Christian religious institutions. However, our understanding of the diffusion of this knowledge from the experts who wrote and studied treatises on astronomy, surveying, computus, and timekeeping to the ordinary monks, clerics, builders, and laypersons who used aspects of that knowledge remains incomplete. Yet we can say that these varieties of religious astronomy were carried out by a variety of practitioners, none of whom

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could be called professional astronomers, who worked within a variety of contexts, none of which could be characterized as a specialized center of astronomical activity.

Cross-References ▶ Astronomy in the Service of Islam ▶ Church Orientations in Central and Eastern Europe ▶ Church Orientations in Slovenia ▶ Cultural Interpretation of Historical Evidence Relating to Astronomy ▶ Folk Calendars in the Balkan Region ▶ Inca Astronomy and Calendrics ▶ Interactions Between Islamic and Christian Traditions in the Iberian Peninsula ▶ Orientation of Christian Churches ▶ Orientation of English Medieval Parish Churches ▶ Wooden Calendar Sticks in Eastern Europe

References Blair J (2005) The church in Anglo-Saxon society. Oxford University Press, Oxford Campbell B (ed) (2000) The writings of the Roman land surveyors: introduction, text, translation, and commentary. Journal of Roman Studies Monograph, vol 6. Society for the Promotion of Roman Studies, London Eastwood BS (2007) Ordering the heavens: Roman astronomy and cosmology in the Carolingian renaissance. Brill, Leiden Keynes S (1990) Royal government and the written word in late Anglo-Saxon England. In: McKitterick R (ed) The uses of literacy in early mediaeval Europe. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, pp 226–257, here pp. 231–7 McCluskey SC (1989) The mid-quarter days and the historical survival of British folk astronomy. Archaeoastronomy 13 (Supplement to the Journal for the History for Astronomy 20):S1–S19 McCluskey SC (1990) Gregory of tours, monastic timekeeping, and early christian attitudes to astronomy. Isis 81(8):22 McCluskey SC (1993) Astronomies and rituals at the dawn of the middle ages. In: Ruggles CLN, Saunders NJ (eds) Astronomies and cultures. University Press of Colorado, Niwot, pp 100–123 McCluskey SC (1998) Astronomies and cultures in early medieval Europe. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge McCluskey SC (2003) Changing contexts and criteria for the justification of computistical knowledge and practice. Journal for the History for Astronomy 34:201–217 McCluskey SC (2006) The medieval liturgical calendar, sacred space, and the orientation of churches. In: Soltysiak A (ed) Time and astronomy in past cultures. Institute of Archaeology/University of Warsaw, Torun/Warsaw, pp 139–148 McCluskey SC (2011) Martianus and the traditions of early medieval astronomies. In: Teeuwen M, O’Sullivan S (eds) Carolingian scholarship and Martianus Capella: ninth century commentary traditions on De nuptiis in context. Cultural Encounters in Late Antiquity and the Middle Ages, vol 12. Brepols, Turnhout, pp 221–244 Obrist B (2000) The astronomical sundial in saint Willibrord’s calendar and its early medieval context. Archives d’Histoire Doctrinale et Litte´raire du Moyen Age 67:71–118

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Okasha E (1995) Literacy in Anglo-Saxon England: the evidence from inscriptions. Anglo-Saxon Stud Archaeol Hist 8:69–74 Prosopography of Anglo-Saxon England. http://www.pase.ac.uk/. Accessed 20 June 2005. Salzman LF (1967) Building in England down to 1540: a documentary history. Clarendon Press, Oxford Teeuwen M, Brouwer T, Eastwood BS, Garrison M, Guillaumin J-Y, Lozovsky N, O’Sullivan S, Sroczynski A (eds) (2008) Carolingian Scholarship and Martianus Capella: the oldest commentary tradition. First digital edition. online at http://martianus.huygens.knaw.nl/. Accessed 1 July 2011 Wallis F (tr) (2004) Bede: the reckoning of time. Translated texts for historians, vol 29. Liverpool University Press, Liverpool Wormald F (1934) Early English kalendars before A.D. 1100. Henry Bradshaw Society, London, Henry Bradshaw Society Publications No. 72

Astronomy in the Service of Islam

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David A. King

Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Folk Astronomy Versus Mathematical Astronomy . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The Regulation of the Lunar Calendar . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The Regulation of the Five Daily Prayers . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The Determination of the Sacred Direction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Concluding Remarks . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Abstract

In their assessment of Islamic astronomy, historians have usually been concerned only with that part of the Muslim scientific heritage that was transmitted to the West in the Middle Ages. Yet most Islamic works on astronomy were not transmitted to the West, and they are known today mainly due to the work of orientalists in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. This is the case of Muslim writings on three aspects of mathematical science that were closely linked with religious observance. This is an overview of those “Islamic aspects of Islamic astronomy”.

Introduction In Islam, as in no other religion in the history of mankind, scientific procedures have been applied to assist the organization of various aspects of religious ritual. These are: • A calendar whose periods are based on the moon • Five daily prayers whose times are based on the sun • A sacred direction whose goal is a specific location.

D.A. King Johann Wolfgang Goethe University, Frankfurt am Main, Germany C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_13, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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These three topics were treated not only by the scientists of medieval Islam but also by the scholars of the religious law, albeit in quite different ways. They are the only aspects of traditional Islamic science still of concern to Muslims today, and each has a history going back close to 1,400 years (King 1999, 2004/2005). Muslim astronomers were the leading scholars in their field from the eighth to the fifteenth century. Little was achieved in Christian Europe before the sixteenth century that had not been achieved by some Muslim scholar somewhere, sometimes centuries before the same theories, tables, and instruments appeared in the West. Yet most historians of Islamic astronomy have concentrated on those aspects of this science that were transmitted to the West and so have overlooked part of the essence of Islamic astronomy. In any case, most modern accounts of science in the medieval Islamic world, whether by Western or Muslim writers, have ignored what may well be called the Islamic aspects of Islamic science. But Muslim activity in this domain cannot be understood without recognition of the fact that there were two main traditions of astronomy in the Islamic world, folk astronomy and mathematical astronomy (see ▶ Chap. 182, “Islamic Folk Astronomy”). Again, folk astronomy has generally been overlooked by historians of science with their predilection for hard-core scientific achievements, yet, as we shall see, it was far more influential in the society than the scientific tradition based on observation, theory, and mathematical procedures. Only in the past few decades have these particularly Islamic aspects of science been researched, using the vast amount of medieval Arabic manuscripts dealing with folk astronomy and mathematical astronomy available in libraries around the world. We now have a clearer picture of the way in which science, particularly astronomy, has been used for purposes relating to the religious life of the Muslim community over the centuries. This article is not an overview of Islamic astronomy in general, for it deals with only three of the many topics dealt with by the scholars of medieval Islam. A historical investigation of these Islamic aspects of Islamic science leads to the answers to several questions. First, why is there so much confusion about the determination of the beginning of Ramadan, the sacred month of fasting, in the modern Islamic world? Every year there are lengthy discussions about the subject in newspapers and magazines in the Muslim world, written either by astronomers or by religious authorities. Given the concern to begin the sacred month only after the lunar crescent has been sighted, how is it possible that Ramadan has occasionally been announced on an evening when the moon has set before the sun? Second, why are there five prayers in Islam? These are not specifically prescribed together either in the Qur’aˆn, the ultimate source of Islamic sacred law, or in the hadith, that is, the literature dealing with the sayings and practice of the Prophet Muhammad, which constitutes the second main authority for the sacred law of Islam. Different theories have been proposed by various scholars in the last century, but none can be considered satisfactory because all neglect to take into consideration the times at which the prayers are to be performed. Using previously unknown textual evidence, it has been possible to explain why there are five prayers and why their times are astronomically defined in the way that they are.

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Third, why are medieval mosques invariably not oriented “properly” toward Mecca? In most medieval urban centers, there were several, often widely different, directions used for mosque orientations. This problem has often puzzled those few historians of Islamic architecture who have taken the trouble to measure mosque orientations, but, as we shall see, the situation can now largely be explained, again thanks to the evidence of newly discovered medieval texts. The same texts cast new light on the Kaaba itself and on its original function.

Folk Astronomy Versus Mathematical Astronomy The Arabs of the Arabian peninsula before Islam had an intimate knowledge of the sun, the moon and fixed stars, the seasons, and the changing night sky and weather patterns throughout the year. The sun, moon and stars, as well as the winds and rains, are mentioned in the Qur’aˆn: see, for example, VIII.54: “Your Lord is God, who created the heavens and the earth in six days . . . . . . and the sun and stars subject to his order . . . . . .”. For this reason, a truly Islamic cosmology (quite independent from the tradition adapted from Greek sources by Muslim scientists) developed in the Qur’aˆnic exegetical literature and in separate treatises on the glory of God as revealed by His creation. Since, in addition, the Qur’aˆn encourages man to use celestial phenomena for guidance, a basic knowledge of these phenomena was considered advantageous. Folk astronomy, based on what could actually be seen in the sky throughout the year and innocent of any underlying theory or associated computations, thus, became widespread in the Islamic world and remained so for many centuries. The basics of this subject are outlined in a series of special treatises (Schmidl 2007) and in encyclopedias compiled over the centuries. The application of this knowledge to religious needs is discussed in treatises on the sacred law of Islam. Independently, parts of this knowledge were also used in agricultural almanacs (Varisco 1993, 1997). The period from the eighth to the fifteenth centuries saw the flourishing in the Near East of a different kind of astronomical knowledge. Muslim astronomers, heirs to the sophisticated astronomical traditions of the Hellenistic world, and also of Iran and India, made new observations, developed new theories, compiled new tables, invented new instruments, and in general made progress in all branches of their discipline (King 1996). They produced an enormous corpus of scientific literature covering all subjects from cosmology to computational techniques. But the scientists did not have a wide audience. They wrote mainly technical treatises that circulated only within the scientific community, and only a few of them compiled popular summaries. In particular, the solutions they proposed for calendar, prayer times, and sacred direction were considered too complicated by the majority or simply irrelevant. As we shall see, the simple techniques of folk astronomy were applied to these practical problems by the legal scholars, and the complicated techniques of mathematical astronomy were applied to the same problems by the astronomers. We now consider in turn each of these three aspects of Islamic religious practice

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involving astronomy and show how each was ideally suited to treatment by one or other of the two different approaches of folk astronomy or mathematical astronomy, depending on one’s frame of mind. We shall show firstly how they were treated by the legal scholars and secondly how the scientists dealt with them. The legal scholars were generally disinclined to listen to the opinions of scientists, and it was they who had far greater control over the practice of the people than the astronomers. On the other hand, the solutions developed by Muslim scientists, invariably too complicated for widespread application in the medieval milieu, are impressive indeed from a scientific point of view.

The Regulation of the Lunar Calendar The Islamic calendar is strictly lunar, and the beginnings and ends of the lunar months, in particular of the holy month of Ramadan, as well as various festivals throughout the 12-month “year”, are regulated by the first appearance of the lunar crescent. See, for example, Qur’aˆn II.189: “They ask you concerning the new moons. Say: they are but signs to mark fixed periods of time in (the affairs of) men, and for the pilgrimage...”. Since 12 lunar months add up to about 354 days, the 12-month cycles of the Islamic calendar occur some 11 days earlier each year, and the individual months move forward through the seasons. The Prophet Muhammad abandoned the preIslamic practice of inserting an additional “intercalary” month in the lunar calendar every few years to keep it in line with the seasons of the solar year. The Qur’aˆn expressly forbids such intercalation, and the exegetes explain that the proscription was necessary because intercalation caused months that God had intended to be holy to be confused with months that He had not intended to be holy. For the scholars of the sacred law, the month began when the crescent was actually sighted. The sighting of the crescent is a relatively simple affair, provided that one knows roughly where and when to look for it and that the western sky is not obscured by adverse weather conditions. Witnesses with exceptional eyesight were sent out to locations with a clear view of the western horizon, and their sighting of the crescent would determine the beginning of the month; otherwise they would repeat the process the next day. If the sky was cloudy, the calendar would be regulated by assuming a fixed number of days for the month just completed. Also, the crescent might be seen in one locality and not in another. Unfortunately the historical sources contain very little information on the actual practice of regulating the calendar in this way. The determination of the possibility of sighting on a given day, on the other hand, is a complicated problem of mathematical astronomy, involving knowledge of the positions of the sun and moon and mathematical investigation of the positions of both celestial bodies relative to each other and to the local horizon. When the moon, viewed from earth, is in the same direction as the sun, it is invisible for a few days, but then it eventually gets far enough away that part of its surface, in the form of a crescent, becomes illuminated by light from the sun. In short, the lunar crescent will be seen after sunset on a given evening at the beginning of a lunar month if it is

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far enough away from the sun and if it is high enough above the horizon not to be overpowered amid the background of the sky above the setting sun. The minimum distance required for crescent visibility can be determined by observations, but the precise conditions for visibility are extremely complicated, as any modern astronomer can attest. The positions of the sun and moon and the positions of both relative to the local horizon must be investigated to see whether the visibility conditions are satisfied. Even if they are, the most ardent astronomer can be denied the excitement of sighting the crescent at the predicted time if clouds or haze on the western horizon restrict his view. The earliest Muslim astronomers adopted a lunar visibility condition that they found in Indian sources. It was as follows: if the difference between the times of sunset and moonset is 48 min or more, then the crescent will be seen. Thus, it was necessary to calculate the positions of the sun and moon from tables, then to calculate the difference in setting times over the local horizon: if this was 48 min or more, the crescent would be seen; if it was less, the crescent would not be seen. Clearly, there might be some question of visibility if the difference was close to 48 min. In Baghdad in the early ninth century, the astronomer al-Khwarizmi compiled a table showing the minimum distances between the sun and moon (measured on the ecliptic, the apparent path of the sun against the background of fixed stars) to ensure visibility throughout the year, based on this condition and computed specifically for the latitude of Baghdad. Over the centuries, Muslim astronomers derived far more complicated conditions for visibility determinations, and they compiled highly sophisticated tables to facilitate their computations. Some of the leading Muslim astronomers proposed conditions involving three different quantities, such as the apparent angular separation of the sun and moon, the difference in their setting times over the local horizon, and the apparent lunar velocity. In the annual ephemerides or almanacs prepared by the Muslim astronomers, information was given about the possibility of visibility at the beginning of each month. In brief, the achievements of the Muslim astronomers in this area were impressive. The regulation of the calendar is the only one of the three topics we are considering that has led to some controversy in modern times between religious authorities and scientists. Actual sighting of the crescent can be used effectively, but only if one has a reasonable idea of the relative positions of the sun and moon. On the other hand, the visibility of the crescent predicted by calculations can be hampered by atmospheric conditions.

The Regulation of the Five Daily Prayers The times of the five daily prayers in Islam are defined in terms of astronomical phenomena depending upon the position of the sun in the sky. More specifically, the times of the daylight prayers are defined in terms of shadows and those of the night prayers in terms of twilight phenomena. Thus, they vary with terrestrial latitude, and unless measured with respect to a local meridian, also with terrestrial longitude.

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The Islamic day is considered to begin at sunset because the months begin when the lunar crescent is seen for the first time shortly after sunset. Each of the five prayers in the Islamic day may be performed during a specified interval of time, and the earlier during the interval that the prayer is performed, the better. The day begins with the maghrib or sunset prayer. The second prayer is the isha or evening prayer, which begins at nightfall. The third is the fajr or dawn prayer, which begins at daybreak. The fourth is the zuhr or noon prayer, which begins shortly after astronomical midday when the sun has crossed the meridian. The fifth is the ‘asr or afternoon prayer, which begins when the shadow of any object has increased beyond its midday minimum by an amount equal to the length of the object casting the shadow. In some medieval circles, the zuhr prayer began when the shadow increase was one quarter of the length of the object, and the ‘asr prayer continued until the shadow increase was twice the length of the object. In other communities, a prayer at midmorning, called the duha, began at the same time before midday as the ‘asr began after midday. This prayer is mentioned in the hadith, and there are varying accounts about it. Why are there five daily prayers in Islam? Why are their times defined in this way? The five prayers adopted by the Muslim community and the definitions of their times mentioned above are not specifically mentioned in the Qur’aˆn. See, for example, Qur’aˆn XI.114: “And perform the prayers at the two ends of the day and at the approaches of the night. . .”; and Qur’aˆn XVII.78: “Perform the prayers at the sun’s decline until the darkness of the night and the recitation at dawn...”. In the hadith literature, more than five prayers are mentioned, and definitions specified for their times are not those that have been in use now for over a thousand years. Thus, for example, the shadow increases are not mentioned in the hadith, only shadow lengths – the Prophet is reported in the canonical hadith collections to have said: “Gabriel came to me and prayed the midday prayer with me when the sun had declined and the afternoon shadow was like the width of the thong of a sandal, and he prayed the afternoon prayer with me when the shadow of every object was the same as its length.... Then on the next day he prayed the midday prayer with me when the shadow of every object was the same as twice its length...”. There is reference to the practice by the early Muslim community of the duha prayer at midmorning, but this prayer was generally, although not completely, abandoned. Also there is reference to the night vigil called tahajjud; this was later made optional. The standard definitions of the times for the daytime prayers in terms of shadow increases rather than shadow lengths (as mentioned in the Prophetic hadith just quoted) appear first in the eighth century. The reason why five prayers were adopted by the early Muslim community is clear from the definitions of their times. The definitions of the duha, zuhr, and ‘asr prayers in terms of shadow increases provide simple and practical means for regulating those prayers at the third, sixth, and ninth hours of daylight, the hours being seasonal hours, that is, 1/12 divisions of the length of daylight. Seasonal hours, which vary throughout the year, were in standard use in the Near East in antiquity. The relationship between the seasonal hours and shadow increases is provided by a simple, approximate formula for timekeeping, of Indian origin but

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known to the Muslims in the eighth century. Even the names of the prayers in Islam are the same as the names of the corresponding seasonal hours recorded by some of the Arab lexicographers. In the first few decades of Islam, the times of prayer were regulated by observation of shadow lengths by day and of twilight phenomena in the evening and early morning. Precisely how either the daylight or the nighttime prayers were regulated is alas not clear from the available historical sources. The muezzins who performed the call to prayer from the minarets of the mosques were chosen for their piety and the excellence of their voices, and the technical knowledge expected of them was limited to the basics of folk astronomy. They knew how to regulate the times of the daylight prayers by shadow lengths and the nighttime prayers by the stars of the 28 lunar mansions, groups of stars around the ecliptic, or apparent path of the sun against the background of stars. This could be achieved not by any real scientific knowledge but simply by memorizing a few basic facts. In a given (solar) month, the midday shadow would be so many feet and the shadow at the ‘asr prayer would be so many feet, etc., the dawn prayer would begin when a group of stars in suchand-such a lunar mansion was rising above the horizon, and so on. On the other hand, the determination of the precise moments – expressed in hours and minutes, local time – when the prayers should begin, according to the standard definitions, could only be accomplished by applying complicated mathematical procedures of spherical astronomy, that is, the study of problems associated with the apparent daily rotation of the celestial sphere. Accurate as well as approximate formulae for reckoning time of day or night from solar or stellar altitudes were available to Muslim scholars from Indian sources; these were improved and simplified by Muslim astronomers over the centuries. Certain individual astronomers from the ninth century onward applied themselves to the calculation of tables for facilitating the determination of the prayer times (see King 2004/2005). The tables would show for each day of the year the precise shadow lengths and solar altitudes at midday and afternoon prayers or the lengths of the intervals between the prayer times, such as the duration of morning and evening twilight. The earliest known prayer tables were compiled by al-Khwarizmi for the latitude of Baghdad. Likewise, the first tables for finding the time of day from the solar altitude on the time of night from the altitudes of certain prominent fixed stars were compiled in Baghdad in the ninth and tenth centuries. To what extent these mathematical procedures and tables were used before the thirteenth century, we cannot know: the earliest examples of such tables are contained in technical works that must have had fairly limited circulation. Certainly the muezzins had no need of such tables, and, besides, one needed to be an astronomer to use them: the tables had to be used together with some kind of observational instrument for measuring the solar altitude and reckoning the passage of time. It was only in the thirteenth century, as far as we know, that the institution of the muwaqqit, or professional astronomer associated with a mosque or madrasa, came into being. These men not only regulated the prayer times in their mosque but also constructed instruments, wrote treatises on spherical astronomy, and gave instruction to students. In thirteenth-century Cairo, new tables were compiled which set

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the tone for astronomical timekeeping all over the Islamic world in the following centuries. In medieval Cairo, there was a corpus of some 200 pages of tables available for timekeeping by the sun and for regulating the times of prayer. Impressive innovations in astronomical timekeeping were made in other medieval cities, especially Damascus, Tunis, and Taiz in the Yemen, although by the sixteenth century, Istanbul had become the main center of this activity. We may mention, for example, the highly sophisticated tables of special trigonometric functions especially designed to solve problems of spherical astronomy for any latitude, compiled in Damascus ca. 1360 by al-Khalili. Tables for finding the time of day from the solar altitude at any time of year were compiled for Cairo, as we have mentioned, and also for Damascus, Tunis, Taiz, Jerusalem, Maragha, Mecca, Edirne, and Istanbul. Medieval tables for regulating the times of prayer have been found for a series of localities between Fez in Morocco and Yarkand in China. Such tables have a history spanning the millennium from the ninth century to the nineteenth. The tables developed by the muwaqqits had to be used together with instruments that could establish when the given prayer time had arrived (King 2004/2005). The most popular of these were the astrolabe and the quadrant. The astrolabe is a twodimensional device for representing the apparent daily rotation of the sun and stars over the horizon for a particular latitude. In addition to the standard hour markings on the plates, there would often be engraved the times of twilight and the daylight prayers. The amount of rotation between two settings of the instrument, which corresponds to the interval of time between two observations, can be measured on a scale. There were several varieties of quadrant. One, developed in Baghdad in the ninth century, could be used for reckoning the time of day from the observed solar altitude: this was the horary quadrant. Another, developed in Cairo in the eleventh or twelfth century, was a simplified version of the astrolabe: this was the astrolabic quadrant. Another means of regulating the daytime prayers was available to the Muslims in the form of the sundial. We know that sundials were in widespread use in the Eastern Mediterranean for centuries before the Muslim conquests and there is a story of the Umayyad Caliph ‘Umar II (ca. 720) using a sundial (doubtless of Greco-Roman provenance and marked with the seasonal hours) for regulating the daylight prayers. When the standard definitions for the prayer times were introduced, probably in the eighth century, the times no longer corresponded precisely to the seasonal hours. Thus, sundials marked with the seasonal hours needed special curves engraved on them for regulating the prayer times. Over the centuries, Muslim astronomers made substantial contributions to sundial theory: this we know mainly from the treatises they wrote on the subject, since most early sundials have vanished without a trace. From the thirteenth century onward, the muwaqqits took a keen interest in sundials, and horizontal or vertical sundials came to be a feature of most major mosques. The faithful could see for themselves that the time for prayer had arrived. Many mosque sundials from the later period of Islamic astronomy survive to this day, though most are nonfunctional.

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Nowadays in towns and villages all over the Islamic commonwealth, the muezzin is still to be heard, often amplified, and the call to prayer is also broadcast on radio and television. But muezzins and technicians read the prayer times from tables, found nowadays in pocket diaries, wall calendars, daily newspapers, or on the Internet. The times are usually computed by local survey departments or other agencies acceptable to the religious authorities, using modern methods applied to the definitions that have been standard for over a millennium. Clocks and watches are available on the market which beep at the prayer times and reproduce a recorded prayer call: a far cry indeed from observing shadow lengths or reckoning the prayer times with an astrolabe or sophisticated astronomical tables.

The Determination of the Sacred Direction The Kaaba is a shrine of uncertain historical origin that served a sanctuary and center of pilgrimage for the Arabs for centuries before the advent of Islam. It was adopted by the Prophet Muhammad as the focal point of the new religion, and the Qur’aˆn advocates prayer toward it: “Turn then thy face in the direction of the sacred mosque: wherever you are, turn your faces towards it” (II.144). For Muslims it is a physical pointer to the presence of God. Thus, since the early seventh century, Muslims have faced the Sacred Kaaba in Mecca during their prayers. Mosques are built with the prayer wall facing the Kaaba, the direction being indicated by a mihrab or prayer niche. In addition, certain ritual acts, such as reciting the Qur’aˆn, announcing the call to prayer, and slaughtering animals for food, are to be performed facing the Kaaba. Also, over the centuries, Muslim graves and tombs were laid out so that the body would lie on its side and face the Kaaba (modern practice is slightly different). Thus, the direction of the Kaaba – called qibla in Arabic and all other languages of the Islamic commonwealth – is of prime importance in the life of every Muslim. In the first two centuries of Islam, when mosques were being built from alAndalus to Central Asia, the Muslims had no truly scientific means available to them for finding the qibla. Clearly they knew roughly the direction from which they had reached wherever they were, and the direction of the road on which pilgrims left for Mecca could be, and, in some cases, actually was used as a qibla. But they also followed two basic procedures, observing tradition and developing a simple expedient. In the first case, some authorities observed that the Prophet Muhammad had prayed due south when he was in Medina and they advocated the general adoption of this direction for the qibla. Thus, there are early mosques from al-Andalus to Central Asia that face south. Other authorities said that the Qur’aˆnic verse quoted above meant standing precisely so that one was facing the Kaaba. The Muslims of Meccan origin knew that when they were standing in front of the walls or corners of the Kaaba, they were facing directions specifically associated with the risings and settings of the sun and certain fixed stars. The major axis of the rectangular base of the edifice is said to

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point toward the rising point of Canopus, and the minor axis is said to point toward summer sunrise and winter sunset. In addition, the four cardinal winds are said to blow so that each one strikes one of the walls of the Kaaba head-on. Such information is recorded already by such seventh-century authorities as Ibn ‘Abbas and al-Hasan al-Basri. The basic correctness of the assertions about the astronomical alignments of the Kaaba found in newly discovered medieval sources has been established by modern measurements of its orientation; actually the minor axis faces exactly toward the southernmost setting point of the moon, although this is not mentioned in any known medieval texts. These features cast new light on the origin of the edifice and, in a sense, confirm the Muslim legend that the Kaaba was built after a celestial counterpart, called the bayt al-ma’muˆr: indeed it seems to have been built as an architectural representation of an Arab cosmology, in which astronomical and meteorological phenomena are represented. The corners of the Kaaba were associated even in pre-Islamic times with the four main regions of the surrounding world, Syria, Iraq, the Yemen, and “the West”. Some Muslim authorities said that, for example, if one wanted to face the Kaaba from Iraq, one should stand in the same direction that one would be facing if one were right in front of the north-eastern wall of the Kaaba. (This is a simple practical method of facing a sacred edifice when one is at a distance from it and is considerably more sophisticated than using a particular cardinal direction for a sacred direction, as in Judaism and Christianity.) Thus, the first Muslims in Iraq built the earliest mosques there toward winter sunset because they wanted the mosque to face the north-eastern wall of the Kaaba. Likewise the first mosques in Egypt were built toward winter sunrise in an attempt to have them face the north-western wall of the Kaaba. Inevitably there were differences of opinion, and different directions were favored by particular groups. Indeed, in each major region of the Islamic world, there was a whole spectrum of directions used for the qibla. Only rarely do the orientations of medieval mosques correspond to the qibla directions derived by computation (see below). Recently some medieval texts have been identified which deal with the problem of the qibla in alAndalus, the Maghrib, Egypt, Iraq and Iran, and Central Asia. Their study has done much to clarify the orientation of mosques in these areas. In order that prayer in any reasonable direction be considered valid, some legal texts assert that while facing the actual direction of the Kaaba (‘ayn) is optimal, facing the general direction of the Kaaba ( jiha) is also legally acceptable. In various texts on folk astronomy and popular encyclopedias, as well as legal treatises, we find the notion of the world divided into sectors about the Kaaba, with an astronomically defined direction being advocated for the qibla in each sector. Some 20 different schemes are known from the manuscript sources, attesting to a tradition of sacred geography in Islam that was far more sophisticated than the corresponding Jewish and Christian notions of the world centered around Jerusalem. The earliest schemes of Islamic sacred geography date from the ninth century, but the main contributor to the development of Islamic sacred geography was a Yemeni legal scholar named Ibn Suraqa, who studied in Basra about the year 1000. Ibn Suraqa

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devised three different schemes of sacred geography, with the world arranged in 8, 11, and 12 sectors about the Kaaba. Each sector of the world faces a particular section of the perimeter of the Kaaba. Simpler versions of his 12-sector scheme occur in the well-known geographical works of Yaqut al-Rumi (ca. 1200) and al-Qazwini (ca. 1250) and the encyclopedia of al-Qalqashandi (ca. 1400). From the fifteenth century to the nineteenth, we find a proliferation of schemes with 8, 11, 12, 18, 20, 24, 34/35/36, 40, 52, and 72 divisions of the world about the Kaaba. Muslim astronomers from the eighth century onward also concerned themselves with the determination of the qibla as a problem of mathematical geography. This activity involved the measurement of geographical coordinates and the computation of the direction of one locality from another by procedures of geometry or trigonometry. The qibla at any locality was defined as the direction of Mecca along the great circle on the terrestrial sphere. The basic problem is to determine the direction of Mecca from any locality, given the latitudes of both localities (b and a) and the longitudinal difference AB (c). The qibla is measured by the angle between the local meridian and the great circle to Mecca (q). The Muslims inherited the Greek tradition of mathematical geography, together with Ptolemy’s lists of localities and their latitudes and longitudes. Already in the early ninth century, observations were conducted in order to measure the coordinates of Mecca and Baghdad as accurately as possible, with the express intention of computing the qibla at Baghdad. Indeed, the need to determine the qibla in different localities inspired much of the activity of the Muslim geographers. The most important Muslim contribution on mathematical geography was a treatise by the eleventh-century scholar al-Biruni; his purpose was to determine for his patron the qibla at Ghazna (in what is now Afghanistan), a goal that he achieved most admirably (see Kennedy 1973.). Once the geographical data are available, a mathematical procedure is necessary to determine the qibla. The earliest Muslim astronomers who considered this problem developed a series of approximate solutions, all adequate for most practical purposes, but in the early ninth century, an accurate solution by solid trigonometry was formulated. The modern formula is rather complicated, namely, q ¼ cot1 fðsin a cos c  cos a tan bÞ= sin cÞg; but the formulae derived by the Muslim astronomers from the ninth century onward were mathematically equivalent to this. Over the centuries, numerous Muslim scholars discussed the qibla problem, presenting solutions by spherical trigonometry or reducing the three-dimensional situation to two dimensions and solving by geometry or trigonometry. They also formulated solutions using calculating devices. In tenth-century Baghdad, a “universal” solution to the qibla problem was achieved. This was in the form of a table displaying the qibla for each degree of longitude difference and latitude difference from Mecca, up to 20 in both cases, with values in degrees and minutes. Several other tables of this kind were produced

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over the centuries. The most spectacular is by al-Khalili (Damascus, ca. 1360): his table displays the qibla for each degree of latitude from 10 to 56 and each degree of longitude from 1 to 60 east or west of Mecca with entries computed with remarkable precision to the accurate formula. This splendid table was not widely known in later Muslim scientific circles: the muwaqqits or professional mosque astronomers of later centuries wrote treatises about the determination of the qibla but did not mention this Syrian table. Also, by the fourteenth century, the correct values of the qibla of each major city had long been established (correct, i.e., for the medieval coordinates used in the calculations). In tenth-century Baghdad and eleventh-century Isfahan, two scholars discussed the solution of the qibla problem using the mathematics of ellipses. This author is of the opinion that some Muslim scholar in the ninth or tenth century proposed a cartographic grid based on this mathematics, yet no such grid is known from before the seventeenth century. From that time, from Isfahan, we have three world maps engraved on brass that are fitted with a sophisticated grid that preserves direction and distance to Mecca, which is at the center. The curves for the circles of latitude, which should be segments of ellipses, are approximated with arcs of circles. About 150 localities from al-Andalus to China are marked on the grids according their (medieval) longitudes and latitudes. Using a graduated diametrical rule and the circular scale around the grids, one can simply read off for any locality the distance and the direction to Mecca (King 1999). Simple qibla indicators fitted with a magnetic compass and a gazetteer of localities and qibla directions also became common, and the modern variety (see below) represents a continuation of this tradition. So much for the achievements of the Muslim scientists in this one small area of their activities. Now the alignment of medieval mosques reflects the fact that the astronomers were not always consulted on their orientation. But since we now know from textual sources which directions were used as a qibla in each major locality, we can better understand not only the mosque orientations but also can recognize numerous cities in the Islamic world that can be said to be qibla oriented. In some, such as Taza in Morocco and Khiva in Central Asia, the orientation of the main mosque dominates the orientation of the entire city. In the case of Cairo, various parts of the city and its suburbs are oriented in three different qibla directions. The Fatimid city, founded in the year 969, faces winter sunrise, which was the qibla of the Companions of the Prophet who erected the first mosque in nearby Fustat some three centuries previously. The Mamluk “City of the Dead” faces the qibla of the astronomers. The suburb of al-Qarafa faces south, another popular qibla direction. The splendid Mamluk mosques and madrasas on the main thoroughfare of the city are aligned externally with the street plan and internally with the qibla of the astronomers; one can observe the varying thickness of the walls when standing in front of the windows inside the mosque overlooking the street outside. This is an area of the history of urban development in the Islamic world that has only recently been studied for the first time, not least because, prior to the discovery of the textual evidence, it was by no means clear which directions were used as qiblas, and even if a qibla direction at variance from the true qibla was clearly popular, it was not known why.

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Only with the systematic scientific cartographic surveys of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries did the first accurate measurements of geographical longitudes of localities in the Islamic world become available. Thus, most of the accurately computed qiblas of the medieval astronomers were off by a few degrees anyway. Nowadays urban Muslims are content to use the qibla directions found by calculation from modern geographical coordinates. In rural areas where there is no mosque nearby, astronomical horizon phenomena are still used for the sacred direction. In recent years, various devices for finding the qibla have appeared on the market, invariably in the form of a magnetic compass with a list of directions for the qiblas in the major cities of the world. Nowadays the qibla for any locality can be found from various Internet sites. Other qibla indicators are controlled by satellite and in any given location on earth will indicate the appropriate direction to Mecca. In 2012 a Gulf bank issued cash cards with an electronic qibla locator built in.

Concluding Remarks As we have shown, the legal scholars of medieval Islam used methods for regulating the calendar and the prayer times and for finding the sacred direction that were simple and adequate for practical purposes. Their ingenuity in coping with the differences of opinion never lost sight of the basic purpose of the Qur’aˆnic and prophetic injunctions. Some of the greatest of the Muslim scientists dealt with the calendar, prayer times, and the qibla, and in these areas, as in others, their mathematical creativity and their quest for greater accuracy was impressive. In later centuries (after the thirteenth), competent astronomers were appointed to the staffs of major mosques in order to advise on these specific subjects. But the solutions developed by Muslim scientists were invariably too complicated for widespread application in the medieval milieu. Although the scholars of the sacred law and the scientists proposed different solutions to the same individual problem, there are few records of serious discord between the two groups in the medieval sources. The legal scholars criticized mathematical astronomy mainly insofar as it was used by some as the handmaiden of astrology, which was anathema to them. The scientists seldom spoke out against the simple procedures adopted by the legal scholars. And it is worthwhile noting that very little of this “astronomy in the service of Islam” became known in medieval or Renaissance Europe. In his treatise against astrology, the twelfth-century Iraqi religious scholar alKhatib al-Baghdadi discussed the aspects of astronomy which were acceptable, listing them as follows: The science of star nomenclature, the appearances of the stars, their risings and settings, their courses across the sky, using them for finding direction, the movements of the Bedouin from their watercourses or wells according to the times indicated by the stars, their choice of times for their young animals and for fertilization by their male animals, their knowledge of the rains according to the changing night sky, their methods for telling the good from the

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bad, fixing the direction of the qibla by means of the stars, and finding the times of prayer and the hours of the night by the appearances and settings of the stars.

These are all aspects of folk astronomy, and there is no mention of systematic observation, theory, or calculation, on which mathematical astronomy is based. The thirteenth-century Yemeni legal scholar al-Asbahi (Schmidl 1995) wrote in stronger terms against mathematical astronomy in his treatise on folk astronomy: The times of prayer are not to be found by the markings on an astrolabe or by calculation using the science of the astronomers; they are only to be found by actually looking (at the sky) . . . . . .. The astronomers took their knowledge from (the Greek mathematician) Euclid and the compilers of (the Indian astronomical handbook known as) the Sindhind, as well as from (the Greek philosopher) Aristotle and the (other) philosophers: all of these were infidels.

On the other hand, the greatest scientist of medieval Islam, al-Biruni, wrote against the techniques of folk science in the introduction to his masterful treatise on mathematical geography (Kennedy 1973), mentioned above. He remarked: Let us point out the great need for ascertaining the direction of the qibla in order to perform the ritual prayers which are the pillar of Islam. . . . It is known that this direction varies according to the place at which the direction of the Kaaba is to be determined. This can be observed within the Sacred Mosque (in Mecca), and should be even more evident when considered from other places. If the distance from the Kaaba is small, its direction may be determined by a diligent seeker, but when the distance is great, only the astronomers can determine that direction. Every challenge calls for the right men.... Some scholars have been discussing completely irrelevant phenomena, such as the directions from which the winds blow, and the risings of the lunar mansions. Even the professional astronomers find the qibla problem difficult to solve, so you can imagine how difficult it is for the nonastronomer.

Only through recent studies of the vast manuscript sources available for the further documentation of Islamic civilization have we come to appreciate the dual nature of astronomy in Islam and the ways in which it was applied in daily life. We now have a much clearer idea of the role of folk astronomy in Islamic society as well as a much clearer understanding of the outstanding achievements of the Muslim scientists, which were impressive in many respects and were by no means restricted to the three areas that we have discussed here. The Islamic Near East, far more than any other religio-cultural region, witnessed truly remarkable developments in scientific research directed toward the needs of religion. The modern conflicts between religious authorities and astronomers concerning the timing of Ramadan are nothing new. Computerized watches for prayer times and devices for finding the qibla for jet-set Muslims are merely the most recent development in a tradition of Islamic timekeeping and sacred geography that has lasted over a millennium. For Muslim astronauts, there are new problems. Outside the atmosphere, the crescent can be seen somewhat earlier than on earth; also, the appropriate times and the direction of prayer are difficult to define. Islamic law has for centuries provided viable alternatives for travellers, and as Muslims consider these problems and others relating to science and technology, particularly if they keep in mind the impressive achievements of their forbears, they will surely devise new solutions.

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Glossary Al-Andalus That part of the Iberian peninsula under Muslim domination at any given time. (Not to be confused with the modern Spanish province and region of Andalucia). Hadıˆth The sayings and deeds of the Prophet Muhammad, recorded in six canonical collections. Kaaba For Arabic Ka’ba, literally “cube”, the sacred shrine at the heart of Mecca and of the entire Islamic world. Law/legal Refers here to the sacred law of Islam, based on the Qur’aˆn and hadıˆth. Madrasa A religious school sometimes achieving university status. Mamluˆks The ruling dynasty in Egypt and Syria from the mid thirteenth to the early sixteenth century. Medieval Refers here to the period when traditional pre-telescopic astronomy was practiced. Mihraˆb The niche in the wall of the mosque that faces the qibla. The faithful pray toward the wall, not the mihraˆb. Mosque The place where Muslims worship as a community. The entire building is usually oriented toward Mecca, that is, in the qibla. The mihraˆb indicates the wall that faces the qibla. The faithful pray in rows that are parallel to this wall. Muezzin From Arabic mu’adhdhin, the person who calls the faithful to prayer from the minaret of the mosque. Muwaqqit Literally, timekeeper; the Arabic word for the astronomer associated with a mosque who used to establish the times of prayer. Derived from waqt, “time”. Orientation Mosques are oriented in the qibla, which in medieval times might be determined by one of several different procedures. Ottomans The ruling Turkish dynasty in the Muslim world (except for Iran and regions further east) from the early sixteenth to the early twentieth century. Qibla The sacred direction in Islam, toward the Kaaba in Mecca. Qur’aˆn The sacred book of Muslims, considered by them as the ultimate revelation of God to mankind. The Maghrib N. W. Africa. The Arabic word means “place where the sun sets” or “West”.

References American Council of Learned Societies (1970–80) Dictionary of scientific biography, 14 vols and 2 suppl vols. Scribner, New York. [Contains the most reliable accounts of the works of the most important Muslim scientists. See especially the articles “al-Bıˆruˆnıˆ”, “al-Khalıˆlıˆ”, “alKhwaˆrizmıˆ”, “Ibn Yuˆnus”] (1960-2002) The encyclopaedia of Islam, 2nd edn. Brill, Leiden, especially articles “Ru’yat alhilal” (¼ visibility of the lunar crescent); “Mıˆkaˆt” (¼ astronomical time-keeping and the regulation of the times of prayer); “Kibla” (¼ sacred direction); “Makka: As Centre of the World” (¼ sacred geography). [Survey articles]

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Kennedy ES (1973) A commentary upon Bıˆruˆnıˆ’s Kitaˆb Tahdıˆd al-Amaˆkin – An 11th century treatise on mathematical geography, AUB, Beirut. [Translation of and commentary on the most important medieval treatise on mathematical geography] Kennedy ES, Colleagues and Former Students (1983) Studies in the Islamic exact sciences, AUB, Beirut. [Reprints of 70 articles written or inspired by the leading scholar in the field] King DA, Saliba G (eds) (1986) Kennedy Festschrift: from deferent to equant – studies in the history of science in the ancient and medieval near east in honor of E. S. Kennedy. Ann NY Acad Sci 500. [Some 35 articles by the world’s leading experts] King DA (1986/93, 1987/95, 1993, 2012) Islamic mathematical astronomy, Islamic astronomical instruments, astronomy in the service of Islam, Islamic astronomy and geography. Variorum, Aldershot. [Reprints of about 70 articles. The first volume includes surveys of astronomical timekeeping in medieval Cairo, Damascus and Istanbul and an analysis of al-Khalıˆlıˆ’s universal qibla table. The third volume includes analyses of the earliest mathematical methods for finding the qibla, and of the first tables for determining lunar crescent visibility. The fourth volume includes a general survey of Islamic astronomy and an overview of sacred geography] King DA (1996) Islamic astronomy. In: Walker CBF (ed) Astronomy before the telescope. BL Press, London, repr 1999, pp 143–174, repr in idem, Islamic astronomy and geography (see above), essay I. [A general overview in the light of other historical traditions] King DA (2004/05) In: Synchrony with the heavens – studies in astronomical timekeeping and instrumentation in medieval islamic civilization, 2 vols. Brill, Leiden/Boston. [vol 1 deals with timekeeping by the sun and stars and the regulation of the times of prayer, and vol 2 with all manner of instruments] King DA (1999) World-maps for finding the direction and distance to Mecca – innovation and tradition in Islamic science. Brill/Al-Furqan Foundation, Leiden/London. [Includes a survey of Muslim determinations of the qibla] Schmidl P (2007) Volkst€ umliche Astronomie im islamischen Mittelalter: Zur Bestimmung der Gebetszeiten und der Qibla bei al-Asbahıˆ, Ibn Rahıˆq, and al-Faˆrisıˆ, 2 vols. Brill, Leiden/ Boston. [Contains much information on practical applications of Islamic folk astronomy in the service of Islamic ritual] Varisco DM (1993) Medieval agriculture and Islamic science: The Almanac of a Yemeni Sultan. University of Washington Press, Seattle. [This and the next volume are the best sources on the application of folk astronomy to agriculture] Varisco DM (1997) Medieval folk astronomy and agriculture in Arabia and the Yemen. Ashgate/ Variorum, Aldershot/Brookfield

Interactions Between “Indigenous” and “Colonial” Astronomies: Adaptation of Indigenous Astronomies in the Modern World

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Alejandro Martı´n Lo´pez

Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . In the Origin Was. . . the Interchange . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Colonialism Before “the” Colonialism . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Other World Expansions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The Heterogeneity of the Colonial Enterprise . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Christian Missions and the Colonial Skies . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Popular European Astronomies . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The “White People” in Indigenous Skies . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . National Movements . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Decolonization and Globalization . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Final Words . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Abstract

In this chapter, we discuss the methodological aspects of cultural astronomy in the context of the interactions between indigenous groups and colonial powers. We seek to show the importance of relationships and flows in order to understand the production of sky’s representations and practices in these contexts. Beyond this particular goal, our work aims to show that human groups generally do not work in isolation and that they are not static. That is why an approach with particular attention to the interchanges and the dynamics of interethnic contact is essential even for the study of the astronomy of groups that seem to be isolated.

A.M. Lo´pez Seccio´n de Etnologı´a, Instituto de Ciencias Antropolo´gicas, Facultad de Filosofı´a y Letras, Universidad de Buenos Aires, Buenos Aires, Argentina e-mail: [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_30, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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Introduction All our researches about indigenous astronomies were and are made in colonial and postcolonial contexts. This fact obliges us to take into account the interaction between indigenous, Creole, and European astronomies as a key factor in our work. However, much research in cultural astronomy conceives indigenous astronomies as the product of isolated societies, relics of a distant past. In this vein, the research represents an attempt to preserve some pristine knowledge and practices from acculturation. But this idea of “cultural rescue” does not take into account the dynamic character of all societies. Indigenous societies were part of complex interethnic networks, long before the European expansion. This contact included the exchange of people, objects, and ideas. Practices and representations about the sky were no exception (▶ Chap. 57, “Colonial Zapotec Calendars and Calendrical Astronomy”, ▶ Chap. 81, “Ethnoastronomy in the Multicultural Context of the Agricultural Colonies in Northern Santa Fe Province, Argentina”). Myth is not a closed and static system (Hill 1988, pp. 4–5); it is a form of historic conscience. New facts receive meaning by bringing into play the categories and structures of myth. Simultaneously, the process redefines the mythical categories, moving their senses. Thus, change and continuity coexist in mythical thinking. In addition to that, the European expansion gave this interchange a greater relevance. New communication technologies and the increasing interdependence of local economies transformed the relationship between human groups (Wallerstein 2006). They also modeled local knowledge in important ways. Nevertheless, this is not a simple process of “acculturation” in which the indigenous cultures give place to a homogeneous world. The local cultures actively change and reinterpret the global patterns creating new cosmologies (Sahlins 1990). In this chapter, we discuss the consequences of all this for cultural astronomy.

In the Origin Was. . . the Interchange To support our idea that exchange and interethnic relations are fundamental to understanding cosmological systems long before the European expansion, we will discuss a particularly revealing example. Shamanism was viewed as one of the most ancient modes of production of cosmologies. For this reason, on many occasions, it was viewed as a closed system, linked with small, static, and isolated groups. However, shamanism itself is deeply involved with interethnic relations. Long controversies took place concerning the definition of shamanism (Chaumeil 1998, pp. 42–51), but the ability to travel through different regions and levels of the world and the interaction with nonhuman and powerful beings seems to be a fundamental characteristic. In this vein, the shaman is not only a cosmologist, but also an explorer (a mix between an astronaut, an oceanographer, etc.). But most fundamentally, the shaman is an expert in diplomatic relations with

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nonhuman societies (Viveiros de Castro 2002, pp. 358, 450). This is due to the fact that the worlds that the shaman visits are social-worlds, nonhuman societies. The relationship with the “otherness” is at the center of the shamanic experience. Travels and the interchange with these social others are the shaman’s cosmological source of knowledge. For this reason, the shaman plays a central role in establishing relationships between the shaman’s group and other groups. The shamanic experience itself acts as a model for interethnic relations. Foreign goods and manners have great relevance in shamanic systems (Chaumeil 1998, pp. 30, 274–276, 332–333). The borders of their own territory and people from distant places are seen as a source of power and knowledge. Their “otherness” is the sign of their power. For example, for Andean societies, the Amazonian forest its animals and its people are full of potency. Monkeys, jaguars, and jungle birds are frequently present in Andean archaeological ceramics. Also, for many Amazonian societies, the Andean region is a source of shamanic potency and the Inca have an important role in their myths (Roe 1988). The prestige of the stranger and their shamanic methods impel many people to search for shamans from distant groups. On many occasions this necessitates long and dangerous travels. This interchange network of shamanic specialists and systems is not symmetrical. Some groups are viewed by their neighbors as specialists in shamanic power. In this way, shamanic practices and specialists are some of the more relevant goods that circulate through regional networks, promoting interethnic interchange. We can even say that shamanism is itself an interethnic construction.

Colonialism Before “the” Colonialism Despite the differences between many regions, it is important to remember that before the European expansion there were processes of conquest, imperialism, and colonization. The Inca, Aztec, and Tiahuanaco expansions are classic examples. We also have processes of expansion that do not involve state-type societies, for example, the Arawak expansion in the Amazonian region. These processes were important because they promoted major interchanges between astronomical and cosmological systems. A very clear example is the expansion of the “ceque” patterns in the Andean world related to the Inca expansion. The ideological aspects of the conquest processes are very relevant. The sky, which in many groups is linked to power representations (▶ Chap. 5, “Astronomy and Power”), has a fundamental role in those ideological devices (▶ Chap. 6, “Astronomy and Politics”). On many occasions, European colonial expansion used preexisting systems of colonialism that were present in each zone. Also, the bureaucratic and ideological apparatus was refunctionalized for the new European colonizers. This gives great relevance to the study of the interaction between the uses of astronomical systems as ideological devices for domination and exchange between European and non-European systems of this nature. In particular, it is important to remember that calendar systems are political artifacts; festivities are not only related to sky

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phenomena but to myths about the origin of goods, the origin of different people, and the origin of the distribution roles in interethnic relations.

Other World Expansions Although the idea of global expansion tends to be associated with the European one, there have existed and still exist other large-scale cultural, political, and social expansions. In many regions, these other worldwide processes have had a major impact in shaping local astronomy traditions. The Islamic and the Buddhist expansion are an example of this. Despite having very different characteristics from each other and in comparison with the Western expansion, they have a great relevance to indigenous astronomy traditions in many places. One common feature of these three processes is that all of them incorporate writing technology in a central roˆle. This is not a minor issue, the reason being that writing is not only a way of communication but also implies a new way of thinking and seeing the World (Ong 1996). In oral cultures, communication, together with intellectual processes, occurs in face-to-face interactions. These interactions are real performances and not the recitation of fixed and preexistent texts. The criteria of truth and authority are different from their equivalents in literate cultures. The oral conception of tradition is a flexible one, in which ancient knowledge is accommodated to assimilate new things. The three expansions we mentioned above promoted writing with strong assistance from sacred texts. The Quran, the Bible, and the Sutras have had a great effect on fixing linguistic dialects, rhetoric expressions, ritual practices, and cosmological ideas. These marginal contacts with writing by indigenous societies imposed special characteristics upon their cultural dynamics (Goody 1996). The prestige and the legitimation of power that are associated with physical written documents are related to the political process of subordination to these expansive writing cultures. An important example of the impact of these situations on astronomical systems is the case studied by Maurice Bloch (1996) in Madagascar. He studied a system of astrology practiced in this region, founded upon access to the writing of certain elites associated with Arabian Islam. He demonstrated how this system is used as a form of constructing prestige. The specialists compete with each other, and they establish a distance from the neophytes largely due to the complex procedures related to the writing that they use. In the rest of this chapter, we focus our attention on the European expansion. The reason for doing so is that this particular expansion process is the one that underlines the dynamics of current globalization. However, we consider that it is very important to develop studies about the other great expansions and their interaction with indigenous systems of astronomical knowledge (e.g. ▶ Chap. 92, “Calendar Pluralism and the Cultural Heritage of Domination and Resistance (Tuareg and Other Saharans)”) and also, the interaction of these systems with the Western expansion (▶ Chap. 153, “Interactions Between Islamic and Christian Traditions in the Iberian Peninsula”).

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The Heterogeneity of the Colonial Enterprise When we talk about cultural astronomies in the context of the interaction between indigenous groups and European colonial expansion, the first images are related to the period that begins with the exploratory voyages in the fifteenth century. The colonial enterprise, and especially the Spanish presence in America, is viewed in many works on cultural astronomy as monolithic in nature. It is very important to avoid this illusion in order to study these interactions. The idea of a monolithic domination machine is frequently promoted by researchers who are interested in indigenous cultures. However, this distorted image of the European expansion does not help us towards a deeper understanding of that process. The colonial enterprise was very heterogeneous; in fact, we have a great diversity of colonial processes with important differences in terms of economic, social, and political factors. At that time, the European states had great complexity, and contained many “interest groups”, each with its own ideas about the New Worlds. These “strange lands” outside the “civilized World” were viewed by the Europeans as an empty field into which their social utopias could be projected. Given that European society was very complex and hierarchical, it had different groups of specialists and different social classes and institutions. Each different group had diverse dreams and necessities. Also, the colonial states had many scales; each one had its own political, cultural, and economical institutions, interests, and social actors. It is important to reconstruct the local variations and the articulation of local, regional, continental, and world scales because this is one of the first “global” processes in history. Furthermore, the colonial presence is not a static fact; it changed with time and has a history. Conflicts between colonial institutions were very common during colonial times. The homogeneity within these institutions was in many cases much less than some researchers tend to imagine. We need to take into account the diversity of power technologies and control methods (Foucault 2002) and not project into the past our present institutional experiences. Many of these colonial institutions — missionary enterprises, for example — rested on the actions of very few people and had very poor material support for their activities. The small number of people involved in many of these situations makes the social trajectories of these individuals fundamental in order to understand the particular characteristics that the colonial action presented. This wide spectrum of social actors had different interests, cosmovisions, and practices. Another key issue is the great diversity of interactions between Europeans, Creoles, and indigenous groups. These relationships not only included military conflict, different forms of compulsory work, and great movements of people between different places. There were also different forms of personal services, trades between independent aboriginal groups and colonial cities, and alliances between some colonial cities or regions and some indigenous groups, groups that, in many cases, attacked other colonial regions, etc.

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Christian Missions and the Colonial Skies Christianity was and is a central aspect of the colonial enterprise. All the European forms of Christianity were, in the first place, vehicles of colonial cosmologies. But Christianities are also arenas of the interaction between indigenous and colonial astronomies. The new Christianities that emerged from these interactions are very complex and interesting phenomena that include live and fruitful astronomical systems. To understand these interactions, we need to comprehend each of the components of these relations. However, specialists in Christianities usually see the indigenous worlds in a very simplified manner. At the same time, the scholars who work on indigenous groups tend to see Christianity as a homogeneous field, like a conspiracy domination machine. The ethnoastronomy of indigenous groups and the ethnoastronomy of the great diversity of Christianities usually have very little interaction, and this is an important problem for the comprehension of the real situation. In the first place, a major study is necessary of the astronomical implications of the Christianization process of the different regions in Europe for the colonial enterprise. For example, as Mircea Eliade has outlined (1994/1963, pp. 178–182), Christianity in central and eastern rural Europe has very particular and “cosmic” expressions, related to the pre-Christian cultures in those regions. This characteristic was also present at the time of the European World expansion. We have cultural astronomy studies that explore these interactions of ancient and Christian tradition in that region of Europe (for example, Lauzˇikas 2008; Vaisˇku¯nas 2008; see also ▶ Chap. 157, “Church Orientations in Central and Eastern Europe”). But this phenomenon has surprising and interesting consequences for studies of the Christian missions in South America, because many of the Christian missionaries in Spanish colonial domains were from Central and Eastern Europe (Lo´pez 2009). In research on the influence of Christian cosmologies, it is important to draw a distinction between formal and specialized cosmological knowledge and popular astronomical traditions. On some occasions, as for many Jesuits in China during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, the missionaries had formal astronomical training. But, on other occasions, the missionaries had little formal astronomical knowledge, as was true of the Jesuits in the Chaco Region of South America during the eighteenth century. Added to this, it is important to understand the strong influence of the baroque view of Greco-Roman sky conceptions. The Christian missionaries from that period tended to think about indigenous societies by comparing them with classic paganism. For example, the term “idolatry” was introduced by Bartolome´ de las Casas in order to understand American religions in terms of the ancient European religions – Greek, Roman, Caldean – (Sa´nchez 2002, pp. 19–20). Gruzinski (2004) noted that the use of classical models was a widely used procedure in colonial America to deal with American cosmovisions. Statements from classic authors – such as Ovid, Lucan, Virgil, and Cicero – were very common in discussions about indigenous sky conceptions. Searches for indigenous sky-deities to be candidates for the Christian god and saints in indigenous languages were partly inspired by the

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procedures of Christianity for dealing with European paganism. Furthermore, these strategies have connections with the use of sky-deities as objects of mythical conceptualization in the subordination of local populations to large expansionist indigenous states (e.g., the Inca use of the solar cult and the posterior strategies of the Spaniard evangelization). However, this was not only a colonizers’ strategy. The indigenous populations also developed mythopoetic recreations of previous myths in order to give meaning to the Christian god and the European conquest itself. This is the case for Aymara communities (Dillon and Abercrombie 1988) who recontextualized mythical narratives about the origin of the present World with the resurrection of Christ viewed as the Sun. We also need to remember the great diversity of ideas and missionary practices between the different Christian denominations. The contrast between Catholic and evangelical missions is very significant and on many occasions had important consequences on indigenous astronomical conceptions (Lo´pez 2009). What is more, within one denomination were many differences. In the Catholic case, diverse religious orders had many differences in their procedures, level of astronomical formal training, ideas about indigenous sky conceptions, etc. Many orders were also international institutions with missionaries from different parts of Europe. The congregational structure of the evangelical religious field gave their missions a great capacity for adaptation to variable circumstances and a wide spread of attitudes toward indigenous cosmological conceptions. The relationship between the missions and the political authorities of the colonial enterprise also played a very important role in the strategies of the missionaries for dealing with indigenous cosmologies. In the Spanish domains in South America, the minority political position of evangelical missions gave these missions some structural identification with the indigenous communities which was not the case with the Catholic ones. This structural effect is reversed in regions that are politically dominated by protestant colonial powers. It is also important to note that many of the interactions between indigenous and Christian skies take place in concrete practices. Religious services, ecstatic experiences, processions, burial practices, sacraments, music, dresses, paintings, and sculptures are fundamental settings for the constructions of new skies and new relations with the sky. This is also true for more ordinary practices. The missionary enterprise introduced major changes in the use of time and space and in kinship systems. These changes were introduced by the new habitus that the missionaries intended to implant — sedentarization, separation between work and rest, schooling of children — all of which had an enormous relevance to sky conceptions and practices. The relationship of Christianity to local cosmologies shows a wide range of variations. We have cases of very direct confrontation, reflected in new ways of relating to the cosmos. An example of this is the orientation pattern of the first evangelical temple in Sabaya, an Aymara community in Bolivia (Rivie`re 2005, p. 349). This temple broke the previous pattern of orientation of public spaces in this community. The traditional orientation, linked to pre-Columbian rituality, is to the east, as for the main square of Sabaya (Rivie`re, 2013, personal communication).

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Another previous orientation is to the north, which is the case for places related to Catholic practices in Sabaya. This northward orientation is related to Sabaya’s founding myth and the brotherhood between the two Candelaria Virgins, one located in Sabaya’s church and the other in Copacabana church. In this way, the north-facing door of Sabaya’s Catholic church is interpreted as facing the Copacabana church. Even though people are facing south, when they invoke the Virgin of Candelaria, patron of Sabaya, people turn to the north, facing the door of the church (Rivie`re, 2013, personal communication). In contrast to these previous orientations, the door of the first temple of the “Iglesia Evange´lica Pentecostal” faces west (an orientation traditionally related in Sabaya only to rituality associated with death). An initial analysis could wrongly suppose that the orientation to the west is related to the European traditional pattern whose intention is that people face east during the servce (something that is not respected even in the Sabaya Catholic church). However, the ethnographic fieldwork shows that this westward orientation is a way of expressing the bond between the evangelical community of Sabaya and Chile, the country of origin of the evangelical missionaries, while simultaneously being an opposition to the previous cosmological orders (Rivie`re, 2013, personal communication). The general principle that is apparently governing all these systems of orientation in dispute is that the door of each sacred building is oriented to the place associated with the material or immaterial entity that is important in each case (Rivie`re, 2013, personal communication) (Fig. 13.1). It is interesting to note that in Sabaya we have also an orientation due to “accidental” factors: the door of the new evangelical temple faces north only because of issues related to the urban problems of Sabaya, according to people from there (Rivie`re, 2013, personal communication). In other cases, we find a significant resignification of the Christian cosmology, as in the Mocovı´ interpretation of the Virgin Mary as a powerful being from the sky, linked with their myths about celestial women (Lo´pez 2009) (Fig. 13.2). In most cases, really new sky conceptions are born from the indigenous ways of recreating both Christian and pre-Christian tradition, an example being the new conceptions of the sky among evangelical Mocovı´ people (Altman 2010).

Popular European Astronomies The most important interchanges of sky representations and practices take place in everyday interactions between different conceptions of “common sense”. The logics of practice (Bourdieu 1997) must be central to studies concerning the relationship between colonial and indigenous astronomies. In this sense, as we have said, the more important impact of the colonization process was on people’s configuration of habitus. Formal teaching spaces and the contents of “official” Western doctrines were only of secondary significance. Much more relevant were the changes in the ordering of time and space and in the emotions and aesthetic conceptions of everyday interactions with the sky. Also, the Western ideas about

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Fig. 13.1 First temple of the “Iglesia Evange´lica Pentecostal” in Sabaya. Its orientation challenged the traditional and local catholic orientations but appealed to the same orientation language: the doors of sacred buildings faced places related to material or immaterial entities in each case (With kind permission of Gilles Rivie`re)

the cosmos that the indigenous people received were in most cases popular European ideas (▶ Chap. 18, “Archaeoastronomical Concepts in Popular Culture”, ▶ Chap. 160, “Lost Skies of Italian Folk Astronomy”) and not scholarly conceptions. This is true for past situations and also for the present ones. The sources relevant to this kind of process are not only “astronomical” texts. A very broad genre of textual and nontextual sources (from personal letters to popular childrens’ songs, including administrative records) can give us information about these new habitus, which requires an anthropological reading of these sources. The relevance of everyday knowledge gives great importance to the study of popular astronomical traditions from the regions of origin of the colonial agents. We need to take into account very seriously the European folk context. Indigenous populations were usually incorporated into colonial societies in the lower social positions. For this reason, the interaction between indigenous populations and the lower classes of Creole and European society is fundamental to an understanding of these new skies. This interaction with popular colonial sectors was also central in the case of independent indigenous groups. The colonial borders that these independent groups inhabited were also populated by Europeans and Creole people expelled by their own society: criminals, political dissidents, adventurers, etc. Also, many independent aboriginal groups had intense trade with colonial populations. In this trade the popular colonial sectors had a key role. The same is true for another source of interactions: the colonial military campaigns against these aboriginal groups.

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Fig. 13.2 Left: Painting showing the Creole version of the miraculous discovery of the Virgin Mary’s image, placed in the church of “The Virgin of the Lagoon”, in SW Chaco, Argentina. Right: Drawing of the sky made by an old aboriginal woman (from the Moqoit people), SW Chaco, Argentina. The central band is the Nayic (the path, our Milky Way). To the right, from bottom to top: Pioxo (the two dogs, a and b Cen); Natogonai qo’parit (the circular fence of the Southern threebanded armadillo, Corona Australis); Masalaxan˜i (the Widows, Orion’s belt). To the left, from bottom to top: Mapiqo’xoic (the old algarrobo tree – Prosopis alba y nigra-, parts of Sagittarius); the Temal (the water holes, the Magellanic Clouds), Lapilalaxachi (the cultural hero, the Pleiades). All of these are traditional asterisms. The last one, on the top left, is the asterism named in Spanish “La Virgen” and in moqoit “La Virjole”, which means “The Virgin” (a name applied to a triangular shape of stars viewed in Taurus and also to another viewed in Capricorn). This is a clear example of the resignification of Christian entities in the context of aboriginal skies

The “White People” in Indigenous Skies In all these processes, the indigenous populations produced social thoughts about the European colonizers and their society. These thoughts included ideas about the connection between the Europeans and the cosmos. As symbols of “otherness” in many South American societies (Lo´pez 2009; Silverblatt 1988), human manifestations of powerful beings in the sky acquired a European aspect. Blond women and bearded men are very extended human corporal regimes of sky people. In common with the white people, they have power, desirable goods and food, but are immoderate and dangerous. In the same way White people are not only associated with celestial beings but also with previous indigenous powers as discussed above. A good example of this is the association established by the Shipibo of Peruvian Amazonia between the Sun, the mythical Inca, and the White people (Roe 1988, p. 121). However, we cannot assume that all indigenous societies have the same forms of articulation with Western society. This variation is reflected in different

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cosmological integrations of the White people into mythical thought (Turner 1988). In some cases, they were incorporated into the traditional origin myths of their own culture. In other cases, they were assimilated into mythical narratives that give meaning to the difference of power and goods between indigenous societies and non-indigenous ones. These narratives are constructed using myth patterns that make reference to some kind of failure in the ancestors’ behavior which introduced mortality into human life. Millenarian indigenous movements shaped as the announcement of the restoration of pre-colonial ways of living or promises of the possession of the White people’s goods are other forms of giving meaning to the colonial presence. In these movements, the leaders were very frequently connected to celestial powers and frequently the promised goods would come from the sky in airplanes, as in many “cargo cults” (Harris 1996).

National Movements The creation of nation-states in colonial European domains during the nineteenth and twentieth — and also twenty-first — centuries, had great relevance in the development of new astronomical scenarios. These movements, characteristically led by Creole bourgeoisies, usually involved wars that had an impact on the indigenous populations. The change of frontiers and the incorporation of extensive territories into Western models of production also instigated many changes in the indigenous people and their traditional forms of organization and productive systems. Many of them were brought into lower work positions as a cheap workforce, in a process of progressive proletarization in the context of an ethnically segmented working market. This process also brought about their integration into new ways of consumption of goods and ideas. Different devices were employed to achieve this objective: linguistic politics, schooling, military repression, etc. (Fig. 13.3). During these times, in South America, Protestant missionaries acquired access to many territories that had used to be exclusively Catholic missionary lands. This allowed new resignifications of Christian cosmologies (Altman 2010; Barabas 2006; Capiberibe 2007; Guerrero Jime´nez 2005; Rivie`re 2005). In many cases, it resulted in the prohibition of certain Catholic practices that were spaces of interaction with pre-Christian practices. But the Protestant presence also opened up new spaces for the legitimation of indigenous leaderships and practices. An example of this is wider access to the celestial region by certain “democratization” of the ecstatic experience (Altman 2010; Capiberibe 2007, p. 189) (Fig. 13.4). The new nation-states made great efforts to construct “national identities”. This effort usually implied a folklorization of indigenous traditions, viewed as a mythic prehistory of the nation. This lead to important processes of “construction of traditions” (Hobsbawm and Ranger 2002), which involved astronomical aspects owing to the relevance of the sky in many symbolic representations of power and order. This usually included the construction of hypothetical ancient

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Fig. 13.3 Corporal practices and national symbolism in a small rural school in an aboriginal community (moqoit), SW Chaco, Argentina. These practices construct new uses of space and time, in fact new habitus

knowledge (Pereira Quiroga 2011), or the appropriation of indigenous traditions, resignificated in order to be suitable for the purpose of the nation-state. The Creole elites also tended to claim their own astronomical practices (Can˜izares Esguerra 1999), but usually evaluated them using Western parameters. This has often led to the construction of a national “academic” community in the sense of a local academic field affiliated to the global rules of the game. All these had consequences for cultural astronomy research (McCluskey 2008). But it is important to recognize that these political uses of astronomical ideas are not new phenomena. Astronomical practices and conceptions usually had strong political implications (▶ Chap. 6, “Astronomy and Politics”). The construction of these national identities simultaneously implied important integration politics of the indigenous population – creolization – and attempts to dissolve their own particularities.

Decolonization and Globalization Since the twentieth century and upto the present time, but especially before the beginning of the decolonization process in the 1950s, globalization introduced an increasingly dynamic scenario. As theories about the World-System (Wallerstein 2006) have pointed out, all the societies of the world are now part of the global system, including those that are apparently more isolated. This integration in

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Fig. 13.4 Top: Evangelical cult in an aboriginal (moqoit) community in SW Chaco, Argentina, 2013. Bottom: Evangelical dancers in an aboriginal cult during the Annual Convention of the “Iglesia Evangelica Unida”, Saenz Pen˜a, Chaco, Argentina, 2010. (Both with kind permission of Agustina Altman)

modern global capitalism forms a hierarchically ordered global interethnic network. Power relations are fundamental to the configuration of these relationships. The sky is in many cultures a space linked with power representations (▶ Chap. 5, “Astronomy and Power”). For this reason, it usually plays an important role in ideas about power relations and these new political and economical scenarios produce new ideas about the sky. These ideas are not a simple copy of Western academic astronomy, owing to the fact that in globalization, non-Western societies are not passive receptors. They make complex processes of resignification of Western cosmologies (Sahlins 1990). Another important factor in the present globalization is its fragmentary character (▶ Chap. 23, “Cultural Interpretation of Ethnographic Evidence Relating to Astronomy”). At the present time, the flux of money, technology, and cultural productions are frequently de-coordinated as a result of the

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increasing velocity, scale, and volume of these fluxes. We are now in a new phase of global capitalism: disorganized capitalism (Lash and Urry 1987). Each flux has its proper temporalities and dynamics, and this gives a more kaleidoscopic aspect to the present cosmologies, characterized by dislocations and fractures (Appadurai 2001/1996). Thus, Korean people can listen to 1950s music from the USA and reinterpret these songs and lifestyle. Meanwhile, people in the USA can live adopting some ideas and practices from Chinese astrology and others from a reinterpretation of Maya cosmologies. Appaduray (2001/1996) proposes the use of the idea of “landscapes” (ethnic landscape, technological landscape, financial landscape, media landscape, and ideological landscape) to take account of this reality. These landscapes are irregular and fluid perspectives, historically constructed. In some respects, this global situation has similar characteristics to the bricoleur cultural production that Le´vi-Strauss assigned to mythical thought. This way of constructing life styles, cosmologies and cultural practices, refunctionalizing fragments of different cultural productions from the past or the present of a very wide global market, is a new challenge for researchers in cultural astronomy.

Final Words Research in cultural astronomy should take into account the complex problems of cultural production and consumption in contexts of strong interethnic relations. This is not just a consequence of the present globalization; it is mainly a consequence of the current contributions of the social sciences to a better comprehension of social dynamics. The “rescue” conception of such work, especially for “indigenous” groups, is an obsolete one, based on the idea of societies as static and isolated “objects”. The interaction between Creole, European, and indigenous astronomies gives us a great opportunity to understand the role of cosmological conceptions in the construction and reconfiguration of human groups and their relationships. Furthermore, we need to explore in a deeper way the interactions between local systems of astronomy and other expansions such as Islam and Buddhism. In the same way we need to consider the astronomy systems of societies that seem isolated in the context of their “interethnic landscape”. Astronomy is often related to power, politics, and economy; for that reason, it has great relevance to the general study of human societies — not just to the study of human systems of knowledge. In order to take advantage of this privileged situation, it is essential to take notice of scientific production in the social sciences. We need especially to understand the relevance of the complex and dynamic relations between human groups, including small and nonhierarchical societies.

Cross-References ▶ Archaeoastronomical Concepts in Popular Culture ▶ Astronomy and Politics ▶ Astronomy and Power

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▶ Colonial Zapotec Calendars and Calendrical Astronomy ▶ Cultural Interpretation of Ethnographic Evidence Relating to Astronomy ▶ Ethnoastronomy in the Multicultural Context of the Agricultural Colonies in Northern Santa Fe Province, Argentina ▶ Inca Astronomy and Calendrics ▶ Indigenous Astronomy in Southern Africa ▶ Interactions Between Islamic and Christian Traditions in the Iberian Peninsula ▶ Lost Skies of Italian Folk Astronomy

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Development of Archaeoastronomy in the English-Speaking World

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Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Archaeoastronomy as an Academic Debate . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Early Archaeoastronomy in the Americas . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . A Spectrum of Approaches . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The Archaeological (Historical, Anthropological, Sociological, etc.) Challenge . . . . . . . . . . . . . Future Directions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Abstract

While there are early examples of work that are now recognized as archaeoastronomy, the development of archaeoastronomy as a discipline has nearly all happened in the past 50 years. Development accelerated with the foundation of regular conference series. This in turn widened interest in astronomy from Megalithic Europe and the Maya to encompass wider geographical and historical range. This is turn has required archaeoastronomers to embrace a variety of methodological approaches.

Introduction Why bother with a history of archaeoastronomy? Given the amazing vitality of now, why bother with research methods of the past? The answer is that, like many disciplines, archaeoastronomy is an ongoing conversation. However, in this case, the people currently carrying out high-quality archaeoastronomical research come

A. Salt University of Leicester, Leicester, UK e-mail: [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_17, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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from a diverse range of backgrounds: people both inside and outside academia, people approaching from sciences and the humanities, and people looking at both the most ancient and most modern uses of the sky. Most researchers in the field have joined this conversation after it has started. While there is probably more opportunity for a newcomer to make a valuable contribution than in most studies, there is value in an awareness of some history of the discipline. Archaeoastronomy is an interdisciplinary practice. One of the threads of its development has been the story of researchers learning to speak the same language. At a recent conference in Lima, Clive Ruggles (2011) commented on the difficulties of using the word “observatory”. After much discussion of ethnocentricism, the word probably no longer carries the baggage of assumptions of what astronomy is for. Still, someone writing a research project aware of this past would probably do well to add a brief note that they are aware when they use the word that they are not blithely assuming the observers had the same systematic interest in the sky as modern observers (see also ▶ Chap. 9, “Ancient “Observatories” - A Relevant Concept?”). There have been similar discussions about other concepts such as “constellations”. Brief reference to earlier work can prevent much misunderstanding in current discussion. There is also a matter of prestige. Prestige comes with age and this leads to a quest for the earliest glimmers of study that might pass for an origin. For example, even the least ambitious histories of computing start with Babbage’s analytical engine and now may start with the invention of the abacus. This is despite computing being a largely post-war subject and practitioners getting on with the process of developing hardware without reference to Babbage’s work. Likewise it is possible to look into the past at speculation about archaeological sites and their astronomical uses to see earliest examples of archaeoastronomy. In doing this, it is clear the exact origins of any discipline are difficult to pin down precisely. People’s views differ about what constitutes archaeoastronomy. What is merely speculation and when does a notion becomes recognizably part of an ongoing program of study? Anyone seeking to produce a history that represents the wide range of opinion among many leading archaeoastronomers would be wise to shroud claims in vague language laced with prevarications and caveats. To make a definite claim that archaeoastronomy started here is to invite criticism and disagreement. Acknowledging this, I venture that the discipline of archaeoastronomy started on October 26, 1963.

Archaeoastronomy as an Academic Debate This date is significant as it marks the publication of the paper “Stonehenge decoded” by Gerald Hawkins (1963) in the journal Nature. This date may seem arbitrary. Alexander Thom had published “A statistical examination of the megalithic sites in Britain” some years earlier (Thom 1955). This was followed in the early 1960s with other papers on megalithic mensuration and geometry and where Thom argued that prehistoric Britons used an accurate unit of length, the so-called

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“megalithic yard”. While this work would later attract attention, it was Hawkins’ claims about astronomy at Stonehenge that started archaeoastronomy as a conversation rather than a collection of individuals largely talking to themselves. Hawkins said that there was a very specific purpose for Stonehenge. He claimed it functioned as an elaborate astronomical computer. The stones marked alignments for the express purposes of accurate observation. He claimed that observers at the site marked the movements of the sun and moon, and even used a ring of pits around the stone circle, known as the Aubrey Holes (see ▶ Chap. 105, “Stonehenge and its Landscape”), as part of an eclipse calculator. The discovery of Stonehenge as a Neolithic computer was itself made with a computer. The combination of high technology and ancient mystery was a public success. Hawkins’ further papers became the basis of a best-selling book, also called Stonehenge Decoded. Not only did he gain public attention for his work; archaeologists paid attention too and their response was scathing. Glyn Daniel, editor at the time of the leading archaeological journal Antiquity, decided the claims should be rebutted and asked both an archaeological and astronomical expert to write papers. Richard Atkinson, who led excavations at Stonehenge in the 1950s and 1960s, wrote the response “Moonshine on Stonehenge” (Atkinson 1966) for Antiquity. In it, he took Hawkins to task for his lack of accuracy and for proposing alignments that used different phases of the monument to make observations. The astronomical expert was Fred Hoyle. His paper “Speculations on Stonehenge” (Hoyle 1966) was problematic for archaeologists. Hoyle largely endorsed Hawkins’s findings and simplified the eclipse prediction mechanism. Despite this being the opposite of what he expected, Daniel stood by his word and published the article. Nonetheless archaeologists were unconvinced. Reflecting on how the use of a computer had led to the discovery of Stonehenge as a computer, Jacquetta Hawkes (1967) wrote the paper “God in the machine” which includes her oft-quoted phrase “Every age has the Stonehenge it deserves – or desires”. Had this been the limit of astronomical work at archaeological sites, the nascent discipline of “astro-archaeology” could have died soon after birth. In Europe, the fact that this did not happen was due to the work of one man who could be described as archaeoastronomy’s champion. Alexander Thom was Chair of Engineering Science at Brasenose College, Oxford University. He had become fascinated by the construction of megalithic sites in the British Isles, particularly in his home country of Scotland. Following his retirement in 1961, he published results of an extensive survey of megalithic sites (Thom 1966, 1967). Unlike the work of Hawkins, Thom’s analysis could not be easily dismissed. Thom’s key innovation was that he did not make claims based on the analysis of one site. His work was an analysis of multiple sites. The patterns emerging from the survey as a whole helped counter arguments that any one result could have arisen by chance, and therefore provided a much more serious challenge to archaeologists. Unlike Hawkins at Stonehenge, Thom did not just consider alignments between stones. He argued that horizon observation was important and that sites such as stone rows marked a backsight, a specific point from which an observer could stand

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and quickly identify a specific foresight on the horizon for observation. Features such as notches between mountains provided a mechanism for high-precision observation that appeared to be replicated across the British Isles. At that time, archaeologists at the time were deeply suspicious of the idea that Neolithic people might have made accurate astronomical observations, since this did not fit their own social models. In a BBC documentary, Atkinson famously described Stonehenge’s builders as “howling barbarians”. To think of them as proto-engineers was clearly ethnocentric, an impression bolstered by Thom’s description of the builders of megalithic sites as “our boys”. Thom’s work also suggested the existence of a prehistoric calendar in which the year was split precisely into eighths, with various sites marking sunrises and sunsets on the requisite dates. The solstices and equinoxes split into quarters, and then these quarters were further divided by cross-quarter days. These cross-quarter days were supposed to be Neolithic forebears of the Celtic festivals Imbolc (Candlemas, early February), Beltane (May Day), Lughnasadh (Lammas, early August), and Samhain (Hallowe’en). Few archaeologists could believe there was a mechanism to administer long-distance uniformity in timekeeping (or in mensuration, as implied by the widespread use of the “megalithic yard”). One of the few archaeologists who did attempt to set Thom’s work in a social context was Euan MacKie. He proposed the existence of a class of astronomer-priests inspired by social models based on studies of people in the Americas (MacKie 1977).

Early Archaeoastronomy in the Americas The best description of the state of archaeoastronomy in the early 1970s is Elizabeth Baity’s “Archaeoastronomy and ethnoastronomy so far” (Baity 1973). In her article, she covers the state of archaeoastronomy in Europe and then compares it to work in the Americas, lamenting that archaeoastronomy in the New World lacks a Hawkins and Thom to drive it forward (Baity 1973, p. 401). Baity’s survey covers work in the Americas comparatively quickly, mentioning proposed alignments at Teotihuacan in Mexico, in the US southwest, and at Nazca and Tihuanaco in South America. What seems to demonstrate a lack of interest in fact reveals a fundamental difference between Europe and the Americas in terms of the nature of the archaeological evidence and archaeological practice. In Europe, archaeology developed from ancient history. For prehistoric material, there is no written record. In the Americas, archaeology is considered a subdiscipline of anthropology. In some cases archaeology is informed by ethnohistorical records, particularly in the territories colonized by Spain. While the Spanish chroniclers were not modern anthropologists, their determination to record indigenous practices even as they were being stamped out has bequeathed us invaluable evidence. Baity was also able to draw upon ethnoastronomy in her survey of American research.

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Initially this type of evidence was ignored. John Eddy’s study “Astronomical alignment of Big Horn Medicine Wheel” (Eddy 1974) was recently described by Anthony Aveni (2008, p. 14) as “. . .a classic example of the application (or misapplication?) of the Stonehenge paradigm”. The site is said to be around two centuries old, and Eddy associates it with the either the Crow, Sioux, Arapahoe, Shoshone, or Cheyenne Indians. There is some brief mention that the Crow called it the Sun’s Tipi, but the bulk of the work is alignment analysis. Eddy matches alignments to positions of sunrises, sunsets, or the places where certain stars cross the horizon. He references both Hawkins and Thom in the process of producing what appears to be an objective analysis of the site. However, despite discovering numerous astronomical alignments, he finds little in the ethnographic data to support his hypothesis. This raises the question: is this because ethnographers have not recorded relevant astronomical practices by Plains Indians, or because modern researchers see astronomical meanings in alignments that were not thought significant by the builders? In his study, Eddy does not ask. However, in the Americas, there is a possibility of returning to indigenous people and asking relevant questions. It was this ability to reexamine what might be incomplete ethnographic records that shaped early archaeoastronomy in the Americas. Gary Urton’s study of Misminay (Urton 1981) proved how an anthropological approach can enrich an understanding of archaeology. Misminay is a village in the Andes near Cusco. At the time when Urton was conducting fieldwork, it had been little visited by outsiders, meaning that the villagers still had a distinctive local cosmology. The local calendar was regulated by the position and appearance of the sun, moon, and the rising and setting of stars at sunrise and sunset. This sort of astronomy is known from historical records in many places around the world, but the location and isolation of Misminay also revealed other astronomical features. The particularly striking astronomical feature is the quartering of the sky by the Milky Way. The latitude of Misminay means that the Milky Way is seen arcing over the sky and dividing it in one way during the wet season and in a crosswise fashion during the dry season. This quartering of the sky was correlated with a quartering on the ground. Misminay sits at the crossroads of two irrigation canals which were seen as the terrestrial equivalents of the paths in the sky marked by the Milky Way. The land of the Inca was known as Tahuantinsuyu, the land of the four quarters. The cosmology of Misminay is not a perfectly preserved Inca cosmology, but it can be seen how the study, along with Spanish historical records, can add information to the use of sites and materials that purely archaeological data lacks. Around the same time in the 1970s, historian Stephen McCluskey (1977) worked with the Hopi Indians of Arizona. He too found that horizon calendars had more significance than purely as markers of time. Here too there was an element of quartering of the cosmos, this time divided by the axes between the solstitial rising and settings of the sun. This produced a sacred geography, with each quarter marked by its own characteristics including its own color. This ability to see how cosmology was lived also encouraged American archaeoastronomers to look for much more than simply alignments or horizon astronomy.

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Ethnography revealed that it mattered how patterns of light and shade moved around buildings. Ken Hedges published “Rock art in the Pin˜on Forest of northern Baja California” (Hedges 1977) in which he argued that patterns of light and shade on rock art were used to mark the extremes of the solstices. A couple of years later, a pattern of light and shade was found at Fajada Butte that was termed a “sun dagger”, whose appearance as a shard of light in shadow over or around a spiral petroglyph was said to have astronomical significance (Sofaer et al. 1979; see Fig. 41.5). The importance of cultural practice was also recognized by the major force in American archaeoastronomy during this period, and throughout the 1980s and 1990s: Anthony Aveni. Aveni edited a series of volumes that collected together early archaeoastronomical research in the Americas — Archaeoastronomy in PreColumbian America (Aveni 1975), Native American Astronomy (Aveni 1977), and Ethnoastronomy and Archaeoastronomy in the American Tropics (Aveni and Urton 1982) — as well as his own book Skywatchers of Ancient Mexico (Aveni 1980). It is a measure of his work that a revised version of this last book was published twenty years later, duly updated to account for new discoveries. In contrast, contemporary work from Europe would need to be rewritten from scratch. In his work, Aveni did something so obvious that it seems almost absurd that people needed to be told to do it: he made social questions a key feature of archaeoastronomy. While followers of Hawkins and Thom were attempting to demonstrate the use of astronomy in culture, Aveni discussed the social context of astronomical practices. Alignments and structures were interpreted in the light of associated art and ethnohistory in order to produce descriptions and interpretations of astronomical practices, not just evidence that they existed. Aveni led a change in practice that embraced anthropology as a primary means of uncovering astronomical practices. The richness of the ethnographic record meant that archaeoastronomy in the Americas could also to some extent operate in the opposite direction to the European method, by starting with an astronomical meaning for a place informed by the ethnographic record directly, or though familiar cultural symbolism such as rock art, to direct a search for a connection to an astronomical target.

A Spectrum of Approaches The differences in evidence and methodology used are to some extent highlighted by the fact that two publications started in the late 1970s. The Archaeoastronomy Bulletin, published by in the Center for Archaeoastronomy in the USA, first appeared in 1977. It took its name from the new term “archaeoastronomy” used in Baity’s 1973 survey (the term was originally suggested by Euan MacKie). In the UK, the journal Archaeoastronomy, published as a supplement to the Journal for the History of Astronomy, first appeared in 1979. This published papers on a mix of European and American topics as well as studies of sites further afield. From 1979 to 1982, Michael Hoskin, editor of the Journal for the History of Astronomy, was President of the IAU’s Commission for the History of Astronomy.

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In this role he saw the opportunity to bring together researchers on both sides of the Atlantic, and in September 1981 an international conference on archaeoastronomy was held at Queen’s College, Oxford. Many Europeans and Americans found themselves in a state of mutual incomprehension. Americans, working within a culturally informed discipline, were baffled that so much archaeoastronomy could be done without reference to ethnographic or archaeological evidence. The patterns found by alignment hunters might be real, but often lacked any human meaning. In contrast, the European archaeoastronomers were surprised how easily astronomical claims were made for sites based on suggestive anthropological evidence, but with little attempt to confirm analytically the meaning read into a site from the ethnographic record. When the conference proceedings came to be published, the two sides remained apart, publishing two volumes, Archaeoastronomy in the Old World (Heggie 1982) and Archaeoastronomy in the New World (Aveni 1982). Despite the disagreements, the participants found the discussion valuable and a repeat “Oxford” conference was arranged to be held in the Yucatan, Mexico. Oxford conferences have continued to be held every 4 or 5 years, initially alternating between Europe and the Americas. Anthony Aveni dubbed the two approaches as “green” and “brown” archaeoastronomy, after the colors of the covers of the two volumes (Aveni 1986). Also in 1982, the New York Academy of Sciences published Ethnoastronomy and Archaeoastronomy in the Tropics, with a blue cover. As a result, ethnoastronomy has sometimes been referred to as “blue” archaeoastronomy. Using the prefix archaeo- may seem odd for ethnographic work, but the influence from the Americas meant that archaeoastronomers and ethnoastronomers often found themselves asking similar questions both of ancient and modern uses of the sky outside the Western scientific tradition. There was a belief in the 1980s and 1990s that the methodological division between the “green” and “brown” approaches was bad for archaeoastronomy. Archaeologist Stanisław Iwaniszewski (2003, p. 7) would later describe his belief in the need for an all-embracing theory as naive, but it was one that appeared to be shared by many who believed that the previously disparate methods of archaeoastronomy could be unified by welding together scientific analysis and humanistic insight. With hindsight, if this was the goal, then the following Oxford meetings were impressively self-defeating. World Archaeoastronomy, the volume of the second Oxford conference (Aveni 1989), drew in papers on subjects from beyond the Americas and Europe to include the Middle East, India, and China. The publications for Oxford III included papers from the cosmology of the Inuit to Australian aboriginal sky-mapping. As a reflection of the increasing diversity of source material, methods, and uses of astronomy studied, the editors of one of the proceedings volumes from Oxford III, Clive Ruggles and Nicholas Saunders, proposed that what was being studied would be better labeled “cultural astronomy” (Ruggles and Saunders 1993a). The term had the virtue of no longer implying a hard division between archaeoastronomy and ethnoastronomy. On the other hand, it was not without criticism. One problem was: given that all astronomy happens within a culture, how do you divide the subject matter from the history of astronomy? Both “archaeoastronomy” and

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“cultural astronomy” imply that the topic being studied is astronomy; in other words, there seems to be an implicit assumption that any pattern discovered in, say, alignment studies will have been astronomically motivated. Michael Hoskin (1997) therefore proposed that “archaeotopography” would be a better term, given that the alignments of tombs may be upon local rivers or roads rather than stars or sunrises. More people added that cosmology was a better term still, as the topic studied was perceived universal order, of which astronomy was a part. None of the names had an immediate impact upon archaeoastronomy. Cultural astronomy has started to gain more use after 20 years among archaeoastronomers (cultural astronomers?) themselves, but has had little impact even among other academics. The main value of the discussions on terminology was that they engendered a broader discussion of the diversity of methods and practices in tackling humanity’s relationship with the sky. The 1990s saw more hybridity in methods, drawing from both Old and New World approaches to archaeoastronomical questions. The start of regular meetings of the Socie´te´ Europe´enne pour l’Astronomie dans la Culture, pioneered by Carlos Jaschek, helped speed up the development of arguments by providing a regular forum for feedback. It also helped to provide a venue apart from the AngloAmerican academics who had tended to dominate debates.

The Archaeological (Historical, Anthropological, Sociological, etc.) Challenge In 1992, archaeologist Keith Kintigh asked a deceptively important archaeoastronomical question: “It may be true that a building is lined up within half a degree of true north, but what do I do with that singular fact?” Kintigh’s brief article, “I wasn’t going to say anything, but since you asked: Archaeoastronomy and Archaeology” (Kintigh 1992) tackled a complaint common among many archaeoastronomers, not themselves archaeologists, who had worked with archaeologists: “Why am I so under-appreciated by archaeologists?” Kintigh’s argument was that, rather like archaeoastronomers, archaeologists were much more interested in their own topic of study than other fields. Kintigh argued that if archaeoastronomers wanted to be seen as people with interesting answers to archaeological problems, then first they should be seen as answering the sort of questions that archaeologists ask. Kintigh’s observation has been repeated by others. Richard Poss (2005), whose interest is rock art, has argued that archaeoastronomers should work within the framework of art history, which includes considering to what extent treating petroglyphs as “art” is a culturally loaded term. In his introduction to the Oxford VII conference, Todd Bostwick (2006) argues that archaeoastronomy is anthropology, an extension of the “archaeology is anthropology or it is nothing” statement of Wiley and Philips during the development of American archaeology in the late 1950s.

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To some extent, this process had started in Europe with the first Oxford conference. By Oxford III held in 1990, a volume of generally socially-led papers was published as Astronomies and Cultures (Ruggles and Saunders 1993b). The chapter “The riddle of Red Sirius” (Ceragioli 1993), in particular, was an example of social questioning. In it, Roger Ceragioli tackles the question of why the blue-white star Sirius is referred to as red in ancient texts. Rather than look for an astrophysical or atmospheric reason for a red Sirius, Ceragioli instead tackles the social importance of Sirius in the ancient world including its connection with vitality that makes it “ruddy”. A social scientist could argue that the color of Sirius was not really a social concern as the problem of a red Sirius was better known in astronomical circles. By the time of Oxford IV at Santa Fe, many papers tackled social practices. Stephen McCluskey’s paper “Different astronomies, different cultures and the question of cultural relativism” (McCluskey 2005) tackled the social construction of knowledge and whether there was an inherent contradiction in saying that worldviews are relative while also arguing for an objectively independent reality. This kind of question was being asked at the same time by post-processual archaeologists who were questioning to what extent archaeological investigation of the past could produce objective knowledge. The most striking evidence that archaeologists and archaeoastronomers are asking similar questions is a 2007 paper in Antiquity, the journal that took the lead in fighting Hawkins’ claims about Stonehenge. The paper “The age of Stonehenge” (Parker Pearson et al. 2007) is a reassessment of Stonehenge. In a field where most papers have one or two authors, this paper is notable for having twenty credited authors. Among them is the now professor of archaeoastronomy, Clive Ruggles. What had changed to make this happen? One obvious factor is that archaeoastronomy had changed. Despite starting at Stonehenge, archaeoastronomers in Europe had more to learn from their American counterparts than vice versa. Over the 1980s and 1990s, archaeoastronomers in the British Isles started to add society to their models. The result was that archaeologists now had more options than those put forward by Euan MacKie. Clive Ruggles is credited with adding a social dimension to ancient astronomy after reassessing Thom’s work with his own extensive fieldwork. Increasingly, people working in archaeoastronomy, both in Britain and elsewhere, also had a strong interest in other social questions. Back in the early 1980s Douglas Heggie, editor of the European Oxford I volume, made important contributions to British archaeoastronomy but since that time he has concentrated fully on work in mainstream astronomy. On the other hand Nicholas Saunders, coeditor of one of the Oxford III volumes a decade later, continues to work from time to time on archaeoastronomical problems, but the main focus of his research is on topics such as conflict landscapes, animal symbolism, and the use of color in the Americas. The current generation of archaeoastronomers in the UK, like those elsewhere, can converse with archaeologists and make valuable contributions to broader social questions.

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It is also fair to say that archaeology itself has changed. While the 1980s and 1990s were times when archaeoastronomers attempted to find common ground, the opposite was happening in archaeology. The rise of post-processual archaeology led to attempts to ask questions beyond reconstructing broad social processes in human lifeways and instead to look for other ways of interpreting the archaeological record. This included cognitive and symbolic approaches to archaeology. Interpretative archaeologies now embrace concepts such as ritual and symbolism. This in turn has led to new interpretations of past landscapes and environments. When archaeologists returned to Stonehenge in the 2000s, they had changed the questions they were asking and found that archaeoastronomers could help in addressing some of them. More recently, archaeoastronomers have had social relevance thrust upon them. As December 2012 approached, some prophets of doom were predicting the end of the world owing to what they interpreted (wrongly) as the “end of the Mayan calendar”. The 2011 volume of Archaeoastronomy: The Journal of Astronomy in Culture, based in the USA, was a special issue exploring the meaning of the Mayan long count in both pre-Columbian and modern society. Anthony Aveni’s book The End of Time: The Maya Mystery of 2012 (Aveni 2009) aims not simply to debunk 2012 conspiracies, but also to ask why they have such a popular appeal. It seems that ancient astronomy has a social appeal and this in itself, which began in popular culture with Gerald Hawkins, is worth investigating as cultural astronomical phenomenon. Rather like the Mayan calendar, archaeoastronomy seems to have come a full-circle.

Future Directions It might seem that in some senses part of the archaeoastronomical project is complete. The return to Stonehenge and the common appearance of astronomy as a topic of discussion in journals such as Antiquity, American Antiquity, and The American Journal of Archaeology would show that archaeoastronomers have integrated with archaeologists. Yet there is a debate that continues on from the 1980s. Is archaeoastronomy a subdiscipline of archaeology or anthropology or is it an interdiscipline? Is there a subject that we can theoretically ground, or do we have a collection of techniques and methodologies that can be critiqued and sharpened but whose value lies in the theoretical framework of a host discipline? If the question of the 1960s and 1970s was “Is archaeoastronomy real?” and of the 1980s and 1990s, “What, exactly, is archaeoastronomy?”, then the question since the late 1990s and 2000s has been “What can we do with it?” In the 1990s, archaeoastronomers began to revive an interest in the possible astronomical significance of classical Greek temple orientations that extends right back to the nineteenth century. In one sense, this was the Thom paradigm applied to the culture that was the root of Western astronomy and already extensively studied by historians of astronomy. Since this early work, others have tackled the same material and proposed that astronomical symbolism was part of Greek society far beyond the writings of an educated elite. Recent papers have tackled the use of astronomical symbolism in religion, astronomical symbolism as a cognitive marker

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of Greek colonization, and even proposed that correlations can be found between astronomical observations in specific landscapes and the operation of the Greek calendar (see ▶ Chap. 140, “Greek Temples and Rituals”). Oceania has become a focus of archaeoastronomical and ethnoastronomical research. A cluster of astronomers and anthropologists based in Australia has begun to explore the rich and varied use of astronomy in aboriginal societies (see ▶ Chap. 213, “Australian Aboriginal Astronomy - an Overview”; ▶ Chap. 214, “Australian Aboriginal Astronomy and Cosmology”) . The questions do not simply have astronomical interest. For example, Duane Hamacher and Ray Norris have been examining aboriginal tales of meteorite impacts (Hamacher and Norris 2009). Some impacts may have been observed; some were definitely too ancient to have been observed by humans. Nonetheless, the process of transmission of the tales, their role, and their use in society are part of a wider concern as to how aboriginal people store and use information. In the Pacific, among Polynesian peoples, linguistics, ethnography, and archaeology combine with astronomy to produce a rich environmental picture (see ▶ Chap. 215, “Archaeoastronony in Polynesia”). Astronomy here has ritual significance, but it also has practical value in navigating over extraordinary distances to other islands. Here archaeoastronomy can answer questions that show how broadly similar language and culture and maintain connections between distant peoples. Expansion of geographical interest in archaeoastronomy has also led to a possible expansion of its uses. While there has been ethnoastronomical research in Africa since the 1970s, it has frequently been overlooked in comparison to the more intensive focus on places such as Mexico or prehistoric Europe. Jarita Holbrook has examined how an interest in African astronomy can benefit researchers within Africa including creating a place for African voices in a conversation that has largely been white and male. In 2006, Ghana hosted an archaeoastronomy conference to coincide with a local solar eclipse. The topics covered included social uses of the sky but also reflected a stronger than normal interest in education. As yet, it is too early to say how the proceedings, published as African Cultural Astronomy (Holbrook et al. 2008), will affect the development of archaeoastronomy in the region. Since 2000, archaeoastronomers may have finally answered Michael Hoskin’s concern about the term “cultural astronomy”: “How do you differentiate between the sort of astronomy studied by archaeoastronomers and modern astronomy?” It is possible that you do not. The field of “space archaeology” has developed from contemporary archaeology. Its concerns are not just technological progress, but also the social meaning and implications of the space race. An overview paper, “The cultural landscape of interplanetary space” by space archaeologist Alice Gorman (2005), touched upon the impact of rocket testing on indigenous people in Woomera, the heritage value of Peenem€unde, and preservation problems for the Apollo XI landing site. Recently, these problems have met some interest from archaeoastronomers who have found, like archaeologists, that the modern and Western subjects should be as accessible as ancient or non-Western ones.

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Unsurprisingly, “traditional” foci of interest for archaeoastronomers such as the Mayans and the prehistoric peoples of Europe remain fertile grounds for research and look set to do so for many years. Looking back, there are two themes running through the development of archaeoastronomy since the publication of Stonehenge Decoded by Gerald Hawkins. One has been the ever-growing role of the social dimension in research in archaeoastronomy. It is no longer possible to research a site without knowing something of the people who built it. The days of archaeoastronomy as a search for objective astronomical facts are gone. The other is that archaeoastronomy itself has grown by expanding as a conversation. Internally, the range of topics studied by early archaeoastronomers now seems somewhat parochial and narrow compared to current research. Also, the number of people in the conversation and the diversity of archaeoastronomers has grown. Originally, archaeoastronomy was primarily an interest of astronomers. The participation of archaeologists such as Euan MacKie was rare. Archaeoastronomers are now art historians, ethnographers, statisticians, historians, or scholars of religion as well as archaeologists and astronomers. The path to the future suggests that a healthy discipline will expand its diversity in geographical scope, eras studied, and people participating. This is a field that continues to hold many opportunities for new researchers.

Cross-References ▶ Analyzing Orientations ▶ Ancient “Observatories” - A Relevant Concept? ▶ Archaeoastronomical Concepts in Popular Culture ▶ Archaeoastronomy in Polynesia ▶ Australian Aboriginal Astronomy - An Overview ▶ Best Practice for Evaluating the Astronomical Significance of Archaeological Sites ▶ Cultural Astronomy in Africa South of the Sahara ▶ Rock Art of the Greater Southwest ▶ Stonehenge and its Landscape

References Atkinson RJC (1966) Moonshine on stonehenge. Antiquity 40(159):212–216 Aveni AF (ed) (1975) Archaeoastronomy in pre-Columbian America. University of Texas Press, Austin Aveni AF (ed) (1977) Native American astronomy. University of Texas Press, Austin Aveni AF (1980) Skywatchers of ancient Mexico. University of Texas Press, Austin Aveni AF (ed) (1982) Archaeoastronomy in the New World. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge Aveni AF (1986) Archaeoastronomy: past, present and future. Sky and Telescope 72:456–460 Aveni AF (ed) (1989) World archaeoastronomy. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge

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Disciplinary Perspectives on Archaeoastronomy

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Stephen C. McCluskey

Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Disciplinary Backgrounds . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Perspectives of Astronomy and the Physical Sciences . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Perspectives of Anthropology and Archaeology . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Perspectives of History and Ethnohistory . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Conclusion . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Abstract

This chapter examines the contributions of major academic disciplines to archaeoastronomy, beginning with a consideration of several indicators of the participation of scholars from various fields. We then consider examples of research from astronomy and the physical sciences; anthropology, archaeology, and the social sciences; and the historical disciplines to see how they reflect their disciplinary perspectives. The questions drawn from these varied disciplinary perspectives stimulate different strands of research, enriching the study of astronomies in cultures.

Introduction Archaeoastronomy is generally agreed to be interdisciplinary in nature. The questions we ask when studying astronomies in cultures, the methods we seek to answer those questions, and the evidence and criteria we deploy to validate our answers are all products of the specific disciplinary perspectives that researchers bring to the

S.C. McCluskey Department of History, West Virginia University, Morgantown, WV, USA e-mail: [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_23, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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Fig. 15.1 Field of highest degree held by members of the International Society for Archaeoastronomy and Astronomy in Culture

study of other astronomies. Before turning to those questions, methods, and criteria, it is useful to begin our discussion with some objective data on the disciplines that contribute to archaeoastronomy.

Disciplinary Backgrounds We can consider three indicators of the various disciplines that are engaged in this study. One indicator is the disciplinary background of those who are actively participating in the field. A convenient source for such information is the membership records of the International Society for Archaeoastronomy and Astronomy in Culture (ISAAC). The records indicate the field of the highest degree which each member has attained (or is studying for). This community of active participants is almost evenly divided among the physical sciences, the social sciences, and the humanities. There are 38 physical scientists, including 22 astronomers or astrophysicists; 30 social scientists, including 17 anthropologists and 8 archaeologists; and 22 humanists, including 8 historians of science and finally, there are 3 persons whose highest degree is in archeoastronomy (1) or ethnoastronomy (2) (Fig. 15.1). A second indicator considers what scholars writing dissertations on the astronomies of traditional cultures consider their works to be. A published examination (McCluskey 2004) of 40 dissertations and theses dealing with astronomies in cultures that were listed in Dissertation Abstracts Online (2004) considered the

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Fig. 15.2 Descriptors of 40 dissertations and theses. Percentages total more than 100 % since more than one descriptor was applied in many cases

standard disciplinary descriptors that their authors applied to their work. The selection of these descriptors reflects both the academic department in which the research was carried out and the academic disciplines in which the authors placed their research: in other words, where these younger scholars entering the field thought the study of astronomies in cultures belongs. A striking difference of this indicator from the previous one examining mature scholars is that very few of these authors classified their work as dealing with astronomy. In the three cases where astronomy did appear as a descriptor, it was a secondary descriptor, with the primary ones being in other disciplines in the humanities (classical literature and religion) or the social sciences (archaeology). The principal fields were in the social sciences and the humanities: archaeology, cultural anthropology, a range of historical fields including the history of science and the history of religion, and other fields dealing with the roles of astronomy in folklore, art, religion, and literature (Fig. 15.2). The third indicator focuses not so much on those who have written on the astronomies of traditional cultures as on those who read and cite such works. Citation indexes classify the journals in which the citations appear into subject categories, which provide a measure of the interest in archaeoastronomical research in various disciplines. An investigation of the citations of a group of major articles on archaeoastronomical topics using the science, social science, and arts humanities citation indexes revealed a pattern of citations midway between the pattern for dissertations and that for members in ISAAC.

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Fig. 15.3 Citations of archaeoastronomical research by discipline

The preponderance of citations appeared in journals classified as dealing with archaeology, anthropology, history, and the history and philosophy of science. There was also a substantial number of citations to archaeoastronomical research in astronomical journals, although chiefly in the less specialized journals, such as The Observatory and the Quarterly Journal of the Royal Astronomical Society, and in general science journals such as Nature, American Scientist, and Science (Fig. 15.3). The general picture we get from these indicators is that the interdisciplinary field of archaeoastronomy has intellectual centers in the social sciences, particularly archaeology and anthropology; the humanities, particularly history, art, and literature; and in astronomy and the other physical sciences. These, then, are the disciplines that have contributed their characteristic perspectives to the study of astronomies in cultures. Of course, different schools of thought develop and change over time, within these disciplinary traditions, and different aspects of these schools of thought are adopted by individual practitioners, but the distinctive perspectives of specific disciplines provide intellectual frameworks that shape their research.

Perspectives of Astronomy and the Physical Sciences Astronomy and the other physical sciences are sometimes called the exact or positive sciences, terms which reflect a view of them as producing exact,

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positive knowledge. This positivist interpretation takes the achievements, problems, and criteria of modern astronomy as the norm and tends to seek the similarities between astronomies in order to identify those universal elements that guide all “real” science. Among these are such modern criteria as precise observations and predictive power. Implicit in this approach are judgments that astronomies falling short of these criteria are not scientific. It is common to point out that astronomy is an observational science. The extensive and changing theoretical structures that have been developed in different times and cultures develop, despite their differences, following a common pattern. These conceptual systems, often mathematical in nature, are developed on the basis of careful observations of astronomical phenomena and then serve to guide subsequent observations. Thus, when we approach the astronomies of other cultures from an astronomical perspective, astronomy’s characteristic concern with astronomical observations, their precision, and how those observations contribute to the development of theoretical structures come to the forefront. From this perspective, astronomical alignments can be seen as astronomical instruments and can be evaluated in much the same way that we would evaluate a modern astronomical instrument. What phenomena can be observed with a given alignment, how precisely can they be observed, and what uses or conclusions could people draw from such observations? Some of the most significant work contributing to the mid-century reemergence of archaeoastronomy, that of the professor of engineering, Alexander Thom, and his colleagues, focused on the possibility that the positions of the Sun, and particularly the Moon, could be observed with very high precision as these bodies appeared or disappeared in small notches on the distant horizon. Thom then postulated (1971) that such highly precise lunar alignments could be coupled with mathematical analyses – specifically with geometrical constructions – to measure and predict the subtle details of the Moon’s movements. Such an astronomically driven concern to determine the precision of archaeoastronomical observations need not be related to investigations of subtle changes in the motions of a celestial body. Studies of the Puebloan peoples of the southwestern United States have examined the precision that they could achieve or even did achieve in practice. The positions of historically documented Hopi Sun watching sites have indicated that they were positioned precisely enough to establish the time of arrival of the Sun at the solstices to within half a day (McCluskey 1990, p. S9); historically dated solstice predictions indicate the day to be determined by anticipatory observations with an accuracy of 2 days (Zeilik 1985, p. S19). But the astronomical perspective is not limited to observational techniques and instruments; it can also deal with concepts and predictions. Thom, for example, asserted that prehistoric observers developed the concept of periodicity to understand extremely small changes in the position of the Moon on the horizon. Among these periods were the 18.61-year period of the rotation of the lunar nodes, the 27.21-day period of the draconic month, and even the 346.6-day period of the draconic year (the observable period is actually half a draconic year, or 173.3 days). He even showed how an extremely small fluctuation of 8.7 arc min in the lunar

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position, related to the 173.3-year period, was connected to the occurrence of eclipses and suggested that megalithic astronomers were aware of this relationship, using these small changes in the Moon’s position to predict which full or new Moon would give rise to an eclipse (Thom 1971, pp. 18–20). This is not the place to question Thom’s claims for highly precise lunar observations or the conclusions that he drew from such observational claims, but what is clear is that his model projects onto the peoples of a different time and place the characteristic interplay in astronomy of careful observations, mathematical analysis of those observations (here based on period relations), prediction drawn from that analysis, and renewed observations. Such a concern with astronomical periodicities draws from an astronomical technique that has been documented in a range of early astronomies that emerged largely independently in a number of different cultures. The Babylonians used a variety of different periods relating the length of the year and the month, the period of the lunar latitude, and the period of the lunar anomaly to compute the exact date and position in the sky of the occurrence of new and full Moons and the magnitude of the consequent eclipses (Aaboe 2001, pp. 57–60). The Maya used periods in which 405 lunations spanned 46 tzolkin (periods of 260 days) to compute the day of new moons and the possibility of eclipses (Aveni 1980, p. 177). Medieval Europeans developed simple techniques to compute the occurrence of the Easter Full Moon from the 19-year period in which lunations recur at the same time of year and the Julian Year of 365¼ days (McCluskey 1998, pp. 80–84). In all these cases, the standard astronomical questions of observation and analysis, however, were answered not from a presumed timeless and universal perspective of modern astronomy, but from the varying perspectives of particular local astronomical systems that had been developed in specific times and places.

Perspectives of Anthropology and Archaeology Within the social sciences, there is a tradition that seeks to find regular, lawlike patterns in society. One aspect of this tradition guided early anthropological and ethnographic investigations of indigenous systems that associated the cardinal or intercardinal directions with colors. A long series of investigations of the colordirection framework of the Puebloan peoples (Cushing 1896, pp. 367–373; Durkheim and Mauss 1963 [1903], pp. 42–55; Eggan 1950, pp. 126–128; Bradfield 1973, pp. 91–95, 198–305) interpreted this framework as reflecting the clan organization of Puebloan society more than it reflected empirical observations of natural phenomenon. As Frank Cushing described it, this classification was a “mythosociologic” framework used to explain the similarities among natural beings, clans, and ritual societies associated with each of the directions. This tendency to focus on society, rather than nature, as the object of indigenous thought is still strong in the anthropological tradition. A recent essay by Stanisław Iwaniszewski (2011) enriched this model, proposing that the sky could be interpreted as reflecting social concerns in several ways. On the one hand, he saw

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the celestial vault as providing meaningful patterns for conducting life on earth. On the other, he saw the sky itself as a public space – a social field – in which animated celestial beings behaved like human beings, maintaining relationships with other animate things. From this perspective, the principles by which the sky is ordered are the structures of social organizations rather than mathematical abstractions. An early tension between archaeology and archaeoastronomy was set out by archaeologist Keith Kintigh in one of a series of disciplinary essays published in the Bulletin of the Center for Archaeoastronomy. In the course of a more general critique of archaeoastronomy, Kintigh (1992) maintained that archaeoastronomers should be asking questions that are relevant to archaeological theory. His essay drew many responses. Anthony Aveni (1992) agreed on the necessity for addressing “culturally substantive questions” but pointed out that many archaeoastronomers were already asking just such questions. Gumerman and Warburton (2005) added another concern, noting that archaeoastronomy must address important questions concerned with data gathering and lower level interpretation before it can address human behavior or social organization. Current research reflects the complex interplay between archaeological and archaeoastronomical perspectives. A striking example of archaeoastronomy and archaeology combining to enrich our understanding of Inca culture concerns a solar alignment where the June solstice Sun is seen to set between two pillars on Tikani Ridge from a sacred rock on the Island of the Sun in Lake Titicaca. The socially significant point about this alignment is that the Sun can only be seen to set between these pillars from a plaza which archaeological investigation has shown to be walled off, preventing access by the general public. Thus, the astronomical event was visible on two levels, reflecting the structure of Inca society. Members of the Inca elite, considered to be children of the Sun, could see the Sun setting between the Tikani pillars, while the public only participated in the ritual at some distance (Dearborn et al. 1998). Another example concerns two ancestral Pueblo (Anasazi) sites in the US southwest where indications of astronomical observation have been found, the large Chaco Canyon complex and the smaller Chimney Rock site. Archaeological investigations have indicated that both of these sites were primarily ceremonial centers with relatively few permanent inhabitants (Judge 1987, pp. 5–6; Fairchild et al. 2006), yet ethnographic studies have indicated that astronomical observations in the historical pueblos took place at or near permanently inhabited villages (Zeilik 1985). Looked at from the perspective of an archaeologist or anthropologist, this anomaly raises a question about the changing nature of Puebloan societies. From the perspective of a historian of science, this same anomaly raises a question about the changing locus of scientific activity.

Perspectives of History and Ethnohistory Historical research, as a humanistic inquiry, is less concerned with establishing lawlike regularities than it is with the local and particular: with examining the

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process of change in particular times and places. Historians of science, whether dealing with modern science or with the natural knowledge of traditional cultures, tend to look at inquiries into nature as products of specific human agents who operate within particular intellectual, institutional, and social contexts. The astronomical parts of these inquiries are based on observations of celestial events and develop a range of practical techniques for applying astronomy to meet the needs of society and intellectual constructs that literally give order to astronomical phenomena and metaphorically give order to society. This perspective leads historians to look at the individual agents, their social and institutional contexts, their theoretical constructs, and the purposes their activities and ideas serve in society. A cautionary note is in order here: the approaches of historians of science have undergone significant change from an earlier approach that focused on what Aveni (2003, p. 150) has called “the acquisition of precise knowledge . . . from which modern western science was derived”. To illustrate the changing perspectives of historians and historians of science, consider the changing attitudes of several historians of Near Eastern astronomy. An earlier generation, trained in the tradition of the mathematical sciences, tended to see astronomy as part of a grand historical picture, leading to modern science, and took modern predictive astronomy as the ideal against which other sciences were measured. Otto Neugebauer focused his investigations on Babylonian mathematical astronomy, which had developed subtle techniques to predict astronomical phenomena precisely. He dismissed both celestial mythology and philosophical cosmology as irrelevant to astronomy (Neugebauer 1975, p. 572). A more explicit distinction was made by Neugebauer’s student, Asger Aaboe (1974, p. 23), who defined scientific astronomy not merely by mathematization or prediction but by a level of prediction sufficient to control precisely for the inequalities of the motions of the celestial bodies. Aaboe saw this level of “scientific” astronomy in the Mesopotamian world, but by his stringent criterion, even the mathematical astronomy of the Maya would not merit the appellation “scientific”. More recent historical examinations of the astronomy and astrology of the ancient Near East have eschewed ranking astronomies on a scale of progress toward some ideal. Francesca Rochberg (2004, pp. xi–xiv, 3–5), trained in Near Eastern languages and civilizations, broadened the scope of Mesopotamian celestial sciences so that they encompassed the mathematical calculations of Babylonian astronomy, the systematization of a wide variety of celestial and terrestrial phenomena, the interpretation of real or imaginary celestial phenomena as signs of mundane events, and the computation of personal horoscopes. She further rejected the older historiography of science, which by focusing on a supposed “forward march” of pure science had ignored those parts of Mesopotamian celestial science that could be called practical or religious (2004, pp. 11–12, 42–43). A similar broad historical understanding of science is found in historical examinations of Mesoamerican astronomies. An early essay by the ethnohistorian, Johanna Broda, sketched out the cultural significance of Mesoamerican astronomical activity on several different levels. On the most direct level,

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Broda (1982, pp. 101–102) saw indigenous astronomical activity as imposing order on chaos through the ordering of specific practical spheres of Mesoamerican culture: architecture, the calendrical system, the orientation of buildings and sites, chronological and historiographical systems, and ritual. In turn, the ordering of these practical spheres justified, or even imposed, a specific order for society, thereby “justifying it ideologically in terms of the cosmic order”. More recent work has shown the value of investigating the role of astronomy in developing social legitimacy. Broda herself (2006) provided one example of showing how astronomical concepts signified the concentration of political power in complex state societies. She drew on the well-established concern with the solar zenith passage in the Mesoamerican tropics to illustrate how the observed dates of solar zenith passage yielded a measurement that played the same role at the great metropolis of Teotihua´can (2006, pp. 188–90) as our measurement of latitude. But her discussion doesn’t end there. The plan of Teotihua´can is calendrically oriented to sunrise on the date of zenith passage, while almost 1,000 km to the east, at the limits of Teotihua´can’s political influence, a string of solar observatories was erected spanning the latitude of Teotihua´can to record the date of zenith passage (2006, pp. 201–202). The astronomical/calendric concept of the date of zenith passage serves as a sign of, and perhaps even a legitimization of, political dominion. Historian of science Gerardo Aldana (2006) established a different connection between history of astronomical techniques and political history. Drawing on the extensive corpus of written Maya dates, he associated the uniformity and variation of computed lunar ages in these texts with historically attested periods of collective rule among the four major Maya cities: Mutul, Copa´n, Kan, and Bakal (Palenque). He tied the periods of uniform lunar calculation to the specific historical circumstances of officially sanctioned and patronized astronomical activity during periods of political hegemony (2006, p. 255). Yet, lunar dates did not have the spectacular public component of Broda’s zenith passages and may not have played the same role in providing ideological justifications for the hegemonic order. Elsewhere Aldana (2007) probed deeper into the specific context of the activities of a community of scholars closely associated with the court of Janaab’ Pakal of Palenque and his successors, especially his son, Kan B’ahlam. Further evidence of this astronomical community, besides their astronomical creativity, is provided by archaeological evidence of a nonroyal elite housing complex and inscriptions, which Aldana proposes named these scholars. These court astronomers invented a new mathematical technique – the 819-day count – which they used to compute intervals incorporating significant astronomical and calendric periods that connected historical events in the reigns of their patrons to their mythological antecedents thousands of years in the past. These astronumerologically significant contrived numbers provided legitimization for the new dynasty of Janaab’ Pakal by connecting it to the distant mythological past. But significantly, these numbers only bore significance to those members of the court elite who had access to the inscriptions and were also aware of the dynastic significance of these calendric calculations.

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Conclusion These examples suggest that the most interesting archaeoastronomical research goes beyond the simple quest for evidence of astronomical practice by incorporating many strands of evidence, of varying degrees of certainty, into archaeological, anthropological, or historical narratives. Archaeoastronomy can best develop if its practitioners master the methods and questions of their own disciplines and strive – as best they can – to understand the methods and questions of other disciplines (McCluskey 2007).

Cross-References ▶ Astronomy and Politics ▶ Astronomy and Power ▶ Babylonian Mathematical Astronomy ▶ Babylonian Observational and Predictive Astronomy ▶ Cultural Interpretation of Archaeological Evidence Relating to Astronomy ▶ Cultural Interpretation of Ethnographic Evidence Relating to Astronomy ▶ Cultural Interpretation of Historical Evidence Relating to Astronomy ▶ Hopi and Puebloan Ethnoastronomy and Ethnoscience ▶ Island of the Sun: Elite and Non-Elite Observations of the June Solstice ▶ Late Babylonian Astrology ▶ Mesopotamian Celestial Divination

References Aaboe A (1974) Scientific astronomy in antiquity. Philos Trans Roy Soc Lond A 276:21–42 Aaboe A (2001) Episodes from the early history of astronomy. Springer, New York Aldana G (2006) Lunar alliances: shedding light on conflicting classic Maya theories of hegemony. In: Bostwick TW, Bates B (eds) Viewing the sky through past and present cultures. City of Phoenix Parks and Recreation Department, Phoenix, pp 237–258 Aldana G (2007) The apotheosis of Janaab’ Pakal: science, history, and religion at classic Maya Palenque. University Press of Colorado, Boulder Aveni AF (1980) Skywatchers of ancient Mexico. University of Texas Press, Austin Aveni AF (1992) Nobody asked but I couldn’t resist: a response to Keith Kintigh on archaeoastronomy and archaeology. Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy News 6:1–4 Aveni AF (2003) Archaeoastronomy in the ancient Americas. J Archaeol Res 11:149–191 Bradfield RM (1973) A natural history of associations: a study in the meaning of community, vol 2. International University Press, New York Broda J (1982) Astronomy, cosmovisio´n, and ideology in pre-Hispanic Mesoamerica. In: Aveni AF, Urton G (eds) Ethnoastronomy and archaeoastronomy in the American tropics. Annals of the New York Academy of Sciences. New York Academy of Sciences, New York, p 385 Broda J (2006) Zenith observations and the conceptualization of geographic latitude in ancient Mesoamerica: a historical interdisciplinary approach. In: Bostwick TW, Bates B (eds) Viewing the sky through past and present cultures. City of Phoenix Parks and Recreation Department, Phoenix, pp 183–211

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Cushing FH (1896) Outlines of zun˜i creation myths. Thirteenth annual report of the bureau of ethnology, 1891–92. Government Printing Office, Washington, DC Dearborn DSP, Seddon MT, Bauer BS (1998) The sanctuary of Titicaca: where the sun returns to earth. Lat Am Antiq 9:240–258 Durkheim E´, Mauss M (1963 [1903]) Primitive classification. University of Chicago Press, Chicago Eggan F (1950) Social organization of the western pueblos. University of Chicago Press, Chicago, pp 126–128 Fairchild G, Malville JM, Malville NJ (2006) Chimney Rock as a ceremonial center and port-oftrade within the Chaco system. In: Bostwick TW, Bates B (eds) Viewing the sky through past and present cultures. City of Phoenix Parks and Recreation Department, Phoenix, pp 259–274 Gumerman GJ, Warburton M (2005) The universe in cultural context: an essay. In: Fountain JW, Sinclair R (eds) Current studies in archaeoastronomy: conversations across time and space. Carolina Academic Press, Durham, pp 15–24 Iwaniszewski S (2011) The sky as a social field. In: Ruggles CLN (ed) Archaeoastronomy and ethnoastronomy: building bridges between cultures. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, pp 30–37 Judge JW (1987) Archaeology and astronomy: a view from the southwest. In: Carlson JB, Judge JW (eds) Astronomy and ceremony in the prehistoric southwest. Papers of the Maxwell Museum of Antrhopology, vol 2. Maxwell Museum of Anthropology, Albuquerque Kintigh K (1992) I wasn’t going to say anything, but since you asked: archaeoastronomy and archaeology. Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy News 5:1–4 McCluskey SC (1990) Calendars and symbolism: functions of observation in Hopi astronomy. Archaeoastronomy 15 (Supplement to the Journal for the History for Astronomy 21):S1–S16 McCluskey SC (1998) Astronomies and cultures in early medieval Europe. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge McCluskey SC (2004) The study of astronomies in cultures as reflected in dissertations and theses. Archaeoastronomy: The Journal of Astronomy in Culture 18:20–25 McCluskey SC (2007) Archaeoastronomy at the crossroads. Journal for the History of Astronomy 38:229–236 Neugebauer O (1975) A history of ancient mathematical astronomy, vol 3. Springer, New York Rochberg F (2004) The heavenly writing: divination, horoscopy, and astronomy in Mesopotamian culture. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge Thom A (1971) Megalithic lunar observatories. Clarendon, Oxford Zeilik M (1985) The ethnoastronomy of the historic pueblos, I: calendrical sun watching. Archaeoastronomy 8 (Supplement to the Journal for the History for Astronomy 16):S1–S24

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Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Markers of the Sky . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Rock Art as Archaeoastronomical Evidence . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Abstract

Rock art is often used as evidence for the earliest phases of prehistoric celestial knowledge and sky observation. Like the sky, rock art is a global phenomenon and it is also one of the earliest manifestations of human cognitive awareness. Similarities in iconography and visual context may provide evidence of skywatching activity, and in some cases, ethnographic analogies, ethnohistoric documentation, and surviving archaeological evidence may confirm that these activities were related to rock art production. Nevertheless, the problem of random matches makes proofs of intentional relation more complicated. Probabilities are measured differently in archaeology and astronomy and can sometimes lead to ambiguous or contradictory conclusions.

Introduction Although the interest of earlier peoples in the sky was confirmed by archaeologists over a century ago, their inquiry was largely confined to the classical civilizations

W.B. Murray Departamento de Ciencias Sociales, Universidad de Monterrey, San Pedro Garza Garcı´a, Nuevo Leo´n, Mexico e-mail: [email protected]; [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_10, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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of the ancient Near East, Mesoamerica, and China, where iconography, inscriptions, and occasionally written texts provided explicit evidence. These studies uncovered the early chapters in the history of astronomy and are discussed elsewhere in this handbook. Rock art (petroglyphs, rock paintings or pictographs, and geoglyphs) entered the picture only when the search for astronomical evidence was extended to include the mute archaeological remains of (even remote) prehistoric times and take in geographical areas of the world (and peoples) virtually unknown to the classical civilizations. This broader perspective derived from key changes in archaeological theory and methods, and it was accompanied by the emergence in anthropology of the ethnosciences as a recognizable topic with ethnoastronomy as one of its components (Murray 2000). In recent years, the inquiry has widened into cultural astronomy which aims at the further synthesis of all three components: astronomy, archaeology, and anthropology. These developments are the main influences on modern archaeoastronomy as an interdisciplinary inquiry, and rock art is frequently part of the evidence for the prehistoric sky knowledge which it attempts to uncover.

Markers of the Sky The linkage of rock art and astronomy has both advantages and disadvantages, some of which derive from the distinctive perspectives of its component disciplines. From the astronomical side, rock art has the distinct advantage that it leads back to the very beginnings of celestial observation. Radiocarbon dating and other new dating techniques have confirmed the great antiquity of rock art and identify it as one of the earliest manifestations of human cognitive awareness. The corresponding disadvantage – well known to archaeologists – is that most rock art cannot be directly dated using presently available archaeological techniques. Although some types of rock art are dateable under very special circumstances, reliable dates are often few and far between and at times even controversial (Bednarik 2007). Most images can be placed chronologically only by relative dating and indirect indicators with limited precision. Further archaeological discomfort is generated by the fact that rock art is obviously a cognitive artifact rather than a technological one. While the objective physical properties of the artifact – paint ingredients, repatination of carvings, etc. – provide valuable clues, the real objective of analysis is the cognitive meaning of the images represented in order to reach some notion of their cultural context. Rock art is more than just an artifact – it is also a message. In most cases, any attempt to understand its message involves subjective judgments based on an incomplete archaeological record and the lack of key information about the intentions of its authors. Unfortunately, these ambiguities of rock art make the credibility of any proposed interpretation relative to some degree, and any interpretation of it is inherently speculative (Bednarik op cit). For some archaeologists, this automatically makes rock art evidence unreliable and indeed unworthy of serious scientific attention. In many places, rock art studies remain stigmatized in the archaeological camp, and until very recently, rock art was

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often ignored in archaeological field reports. This has left its initial detection and documentation to interested locals, rather than trained archaeologists. As a result, rock art documentation is still very incomplete and uneven. Often information is dispersed and site detection is still very incomplete in many areas. Rock art sites are often located in places of difficult access and many still remain to be found. Filling in these gaps will undoubtedly change many current interpretations of the rock art evidence in the future, and the evidence now available has not led to any uniform consensus about its meaning and context (Bahn 2010). Nevertheless, in the past two to three decades, due to the efforts of researchers from many fields, this archaeological blind spot has gradually come into a bit sharper focus. It is now possible to take a global view of rock art and integrate it more tightly into prehistoric reconstructions (Clottes 2002). In a few places, extensive national and regional data banks facilitate systematic analysis of rock art and provide a complete record of this fast-disappearing feature, a valuable but very vulnerable patrimony of the prehistoric past. Quite apart from the lack of consensus, both archaeologists and astronomers rely on technical data which is in large measure unintelligible to the general public and are thereby exposed to gross misinterpretations. Bald misconceptions – such as a predicted Maya apocalypse or Percival Lowell’s famous Martian canals – have made both astronomers and archaeologists extremely cautious in passing judgment on ambiguous evidence. Using the Belmonte (2005) scale, the attempts to explain rock art run roughly on a continuum from formal proofs (1) through speculations ranging from serious (2) to savage (3) and culminate in just plain moneymaking (4) as evidenced by some globe-trotting followers of “ancient aliens”. More importantly, the criteria for making these probabilistic judgments are often not the same in archaeology and astronomy. Each field operates within a different time span and spatial framework and this can produce conflicting results when probabilities are to be calculated (Murray 1998). For archaeologists, 15,000 years is a very long time ago and they would estimate the probability of any cultural trait surviving unchanged over that time span as very low. Likewise, in spatial terms, each archaeological site is defined as a unique unit which is different from any other until its similarities can be proven by systematic comparison of artifactual evidence. In contrast, astronomers can now see time reaching back to the Big Bang on any clear night and the sky is a global phenomenon whose dimensions are measured in light years. Celestial mechanics operates the same everywhere and is a fundamental postulate of all scientific astronomy. With only minor exceptions, the visible sky we see today is identical to that of 15,000 years ago, since only precessional changes need to be taken into account for the time period covered by human prehistory. This difference in spatiotemporal perspective can have a distorting effect on the estimation of probabilities when applied to prehistoric rock art. One example is the proposal that representations of star patterns or recognizable constellations as well as lunar synodic counts can be identified in Paleolithic cave paintings. In astronomical terms, this idea seems quite plausible. Both star patterns and the lunar synodic period are fixed and unchanging in time, and the cave itself replicates the

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darkness of the night sky. But any archaeologist would immediately question the assumption that cultural recognition of identifiable modern constellations could survive unchanged over such a long time period. Archaeologists might also be inclined to see the underground cave location as totally disconnected from the sky and the randomness of star patterns as evidence that any graphic resemblance between the paintings and the sky is more likely an accidental match. This kind of discrepancy in viewpoints underlines the difficulties of establishing an interdisciplinary synthesis. In fact, few astronomers are archaeologists, and few archaeologists are regular sky-watchers. Communication between the two fields requires learning on both sides. Archaeologists must learn naked-eye astronomy in order to see the sky as it was in prehistoric times and astronomers must learn the sky in a global cultural context quite distinct from the physical properties measured by modern instrumentation. These demands have sometimes been met through professional collaboration or consultation, but unfortunately, in other cases, ignorance leads to blindness or misinterpretations of the physical evidence and relative probabilities on both sides. Even national pride and religious sectarianism can distort the archaeological picture. How much nicer it is to have wise priests in your past than sacrificial victims on the altar of the sky gods! And how much more comforting it is to have faith in the correctness of your own interpretation rather than having to submit it to the test of scientific validation and replication. The ethnoastronomical perspective also revealed a different concept of time from that used by classical historians of astronomy – one more relevant to the prehistoric context revealed by archaeology. Anthony Aveni (following anthropologist E.E. Evans-Pritchard) called it “ecotime”, that is, the annual calendar of the natural seasons which dominated human adaptation from the beginning. Ecotime is cyclic rather than linear and “is made up of relatively short periods framed within the annual cycle” (Aveni 1989, p. 169). It is based exclusively on naked-eye observation of the sky, particularly of the solar and lunar cycles, and the rising/setting of prominent star groups and other sky objects, such as the Milky Way. These sky events are all temporally correlated with natural changes that accompany and regulate basic human activities, such as food procurement and migration patterns. Hesiod’s Works and Days (7th century BC) describes the eco-calendar for agricultural planting and harvest of early Greek farmers. Ecotime is equally important for pastoralists, like the Nuer, and even more relevant for the hunting and gathering adaptation which preceded agriculture all over the world. Both activities must respond to seasonal changes in climate, vegetation, and animal migration for which concurrent sky observations can become an essential guide to survival. Any miscalculations can lead to disaster, famine, and even death. Once ecotime is placed within this longer archaeological chronology, rock art becomes more plainly visible as evidence – sometime crucial – for detecting knowledge of the sky and defining its functional importance in earlier times (Murray 1998). In one sense, the measurement of ecotime should not really be called “astronomy” at all. Prehistoric “sky knowledge” certainly bears little resemblance to modern scientific astronomy. It was rarely – if ever – practiced by full-time

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specialists and was often “common knowledge” among all members of the social group. Precision was not so critical since seasonal onsets, rather than exact dates, are being noted and these would in any case vary somewhat from year to year. Nor does systematic long-term accumulation of data beyond the annual cycle have much relevance since the sky observations were used mainly for immediate on-time decision-making. Instrumentation was also limited to the naked eye and what it can see under a brilliant night sky before the invention of the light bulb. Today, we take this kind of sky knowledge rather for granted. Celestial mechanics is now reduced to computer calculations, while sophisticated technology marks time off in milliseconds. Timekeeping no longer requires a view of the real sky which is almost invisible to modern people anyway, Therefore, it requires a conceptual reset to see how essential sky observation might have been for earlier peoples who lived within the annual cycle of nature and looked to the sky, rather than a watch or a wall calendar, for temporal and spatial orientation. Evans-Pritchard discovered ecotime though his ethnographic fieldwork with the pastoral Nuer of Sudan. Once ethnoastronomy emerged to document alternative views of the sky, anthropologists could begin to recognize sky knowledge in the natural lore of preliterate peoples well beyond the historical confines of Western science. In this global context, the sky inherited by modern astronomy from the Classical Mediterranean world is not the only sky. No Greek astronomer ever saw the Andean or Australian Aboriginal view of the southern hemisphere sky or the land of the midnight sun either. Greek sailors never crossed the equator as early Polynesian navigators did regularly. Each culture confronted their own sky and observational knowledge of it was used for many different purposes. One of the forms in which such information was transmitted is rock art.

Rock Art as Archaeoastronomical Evidence In many ways, the task of matching ambiguous rock art motifs and an infinitely diverse celestial sphere has been an overly tempting invitation. A quick look on the Internet will identify over 5,000,000 matches between astronomy and rock art covering nearly every part of the globe and all time periods. Even allowing for irrelevant matches and duplications, the topic’s popularity is evident. It also demonstrates the impossibility of reviewing all of the suggested evidence in any detail. It must be emphasized from the outset that no single explanation can account for all the rock art that occurs. The sky is only one of many possibly relevant contexts for rock art. Faddish explanations which attempt to fit all rock art into a unique meaningful context are doomed from the start and this applies equally to an “archaeoastronomical fad” as to any other (Chamberlain 1994). As mentioned above, there is rarely universal consensus about rock art interpretation and many other plausible explanatory frameworks have been used, ranging from hunting magic to gender differentiation and the neurophysiological effects of altered states of consciousness (Whitley 2001). It is also clear that rock art is often polysemic and

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that several meanings may be incorporated simultaneously into the same image. The sky may be just one meaningful facet of a given image. In essence, all rock art is a form of visual communication, but its message remains unintelligible without a cultural key, and that key is not always detectable or available from the material evidence alone. For this reason, rock art studies reach out well beyond ordinary archaeological paths in order to explore alternative cultural contexts and evaluate the probabilities of each. As a part of anthropological archaeology, it incorporates data from ethnography, linguistics, semiotics, geography, aesthetics, and epigraphy (among others) as well as the hard sciences. In this search, rock art researchers encountered the sky above as one consistent feature surrounding any rock art and began to explore astronomy as one explanatory framework appropriate for at least some rock art manifestations. The relation of rock art to prehistoric sky-watching is made evident by two intentional features: its placement and its permanency. All rock art is placed at a specific location consciously chosen by whoever made it, and it is made on the most durable surface available – hard rock – with the implied intention that it should last for as long as possible. Thus, each rock art image commands a “viewscape” from a particular place within its visible surroundings. This image/ place has variable accessibility. On an open landscape, it may be public information with unrestricted access like a signpost or a modern billboard, but the natural context may impose distinctive limitations to access which define more specific uses and degrees of privacy. In either case, information is preserved for anyone who wants to take a look around. These inherent features of rock art translate into two basic types of archaeoastronomical evidence: iconographic representation of the sky (the graphic image) and the placement (or viewscape) of these images in relation to the natural horizon or other significant features in the natural surroundings. Each type of evidence operates with its own rules and measures of probability and makes use of ethnographic analogy for validation. To begin with, the placement and distribution of rock art is an irrefutable feature of any site. Entire sites may show intentional orientation toward some direction on the horizon. This is especially the case for open sites where the rock art may selectively prefer one direction over another (see ▶ Chap. 48, “Boca de Potrerillos” in this handbook), but cave apertures can also act as intentional indicators of orientation. More frequently, the viewscape may indicate the possible use of a specific rock art image as a foresight marker in relation to horizon features which correspond to significant dates (or time periods) within a horizon calendar. The time periods most likely to be marked are the solstitial extremes (the longest and shortest days of the year) and/or the equinox, when the sun rises directly in the cardinal east (Az. 90 ) and sets in the west (Az. 180 ), but in effect, any rock art with an orientation in this azimuth range could be marking a significant horizon rising or setting event. If we include the possibility of a lunar calendar, then lunar extremes would replace solstitial azimuths. The use of a star calendar might also include intentional orientation to bright stars outside the zodiacal band associated with the polar rotational movement of the entire visible sky. The end result is that

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all rock art is either horizontal (facing up at the sky) or vertical to some degree in relation to some direction. Orientation (like number) is an inherent property of any rock art image, and any example can be oriented to some point on the horizon where some sky event may occur. Some star or celestial feature rises or sets at every azimuth on the horizon, so intentionality must be demonstrated either statistically or by ethnographic analogy in order to rule out random correlations. Monolithic carved rocks can also be gnomons which function as sun dials for timekeeping. Natural rock profiles may serve the same function by producing lightand-shadow interactions which are projected onto the rock art images, such as the proposed Sun Dagger at Fajada Butte in Chaco Canyon. In these cases, the geological stability of the rock profile becomes a key test of credibility. The shadow of a mountain profile will have changed very little over the archaeological time scale, but individual rock profiles can be subject to rapid erosion and active geological modification over a much shorter period of time. Astronomical iconography in rock art presents additional problems because it can be either direct or indirect evidence. Direct evidence refers to graphic representations of recognizable sky objects. It may also include graphic notations using motifs which record recognizable celestial cycles, such as the lunar synodic month. Indirect evidence refers to symbolic representations whose relation to the sky is established by cultural associations within mythic or other traditions. The sky is not only a phenomenal reality; it is also “the heavens” which becomes transformed into sky lore that defines its human context and fits into an implicit explanation of the phenomenal universe. Such cultural explanations are not prescientific; they are nonscientific and inevitably tie sky knowledge to ritual or other activities distinct from observation of the sky for purely practical reasons or for scientific motives like those pursued by professional astronomers. Indirect evidence opens the field up to include any and all kinds of analogical and symbolic manifestations and depends almost entirely on ethnographic analogy in order to establish its probable intentionality and credibility. In some cases, indirect evidence can also be associated with direct evidence, forming a mutually reinforcing set about a particular motif, such as the identification of the Mesoamerican cross-in-circle motif and its many variants as cardinal directional symbols (see ▶ Chap. 54, “Pecked Cross-Circles”). Like the sky, rock art is culturally “universal” and certain iconographic motifs are found nearly everywhere that rock art was made. These “universal” motifs include human hand and foot prints as well as abstract geometrical images, such as circles, dots, triangular and diamond shapes, axial and curvilinear lines, and all their respective combinations. The universality of these abstract motifs could be due either to independent invention based on inherent cognitive patterns in the human brain or a cultural inheritance within a common tradition of great antiquity. One evident source for this universal abstract geometry is the view of the sky above. Star groups or constellations can be naturally represented as dot configurations or graphically rendered as linear figures whose connections or patterns can be compared with the visible sky. If the fit is acceptable, this might be considered evidence of sky observation, but chance matches are still difficult to rule out without multiple examples or supporting ethnographic evidence.

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One example is the geoglyphs of Nazca (Peru), a very particular kind of rock art found only in a few places. The Nazca geoglyphs are of two types: long lines emanating from ray centers which could mark astronomical horizon alignments (as originally proposed by their “discoverer”, Maria Reiche, among others) and graphic representations of animals and other figures which may be symbolic representations of known Andean constellations. The first proposition has been thoroughly assessed by field measurement and analysis of statistical probability and has not led to a definitive demonstration of their astronomical intentionality (Aveni 2000). On the other hand, the ethnoastronomy of the Andean constellations is well documented in colonial texts, and their very uniqueness suggests cultural continuity over a long time period (Hadingham 1987). Stars and constellations could also be represented graphically as an array of cupmarks which correspond to a given star group carved into a horizontal bedrock or in petroglyphs or paintings on vertical surfaces. Although some star groupings (such as the Pleiades or the belt of Orion) are relatively more prominent in the sky, the possible number of such combinations is effectively infinite. Without a cultural indicator, it is almost impossible to verify whether any given rock art image could represent a star grouping. Ethnoastronomical data may include contemporary observations and testimony in a few cases, such as Aboriginal Australia, where native traditions continued into historic times and traditional lore and interpretations of rock art is still preserved even today (Cairns and Harley 2003). Even with this evident advantage, conclusive proof of archaeoastronomical intention is still elusive (Norris and Hamacher 2010). Intentionality is an even more critical issue when dealing with representations of less common or infrequent sky phenomena, such as supernova, comets, or eclipses, or transitory celestial phenomena, such as the aurora borealis, meteor showers, sun dogs, rainbows, and other optical displays. Proofs of intentionality always rest on the measurement of astronomical probabilities, but since these graphic representations are products of unique events, statistical probability alone rarely provides an accurate measure. In some cases, it is also difficult to know how the phenomena might be represented graphically. The tail of a comet is sometimes a visible feature and a rainbow always forms an arc, but a supernova is not visible as an exploding point in the sky and many other natural phenomena form concentric arcs. Other sky objects such as the Milky Way and the nebular clouds of the Southern Hemisphere were certainly more visible before the electric light than they are today, but they were more easily converted into symbolic images rather than exact sky representations. When symbolic associations replace representational imagery, probabilities are still further attenuated and ethnographic validation becomes almost essential. This situation can be illustrated by the attempts to relate the impressive array of animal figures in the Paleolithic cave paintings of Chauvet, Lascaux, and other sites to celestial images making up a kind of Paleolithic zodiac. Does a bull in a cave painting symbolically represent the constellation Taurus? Could the lions of Chauvet refer to the zodiacal Leo? Archaeologists can legitimately raise the question to which particular occupational period at these sites these celestial attributions might refer, since all of these

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sites were reoccupied several times, often with intervals of several millennia between them. Because of precession, the zodiacal constellations would also have shifted over that length of time, making them useless as seasonal indicators in a star calendar/zodiac. The real test, however, derives from the distance in time between the paintings (32,000–15,000 BP) and the first historical records which identify any of the modern zodiacal constellations. These occur in early Babylonian tablets dated to ca. 650 BC (Krupp 1991). Although the possibility can never be fully ruled out, site selection and distance in time considerably reduces the probability that a bull represented in Lascaux symbolizes the zodiacal Taurus. By the same token, any representation of the sun and the full moon would have to be a circle by natural analogy. Of course, not all circles are representations of the sun or moon. Many other things (both natural and cultural) may also be circular. The circle can also be a totally arbitrary form with no intended representational analogy or meaning at all. The graphic image alone does not identify a specific cultural context, but natural analogy does establish a range of probabilities, and the sun and the moon are certainly probable candidates. If the circle has additional graphic details, such as radiating spokes or a half-moon shape, it can be linked to sky observation even more confidently. If its placement in the landscape also fits a pattern related to observable sky events, this fact can even be confirmed by modern experimental observation. Being a system of visual communication, rock art ultimately provides bridges to other systems of visual communication. While it is not usually a written text, its message does represent a step along a road which led eventually to the development of writing and numeracy. In this sense, it can be approached as a semasiographic system which is designed to circumvent language differences by means of graphic images. Its “translation” is not textual, but symbolic and contextual, and requires attention to a broad potential range of material evidence. The breadth of artifactual evidence related to sky-watching goes well beyond rock art. Its true range is still not established, but Alexander Marschack’s pioneering studies of Paleolithic engraved bone artifacts (1972) (reviewed elsewhere in this handbook) opened this door. Although Marschack limited his work for methodological reasons to engraved portable artifacts of different types, the same iconography of dot and tally notations appears at numerous Paleolithic cave sites. Later, Marschack studied another comparable artifact: calendar sticks which are widely reported in both the Old and New World (Marschack 1989). Although these were often made of wood or other perishable materials, their portability may have made them better adapted to the needs of earlier mobile populations, and their iconography of dots and tallies is identical to rock art manifestations. Their numerical use as calendrical memory aids is well documented both ethnographically as well as in purely archaeological contexts (Murray 1984). The validation of these kinds of ethnographic analogies also points out a more fundamental discrepancy in disciplinary perspectives. Archaeologists are always reluctant to accept cultural continuity over time. Pottery styles or projectile point types are very fluid cultural features and serve as chronological markers of particular times and places. Admittedly, some cultural features may change much more slowly.

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Any change in mortuary customs, for example, marks a more profound cultural reorientation rather than mere fashion. It is also true that as one goes further back in time, cultural features are more stable and uniform, and at least in theory, some basic cultural features may also be substantially unchanged from their original conception. Given the permanence of the sky, many astronomers would be inclined to consider sky knowledge to be part of this unchanged cultural nucleus, whereas archaeologists rarely consider such global cultural unity as a relevant possibility. In conclusion, archaeoastronomy implies that each disciplinary component be taken into account, but as we have noted, sky-watching is not like astronomy and its archaeological traces are an inferred relation rather than an artifactual record. There are no “archaeoastronomical” sites per se because sky-watching could take place anywhere and everywhere. It is an activity pursued for various purposes and its evidence takes many different forms. Sky-watching is part of a scenario and rock art often forms part of the same scenario. The objective of archaeoastronomy is to reconstruct the prehistoric actions which produced it based on the probabilities calculated within each field. The presence and perceived relevance of rock art as prehistoric evidence differs widely from nation to nation. In some countries, rock art studies are an integral part of archaeological activities. Rock art documentation is often a well-advanced systematic effort and discussion of its prehistoric role may be a key part of archaeological analysis. Meanwhile, in other countries, rock art studies are either undeveloped or condemned to an archaeological periphery which facilitates their transformation into an ideological platform used merely to reinforce modern cultural values, perceptions, and prejudices.

Cross-References ▶ Australian Aboriginal Astronomy and Cosmology ▶ Calendars and Astronomy ▶ Geoglyphs of the Peruvian Coast ▶ Hopi and Anasazi Alignments and Rock Art ▶ Possible Astronomical Depictions in Franco-Cantabrian Paleolithic Rock Art ▶ Possible Calendrical Inscriptions on Paleolithic Artifacts ▶ Rock Art of the Greater Southwest ▶ Wooden Calendar Sticks in Eastern Europe

References Aveni A (1989) Empires of time. Basic Books, New York; (2000) Between the lines. University of Texas Press, Austin Bahn P (2010) Prehistoric rock art: polemics and progress. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, UK Bednarik R (2007) Rock art science: the scientific study of palaeoart. Aryan Books International, New Delhi

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Belmonte JA (2006) La Investigacio´n Arqueoastrono´mica: Apuntes Culturales, Metodolo´gicos y Epistemolo´gicos. In: Lull J (ed) Trabajos de Arqueoastronomı´a. Agrupacio´n Astrono´mica de La Safor, Gandia, pp 41–79 Cairns H, Harley B (2003) Dark sparklers: Yidumduma’s Wardaman Aboriginal astronomy. Private Publication, Merimbula Chamberlain Von Del (1994) Reflections on rock art and astronomy. Archaeoastron ethnoastronomy news (December) Clottes J (2002) World rock art. Getty Conservation Institute, Los Angeles Hadingham E (1987) Lines to the mountain gods. Random House, New York Krupp E (1991) Beyond the blue horizon. Harper Collins, New York Marschack A (1972) The roots of civilization. McGraw-Hill, New York; (1989) North American indian calendar sticks: the evidence for a widely distributed tradition. In: Aveni A (ed) World archaeoastronomy. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, UK, pp 308–324 Murray WB (1984) Numerical characteristics of three engraved bison scapulae from the Texas Gulf Coast. Archaeoastronomy 7:82–88 Murray WB (1998) Models of temporality in archaeoastronomy and rock art studies. Archaeoastronomy 23 (Supplement to the Journal for the History for Astronomy 29):S1–S6 Murray WB (2000) The contributions of the ethnosciences to archaeoastronomical research. Archaeoastronomy: The Journal of Astronomy in Culture 15:112–120 Norris RP, Hamacher D (2010) Astronomical symbolism in Australian aboriginal rock art. Rock Art Res Whitley D (ed) (2001) Handbook of rock art research. Altamira Press, Walnut Creek

Presentation of Archaeoastronomy in Introductions to Archaeology

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Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Literature Search . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Culture History Approach . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Processual Archaeology . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Postprocessual Archaeology . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Archaeoastronomy in Introductory Archaeology Textbooks . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Summary . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Abstract

In order to gain insights into how archaeoastronomy is presented (if at all) in introductory archaeology courses at universities, a study of introductory textbooks was undertaken in 2004 and again in 2012. In both instances the results were mixed. The quality of future coverage and the reputation of archaeoastronomy may depend upon archaeoastronomers’ ability to confine themselves to good exemplars in the next editions of their books.

Introduction At the beginning of the first decade of the twenty-first century, it seemed appropriate to enjoy a degree of optimism concerning the public’s knowledge about or at least awareness of archaeoastronomy. As this author put it, “There appears to be

V.B. Fisher Department of Sociology, Anthropology, and Criminal Justice, Towson University, Towson, MD, USA e-mail: [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_12, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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a gradually emerging public enlightenment about, and a growing appreciation of, the interdiscipline of archaeoastronomy” (Fisher 2006). That positive impression was gained as a result of an analysis of introductory textbooks written by archaeologists. The underlying notion was that if the textbooks dealt with the subject adequately, then the educated public would gradually become more aware of archaeoastronomy. A basic question was whether there was more or less coverage of archaeoastronomy in these introductory textbooks than had been the case previously. And what have archaeologists been telling their students about this subject?

Literature Search In 2012 the author conducted a preliminary survey of the comprehensive listings of major commercial publishing houses and many university presses. After this he did another search at the Library of Congress. The product of these efforts was a list of introductory archaeology textbooks that have been published since 2000. The study of these sources enabled the assessment of the current status of the treatment of archaeoastronomy by contemporary authors (Ashmore and Sharer 2000, 2010; Bahn 2000; Crabtree and Campana 2001; Fagan 2001, 2009, 2010, 2012a, b; Feder 1984, 1990, 2008, 2011; Greene 2002; McDowell-Loudan 2002; Price 2005, 2007; Scarre 2005; Sharer and Ashmore 1993, 2003; Staeck 2002; Sutton and Yohe 2003; Thomas and Kelly 2006). This sample of books does not include, of course, the very numerous volumes on specialized topics in archaeology that have been published during these years. A great many site reports, books on archaeological theory, field methods, geographic area summaries, etc. are not included. For this chapter the focus is limited to introductory archaeology textbooks only.

Culture History Approach It would be comforting if we could say with confidence and, perhaps, pride that it was only in the past that there was a tendency for authors of introductory archaeology textbooks to just ignore archaeoastronomy. That inclination, which is strongly tied to the “culture history approach”, is not entirely behind us. The “culture history approach” itself championed detailed description of archaeological materials as a major goal. The sweaty, day in and day out physical labor of excavation fits this picture perfectly. To be sure, digging became high-precision excavation, and it was accompanied by advances in the physical sciences that dramatically improved our dating techniques. Laboring to build the cultural record for a specific geographic area over time was yet another goal of the “culture history approach”. All of these remain today and serve as the foundation for the other approaches. Fagan put it very well when he wrote (2001, p. 470) “. . .the construction of culture history has been a major preoccupation of archaeologists since the

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beginning of the twentieth century and is still of vital importance as a basis for all kinds of sophisticated research”. Going much beyond description was considered to be unsound and unwarranted. To even speculate about a pre-Columbian shaman’s behaviors inside a kiva was regarded as being clearly out of bounds.

Processual Archaeology The “cultural process approach” arrived in the 1960s bringing with it freedom from mere description. It also brought opportunities to engage the past in different ways. Instead of just documenting the stages in the development of a culture, archaeologists now were involved in seeking explanations for change. Their evolutionary way of looking at the past is referred to as processual archaeology. Not only were explanations sought but processual archaeologists developed testable hypotheses concerning those changes and elaborate scientific research strategies were carried out. They had to gather new data in order to test their hypotheses. Processual archaeologists asked questions about the nature of social organization and about the evolution of culture. Some worked on changes in subsistence; others tackled settlement patterns and changes in technology. The importance of individual people and their mental and spiritual lives was not a focus for processual archaeologists.

Postprocessual Archaeology A reaction to the processual model occurred and is widely thought to have been inevitable. That reaction is known as postprocessual archaeology. It made its appearance in the late 1970s and reached full development in the 1980s. Twentyfirst-century archaeologists carry some of each of these approaches as well as a basic commitment to the descriptive aspects of the culture history road to the past. The postprocessual movement gave great relief to those who had longed to think about the past in terms of the lives of the people, not just the material objects they left behind. Postprocessualists have attempted some very lofty, approaching stratospheric, goals. Their aspirations have included trying to see the world of the past as the people of those times saw it, to attempt to grasp aspects of their mental sets, and as important as anything else, to pick up the meanings of things to those people. It is apparent that processual archaeology produced desired results for archaeoastronomy. For the first time in the history of archaeology, there was a force that promoted the testing of hypotheses directed at explanation of change. But it was with the coming of the postprocessual approach that our freedom was increased. This approach allowed us to consider many aspects of the lives of the subjects of our inquiry that were previously considered off limits. We can now ask questions about their personal and group interactions, inquire about their spiritual lives, and question what they were about when they engaged in artistic expression. Processual

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archaeology provides us a liberating umbrella. As this author expressed it in an earlier paper (Fisher 2006, p. 105) “We can legitimately entertain thoughts about the nature of their daily personal and group interactions. Many topics that were regarded as unthinkable a half century ago and were avoided/scorned 30 years ago because they were untestable are now upfront and fair game. For example, it is now understood that we can actually make sense of some aspects of ancient astronomies. Not many years ago in archaeology, there was general contempt for the ambitious notion, then thought to be entirely presumptuous, that we could get so fully into the minds of ancient people as to be able to catch glimpses of their thoughts about celestial matters, but here we are”. Another way of expressing this is to say that among the positive consequences of postprocessual archaeology is that it has enabled archaeologists to allow themselves to be engaged in archaeoastronomy. Archaeologists eventually came around to appreciate the work of their colleagues in cultural astronomy. Some work that had seemed to them to be wasted efforts in the pursuit of the unknowable rather suddenly became viewed as sound scholarship. The major contention of this chapter is that as changes occurred in archaeology from one approach to another, so did the status of archaeoastronomy in the minds of the archaeologists and that these changes ought then to be reflected in the treatment of archaeoastronomy in introductory archaeology textbooks. Just how archaeologist authors have dealt with archaeoastronomy is detailed below. It is probably not by accident that writers who pay little or no attention to archaeoastronomy are also among those who do not reflect the postprocessual approach. Yes, it is the twentyfirst century, but change among scholars within some professions can show a considerable lag time. It is also possible that some authors regard a discussion of postprocessual archaeology as being too advanced for their beginning students. But should this get them off the hook for not covering archaeoastronomy? Whatever the reasons may be for not reporting on archaeoastronomy, it is clear that books that omit the subject continue to be published and have considerable circulation. On the other hand, a great many university students study from some of the texts described below that do contain archaeoastronomical material from enlightened scholars as part of their first course in archaeology. Our hope is that as more students have such exposure it will increasingly become the case that archaeoastronomy will be considered a normal and usual field of study. “But we ought not invoke perverse stubbornness to account for the lack of enthusiasm that some archaeologists have had for archaeoastronomy. There have been soberingly serious intellectual objections to the enterprise of archaeoastronomy. First among these is that the discipline has been thought to be methodologically weak – that it has failed to consistently and compellingly demonstrate the relationships for which it argues” (Fisher 2006). A similarly stated concern is the matter of the necessity for demonstrating the intention of the creators of features that seem to have significant orientations. Fortunately for archaeoastronomers, Bradley E. Schaefer, in his 2004 keynote address to the Oxford VII International Conference on Archaeoastronomy in Flagstaff, made an excellent case for the need for establishing intention on the part of the builders. Alignments, after all, are

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everywhere by chance alone – they do not prove intention. He then presented four tests for intention and applied them to three major sites. The tests are: 1. statistical significance of alignments 2. the archaeological evidence 3. the ethnographic evidence, and 4. the astronomical case. The sites to which he applied the tests were: 1. the Bighorn Medicine Wheel 2. Cahokia, and 3. Caracol at Chichen Itza. (Schaefer also went on to apply the tests to a few other sites – bad exemplars.) He ultimately showed that intention has not been firmly demonstrated for any of these case studies. Perhaps the most important aspect of Schaefer’s writing for the archaeoastronomical community lies in his suggested remedy for the poor reputation we get from the bad exemplars (the Penasco Blanco “supernova”, the window at Wupatki, and the claims for Casa Rinconada). (See Fisher 2010, p. 26–34 for more on these.) Schaefer’s main solution concerns those who write textbooks. He urges them to remove the bad examples (cases in which the tests for intention are failed) and replace them with good examples in the next editions of their books (Schaefer 2006, p. 50).

Archaeoastronomy in Introductory Archaeology Textbooks In 2006 this author pointed out that “It is important to note that archaeoastronomy is still given short shrift in some introductory archaeology textbooks and continues to be ignored in others” (Fisher 2006, p. 106). In recent years there have been occasional signs of improvement among some authors, while others waffle. The scholarship of Kenneth L. Feder comes to mind as an example of one whose acknowledgement of archaeoastronomy has been a bit erratic. Following two contributions to Skeptical Inquirer, Feder made his official debut in the archaeological literature with an excellent article in American Antiquity (1984, p. 535–541). In that piece, titled “Irrationality and Popular Archaeology”, he implored archaeologists to “continue to respond rationally to the irrationality that dogs our discipline”. At the heart of this was a rejection of pseudoscience and the pseudoscientific claims that had been made in the name of archaeology. He argued that archaeologists ought to address popular accounts concerning evidence for ancient astronauts, scientific creationism, Noah’s ark, psychic archaeology, and the coexistence of humans and dinosaurs. He did not discuss archaeoastronomy in this work. A few years later Feder launched the first of seven editions of his very wellreceived Frauds, Myths, and Mysteries: Science and Pseudoscience in Archaeology (1990). With this book Feder went to war on fallacious thinking and otherwise sloppy argumentation about a variety of pseudoscientific claims, hoaxes, and popular misconceptions. Many of these were ones that he addressed briefly in his article in American Antiquity. The book’s principal relevance for archaeoastronomy lies in his discussion of Stonehenge. He addresses the questions of how, when,

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where, why, and by whom it was built. The two most interesting of these questions to him are how and why. In speaking to the former, he informs the reader of replicative experiments that have shown that through the use of sledges, ropes, levers, log rollers, wooden platforms, and human strength, this sort of construction could be done. The quarrying, moving, and erecting of stones of enormous weight is within human limits. Concerning the matter of why Stonehenge was built, he rejects pseudoscientific projections of motives such as those having to do with ancient astronauts and Neolithic crop circles. Feder does cite the work of Gerald Hawkins and does consider the idea that Stonehenge may have begun as a simple calendar that evolved into a monument. He tells the reader how impressed he is by monuments and especially by the tendency of humans to create them. The bottom line for Feder is that, other than the fact that we apparently have always felt a need for monuments, it remains a mystery as to why all of that work was brought to bear on the creation of this great monument The fifth edition of Feder’s text The Past in Perspective: An Introduction to Human Prehistory yields additional information about the inclinations of the author. Published in 2011, this widely read book affirms Feder’s ongoing interest in the details of the construction of Stonehenge. He presents (2011, p. 305–309) an engaging account of its creation, but, as enchanting as this no doubt is to many readers, it leaves the student of archaeoastronomy wanting something else. Nowhere in the description of how Stonehenge was built do we get any suggestion that it could possibly have served calendrical and/or astronomical functions. Feder sees it as a very well-organized work project that was aimed at building a monument. Citing the many burials found there, he argues that it “was a place of enormous ritual significance” (2011, p. 308). He also entertains the possibility that “Stonehenge may have been a pilgramage [sic] spot where sick and wounded came to be healed” (2011, p. 309). Feder simply does not present the scholarship of Gerald Hawkins or other astronomers. It should be added that Feder does make passing references to Chaco Canyon and Cahokia, but not in connection with astronomy. Another introductory text by the prolific writer, Feder rewards us for our patience with him. Now in its second edition (2008), Linking to the Past: A Brief Introduction to Archaeology features a web-based format that no doubt helps today’s students in their first formal encounter with the subject. The word “archaeoastronomy” is defined in the Glossary (2008, p. 403) and is discussed (2008, p. 344–346). Feder explains the solstices and equinoxes and then allows that Stonehenge may have been built by people who wished to lock in and celebrate the perfect regularity of their seasonal observations of sunrises. That’s it for his coverage of archaeoastronomy. The good news and evidence of real progress lies in the fact that in the first edition of this book (2004) there was no mention of archaeoastronomy whatsoever. [A pleasant and useful item that has been nicely integrated into the learning experience is a CD that accompanies the book. It provides the reader with slide shows and interactive exercises. Even though it contains more information on the archaeology of north-central Connecticut than most of us require (Feder does teach at Central Connecticut State University), this is an admirably comprehensive little volume.]

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One end of the remarkable range of coverage and noncoverage of archaeoastronomy can be seen in McDowell-Loudan’s (2002) Archaeology: Introductory Guide for Classroom and Field. It completely ignores archaeoastronomy and contains only one sentence that refers to astronomy (2002, p. 35). Here the author points to the possibility that, in a field situation, one or another of the archaeology students enrolled may have had some training in astronomy. He suggests that this could be useful in correlating solstices with the orientation of archaeological sites. In Back to the Earth: An Introduction to Archaeology, Staeck (2002) refers briefly to Stonehenge and states his understanding that it was built as a monument. This is part of an aside titled “Seeing is Believing on the Salisbury Plain”. Nowhere does he mention either astronomy or archaeoastronomy. In Archaeology and Prehistory, collaborators Crabtree and Campana (2001) join the chorus of silence with respect to the mentioning of astronomy and archaeoastronomy. They nearly break this total stillness by giving the reader two pages of consideration of who built the megalithic monuments such as Stonehenge and when that work was done (2001, pp. 8, 352). Crabtree and Campana do not entertain any theories about the purposes of such structures. Thomas and Kelly’s fourth edition (2006) of Archaeology is a stunning introductory textbook but is yet another example of not addressing archaeoastronomy and astronomy. As is so commonly the case with first books in archaeology, there is a fleeting reference to Stonehenge (2006, p. 345); this time it is in a section on site preservation. There is nothing here about why it was built and/or how it may have been used. A two-page summary on “How the Maya Reckoned Time” (2006, pp. 494–405) wraps up the book’s relevance for archaeoastronomers. The sixth edition of this book, to be published in 2013, contains no new elaborations of general interest for our purposes. In his Archaeology: An Introduction, Greene (2002) writes generally about megalithic structures and zeroes in on Stonehenge. He sees it as being a site particularly worthy of our attention and especially deserving of preservation efforts. He wrestles with whether Stonehenge should (1) be perfectly preserved or (2) be given over for occupation as a place for modern spiritual expression (2002, pp. 271–274). While he does refer to astronomy in this volume, he does not address archaeoastronomy. Scarre’s The Human Past: World Prehistory and the Development of Human Societies (2005) is a weighty tome that comes closest to archaeoastronomy in its treatment of Stonehenge (2005, pp. 416–417), but even there the author just describes in a low-key fashion the well-known seasonal alignments. In their Archaeology: the Science of the Human Past (2003), Sutton and Yohe give us more to chew on than do many other authors. Chapter 10 “Interpreting Past Cultural Systems” features a “Highlight” that is titled “Archaeoastronomy”. As they evaluate both Old World and New World evidence, they seem to convey to the reader that archaeoastronomers may be onto something valuable. But they are cautious. “Many archaeological sites around the world seem to commemorate horizontal alignments to important astronomical azimuths, such as solstice and equinox sunrise and sunset positions, the rising and setting points of prominent stars, and extreme angles of the moon” (2003, p. 307). But, lest anyone feel too

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confident about any of this, they provide the sobering comment: “Many archaeologists discount the study of ancient astronomy” (2003, p. 307). Sutton and Yohe explain some of the reasons for this lack of confidence. Among them is the familiar issue of our failure to demonstrate intent on the part of the creators of the evidence. The total coverage of archaeoastronomy in Bahn’s (2000) small volume Archaeology: A Very Short Introduction amounts to just a few sentences. He does define archaeoastronomy, but the only context he considers is that of European megalithic structures. In Bahn’s view these were created to serve calendrical purposes. In the fourth edition of Price’s Images of the Past the only setting considered for archaeoastronomy is that of Machu Picchu in Peru (2005, p. 414). Astronomy is referred to briefly in connection with the Maya (2005, pp. 359, 362). Price also sketches a very brief history of interpretations of Stonehenge (2005, pp. 519–520). The sixth edition of this book (2010) provides essentially the same picture. Here archaeoastronomy is an item in the running glossary, but Machu Picchu and Stonehenge remain the major examples. Although there is a modest little segment on the Ancestral Pueblo culture with heavy focus on Chaco Canyon, the reader finds nothing about archaeoastronomy related to any of this. An additional introductory text by Price is his Principles of Archaeology (2007). This, too, provides a wealth of solid information about the discipline of archaeology, but not about archaeoastronomy. Considerably more positive and uplifting of our hopes for increased high-quality coverage of archaeoastronomy is found in Ashmore and Sharer’s Discovering Our Past: A Brief Introduction to Archaeology third edition (2000) and fifth edition (2010). They indicate that there is a known range of “ancient astronomical observatories” around the world (2000, p. 197), (2010, p. 206). In their Archaeology: Discovering Our Past second edition (Sharer and Ashmore 1993) and third edition (Sharer and Ashmore 2003), they touch on examples of these from Europe to Guatemala. They also go so far as to make the case that “Perhaps the greatest concentration and localized diversity of archaeoastronomical features in North America, however, is the set that has been identified in Chaco Canyon, New Mexico and associated (with varying degrees of certainty!) with its ancient Anasazi occupants of about AD 1000” (Sharer and Ashmore 1993, p. 524), (Sharer and Ashmore 2003, pp. 538–539). Archaeologists Ashmore and Sharer are to be applauded for the fact that they have waded into the stream of archaeoastronomy and are comfortable telling students about it. Their openness about archaeoastronomy is refreshing. Brian M. Fagan is credited by the Library of Congress as the author of 134 works, including four introductory texts that collectively have been published in 32 editions thus far. He is no doubt the most widely read archaeologist ever. The first of the many editions of his classic text In the Beginning: An Introduction to Archaeology was published in 1972. He is one of the few authors who have been writing long enough that the various editions of his books appeared in the identifiable phases of the discipline of archaeology. The 12th edition of In the Beginning is the most recent. It was published in 2009 and has a section, not on archaeoastronomy as such, but on astroarchaeology. Fagan borrowed that term from Aveni (1993). It is contained in a chapter titled “Archaeology of the Intangible” in which Fagan addresses the state

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of our knowledge about Stonehenge and some locations in the American Southwest – Hovenweep and especially Chaco Canyon. He certainly appreciates modern archaeoastronomy by any name and is impressed by the use of ethnographic data as we try to understand pre-Columbian astronomy in the Southwest. In all editions of his very popular Ancient Lives: An Introduction to Archaeology and Prehistory, Fagan addresses (not archaeoastronomy, but) astroarchaeology. In the most recent edition, the fifth (2012a), he dedicates the bulk of Chap. 6 “Studying the Intangible” to a discussion of numerous sites from around the planet. Two of these pages are dedicated to describing “Astroarchaeology and Stonehenge”. His analysis of materials in the American Southwest occurs in a portion of this chapter that is designated as “Southwestern Astronomy and Chaco Canyon”. Here he speaks of Pueblo astronomy and, in doing so, cites some elements of the ethnographic record for the Hopi. He weaves an account of the importance of solstice observations, the uses of horizon markers, and the making of anticipatory observations. He states with no holds barred his view that “the best archaeological evidence for Pueblo astronomy comes from Hovenweep Pueblo in Colorado. . .” (Fagan 2012a, p. 172). In Fagan’s (2010) People of the Earth: An Introduction to World Prehistory, he addresses the rise of civilization. He affords little space to anything related to archaeoastronomy other than to give quick nods to Maya calendars and some interesting ideas about Stonehenge. He raises Mike Parker Pearson’s thoughts about the relationship of the timber structures and circles at nearby Durrington Walls to Stonehenge (2010, p. 428). Now in its 13th edition, this book also spans much of the author’s impressive teaching and writing career. Another of Fagan’s (2012b) multiple-edition introductory books is Archaeology: A Brief Introduction. The 11th edition has just been published and, unfortunately, it contains little that pertains to archaeoastronomy. There is no general discussion of archaeoastronomy, and neither archaeoastronomy nor astroarchaeology (used in In The Beginning and in Ancient Lives) is even mentioned. In a chapter titled “The Archaeology of People”, Fagan discusses (2012b, pp. 294–296) Maya religious symbolism in connection with their knowledge about Venus and the sun. Brian M. Fagan is a highly accomplished archaeologist who has been honored for his varied professional achievements, including his scholarship, writing, teaching, and public service. Much of his intellectual labor has been devoted to African history. It is fair to say that the recent editions of his introductory books have reflected a degree of appreciation of archaeoastronomy. It is apparent that he recognizes the substantial nature of our enterprise.

Summary From time to time we get the impression that the tradition of ignoring archaeoastronomy is dying, but as we have seen from much of the above, it is not entirely dead. Archaeoastronomy certainly continues to be underappreciated by some archaeologists. Others, including unusually gifted authors, clearly understand its accomplishments and its potential. Let us remember Schaefer’s advice to rid our

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next editions of bad exemplars and present our strongest cases. Then “. . .with any luck, over time, scholars in various disciplines will understand in a deep way that insights secured by archaeoastronomy may lead to other avenues of gaining access to the minds and lives of ancient people” (Fisher 2006, p. 110).

Cross-References ▶ Cultural Interpretation of Archaeological Evidence Relating to Astronomy ▶ Cultural Interpretation of Ethnographic Evidence Relating to Astronomy ▶ Disciplinary Perspectives on Archaeoastronomy ▶ Stonehenge and Its Landscape

References Ashmore W, Sharer RJ (2000) Discovering our past: a brief introduction to archaeology, 3rd edn. Mayfield Publishing, Mountain View Ashmore W, Sharer RJ (2010) Discovering our past: a brief introduction to archaeology, 5th edn. McGraw-Hill, New York Aveni AF (1993) Ancient astronomy. Smithsonian Books, Washington, DC Bahn PG (2000) Archaeology: a very short introduction. Oxford University Press, New York Crabtree PJ, Campana DV (2001) Archaeology and prehistory. McGraw-Hill, Boston Fagan BM (2001) In the beginning: an introduction to archaeology, 10th edn. Prentice Hall, Upper Saddle River Fagan BM (2009) In the beginning: an introduction to archaeology, 12th edn. Prentice Hall, Upper Saddle River Fagan BM (2010) People of the earth, an introduction to world prehistory, 13th edn. Prentice Hall/ Pearson, Upper Saddle River Fagan BM (2012a) Ancient lives: an introduction to archaeology and prehistory, 5th edn. Prentice Hall, Upper Saddle River Fagan BM (2012b) Archaeology: a brief introduction, 11th edn. Pearson, Boston Feder KL (1984) Irrationality and popular archaeology. American Antiquity 49:525–541 Feder KL (1990) Frauds, myths, and mysteries: science and pseudoscience in archaeology, 1st edn. McGraw-Hill, New York Feder KL (2004) Linking to the past: a brief introduction to archaeology. Oxford University Press, New York Feder KL (2008) Linking to the past: a brief introduction to archaeology. Oxford University Press, New York Feder KL (2011) The past in perspective: an introduction to human prehistory, 5th edn. Oxford University Press, New York Fisher VB (2006) Ignoring archaeoastronomy: a dying tradition in American archaeology. In: Viewing the sky through past and present cultures (Selected papers from the Oxford VII conference on archaeoastronomy). Pueblo Grande Museum anthropological papers no. 15. City of Phoenix, Parks, and Recreation Department, Phoenix Fisher VB (2010) Classic object lessons in southwestern archaeoastronomy. Archaeoastronomy: The Journal of Astronomy in Culture 23:27–34 Greene K (2002) Archaeology: an introduction, 4th edn. Routledge, New York McDowell-Loudan EE (2002) Archaeology: introductory guide for classroom and field. Prentice Hall, Upper Saddle River

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Price TD (2005) Images of the past, 4th edn. McGraw-Hill, Boston Price TD (2007) Principles of archaeology. McGraw-Hill, Boston Price TD, Feinman GM (2010) Images of the past, 6th edn. McGraw-Hill, New York Scarre C (ed) (2005) The human past: world prehistory and the development of human societies. Thames and Hudson, New York Schaefer BE (2006) Case studies of three of the most famous claimed archaeoastronomical alignments in North America. In: Viewing the sky through past and present cultures. Pueblo Grande Museum anthropological papers no. 15. City of Phoenix, Parks, and Recreation Department, Phoenix Sharer RJ, Ashmore W (1993) Archaeology: discovering our past, 2nd edn. Mayfield Publishing Co, Mountain View Sharer RJ, Ashmore W (2003) Archaeology: discovering our past, 3rd edn. Mayfield Publishing Co, Mountain View Staeck JP (2002) Back to the earth: an introduction to archaeology. Mayfield Publishing, Mountain View Sutton MQ, Yohe RM II (2003) Archaeology: the science of the human past. Allyn and Bacon, New York Thomas DH, Kelly RL (2006) Archaeology, 4th edn. Thomson Wadsworth, Belmont

Archaeoastronomical Concepts in Popular Culture

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Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Aligned with Stonehenge . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Abstract

Broad public embrace of archaic astronomy probably began in the eighteenth century with awareness of the summer solstice sunrise’s affiliation with Stonehenge. Since that time, Stonehenge has retained an astronomical mystique that attracts crowds mobilized by the monument’s supposed cosmic purpose. They are committed to witness prehistoric heritage operating in real time and with enduring function. More recently, mass media have intermittently thrown a spotlight on new archaeoastronomical discoveries. While the details, ambiguities, and nuances of disciplined study of astronomy in antiquity do not usually infiltrate popular culture, some astronomical alignments, celestial events, skytempered symbols, and astral narratives have become well known and referenced in popular culture. Places and relics that command public interest with astronomical connotations are transformed into cultural icons and capture visitors on a quest for the authenticity the past is believed to possess. Monuments and ideas that successfully forge a romantic bond with the past and inspire an imagined sense of sharing the experience, perspective, and wisdom of antiquity persist in the cultural landscape.

E.C. Krupp Griffith Observatory, Los Angeles, CA, USA e-mail: [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_20, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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Introduction Largely dependent on mass media, popular culture reflects the interests, values, notions, themes, and sensibilities of mainstream culture. Astronomical aspects of ancient and prehistoric sites, particularly Stonehenge, became more widely known in popular culture, particularly in Western culture, through books, magazines, and newspapers, and especially through television, during the same period of time when most of the general public was losing direct contact with the sky through urbanization, less reliance on direct observation of nature, and the proliferation of artificial lighting. The exotic character of these archaic places activated the imagination, and to those no longer at home with the sun, moon, planets, and stars, the astronomical attributes of these monuments seemed to indicate a surprisingly sophisticated approach to celestial phenomena. This romantic conceit continues to thread through perceptions of antiquity in contemporary popular culture.

Aligned with Stonehenge By 2006, popular culture in America had so fully embraced archaeoastronomy’s foundational notion – the presence of astronomical alignments in prehistoric monuments – a London and Philadelphia publisher, Running Press, incorporated instructions for correct astronomical orientation of the mini-megaliths in its Build Your Own Stonehenge kit (Fig. 18.1). The little book packaged with the plastic stones, The Building of Stonehenge by Morgan Beard, advises readers, “the most plausible explanation is that Stonehenge was used as a calendar or ancient observatory” (Beard 2006). The pamphlet mentions “midsummer sunrise over the Heel Stone” along with midwinter sunset and various lunar alignments and eclipse prediction. A few pages later, the booklet instructs those who have completed assembly of the tiny Stonehenge model, “now, for an extra bit of fun you can wait for the sunrise on the summer solstice and align your circle astronomically, just as the ancients did – Druid robes optional”. The toy Stonehenge must have been a commercial success. My little 2006 Stonehenge is the fourteenth printing, and 2 years later Running Press released a new, larger version under the title Stonehenge: Build Your Own Ancient Wonder. It came with a new and illustration version of Morgan Beard’s tiny book, with the same assessment of Stonehenge astronomy and the same instruction for astronomical alignment. If Stonehenge is a prehistoric monument superhero, the Build Your Own Stonehenge kit is an action figure. Public exposure to Stonehenge astronomy was already sufficient more than two decades earlier to inspire parody. By 1982, Peter Payack and The Idea Works, Inc., in Pequannock, New Jersey, had designed, manufactured, and distributed The Stonehenge Watch, a handheld cast plastic replica of Stonehenge as it was in the Bronze Age and mounted inside a flip-open case contrived to resemble a pocket watch. In Stonehenge Unraveled, the miniature booklet Mr. Payack wrote to accompany the device, he trumpeted merits of The Stonehenge Watch: “Solid-state

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Fig. 18.1 The Build Your Own Stonehenge kit turns anyone into a megalithic astronomer (Collection E.C. Krupp)

Fig. 18.2 The Stonehenge Watch puts prehistoric astronomy in your pocket (Collection E.C. Krupp)

construction”, “guaranteed never to wind down”, “programmed to function for over 5,000 years”, “unlike any other computer”, and “the first large-scale twentieth century retreat from the tyranny of ultra-precise timekeeping” (Payack 1982) (Fig. 18.2). Advertising in the 1970s and 1980s exploited Stonehenge’s seasonal association with time. Emperor Clocks promoted build-your-own timepieces with a Stonehenge constructed out of grandfather clocks. A February, 1974, Unitron

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telescopes pitch in Sky & Telescope magazine displayed the instruments against a Stonehenge backdrop with copy that identified Stonehenge as a “predictor of celestial events” and classified Stonehenge and Unitron telescopes as “monuments of reliability”. Alleged astronomical and chronometrical dimensions of Stonehenge embedded the clocks and the telescopes in a deeply rooted tradition of astronomical observation and timekeeping. Even when the commercial message contained no explicit reference to an astronomical alignment, a connection between Stonehenge and the sky could be invoked. A magazine advertisement promoting England as “known for its rock groups” placed an impossibly large moon above the stones. In a 1986 magazine advertisement for the public broadcasting system’s Nova television program on science, a photograph placed the sun between a pair of Stonehenge sarsen circle uprights. The Aztec corporation named its new speaker “Stonehenge 1” and showcased it with a picture of the monument at winter solstice sunset. Midwinter, a manufacturer of dinnerware, named its new line of dishes “Stonehenge”, explained the monument is “an ancient reminder of man’s ever present interest in the universe”, and added, “and now you can capture that feeling with Stonehenge Sun, Moon and Earth patterns. . .45 pc set”. None of this marketing would have made any sense were Stonehenge not recognized as some kind of astronomical device, and it was, largely due to the impact of Stonehenge Decoded (Hawkins and White 1965), an internationally successful book of new revelations about the astronomical capacity of Stonehenge. The book consolidated Gerald S. Hawkins’s recent discoveries of solar and lunar alignments in Stonehenge. Hawkins captured the public imagination with his use of an IBM computer – an exotic and fetching new technology at the time – to validate the alignments and to portray Stonehenge as a kind of astronomical computer. Hawkins also transformed Stonehenge into an eclipse predictor and so amplified the stones’ mystique. What really cemented the link between Stonehenge and astronomy, however, was 1965’s widely seen CBS television documentary, Mystery of Stonehenge (CBS News 1965; Krupp 1978a), which framed the question of Stonehenge astronomy as a colorful dispute between the established, conservative archaeologist and foremost expert on Stonehenge, R.J.C. Atkinson, and the upstart, innovative astronomer, Gerald S. Hawkins. Whatever merits or flaws the arguments possessed, significant television exposure turned Stonehenge astronomy into popular culture, and Hawkins should be credited with stimulating the energetic, worldwide, culture-based, and more disciplined enterprise archaeoastronomy became. Astronomy had, however, forged a popular alliance with Stonehenge almost 250 years before Hawkins’s analysis. In August, 1721, William Stukeley, an English antiquary, noticed the earthen avenue that extends northeast from Stonehenge points “whereabouts the sun rises, when the days are longest” (Burl and Mortimer 2005). He first published a report of this Stonehenge alignment with summer solstice sunrise in 1740 (Fig. 18.3). Stukeley regarded Stonehenge as a prehistoric monument. He attributed it to the ancient Celts of Britain and identified it as a Druid temple. This imaginative but unsubstantiated assertion endured. In the public mind, Stonehenge became a place

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Fig. 18.3 William Stukeley envisioned Druids among the megaliths and provided a view along the axis of Stonehenge toward the southwest and opposite summer solstice sunrise (Collection Griffith Observatory)

where Druids ceremonially observed summer solstice sunrise, and that presumption began to prompt Victorians to assemble at Stonehenge to witness the spectacle of midsummer sunrise. It was a popular event by 1870. According to British archaeologist Christopher Chippendale, Stonehenge’s most comprehensive historian, “since the later 19th Century the principal annual event at Stonehenge has been going to watch summer solstice sunrise” (Chippendale 1983). The self-designated “Druids” that now parade inside the sarsen circle in white robes for summer solstice sunrise did not get around to astronomically appropriating Stonehenge until 1915. They have no bona fide connection to the original Druids, who in any case had nothing to do with the construction, orientation, and use of Stonehenge, but they are now sufficiently associated with Stonehenge to be authorized solstitial access. Through the twentieth century, the general-admission summer-solstice crowd at Stonehenge just kept growing. By the 1930s, 15,000 were showing up for the event – a gargantuan crowd, given the small size of the monument. In the 1960s, summer solstice at Stonehenge began to turn into an underground, counterculture festival. Stonehenge was by then astronomically fortified by the contrived and misleading ending of the CBS Mystery of Stonehenge, in which the summer solstice sun rises directly above the Heel Stone to “prove” the validity of the Hawkins decoding of Stonehenge. Ongoing media coverage of summer solstice sunrise

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Fig. 18.4 Public interest in Stonehenge summer solstice sunrise prompted production and supported sales at the monument of a sunrise-enhanced postcard (Collection E.C. Krupp)

influenced the agencies who administered Stonehenge to become more receptive to the monument’s astronomical potential. Postcards that featured summer solstice sunrise over the Heel Stone were sold at Stonehenge. In 1973, a black-and-white HMSO Department of Environment postcard view with a rising sun airbrushed behind the Heel Stone and titled “Sunrise” was available at the monument. Also, a color postcard, “winter sunset”, documented the alignment in the opposite direction toward winter solstice sunset. The 1971 edition of Stonehenge and Avebury and Neighboring Monuments official guidebook by R.J.C. Atkinson endorses some astronomical claims, including the possibility of some summer solstice and winter solstice alignments and lunar alignments, but expresses skepticism for others (Fig. 18.4). Academic acceptance of Stonehenge astronomy – at least, among astronomers – became apparent with the obligatory inclusion of pictures and commentary on Stonehenge in college-level astronomy textbooks to illustrate the antiquity of astronomy (Abell 1969). Magazines for amateur and armchair astronomers published articles with material on Stonehenge astronomy (Etheridge 1969; Robinson 1966; Wallis 1973) (Fig. 18.5). Planetarium shows explored Stonehenge and ancient and prehistoric astronomy. At Griffith Observatory in Los Angeles, Stonehenge and the Dawn of Astronomy played from 2 March through 18 April 1971. Borrowing content from Hawkins,

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Fig. 18.5 Griffith Observatory put Stonehenge astronomy on the cover of its monthly magazine in October, 1969 (Griffith Observatory)

the show also revived Sir J. Norman Lockyer’s much earlier archaeoastronomical initiatives. Through the 1970s and 1980s, Griffith Observatory’s archaeoastronomical planetarium shows were revised and more ambitiously produced to reflect the evolving sophistication of the research (Fig. 18.6). Stonehenge astronomy started showing up in editorial cartoons. Charles Conrad, a political cartoonist for the Los Angeles Times, incorporated a plan of Stonehenge, complete with Hawkins alignments on the sun and moon; in a visual commentary on nuclear weapons and disarmament, he captioned “Missilehenge”.

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Fig. 18.6 Stonehenge and other astronomical antiquities returned to the Griffith Observatory planetarium in 1973 and were promoted in the Observatory’s program brochure (Griffith Observatory)

While independent researchers like C.A. Newham (1964) and A. Thom (1954, 1966) were studying the astronomical potential of Stonehenge and other prehistoric monuments in Britain and attracting only modest notice, modern popular archaeoastronomy was created by Gerald S. Hawkins’s Stonehenge Decoded and the CBS Mystery of Stonehenge program. That high-profile attention on prehistoric astronomical monuments encouraged others to get interested in archaic astronomy. By the early 1970s, a handful of individuals were reporting discoveries in other parts of the world, among them were John C. Eddy, who surveyed medicine wheels in North America; Anthony F. Aveni, who examined architectural alignments in Mexico and Guatemala; and Ray Williamson, Von Del Chamberlain, John C. Brandt, and others, who investigated ancient sites and rock art in the American Southwest. From 30 October through 4 December 1974, E.C. Krupp presented what seems to have been the first modern survey of new developments in archaeoastronomy. This weekly lecture series at Griffith Observatory, “Stonehenge and the Lost Astronomies”, included material on ancient Egypt and on the New World. Soon after, in winter, 1975–1976, E.C. Krupp enlisted the participation of Alexander Thom’s son and collaborator, Archibald S. Thom, along with Eddy and Aveni, and organized and presented another series, “In Search of Ancient Astronomies”, for the University of California, Los Angeles, and the University of California, San Diego (Krupp 1978b). In time, some of the other ancient and prehistoric monuments that became associated with astronomy acquired iconic status almost equal to Stonehenge. The play of light and shadow at the equinoxes on the Castillo, or Pyramid of Kukulca´n, at Chiche´n Itza´, a postclassic Maya ceremonial center in northern Yucata´n, has become as famous in Mexico as Stonehenge summer solstice sunrise is in England. The astronomical and calendrical connotations of the Castillo hierophany are now known throughout the world through steady popularization and promotion. The number of visitors dramatically increased at Chiche´n Itza´,

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Fig. 18.7 For the 1987 vernal equinox, the crowd descending on Chiche´n Itza´ for the Castillo stairway serpent of light and shadow had grown to 20,000 (Photograph E.C. Krupp)

particularly at the equinoxes, between 1976 and 1981, and the ongoing impact of prodigious crowds led to major tourist development and much more formal control of the monuments (Fig. 18.7). In the late afternoon, for a few days centered on each equinox, seven isosceles triangles of sunlight successively appear on the west side of the Castillo’s north stairway. The large sculptures of feathered serpent heads at the bottom of the stairs turn the balustrade into a descending diamondback snake of light and shadow. The effect was first noticed and reported by archaeologist J. Rivard in 1970 (Rivard 1970), but it had been seen, photographed, and published in 1948 by travel photographer Laura Gilpin, who said nothing about the date on which it occurs (Gilpin 1948). The astronomical, seasonal, and symbolic aspects of the phenomenon went unrecognized until Rivard discussed it. Rivard’s paper did not generate widespread interest, but by 1976 Luis E. Arochi, a Mexican lawyer, began turning the equinox at Chiche´n Itza´ into a national event with publication of his book La Piramide´ de Kukulca´n, Su Simbolismo Solar. He magnified its impact with personal appearances on the equinox to preside over the serpent’s descent. More elements of the community, including Mexican local politicians, archaeologists, and Mexican tourists began to participate. Publicity attracted more people to Chiche´n Itza´ to witness the equinox revelation. By 1982, 12,000 visitors were on hand for 21 March, which fell on a Sunday that year and always coincides with Benito Juarez’s birthday. E.C. Krupp published the first detailed account and analysis of the Castillo equinox hierophany in English,

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Fig. 18.8 Sun Line Cruises and Ted Pedas promoted the 1987 equinox cruise to Yucata´n with a cartoon in which visitors snake down the Castillo stairs and serpents watch the spectacle (Artwork Robin Rector Krupp, collection E.C. Krupp)

for the general reader, in 1982 (Krupp 1982), and by 1987, eclipse cruise pioneer and planetarium director Ted Pedas was organizing equinox Caribbean cruises that transported thousands to Yucata´n, and the crowd on 21 March 1987 at Chiche´n Itza´ had swelled to 20,000 (Fig. 18.8). The pyramid’s performance became an even more complex and organized spectacle with anthropologists, elected officials, mariachi bands, folklorico dancers, modern variety show theatrics, local Maya people, and New Age pilgrims, who traveled from North America, Europe, Asia, and elsewhere to experience the equinox extravaganza. The audience topped 45,000 in 1995 (Krupp 1996), and by then the equinox enterprise extended to other Mesoamerican sites, like central Mexico’s Teotihuaca´n, where no equinox alignment or display is to be seen. Commercial equinox package tours multiplied (Fig. 18.9). Like summer solstice at Stonehenge, equinox at Chiche´n Itza´ and other Mesoamerican monuments are now widely known and extravagantly embraced. A 2012 report in the Los Angeles Times “Travel” section on touring Yucata´n

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Fig. 18.9 Postcards are a sign of commercial success. This 1995 postcard documents Chiche´n Itza´’s equinox serpent with a picture taken at an earlier time when the crowd was just starting to grow (Collection E.C. Krupp)

antiquities (Reynolds 2012), indicated 40,000 arrived for the 2012 vernal equinox and that twice that many were expected to appear at the site on 21 December 2012, for the conclusion of Baktun 13 and the alleged roll-up of the Maya calendar, the world, and everything. A small number of other archaeoastronomical relics have commanded significant attention, spurred by mass media in the modern era of these studies. The Sun Dagger of Fajada Butte, in Chaco Canyon, New Mexico, is an eye-catching display of seasonal light and shadow on prehistoric Pueblo rock art near the summit of this landmark (see ▶ Chap 41, “Rock Art of the Greater Southwest”). A formal report on the effect earned the cover of Science, a formal, refereed journal of scientific research, in 1979 (Sofaer et al. 1979). The Sun Dagger successfully slipped into popular culture with an appearance in Cosmos, Carl Sagan’s singular public television series on astronomy (Sagan 1980). A PBS television documentary, The Sun Dagger, subsequently produced by Anna Sofaer’s The Solstice Project and narrated by the well-known actor Robert Redford, was released in 1983 and brought the idea of ancient astronomy in the American Southwest and the Sun Dagger’s fetching summer solstice descent through an Ancestral Pueblo spiral petroglyph to a mass audience. Although the Fajada Butte Sun Dagger has not been energetically commercialized like Stonehenge and Chiche´n Itza´, visitors to the National Parks Service Visitor Center at Chaco Culture National Historical Park have encountered descriptions of the Sun Dagger since its discovery (Fig. 18.10).

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Fig. 18.10 By 1983, the National Park Service was already proving information on the Fajada Butte Sun Dagger in the Chaco Canyon Visitor Center (Photograph E.C. Krupp)

The Orion Mystery, by Robert Bauval and Adrian Gilbert, burdened Egypt’s pyramids with a new promotion that equated the three main pyramids at Giza to a map of the stars in Orion’s Belt (Bauval and Gilbert 1994). A BBC television documentary in 1994, The Great Pyramid: Gateway to the Stars, brought the book wide popular recognition, and more books and more television programs on the theme followed, along with considerable adversarial commentary on the Internet. By 1996, the idea was sufficiently familiar to be considered evocative enough for advertising. Software Bisque showcased its TheSky astronomy software in an advertisement in the March issue of Sky & Telescope. A picture of the Giza pyramids silhouetted against a star chart of the constellation Orion was captioned, “new theories have linked the positioning of Egypt’s ancient pyramids with the celestial orientation of the three stars in Orion’s belt. What discoveries await you in TheSky?” E.C. Krupp began delivering public lectures on fatal flaws in Orion Mystery arguments in 1998 on The Pyramids, the Sphinx, the Mystery, a Visions Travel & Tours, Inc., commercial cruise (enigmatically through Alaska’s Inside Passage) that teamed Krupp and celebrated Egyptologist Zahi Hawass against author Graham Hancock and other unorthodox interpreters of Egypt before a large audience generally sympathetic with unconventional archaeology and disposed toward New Age spirituality. Ongoing adoption and proliferation of Orion Mystery

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Fig. 18.11 There are only two ways to bring the stars of Orion down to earth at Giza, and both of them are in conflict with the arrangement of the pyramids on the ground. The first method, direct projection, projects the Belt of Orion on a line that crosses, and does not coincide, with the line of pyramids. Despite this simple geometric test, several popular books on the subject show the agreement of stars and pyramids with a completely erroneous diagram (Griffith Observatory, Joseph Bieniasz)

arguments by other writers and media personalities induced Krupp to prepare and publish the first enumeration of Orion Mystery errors (Krupp 1997). Although the idea that Orion is mapped in pyramids is not as well known as summer solstice sunrise over the Heel Stone at Stonehenge, the Giza/Orion correlation is notorious enough to have a Wikipedia entry dedicated to it (Fig. 18.11). Symbols on the Nebra Sky Disk, a Bronze Age relic discovered by treasure hunters in Saxony-Anholt, Germany, in 1999, put ancient astronomy back on the world stage. Images that might represent the sun, the moon, the horizon, and the Pleiades on a 3,600-year-old bronze disk, about 30 cm in diameter, ignited interest in prehistoric European astronomy and also provoked highly speculative commentaries in the popular press about its origin and function. Nothing like it had been encountered before. Magazines featured reports on it (Archaeology Jan./Feb., 2003; Archaeology Nov., 2005; National Geographic Jan., 2004), and it was the focus of a National Geographic special television show in 2004. In the same year, BBC Horizon aired its radio program, Secrets of the Star Disk. Programs on the disk were produced for The Learning Channel, The Discovery Channel, and The History Channel. The disk was soon showcased in a major exhibit of Bronze Age antiquities. It toured major cities – including Halle, Copenhagen, Vienna, Mannheim, and Basel – between 2004 and 2007 and drew thousands to see it in person. All of this public notice led to interlinked tourist development of the area associated with the disk. The State Museum of Prehistory has the disk on public display. A special visitor center has been constructed at Mittelsberg Hill, near Nebra, and the prehistoric enclosure where the disk was found. The 5,000-year-old chambered tomb dolmen near Langeneichst€adt is now part of central Germany’s Nebra Sky Disk

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Fig. 18.12 Even before the Nebra disk became celebrated in the pages of National Geographic magazine in 2004, its public profile was already great enough to claim a place on the poster for an astronomical research workshop in 2003 (Collection E.C. Krupp)

tourist pilgrimage. A 7,000-year-old monument at Goseck has been interpreted as a prehistoric observatory and is now a developed site for tourists. In addition, a German rock group adopted the name Nebra and released a CD titled Sky Disk on Pelagic Records in 2009 (Fig. 18.12). Since 1975, a slowly growing public awareness of the completion of Baktun 13, a milestone in the ancient Maya Long Count tally of days from the mythical date of Creation in ancient Maya belief, focused worldwide public attention on 21 December 2012. Arriving with the 2012 winter solstice, the end of Baktun 13 seemed to some to have been deliberately contrived to coincide with an astronomically and seasonally significant event. Romantic notions about archaic wisdom and apocalyptic anxiety over a calendar’s alleged runout of time transformed the Maya calendar into a vehicle for assorted pseudoscientific prophecies of doom (Fig. 18.13). Commentary on 2012 and the Maya calendar remained under the radar of mass media until Jose´ Arg€uelles, author of The Mayan Factor: Path beyond Technology, successfully promoted the Harmonic Convergence, a global event he invented for the weekend of 16–17 August 1987. The book enigmatically manipulated

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Fig. 18.13 Despite pseudoscientific claims of Maya Calendar doom coming with the end of Baktun 13, Mexico, Guatemala, and Honduras all promoted tourism to their Maya monuments for winter solstice, 2012. This Maya calendar countdown clock encourages tourists arriving at Me´rida’s Manuel Crescencio Rejo´n International Airport in Yucata´n to wrap up the baktun at Chiche´n Itza´ (Photograph E.C. Krupp)

Maya calendrics, linked them with a beam of transcendental energy claimed to emerge from the center of the Milky Way Galaxy, and anticipated 2012 and the end of Baktun 13 as “Galactic Synchronization” and “the peak of maximum acceleration and dissonant entropy”. Arg€uelles incorporated the language of scientific physics, modern astronomy, and ancient Maya calendrics in his New Age spirituality, but not the facts, principles, and essential content of those disciplines. In the realm of popular culture and mass media, however, his 1987 catchphrases perpetrated wider belief in the significance of a date 25 years in the future. When popular culture embraces specialist knowledge, it may oversimplify ideas, distort content, and naively misappropriate unfamiliar facts and exotic concepts to validate belief, market products, and inflate images. An assertion that successfully allies itself with science appears to have authoritative support other beliefs do not share, and archaeoastronomy adds the authenticity of ancient science to beliefs that highjack its public appeal. Most of what happened next in the 2012 phenomenon emerged from Maya Cosmogenesis (Jenkins 1998), in which John Major Jenkins explained the 2012 winter solstice conclusion of Baktun 13 as an effort by ancient Maya astronomers to anchor the calendar with the precessional migration of the winter solstice sun into

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alignment with the direction toward the Galactic Center, where the Milky Way widens into the Galaxy’s central bulge. Although the “galactic alignment” is astronomically flawed in several ways, it caught on and inspired greater confusion with other kinds of cosmic alignment alleged to prevail on 21 December 2012. Jenkins packaged his notion in a colorful, selective, and idiosyncratically organized account of ancient Mesoamerican astronomy – alignments, star lore, symbolism, myth, and calendrics. He also merged his ideas about winter solstice sunrise and the Milky Way with the orientation of Izapa, an early and singular pre-Columbian ceremonial center in southernmost Mexico, and interpreted Izapa’s distinctive iconography within the same narrative. After the publication of Jenkins’s book, 2012 was propelled into syndicated all-night talk-radio shows like Coast to Coast with an archaeoastronomical twist, and the alleged shutdown of the Maya Calendar began to accumulate assorted prophesies of doom. The 2012 Maya Calendar End Times follies evolved to include a renegade planet headed toward earth, a catastrophically active sun, a gravitationally disruptive alignment of planets, global seismic changes, pole shifts, reversal of the earth’s magnetic field, and the earth’s departure from orbit and subsequent consumption by the black hole at the center of the Milky Way Galaxy (Fig. 18.14). The spirit of apocalyptic anxiety moved onto the Big Screen in 2009 with motion picture director Roland Emmerich’s film 2012. The movie is a fantasia of earthquakes, volcanoes, and tsunamis mystifyingly triggered by neutrinos from a huge solar flare and linked with the Maya calendar. Billboards, benches, buildings, bus stops, newspapers, and movie marquees advertised the film all over Los Angeles, which in the movie went down for the count when things started to go wrong. E.C. Krupp wrote the first widely circulated, nationally distributed detailed commentary on dubious 2012 notions (Krupp 2009), and it was immediately followed by a 2012-oriented treatment of Maya calendrics by Anthony F. Aveni (Aveni 2009a). At the same time, Aveni published an entire trade book on the subject for the general reader (Aveni 2009b). NASA posted Krupp’s article on its website as a resource in response to the astronomical number of inquiries it was receiving about 2012. Anticipating reinvigorated interest in 2012 once the year arrived, Griffith Observatory, in Los Angeles, produced a major planetarium show, Time’s Up, which leveraged Maya calendar lore and false predictions of doom on behalf of a look at the real nature of time and the long-term future of the universe. The live, all-dome program premiered in the Samuel Oschin Planetarium on 14 May 2012. Griffith Observatory normally closes to the public at 10:00 p.m., but on Friday, 21 December 2012, it remained open until 12:01 a.m. on Saturday morning to demonstrate the planet’s survival to the hundreds who converged at the site for the end of Baktun 13 (Fig. 18.15). On 5 May 2012, the University of Pennsylvania Museum of Archaeology and Anthropology, in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, opened Maya.2012: Lords of Time, a temporary exhibit that showcased ancient Maya relics from Copa´n, never seen outside of Honduras, to explain the 2012 phenomenon, the Maya calendar, Maya

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Fig. 18.14 The Maya End Times Apocalypse spawned a commercial Page-a-Day calendar that could transport anyone through 2012 with daily anxiety and the fear that the last page in the stack would be 21 December (Collection E.C. Krupp)

monuments, and Maya astronomy and set the record straight on what the Maya may have really thought about the completion of Baktun 13 (Fig. 18.16). Baktun 13’s full entry into popular culture was confirmed in an episode of The Simpsons, the long-running animated television series that parodies American life. On 7 October 2012, the show’s annual “Treehouse of Horror” Halloween special included a segment that turned the usual cartoon-character cast of the show into ancient Maya people who predict the destruction of the earth at the end of Baktun 13, in 2012. The 2012 theme appeared in numerous newspaper cartoons and was referenced in commercials. Nearly 1,500 books involving 2012 were published (Whitesides 2011). At least six novels hinged plots on the 2012 theme. The year’s questionable character put it on the cover of numerous magazines. The Run for Your

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Fig. 18.15 The 2012 Maya Calendar End Times Follies provided the hook for Griffith Observatory’s Time’s Up planetarium show, which transformed Baktun 13 uncertainties into a program on the true nature of time and the second law of thermodynamics (Griffith Observatory, Don Dixon)

Life! Doomsday! 2012 Page-a-Day Calendar offered daily eschatological aphorisms for anyone counting down the End Times (Krupp 2012). In Los Angeles, KFI-AM, a popular talk-radio station, identified itself as “your soundtrack for the End of the Maya Calendar”, and Motel 6, a national motel chain, ran a commercial with a 2012 theme. Belgium even honored 2012 and the Maya calendar on a postage stamp.

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Fig. 18.16 The University of Pennsylvania Museum of Archaeology and Anthropology made an exhibit out of Maya calendrics and modern folly in 2012 (Photograph E.C. Krupp)

Archaeoastronomy, in turn, took a look at 2012’s archaeoastronomical affiliations in an academic session, “The 2012 Phenomenon: Maya Calendar Astronomy, and Apocalypticism in the Worlds of Scholarship and Popular Culture”, organized by John B. Carlson and Mark Van Stone for the Ninth “Oxford” International Symposium on Archaeoastronomy in Lima, Peru, in January, 2011 (Carlson 2011) (Fig. 18.17). Archaeoastronomy is not a household word, and its full dimensions and its nuances are not well known. A few sites and relics with astronomical elements, however, have become archaeoastronomical icons. As a consequence, in popular culture and mass media, the ancients are often portrayed as astronomically astute and engaged. This sensibility was sufficiently established by 1981 to drive the inclusion of ancient astronomical alignments into popular entertainment when archaeologist Indiana Jones made use of an ancient solar alignment involving the “Map Room” in the ruins of Tanis, Egypt, in Raiders of the Lost Ark, the Stephen Spielberg Paramount Pictures pulp fantasy adventure film. Jones was searching for the Lost Ark of the Covenant and used a surveyor’s transit to find the subterranean Map Room. Once inside, he placed a staff – with the correct length and topped by a crystal medallion – in the right floor slot for that day of the year. The crystal medallion was once part of the Staff of Ra, and Ra is the primary solar god of Egypt. When sunlight entered the roof window and reached the crystal on the upright staff,

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Fig. 18.17 Archaeoastronomy was not only part of the 2012 bubble. It also tried to sort it all out, and a special issue of Archaeoastronomy, the Journal of Astronomy in Culture captured the perspective of the experts (Collection Griffith Observatory)

the light was bent and focused to spotlight the location of the fictional Well of Souls, where the Ark was supposedly hidden by the Egyptians who supposedly stole it from Jerusalem nearly 3,000 years earlier. None of the historic background is correct, and the IMDb website’s “Frequently Asked Questions” section about the film (www.imdb.com/title/tt0082971/) concludes that Indiana Jones could not have located the Ark with his archaeoastronomical performance in the film. Soon after the movie’s original release, however, John B. Carlson explored the same question in a brief article on archaeoastronomy in popular culture and outlined how the stunt might have actually worked (Carlson 1982). Carlson concluded that awareness of

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Fig. 18.18 Raiders of the Lost Ark toy merchandising included “The Map Room Adventure Set”, which equipped the Indiana Jones action figure with the surveyor’s transit and Staff of Ra that allows him to locate the Well of Souls with a calendrically calibrated beam of sunlight (Collection E.C. Krupp)

the importance in many ancient cultures of astronomical alignment in architecture “is more than ever becoming part of the popular consciousness” (Fig. 18.18). Archaeoastronomy also penetrated popular culture in a more disturbing way through a variety of pseudoscientific enterprises, including ancient astronauts, the Face on Mars and the “monuments” that accompany it, pyramidology, and earth mysteries. All of these utilize astronomical alignments, astronomical numerology, and astronomical symbolism. They are ambitiously and effectively marketed in books, magazines, websites, television programs, and radio shows to ignite interest and belief in their audiences. By forging bonds between the past and the present, between earth and sky, and between the personal and the cosmic, they cultivate an emotional investment in exotic beliefs and “heretical” knowledge. For many, these feelings are reinforced by associative thought and personal experience. Because the winter solstice had meaning for our ancestors, it has meaning to us. We may, however, project our meaning onto the past in the belief that we are understanding it. We also may find personal meaning in the concrete and direct experience of observing astronomical events, like the winter solstice sunrise, from some ancient

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place and through that experience believe that place is charged with power. The power is really just the emotional feedback we get from that romantic link to the past that drove us to experience that event in the first place, but to many, it may seem to be an inherent property of the place, something that prompted the interest of the ancients who built it. A modern tourist in the landscape of antiquity may sense significance in a particular moment in time and space. That personal experience of time and sky is compelling because it confers meaning on those who witness the event. Popular culture is “popular” because it reflects the broad prevailing belief system of the times. Archaic astronomy occupies a place in popular culture because it fulfills a function. Whether the insight we sense is fabricated or authenticated by fact, it makes us feel we have a grip on the world.

Cross-References ▶ Analyzing Light-and-Shadow Interactions ▶ Monuments of the Giza Plateau ▶ Nebra Disk ▶ Stonehenge and Its Landscape ▶ Sun-Dagger Sites

References Abell G (1969) Exploration of the Universe, 2nd edn. Holt, Rinehart and Winston, New York Aveni A (2009a) Apocalypse soon? Archaeology 62(6):30–35 Aveni A (2009b) The end of time: the Maya mystery of 2012. University Press of Colorado, Boulder Bauval R, Gilbert A (1994) The Orion mystery. William Heinemann, London Beard M (2006) The building of Stonehenge. Running Press, Philadelphia Burl A, Mortimer N (2005) Stukeley’s Stonehenge: an unpublished manuscript, 1721–1724. Yale University Press, New Haven Carlson J (1982) Archaeoastronomy in the popular culture. Archaeoastronomy: Bulletin of the Center for Archaeoastronomy 5(1):2–4 Carlson J (ed) (2011) The Maya calendar and 2012 phenomenon studies. Archaeoastronomy: Journal of Astronomy in Culture 24:1–211 CBS News (1965) Mystery of Stonehenge. CBS Television, New York Chippendale C (1983) Stonehenge complete. Thames & Hudson, London Etheridge D (1969) The dawn of astronomy. Griffith Observer 33(10):125–132 Gilpin L (1948) Temples in Yucatan: a camera chronicle of Chiche´n Itza´. Hastings House, New York Hawkins G, White J (1965) Stonehenge decoded. Doubleday & Company, Garden City Jenkins J (1998) Maya cosmogenesis 2012: the true meaning of the Maya calendar end-date. Bear & Company, Santa Fe Krupp E (1978a) The Stonehenge chronicles. In: Krupp E (ed) In search of ancient astronomies. Doubleday & Company, Garden City, pp 81–132 Krupp E (ed) (1978b) In search of ancient astronomies. Doubleday & Company, Garden City Krupp E (1982) The serpent descending. Griffith Observer 46 (9):1 + 10-20 +24

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Krupp E (1996) Springing down the banister. Sky and Telescope 91(3):59–61 Krupp E (1997) Pyramid marketing schemes. Sky and Telescope 93(2):64–65 Krupp E (2009) The great 2012 scare. Sky and Telescope 118(5):22–26 Krupp E (2012) Time’s up: 2012 and the Maya calendar end times follies. Griffith Observer 76 (11):1-18 + 24 Newham C (1964) The enigma of Stonehenge. C.A. Newham, Sedge Rise, Tadcaster, Yorkshire Payack P (1982) Stonehenge unraveled: the instructional booklet for The Stonehenge Watch. The Idea Works, Pequannock Reynolds C (2012) Time’s portal. Los Angeles Times, Travel (September 9): L1 + L4 + L5 Rivard J (1970) A hierophany in Chichen Itza. Katunob 7(3):51–55 Robinson L (1966) Books and the sky: Stonehenge decoded. Sky and Telescope 32(1):32–35 Sagan C (1980) Cosmos. Random House, New York Sofaer A, Zinser V, Sinclair R (1979) A unique solar marking construct. Science 206(4416):283–291 Thom A (1954) The solar observatories of megalithic man. J Brit Astron Assoc 64:394–404 Thom A (1966) Megalithic astronomy: indications in standing stones. Vistas in Astronomy 7:1–57 Wallis B (1973) Astro-archaeology part ii. Griffith Observer 37(4):10–18 Whitesides K (2011) 2,012 by 2012? The “impending apparent end” of the “2012” publishing phenomenon. Archaeoastronomy: Journal of Astronomy in Culture 24:206–221

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Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . From Past Material Traces to Cultural Commodities . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Multiplicity of Meanings Attributed to Past Items . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Commodification of the Past . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Astrotourism . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Comet/Eclipse Chasing . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Stargazing Trips: Astro-Photography . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Visits to Public Astronomical Observatories . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Astrotourism Versus Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Equinox, Solstice, or Other Astronomical-Calendar Events . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The Dark Side of Cultural Revitalization Movements and Astro-Pilgrimage . . . . . . . . . . . . . Conclusions: New Threads and Opportunities . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Abstract

Scientific and cultural values attached to night skies are today explored by global astronomical tourism – a specialized form of tourism designed to observe starry skies. So far, astrotourism has reproduced Western concepts of astronomy and cosmology, while with the help of archaeo- and ethnoastronomy, tourists may also take account of native astronomies.

S. Iwaniszewski Divisio´n de Posgrado, Escuela Nacional de Antropologı´a e Historia, Tlalpan, Me´xico, D.F., Mexico Pan´stwowe Muzeum Archeologiczne, Warszawa, Poland e-mail: [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_21, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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Introduction The image of the night starry sky has impressed the human mind in many different ways. The lights of the stars rotating with the sky provoked human curiosity about the surrounding world. Revolving sky has become a powerful symbol in human thought and imagination. It has been regarded as a useful medium for the expression of religious and philosophical inspirations, artistic and aesthetic sensations, political legitimation, and fortune telling. Diverse meanings and values transported to the skies enabled humans either to find order in the sky, or to impose the human order onto revolving skies. Part of our fascination with the sky may be attributed to the fact that astronomy has played a key role in the development of modern sciences and in shaping our view of the universe and our place in it. Modern astrophysics arose from seventeenth century way of looking at the universe and has been associated with the idea of the progress of the human mind, advanced physical equations, sophisticated cosmological models, high technology, and systematic instrumental scanning of the cosmic space. With telescopes, modern astrophysicists are exploring our origins using (ancient) photons as evidence. They are telling us about the nonhuman past, about the events that occurred long before the first humans ever appeared on the earth. But the sky is also a link between us and our remote ancestors. When we look at the sky, we are aware that our human ancestors were watching our sun, our moon, our planets, and our stars. Evidence of the peoples’ different relations with the sky in the past, today, is found by historians and archaeologists. Archaeologists, who keep track of the earliest human history, infer the past lives of human societies from the physical remains of that past found in the soil. From the same archaeological record, we can get insights into the significance of celestial objects and events for the human life in the remote past.

From Past Material Traces to Cultural Commodities Archaeoastronomy attempts to learn, from past material remains, about the ways in which different human groups and societies perceived and utilized the skies. The first evidence of this is the archaeological record, defined as the totality of the material remains of human activities in the past investigated by archaeologists. It is roughly grouped into artifacts, ecofacts (in general all non-artifactual remains such as floral and faunal remains, soil samples, sediments, etc.), and human remains (Renfrew and Bahn 1991, pp 41–60). Tools, objects, structures, and features manufactured, utilized, or modified by human societies in the past are called artifacts. They all were part of the material world of generations of peoples in the past. As bearers of meaning and significance, they were actively used in social production and reproduction effectively shaping people’s experience of social reality. Even today, things and landscapes, the old and modern ones, stand for systems of modern societies. They still are effective in producing identities (national, ethnic, religious, or cultural ones). The history of archaeology shows the role that the past objects and symbols played in the shaping

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and establishing of collective identities of modern nations (Trigger 1989). Thus, on the one hand, archaeological data inform us about peoples’ lifeways in the past; while on the other, particular items are seen as carriers of diverse meanings, both produced and utilized in the past and in the present. Similar developments are observed within the fields of archaeo- and ethnoastronomy. The sky is often the commonplace symbol and everyday activities produce enduring links between peoples and diverse celestial bodies and phenomena. In such a way, stellar constellations are linked to people’s mythologies, celestial deities are associated with their worship, architectural monuments are aligned with spectacular celestial observations, etc., continually acting to remind people of their shared identities. This value of the skies has long been considered as essential for multiple processes of cultural (re)production and identity (Morieson 2006; McCluskey 2008, Williamson and Farrer 1992). Ethnoastronomical studies have shown that, far from being ingenuous records of the distant past, the starry skies and celestial bodies have been embedded in living traditions and operating at local, regional, or national levels. It is now increasingly recognized that the meaning attached by indigenous or local groups to the sky has an important emotional and cultural significance that creates a sense of belonging and communion (Johnson 2011). Now, surrounded by the modern West, traditional perceptions of the sky are increasingly exposed, affected, or replaced by cosmologies and astronomies derived from the modern science. The systematic degradation of traditional systems of celestial lore is closely related to the cultural disintegration of whole native populations and the destruction of their material heritage (Iwaniszewski 2006).

Multiplicity of Meanings Attributed to Past Items Past remains are perceived by scholars (archaeologists, historians, anthropologists) as “evidence” of human activities in the past. Artifacts or concrete things left by past human societies such as tools, graves, architecture, settlements, on the one hand, and landscapes, technologies, domesticated plants and animals, arts and sciences, on the other, are often called “material culture” by archaeologists who see these objects as representing diverse aspects of the human life in the past. Material traces of past settlements are transformed into “archaeological sites”, the ruins are converted into “monuments”, things or items found in the soil are conceived as artifacts and tools. Apart from archaeological remains (i.e., the traces of the past excavated or discovered by field surveys) are written records and historical buildings. With an authority conferred to modern science, those past remains are invested with meanings and identities as (“archaeological and historical”) data. The issue of the destruction of historical and archaeological evidence, which is considered as a nonrenewable resource, obliged Western countries to protect the heritage through international treaties and conventions (UNESCO). They are defined in terms of “archaeological heritage” and “historical heritage” (ICOMOS, Bio¨rnstad 1989), with the goal of preserving their integrity. So, on the

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one hand, the traces of the past are treated as scientific archaeological and historical evidence; on the other, they are treated as archaeological and historical heritage. In addition, material culture has often been manipulated to represent concepts of cultural, social, ethnic, or national identity and characteristic items that symbolized that past have frequently been used to legitimate the present. Today, material culture is often understood as physical representation of nonmaterial, or intangible ideas and concepts used by human societies in the past and local communities often claim not only to past cultural objects but to the cultural knowledge they represent. In sum, cultural heritage provides physical and tangible links with the past and plays an important role in the production of a wide range of identities (Smith 2004, pp 105–113). At one end are those who maintain that the past is a public or common heritage, while on the other are those who believe that diverse cultural items also embody concepts and beliefs of contemporary peoples who are descendants of the archaeological population, rejecting the idea of cultural heritage in general.

Commodification of the Past Today, the national dimension that played an important role in the emergence of nineteenth century archaeology has been diminished as a result of changing attitudes to the past and identity. Though many artifacts, works of art, monuments, and ruins were once created and manipulated in the past, today, we perceive them as materially removed from the past activities and associated with contemporary practices. First, archaeology and history examine the remains of the past both in the present and for the present and describe that past in terms which are intelligible to modern societies. Second, these remains do exist in the material world of modern societies and are treated in accordance with modern values and beliefs (Shanks and Tilley 1992). This situation privileges Western value systems at the expense of presumed or hypothetical meanings inferred by scholars. When the past is presented as a common heritage of humankind, there is no room for particular explanations and meanings, the boundaries between antiquity and modernity become permeable, and the precise chronological or cultural details remain irrelevant. Contemporary societies tend to conceptualize their experience of time through the idea of an “extended present” in which the familiar and essentialist categories of the past, present, and future are separated by fuzzy or often shifting boundaries (Lash and Urry 1998). The abolition of the future and the selective use of the past imply that the meaning that modern societies attribute to the objects from the past derives from the ways in which these objects are used and manipulated in the present. While the objects from the past are still collected and exhibited in museums, and various archaeological and historical parks are still producing either an illusion of experiencing the past through them or a narrative explaining the origins of present-day nations and ethnic groups, at the same time, they are perceived as goods legitimizing personal identity and prestige, justifying community pride, producing intellectual and aesthetic amazement, etc. Now, with the abolition of political and national agenda, contemporary forms of presenting

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and/or consuming the past became more and more related to modern patterns of cultural consumption rather than to the positivist claim of disseminating objective knowledge of the past. At the present, scientific, ideological, and educational forms of exhibition compete with popular cultural attractions. The mass “consumption” of the past requires a production of “easily recognized images with simplified notions of past cultures or stereotypical ideas about (archaeology)” (Talalay 2004, p 215). This process, called “commodification and commoditization of the past” (van Binsbergen 2005), acknowledges the central role of consumption in the life-style of Western societies (Miller 1987). In this process, particular objects are separated from their (spatial, temporal, functional) context and their specific historical meanings are substituted by universal generalizations. Now, being alienated from their historical circumstances, they are turned into potentially creative cultural products essential for the functioning of a contemporary consumer society. Due to competitive pressures, heritage items and images of the past act as “goods” that meet diverse consumer demands. In modern consumer society, artifacts and images of the past are primarily considered as consumer goods. Therefore, the (trivialized or stereotypical) image of the past becomes a product of the mass culture and can be turned into an attractive economic commodity (Ballart 1997). Consumption of the past takes many forms ranging from various types of cultural tourism (eco-, ethno-, astrotourism), consumption of artifacts (copies or replicas), spectacles (historical reconstructions of events, popular forms of experimental archaeology, educational movies), exploitation of components of popular culture (food and wine tourism), commercialized celebrations that evoke emotions and aesthetic sentiments such as light-and-shadow and theater spectacles, music concerts, sport competitions, and collective sky-watching activities undertaken at and around famous historical and archaeological monuments, etc. What today makes the past material record valuable and meaningful are activities related to global tourism and consumerism rather than actions aimed at the construction and legitimation of traditional national, ethnic, religious, or political identities. Furthermore, the development of mass heritage tourism tends to treat objects, places, and localities as economic and cultural commodities. The artifacts’ (original or scientifically inferred) meaning is defined “no longer by the historicity, the sociality, and the systems of classification and evaluation of a specific local community, but by a claim to universal applicability and convertibility. . .” (van Binsbergen 2005, p 43).

Astrotourism For a long time, generations of stargazers in all places and times have had an unrestrictive access to starlight and the image of the starry sky has often served as a source of inspiration for diverse emotive and aesthetic feelings, religious commitments, and philosophical and metaphysical inquires. Even today, the contemplation of the night sky remains a source of admiration and curiosity and cannot easily be replaced by planetarium shows. Currently, however, air and light pollution drastically decreased possibilities to contemplate dark skies in urbanized or

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industrial areas. A starry night is no longer available to two-thirds of the world’s population (Bakich 2004, p. 42) and many city dwellers who want to perceive dark night skies have to travel to distant locations unaffected by light pollution (Richmond 2006). Astronomical tourism, or astrotourism, is a kind of a specialized form of tourism designed to observe starry skies, either with the aid of telescopes or with a naked eye. In its diverse forms, contemporary astrotourism becomes a significant means, allowing visitors to discover, enjoy, and experience the starred sky-vault. I describe the contemporary astrotourism as earth-bounded and geocentric in order to separate it from the phenomenon of space tourism (real or virtual one) that gives the opportunity of seeing Earth from outside. The beauty of the starry sky and the night-sky experience are highly appreciated and valued in our consumer society and progressively turned into a scarce, and therefore, valuable, commodity. Sites with unpolluted skies become remarkably exceptional tourist destinations playing an important role in the economy of local communities. The access to dark skies can provide economic support for local communities, converting their economic or technological backwardness into an advantage. The starry night sky has been considered as a cultural property protected by international law and norms. It is valuated as having an “outstanding universal value” to humankind and efforts aimed at its protection are exemplified by various initiatives such as the Declaration in Defence of the Night Sky and the Right to Starlight (adopted in La Palma, Canary Island, April 2007), and the creation of Starlight Reserves and World Heritage (Marı´n and Orlando 2009). The Starlight Reserve is “a site where a commitment to defend the night sky quality and access to starlight has been established” (Marı´n and Orlando 2009, p. 21). Today, astrotourism can be defined as the opportunity that “enables the traveler to realize and exercise his/her right to starlight” (Cameron 2007, p. 241). Since Starlight Reserves can be identified, mapped, investigated, preserved, and managed, efforts to protect them from light spill of big metropolis are accompanied by tendencies to their commoditization and commercialization. The rapid growth of global tourism, especially in areas not much visited before, and the idea that the starry night is both a cultural good and commodity have been important factors responsible for these developments. Today’s astrotourism is a multifaceted phenomenon.

Comet/Eclipse Chasing In contrast with past centuries when national governments or scientific academia organized expeditions to perform observations of rare astronomical phenomena, contemporary tourist agencies and local astronomical associations motivate groups of tourists or amateur astronomers to travel to the distant spots on the Earth to get perfect views of eclipses, comets, Venus transits (in 2004 and 2012), or Northern Lights. Along with the obvious educational aspects designed to popularize modern astronomy, the idea is to create sensations of watching at rare or unusual events, and to generate aesthetic emotions and inspiring feelings in relatively comfortable conditions.

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Astronomical shows are thus commercialized and determined by dominant trends in popular culture and by the expectations of the consumers of tourist goods.

Stargazing Trips: Astro-Photography This oldest form of “night tourism” is today a worldwide phenomenon and often associated with other forms of tourism (desert tourism, seascape tourism, or visits to astronomical observatories). It encompasses two groups of visitors: amateur astronomers who make a hobby of pursuing photographs of starry skies and occasional tourists who go to the field to simply watch the night skies. Amateur astronomers may try to find the starriest sites because they are interested in their quality for astronomical photography, but are also engaged in cognitively knowing the skies so that they can build enduring links with night skies. Occasional tourists seek for a night-sky experience – they admire the nocturnal aspect of the environment to receive unforgettable sights, aesthetic emotions, and “transcendental” experience, but their links to the night sky are only ephemeral. Night-sky starwatching is obviously a highly ritualized performance. Performing instruments are telescopes, binoculars, and tablets with sky charts that are manipulated as the tools enabling direct ways of experiencing the night sky.

Visits to Public Astronomical Observatories Gazing at the stars takes another form at astronomical observatories, where activities connected with education and science popularization prevail. Visits paid to public astronomical observatories are rare opportunities to get knowledge, by direct telescope observation, of the rotating sky. The occasional visitors, who have been given a chance to acquaint directly with constellations and stars, become seduced by the beauty of the stars observed through professional telescopes. Other forms of presenting night skies vary from computer-made images of selected celestial sectors, images processed by Hubble Space Telescope, computer animations, etc.

Astrotourism Versus Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy Archaeoastronomy is a specialized activity that produces cultural goods (observatories or sky-watching stations, sundials or other light-and-shadow devices, horizon calendars, rock-art stellar symbols, and maps of the night sky) and performances (sun-watching, stargazing, light-and-shadow watching, and eventually, calendarmaking), whose subjective meaning may be sufficiently attractive when compared with other cultural products. Furthermore, observations of astronomical objects rising and setting along the azimuths encoded in monuments offer an illusion of experiencing the past through the features made in the past. Such collective

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observations make the past alive providing the unique opportunity to participate in a “historical” reality. The idea that starry night is a property of (economic and cultural) value has further implications. Watching stars through telescopes provides the opportunity to consume the skies on multiple, aesthetic, spiritual, cognitive, or imaginative levels. In this way, the image of the night sky is bound into the market and becomes available only at a price – an entry fee to the starlight reserve, the price of souvenirs and photographs, or the price of a package tour, etc. There is a strong case for arguing that stargazing trips to remote locations and eclipse/comet chasing tours tend to produce and reproduce Western traditions in accordance with the values given to education and popularization of astronomy. By focusing attention to a specific astronomical event or to a specific ritual performance – such as observations of spectacular sky events or of the stars through telescopes – visitors always receive their experience of the skies in terms of contemporary astronomy. In some cases however, astro-tourists are brought to the remote areas inhabited by local communities interested in safeguarding their own stargazing activities. Obviously, modern astro-tourists (amateur astronomers, school pupils, laymen) are usually culturally, historically, and socially distant from indigenous populations living near to the starlight reserves and their nightsky experience is totally disconnected from old traditions of stargazing. It is important to note that the current efforts to make the experience of the night sky accessible to all people and the marketed actions leading to the appropriation of night skies by global tourism may deprive local communities of interactions with their own tradition related to stargazing. It is widely assumed that in the past, the night and day sky had always been embedded in the daily life of the generations of peoples (Atkinson 2007). Today however, many city dwellers have already lost their links with the experience of starry nights and remain rather unfamiliar with the night landscape. So, their own forms of being engaged with starlight sites and starry skies may easily affect traditional ways of doing sky-watching. Fortunately, the disciplines of archaeoand ethnoastronomy clearly show that cultural goods and performances associated with the ways in which peoples perceived the skies in the past cannot be exclusively interpreted within the framework of modern astronomy, and insist they should also be explained in the context of specific past and non-Western practices and rationalities.

Equinox, Solstice, or Other Astronomical-Calendar Events Today, these special phenomena and days have been turned into a magnet for tourists. Equinoxes, solstices, solar zenithal passages, and traditional calendrical days are all good occasions to visit archaeological and historical sites to see their astronomical alignments. Visitors arriving on the equinoxes and solstices gain experience of the site in its remote past context through direct perceptions of actual astronomical events. This form of astrotourism is widely known at numerous

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locations around the world. Notable examples have been the “dagger of light” phenomenon perceived on the rock panel on Fajada Butte (Sun Dagger site) in Chaco Canyon (New Mexico, USA; Sofaer and Sinclair 1987; see ▶ Chap. 41, “Rock Art of the Greater Southwest”), the “descending serpent” pattern visible on El Castillo pyramid at Chiche´n Itza´ (Yucata´n, Mexico; Carlson 1999; see ▶ Chap. 28, “Analyzing Light-and-Shadow Interactions”), and the sunlight beam entering the interior of the passage tomb at Newgrange (Boyne Valley, Ireland; Patrick 1974; see ▶ Chap. 108, “Boyne Valley Tombs”). Now, sites with astronomically manifested phenomena may also be approached as places of special importance, where the immediacy of “ancestors”, animated entities, or “forces” and “energies” can directly be experienced. Obviously, such sites are often manipulated by diverse social groups who seek to establish the legitimacy of their cultural claims to possess a distinctive identity through links to the past archaeological and historical heritage. So, it may be important to speak about the variety of institutional and political discourses of heritage to be able to identify the ways in which certain understandings about the meaning of the past have been included or excluded in heritage practices, with all the consequences it had for the expression of cultural, social, religious, or class identity. Thus for example, on the one side may be cited examples derived from Native Americans and Aboriginal Australians who attempt to repatriate artifacts, human remains, and landscapes they consider “sacred”, while on the other also stay the modern urban tribes of the Druids, Neo-Shamans, the Holy-Grail searchers, and followers of Madame Blavatsky, all of them claiming rights to possess the authorized discourse of heritage. In such a way, the “astronomical” content of the heritage may lead to biased concepts of intellectual abilities of hypothetical ancestors in the past, producing sentiments of pride and emotional satisfaction among the auto-proclaimed descendants. Archaeoastronomers may find themselves in an ambiguous position: as potential inventors of astronomical traditions, or as potential de-constructors of those traditions. The ways in which Chiche´n Itza´ and Newgrange are presented are simultaneously based on the UNESCO concepts of heritage (related both to the material traces of the past and to the idea of the starlight skies), phenomenology (associated with the strategy of recreating the personal touch with the past), mythological-ritual narratives (fictitious rather than “real” ones, linking present populations with the imagined past), and present cultural and political interpretations (Camp 2006). Perhaps winter and summer solstice events at Stonehenge are best described in archaeological literature. As is known, due to its attraction, diverse cultural groups (e.g., Druids, Wicca, Heathens, Neo-Shamans, dowsers, etc. see Blain and Wallis 2004) constructed fictitious narratives (and imagined communities) without much insisting on presenting proofs of historical or cultural continuity. Barbara’s Bender’s (1995, 1998) and Robert J.’s Wallis’s (2003) accounts of the appropriation of the solstitial Stonehenge by diverse cultural groups offer examples of the diverse challenges that face archaeoastronomers today. Another well-known example is Chiche´n Itza´ in the Yucata´n. Here for a few days during the equinox, the sun’s rays seem to create the shadow of Feathered

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Serpent (or Quetzalcoatl) along the stairway of the pyramid called El Castillo. During the last 20 years, its spring appearance has become major tourist attraction (see ▶ Figs. 18.7, ▶ 18.9). In all probability, this phenomenon is not authentic, and the descent of Feathered Serpent is presented in a context that alters its historical meaning (Carlson 1999). On the days of spring equinox, Teotihuaca´n is packed with people who dress in white and climb to the top of the Pyramid of the Sun. They stand at the top with arms outstretched to receive energy of the site and of the sun that day. The equinox phenomenon has been extended over the whole of Mexico and on occasions (at El Tajı´n) absorbed by cultural, music, and folklore festival organized by the state authorities. In many other instances, celebrations of spring equinox at archaeological sites have been appropriated by “new indigenes” groups who claim some relation to these locations. It is important to recall that many of these supposed native astronomical and calendrical traditions have been reinvented in the recent past (Hutton 1996), but this is not important for astrotourism since after all, every people play with their cultural tradition in a continuing process of self-invention (Dietler 1994). Thus, for general public today, the reconstructed Neolithic temple at Newgrange symbolizes ancient “Celtic” spirituality and the winter solstice beam of sunlight that enters the temple is believed to energize the ancient Celtic gods (Camp 2006). In a similar vein, the descent of Feathered Serpent upon the reconstructed temple El Castillo is interpreted in terms of the Maya spirituality though it probably bears no relation to the original functions of the structure (Carlson 1999). It is necessary to recall that Neolithic builders that erected Newgrange (possibly serving as a tomb) between 3,300 BCE and 2,900 BCE had no contacts with the Celts who arrived at Ireland around 500 BCE with the advent of the Iron Age. Similarly, it is difficult to speak of the concept of pre-Hispanic Maya ethnic identity at Chiche´n Itza´ during the Terminal Classic and Early Postclassic Periods (900–1250 CE) (see papers in Sachse (ed) 2006; Hutson 2010, pp. 153–181). The positive side of astrotourism is the fact that through the participation in such astronomical events, the visitors become emotionally engaged with archaeological sites and historical monuments, leaving aside the role of passive receptors of cultural messages (Fig. 19.1). In this context, archaeoastronomy should be able to produce more nuanced, balanced, and authoritative discourses of heritage sites and monuments. The establishment of the concept of astronomical and archaeoastronomical heritage is an important way through which modern astrotourism may be encouraged. Multiple light-and-shadow effects produced on meridian lines placed inside public buildings (churches, palaces), huge observatory structures (e.g., the Jantar Mantar observatory complex in Jaipur, India), and numerous sundials may serve as expressions of the astronomical skills of their builders. Similarly, architectural complexes such those at Angkor Wat (Camboya) and Borobudur (Java, Indonesia) can be used to explain Buddhist and Hindu cosmologies. In fact, in each culture or society, the material forms through which the cosmological system was symbolized may be useful to explain ancient and non-Western concepts of the world.

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Fig 19.1 Activities providing cultural, historical and astronomical background before entering the La Ferrerı´a archaeological site at Durango, Mexico. This program, called “the Sky of Our Ancestors”, is launched by the Instituto Nacional de Antropologı´a e Historia, and designed for nocturnal skywatching at important archaeological sites in Mexico. November 2009 (Photograph S. Iwaniszewski)

The Dark Side of Cultural Revitalization Movements and Astro-Pilgrimage It has to be emphasized that monuments that were intentionally aligned to astronomical bodies are usually not large enough to accommodate more than a few people. The access to astronomically aligned spaces was often restricted, and some previous knowledge was necessary to understand the significance of those alignments. In many cases, celestial events were not originally planned to be witnessed by thousands of spectators. It becomes obvious that administrators of archaeological sites and historical monuments cannot guarantee the total access to spots to witness the connections the peoples in the past made with their celestial environment through specially designed features. Unfortunately, on some occasions, activists implicated in the revival of selected cultural elements of ancestral societies, New Agers and all other groups seeking for alternative archaeologies and histories literally appropriated the material traces of the past. Astrotourism has affected the integrity of several archaeoastronomical sites – for example, massive pilgrimage gatherings of “spiritual” tourists destroyed part of the original assemblage of stones at Fajada Butte, while zealous New Age practitioners altered a stone circle at Nabta Playa to “improve” its alignments.

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Conclusions: New Threads and Opportunities The visibility of the solar, lunar, planetary, or stellar phenomena is critical to modern astrotourism since the opportunity to reproduce astronomical alignments is our best link to past peoples and cultures. Unfortunately, most of historical buildings and many open-air sites are situated within contemporary cityscapes. Rapid urban growth and changes in land development have much affected the possibilities to reproduce astronomical events on spots. Among the most common threads are: air and light pollution, industrial activities physically affecting horizon profiles, modern urban development impeding visual alignments, inadequate reconstructions of buildings affecting their capacity of maintaining visual links with the sky, and mass global tourism (Iwaniszewski 2006). On the other hand, however, custodians of the monuments are becoming more and more aware of their “astronomical” properties and are being more assertive in showing them to a wider audience. New Initiatives such as “The Sky of Our Ancestors” shows, which are celebrated in places of archaeological and historical value in different countries (France, Guatemala, Mexico), aim to increase awareness of the need to preserve the quality of the night sky on the one side with scientific, cultural, and historical contents on the other. Archaeology and archaeoastronomy can offer substantial reality in which a postmodern government can establish its claims.

Cross-References ▶ Archaeoastronomical Concepts in Popular Culture ▶ Archaeoastronomical Heritage and the World Heritage Convention

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Archaeoastronomical Heritage and the World Heritage Convention

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Contents Introduction: Background from the IAU and ICOMOS Thematic Study . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . World Heritage Convention Implementation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The Process for Making a Dossier . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . A Diagrammatic Approach Summarizing the Recommended Process . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Main Trends Beyond the Formal Process . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . From the Large Scope of the WH Convention to Specificities of Science Heritage . . . . . . Interweaving of Astronomy and Global Cultural Value of a Place . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Conclusion . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Abstract

In 2009, the International Astronomical Union (IAU) and the International Council on Monuments and Sites (ICOMOS) began a joint thematic study on astronomical heritage. The initial question was, “What are the best ways to support and encourage the inscription of the most outstanding examples of astronomical heritage onto a globally balanced World Heritage List?” That led us first to a large overview across ages and countries, because every civilization had a relationship with the sky. The result is far beyond what was anticipated, showing a richness and diversity of heritage, both for various civilizations around the world and throughout human history, especially for the protohistorical period and indigenous practices of observing the sky. This chapter also reviews the World Heritage Convention, its goals, evaluation tools, and trends. A strategy must be created for a credible dossier in the UNESCOrecommended format, with proper identification of “outstanding universal

M. Cotte University of Nantes, Nantes, France e-mail: [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_18, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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value” (OUV) as a key point for the World Heritage listing. To assist in reaching such ambitious goals, this chapter examines the layout of the convention related to astronomical and archaeoastronomical heritage, though the main requirements need to be recognized. A methodology is proposed for site analysis by examples and practices of the World Heritage Convention, with a description of its origins, favorite subjects, and recent evolutions. Pure astronomical heritage is rare on the World Heritage List, but astronomy is frequently present as an associated value for complex sites and as a specific attribute that increases a global sense of the heritage.

Introduction: Background from the IAU and ICOMOS Thematic Study The background for the international recognition of astronomical heritage and/or archaeoastronomical sites is complex and ancient, with, for instance, few inscriptions on the UNESCO (United Nations for Education Science and Culture Organization) World Heritage List. Sites where astronomy is the sole factor or a major factor supporting the OUV (Outstanding Universal Value) are Maritime Greenwich in the United Kingdom (UNESCO List 1997, no. 795); the Struve Arc, a serial inscription from 10 State Parties (UNESCO List 2005, no. 1187); and the Jantar Mantar of Jaipur in India (UNESCO List 2010, no. 1338). For astronomers sensitive to the heritage value of astronomy, it can be difficult to have a good understanding of what is really eligible and what is really expected for World Heritage recognition. World Heritage specialists are frequently architects, urban planners, landscape specialists, archaeologists, and historians, disciplines distant from notions of astronomical value and more broadly science heritage. Crucial steps were made to improve the situation, first by the initiative of UNESCO and the International Astronomical Union (IAU) regarding astronomical heritage in general, and, in particular, by the Year of Astronomy (2009). A second effort was made inside the general framework of the initiative by a thematic study performed jointly by IAU and ICOMOS (International Council on Monuments and Sites) in 2009–2010 (Ruggles and Cotte 2011). Today, official actions and intellectual products under the UNESCO label are summarized on the World Heritage (WH) Centre portal under the title, “Astronomy and World Heritage Thematic Initiative” (UNESCO 2012). The Thematic Study Program led us first to a large and global overview of the subject throughout history and in different parts of the world, because every civilization had a relationship with sky observations, frequently linked with use of some artifacts. The result is far beyond what was expected, showing the richness and diversity of such heritage, both for various civilizations from around the world and throughout the ages of human history, especially for the proto-historical period and in indigenous practices of observing the sky. Beyond identification and description of some places with astronomical value, methodological effort must be made to apply the World Heritage formats and recommendations issued in the

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Operational Guidelines for the Implementation of the WH Convention, the official documentation for building a dossier (UNESCO 2011). For our group of around 40 authors, the core question was, “What are the best ways to support and encourage the inscription of the most outstanding examples of astronomical heritage onto a globally balanced World Heritage List?” The Thematic Study has been produced to support possible nominations to the World Heritage List by summarizing the available documentation in a specific field. It aims to highlight the potential of all regions to contribute to the World Heritage List, especially in association with the global strategy for a “balanced, representative and credible List”. It is an open list that acts as an initial framework for promoting and supporting the global recognition of astronomical and archaeoastronomical sites of possible significance. It does not aim to identify “outstanding universal value” (OUV) in individual sites and it is not a “prelisting” document. It is mainly an effort to produce methodology relying upon examples, the possible value of some places, identification of key points, possible difficulties, and so on. Beyond examples and case studies, what remains most important is certainly the methodology for preparing a dossier, and, more importantly, the best way to recognize and manage every site supporting astronomical value, at the international, national, regional, and local level. It encompasses many fields of competence required by the implementation of the World Heritage Convention, including heritage analysis and inventory, scientific meanings, legal protection, technical conservation, management, and valorization. Typically, the Thematic Study has been an effort to create multidisciplinary works, and the result seems convincing. A kind of dialogue takes place, first with proposals, sometimes enthusiastic, by historians of astronomy and archaeoastronomers. Professionals working on the WH List and in heritage management pose more practical questions, and positive critiques are provided to develop all of the fields required by the WH process. “Extended case studies” are now being pursued through a program on the Web portal. The study group has gathered material that is a good base from which to pursue the challenge of a WH Listing. Of course, this goal cannot be reached for every place seen by astronomers to have astronomical heritage significance. This is because of the necessity for clear and demonstrable OUV as defined by the WH Convention.

World Heritage Convention Implementation The Process for Making a Dossier It is necessary to have a good understanding of the World Heritage Convention, its goals, its evaluation tools, and its trends. A strategy must be built for a credible dossier within the UNESCO-recommended format and to identify properly what will serve as a basis for the OUV as a key point for WH listing. A starting point is the identification of a heritage site as a “fixed property”, with clear limits, description, and analysis of its material attributes and knowledge of its

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history. The second step is an assessment of the site’s integrity and authenticity. Third, a comparative analysis is required of similar places along with an assessment of significance at the international level. Fourth, a clear demonstration of OUV must be provided, including immaterial attributes, and justifying appropriate criteria among the six possible offered by the WH Convention for expressing the cultural value of the place. Of course, a site can also hold important natural value, and specific attention must be paid to this question for the Starlight Initiative, which refers to four supplementary natural criteria. The Operational Guidelines for the Implementation of the Convention define cultural criteria as follows (UNESCO 2011, }77): The Committee considers a property as having Outstanding Universal Value (see paragraphs 49–53) if the property meets one or more of the following criteria. Nominated properties shall therefore: (i) represent a masterpiece of human creative genius; (ii) exhibit an important interchange of human values, over a span of time or within a cultural area of the world, on developments in architecture or technology, monumental arts, town-planning or landscape design; (iii) bear a unique or at least exceptional testimony to a cultural tradition or to a civilization which is living or which has disappeared; (iv) be an outstanding example of a type of building, architectural or technological ensemble or landscape which illustrates (a) significant stage(s) in human history; (v) be an outstanding example of a traditional human settlement, land-use, or sea-use which is representative of a culture (or cultures), or human interaction with the environment especially when it has become vulnerable under the impact of irreversible change; (vi) be directly or tangibly associated with events or living traditions, with ideas, or with beliefs, with artistic and literary works of outstanding universal significance. (The Committee considers that this criterion should preferably be used in conjunction with other criteria).

Demonstration of OUV alone is not enough. Other factors include legal protection, proper heritage conservation in accordance with its value, and appropriate current management and maintenance systems. Responsibility for the site must be clear, and there should a management plan including a conservation survey, valorization, and tourism, with appropriate consolidated funds. We must mention here a document that has already been published (Ruggles and Cotte 2011). It is important to distribute this document widely because it is a fundamental initial step toward progress in heritage intelligence and analysis. It may guide astronomers or archaeoastronomers involved in the heritage process who would like to have a better understanding of the spirit of the WH Convention as it applies to practical dossiers. It is a general and systemic approach that is valuable for different types of properties, but with a special emphasis on astronomical and archaeoastronomical heritage. It reflects current practice for the implementation of the WH Convention by the advisory bodies proposing scientific and professional evaluations and recommendations to the WH Committee that makes the final listing decision. It proposes an ordered method for applying the Guidelines recommendations and choosing the proper criteria to demonstrate the OUV of a place. This is not simply an option or a possible way of creating a dossier; it is the strongly recommended way to do it. Applications that fail to file every item correctly with a clear assessment of

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A) at first : a tangible and unmovable property

B) the possible movable components of the property (instruments, archives… )

C) The intangible heritage : history, culture, context…

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DEFINITION OF THE PROPERTY HISTORY INTEGRITY AUTHENTICITY

VALUES ANALYSIS

The tangible heritage and its values : archeology, architecture, urbanism, technology, landscape…

1) World Heritage Convention, OUV of the tangible property: criteria (i) to (v)

cultural significances and scientific values

COMPARATIVE STUDIES

WELL FITTED OR NOT WITH THE CONVENTION

2) If step one is established, eventual use of criterion (VI) to reinforce the values of property by outstanding and universal intangible significances

O.U.V. OR NOT

PROTECTION CONSERVTION MANAGEMENT

Fig. 20.1 Proposed systemic approach for the WH dossier framework (after Ruggles and Cotte 2011, fig. 17.1)

what is expected by the advisory bodies proposing evaluation and by the WH Committee will likely be unsuccessful. The Guidelines propose an official format (UNESCO 2011), which is globally interpreted and summarized especially for astronomical and archaeoastronomical heritage by the diagram in Fig. 20.1. It is necessary to gather a multidisciplinary team to prepare a complete site assessment. Intelligence of the place in astronomical or archaeoastronomical terms is not enough. Specialists are required in the history of the period to understand context and to establish relationships with other cultural values. Professionals in heritage conservation and management are also necessary. An institutional process exists for nomination to the WH List. The first step is to be placed on the National Tentative List, and the first preliminary contact is to be made with national authorities in charge of cultural heritage and historical monuments or sites. The second step is the nomination itself; it is decided by the national authorities where the place is located and presented to the WH Centre, the UNESCO office in charge of the WH List.

A Diagrammatic Approach Summarizing the Recommended Process The diagram in Fig. 20.1 presents a systemic summary of UNESCO requirements for reaching a demonstration of OUV. It details the intellectual process for

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assessing a place. It was created especially for astronomical and archaeoastronomical heritage as a result of the collective experience of writing the Thematic Study, following difficulties in understanding general heritage requirements from the WH perspective encountered by some of the specialists in the history of astronomy and archaeoastronomy. We present the diagram and its logic, moving from green steps to blue to red, which shows the way to assess OUV, and if the value analysis is positive, the choice of criteria for expressing it. • In Fig. 20.1, green (A) is the definition of the property as a fixed site with material unmovable attributes. A clear and detailed inventory is needed for the next steps. Note that definition of property means mapping with limits and justification of the limits. • Green (B) takes into account the specificity of scientific heritage in general and astronomy in peculiar. • Green (C) is the history of the place, not only in terms of astronomy or archaeoastronomy but in the global context, including all types of cultural issues relating to the site, not restricted to its astronomical value. It is important to remember, as frequently stressed in the Thematic Study, that astronomical heritage make sense in context and as it relates to other issues of the material and symbolic life of inhabitants of the site. In other words, one must examine the intangible issues related to the tangible ones already listed in the inventory. • This step of the property definition is completed by the analysis of integrity and authenticity of the attributes comprising the richness of the place. Integrity entails mainly the wholeness of the place, meaning that there are a sufficient number of clear material attributes along with the idea of an unaltered landscape offering a readable place for the visitor. Authenticity deals first with the different individual attributes, related to their state of conservation and perhaps the history of their maintenance and restoration. It also encompasses an anthropological report on the past and present uses of the place. • In blue (left), all the components - all the tangible and intangible attributes of a place - are gathered together, and we can construct its global value in terms of materiality, landscape, and cultural and scientific issues. Place makes sense as a whole, and wholeness is logically related to precise attributes. • Blue (right) forms a crucial step concerning the level of significance of the value of the place that has been established. Comparative methodology is crucial and the degree of uniqueness of our place and/or its exceptionality, as gauged internationally, must be established. • In red (1), if all is positive, the value becomes OUV, with a specific statement and justification of the appropriate criterion or criteria expressing the OUV. For material issues, this deals with the first five cultural criteria. • If one or more material criteria have already been justified, one could examine the possibility of criterion (vi) related to specific high intangible value. For that, one must note the following: (1) criterion (vi) may not be used alone, even though there are a few exceptions on the List; (2) the intangible value claimed for (vi) must have OUV by itself, because the intangible value of attributes is taken into account as part of the other criteria (i) to (v).

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• The yellow box notes that it is important to develop - in parallel with the green, blue, and red steps - legal protection, a conservation policy for the place, and a management system involving the implementation of protection and conservation and dealing with valorization and tourism organization. This could be a conference by itself, involving a management and conservation plan. It may be large, forming the second part of the final WH dossier. This step requires a large gathering of all stakeholders involved in the different aspects of the property, including local owners; local, regional, and national authorities; heritage professionals; scientists; and tourism professionals. In a general way, ICOMOS pays careful attention to these issues and to all the potential threats to the site. It checks to see whether all stakeholders are correctly identified, are actually involved in the global management process, and are working together with common and well-identified goals for conserving the OUV of the place for present and future generations.

Main Trends Beyond the Formal Process From the Large Scope of the WH Convention to Specificities of Science Heritage Beyond this formal process with its strict framework and recommendations, there is a more global and even historical trend of the Convention with regard to astronomical heritage and more broadly that of science and technology. The scope of the Convention is large, encompassing cultural and natural heritage, which impact global concepts such as property, monument, ensemble, cultural landscape, cultural route, serial properties, and so on. We must also pay attention to the kind of properties originally submitted to the Convention. The first cultural properties were listed in 1978, six years after the Convention itself, and natural properties were listed some years later. The first listed properties for culture were mainly celebrations of human genius through exceptional monuments and places, with outstanding and unique architecture, exceptional dimensions and beauty, and material landmarks of human history. This heritage view of former civilizations included mostly religious, political, and military features, listing churches, shrines, mosques, castles, residences, fortifications, and so on. There was also attention, early on, to the prehistory and evidence of the oldest signs of human life discovered by archaeology and in cave art. Because of a strong tradition of masonry monuments from Greece and Roman antiquity, it was clear and easy to recognize the Western world’s civilization. Subsequent years produced an interesting intellectual reflection on what is truly heritage shared by all of humanity. We saw then the development of larger concepts and deeper attention to new fields, such as ensembles of monuments, serial nomination, urban fabric, popular housing, and cultural landscapes involving such diverse issues as aboriginal territories, agricultural lands, and mining settlements. In this context, we have to note that science heritage in general came along much later and probably is only just emerging. To be more precise, technical heritage and

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industrial heritage forged a first link between classical topics of the Convention, offering a good opportunity to diversify subjects of the WH. That offered a clear continuity with concepts of architecture, monuments, ensembles of buildings, archaeological sites, and so on. This step was important, starting a more global reflection not only on material evidence of techniques but also in association with science. It underlines the structural links and the dialectic between sciences, applied sciences, and technology. In this way, astronomy offers a brilliant example of science combined with applied sciences and technical devices for observing the sky, during many different historical and prehistoric periods and for many different civilizations in different parts of the world. In the Thematic Study, we took great care to limit drastically case studies of classical “modern Western astronomy” and to relate its role in the global vision of this type of heritage and even in terms of science itself. Disadvantages noted in the Thematic Study include the complexity of scientific heritage as regards the patterns of the Convention. In the Thematic Study, we examined the case of astronomy to demonstrate this difficulty (Ruggles and Cotte 2011, pp. 1–12). Astronomy and science heritage simultaneously deal with fixed issues related to the scope of the Convention and with moveable issues related more to collections and museums. A major part of such heritage is intangible, as is scientific knowledge itself and the social and historical popular beliefs associated with perceptions of the sky.

Interweaving of Astronomy and Global Cultural Value of a Place “Pure” astronomical heritage is still rare on the WH List, and science heritage in general remains limited. It represents a new goal and a rather delicate subject to be taken into account in WH List evaluations. We need more thematic studies and deeper reflection about the nature of heritage, along with the proper use of different UNESCO conventions. Astronomy and/or science are frequently identified as an associated value for broader sites, as a specific attribute that increases the global sense of the heritage. We view this as hopeful for the future of astronomical heritage recognition. This could take two main forms. For new dossiers with large and multidimensional value, including astronomy, the commitment of historians of astronomy and/or archaeoastronomers is needed as full stakeholders for such dossiers. Consequently, the attributes and value of astronomy could have their full space in the statement of OUV of such complex and global properties. The second way is the procedure of periodic survey of already listed properties, with some possibilities of reassessing the statement of OUV and refining the criteria justification. Below, we give two contrasting examples of such complex global places expressing many issues of a civilization at a given historical period and taking into account, or not, the real astronomical value of the place. The first is the city of Samarkand in Uzbekistan, officially named “Samarkand – Crossroads of Cultures”, which was inscribed in 2001. Although the Ulugh Beg Observatory is mentioned as one of the attributes in the brief OUV statement, astronomical value does not appear in the criteria, which describe

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the crossroads of culture in general and in relation to global Islamic civilization and celebrate the architecture, urban structure, and political role of the city (UNESCO List 2001, no. 603). The second site is the ensemble named the “Historic Monuments of Dengfeng in ‘The Centre of Heaven and Earth’” in China (UNESCO List 2010, no. 1305). The brief synthesis gives a short but good account many of the significances of this large place, among them the astronomical sense of the property. It was inscribed more recently, in 2010, and the statement of OUV involves astronomical values as crucial to understanding the global value of the place. Reciprocally, astronomical tangible and intangible attributes are clearly inscribed in the global cultural context of the place, and criterion (iii) relies clearly upon astronomical concepts and value of the place: For many centuries Dengfeng, one of the early capitals of China whose precise location is unknown, but whose name is now associated with an area to the south of Mount Shaoshi and Mount Taishi, two peaks of Mount Songshan, came to be associated with the concept of the centre of heaven and earth – the only point where astronomical observations were considered to be accurate. The natural attribute of the centre of heaven and earth was seen to be Mount Songshan and worship of Mount Songshan was used by the Emperors as a way of reinforcing their power. The three ideas do therefore converge to some extent: the centre of heaven and earth in astronomical terms is used as a propitious place for a capital of terrestrial power, and Mount Songshan as the natural symbol of the centre of heaven and earth is used as the focus for sacred rituals that reinforce that earthly power. The buildings that clustered around Dengfeng were of the highest architectural standards when built and many were commissioned by Emperors. They thus reinforced the influence of the Dengfeng area. Some of the sites in the nominated area relate closely to the mountain (Zhongyue Temple, Taishi Que and Shaoshi Que); the Observatory is very clearly associated with the astronomical observations made at the centre of heaven and earth, while the remainder of the buildings were built in the area perceived to be the centre of heaven and earth – for the status that this conferred. (UNESCO List 2010, no. 1305, statement of OUV, underlined emphasis added by the author)

One might also note the evolution of the Convention topic from cultural heritage to natural heritage and also the acceptance of a limited number of “mixed properties”. Some projects included in the Starlight Initiative are presently mixed properties proposals, as is of the case with the Aoraki MacKenzie International Dark Sky Reserve. In such mixed properties, OUV must be demonstrated twice, first for the cultural attributes of the property and again for its natural attributes. That means two independent evaluations, one by ICOMOS for cultural values and another by the IUCN (International Union for the Conservation of Nature) for natural values.

Conclusion The Web portal of the joint initiative from UNESCO and the IAU gives us an updated panorama of studies done by different colleagues dealing both with

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astronomical and archaeoastronomical heritage (UNESCO and IAU 2012). “Extended case studies” submitted to the Portal follow the format and the methodology described above. It is a good place to develop an idea about places presently studied and current trends for scholars. We have highlighted some of the difficulties, such as proving the integrity and authenticity of the place, which can lead to misunderstandings about demonstrating OUV, especially for archaeoastronomical heritage. Integrity means there is a sufficient amount of clear evidence to make sense within a sufficiently large and well-identified archaeological field. A comprehensive historical and astronomical picture must provided for the visitor. Authenticity means the presence of dated archaeological evidence without any possible misunderstanding of its scientific and historical significance. The layout of archaeological remains must be complete and bear proven astronomical significances, not hypothesis or artificial calculation in today’s paradigms. This issue is sensitive and must be considered as a priority step before going further in WH perspectives. What is nominated to the WH List is the place itself, a property with clear limits and readable fixed structures. It is not moveable objects that provide the basis for a nomination, even if they are exceptional or unique. Of course, artifacts in place give sense to the site and lead to its understanding. For example, if all of the archaeological furniture is removed to a distant museum, it is clearly problematic from the WH point of view. The comparative study is another crucial step in the OUV assessment that can lead to a group of places with similar significance in the same or almost same historical or prehistorical periods for the same region. A serial approach could be initiated in a country having such a group of places or even in a transnational way. That could be interesting for the implementation of a cooperative process but also challenging for the evaluation, since for a global series as opposed to a single place, there can be difficulties in reaching a clear demonstration of OUV. Of course, OUV exigencies go to the group, and a recent clarification was made about the need for each member of the series to participate significantly to the OUV: Each component part should contribute to the Outstanding Universal Value of the property as a whole in a substantial, scientific, readily defined and discernible way, and may include, inter alia, intangible attributes. The resulting Outstanding Universal Value should be easily understood and communicated. (UNESCO 2011, } 137b)

Such process take time and progress toward a nomination can be difficult. Overall, a multidisciplinary approach is needed, with constructive critiques and a spirit of cooperation. Astronomical and archaeoastronomical heritage value does not exist in isolation, and contextualization and comparisons are required to truly understand this heritage. In addition, classical historical approaches to the heritage of ancient civilizations could be deepened by including astronomical significance, including the reassessment of places already listed where that value is forgotten or only superficially mentioned.

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Cross-References ▶ Astronomical Instruments in India ▶ Dengfeng Large Gnomon ▶ Islamic Astronomical Instruments and Observatories

References Cotte M (2011) Astronomy and archaeoastronomy heritage in the context of the UNESCO World heritage convention. In: Gabour S (ed) Astronomy and World heritage, International seminar, February 2010. Egyptian National UNESCO Commission, Cairo, pp 57–76 Ruggles CLN, Cotte M (2011, e-ed. 2010) Heritage sites of astronomy and archaeoastronomy in the context of the UNESCO World Heritage Convention: a Thematic Study. ICOMOS & IAU, Paris UNESCO (2011) Guidelines for the implementation of the World heritage convention. World Heritage Centre, Paris: http://whc.unesco.org/archive/opguide11-en.pdf UNESCO (2012) Astronomy and World Heritage thematic initiative. http://whc.unesco.org/en/ astronomy/ UNESCO and IAU (2012) Portal to the heritage of astronomy: http://www.astronomicalheritage.net/ UNESCO List (1990) Te Wahipounamu – South West New Zealand: http://whc.unesco.org/en/ list/551 UNESCO List (1997) Maritime greenwich: http://whc.unesco.org/en/list/795 UNESCO List (2001) Samarkand – crossroads of cultures: http://whc.unesco.org/en/list/603 UNESCO List (2005) Struve geodesic arc: http://whc.unesco.org/en/list/1187 UNESCO List (2010) The Jantar Mantar, Jaipru: http://whc.unesco.org/en/list/1338 UNESCO List (2010) Monuments historiques de Dengfeng au “centre du ciel et de la terre”: http:// whc.unesco.org/fr/list/1305

Part II Methods and Practice Stephen C. McCluskey

Cultural Interpretation of Archaeological Evidence Relating to Astronomy

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Stanisław Iwaniszewski

Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . A Simplified Guide to the Concept of the Archaeoastronomical Record . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Complex Relationships of Astronomy to Archaeology . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Archaeoastronomy as a Thematic Archaeology . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Archaeoastronomy as Part of Landscape Archaeology . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Archaeoastronomy as Part of Cognitive Archaeology . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Archaeoastronomy as (Part of) Archaeometry . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . A few Remarks on the Concept of the Archaeoastronomical Record: Astronomical Alignments as Attributes of Past Features . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Conclusions: Examples from the Paleolithic . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Abstract

The sky is a link between us and our remote ancestors. When we look at the sky, we are aware that our human ancestors were watching our sun, our moon, our planets, and our stars. Evidence of the peoples’ different relations with the sky in the past, today, is found by historians and archaeologists. Archaeologists, who keep track of the earliest human history, infer the past lives of human societies from the physical remains of the past found in the soil. Archaeoastronomy holds that from the same archaeological record, we can get insights into the significance of celestial objects and events for the human life in the remote past.

S. Iwaniszewski Divisio´n de Posgrado, Escuela Nacional de Antropologı´a e Historia, Tlalpan, Me´xico, D.F., Mexico Pan´stwowe Muzeum Archeologiczne, Warszawa, Poland e-mail: [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_24, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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Introduction The origins of the human interest in celestial observations are hidden in the mists of our past. While we may never know exactly when and how the phenomenon of stargazing began, we assume that the perception of the sky was a significant element in the development of human culture. For the vast period before the emergence of written sources, archaeoastronomy is our only means of producing knowledge about the human attitudes to the sky. Like archaeology, archaeoastronomy examines the material remains of the past, selecting and examining only those features (called “artifacts”; see below) that can be explicitly or implicitly accepted as having to do with “human perceptions and actions relating to the skies and celestial phenomena” (Ruggles 2012, p. 1). “The question [then] is [of] how archaeoastronomers conceive astronomy in relation to both the material evidence of the past and the construction of archaeoastronomical explanations and interpretations today” (Iwaniszewski 2011). Our pre-theoretical assumption is that human groups have habitually been interested in celestial phenomena (though perhaps not with the same intensity) and that this interest is in some way related to the traces they left in the past material record. Now, when we examine the material record, we do not observe astronomical concepts and ideas of the people who lived in the past; they have to be somewhat inferred. The fundamental role of archaeoastronomy is first to transform them into “astronomical facts” that inform us about the human interest in the sky and then into “historical or anthropological facts” that show how this interest has molded different aspects of the human life. However, the material evidence is less clear and direct when compared with the written record, so its transformation into the meaningful evidence requires much more interpretation.

A Simplified Guide to the Concept of the Archaeoastronomical Record The archaeological record is constituted by a wide-ranging material evidence of human activities in the past and is roughly grouped into artifacts, ecofacts (in general, all non-artifactual remains such as floral and faunal remains, soil samples, sediments), and human remains. Artifacts or concrete things left by past human societies such as tools, graves, architecture, and settlements, on the one hand, and landscapes, technologies, domesticated plants and animals, arts, and sciences, on the other, are often called “material culture”. Given the fact that all societies have lived in a world of material objects, material culture is conceptualized as an integral part of social life. This allows archaeology to study past societies through their material culture remains. The term “material culture” makes the distinction between those features of culture that appear as physical entities or objects and those features which are nonmaterial. Hence, patterns found in material culture are usually taken as indicative of many nonmaterial aspects of human life (ideological,

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religious, cosmological, symbolic, political, social-structural, social-functional, economic, technological, etc.). In archaeology, material culture is theorized, investigated, and evaluated from various points of view, leading to different interpretations of archaeological evidence. Depending on theoretical perspectives, the patterns found in material culture are differentially related to the human societies that existed in the past, so interpretations of the same material evidence may produce quite different conclusions on its significance. The goal of archaeology is then not necessarily to discover an objective past but rather to move gradually closer to it, or to find how different the present is from that past. Based on my earlier attempt (Iwaniszewski 2011) to characterize four fundamental approaches to the archaeological record, I offer a short list of possible views on the nature of the archaeoastronomical record: 1. The material record is treated as the evidence essential to know what happened in the past (“evidential facts”). It is self-evident and viewed as the direct expression of the lives of the peoples in the past. Material objects represent the events that once produced them: architectural features represent celestial observations and/or astronomical events through their alignments, astral motifs placed on rock panels and artifacts represent stellar charts or records of specific celestial configurations (eclipses, supernovae, etc.), light-and-shadow effects reveal sophisticated knowledge about the changing positions of the sun throughout a year, etc. In sum, the record is conceived of a static remnant of an event in the past, a purely physical phenomenon, analogous to the fossil record in astrophysics. 2. Patterns found in the archaeological record are correlated with specific human actions and may be used to infer the general rules of human behavior (“anthropological facts”). They also are indicative of specific sociocultural processes in the past (“historical facts”). Astronomical knowledge extrapolated from the archaeological record is correlated with many other human activities belonging to different cultural subsystems and anchored onto chains of events or attached to processes in sociocultural evolution. Its pragmatic and utilitarian value for human societies is emphasized. For example, the rise and development of calendars based on astronomical cycles is explained by the growing needs of human farming societies that necessitated more autonomy in relation to fluctuating and unpredictable climatic and ecological rhythms found in their environment (Wittfogel 1957). In sum, the record is viewed as a kind of a material correlate of human relationships with their physical environment. 3. The material record is indicative of the meanings assigned to them by different people in the past (“social facts”). Monuments with alignments encoded in their design may act together as symbolic and social markers being invested with celestial and ideological significance and as material expressions of the specific cognitive skills of their builders. Such monuments serve multiple purposes. Architectural features containing alignments to important astronomical events may be used to determine significant places in a landscape, restricted access to astronomically aligned spaces may indicate asymmetric social

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relations, and astronomically aligned monuments may effectively link the social order to the orderly cosmos. Thus, the record is viewed as a kind of a historical account of the prehistoric past in which artifacts operate as material symbols encoding the meanings that were originally attached to them by their producers and users. 4. The material record is a kind of a cultural resource, a performance (“aesthetic facts”). Within this paradigm, the material record is no longer perceived as a carrier of a specific history or narrative. Its antiquity and cultural affiliation is less important, rather it is used to provide new ways of accessing the past. Monuments with astronomical alignments are used to create a new sense of place through the effect they have on human experience. Visited archaeological sites provide a context for creating aesthetic emotions and pleasure through shared perceptions of light-and-shadow phenomena or collective seeing of rising/setting celestial bodies on specific points on the landscape. Here, the record is viewed as a kind of an attractive cultural commodity creating a varied, aesthetically pleasing, and intellectually stimulating world that can be marketed.

Complex Relationships of Astronomy to Archaeology As an archaeologist, I see no reason to think that the study of the material record of the past is much different in archaeology and archaeoastronomy. Archaeoastronomy refers to the past which is the same past referred to by archaeologists. Archaeoastronomy is similar to archaeology, except it focuses on very narrow topic. Recognizing that archaeology is not a “monolithic” research field, I also acknowledge that archaeoastronomers may hold distinct views of the nature of its evidence. Viewing this relationship in a much wider archaeological context, archaeoastronomy can easily be categorized as a type of a thematic archaeology or as a part of symbolic and cognitive archaeologies. In addition, astronomical expertise is sometimes applied in the most utilitarian or mechanical sense: just to specify chronology, function, and meaning of examined items, being a part of archaeometry.

Archaeoastronomy as a Thematic Archaeology Archaeology has traditionally incorporated attention to specific categories or themes. Some of these broad categories have been differentially theorized enabling archaeologists to study particular themes from different theoretical viewpoints and integrating the phenomena in different conceptual structures. Thematic archaeologies are multidisciplinary in their approach. Feminist, gender, and landscape archaeologies and archaeologies of time and identity are examples of thematic archaeologies. Defined as a thematic archaeology, archaeoastronomy conceives sky as a cultural resource and product. Since diverse cultural constructs frame human interactions with the skies through structuring perceptions and meanings, they

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consist of both objective and subjective (intangible) properties. Therefore, peoples’ conceptions of the sky cannot be seen as just arbitrary or superficial impositions of culture on nature, rather they should be viewed as products of the dynamic interaction of the sky and culture. Each human group introduces its own patterns of material and nonmaterial use of the heavens. In sum, archaeoastronomy may contribute to traditional archaeological inquiry by focusing attention on celestial sources of cultural variability.

Archaeoastronomy as Part of Landscape Archaeology Landscape archaeology examines diverse human-land relations. In particular, it focuses on the ways in which human groups in the past perceived their material surroundings and acted in relation to particular landscape features (David and Thomas 2008). Though the celestial sphere forms part of the human environment, it has not been included into the concept of landscape. Extending the notion of landscape to include the heavens certainly offers new perspective on landscape itself. However, I wish to highlight that human engagements with the skies are slightly different. In contrast with the material environment, the heavens and celestial phenomena cannot be physically affected or altered by humans in any shape or form. Celestial bodies and events can only be manipulated in an indirect manner (symbolically, cognitively). In this aspect, celestial events are similar to natural places and features (Bradley 2000) that cannot be touched nor modified by the humans.

Archaeoastronomy as Part of Cognitive Archaeology Cognitive archaeology focuses on the origins and evolution of human cognitive abilities, as well as on the relationship between the development of the human thought and perceptions of the surrounding world (Renfrew 1994, p. 5). In their description of cognitive archaeology, Renfrew and Bahn (1991, pp. 340–341) used Karl Popper’s theory of reality which includes three interacting worlds and proposed it was the third world of Popperian theory, the world of products of the human mind and activities (tools, houses, works of art), the one to be examined archaeologically. It can be said that archaeoastronomy examines the material record to infer human cognitive abilities associated with the perception of the sky, as well as explanatory models of the celestial phenomena of the peoples living in the remote past. Astronomical motifs displayed in rock panels may represent distinct categories of celestial bodies reflecting ancient systems of classification, while crescentlike figures may be indicative of the ways in which the changing aspect of the moon was perceived and made significant. Artifacts with engraved marks can be interpreted as “artificial memory systems (AMS), i.e., physical devices specifically conceived to store and recover coded information” (d’Errico 1998, p. 20). Different objects from European Upper Paleolithic seem to show the increasing complexity

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and the development of hierarchically organized systems of information associated with the hypothetical emergence of individuals specialized in storing memory (d’Errico 1998, p. 47). Without any doubt, the research fields of cognitive archaeoastronomy and cognitive archaeology overlap and one easily will find common topics on both sides. However, the scope of archaeoastronomy is not limited to the study of cognitive astronomical abilities of past societies.

Archaeoastronomy as (Part of) Archaeometry It had long been accepted that astronomy could be useful in archaeology as a means of providing an absolute chronology to cultural objects (Beer 1967) and producing typologies of patterned human behavior reflected in mortuary practices and house orientations (Petri 1978). As the role of astronomy here is to retrieve useful information from the archaeological record, it may be related to archaeometry. Archaeometry deals with the application of techniques and methods from the hard sciences and engineering to examine the archaeological record. It consists of various physical and chemical methods used either as dating techniques or as a means to examine ancient technologies and the provenience of artifacts, environmental approaches (ranging from geology and geomorphology to palynology, paleoethnobotany, and zooarchaeology), nondestructive techniques for the localization of archaeological findings, and mathematical treatment of archaeological data (statistics, modeling). Astronomical dating is based on the synchronization of astronomical phenomena and historical events. In case when particular artifacts (events described in written records, configurations displayed in works of art, and rock-art panels) can be identified with concrete astronomical phenomena, then it is possible to date them astronomically. In most cases, however, references found in the record are ambiguous, indirect, and not exact, offering the low precision of astronomical dating. Others believed it was possible to date monuments by measuring their orientation and computing the date when a specific astronomical object aligned upon the measured azimuth (see Ruggles 1999, pp. 23–25, 227, 230). However, modern computations cannot fairly reproduce the observations made in the past (heliacal rising and setting usually produce margins of uncertainty of 2–3 days (Purrington 1988), while solar and lunar alignments are less precise since we do not know which part of the disk was originally targeted). In sum, astronomical dating of cultural items is often less reliable because this approach relies on modern assumptions and arguments. Astronomy can also be useful to produce typologies of patterned human behavior reflected in mortuary practices and house orientations. Since in many societies the directions of the rising or setting sun or the Polar Star were considered as significant while others were forbidden, astronomy may serve to produce distinct categories of artifact orientations or taxa (solar, lunar, or stellar, equinoctial, solstitial, calendrical, or toward the cardinal points).

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Here astronomy is treated as a secondary discipline that is applied to solve specific problems in archaeology. It is conceptually separated from the archaeologically observed society, operating without cultural or social assumptions, and used as an objective (scientific) parameter enabling archaeologists to order their evidence.

A few Remarks on the Concept of the Archaeoastronomical Record: Astronomical Alignments as Attributes of Past Features Archaeological remains can be classified on the basis of external, directly observable material features (attributes) of the examined items (material, shape, dimensions, color, weight, technology, ornamentation, etc.). In archaeoastronomy, this refers to the orientations expressed in terms of azimuths; repertories of motifs used in works of art, rock art, or artifacts (in particular those representing celestial bodies such as circles with rays or spikes (suns, stars), crescents (moons), and circles with spikes and a tail (comets)); dots or notches arranged in regular parallel or zigzag lines; or circular designs, suggesting counts of something. Orientations are conceived as “attributes” of architectural remains and human skeletons (Iwaniszewski 1995). Since orientations are inseparable from the objects, they may serve for the establishment of different typological classifications. Two objects are similar because they share identical or similar orientations. When alignment studies increased in Mesoamerica, three discrete groups (called “families”) of orientations were proposed (Aveni and Gibbs 1976). Similarly, objects with similar astral motifs have been separated to constitute a specific artifact class (Fitzpatrick 1996). From an astronomical point of view, the archaeological record embodies alignments related either to calendrically defined dates or to specific astronomical events (the solstices, equinoxes, zenith passages, lunar standstills, heliacal rises and sets, etc.). Observing patterns in the spatial arrangement of selected artifacts, scholars usually suppose that alignments they find could not have been produced purely by chance and identify those astronomical events that link them to alignments. Various quantitative methods have been applied to prove the intentionality of such alignments and related astronomical phenomena and statistical skills are now absolutely necessary parts of the study. As far as the astronomy is involved, little attention is paid to the artifacts (architectural features, assemblages of selected ritual objects, human skeletons) materializing those alignments (e.g., Hoskin 2001). A truer perspective requires a more systemic view. Alignments cannot be studied from a specific isolated standpoint. Burial alignments may refer to some astronomical referents (celestial bodies) associated with the concepts of the afterlife, public architecture that incorporates astronomical alignments within its design may be effective in molding a particular collective sense of space and time, while the layout and orientations of domestic structures may mirror shared cosmological and social principles. Symbolic and contextual archaeologies emphasize the social

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and symbolic significance of orientations. Orientations aligned with natural phenomena (winds and celestial objects) are interpreted by Hodder (1984, p. 63) as strategies which “could produce a higher authority”. Similar or equal orientations encoded in the Funnel Beaker Culture tombs may be used to design “social relations of identity between the social groups who erected them”, while the different or opposite orientations are considered as representing “opposition or relations of nonidentity between social groups” (Tilley 1984, p. 122). Another archaeological interpretation describes houses as symbolic systems. In this context, Parker Pearson and Richards (1994, pp. 14–18) provide a list of examples of how different societies align their houses and settlements in important directions, and how it is related to traditional beliefs and prevailing internal social divisions. It is worth saying that apart from astronomically motivated alignments, Anthony Aveni (2001) specified topographical or geomorphological setting, climatic factors (direction of prevailing wind, maximization of seasonal light and warmth), magnetism and geomancy, and chance and randomness.

Conclusions: Examples from the Paleolithic Problems of archaeoastronomical interpretations may be highlighted through the following examples of the putative Paleolithic practices of stargazing. A number of scholars believe that the roots of skywatching can be traced back at least as far as the Upper Paleolithic period (50,000–12,000 BC) and archaeological evidence seems to support this opinion (Marshack 1972; Rappengl€uck 1999). This reasoning is based on the very specific interpretation of bone artifacts and rock-art depictions. A small carved bone plaquette from the site of Abri Blanchard, near to Les Eyzies, Dordogne, dated to 29,000–28,000 BC (Aurignacian), has been originally described as a polisher, but according to Marshack (1972, pp. 43–55), it evidenced the observational lunar notation. This artifact, covered with a sequence of marks arranged in a zigzag manner, displays a notation of a period of 2 ¼ months, with the zigzags coinciding with the major changes of the lunar phases (waxing and waning). Many other Upper Paleolithic bone objects that exhibit similar and different patterns of engraved marks or notches have been examined to show some coincidences with the ethnographically recorded calendar devices (Marshack 1972). Modern interpretations based on cognitive evolution models suggest that similar bone objects functioned as devices designed to store (not necessarily astronomical) information (d’Errico 1998). Scholars have also proposed a link between rock art and celestial observations. Interpretations of the rock panels in Lascaux panels suggest that they contained complex astronomical notations and images of the universe as perceived by Upper Paleolithic hunter-gatherers (Rappengl€uck 1999). Other interpretations of the Upper Paleolithic rock art involve hunting magic, totemism, art for art’s sake, structuralism, semiotics, shamanism, and landscape archaeology (Pearson 2002). The ambiguity of the archaeological record cannot provide any clear-cut answers in both cases, and all arguments depend on our abilities to interpret the

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material traces of the past. In addition, each of the examined items can be explained in a different way producing the impression that our putative archaeoastronomical interpretation is only one of many possible interpretations. Reversing these feelings, we can also say that each archaeological record is at the same time the result of certain activities in the past as well as the entity from which the unlimited number of events may be derived (historical facts). Moreover, these are not mutually exclusive. Both examples refer to the objects dated to the most remote past, where the events and peoples are not directly observable, and to which the ethnographic evidence from modern hunter-gatherer societies is of a limited utility. The ambivalence of the Paleolithic record clearly shows how celestial lore was once used: always within the wider framework of social and cultural perceptions and practices. The perception of the skies was done in correlation with particular climatic, meteorological, and environmental conditions, specific social needs (economic, ritual, ideological, etc.), technological skills, and cognitive capacities of the motivated observers. Astronomical knowledge is found in practical actions, functional uses, symbolic representations, and social relationships. Diverse patterns (contextual, temporal, spatial) found in the material record pattern are indicative of the complex relationships that existed between the events that took place in the skies and human activities. The treatment of the sky as a cultural construct is different from the idea of astronomy as a science. A simple act of gazing at the stars or a systematic scanning of space is always integrated within a particular culture and embedded in multiple human relationships.

Cross-References ▶ Nature and Analysis of Material Evidence Relevant to Archaeoastronomy ▶ Possible Calendrical Inscriptions on Paleolithic Artifacts

References Aveni AF (2001) Skywatchers, rev. edn. University of Texas Press, Austin Aveni AF, Gibbs SL (1976) On the orientation of PreColumbian buildings in Central Mexico. Am Antiq 41(4):510–517 Beer A (1967) Astronomical dating of works of art. Vistas in Astronomy 9:177–223 Bradley R (2000) An archaeology of natural places. Routledge, London d’Errico F (1998) Palaeolithic origins of artificial memory systems. In: Renfrew C, Scarre C (eds) Cognition and material culture: the archaeology of symbolic storage, McDonald Institute monographs. University of Cambridge, Cambridge, pp 19–50 David B, Thomas J (2008) Landscape archaeology: introduction. In: David B, Thomas J (eds) Handbook of landscape archaeology. World archaeological congress research handbook in archaeology. Left Coast Press, Walnut Creek Fitzpatrick AP (1996) Night and day: the symbolism of astral signs on later iron age anthropomorphic short swords. Proc Prehistoric Soc 62:373–398 Hodder I (1984) Burials, houses, women and men in the European Neolithic. In: Miller D, Tilley C (eds) Ideology, power and prehistory. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, pp 51–68

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Hoskin MA (2001) Tombs, temples and their orientations. Ocarina Books, Bognor Regis Iwaniszewski S (1995) Alignments and orientations again. Archaeoastron Ethnoastron News. Q Bull Cent Archaeoastron 18:1, 4 Iwaniszewski S (2011) Navigating between the Scylla of social constructivism and Charybdis of logical empiricism: the construction of facts in archaeoastronomy. Paper presented at 19th annual meeting of the European Society for Astronomy in Culture “stars and stones: voyages in archaeoastronomy and cultural astronomy”, E´vora, Portugal, 19-25.09.2011 Marshack A (1972) The roots of civilization. The cognitive beginnings of man’s first art, symbol and notation. McGraw- Hill, New York Parker Pearson M, Richards C (1994) Ordering the world: perceptions of architecture, space and time. In: Parker Pearson M, Richards C (eds) Architecture and order. Approaches to social space. Routledge, London, pp 1–37 Pearson ML (2002) Shamamism and the ancient mind. A cognitive approach to archaeology. Altamira Press, Walnut Creek Petri W (1978) Astronomische grundlagen der ortung und zeitbestimmung. In: Hrouda B (ed) Methoden der arch€aologie. Eine einf€ uhrung in ihre naturwissenschaftlichen techniken. Verlag C.H. Beck, M€unchen, pp 175–207 Purrington RD (1988) Heliacal rising and setting: quantitative aspects. Archaeoastronomy 12 (Supplement to the Journal for the History for Astronomy 19), S72–S85 Rappengl€uck MA (1999) Eine himmelskarte aus der eiszeit? Ein beitrag zur urgeschichte der himmelskunde und zur pal€aoastronomischen methodik. Peter Lang, Franfurt-am-Main Renfrew C (1994) Towards a cognitive archaeology. In: Renfrew C, Zubrow EBW (eds) The ancient mind. Elements of cognitive archaeology. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, pp 3–12 Renfrew C, Bahn P (1991) Archaeology: theories methods and practice. Thames & Hudson, London Ruggles CLN (1999) Astronomy in prehistoric Britain and Ireland. Yale University Press, New Haven and London Ruggles CLN (2012) Pushing back the frontiers or still running around the same circles? “interpretative archaeoastronomy” thirty years on. In: Ruggles CLN (ed) Archaeoastronomy and ethnoastronomy: building bridges between cultures. (IAU symposium 278). Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, pp 1–18 Tilley C (1984) Ideology and the legitimation of power in the middle Neolithic of southern Sweden. In: Miller D, Tilley C (eds) Ideology power and prehistory. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, pp 111–146 Wittfogel KA (1957) Oriental despotism. A comparative study of total power. Yale University Press, New Haven

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Contents Archaeoastronomy and the History of Science . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Sources . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Astronomical and Cosmological Content . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cosmological Concepts . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Sun Watching Practices . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Luni-Solar Calendric Practices . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Stars and Constellations . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Historical Change . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Summary . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Abstract

Many varieties of historical evidence, ranging from the written records of outside observers to records generated within traditional cultures, can be drawn upon to illuminate and interpret astronomies in cultures. Such evidence provides historical insights into astronomical practices, cosmological concepts, and the roles that they played in these cultures. The historians’ perspective also illuminates the temporal changes of astronomical practices and concepts and can shed light on such classic issues in the history of science as the transmission of scientific ideas between and within cultures and the causes and nature of scientific change.

S.C. McCluskey Department of History, West Virginia University, Morgantown, WV, USA e-mail: [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_29, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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Archaeoastronomy and the History of Science The availability of written texts provides historians with a unique perspective for interpreting a culture’s understanding of the cosmos and the roles of that understanding in their societies. Historians of science have developed procedures for evaluating written texts – both specialized scholarly texts and other, more general ones – to interpret the astronomical thought of cultures that are separated from ours by time. There is a distinct overlap between the history of science and archaeo- or ethnoastronomy, which arises from their shared concern with a culture’s knowledge and understanding of events that take place in the sky. There is no need to quibble over whether we consider history of science to be one of the component disciplines that make up the field of archaeoastronomy (Aveni 2003, p. 150) or archaeoastronomy to be a subfield of the history of science (Kragh 1987, p. 199, n. 22). It doesn’t really matter whether early ways of understanding celestial phenomena “are studied by historians of science, archaeologists, or ethnologists, as long as they are studied” (Kragh 1987, p. 29). Nonetheless, the history of science has developed techniques for addressing the ways of knowing – in a word, the sciences – of other times and places that bring new perspectives to our understanding of the celestial concepts of indigenous peoples. In considering the history of astronomy, historians remain conscious of the different forms that the study of the heavens has taken in different societies, both in the different conceptual frameworks that different cultures have employed to organize their understanding of celestial phenomena and also in the different institutional contexts in which they investigate celestial phenomena. The earliest histories of science focused on the development of scientific ideas – occasionally venturing beyond purely scientific ideas to consider their interaction with contemporary philosophical or theological ideas. In its most extreme form, this “internal” history of science can become the history of disembodied scientific ideas, almost ignoring the historical agents who developed those ideas. Increasingly, the dominance of this internal history of science has been challenged, as historians increasingly came to consider new questions dealing with the roles of a wide range of “external” factors (such as economic interests, scientific institutions and professions, political and religious ideologies, and the like) on the development of science. This external history of science bears much in common with archaeoastronomy and ethnoastronomy, sharing their concern with the study of astronomies in cultures. Yet the traditional focus of the internal history of science on the intellectual content of the sciences of other times and places is also important to the study of archaeo- and ethnoastronomy. The concepts, methods, and concerns of traditional astronomies differ substantially from those of modern astronomy. One of our goals is to unravel the structure and meaning of these astronomical systems. When investigating the astronomies of traditional cultures, we must abandon a common assumption about astronomy, which assumes that the rapidly changing science of the last 400 years or so is normal and that other astronomies should be

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measured against some standard of progress. For progress is only half of the picture of science; its goal is not just to expand the realm of the known but to preserve what is known against error. Even modern scientists, professionally devoted to criticizing and transforming existing ideas, spend much of their time passing on what they know to their students.

Sources We can employ many kinds of historical sources to gain insights into the astronomies of traditional cultures. Most commonly employed in ethnoastronomical investigations are those formal ethnohistorical accounts which ethnographic observers prepared in the course of their investigations of particular aspects of an indigenous culture. There is, of course, a somewhat artificial distinction between ethnohistorical writings and contemporary anthropological fieldwork. These can be placed on a continuum between the raw data collected by field-workers and the interpretations that they, or later researchers, drew from such data. By this criterion, the twovolume collection that Elsie Clews Parsons edited from Alexander Stephen’s Hopi notebooks clearly falls near the ethnohistorical document end of the spectrum while Parsons’s own interpretations of Pueblo Indian Religion can best be categorized as anthropological research. Ethnographic documents commonly focus on those elements that the observer sees as particularly distinctive in the culture under observation; especially common are studies of ritual practices. Such accounts can range from the dispassionate (and often protective) writings of the ethnographer to the more critical (and sometimes hostile) examinations of the missionary. A related kind of document, directly applicable to ethnoastronomical investigations, concerns the details of the ritual or agricultural calendar, which can provide the names of the months, the divisions of the day and of the year, and the observational techniques used to establish these divisions of time. Overlapping with these studies of the calendar are collections of celestial lore of various kinds, including the names of celestial bodies, the ordering of the constellations, and the various ways that people structure their cosmos to relate the above and below, whether in terms of layers or celestial spheres, and the directions, whether in terms of the cardinal directions, the solstitial directions, or locally important places. The concern with locally important places leads us to the work of ethnogeographers, who gather a culture’s significant place names, connecting them to the culture’s ritual practices, astronomical observations, and cosmological framework. A repeated theme so far has been the concern with names of celestial bodies, of astronomical, cosmological, and calendric concepts and of astronomical and calendric devices, which are often found in the work of lexicographers and linguists. Some linguists have delved deeper into indigenous concepts of space and time as they appear in the original language. Such investigations can provide ethnoastronomers with unique insights into a culture’s astronomical and cosmological concepts and practices.

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Explorers, traders, and tourists can be considered as another class of outsiders whose descriptions of their contacts with a culture can provide insights into aspects of the culture’s astronomical and calendric practices. Some of these accounts describe ritual sites that were later destroyed but had formerly been used for astronomical observation or cosmological symbolism. Their accounts may also include dates of ritual and agricultural activities that are regulated by astronomical observations, which can be used to investigate the nature, precision, and historical consistency of the astronomical techniques regulating those activities. The other category of ethnohistorical records includes documents that were created by members of the culture under study. Occupying the border between ethnoastronomy and the history of science are explicitly astronomical texts, among which we can include Maya codices; Ancient and Medieval European astronomical treatises and tables; Chinese oracle bones; and Babylonian astronomical diaries, procedure texts, and ephemerides. Besides astronomical techniques, these texts can often provide insights into the cultural roles of astronomy and cosmology, topics of concern both to the ethnoastronomer and the social historian of science. Far removed from these explicitly astronomical documents is a culture’s folklore, much of it collected from indigenous consultants by ethnographic observers. Since folklore often reflects, implicitly or explicitly, indigenous cosmological concepts, it provides a further source of evidence for these concepts. More problematic, however, are attempts to interpret traditional myths as encoding astronomical knowledge. Some myths may incorporate astronomical elements, but there are serious epistemological difficulties in extracting a culture’s authentic astronomical knowledge from such ambiguous sources. Here, as with other elements of traditional cultures, interaction with living consultants can offer keys to an appropriate interpretation of the meaning of folklore. Contact with other cultures – typically with Western European culture – offers indigenous people new genres in which they can present their culture’s astronomical traditions. To some extent, these genres replicate the documents produced by outside observers, but they offer the additional insights and intimate cultural familiarity of someone raised in the culture. Among these documents we can include diaries and correspondence, which are often valuable for their insights into the day-to-day life of a culture, and, from an ethnoastronomical perspective, can provide dated descriptions of cultural events that are regulated by observations of astronomical phenomena. Some native people, such as Edward Dozier of Santa Clara Pueblo and Alfonso Ortiz of San Juan Pueblo, crossed the boundary into the academic community, producing scholarly studies of their communities that blended anthropological training with personal cultural experience. Others, such as the Igbo novelist Chinua Achebe and the Kiowa writer and poet N. Scott Momaday, adopted Western literary styles, incorporating astronomical and cosmological themes into some of their works. A further approach to depicting their culture is taken

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by indigenous artists and craftspeople, whose work often employs traditional astronomical or cosmological motifs or depicts traditional ritual or astronomical practices. Indigenous artifacts that contain representations of astronomical entities, phenomena, or cosmological concepts require significant interpretation by the modern researcher, drawing on knowledge of what other sources tell us about the particular astronomical tradition under study. Among these artifacts are star maps, which can be extremely difficult to interpret because of different traditions of representation, different categorization of celestial bodies, and different organizations of them into constellations. Representations of such celestial bodies as the Sun and Moon are more straightforward but require a familiarity with the culture’s iconography and standards of artistic representation. Depictions of the cosmos are often ambiguous by themselves but can provide valuable insights into a culture’s cosmology when read in the context of ethnographic evidence drawn from the specific culture under study or from related cultures that developed similar cosmological structures. The relation of astronomy to a culture’s concepts of time is further illustrated by calendric devices such as monumental calendars of various kinds and devices individuals use to tally the passage of days such as calendar sticks and knotted cords.

Astronomical and Cosmological Content The significance of historical texts is not always obvious; they must be read carefully with awareness of the cultural context in which and the purposes for which they were written. Yet with careful interpretation they can provide insights into specific aspects of a culture’s astronomy and cosmology.

Cosmological Concepts Archaeoastronomical researchers must keep in mind the conceptual differences between modern astronomy and the astronomies of the peoples we are studying, differences which reflect and inform the ways they observe events in the sky. Our task is to make the astronomies of other cultures intelligible to readers whose chief familiarity with astronomy may be with the modern Western variety. Historical sources often provide the needed insights into other cosmologies.

Above and Below A common element found in descriptions of indigenous American cosmologies is a layered cosmos, divided into the above and the below. In 1894 an ethnographic field-worker, Alexander Stephen sent a description (SI/NAA [14 Feb 1894]) which he had obtained from Sakwistiwa, a Hopi ritual leader and Sun watcher, to Jesse Fewkes

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of the Bureau of American Ethnography. This provides one of the clearest descriptions of the Hopi dualism relating winter and summer, the above and the below: Broadly speaking there are but two seasons, Winter and Summer – or Cold and Heat. When it is Winter here (in the Above), it is Summer in the Below, in the land of M€ u-i-yɩ˘n˜-wuˆ [the spirit of germination] – and vice versa. Now, at present, (this February Moon) is Po-wa´-m€ ur-i-ya´-wuˆ, its counterpart is Na-ca´nm€ ur-i-ya´-wuˆ (September) – hence in the Below, all fruits are now ripe – all vegetation is full grown. That Na-ca´n moon that is now shining in the land of M€ ur-i-yı˘n˜-wuˆ, when it comes to the above and shines upon us next September – will bring us just the same amounts of fruits and vegetation as are now growing in the Below. This is why we hold this divining ceremony (Powamuˆ) now in progress – we want to know what kind of harvest to expect next September!

This historical document provides a key to unravel many elements of Hopi cosmology, calendar, and ritual. Above these two layers, the Hopi recognize a third layer in the sky. Mesoamerican sources depict a more complex layered cosmology rather than the simple three-layered cosmos of the Hopi. In the sixteenth century the Franciscan friar, Bernardino de Sahagun, collected accounts in Nahuatl from Aztec sages (tlamatinime) of their view of the cosmos, which his informants traced back to the Toltecs: And the Toltecs knew that many are the heavens. They said there are twelve superimposed divisions. There dwells the true god and his consort. The celestial god is called the Lord of duality. And his consort is called the Lady of duality, the celestial Lady; which means he is king, he is Lord, above the twelve heavens. (Leo´n-Portilla 1963, pp. 81–84)

In this version of the cosmos, we see 12 layers in the above, over which is a thirteenth occupied by the dual god/goddess Ometeotl and nine further layers in the below.

Cosmic Directions The historical record indicates that different cultures have established different directions as their primary cosmological directions. Most common are the cardinal directions north, south, east, and west, but another set of directions based on the local directions of solstitial sunrise and sunset has also been taken as primary. Indigenous myths provide evidence for the ordering of space and for the conception that the four directions were seen as primordial. The sixteenth-century Quiche´ Maya book, the Popol Vuh, describes the origins of the world: the emergence of all the sky-earth: the fourfold siding, fourfold cornering measuring, fourfold staking, halving the cord, stretching the cord in the sky, on the earth the four sides, the four corners. (Tedlock 1985, pp. 72, 243–5)

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Fig. 22.1 Olmec tablet showing the cosmic directions. Ahuelican, Guerrero, Mexico; Highland Olmec, ca. 900–500 BC Modern colored lines enhance the visibility of incised markings. Dallas Museum of Art, Dallas Art Association purchase, 1968.33, with permission

Similarly, an Acoma origin myth tells us that the first thing the people did after emerging from the underworld into the present world was to name the directions: east where the Sun rose, south to their right, north to their left, west behind them, the below from whence they had come, and over their heads the above (Stirling 1942, pp. 2–3). The cosmic directions and their symbolic associations are a common artistic motif. For example, they are depicted in an Olmec tablet (Fig. 22.1) dated between 900 and 500 BCE (Coe et al. 1995, p. 234), in Aztec and Maya codices (Fig. 22.2) (Aveni 2001, pp. 148–152), in sand paintings (Fig. 22.3) recorded by nineteenthcentury ethnographers (Stephen 1936, pp. 596, 696, 736; Voth 1901, pp. 88–94), and in modern indigenous art. The endurance of such a motif over millennia in historically related cultures strengthens our interpretation of its significance. Although written evidence for a culture’s directional concepts is generally less ambiguous than artistic representations, even texts must be interpreted with caution. Between 1894 and 1898, the Mennonite missionary H. R. Voth regularly observed the Powamu ceremonies at the village of Oraibi, where he transcribed Hopi ritual chants to the directions (Voth 1901, pp. 143–148). He translated all the directions named in the chants by the cardinal directions north, west, south, and east. He was apparently unaware of the fact, discovered in 1893 by Alexander Stephen (SI/NAA 29 June 1893), that “the Hopi orientation bears no relation to North and South, but to the points on his horizon [the Sun’s houses] which mark the places of sunrise and sunset at the summer and winter solstices”, a finding confirmed by later ethnographic and linguistic studies. Since Voth published the chants in both Hopi and in English, it is possible to correct his translations of the ritual chants to relate them to

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Fig. 22.2 Aztec codex showing the cosmic directions. Codex Feje´rva´ry-Mayer, a pre-Hispanic calendar codex from central Mexico (Image # Foundation for the Advancement of Mesoamerican Studies, Inc., www.famsi.org, with permission)

the appropriate Hopi directions. Only the Hopi texts provide the crucial evidence to resolve the inconsistency between Voth and later writers. A comparable ambiguity has been pointed out for Maya texts, where it has been noted that the glyphs commonly read as north and south can be read as zenith and nadir (Bricker 1983). Conversely, the Tewa anthropologist, Alfonso Ortiz (1972, pp. 18–21), described the directional concepts at San Juan Pueblo so clearly that we can be certain Tewa directions correspond to the conventional cardinal directions.

Sun Watching Practices Shortly after the Spanish conquest of Peru, many colonial observers, both immigrants from Spain and native Peruvians, recorded Inca ritual customs and

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Fig. 22.3 Hopi sand mosaic showing the cosmic directions. Oraibi, Arizona, USA, late 19th. c. Voth (1901), Plate XLVII

observational practices. The attitudes of these writers varied, some described practices they condemned, some described practices as an interested outsider, while others described practices from the perspective of a native who still saw much of value in Inca culture. Few of these authors have astronomy or cosmology as their primary concern, yet their accounts have been studied (e.g., Aveni 1981; Zuidema 1982) as evidence for astronomical practices and their role in Inca culture. Perhaps most noteworthy were the accounts of the Inca use of pillars erected on the ridges of nearby mountains as markers for observing sunrise or sunset against the local horizon. Field investigations have been generally unsuccessful in finding archaeological remains of these pillars in the Inca capital of Cuzco, where they were described. However, remains of such pillars have been found in outlying areas, most notably at the Island of the Sun in Lake Titicaca, where the archaeological remains have been interpreted as reflecting different forms of observation of June solstice sunset by elite and nonelite worshippers (Dearborn et al. 1998). The meaning of historical texts is often ambiguous. A report by the sixteenthcentury Franciscan, Toribio de Benavente Motolinia, says that on the feast of Tlacaxipehualiztli, which falls on the equinox, “the sun stood in the middle of” the temple of Huitzilopochtli, the Temple Mayor of Tenochtitlan (modern Mexico City). In 1912, Alfred Maudslay recognized this as indicating an equinoctial orientation of the temple. Anthony Aveni and his colleagues (Aveni et al. 1988) investigated the details of this orientation and, considering the elevation of the temple, concluded that an observer sufficiently close to the temple would see the Sun rising over the temple on the day of the astronomical equinox. Sˇprajc (2000,

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pp. S24–S26) has noted, however, that the description is ambiguous. The orientation of the temple could be to sunset rather than sunrise, and not to the astronomical equinox but to the nominal equinox of 25 March, which was a traditionally accepted date for the spring equinox in Christian liturgical calendars and was also the date of the feast of Tlacaxipehualiztli in 1519. Details of observational practices used to regulate elements of the calendar are often described in the ethnohistorical record. A number of records from the Puebloan Southwest identify the location of horizon Sun markers, including the places where the Sun rises and sets at the solstices, called the Sun’s houses, so clearly (Stephen 1936; Zeilik 1985) that it has been possible to measure their location and compare the results of modern astronomical computations with the historical records of dated events in the solar calendar (McCluskey 1990).

Luni-Solar Calendric Practices Ethnographic documents from many cultures often list the names of the months, providing a basic framework for understanding how cultures use the Moon to mark the passage of time. The phases of the Moon define the lunar month, providing familiar indicators that divide the year into 12 or 13 readily distinguishable parts. These lunar indicators can be related to seasonal indicators such as hunting or agricultural activities, the appearance or disappearance of selected stars, or the arrival of the Sun at specific horizon markers. Modern astronomy demonstrates that 12 moons or lunar months are about 11 days short of the tropical year, which marks the turning of the seasons. If a culture seeks to relate lunar to solar indicators, on the average they will insert a thirteenth moon into the year every 2 or 3 years – strictly speaking every 2.7154. . . years. Lacking a continuous count of months, such periodic intercalation may go unnoticed (Nilsson 1920, pp. 242–243). Mathematically advanced cultures determined various regular systems of intercalation, such as inserting 3 months every 8 years or 7 months every 19 years. However, any culture that attempts to relate a particular named moon to a seasonal activity – say planting moon – will appear to be periodically intercalating an extra month into an assumed cycle of the months, without any explicit concern with a full annual cycle of 12 or 13 months or any knowledge of astronomical periods. Such a discontinuous system of time reckoning (Nilsson 1920, pp. 9, 359–362) can form a regular pattern of in which the naming of specific moons is guided by seasonal indicators. Although the ethnographic record frequently reports the use of the phases of the Moon as temporal indicators, there is little evidence of the use of the position of the Moon on the horizon to mark the passage of time. Alexander Stephen (SI/NAA Jan 18, 1894) describes a discussion with three Hopi experts who concluded that “The Moon chief is a man – & is so called (Muriyawuˆ Mon˜wi) but does not seem to be held in much veneration, in fact they say he is Ka-ho´-pi ¼ foolish. He has no house...”. This report of the Moon’s lack of a house, which would correspond to the Sun’s houses where he rises or sets at the solstices, suggests that, despite observing the Moon, these experts had not identified the lunar standstills.

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Chinua Achebe’s novel Arrow of God provides insights into traditional Igbo calendric practice. Achebe describes (1964, pp. 1–3, 259) how the protagonist, the chief priest of Ulu in a traditional community, keeps track of the time from one harvest to the next by roasting one of twelve sacred yams each time he observes the thin crescent Moon. Quantitative information on the functioning of astronomical calendars can be extracted from historical records giving the dates of events – chiefly rituals – that are fixed in the astronomical calendar. The preservation of such documentation relies on the contingent circumstances of the presence of a literate culture to record these events. The Puebloan cultures of the southwestern United States, particularly the Hopi and Zuni pueblos, provided an example of an intact ritual calendar that was well documented in a variety of sources in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. Between 1877 and 1963, 84 % of the performances of the biennial Hopi Snake Dance were recorded (McCluskey 1981) in ethnographic documents (36 %), newspaper reports (38 %), and records from explorers and other travelers (12 %), from nearby residents (12 %), and from native writers (2 %). Most of these records were already published, but a small group of manuscript materials (23 %) could only be found by examining archival and museum collections. Such records lead to insights into the pattern by which Puebloan calendars related named moons to solar observations (McCluskey 1977). Such quantitative data must be supplemented by ethnographic (Zeilik 1986) and linguistic (Malotki 1983, pp. 343–379) records if we are to understand the principles underlying these calendars. Among these ethnographic accounts are reports that many of the Puebloan peoples divide the year in halves, giving the same names to the summer and winter moons. As Alexander Stephen reported (SI/NAA Jan 11 1894), the Hopi “frequently illustrate this by laying the five fingers of the right hand above the fingers of the left – saying ’for sure they are alike’”.

Stars and Constellations A common element in collecting ethnographic and linguistic information is the collection of star names, which have obvious application to ethnoastronomical research. The Franciscan missionary, Berard Haile (1977), published a noteworthy description of Navajo stars and constellations, based on star maps he had collected in 1908 from the Navajo singer, Son of the Late Cane (gisˇi•n` bige’), supplemented by later information. Haile did not attempt to establish European equivalents for most of these constellations or to compute their seasonal appearances. He did, however, collect valuable information about their mythological significances and their uses in ceremonials. Artifacts such as star charts, depictions of significant constellations on objects (e.g., ritual rattles) and on the walls of structures, provide further indications of the stars that a culture considers important. For example, the Pleiades and Orion were the only fixed star groups depicted on the wall of the Chief Kiva in Walpi Pueblo and these are the only constellations reported in the ethnographic literature as being

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used by the Hopi for timekeeping, principally to indicate the middle of early winter ceremonies by their passage through the meridian (Stephen 1936, p. 233 and passim). In the first decade of the twentieth century, the ethnographer Theodor KochGr€ unberg published a collection of drawings by people of the upper Amazon, including two sky charts. Stephen Hugh-Jones (1982) combined this ethnographic material with his own fieldwork to identify stars in these early depictions and to unravel the cosmological concepts of the Barasana people. His research confirmed the continuing significance of these early constellation names. One group of constellations, led by the Caterpillar Jaguar, dominated the wet season and most of these constellation names had negative connotations. A second group of constellations, led by the Pleiades, dominated the dry season – the time of abundant food – and most of these constellation names had positive connotations. That this interpretation draws on both ethnographic data and recent fieldwork indicates the stability of astronomical concepts over almost a century in related cultures.

Historical Change Archaeoastronomy and ethnoastronomy, like the history of science, are concerned with the empirical and theoretical content of a culture’s knowledge of celestial occurrences, with the individuals and groups that developed and used astronomical theories and practices and with the cultural context in which these individuals, groups, ideas, and practices functioned. Historical study adds to these a concern with the process by which these changed over time. To the extent that history of science treats the development of science, it tends to focus on moments of scientific change – on discoveries and their discoverers. To the extent that archaeoastronomy and ethnoastronomy are concerned with the relatively static astronomical practices and ideas of socially conservative cultures, they pay less attention to the process of change. Archaeoastronomy and ethnoastronomy deal with a kind of routine measurement similar to those that Thomas Kuhn (1962, pp. 24–30) has associated with “normal science”. Traditional thinkers, like practitioners of normal science, operate within a scientific paradigm that has been accepted by their community. A significant difference, however, is that while observations within Kuhn’s normal science may produce anomalies which challenge the dominant paradigm’s validity (Kuhn 1962, pp. 5–6, 82–83), the astronomical observations of traditional cultures seldom lead to challenges of their dominant paradigm but usually serve to demonstrate its continued validity. Robin Horton (1967, pp. 169–176) explained this difference in emphasis by maintaining that, for a variety of reasons, practitioners of traditional systems of thought are less open to change, having a stronger commitment to their ideas than the modern scientists’ commitment to their dominant paradigm. Yet looking at traditional astronomies from a historical perspective, we see that they are not totally static and unchanging. There are instances when astronomical practices change, adapting knowledge of the heavens to the changing concerns of their societies. Consider several examples illustrating the various aspects of these changes.

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Maya inscriptions enabled Aldana (2007) to locate the development of a new technique of astronomical calculation, the Maya 819-day period, in a community of scholars associated with the seventh-century court of Janaab’ Pakal of Palenque and his successors. This period simplified Maya computations of intervals incorporating significant astronomical and calendric periods, which connected historical events in the reigns of their patrons to their mythological antecedents thousands of years in the past. Aldana proposed that such astronomical calculations were employed to provide dynastic legitimization, serving the purposes of specific historical actors in specific historical contexts. The historical record of Hopi festival dates demonstrates that the dates of astronomically determined festivals changed during the twentieth century, reflecting the influence of the seven-day week and the consequent need to adopt festivals to the weekend (McCluskey 1981). Lo´pez (2011) identified a change in the context and content of cosmological discourse by comparing the ethnographic record with current practices among the Mocovi and Toba of the Argentinian Chaco. Traditionally, cosmological knowledge had been passed on orally from adults to children. In modern society, however, a whole series of new venues, such as schools and churches, and new media, including print, audio, and video recordings, facilitated the emergence of new cosmological experts who reinterpreted traditional cosmology. None of these constitute the kind of revolutionary scientific change described by Kuhn. The Hopi change is a minor adjustment of existing calendric practice while the Mocovi and Toba changes reflect fundamental shifts in sources of cosmological authority, both under the influence of European culture. However, the emergence of the Maya 819-day cycle represents a progressive change of astronomical technique developed within the established paradigm of Maya calendric calculations.

Summary Historical documents serve two important functions in archaeoastronomical and ethnoastronomical study. Most simply, they provide complementary strands of evidence which enrich and strengthen our interpretations of a culture’s astronomical, calendric, and cosmological concepts and practices and of their roles in society. Uniquely, however, they also provide a temporal dimension to astronomies that can too easily be seen as static and unchanging.

Cross-References ▶ Cultural Interpretation of Archaeological Evidence Relating to Astronomy ▶ Cultural Interpretation of Ethnographic Evidence Relating to Astronomy ▶ Disciplinary Perspectives on Archaeoastronomy

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References Achebe C (1964) Arrow of God. William Heineman, London Aldana G (2007) The apotheosis of Janaab’ Pakal: science, history, and religion at classic Maya Palenque. University Press of Colorado, Boulder Aveni AF (1981) Horizon astronomy in Incaic Cuzco. In: Williamson RA (ed) Archaeoastronomy in the Americas. Ballena Press/Center for Archaeoastronomy, Los Altos/College Park, pp 305–318 Aveni AF (2001) Skywatchers. University of Texas Press, Austin Aveni AF (2003) Archaeoastronomy in the ancient Americas. J Archaeol Res 11:149–191 Aveni AF, Calnek EE, Hartung H (1988) Myth, environment, and the orientation of the templo mayor of Tenochtitlan. Am Antiq 54:287–309 Bricker VR (1983) Directional glyphs in Maya inscriptions and codices. Am Antiq 48:347–353 Coe MD, Diehl RA, Freidel DA, Furst PT, Kent Reilly F, Schele L III, Tate CE, Taube KA (1995) The olmec world: ritual and rulership. The Art Museum, Princeton University, Princeton Dearborn DSP, Seddon MT, Bauer B (1998) The sanctuary of Titicaca: where the Sun returns to the Earth. Lat Am Antiq 9:240–258 Haile B (1977/1947) Starlore among the Navaho. William Gannon, Santa Fe Horton R (1967) African traditional thought and western science. Africa: J Int African Inst 37(50–71):155–187 Hugh-Jones S (1982) The pleades and scorpius in barasana cosmology. In: Aveni AF, Gary U (eds) Ethnoastronomy and archaeoastronomy in the American tropics, vol 385. Annals of the New York Academy of Sciences, New York, pp 183–201 Kragh H (1987) An introduction to the historiography of science. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge Kuhn TS (1962) The structure of scientific revolutions. University of Chicago Press, Chicago Leo´n-Portilla M (1963) Aztec thought and culture: a study of the ancient nahuatl mind. University of Oklahoma Press, Norman Lo´pez AM (2011) New words for old skies: recent forms of cosmological discourse among the aboriginal people of the argentinian Chaco. In: Ruggles CLN (ed) Archaeoastronomy and ethnoastronomy: building bridges between cultures. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, pp 74–83 Malotki E (1983) Hopi time: a linguistic analysis of the temporal concepts in the Hopi language. Mouton, Berlin McCluskey SC (1977) The Astronomy of the Hopi Indians. J Hist Astron 8:174–195 McCluskey SC (1981) Transformations of the Hopi calendar. In: Williamson RA (ed) Archaeoastronomy in the Americas. Ballena Press/Center for Archaeoastronomy, Los Altos/College Park, pp 173–182 McCluskey SC (1990) Calendars and symbolism: functions of observation in Hopi astronomy. Archaeoastronomy 15 (Supplement to the Journal for the History for Astronomy 21):S1–S16 Nilsson MP (1920) Primitive time reckoning: a study in the origins and first development of the art of counting time among the primitive and early culture peoples. Skrifter utgivna av humanistica Vetenskapsaamfundet i Lund, vol 1. C. W. K. Gleerup, Lund Ortiz A (1972) The Tewa world: space, time, being, and becoming in a Pueblo society. University of Chicago Press, Chicago Smithsonian Institution, National Anthropological Archives (SI/NAA) (1850–1930) Jesse Walter Fewkes Papers, MS 4408(4) Sˇprajc I (2000) Astronomical alignments at the templo major of Tenochtitlan, Mexico. Archaeoastronomy 25 (Supplement to the Journal for the History for Astronomy 31):S11–S40 Stephen AM (1936) Hopi journal of Alexander M. Stephen. In: Parsons EC (ed) Columbia University contributions to anthropology, vol 23. Columbia University Press, New York Stirling MW (1942) Origin myth of Acoma and other records. Bureau of American Ethnology Bulletin, vol 135 GPO, Washington

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Tedlock D (trans) (1985) Popol Vuh: the definitive edition of the Mayan book of the dawn of life and the glories of gods and kings. Simon and Schuster, New York Voth HR (1901) The Oraibi Powamu ceremony, vol 61. Field Columbian Museum Publication, Anthropological Series, vol 3(2). Field Columbian Museum, Chicago Zeilik M (1985) The ethnoastronomy of the historic pueblos, I: Calendrical sun watching. Archaeoastronomy 8 (Supplement to the Journal for the History for Astronomy 16):S1–S24 Zeilik M (1986) The ethnoastronomy of the historic pueblos, II: moon watching. Archaeoastronomy 10 (Supplement to the Journal for the History for Astronomy 17):S1–S22 Zuidema RT (1982) Catachillay: the role of the Pleiades and of the Southern Cross and a and b Centauri in the calendar of the Inca. In: Aveni AF, Urton G (eds) Ethnoastronomy and archaeoastronomy in the American tropics, vol 385. Annals of the New York Academy of Sciences, New York, pp 203–229

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Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The “Ethno” Issue . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Identity as a “Border Phenomenon” . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Interethnic Systems . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The “Culture” Trap . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Fieldwork . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cosmovision and Cosmology . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Body and Person . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Sky and Territory . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Orality and Writing . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Change and Continuity . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Final Words . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Abstract

In this chapter, on the basis that ethnoastronomy deals with social facts, we discuss key concepts that should be problematized in ethnoastronomical studies. We deal with the denaturalization of categories such as ethnicity, identity, territory, culture, body, cosmovision, and cosmology, using contemporary ideas about these issues in the social sciences. Our aim is to show the relevance of this methodological reflection to the construction and interpretation of ethnographic evidence related to astronomy.

A.M. Lo´pez Seccio´n de Etnologı´a, Instituto de Ciencias Antropolo´gicas, Facultad de Filosofı´a y Letras, Universidad de Buenos Aires, Buenos Aires, Argentina e-mail: [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_14, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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Introduction Ethnoastronomy is an important part of the academic field of cultural astronomy (Ruggles and Saunders 1993; Iwaniszewski 1994). Using ethnographic and anthropological techniques, it deals with practices relating to, and representations of, the sky of different human societies and their processes of construction and change (Iwaniszewski 1991). These are social facts and these social characteristics are the proper starting point for any interpretation of the ethnographic evidence related to astronomy. We are social beings and all our productions are social facts. It is especially true that the construction of cosmological systems, techniques of observation, and methods of interpretation of sky phenomena have in general great relevance for the groups’ interests and need great amounts of collective effort. The most important consequence of this is that the interpretation of ethnoastronomical data must use the tools of social theory and must connect with debates in the social sciences. Not taking into account the major debates in anthropology, sociology, or the cognitive sciences leaves investigations in ethnoastronomy as merely collections of curious anecdotes. Scholars who come from astronomy usually do not take into account these important issues. This leads them to use their commonsense social conceptions instead of scientific analytical categories. Concepts such as space, territory, person, body, identity, and culture must be denaturalized in order to use them as fruitful scientific categories. In what follows, we examine some central questions related to ethnoastronomic research.

The “Ethno” Issue An initial issue is the real scope of the prefix “ethno”. Its origin is related to the social division of academic work in Western academia and the colonial enterprise. During the nineteenth century, sociology was entrusted with the study of the “we” and anthropology with the study of the “others”. At that time, in Western academia, the “we” meant Western society – especially the industrial and capitalistic order – and the “others” were all the different human groups that were viewed as earlier stages in human societies’ “evolution”. This “otherness” also included groups within Western society who were conceptualized as “minorities” that were hindrances to progress, for example, small peasant communities. This conceptualization, related to theories of social evolution and the politics of colonial expansion, linked the human groups associated with anthropology to the “other”, the “past stages”, the “small scale”, and the “simplicity” of social order. The prefix “ethno” – from the Greek word for “people or nation”, especially used for the non-Greeks – was assigned to these groups; it was the subject of study for ethnographers and anthropologists. These ideas also led to a methodological division between the predominant “macro” and “quantitative” methods of sociology and the “micro” and “qualitative” methods of anthropology.

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During the twentieth century, this division was deconstructed and criticized, especially after the beginning of the process of decolonization in the 1950s. Although the structure of the academic field tends to reproduce this separation, many authors at that time led studies with an anthropological perspective on “complex” societies, including Western ones (Redfield and Singer 1954; Glazer and Moynihan 1963; Banton 1966; Warner 1959; Whyte 1943). In accordance with this, we strongly suggest that the idea of “ethno” must be conceived in a broader sense, as one of the ways of attempting the sociocultural construction of a group’s identities (others are gender, social class, age, etc.), including in the Western world. In the specific case of ethnicity, we can quickly say that it is “an aspect of social relationship between agents who consider themselves [and/or are considerer by the others] as culturally distinctive from members of other groups with whom they have a minimum of regular interaction” (Eriksen 1993). Ethnicity is a relational phenomenon, linked to the relations between groups and not to properties of the groups in isolation (Eriksen 1993). In this perspective, ethnoastronomy must be understood as the study of practices and representations about the sky in any culture, using the methodological tools of anthropology.

Identity as a “Border Phenomenon” Classical studies tend to support the idea that ethnic identities are constructed around a common origin and/or territory and/or culture. The discourse of many ethnic groups appeals to such internal characteristics in order to define themselves as a group, but these arguments are only the tip of the iceberg. In practice, a list of characteristics does not define whether someone belongs to a given ethnic group. It is a complex interplay between auto-ascription and the ascription made by others that defines ethnic identities. As Barth (1976) points out, the construction of group identities (ethnic identities included) is in the first place a matter of the construction of frontiers with others. Ethnicity is a dimension of identity which, in common with other aspects of identity, is deeply related to the establishment of boundary relationships with an “other” rather than a specific set of features that would characterize a “we”. For all these reasons, in ethnoastronomical investigations we can and should study both Western and non-Western societies. The “ethno” is a perspective, a type of approach that can be used with all types of societies. One of the methodological cornerstones of such an approach is the deconstruction of what researchers regard as “common sense”. And one of the first categories that we must deconstruct is the group identity of the people that we study. The construction and definition of group identity is in fact one of the matters in which some astronomical groups of traditions or cosmological conceptions can play a major role (Barth 1987). This anthropological strangeness, the process of transforming familiar, commonsense things into strange or unfamiliar ones, is far from simple. When we study societies whose practices are very distant, we can certainly find it extremely difficult to leave behind our own assumptions. This can make it impossible to perceive some of “their”

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fundamental practices or concepts. But when we study a culture that is very close to us – such as the academic astronomer’s own – we are at risk of taking some key concepts for granted. Both kinds of study are necessary. Yet there is a notorious lack of ethnographic studies of astronomical practices in “Western” societies. Here I refer both to academic culture and to other Western astronomical cultures that might be referred to as “popular astronomical traditions” in the sense that they are not transmitted by official learning institutions. A very interesting case is that of Creole and European immigrant traditions within rural South America, which are very important in contextualizing studies on aboriginal astronomies in this region (▶ Chap. 81, “Ethnoastronomy in the Multicultural Context of the Agricultural Colonies in Northern Santa Fe Province, Argentina”).

Interethnic Systems Because of this relational characteristic of ethnic identity, it is not possible in ethnoastronomy to study a single group without making reference to the interethnic system in which the group is included. If we “focus” upon one group as an analytical tool, we cannot avoid the relations with their “others”. And these relations are not static. They have a history and this history defines at every moment the borders of each group and the nature of those frontiers. Studies that deal with one of these interactive systems are especially interesting (▶ Chap. 80, “Astronomy in the Chaco Region, Argentina”). It is important to remember that at the present moment, the local, the regional, and the global scales are in constant interaction. This is certainly not a “never seen” phenomenon (Wallerstein 2006; Sahlins 1990); indeed globalization has given this issue considerable relevance (Appadurai 1995). Even the most remote hunter-gatherer groups of the Amazonian forest occupy a place in a complex network of relations at regional and global scales. Goods, people, identity models, and also astronomical knowledge and practices circulate between different regions of the world. However, interethnic systems and postmodern globalization are hierarchically ordered systems. Power relations are fundamental to the configuration of the relationships between human groups – as are the relationships inside the groups. In many cultures, the sky is a space linked with power representations. For this reason, it usually plays an important role in ideas about power relations (▶ Chap. 13, “Interactions Between ‘Indigenous’ and ‘Colonial’ Astronomies: Adaptation of Indigenous Astronomies in the Modern World”). This reinforces the relevance of taking into account interethnic “friction” (Cardoso de Oliveira 2007) in our studies.

The “Culture” Trap To develop such political aspects in our ethnoastronomical studies, we need to avoid the trap of certain dangerous uses of the concept of culture. Ethnoastronomy

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and cultural astronomy are frequently seen as part of the popularization of “cultural studies” and the multiculturalism policy of the 1980s. This conceptual framework has certainly legitimized our studies and given them a visibility they did not have before. But it also brings certain risks deriving from a “domesticated” vision of culture. From this point of view, the “cultural” realm is divorced from social, economic, and political processes. This conception of what is “cultural” serves to provide a comfortable margin whereby we can speak about differences and “respect them” while the social, economic, and political processes drive toward forced homogenization. The work of ethnographers must not encourage this ideological use of the “culture” concept that supports the subjugation of minority groups. Because of the respect that astronomical knowledge engenders both in the academic world and among the public, studies in ethnoastronomy have a huge potential for raising awareness of and promoting minority groups, particularly in connection with educational institutions.

Fieldwork In ethnoastronomical studies, fieldwork must be central, as it is in general for anthropology. Fieldwork requires a complex set of abilities and techniques. Many handbooks of ethnography, e.g., Hammersley and Atkinson (1994), can help researchers who come from non-social disciplines. Courses taught by qualified ethnographers who are well trained in anthropological theory are very important too. However, nothing can replace the direct experience of doing fieldwork accompanied by qualified researchers. Fieldwork training is a training for our mind and body, and the copresence is essential for that process. The archaeoastronomer’s toolbox contains a long list of techniques: unstructured, semi-structured, and structured interviews and opinion polls; records in the form of notes, audio, or video; the preparation and use of drawings and diagrams; etc. But the central technique must be the participant’s observation. In it, the researcher gets involved, in various degrees, in the everyday life of the culture she/he is studying, and this permits us to study culture as a whole and as a living thing. In that way, it is possible to give meaning to the different astronomical data collected from different sources – including the participant observation itself. Rules about the naming of babies and the classification of trees can reveal in an unexpected way complex connections with knowledge about the stars (Baru´a 2001). For this reason, other techniques such as structured interviews and opinion polls must, if possible, be used in connection with participant observation. An interesting technique, very useful with interlocutors from a group under study who have sufficient confidence in the researcher, is a planetarium. If the scholar is familiar with its global cultural context, then they can use a planetarium to reconstruct the configuration of the sky at many different times of the year and to simulate phenomena that are rarely visible for one reason or another. However, it is important to be aware of the impact that the planetarium and the simulations that

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can be performed inside it can have on the interlocutors. For many of them, the planetarium and its celestial projections are very particular and unusual experiences. In social space, “neutral positions” do not exist. This means that the researcher always influences the behavior of the group. We are always somebody for those whose culture we study. First and foremost, then, we must strive to comprehend the roles that they assign to us. This, combined with the exchange of perspectives with other researchers who work in the same culture and who have been assigned other roles, allows us to improve our understanding. Ethnographic sampling techniques (which are not similar to statistical sampling) help us to expand our points of view, working with diverse interlocutors. These help us to avoid the risk of not paying attention to women, young people, children, adolescents, and other groups’ perspectives that the researcher’s prejudices might tend to occult. In the field, the researcher must keep an open attitude, and it is important to practice an “epistemological surveillance” about the mental models and metaphors being used to make interpretations. Theories have a central role, but it is important to keep these under control. In order to achieve this, it is necessary in the first place to be aware of the theories that we use. In the second place, we must use such theories as “maps” or simplified models of reality; their usefulness lies precisely in that they are simpler than reality itself. These maps are constructed with particular aims in mind and are always open to improvement. The choice of some theoretical model is also linked to the nature and objectives of a specific piece of research. As regards more specific theoretical frameworks, collaborative work coordinated on a regional level can provide a solid basis for the construction of middle-range theories.

Cosmovision and Cosmology Ethnoastronomers usually focus their researches on explicit systems of astronomical knowledge or practice. Related to that, they particularly attend to the opinions of the elites of specialists in astronomy from the culture studied. Obviously, the study of explicit systems of astronomy and the knowledge and practices of the specialists is a very interesting topic. But there are two important problems when taking this as the only focus of research in ethnoastronomy. First, in nonhierarchical societies there do not exist clearly distinctive groups of astronomy specialists. Second, systematic knowledge is constructed upon the foundations of commonsense knowledge. This form of knowledge is acquired during everyday life, by means of the processes of primary socialization. This knowledge is structured not in an explicit and “juridical” or “legal” way. We are making reference to “logics of practice” (Bourdieu 2007), orientated to practical ends. The logics of practice are only coherent in a general sense and to some extent, and their incompleteness is part of their nature. This logic is incorporated mainly by the body and in the body and the configuring “habitus” (Bourdieu 1997) – a system of durable dispositions, structures that are structured (by practice) and structuring (affect practice). Bourdieu understands structure as a set of organizing principles of action, whose

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systematicity is in the actions themselves; there are regularities in this, but historically constructed ones. From these perspectives, to say that an agent has a habitus means that the agent tends to act from a set of knowledge, preferences, and feelings, based on past experience, that have been transformed into a more-or-less stable principle of action. The habitus is a “common sense” or “sense of play” that allows agents to act and to direct their conscious perception of the situation and develop appropriate responses to it, as a sort of “smell” that suggests how to anticipate future developments from the current situation (Bourdieu 1997, p. 40). Following this approach, we will use the term cosmovision or worldview to refer to something fundamentally collective, not consciously developed, and apprehended particularly through social praxis, shaped by the social trajectory of each individual. There is no consistent set of norms or prescriptions about reality but a collection of regularities that can be drawn between practices and representations that are socially constructed and internalized by different individuals in society. These common notions about the nature of the world are strongly associated with specific social values (sometimes the specific term “ethos” is used). We reserve the term cosmology for explicit constructions, with claims of systematicity, consciously elaborated on the basis of a worldview as underlying substrate. Cosmologies are usually constructed primarily by individuals who are members of specialist elites or occupy leadership positions. Such a development frequently occurs in the context of leadership struggles. In this context, cosmologies provide the ideological foundation of each faction. That is why cosmological controversies are often true symbolic struggles to define what the world is in order to sustain the validity of a certain social order. Both cosmologies and cosmovisions are objects of ethnoastronomy research. In order to understand their relations and deep meaning, a holistic approximation to the society under study and the careful observation of everyday life are required. Furthermore, in this direction, Marshall Sahlins’ concepts of mythopraxis and symbolic refunctionalization (Sahlins 1988, 2006) provide us a way of understanding how cosmologies are not static and function as a form of historical conscience (Gow 2001).

Body and Person According to the discussion above, we see that ideas and practices relating to the sky have much to do with the human experience of living and dwelling. Life experience is anchored to the body and simultaneously conforms to it. That is why – despite what researchers often seem to assume – the sky is not confined to the field of mental representations. This experiential nature makes it essential to include in ethnoastronomical research an approach from the body (Csordas 1999). The body is not only the social locus; it is socially constructed at the same time. We must consider “astronomical culture” to be a lived experience that is lived from the body, where perception and action have a role as important as representation. Moreover, we need to understand how astronomical bodies are also socially constructed through daily practice that inscribes in them social divisions in terms of views and practices. Researchers must denaturalize their ideas about body and

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person, to consider that every society is constructed in particular ways. This is very important for studies on ethnoastronomy when, for instance, trying to understand identity concepts that underlie the relations that a group has established between certain sky features and certain mythical beings. For example, among the Toba-Pilaga aboriginal people from the Argentine Chaco, the Pleiades at one time of the year are associated with an important mythical being and at another have a different meaning (▶ Chap. 79, “The Sky Among the Toba of Western Formosa (Gran Chaco, Argentina)”). Then again, between Mocovi aborigine people from the same region, the same mythical being, La Virjole, is associated with different asterisms at different times of the year (Lo´pez 2009).

Sky and Territory There are important links between the concepts of person, body, group, and territory. In many societies, strong analogies are established between the personbody relation and the group-territory relation. The family-house relation often acts as an intermediate link in this comparison. For example, in Western societies, it is widely believed that every human person is a psychological unit commanded by an ego that has its material correspondence in a physical body, which is also unique. Simultaneously, in Western societies, the nuclear family inhabiting a single house that it owns exclusively is mainly conceived as analogous to the person-body relationship. This conception bears a close relationship with the dominant notion of social group in the context of nation-state ideology. In this ideology, each “nation” is a unit of “spirit” formed by one single “culture” metonymically represented by the idea of a unique language. This “unity” has its material correspondence in a territory thought as a geographical space which is the exclusive property of the nation-state concerned, with well-defined borders and boundaries. Of course, this representation does not describe well the actual situation of many “nations” in the Western world itself, but rather the ideal to which they aspire. This ideology has propelled many wars. In fact, Western ideas about psychological “normality” are related to this idea of a unique psychic principle associated to each single body. Although many researchers have naturalized it, these ideas are not the only existent human notions of body, territory, identity, and border. In many cases, the sky forms an important part of territorial conceptions. This is why the way in which terrestrial space is conceived and ordered is closely related to the way in which celestial space is conceived and ordered. Thus, in ethnoastronomy research, we must explore the concepts of territory, body, and house in the society that we study. Given the analogy that exists between notions of the social “we” and notions of territory, and bearing in mind what we have discussed about the importance of interethnic relations, it is essential to ethnoastronomical research to explore the notions of territorial borders. In fact, the conceptualization of the borders between sky and earth is crucial to the comprehension of astronomical representations.

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Orality and Writing Most works in ethnoastronomy deal with cultures where orality is fundamental. That situation requires a particular approach, one that deconstructs our own ideas regarding the relationship between the oral and the written word (Ong 1996). Writing is not innate to human beings; it is a technology, and possibly the most revolutionary one. The incorporation of writing transforms in a very deep way the cosmovision of a given society. Oral and literate cultures have very different orientations in fundamental attitudes toward the world and human communication. In oral contexts, the word is not an object but an event that occurs in time. Discourse itself is not a “visual design” that can be seen on a page but something that is perceived using the memory to retain in the mind the temporal sequence of the words. Oral communication in “primarily oral” cultures occurs in face-toface interactions. It is a true performance, which involves the body and the senses. What is orally expressed is not an enunciation of a fixed text; this is a different type of communication, one in which the interests of, and relations between, the speaker and the audience determine an important part of the content. The art of the narrator is not in saying something never said before, or in repeating a text literally, but in producing a particular resonance in the audience. She/he certainly appeals to the authority of tradition, but in a flexible and indistinct way, one that lets her/him incorporate new things as if they were part of the ancient traditions. The societies that we study are not usually “primarily” oral societies, but ones with long and complex processes of marginal contact with writing. This imposes special characteristics (Goody 1996). In these societies, the physical written document often becomes an object of power in itself, independently from the meaning of the text. This has occurred repeatedly in South America, with the Bible, with identity documents, and with a great variety of other writing supports. One of the biases that our literate academic culture imposes upon our studies is that it brings with it predetermined ways of organizing and classifying information. Academic astronomical knowledge is frequently expressed in the form of tables and lists, ways of organizing data items that seem to be linked with writing. When we are attempting to interpret aspects of cultures with marginal access to writing, the illustrations and pictures are often more important than the text itself. This must be also taken into account in relation to the written productions of the members of these cultures. At the present time, many of the societies to which we refer are in contact with modern communications technologies from cellphones to videos. In some cases, they have come into contact with these technologies but have had little or no previous contact with more traditional written documents. This presents new challenges for ethnoastronomical work and should not be ignored.

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Change and Continuity One of the consequences of the original division of academic work between anthropology and sociology is the false assumption that non-Western societies are ahistorical. As a result, Western academia has for a long time established an opposition between Western forms of historical consciousness and “mythical thought”. The latter was for a long time assumed by scholars to be a characteristic of non-Western societies. In consequence, they tended to think non-Western societies were impervious to history and change. From this classic perspective, they supposed that these societies had an ahistorical character prior to colonization; history would have irrupted with the arrival of the Western colonial powers. This has led to a number of ethnographies centered on the concepts of rescue and acculturation. Recent studies show that all societies have been permanently affected by change to a greater or lesser degree (Sahlins 1988). Also, it has been progressively established that the impact of colonial processes has not been received passively by the colonized societies. In this process, we have achieved a progressive understanding of the role of myth as an alternative form of historical consciousness (Hill 1988; Gow 2001).

Final Words The aim of this chapter has been to suggest some central guidelines for ethnoastronomical research. The focus of all our arguments is that ethnoastronomy deals with social facts. Therefore, methods and problems in ethnoastronomy have their roots in the social sciences. Consistent with this, we have highlighted some of the main concepts that should be problematized in our studies: culture, ethnicity, identity, person, body, territory, cosmovision, cosmology, change, continuity, orality, and literacy. We have also emphasized the central role of fieldwork and the importance of reflexivity in order to make critical and conscious use of our theoretical frameworks. All these concepts are crucial keys for the cultural and social interpretation of the ethnographic material that we use but also are essential to the production of this ethnographic material itself. In ethnography, the researcher and their body (this beam of habitus that constitutes us as subjects and builds our particular way of being, acting upon, and seeing) is the instrument of scientific observation. For this reason, the comprehension of the social constitution of our own social skills and the explicitation of our own position in the social field that we want to study are a fundamental part of our ethnographic data. Ethnoastronomers must make use of the methodological reflections of the social sciences in order to derive deeper and systematic reconsiderations of their methods and topics. This is the way to construct an ethnoastronomy that is in dialog with science in general.

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Acknowledgments This contribution is a further development of previous reflections about these topics that were presented in the Regional Meeting of the Oxford IX Conference, in Lima (Lo´pez 2011).

Cross-References ▶ Astronomy in the Chaco Region, Argentina ▶ Ethnoastronomy in the Multicultural Context of the Agricultural Colonies in Northern Santa Fe Province, Argentina ▶ Interactions Between “Indigenous” and “Colonial” Astronomies: Adaptation of Indigenous Astronomies in the Modern World ▶ The Sky Among the Toba of Western Formosa (Gran Chaco, Argentina)

References Appadurai A (1995) The production of locality. In: Fardon R (ed) Counterworks: managing the diversity of knowledge. Routledge, London and New York Banton M (ed) (1966) The social anthropology of complex societies. Tavistock Publications, London Barth F (1976) Los grupos e´tnicos y sus fronteras. Fondo de Cultura Econo´mica, Me´xico DF Barth F (1987) Cosmologies in the making: a generative approach to cultural variation in inner New Guinea. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge Baru´a G (2001) Semillas de estrellas. Los nombres entre los wichı´. Editorial Dunken, Buenos Aires Bourdieu P (1997) Razones pra´cticas. Sobre la teorı´a de la accio´n. Editorial Anagrama, Barcelona Bourdieu P (2007) El sentido pra´ctico. Siglo XXI Editores, Buenos Aires Cardoso de Oliveira R (2007) Etnicidad y estructura social (“Identidade, etnia e estrutura social”). Centro de Investigaciones y Estudios Superiores en Antropologı´a Social (CIESAS), Universidad Auto´noma Metropolitana, Me´xico DF Csordas TJ (1999) The body’s career in anthropology. In: Moore H (ed) Anthropological theory today. Holilty Press, Cambridge Eriksen TH (1993) Ethnicity and nationalism. Anthropological perspectives. Pluto Press, London Glazer N, Moynihan DA (1963) Beyond the melting-pot. Harvard University Press, Cambridge, MA Goody J (ed) (1996) Cultura escrita en sociedades tradicionales. Editorial Gedisa S.A, Barcelona Gow P (2001) An Amazonian myth and its history. Oxford University Press, New York Hammersley M, Atkinson P (1994) Etnografı´a. Me´todos de investigacio´n. Paido´s, Barcelona Hill JD (ed) (1988) Rethinking history and myth. Indigenous South American perspectives on the past. University of Illinois Press, Champaign Iwaniszewski S (1991) Astronomy as a cultural system. Interdisciplinarni Izsledvaniya 18:282–288 Iwaniszewski S (1994) De la astroarqueologı´a a la astronomı´a cultural. Trabajos de Prehistoria 51:5–20 ´ rbol y la Serpiente. Cielos e Identidades en comunidades mocovı´es Lo´pez AM (2009) La Vı´rgen, el A del Chaco. Facultad de Filosofı´a y Letras. Universidad de Buenos Aires, Buenos Aires Lo´pez AM (2011) Ethnoastronomy as an academic field: a framework for a South American program. In: Ruggles CLN (ed) Archaeoastronomy and ethnoastronomy: building bridges between cultures. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, pp. 38–49

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Ong WJ (1996) Oralidad y escritura. Tecnologı´as de la palabra. Fondo de Cultura Econo´mica, Buenos Aires Redfield R, Singer M (1954) The cultural role of cities. Econ Develop Cult Change 3:53–73 Ruggles CLN, Saunders NJ (1993) The study of cultural astronomy. In: Ruggles CLN, Saunders NJ (eds) Astronomies and cultures. University Press of Colorado, Niwot Sahlins M (1988) Islas de historia. La muerte del capita´n cook. Meta´fora, antropologı´a e historia. Gedisa Editorial, Barcelona Sahlins M (1990) Cosmologı´as del capitalismo: El sector trans-pacı´fico del “sistema Mundial”. Cuadernos de Antropologı´a Soc 2:95–107 Sahlins M (2006) Cultura y razo´n pra´ctica. Gedisa editorial, Barcelona Wallerstein I (2006) El sistema-mundo moderno como economı´a-mundo capitalista Ana´lisis de Sistemas-Mundo. Siglo XXI, Me´xico DF Warner WL (1959) The living and the dead: a study of the symbolic life of Americans. Yale University Press, New Haven Whyte WF (1943) Street corner society: the social structure of an Italian slum. University of Chicago Press, Chicago

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Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Two Approaches . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Categories of Material Evidence . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Methodological Issues and Approaches . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Structural Orientations . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Light-and-Shadow Phenomena . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Symbol Counts . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Discussion . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Abstract

Since it emerged as a “subdiscipline” in its own right in the 1960s and 1970s, archaeoastronomy has advanced from seeking to explain cultural phenomena in exclusively astronomical terms to one where putative astronomical connections play a small part – albeit in some cases a critical one – in broader interpretations properly embedded in the wider cultural context. Broadly speaking, the archaeological evidence available to the archaeoastronomer consists of material expressions of perceived relationships with objects and events in the sky. The main types of material evidence considered by the majority of archaeoastronomers are structural orientations, light-and-shadow effects, and symbol counts. Advances in both theory and method have rendered obsolete the “green vs brown” categorization of the 1980s, and few would now disagree that the credibility of any interpretation needs to be assessed in terms of social theory, the strength of the material evidence in its support, and the quality of the

C.L.N. Ruggles School of Archaeology and Ancient History, University of Leicester, Leicester, UK e-mail: [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_22, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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corroborating evidence from history and/or ethnography, as available. The debate continues as to how best to balance these different components in different instances.

Introduction Archaeoastronomy can be defined as the study of beliefs and practices concerning the sky in the past, particularly in the absence of written records, and the uses to which people’s understanding of the sky was put (Ruggles 2005a, p. 19). Since the 1990s it has been generally accepted among archaeologists that archaeoastronomy deals with questions that are likely to be relevant, and will often be important, in broader studies of past cultures. There are essentially three related reasons for this: • People’s perceptions of their world that they inhabit – what is regarded from a Western perspective as the natural environment (Ruggles and Saunders 1993) – influenced their conceptions of the cosmos, molded their beliefs and actions, and shaped the material record that they bequeathed to the future. This has been regarded as self-evident at least since the rise of “interpretative archaeologies” including cognitive and symbolic approaches (Ruggles 2005b). • The sky formed an integral and prominent part of the environment perceived by almost all, if not all, past human cultures. (The modern world is exceptional in that the sky goes largely or completely unnoticed by a great many people owing to a combination of indoor living and light pollution). • The sky is particularly important for the modern investigator, since in most respects we can accurately reconstruct its appearance and visualize it in detail, unlike most other aspects of the visual environment of the past culture being studied (Ruggles 2000a). In one sense the very term “archaeoastronomy” is a misnomer, since only in prehistoric contexts are archaeoastronomers forced to focus exclusively on archaeological data. Elsewhere they are as likely to concentrate mainly, or even exclusively, on evidence that is essentially historical in nature such as documents and inscriptions and ethnohistorical records (see ▶ Chap. 15, “Disciplinary Perspectives on Archaeoastronomy”). Insofar as it does deal with material evidence, archaeoastronomy, like archaeology as a whole, must build social science interpretations upon “facts” established using the methods of the “hard” sciences (Ruggles 2011; see also ▶ Chap. 21, “Cultural Interpretation of Archaeological Evidence Relating to Astronomy”). It follows from the second of the three points above that people’s understanding of the skies can never be considered in isolation from broader issues of cognition, cosmology, and the social and political context. That being the case, archaeoastronomical interpretation can never proceed in isolation from archaeological endeavor as a whole. Archaeoastronomy must always address relevant social questions, as a classic exchange between archaeoastronomer Anthony Aveni and anthropologist Keith Kintigh helped to emphasize in the early 1990s (see Aveni 2008, pp. 721–723, 803–808).

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This article focuses on the types of archaeological (material) evidence that are most relevant to archaeoastronomy and addresses some of the methodological issues that arise when we try to derive social interpretations from that evidence, both when it is considered in isolation and when it is considered alongside historical and/or ethnographic data.

Two Approaches Reviewing the state of archaeoastronomy at a conference in 1986, Aveni (1989) characterized two fundamentally different approaches within the field: • “Green archaeoastronomy”, an approach primarily concerned with developing rigorous procedures for assessing the possible astronomical significance of monumental structures. Focusing on the development of strict criteria for data selection and fieldwork methodology and the formal statistical analysis of the results, this approach had emerged in Britain during the 1970s in an attempt to progress studies of megalithic alignments in view of the controversy between archaeologists and astronomers generated by the conclusions of Alexander Thom (see ▶ Chap. 14, “Development of Archaeoastronomy in the EnglishSpeaking World”). • “Brown archaeoastronomy”, which was attempting to integrate approaches from several different humanities and social science disciplines – including history, cultural anthropology, art history, ethnography, folklore studies, and the history of religions – in order to deal with a broad range of types of evidence. This multidisciplinary approach had emerged largely in Mesoamerica and native North America, also in the 1970s. The colors were those of the covers of the twin volumes of proceedings from the first “Oxford” International Symposium on Archaeoastronomy (Heggie 1982; Aveni 1982), which had brought archaeoastronomers from the Old and New Worlds together into close contact for the first time in 1981 (see Fig. 24.1). The issue that came overwhelmingly to characterize the green vs brown division, as propagated in the literature for many years, was a perceived dichotomy between “statistical rigor” and “multidisciplinary approaches”. This obscured the real issue which was how best, both theoretically and methodologically, to interpret purely archaeological data (where only this is available) as opposed to how best to integrate diverse types of data (in other cases) in order to identify the most credible interpretations. There is an analogy here with Tac¸on and Chippindale’s (1998) characterization of two approaches in rock art studies, “formal” and “informed”, depending upon the availability or otherwise of historical, ethnohistorical, or other cultural evidence concerning rock art sites which can supply (direct or indirect) insights into their possible significance and meaning. Thus, in prehistoric Europe, where there is no relevant written history or ethnohistory at all to supplement the material evidence, “formal” approaches tend to take precedence, whereas in parts of the New World such as pre-Columbian Mesoamerica, where the historical evidence dominates, an “informed” approach is possible. In contexts such

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Fig. 24.1 “Green” and “brown” archaeoastronomy as pictured by Sky and Telescope artist Steven Simpson in 1986 (Reproduced with permission)

as the Hawaiian Islands (see ▶ Chap. 216, “Ancient Hawaiian Astronomy”), where there is a substantial body of oral history but much of this is of uncertain provenance, a finer balance is needed.

Categories of Material Evidence In broad terms, the archaeological evidence available to the archaeoastronomer consists of material expressions of perceived relationships with objects and events in the sky. Following the taxonomy adopted by UNESCO’s Astronomy and World Heritage Initiative (Cotte and Ruggles 2010, p. 1), these can be divided into two (not mutually exclusive) categories: • Fixed constructions (places) or movable objects (artifacts) which, by their conception, design, and/or (in the case of fixed constructions) environmental situation, have significance in relation to celestial objects or events. • Representations of the sky and/or celestial objects or events. A third UNESCO category – observatories and instruments – contains buildings constructed, and devices manufactured, for the express purpose of observing the skies. Some occupy a vital place within the history of modern astronomy (e.g., ▶ Chap. 181, “Islamic Astronomical Instruments and Observatories”), while others contributed to the development of very different ways of understanding the skies, as in China (e.g., ▶ Chap. 202, “Dengfeng Large Gnomon”). Rather different examples may be found in indigenous contexts, such as the “star clock” devices constructed to regulate water supplies in Oman (see ▶ Chap. 184,

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“Star Clocks and Water Management in Oman”). Another category of instruments comprises those that help to regulate calendars, such as calendar sticks (e.g., ▶ Chap. 162, “Wooden Calendar Sticks in Eastern Europe”). Many buildings, monuments, and sites described as “observatories”, particularly outside the history of modern astronomy, are unlikely to have been devoted exclusively or even primarily to celestial observations (see ▶ Chap. 9, “Ancient “Observatories” - A Relevant Concept?”) and belong in the first UNESCO category. A fourth category – properties with an important link to the history of astronomy – does not concern us here. Material artifacts such as Chinese oracle bones, bamboo strips, and silk books (see ▶ Chap. 197, “Shang Oracle Bones”; ▶ Chap. 198, “Excavated Documents Dealing with Chinese Astronomy”) and Babylonian clay tablets (Steele 2010; see also ▶ Chap. 173, “Babylonian Mathematical Astronomy”) constitute written history and are not considered further in this article. The wide range of historical and ethnographic evidence relevant to archaeoastronomy is evident from many articles in this book. On its interpretation, see ▶ Chap. 22, “Cultural Interpretation of Historical Evidence Relating to Astronomy” and ▶ Chap. 23, “Cultural Interpretation of Ethnographic Evidence Relating to Astronomy”. Many astronomical relationships embodied in material constructions or representations will be lost to us if no relevant historical or ethnographic information remains. For example, we can only begin to appreciate the rich set of interacting astronomical and geometrical principles that gave cosmological harmony to Indian temples because of the existence of historical documents such as the Sulba Sutras and Manasara (see ▶ Chap. 186, “Use of Astronomical Principles in Indian Temple Architecture”). Similarly, representations may not be recognizably “literal” (in a Western sense) and in any case are likely to depend upon levels of meaning, not exclusively astronomical, that can only be revealed through “informed” approaches. For example, an Aboriginal bark painting of Orion and the Pleiades discussed by Cairns (1993, pp. 141–142), which includes dots representing not just stars but also such things as campfires and food, would be unrecognizable as such in the absence of cultural informants. It is for this reason that astronomical interpretations of symbols appearing, for example, in rock art are generally only attempted in historical and indigenous contexts where they can be supported by strong contextual evidence. On the other hand, this has not stopped some extraordinary claims appearing in the serious literature, examples being alleged depictions of the 1054 supernova in the US southwest (e.g., Brandt and Williamson 1979; for a critique see Krupp et al. 2010 and also ▶ Chap. 41, “Rock Art of the Greater Southwest”) and interpretations of some Swedish rock art panels as “literal” depictions of particular total solar eclipses (e.g., Henriksson 2010; for a critique see Ruggles 2005a, pp. 412–414). One of the most important forms of representation is star maps or charts. These are well known from historical contexts such as ancient China, where they appeared in a variety of media, improving in sophistication and precision over the centuries (see ▶ Chap. 195, “Chinese Constellations and Star Maps”). Some indigenous “star charts” – such as that from Hateruma Island, Japan, described by

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Goto 2011 – show formations of stars that are recognizable as such to Western eyes, but elsewhere asterisms were represented in culturally specific ways that bear little resemblance to a “literal” depiction in the Western sense. A case in point is the Pawnee buckskin star chart (USA) described by Chamberlain (1982, pp. 185–205), which was not regarded as a “rendition of the sky” but rather as a means to capture star powers for various social purposes. Other forms of representation range widely from the astronomical ceilings in a number of Egyptian tombs that have endured for millennia (see ▶ Chap. 130, “Egyptian Constellations”) to the transitory “string figures” that are used to represent asterisms among some indigenous peoples (e.g., Go´mez 2008). The second UNESCO category is a rich one, then, but generally only susceptible to serious investigation in “informed” contexts. Moving to the first UNESCO category, two particular forms of archaeological evidence are far more commonly studied by archaeoastronomers than any other. These are: • Spatial patterning in the material record. This category is itself dominated by studies of putative structural alignments upon the rising or setting positions of celestial objects (or, in the case of fainter objects, their point of appearance or disappearance somewhat above the horizon). A second major focus is lightand-shadow effects, typically involving sunlight penetrating dark spaces on particular (often rare) occasions, as a result of the architectural configuration. • “Counts of things”. The primary focus here is recurrences of similar symbols such as dots found, for example, carved on prehistoric artifacts or in rock art. Archaeoastronomers’ main interest in counts of symbols is that they might have had calendrical significance, for example, as tallies of days or months. Likewise, light-and-shadow phenomena are often of interest because they might have operated as hierophanies, i.e., been perceived as powerful displays of sacred power, typically manipulated for political ends (see ▶ Chap. 28, “Analyzing Light-and-Shadow Interactions”). Structural alignments are prominent in the legacy of the early pioneers of archaeoastronomy up to and including Alexander Thom (see ▶ Chap. 14, “Development of Archaeoastronomy in the EnglishSpeaking World”). They have continued to receive overwhelming, and arguably excessive, attention, often more because they remain conspicuous in today’s landscape and are easily susceptible to “celestial butterfly collecting” (Kintigh 1992; see also Aveni 2008, pp. 803–808) than for sound reasons based upon cultural questions and anthropological precedent (▶ Chap. 1, “Concepts of Space, Time, and the Cosmos”). Each of these forms of evidence is susceptible to formal analysis, something that has helped to ensure that attention has remained focused upon them, especially in prehistoric contexts. Corroborating evidence, where it can be obtained from other aspects of the material record, or from history or ethnography, undoubtedly reduces the dependency upon formal approaches, yet studies of alignments, light-and-shadow hierophanies, and symbol counts have remained dominant ways of probing the material record within archaeoastronomy, even where corroborating evidence does exist. Thus, for example:

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• Alignment studies are not restricted to prehistoric monuments in Europe but also extend, for example, to studies of the orientations of Polynesian temples (see ▶ Chap. 216, “Ancient Hawaiian Astronomy”) and medieval Christian churches (▶ Chap. 154, “Orientation of Christian Churches”) as well as of astronomical methods for aligning Islamic mosques in the sacred direction (Qibla) (see ▶ Chap. 182, “Islamic Folk Astronomy”). • Studies of light-and-shadow hierophanies range from prehistoric contexts such as Newgrange in Ireland (see ▶ Chap. 108, “Boyne Valley Tombs”) to Abu Simbel in Egypt (see ▶ Chap. 9, “Ancient “Observatories” - A Relevant Concept?”), the Roman Pantheon (see ▶ Chap. 148, “Light at the Pantheon”), the Xochicalco zenith tube in Mexico (see ▶ Chap. 56, “Cave of the Astronomers at Xochicalco”) and, again, medieval Christian churches (e.g., ▶ Chap. 159, “Light-Shadow Interactions in Italian Medieval Churches”). • Examples of symbol counts that have been investigated archaeoastronomically include those found in Paleolithic art and artifacts (see ▶ Chap. 102, “Possible Calendrical Inscriptions on Palaeolithic Artifacts”; ▶ Chap. 103, “Possible Astronomical Depictions in Franco-Cantabrian Palaeolithic Rock Art”), Neolithic temples in Malta (see ▶ Chap. 124, “Temples of Malta”), and rock art sites in northern Mexico (see ▶ Chap. 47, “Astronomy and Rock Art in Mexico”; ▶ Chap. 48, “Boca de Potrerillos”). A further type of spatial patterning should be mentioned: this concerns the possibility that patterns of symbols, or of constructions themselves in the landscape, could have been set out to represent or mimic patterns of stars in the sky. Leaving aside the popular misconception that any such correspondences would have been exact replications of patterns of stars in the sky – literal depictions in the Western sense (see, e.g., ▶ Chap. 134, “Monuments of the Giza Plateau”; also Ruggles 2005a, pp. 113–115) – the practice of shaping the constructed landscape to reflect the perceived structure of the sky is well attested ethnographically, as at Misminay in Peru (Urton 1981). In early imperial China, it has been suggested that buildings and landscapes were deliberately laid out reflecting the celestial order as a way of reinforcing the political elite’s cosmological right to rule (Pankenier 2011; see also ▶ Chap. 199, “Astronomy and City Planning in China”). In a few cases, there is credible ethnographic evidence to support the suggestion that patterns of symbols in rock art might indeed be depicting patterns of stars – for example, a set of cupules resembling the Pleiades on Easter Island (Edwards and Belmonte 2004, p. 429; see also ▶ Fig. 9.8 and ▶ Chap. 215, “Archaeoastronomy in Polynesia”).

Methodological Issues and Approaches The formal analysis of each of the three dominant types of material evidence raises significant methodological issues (see ▶ Chap. 25, “Best Practice for Evaluating the Astronomical Significance of Archaeological Sites”; ▶ Chap. 28, “Analyzing Light-and-Shadow Interactions”; ▶ Chap. 2, “Calendars and Astronomy”), stemming ultimately from the fact that any structural alignment upon an astronomical

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object, any light-and-shadow display, or any count of symbols of apparent calendrical significance might have arisen fortuitously, i.e., through a combination of factors unrelated to astronomy. Most of these issues relate to data selection – the need to avoid preferentially selecting data that fit a preconceived idea while ignoring the rest. How archaeoastronomers respond to such issues in broad terms tends to be strongly influenced by their own disciplinary perspective. Most would acknowledge that issues of methodology must be balanced against the need to produce interpretations that are well founded in terms of social theory, and respect the broader social context, rather than being an overriding preoccupation (Iwaniszewsi 2007). Furthermore, as interpretive archaeologists have argued for many years, strict objectivity is unachievable in practice: for example, any set of preselected selection criteria (e.g., Ruggles 1984) are open to the accusation that the criteria themselves were selected from various possibilities and hence are ultimately subjective (Ruggles and Saunders 1993, pp. 17–18; Iwaniszewski 2001, p. 2). Some go further still, arguing that any attempt to assess the extent to which patterns in the material record actually provide support for particular interpretations – testing a set of ideas scientifically, in a broad sense – represents a form of scientific positivism, or “scientific imperialism”, that is not appropriate in anthropological studies (Aveni 1995, p. S78; Iwaniszewski 2007, pp. 15–16). Others, the current author included, are of the opinion that no amount of social theory, or of corroborating evidence from history or ethnography, favoring a particular idea can justify a level of subjectivity that undermines the scientific process of considering to what extent the material evidence does actually support the idea in question. Indeed, according to one rock art specialist offering an “outsider’s perspective”, “methodological errors are one of the central characteristics, and thus key weaknesses, of many archaeoastronomical studies” (Whitley 2006, p. 86). The fallacy is to equate the scientific process with an outmoded “hypothesis testing” approach that is certainly inappropriate in most archaeological situations (Hodder 1984; Ruggles 1986; Shennan 1994, pp. 1–5). The basis for favoring a particular interpretation over its competitors must be inference, not testing, and the strongest support for a given interpretation comes from multiple lines of evidence leading to the same conclusion (convergent methodologies) rather than a single logical chain of inference. In this process, systematic rather than “anecdotal” data collection is crucial (Whitley 2006; Ruggles 2011, pp. 12–13).

Structural Orientations Some advantages of studying coherent groups of monuments, identified in the context of “alignment studies” back in the 1980s (Burl 1981, pp. 256–265; Ruggles and Burl 1985), are that consistent trends can demonstrate intentionality, and visualizing and analyzing the cumulative patterns of indicated declinations avoids prejudging the possible targets. Also, they have the potential to “iron out” instances where the current state of preservation of the monument may give a misleading

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impression of the original intended orientation (see ▶ Chap. 27, “Analyzing Orientations”). “Data-driven” approaches that attempt to “let the data speak for themselves” have continued to be applied in particular to groups of monuments around the globe with well-defined primary axes, achieving particular success in the case of later prehistoric tombs and temples of the western Mediterranean (Hoskin 2001) where they succeeded in demonstrating the almost universal importance of orientation (varying, as with other aspects of design, from one local group to another both in space and time) and, in broad terms, of astronomical factors in determining the direction to be faced (see ▶ Chap. 95, “Patterns of Orientation in the Megalithic Tombs of the Western Mediterranean”). However, data-driven approaches of this nature also suffer a number of shortcomings: • They provide no insights regarding the significance and meaning of the astronomical connections thus identified to the people who constructed and used them. Social theory and consideration of the wider cultural context must always play a part in the interpretation. • Relatively few datasets exist, even on a global scale, that are large enough to be susceptible to this approach; and there is no guarantee that they will exhibit patterns of consistent behavior strong enough to be evident, let alone statistically verifiable, across the entire sample. In the case of Classical Greek temples (see ▶ Chap. 140, “Greek Temples and Rituals”), medieval churches (McCluskey 2006; see also ▶ Chap. 154, “Orientation of Christian Churches”), and Hawaiian temple sites (see ▶ Chap. 216, “Ancient Hawaiian Astronomy”), literary, historical, or ethnohistoric evidence provides information enabling us to divide the sites concerned into culturally significant subcategories and thus to isolate consistencies of practice specific to particular cults, saints, or gods. Without the corroborating evidence this would be impossible. • Focusing solely on principal orientations risks overlooking an assortment of other factors that might have been at least as relevant to any astronomical connections and meanings. • There is an implicit assumption that today’s remains represent a single construction built to one plan, for a fixed set of purposes. Contrary to this, excavations frequently reveal complex sequences of change and reuse with time (see, e.g., ▶ Chap. 109, “Recumbent Stone Circles”; ▶ Chap. 58, “Layout of Ancient Maya Cities”). In Morbihan, France, three fragments of a huge decorated standing stone ended up being reused in three separate megalithic tombs up to 4 km apart (Le Roux 2006). • People, unlike laws of the physical universe, rarely if ever behave with absolute consistency, however powerful and restrictive the protocols governing their behavior. Data-driven approaches are best viewed as the initial step in a long process of integrating archaeoastronomical with other strands of archaeological data in order to better understand all aspects of the monuments concerned. Nowhere is this clearer than in Scotland, where recent excavations have transformed visions of recumbent stone circles as a stage for lunar-based rituals into a practice of orienting

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burial cairns with reference to the moon or sun, the cairns being “completed” by being surrounded by stone circles (see ▶ Chap. 109, “Recumbent Stone Circles”). The dictum “testis unus, testis nullus” (Belmonte 2010) sums up the point of view that the only possible way to gain a degree of confidence in any archaeoastronomical interpretation is to analyze multiple instances of similar items. However, where there is strong corroborating evidence, “one-off” occurrences can be very persuasive. A classic example is the alignment of the Governor’s Palace at the Classic Maya City of Uxmal upon the extreme northerly setting point of Venus, where sculptural decorations clearly indicate an association with the planet (see ▶ Chap. 59, “Governor’s Palace at Uxmal”). “Midway” examples include Stonehenge, whose solstitial orientation is repeated at a few nearby contemporary monuments – enough to make a solid case, if not a strong formal argument, that they were intentional – and is certainly open to various plausible interpretations that fit with the broader archaeological evidence (see ▶ Chap. 105, “Stonehenge and its Landscape”). In general, there is a need to balance the credibility of the interpretation offered (in terms of broader social theory and/or corroborating, contextual evidence) against the strength of the material evidence produced in its support. Early archaeoastronomical interpretations of “E-group structures” – distinctive arrangements of pyramid, plaza, and platform found at several Mayan complexes concentrated in the Pete´n, Guatemala – illustrate one of the difficulties that can arise in trying to find the right balance. The type-site at Uaxactu´n had been found to contain alignments that could have been used to observe the solstices (although not for determining them precisely) and equinoxes, but such alignments were only repeated at very few of the 50 or so other E-group sites, despite their similar layout. In such circumstances, a formal approach would likely dismiss the Uaxactu´n solstitial alignments as fortuitous. However, archaeological evidence shows that the Uaxactu´n group was continually modified so that the alignments changed with time. This and other contextual evidence led to the suggestion that the majority of E-group structures were “nonfunctional copies”, maintaining the planning scheme but with no need for their ritual purpose to be reaffirmed by actual astronomical observations (see Aveni 2001, pp. 288–292). In terms of social theory, such an idea is much more credible than the alternative that all the sites should have been built as functioning observing devices (which is too close to the modern concept of observatories and astronomers), but it opens the way to a totally subjective reading of the evidence, in which those sites that have the requisite alignments are interpreted as those built to incorporate functioning observing devices, while the other sites are taken to be those that never needed them (Ruggles 2011, pp. 8–9). (In fact, Uaxactu´n E-group was not the earliest of the E-groups, nor could it have been a functioning observing device at its earliest stage.) For a fuller discussion of the E-group structures and contemporary interpretations, see ▶ Chap. 60, “E-Group Arrangements”. Ruggles (2000b) argues that there is a need to develop more robust ways of balancing evidence of a “general” kind (i.e., repeated trends) with that of a “specific” nature (contextual, historical) although examples such as Balnuaran of Clava in Scotland, where the two types of evidence appear to be in conflict

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Fig. 24.2 Balnuaran of Clava, the southwest cairn viewed from the southwest toward the entrance. The cairn is aligned toward midwinter sunset, although the orientations of the Clava cairns taken as a whole fit a lunar explanation (Photograph: Clive Ruggles)

(Fig. 24.2; see ▶ Chap. 109, “Recumbent Stone Circles”), show that this is not easy. It is possible that a post-positivist inferential approach can be formalized using Bayesian statistics (Ruggles 1994; Ruggles and Saunders 1993, pp. 16–22), and examples of the ways in which such an approach might be applied in practice are now beginning to appear in the literature (e.g., Pimenta et al. 2009). In the meantime, vigorous debates continue about the interpretations of certain high-profile sites such as the Caracol tower at Chichen Itza (Fig. 24.3; see also ▶ Chap. 58, “Layout of Ancient Maya Cities”). Aveni et al. (1975; see also Aveni 2001, pp. 272–283) argue that a number of horizon alignments could well have been of significance to observers looking through the top-level windows, mostly using diagonal sightings across the window jambs, including sunset at the equinoxes, the most northerly and southerly setting points of Venus, and the heliacal setting of the Pleiades. They also identify a number of other solar and Venus alignments built into the architecture of the Caracol, including June solstice sunrise and sunset on the day of solar zenith passage, together with “somewhat more speculative” alignments (Aveni 2001, p. 273) that include other stellar possibilities. In support, they draw attention to such factors as the asymmetry in the design, which suggests a functional rather than an aesthetic purpose; the known importance of Venus observations to the Maya, well attested through a variety of evidence; and the flat horizon with no natural landmarks, which means that astronomical sightlines would have been needed to regulate

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Fig. 24.3 The Caracol at Chichen Itza, Mexico, viewed from the southwest (Photograph: Clive Ruggles)

the calendar. Critiquing this conclusion, Schaefer (2006a, pp. 42–48) challenges the alignment evidence on statistical grounds, arguing that the alignments claimed could easily be explained away as chance occurrences, and also maintains that a number of the claimed architectural alignments could not have been used in practice (e.g., because the line of sight was blocked). He also draws attention to the lack of any ethnographic evidence among the Maya for the use of cross-jamb alignments or of an interest in horizon observations of Venus. Responding to the critique, Aveni (2006a, pp. 60–64) concedes the statistical argument but argues vigorously that the lack of statistical verification does not rule out the possibility that many of the alignments identified were in fact intentional, many of them quite possibly functioning symbolically rather than being used for actual observations. He then offers a further range of contextual evidence and points out that there was certainly a major interest in the heliacal events of Venus, as evidenced by the Venus table in the Dresden Codex (see ▶ Chap. 50, “Astronomy in the Dresden Codex”). The entire debate (Schaefer 2006a, b; Aveni 2006a, b) succeeds, in the end, in establishing some basic points of agreement (as identified by Ruggles 2011, p. 11): • A word of ethnography is worth a thousand alignments. • Replication is important in deciding whether an alignment was intentional or not. • When interpreting their purpose and meaning, alignments cannot be divorced from their cultural context. • Aveni will never prove intentionality any more than Schaefer will ever disprove it.

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The interpretation of the 13 towers of Chankillo as a solar observation device has engendered a debate raising distinct, but in some ways similar, issues (Malville 2011; Ruggles 2011, pp. 11–12; see ▶ Chap. 62, “Chankillo”). Further examples can also be found in numerous case studies throughout this book.

Light-and-Shadow Phenomena The need to assess the extent to which the material evidence does actually support any given interpretation applies equally to the other two forms of material evidence that are commonly considered in archaeoastronomy. To some extent, identifying light-and-shadow phenomena that we perceive as impressive and spectacular and positing that these could have been perceived in the past as powerful sacred displays – hierophanies – can be justified as phenomenological archaeology (Tilley 2005). Nonetheless, corroborating evidence is needed in order to counter the “testis unus, testis nullus” criticism. Thus the case for the “equinox hierophany” at Kukulkan (El Castillo) (see ▶ Chap. 28, “Analyzing Light-and-Shadow Interactions”) being intentional is weak because there is no historical evidence that the phenomenon – or even that the concept of the equinox itself (see ▶ Chap. 52, “Astronomical Correlates of Architecture and Landscape in Mesoamerica”) – was of any cultural significance, nor is it repeated at similar temple-pyramids nearby (Carlson 1999, p. 149). The Roman Pantheon is a unique structure, but historical evidence indirectly supports the idea that the hierophany occurring on April 21, when the beam of sunlight through the oculus in the roof hits the entrance area, was carefully planned (see ▶ Chap. 148, “Light at the Pantheon”). North American “sun-dagger” sites have received a good deal of attention by archaeoastronomers but raise an assortment of issues such as the variety of ways in which sunlight and shadow patterns could be perceived as significant, weathering and shifting of rocks since the time of use, and the nature and relevance of cultural evidence argued in support of particular interpretations (see ▶ Chap. 43, “Sun-Dagger Sites”). The most convincing interpretations are almost always those that can be most strongly justified by “informed” evidence. Is Paras, a Bronze Age nuraghe (drystone tower) in Sardinia (see Fig. 24.4), illustrates some of the principal methodological and interpretive issues that arise in a prehistoric context. Its central chamber has a corbelled roof rising to an incredible 11.5 m in height, with a small round opening, ca 40 cm across, at the apex. Around the middle of the day, sunlight enters the chamber and casts a dagger of light onto the northern chamber wall. This moves in a “U”-shaped curve, reaching its lowest point at noon. On the summer solstice, the bottom of the dagger reaches down to the lowest layer of stones, within 2 cm of the floor, spending about 20 min moving across on this level before discernibly starting to rise up again (Belmonte and Hoskin 2002, pp. 185–188; Zedda 2004, pp. 24–34, 55–56). Should this phenomenon be dismissed out of hand because nothing like it has been discovered at any other nuraghe, even though almost 7,000 of them remain in the Sardinian

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Fig. 24.4 Nuraghe Is Paras, Sardinia, Italy. (a) View through the entrance, with the “dagger of light” clearly visible on the far wall. (b) The corbelled roof with the opening at the apex (Photographs: Clive Ruggles)

landscape (see ▶ Chap. 122, “Sardinian Nuraghes”)? Or because a small stone discovered on top of the tower suggests that the hole was covered, at least for some of the time? Or are these doubts outweighed by the fact that the light dagger reaches so close to the floor without actually touching it – surely an incredible coincidence if unintentional? There is no general agreement as to how to answer such questions.

Symbol Counts Critics of Hoyle’s (1966) “eclipse predictor” explanation of the Aubrey-Hole circle at Stonehenge were often asked the question “why were there 56 Aubrey Holes, then?” The fallacy is that the observed number of things must always have an explanation rather than arising as an unplanned consequence of any number of interacting factors. There are evident dangers in seeking astronomical correlates for, say, counts of symbols in the absence of informed evidence as to their meaning: Bradley E. Schaefer once compiled a list offering a potential astronomical “explanation” for every number up to more than 100. Only rarely does the archaeological record offer affirmation that the number of things was of cultural significance in itself, an example being the re-pecking of dots on a damaged pecked cross-circle at Teotihuacan, Mexico (Fig. 24.5).

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Fig. 24.5 A cross-circle design adjacent to the Pyramid of the Sun at Teotihuacan. One corner has been re-pecked to avoid a hole in the stucco floor, suggesting that the shape was less important than the number of holes (Photograph: Clive Ruggles)

It is rare that clearly defined sequences of symbols such as dots are found in an archaeological setting where there is credible independent evidence of an astronomical association. One such case is at the triplet of temples of Mnajdra in Malta, the southernmost of which is oriented anomalously, in the direction of the heliacal rising of the Pleiades around the date of construction, ca 3000 BC. Carved into one of the two entrance pillars to the east temple at Mnajdra are several clearly delimited lines containing, respectively, 19, 13, 16, 3, 3 + 4, 24 (or 25), 11, 25, 53, and 8 (or 9) drilled holes (Hoskin 2001, pp. 31–36). These numbers correspond closely to the time intervals in days between the heliacal risings of a sequence of prominent asterisms starting with the Pleiades and finishing with the Southern Cross and Pointers. Possible corroborating evidence comes in the form of the overall orientation pattern of Maltese temples and the discovery, at one of them, of a stone fragment containing star and crescent moon symbols (see ▶ Chap. 124, “Temples of Malta”). In other cases, the astronomical (or, rather, calendrical) interpretations depend upon more questionable selection decisions, and the quality of the corroborating evidence is more critical. Thus, various problems undermine Marshack’s (1972) interpretation of the serpentine line of what appears to be tally marks on the Abri Blanchard bone, France, as a Paleolithic lunar calendar (Hadingham 1979, pp. 250–251; Kelley and Milone 2005, pp. 157–158; d’Errico 1989; see also ▶ Chap. 102, “Possible Calendrical Inscriptions on Palaeolithic Artifacts”), but there are plausible calendrical interpretations of tally counts on rock art sites in Mexico (see ▶ Chap. 47, “Astronomy and Rock Art in Mexico”; ▶ Chap. 48, “Boca de Potrerillos”) and Mesoamerican cross-circle figures (see ▶ Chap. 54, “Pecked Cross-Circles”) (see also ▶ Chap. 2, “Calendars and Astronomy”). Arguments that some Inca knotted string devices (khipu) contained calendrical information (see ▶ Chap. 2, “Calendars and Astronomy”), while very well contextualized, also depend unavoidably upon selecting a few examples where the cord counts have calendrical potential from a much larger sample.

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Discussion The need to assess the credibility of any interpretation in terms of broader social theory, the degree to which it is supported by the material evidence, and the quality of any corroborating, contextual evidence from history and/or ethnography means that a balance must be sought between each of these different components. In many respects, the debate within archaeoastronomy on how to achieve this balance in particular cases, which extends back at least as far as 1981 and still continues vigorously (e.g., Hively 1981, p. 205; Aveni 1989; Schaefer 2006a, b; Aveni 2006a, b; Ruggles 1994, 2000b, 2011, pp. 8–15), parallels similar concerns within landscape archaeology (Tilley 1994; Fleming 2005, 2006). It may be that, as this debate matures, many more archaeoastronomers will come to focus less on structural orientations, light-and-shadow phenomena, and symbol counts and more on other aspects of the material record.

Cross-References ▶ Analyzing Light-and-Shadow Interactions ▶ Analyzing Orientations ▶ Ancient “Observatories” - A Relevant Concept? ▶ Ancient Hawaiian Astronomy ▶ Archaeoastronomy in Polynesia ▶ Astronomical Correlates of Architecture and Landscape in Mesoamerica ▶ Astronomy and City Planning in China ▶ Astronomy and Rock Art in Mexico ▶ Astronomy in the Dresden Codex ▶ Babylonian Mathematical Astronomy ▶ Best Practice for Evaluating the Astronomical Significance of Archaeological Sites ▶ Boca de Potrerillos ▶ Boyne Valley Tombs ▶ Cave of the Astronomers at Xochicalco ▶ Chankillo ▶ Chinese Constellations and Star Maps ▶ Concepts of Space, Time, and the Cosmos ▶ Cultural Interpretation of Archaeological Evidence Relating to Astronomy ▶ Cultural Interpretation of Ethnographic Evidence Relating to Astronomy ▶ Cultural Interpretation of Historical Evidence Relating to Astronomy ▶ Dengfeng Large Gnomon ▶ Development of Archaeoastronomy in the English-Speaking World ▶ Disciplinary Perspectives on Archaeoastronomy ▶ E-Group Arrangements ▶ Egyptian Constellations ▶ Excavated Documents Dealing with Chinese Astronomy

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▶ Governor’s Palace at Uxmal ▶ Greek Temples and Rituals ▶ Inca Astronomy and Calendrics ▶ Islamic Astronomical Instruments and Observatories ▶ Islamic Folk Astronomy ▶ Layout of Ancient Maya Cities ▶ Light at the Pantheon ▶ Light–Shadow Interactions in Italian Medieval Churches ▶ Monuments of the Giza Plateau ▶ Orientation of Christian Churches ▶ Patterns of Orientation in the Megalithic Tombs of the Western Mediterranean ▶ Pecked Cross-Circles ▶ Possible Astronomical Depictions in Franco-Cantabrian Paleolithic Rock Art ▶ Possible Calendrical Inscriptions on Paleolithic Artifacts ▶ Recumbent Stone Circles ▶ Rock Art of the Greater Southwest ▶ Sardinian Nuraghes ▶ Shang Oracle Bones ▶ Star Clocks and Water Management in Oman ▶ Stonehenge and its Landscape ▶ Sun-Dagger Sites ▶ Temples of Malta ▶ Use of Astronomical Principles in Indian Temple Architecture ▶ Wooden Calendar Sticks in Eastern Europe

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Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Precision and Accuracy . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Data Selection . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Structural Orientations . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Light-and-Shadow Effects . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Symbol Counts . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Best Practice . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Further Issues . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Discussion . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Abstract

Most practitioners of archaeoastronomy would argue that paying due attention to social theory and the broader cultural context does not obviate the need for careful attention to be given to methodological considerations such as the fair selection of data. Notwithstanding the complexities and subtleties that can arise when archaeoastronomical evidence is duly considered in a broader context, this chapter addresses a number of basic issues of best practice, with data selection methodologies at the fore. It focuses particularly upon three types of evidence most commonly considered by archaeoastronomers – structural orientations, lightand-shadow effects, and symbol counts – as identified in ▶ Chap. 24, “Nature and Analysis of Material Evidence Relevant to Archaeoastronomy”. It does not address field survey and data analysis techniques as such; these are covered in ▶ Chaps. 26, “Techniques of Field Survey” and ▶ 27, “Analyzing Orientations”.

C.L.N. Ruggles School of Archaeology and Ancient History, University of Leicester, Leicester, UK e-mail: [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_25, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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Introduction No archaeological explanation provides a definitive reading of history, merely social interpretations based upon the analysis of material evidence. The same is true within archaeoastronomy, whose business is to assess astronomical potentialities sensibly within a broader interpretative framework taking into account the full range of available archaeological – and, where it exists, historical and/or ethnographic – evidence (Ruggles 2011; see ▶ Chap. 24, “Nature and Analysis of Material Evidence Relevant to Archaeoastronomy”). In the early days of the development of archaeoastronomy, many of its practitioners strove to find astronomical explanations for large impressive monuments such as Stonehenge (see ▶ Chap. 105, “Stonehenge and its Landscape”), but showed little or no interest in other motivations for people’s actions in the past. This was reflected in the use of terms such as “observatory” to describe astronomically aligned monuments, with the implication that astronomy was the sole or primary reason for their construction (see ▶ Chap. 9, “Ancient “Observatories” A Relevant Concept?”). Indeed, the very emergence of archaeoastronomy as a separate field of endeavor in the 1970s served to reinforce the impression that its proponents generally conformed to this stereotype. Only since the 1990s has it been generally accepted, both within and outside the field, that, on the one hand, the sky was a significant cultural resource for most if not all human societies (Ruggles and Saunders 1993), and, on the other, that archaeoastronomy is only worth doing if it addresses wider social questions (Aveni 2008). There remain nonetheless significant numbers of people whose interest in archaeoastronomy is, essentially, astronomical rather than anthropological. One danger is that this can engender an approach in which astronomical influences on the material record – and, in particular, astronomical alignments in monumental architecture – are sought more or less for their own sake, something that from an anthropological perspective appears no better than “celestial butterfly collecting” unrelated to any relevant cultural questions (Kintigh 1992; see also Aveni 2008, pp. 803–808). In countless contexts worldwide, enthusiastic emergent archaeoastronomers, applying preconceived ideas of which astronomical targets might have been significant – the rising or setting sun at the solstices or equinoxes, for example – have gone out to seek, and have then duly found, instances of alignments upon them. Reviewers invariably find that their conclusions are less impressive when due attention is paid to the fair selection of data. Questions of field procedure, including data selection, are no less relevant where preconceived notions as to what may have been significant or meaningful are suitably informed, both in broad terms by social theory (see ▶ Chap. 21, “Cultural Interpretation of Archaeological Evidence Relating to Astronomy”) and more specifically by the cultural context (see ▶ Chap. 24, “Nature and Analysis of Material Evidence Relevant to Archaeoastronomy”). This chapter addresses a number of basic issues of best practice, focusing particularly upon data selection methodologies as applied to the three types of material evidence most

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commonly considered by archaeoastronomers, namely, structural orientations, light-and-shadow effects, and symbol counts (see ▶ Chap. 24, “Nature and Analysis of Material Evidence Relevant to Archaeoastronomy”).

Precision and Accuracy Just as it is essential for an archaeologist to produce accurate site plans, so it behooves an archaeoastronomer to present the “astronomical facts” accurately and unambiguously. For a structural alignment, best practice demands that the (true) azimuth, horizon altitude, and indicated declination be stated clearly to an appropriate level of precision; profile diagrams, if provided, must also be correctly annotated with azimuth, altitude, and, preferably, declination (Ruggles 1999, p. 164; see also ▶ Chap. 27, “Analyzing Orientations”). The phrase “to an appropriate level of precision” is a vital one. There is an important distinction between precision, the size of the units in which a measurement is quoted, and accuracy, how well a measurement (e.g., of a structural azimuth) conforms to its true value (Ruggles 1999, p. ix). A given precision does not imply a similar accuracy, because of the possibility of systematic errors; “false precision” occurs whenever the degree to which a measurement is quoted misrepresents the actual accuracy of the reading. Thus, for example, early determinations of the orientations of sites such as the Giza pyramids, various classical Greek temples, and Stonehenge in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries were typically quoted to the nearest second of arc (Petrie 1883; Penrose 1893; and Lockyer 1909, pp. 62–68 respectively), though – as various re-measurements and reassessments have shown – they did not, and could not, obtain anything like this level of accuracy (e.g., on Greek temples see Boutsikas and Ruggles 2011, p. 58; see also ▶ Chaps. 134, “Monuments of the Giza Plateau”; ▶ 140, “Greek Temples and Rituals”; ▶ 105, “Stonehenge and its Landscape”) Worse, some of these unjustifiably precise readings were then used in ill-advised attempts to estimate dates of construction (Penrose 1893; Lockyer 1909, pp. 67–68) (see also below). The early literature in archaeoastronomy is strewn with examples of false precision like these, but they are also to be found in more recent publications. Just because an instrument will take readings to a certain level of precision does not mean that such precision is justified or meaningful. A useful question to ask is: would the readings be exactly duplicated if, say, the instrument was removed and the survey repeated on another day? An appropriate level of accuracy, and hence precision, must be set realistically by the research objectives and limited by such factors as the nature of any architectural alignments that might have astronomical significance and the state of the structures concerned. Generally speaking, the precision of altitude measurements (and of the determination of the local latitude) should match that of azimuth measurements, as the accuracy of the deduced declinations is limited by each of them. This is not normally a problem for measurements made in the field, since survey instruments such as a theodolite or compass-clinometer determine both angles to similar

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precision, but may be an issue if estimates of the altitude of a relatively close horizon are made from map contours or digital terrain data of insufficiently fine resolution. The altitude is less critical at locations close to the equator, where rising and setting paths are nearly vertical, while at higher latitudes the azimuth is less critical around the north and south directions, where the paths of astronomical bodies are almost horizontal.

Data Selection The question of the fair selection of data has been deeply engrained in archaeoastronomy ever since this was identified as a crucial factor in critiques of “megalithic astronomy” in the 1980s (Ruggles 1981, 1982, 1983, 1999). Yet many lessons from that era are still ignored today, even in the mainstream literature on archaeoastronomy. The most basic principle, encapsulated most elegantly by Freeman (1982, pp. 46–48; see also Ruggles 1999, p. 76), is “Observe everything and report all you observe”. When considering structural orientations, for example, it is all too easy simply to ignore those not felt to be pointing anywhere potentially “interesting”, and the archaeoastronomical literature is littered with examples where certain alignments have been highlighted while others – just as impressive apart from their astronomical potential – have been sidelined or totally ignored. Effectively, the data are being chosen in order to justify prior beliefs, in the manner of a circular argument, rather than with the intention of assessing to what extent they actually provide support for those ideas. This also undermines any statistical analyses of the data concerned, which could easily then appear, quite falsely, to lend support to the preconceived ideas.

Structural Orientations The biased or misleading selection of data can be obvious or deeply implicit in the method, and can occur in a great variety of ways. A few examples relating to structural orientations serve to illustrate some of the dangers: • Being influenced, when estimating the intended orientation of any given oriented structure and the “indicated horizon” in either direction, by prior ideas about its astronomical potential. This would happen, for example, if the indicated horizon were consciously extended so as include an “astronomically interesting” direction. Factors affecting the accuracy to which any “indication” can be estimated archaeologically, such as the length and current state of preservation of an oriented structure – a wall or a row of standing stones, for example – or the distance from a backsight to a foresight and the width of the foresight, all vary from case to case. This means that a number of explicit or implicit decisions are already being made, and there is already plenty of scope for selective bias, even in establishing the basic archaeoastronomical “facts” (see ▶ Chap. 27, “Analyzing Orientations”). Reassessments of Alexander Thom’s “megalithic

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lunar observatories” (Thom 1971) in the 1980s, where the indicating structures were independently assessed (e.g., Ruggles 1982), revealed many instances where the determination of the indicated declination seemed to have been influenced in this way. • Selecting one or a few structural orientations out of many for no apparent reason apart from their astronomical potential. This can occur in many different ways. For example: – The walls of rectangular constructions define four directions, and if there is no a priori reason to identify a particular direction or axis as more important, then all four should be considered on an equal basis. See, for example, Ruggles’ (2007, pp. 304–305) study of Hawaiian temple orientations, where the “direction faced” is indicated if known but all data are clearly displayed. Even in this apparently simple case, a series of factors – e.g., how to deal with non-rectangular constructions (should one take the mean as the “intended axis” or measure along each wall?) and non-straight or damaged walls (what if any was the intended direction?) – all require decisions to be made and documented. Even where such a building clearly faces a given direction, the question of whether the significant alignment was outward or inward may not be self-evident, so both possibilities should be considered, as in the case of the Governor’s Palace at Uxmal, Mexico (see ▶ Chap. 59, “Governor’s Palace at Uxmal”). – There may be more than one way of estimating the principal axis of a symmetrical monument such as a temple or tomb. At Scottish recumbent stone circles (RSCs), for example, there are two distinct ways of estimating the intended axial orientation, either or both of which may be measurable at any given site, depending upon the state of preservation, and early analyses of RSC orientations confused the two (see ▶ Chap. 109, “Recumbent Stone Circles”). – At irregular sites, it can be more difficult to identify a “complete” set of equally plausible alignments, increasing the temptation simply to select alignments that fit preconceived astronomical possibilities. Examples include Namoratung’a II in Kenya, where spurious stellar alignments were used to justify the idea of calendrical continuity extending back more than 2000 years (Soper 1982; see also ▶ Chap. 86, “Mursi and Borana Calendars”), and Odry in Poland, where an “ancient observatory” interpretation was used to support Nazi ideology (see ▶ Chap. 117, “Lessons of Odry”). Another notorious example is the Mississippian site of Cahokia, USA, where selected alignments between posts in five timber circles were claimed in the 1960s to have been intentional markers of sunrise at the solstices and equinoxes (Ruggles 2005, pp. 57–59; Schaefer 2006, pp. 36–42). At sites such as the “Horca del Inca” in Bolivia (Pereira 2011) or Kokino in Macedonia (see ▶ Chap. 9, “Ancient “Observatories” - A Relevant Concept?”), the selection possibilities are extended by the inclusion of natural or elaborated features such as holes and protuberances in living rock. At Carahunge in Armenia, astronomical claims are based on arbitrary assumptions about the

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restriction of artificial holes in standing stones using narrow pipes for which there is absolutely no evidence (see ▶ Chap. 127, “Carahunge - A Critical Assessment”). Ironically, those analyses that present themselves as the most formal and systematic, by analyzing statistically the chances of gaining the observed number of alignments of a particular type from a range of possibilities, are often equally guilty of unjustifiable selection decisions – made in the process of determining the dataset of “candidate” alignments. A classic example of this is “Stonehenge decoded” (Hawkins and White 1965; see Atkinson 1966), which also introduced several errors in the probability calculations that enhanced the apparent significance of the results: by suppressing the fact that candidate alignments could be viewed in either direction, presenting related orientations as independent, and choosing different error margins in different cases when defining what constituted a “hit” upon an astronomical target (Atkinson 1966; Heggie 1981, pp. 145–151; Ruggles 1999, pp. 38–40, 43). • Selecting sites for consideration for any reason other than that they form a culturally and chronologically coherent group. “Data-driven” approaches that attempt to “let the data speak for themselves” (see ▶ Chap. 24, “Nature and Analysis of Material Evidence Relevant to Archaeoastronomy”) focus upon many sites taken together, but failing to select a coherent group greatly increases the risks of being influenced by the sites’ astronomical potential – which then compromises the validity of any results as well as their cultural relevance. The problem is compounded if structural variations from one site to another, or their different states of preservation, give rise to additional “selection within the site” issues, as discussed above. The evidence presented in support Thom’s “megalithic astronomy” fell into this trap (see Ruggles 1999, pp. 52–55). • Selecting one astronomically aligned site from a coherent group while ignoring the rest. This is a direct corollary of the previous item. It can be misleading to emphasize the astronomical orientation of a particular monument while ignoring the wider context of the group of monuments of which it is a member. A classic example is Drombeg stone circle in Ireland, whose solstitial alignment has been much commented upon in the literature, yet is unique among over 50 Irish axialstone circles and therefore unlikely to have been intentional (see Ruggles 1999, p. 100). That the famous solstitial orientation of Newgrange passage tomb was intentional is in little doubt, but it is invariably discussed without reference to the orientations of the other two great Boyne valley tombs, which are within the solar rising or setting range but not solstitial, or to Knowth’s satellite tombs which predominantly face inward toward the main tomb (see ▶ Chap. 108, “Boyne Valley Tombs”). • Selecting places, and alignments between them, as significant while ignoring others. The dangers of selectively scouring the landscape for suitable alignments are well known from critiques of British prehistoric sites such as Brainport Bay in Scotland (Ruggles 1999, pp. 32–34). At its worst, this practice harks back to “ley lines” (Williamson and Bellamy 1983; Hutton 1991, pp. 118–132;

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Fig. 25.1 (a) Le Grand Menhir Brise´, Locmariaquer, France, viewed from the south (Photograph: Louis Carlier, Creative Commons License) (b) Thom and Thom’s scheme for the Grand Menhir as a universal lunar foresight (After Ruggles (1999): Fig. 1.18b)

Ruggles 1999, p. 3) by conflating archaeological features of all ages, often together with natural features in the landscape, such as boulders. A classic example is Thom and Thom’s (1978, pp. 98–108) interpretation of Le Grand Menhir Brise´, Locmariaquer, France, as a “universal lunar foresight” (see Fig. 25.1), arrived at by traversing eight relevant directions in search of suitable candidate backsights while ignoring other directions (Hadingham 1981; Ruggles 1999, pp. 34–35).

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• Selecting putative horizon foresights from among many possibilities, again for no apparent reason other than their astronomical potential. This is an important issue because of the possibility – known well from cultural precedents such as the Hopi (see ▶ Chap. 46, “Hopi and Puebloan Ethnoastronomy and Ethnoscience”) – that people might have marked significant celestial rising or setting events using prominent natural features on the horizon as foresights. This can occur, for example, if a feature such as a distant mountain peak or notch is singled out as the “indicated foresight” while other equally distinctive features within an indicate horizon range are ignored; also if decisions as to what constitutes the “indicated horizon” for any given structural orientation are influenced by the presence of potential foresights in astronomical “interesting” positions. The situation is still worse if there is no indicating structure at all. All of these problems have been well known and documented since reassessments of Thom’s “megalithic lunar observatories” (Thom 1971) in the 1980s (Ruggles 1981, 1983). • Selecting putative backsights (observing positions) from among many possibilities, again for no apparent reason other than their astronomical potential. This issue is well illustrated at Chankillo in Peru (see ▶ Chap. 62, “Chankillo”): since the line of 13 towers runs roughly north–south and forms the horizon as seen from points to the west, there has to be a spot from which the sunrise arc coincides with the span of the towers. If the “western observing point” were identified purely on this basis, this would provide no backing for the idea that it was used as such, so archaeological evidence indicating there was indeed a special location close to the “ideal spot” – in this case an open doorway with extensive votive offerings – is critical. Dubious selection decisions such as those listed above can also be reinforced in visualizations. In particular, site plans overlaid with “significant” orientations superimposed can often mislead the reader by drawing their eye to certain alignments while they overlook others.

Light-and-Shadow Effects The analysis of light-and-shadow phenomena raises a similar set of issues, many of which are complex given the various different ways in which light-and-shadow configurations could conceivably occur that could have been perceived as significant (see ▶ Chap. 28, “Analyzing Light-and-Shadow Interactions”). Two obvious ways in which the potentially misleading selection of data could arise are: • Selecting sites with light-and-shadow potential while ignoring similar other sites that have similar potential. For example, Is Paras (see ▶ Chap. 24, “Nature and Analysis of Material Evidence Relevant to Archaeoastronomy”) is just one of several thousand Sardinian nuraghi. How many others have openings that might cast light into the interior? Likewise, at least one other megalithic tomb (Crantit in the Orkney Islands, Scotland) appears to have had a “roof box” structure similar in some respects to that at Newgrange (see ▶ Chap. 108, “Boyne Valley Tombs”),

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but which let in light at dates other than the solstices (Towrie 2013). Such evidence has not been systematically studied. • Selecting certain specific light-and-shadow configurations as potentially significant while ignoring other configurations that are equally striking but occur at different times. The Fajada Butte sun-dagger in Chaco Canyon, USA, highlights the dangers of picking out impressive lighting effects on dates that we consider significant. Famously, a vertical dagger of light slices down across the center of a carved spiral a little before noon on days around the June solstice. The original solar interpretation (Sofaer et al. 1979) also singles out other light-dagger phenomena occurring on the winter solstice and equinoxes (see ▶ Chap. 41, “Rock Art of the Greater Southwest”), and a subsequent analysis (Sofaer et al. 1982) notes that a shadow edge passes through the center of the spiral when the moon rises around the minor standstill limit and tangential to it at the major standstill limit. However, it is questionable whether the light-dagger phenomena occurring on the winter solstice and equinoxes are any more prominent than different configurations on other days (Zeilik 1985b, p. S74); the rocks casting the shadows are a natural rockfall that – even if they did fall into place before the spiral was carved, which is not certain – may well have shifted since the time of use (they did shift between 1978 and 1990); and there is no reason to believe that the lunar standstills had any cultural significance (Zeilik 1985b; Carlson 1987; also ▶ Chap. 45, “Pueblo Ethnoastronomy”). While the intentionality of the June solstice sun-dagger remains an open issue, the remaining solar phenomena are doubtful at best and the lunar ones almost certainly fortuitous (see also ▶ Chap. 43, “Sun-Dagger Sites”).

Symbol Counts As far as symbol counts are concerned, perhaps the most important basic principle is that there is no need to try to explain every number (see ▶ Chap. 24, “Nature and Analysis of Material Evidence Relevant to Archaeoastronomy”). Examples of attempts to fit astronomically significant numbers to counts of entities found in the archaeological record range from the notion – still propagated in the tourist media (e.g., http://www.stonehengewatch.com/history-structure.asp) – that the “29.5” uprights in the Sarsen Circle at Stonehenge symbolize the number of days in the lunar month, to the serious speculation that the 13 towers at Chankillo (see ▶ Chap. 62, “Chankillo”) may have been “stations of the moon for public ceremonies during the bright half of the lunar cycle” (Malville 2011, p. 154). More commonly, and generally more productively, people investigate the possible calendrical significance of symbol counts in pictographs or petroglyphs, guided more or less strongly by relevant contextual information (see, e.g., ▶ Chaps. 54, “Pecked Cross-Circles”; ▶ 47, “Astronomy and Rock Art in Mexico”). The potential for the misleading selection of data – for example, by selecting some symbols and ignoring others; breaking a cluster of symbols into sequences in a certain way, ignoring alternatives; and making convenient assumptions in broken or damaged areas – is most evident in detailed interpretations of complex rock engravings such as the

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so-called calendar stone at Knowth in Ireland (Brennan 1980, pp. 97–100; see also Heggie 1982, pp. 19–20; Ruggles 1999, p. 129) and the “calendar panel” petroglyphs at Sears Point, Arizona, USA (Hoskinson 2005). Astronomical interpretations of symbols appearing, for example, in rock art must be approached with extreme caution, especially where there is little or no contextual evidence to support them, since meaning is notoriously specific to context and multifaceted (see ▶ Chap. 24, “Nature and Analysis of Material Evidence Relevant to Archaeoastronomy”).

Best Practice What, then, constitutes best practice? It is certainly necessary to be aware of, and explicit about, the various selection decisions that need to be made. Beyond that, the aim is not to seek “objective criteria” for particular choices (which cannot be justified in any absolute sense – see ▶ Chap. 24, “Nature and Analysis of Material Evidence Relevant to Archaeoastronomy”) but rather to document and justify, within an appropriate interpretative framework, the choices made. What is unacceptable is simply to present the data that fit an idea, with no indication of how they were selected and from which broader dataset. Examples of good practice in this regard extend back to the 1970s. Thus, for example, Aveni et al. (1978; see also Aveni 1988) document all pecked crosscircles known at the time before making selections in order to consider and compare different explanatory hypotheses. Urton’s argument that a particular Inca knotted string device (khipu) contained calendrical information (Urton 2001; see also ▶ Chap. 2, “Calendars and Astronomy”) is framed against the background of a comprehensive documentation project (Urton and Brezine 2009) as well as detailed contextual studies. Kirch and Ruggles (n.d.) present a comprehensive catalog of plans, orientation data, and contextual information regarding the Kahikinui-Kaupo temples on Maui before interpreting some of them as Lono temples oriented upon the Pleiades. Best practice in the documentation of light-and-shadow interactions involves either recording the site parameters in sufficient detail for others to reconstruct and examine the effects in question, or recording different interactions at various times of day and year, so that favored phenomena can be compared with those that occur at other points in time (see ▶ Chap. 28, “Analyzing Light-and-Shadow Interactions”). For example, in view of the diversity of undocumented lighting effects discovered in Italian medieval churches – including rays of sunlight falling on paintings, altars, fonts, and doors and along the axis of the church – 3D-models and videos form an essential part of complete archaeoastronomical surveys so as to avoid simply communicating a “grab sample” of all the possibilities (see ▶ Chap. 159, “Light-Shadow Interactions in Italian Medieval Churches”). Increasingly, technology is making it possible to combine both approaches in tools that enable the user to visualize light-and-shadow effects at whatever time of day or year they choose. A good example is the interactive “Sun-Dagger

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Explorer” tool installed at the New Mexico Museum of Natural History and Science (Sofaer et al. 2011; see also ▶ Chap. 29, “Visualisation Tools and Techniques”). An important issue to be borne in mind at all times is the likelihood that we may be trying to interpret what was in fact a wholly fortuitous phenomenon of no cultural significance whatsoever. This is not to say that the selection of a particular orientation, light-and-shadow effect, or symbol count as one that did perhaps have cultural significance might not be justified in terms of social theory or contextual evidence; merely that the criteria for selection, and the possibilities not selected, must be made clear. Even those whose interpretative paradigm places little emphasis upon methodological concerns (see ▶ Chap. 24, “Nature and Analysis of Material Evidence Relevant to Archaeoastronomy”) need to acknowledge that others may wish to revisit their data and apply interpretive paradigms of their own.

Further Issues Three further methodological concerns are worthy of brief mention. The first two relate specifically to structural orientations while the third raises a slightly different issue: methodologies for archaeoastronomical investigation at places in the landscape where there are no known archaeological remains. • Preconceived targets. While “data-driven” approaches to the analysis of structural orientations may avoid the need to prejudge astronomical targets of potential significance (see ▶ Chap. 24, “Nature and Analysis of Material Evidence Relevant to Archaeoastronomy”), it is rarely possible not to be influenced by prior conceptions, especially where the cultural context cannot give firm guidance. The need to avoid a Western “recipe book” of targets – Aveni’s (1988) “Thom paradigm” – is clear, but there is still a strong tendency to seek alignments upon lunar standstill limits even though their cultural relevance in most cases is extremely doubtful (see ▶ Chap. 27, “Analyzing Orientations”). Even to take the “equinox” – understood as the spatial or temporal mid-way point between the solstices (see ▶ Chap. 30, “Basic Concepts of Positional Astronomy”) – as an obviously significant target is ethnocentrically to impose a Western abstract view of time rather than to acknowledge indigenous concepts of time and temporality (see ▶ Chap. 2, “Calendars and Astronomy”). Likewise, it is generally taken as self-evident that the brightest stars and the (to us) most prominent asterisms are likely to have been the most important to prehistoric peoples, but ethnographically attested cases such as the Borana of Ethiopia (see ▶ Chap. 86, “Mursi and Borana Calendars”) urge caution. • Astronomical dating. The dating of historical events linked to astronomical observations is well established in cultural contexts – such as ancient Babylonia, Assyria, and Egypt – where the timing of those events is recorded in terms of a reliable cultural calendar about which we also have detailed knowledge (see ▶ Chap. 3, “Astronomy and Chronology - Babylonia, Assyria, and Egypt”).

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On the other hand, dating events such as the date of construction of prehistoric monuments from astronomical alignments which are themselves deduced from the spatial disposition of those monuments (rather than directly documented) is dangerously prone to circular argument. Thus, stellar rising and setting positions shift significantly over the centuries owing to precession (see ▶ Chap. 31, “Long-Term Changes in the Appearance of the Sky”) and this, combined with uncertainties such as atmospheric extinction (see ▶ Chap. 30, “Basic Concepts of Positional Astronomy”) and the large number of stars in the sky, means that it is all too easy to identify a star that fits a structural alignment within the date range permitted by the historical or archaeological evidence and then use this assumption to obtain a more precise date within that range. This dubious practice extends right back to the nineteenth century (Penrose 1893). Solar alignments, and in particular solstitial alignments, are less equivocal, but here the problem is that the rate of change in the obliquity of the ecliptic (see ▶ Chap. 31, “Long-Term Changes in the Appearance of the Sky”) is relatively small: Lockyer (1909, pp. 67–68) could only deduce a date for the construction of Stonehenge to within about 200 years (1700 BC, which is actually several centuries too late – see ▶ Chap. 105, “Stonehenge and its Landscape”) by overrating the accuracy to which it was possible to determine the axial alignment. Normally, it is only advisable to use archaeological dating to constrain the possibilities for astronomical alignments, rather than progressing onward around the deductive circle by assuming the nature of the alignment and then attempting to date it astronomically. • Unmarked places. The absence of material evidence does not prevent archaeologists from recognizing natural places such as mountains, caves, and springs as places of likely cultural significance (Bradley 2009). Similarly, alignments of landscape features upon prominent celestial bodies – coincidences of nature from a Western perspective – could well have helped mark out a place as special or sacred, and such possibilities are increasingly being taken seriously by archaeoastronomers. Examples include the alignment of the hill summit of Poike with the rising of the Pleiades as seen from the crater-rim location of Orongo on Easter Island (Edwards and Belmonte 2004; see ▶ Chap. 215, “Archaeoastronomy in Polynesia”) and the natural striations aligned upon midwinter sunset that may explain why Stonehenge was built where it was (see ▶ Chap. 105, “Stonehenge and its Landscape”). In both these cases, there are in fact remains at the places concerned. Methodologically, examining the natural alignment possibilities from an unmarked place – one that is considered to be of possible cultural significance for some reason – is indistinguishable from doing so at places where there are non-oriented remains. In both cases, the multiplicity of putative alignments that could be identified from arbitrary locations in almost any landscape means that it is seldom possible to build a convincing case that any particular alignment from the chosen place might have been significant, unless there is very strong corroborating evidence. Obviously, if the place itself has been selected on the grounds of the astronomical possibilities, then the argument becomes circular.

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Discussion Many years of debate have produced a broad consensus as to what constitutes best practice when evaluating the astronomical significance of archaeological sites, but there remain a number of points of contention. Many of these stem from the lack of any agreed way to temper “theoretical strength” against “methodological weakness”: interpretations that are more credible either in general terms (from social theory and/or precedents in historically or ethnographically documented cultures) or from due consideration of the particular broader cultural context may be less amenable to convincing support from the material record. The following range of issues crop up quite commonly in archaeoastronomy: • Many astronomical sightlines, if used, will not have been clear of vegetation (e.g., distant trees) which would have altered the “effective altitude” of the horizon. • Sunrise or sunset observations using a horizon foresight to track the solstice with precision are less likely to use a foresight placed precisely at the solstice (when the daily change in the sun’s rising or setting position is minuscule) than some days in advance. For example, a practice of anticipatory observations is ethnographically documented in the US southwest (Zeilik 1985a; see also ▶ Chap. 46, “Hopi and Puebloan Ethnoastronomy and Ethnoscience”). • In many situations attested ethnographically – the Mursi (see ▶ Chap. 86, “Mursi and Borana Calendars”) and Hopi (see ▶ Chap. 46, “Hopi and Puebloan Ethnoastronomy and Ethnoscience”), for example – sunrise and sunset observations made for calendrical purposes from fixed spots do not require any structure to be set up to mark the direction of the relevant horizon foresight. • Some patterns of symbols in pictographs or petroglyphs, or of buildings and other features in constructed landscapes, might have reflected or represented patterns of stars in the sky (see ▶ Chap. 24, “Nature and Analysis of Material Evidence Relevant to Archaeoastronomy”). If this was indeed the case, they are unlikely to be “literal depictions” in the Western sense. • At Chankillo (see ▶ Chap. 62, “Chankillo”), the “western observing point”, strongly attested archaeologically, is not quite at what might seem to us the “ideal” location, from which the 13 towers would exactly span the solar arc, but positioned so that the arc extends at the June solstice end to include a natural hill, thus making 13 rather than 12 gaps. In each case, favoring an interpretation with firmer anthropological or contextual foundations rather than a “simpler and cleaner” alternative (i.e., respectively, the sightlines were cleared of vegetation; solstitial foresights were aligned exactly with the solstice; alignments were marked by oriented structures; representational patterns aimed at literal representation in the Western sense; and the backsight at Chankillo was placed exactly so that the towers would span the sunrise arc) introduces additional subjectivity into the reading of the data. While strict objectivity is never obtainable, how much subjectivity should be tolerated before we risk losing sight of the material evidence altogether? The example of Mayan E-group structures (see ▶ Chap. 60, “E-Group Arrangements”), as discussed in ▶ Chap. 24, “Nature and Analysis of Material Evidence Relevant to Archaeoastronomy”, illustrates this

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question starkly. Those who approach archaeoastronomy from the human sciences and those who approach it from the physical sciences might still tend to give somewhat different answers. The issues discussed in this chapter are not just academic. They have strong implications for heritage recognition, since archaeoastronomical sites are increasingly coming to be considered as potential national heritage, and even World Heritage, sites (see the UNESCO Portal to the Heritage of Astronomy, http:// www.astronomicalheritage.net; also ▶ Chap. 20, “Archaeoastronomical Heritage and the World Heritage Convention”). Issues of methodology are closely related to issues of credibility (Cotte and Ruggles 2010, pp. 271–272), and best practice with regard to site methodology is essential.

Cross-References ▶ Analyzing Light-and-Shadow Interactions ▶ Analyzing Orientations ▶ Ancient “Observatories” - A Relevant Concept? ▶ Archaeoastronomical Heritage and the World Heritage Convention ▶ Archaeoastronomy in Polynesia ▶ Astronomy and Chronology - Babylonia, Assyria, and Egypt ▶ Astronomy and Rock Art in Mexico ▶ Basic Concepts of Positional Astronomy ▶ Boyne Valley Tombs ▶ Carahunge - A Critical Assessment ▶ Chankillo ▶ Cultural Interpretation of Archaeological Evidence Relating to Astronomy ▶ E-Group Arrangements ▶ Governor’s Palace at Uxmal ▶ Greek Temples and Rituals ▶ Hopi and Puebloan Ethnoastronomy and Ethnoscience ▶ Inca Astronomy and Calendrics ▶ Lessons of Odry ▶ Light–Shadow Interactions in Italian Medieval Churches ▶ Long-term Changes in the Appearance of the Sky ▶ Monuments of the Giza Plateau ▶ Mursi and Borana Calendars ▶ Nature and Analysis of Material Evidence Relevant to Archaeoastronomy ▶ Pecked Cross-Circles ▶ Recumbent Stone Circles ▶ Stonehenge and its Landscape ▶ Sun-Dagger Sites ▶ Techniques of Field Survey ▶ Visualization Tools and Techniques

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References Atkinson RJC (1966) Moonshine on stonehenge. Antiquity 40:212–216 Aveni AF (1988) The Thom paradigm in the Americas: the case of the cross-circle designs. In: Ruggles CLN (ed) Records in stone: papers in memory of Alexander Thom. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, pp 442–472 Aveni AF (ed) (2008) Foundations of new world cultural astronomy: a reader with commentary. University Press of Colorado, Boulder Aveni AF, Hartung H, Buckingham B (1978) The pecked cross symbol in ancient America. Science 202:267–279 Boutsikas E, Ruggles CLN (2011) Temples, stars, and ritual landscapes: the potential for archaeoastronomy in ancient Greece. Am J Archaeol 115(1):55–68 Bradley RJ (2009) An archaeology of natural places. Routledge, London Brennan M (1980) The Boyne Valley vision. Dolmen Press, Portlaoise Carlson JB (1987) Romancing the stone, or moonshine on the sun dagger. In: Carlson JB, Judge WJ (eds) Astronomy and ceremony in the prehistoric Southwest. Papers of the Maxwell Museum of Anthropology, no. 2. Maxwell Museum of Anthropology, Albuquerque, pp 71–88 Cotte M, Ruggles CLN (2010) Astronomical heritage in the context of the UNESCO World Heritage Convention: developing a professional and rational approach. In: Ruggles CLN, Cotte M (eds) Heritage sites of astronomy and archaeoastronomy in the context of the UNESCO World Heritage Convention: a thematic study. ICOMOS–IAU, Paris, pp 261–273 Edwards ER, Belmonte JA (2004) Megalithic astronomy of Easter Island: a reassessment. J Hist Astron 35:421–433 Freeman PR (1982) The statistical approach. In: Heggie DC (ed) Archaeoastronomy in the old world. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, pp 45–52 Hadingham E (1981) The lunar observatory hypothesis at Carnac: a reconsideration. Antiquity 45:35–42 Hawkins GS, White JB (1965) Stonehenge decoded. Doubleday, New York Heggie DC (1981) Megalithic science: ancient mathematics and astronomy in northwest Europe. Thames and Hudson, London Heggie DC (1982) Megalithic astronomy: highlights and visions. In: Heggie DC (ed) Archaeoastronomy in the old world. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, pp 1–24 Hoskinson T (2005) Calendric investigations of a complex petroglyph panel at a Gila River archaeological site in Arizona. In: Fountain JW, Sinclair RM (eds) Current studies in archaeoastronomy: conversations across time and space. Carolina Academic Press, Durham, pp 169–179 Hutton R (1991) The pagan religions of the ancient British Isles. Blackwell, Oxford Kintigh KW (1992) I wasn’t going to say anything, but since you asked: archaeoastronomy and archaeology. Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy News 5(1):1&4 Kirch PV, Ruggles CLN (n.d.) Heiau sites of Kahikinui and Kaupo¯ (manuscript in preparation) Lockyer JN (1909) Stonehenge and other British stone monuments astronomically considered, 2nd edn. Macmillan, London Malville JM (2011) Astronomy and ceremony at Chankillo: an Andean perspective. In: Ruggles CLN (ed) Archaeoastronomy and ethnoastronomy: building bridges between cultures. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, pp 154–161 Penrose FC (1893) On the results of an examination of the orientations of a number of Greek temples with a view to connect these angles with the amplitudes of certain stars at the time the temples were founded, and an endeavour to derive therefrom the dates of their foundation by consideration of the changes produced upon the right ascension and declination of the stars by the precession of the equinoxes. Philos Trans R Soc Lond A184:805–834 Pereira QG (2011) La Horca del Inca – an astronomical observatory? In: Ruggles CLN (ed) Archaeoastronomy and ethnoastronomy: building bridges between cultures. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, pp 128–134

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Petrie WMF (1883) The pyramids and temples of Gizeh. Field and Tuer, London Ruggles CLN (1981) A critical examination of the megalithic lunar observatories. In: Ruggles CLN, Whittle AWR (eds) Astronomy and society in Britain during the period 4000–1500 BC, BAR British Series 88. British Archaeological Reports, Oxford, pp 153–209 Ruggles CLN (1982) A reassessment of the high precision megalithic lunar sightlines, 1: backsights, indicators and the archaeological status of the sightlines. Archaeoastronomy 4(Supplement to the Journal for the History for Astronomy 13):S21–S40 Ruggles CLN (1983) A reassessment of the high precision megalithic lunar sightlines, 2: foresights and the problem of selection. Archaeoastronomy 5(Supplement to the Journal for the History for Astronomy 14):S1–S36 Ruggles CLN (1999) Astronomy in prehistoric Britain and Ireland. Yale University Press, New Haven Ruggles CLN (2005) Ancient astronomy: an encyclopedia of cosmologies and myth. ABC–CLIO, Santa Barbara Ruggles CLN (2007) Cosmology, calendar, and temple orientations in ancient Hawai’i. In: Ruggles CLN, Urton G (eds) Skywatching in the ancient world: new perspectives in cultural astronomy. University Press of Colorado, Boulder, pp 287–329 Ruggles CLN (2011) Pushing back the frontiers or still running around the same circles? ‘Interpretative archaeoastronomy’ thirty years on. In: Ruggles CLN (ed) Archaeoastronomy and ethnoastronomy: building bridges between cultures. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, pp 1–18 Ruggles CLN, Saunders NJ (1993) The study of cultural astronomy. In: Ruggles CLN, Saunders NJ (eds) Astronomies and cultures. University Press of Colorado, Niwot, pp 1–31 Schaefer BE (2006) Case studies of three of the most famous claimed archaeoastronomical alignments in North America. In: Bostwick TW, Bates B (eds) Viewing the sky through past and present cultures. Pueblo Grande Museum Anthropological Papers, No 15. City of Phoenix, Phoenix, pp 27–56 Sofaer A, Zinser V, Sinclair RM (1979) A unique solar marking construct. Science 206:283–285 Sofaer A, Sinclair RM, Doggett LE (1982) Lunar markings on Fajada Butte, Chaco Canyon, New Mexico. In: Aveni AF (ed) Archaeoastronomy in the new world. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, pp 169–181 Sofaer A, Price A, Holmlund J, Nicoli J, Piscitello A (2011) The Sun Dagger interactive computer graphics model: a digital restoration of a Chacoan calendrical site. In: Walker WH, Venzor KR (eds) Contemporary archaeologies of the Southwest. University Press of Colorado, Boulder, pp 67–92 Soper R (1982) Archaeo-astronomical Cushites: some comments. Azania 17:145–162 Thom A (1971) Megalithic lunar observatories. Oxford University Press, Oxford Thom A, Thom AS (1978) Megalithic remains in Britain and Brittany. Oxford University Press, Oxford Towrie S (2013) Orkneyjar: the Crantit Cairn, St Ola. http://www.orkneyjar.com/history/tombs/ crantit/crantit3.htm. Accessed 2 Apr 2013 Urton G (2001) A calendrical and demographic tomb text from northern Peru. Latin American Antiquity 12(2):127–147 Urton G, Brezine C (2009) Khipu database project. http://khipukamayuq.fas.harvard.edu/. Accessed 2 Apr 2013 Williamson T, Bellamy L (1983) Ley lines in question. World’s Work, Tadworth Zeilik M (1985a) The ethnoastronomy of the historic Pueblos, I: calendrical sun watching. Archaeoastronomy 8(Supplement to the Journal for the History of Astronomy, 16):S1–S24 Zeilik M (1985b) A reassessment of the Fajada Butte solar marker. Archaeoastronomy 9(supplement to the Journal for the History of Astronomy, 16):S69–S85

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Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Axis Before Azimuth . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Structural Axis Definition . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Astronomical Azimuth Techniques and Instrumentation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Astronomical Preliminaries . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Instrumentation for Field Astronomy . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Astronomical Azimuth Techniques . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Gyro Station Techniques . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Geodetic Techniques for Azimuth Determination and Location . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . A Tomb with a View: Synthesis and Conclusion . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

390 390 391 395 395 397 399 401 402 405 408 408

Abstract

Within the last decade in particular, geo-spatial measurement technologies have undergone significant advancement in terms of automation, processing, and levels of accuracy. These developments hold many advantages for archaeoastronomers engaged in the collection and analysis of field survey data. This chapter examines azimuth and location measuring techniques and assesses how some of the recent developments can assist those engaged in such fieldwork.

F. Prendergast Spatial Information Sciences, College of Engineering and Built Environment, Dublin Institute of Technology, Dublin, Ireland e-mail: [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_31, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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Introduction Field surveys of prehistoric/historic sites and monuments are generally undertaken by archaeoastronomers to enable specific research questions to be addressed within culturally relevant frameworks and agendas. Investigations may, for example, be commissioned by an excavation director where the spatial setting or design of a discovered structure could suggest a function that cannot be explained by the material finds or other archaeological evidence alone (e.g., Prendergast 2012; O’ Connell 2013). In all such cases, the spatial data element must first be recorded and processed to appropriate levels of quality. Archaeoastronomers invariably come from diverse academic or professional backgrounds outside of (though not exclusively) archaeology. These include astronomy, surveying, engineering, mathematical sciences, science history, and computer science. The acquisition of spatial data, and its subsequent evaluation, can present many challenges. For some, the necessary field or analytical proficiencies may be established, but for most, a degree of specialized training or learning is required to redress a particular skill deficiency. This chapter will focus on field-surveying techniques and computational methods as commonly used during the initial stages of a site survey. Pioneers of archaeoastronomy used nothing more than a theodolite, chain and compass in the field, and logarithmic tables or analogue calculators for data reduction (e.g., Somerville 1923; Thom 1967). Nonetheless, they achieved high-quality results and their legacies remain valid to this day – at least in terms of accuracy (as distinct from their interpretative outcomes in some cases). Moreover, certain aspects of computational theory and theodolite usage have not significantly changed either since those early surveys. Now, however, the digital revolution in measurement and positioning technologies, terrain modeling methods, mapping products, and landscape analysis software, all demand high levels of technical expertise in order to leverage their full potential. Many of the modern techniques can be complex, and any detailed description of their use is beyond the scope of this chapter. A comprehensive treatment of best surveying practice, and of horizon profile survey and data reduction techniques, has been published by Ruggles (1999, pp 164–171). Additionally, the orientation of visibility measurements has been described by Fraser (1988), and these need not be reconsidered in this chapter. Instead, and particularly for the benefit of those new to this field of study, more recent advances in surveying procedures, and updates to established methodologies where this is appropriate, are described here. Additional information drawn from case studies undertaken by the writer is also given elsewhere in this volume (see ▶ Chap. 107, “Irish Neolithic Tombs in Their Landscape”; ▶ Chap. 108, “Boyne Valley Tombs”).

Axis Before Azimuth At the outset, attention is drawn to nomenclature and the terms “orientate/ orientation” and “align/alignment”. Here, orientation is taken to mean the measured

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direction of a structure’s fac¸ade or axis with respect to the local meridian (azimuth), while the use of “aligned” is reserved for cases where human intentionality in a monument’s axial direction toward a target is argued. The noun “alignment”, however, can be archaeologically defined as meaning three or more related structures placed in a line. Where these conventions have not been rigorously followed in the literature and “orientation” loosely interchanged with “alignment”, etc., Darvill (2002, p 301) correctly argues “. . .this is careless usage. All objects and structures will have an orientation whether or not anything is aligned on them”. The majority of archaeoastronomical surveys are undertaken to initially determine, inter alia, the orientation of a site, monument, or tomb. When combined with location (latitude) and profiles of the local horizon (azimuth and altitude), these data computationally yield astronomical declinations of the indicated positions of prominent celestial bodies of interest – either on the local horizon (rise/set), or of nonhorizon events such as a transit phenomenon (see ▶ Chap. 30, “Basic Concepts of Positional Astronomy”; Kelley and Milone 2005, pp 9–47). Where combined with the date/period of construction (if known), declination is then commonly used to interpret any potential calendrical link or suspected ritual function in a cultural context. A monument’s axis is rightly regarded as the most enduring evidence of ancient architectural principles. Often, it functioned as a ceremonial entrance and pathway, and symbolically incorporated formality and power, especially if aligned on a prominent astronomical event or target. It is emphasized here that if deliberate alignment in the past toward any type of target was ever intended (it may not have been), an astronomical explanation is only one of a wide range of possible alternatives. These include an association with ritual topographies, local settlements, burial sites, or resources (see ▶ Chap. 25, “Best Practice for Evaluating the Astronomical Significance of Archaeological Sites”).

Structural Axis Definition The morphological irregularity encountered in entrance passages can often defy any precise attempt to determine their mean axial line. In such cases, the careful positioning of the observer equipped with a handheld compass, theodolite, or gyro station (see section “Gyro Station Techniques”) at one end of the axis line is all that may be required. Provided due care is taken to visually determine the best-fit line through the stones of the passage and entrance, the measured/derived azimuth (see below and section “Astronomical Azimuth Techniques and Instrumentation”) of this line should adequately reflect the axial orientation of that structural element. Subsequently, the calculation of indicated astronomical declination may provide evidence of design or other intent. In Fig. 26.1, for example, the unroofed/uncovered Neolithic court tomb at Creevykeel, Co. Sligo is shown. Here, the observer was positioned at P and was equipped with a handheld compass and inclinometer (see Fig. 26.2).

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Fig. 26.1 Creevykeel court tomb, Co. Sligo, Ireland. (a) The axial in-view of the tomb looking west. (b) The horizon to the east as indicated by the out-view through the passage. (c) A site plan with additions by the writer (source: de Valera 1960 Plate 1). The observed magnetic bearing of the axis (106
) was corrected for magnetic declination (–6
170 ). The axial azimuth (99
430 ), site latitude (+54
260 1900 ), and horizon altitude (+1
300 ) yielded an astronomical declination (solar) of –4
420 . Astronomical declination (solar and geocentric lunar) can also be determined by using Clive Ruggles’ online calculator GETDEC (http://www.cliveruggles.net/)

These instruments were used to measure the magnetic bearing (clockwise direction with respect to local magnetic north) of the tomb axis and the altitude (angular distance above or below the horizon) of points on the distant skyline indicated by the axis, with an accuracy of about half a degree. The magnetic declination at Creevykeel (angular deviation between magnetic and true north) was calculated using an algorithm obtained from the Irish Meteorological Service and by using the online NOAA magnetic field calculator (http:// www.ngdc.noaa.gov/geomag-web/#declination). Both methods determined the declination component of the local magnetic field. The other components (inclination and total force) are not relevant here. Figure 26.2 illustrates the tools used in this type of survey. It is evident from this survey that the orientation of the tomb suggests neither an interest in the horizon position of the rising sun at the solstices (winter or summer) or at the equinoxes (vernal/autumnal). This leaves open the possibility of a range of alternative interpretations including a random hypothesis (see ▶ Chap. 27, “Analyzing Orientations”; ▶ Chap. 33, “Lunar Alignments - Identification and Analysis”; ▶ Chap. 35, “Stellar Alignments - Identification and Analysis”).

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Fig. 26.2 Tools for preliminary surveys of orientation and horizon altitude. (a) The Silva inclinometer (Clino Master) was used to measure local horizon altitudes to c. 0
.5. For an alternative method that utilizes digital elevation models to deduce horizon altitudes, see Patat (2011). (b) The Silva compass (Sight Master) was used to measure magnetic bearings to c. 0
.5. (c) A screen shot of the NOAA magnetic declination calculation for Creevykeel court tomb (courtesy of NOAA). Local values of declination for date and place can also be deduced from national maps. If an astronomical azimuth has been observed locally, the difference between azimuth and the magnetic bearing will also determine the magnetic declination at that place and calibrates the compass

For greater accuracy, the orientation of a line/axis can be numerically determined provided that the planimetric or grid coordinates of the defining points of interest have been measured in the national map projection system (see section “Geodetic Techniques for Azimuth Determination and Location”). This method can also to be applied to deduce the orientation of a building fac¸ade, regardless of its size. In Fig. 26.3, for example, the reconstructed architectural elements of a recently discovered Iron Age post enclosure at Lismullin, Co. Meath are shown. The national grid coordinates of all recovered postholes (only the buried sockets survived) were accurately recorded by archaeologists during the excavation by using a geo-referenced total station. This allowed linear regression analysis of the avenue data by the writer to calculate the mean axial orientation and goodness-of-fit of the avenue sides to the best-fit line. In that analysis, the equation of each best-fit line through the postholes forming the north and south sides of the avenue takes the form y ¼ mx þ c

(26.1)

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Fig. 26.3 Iron Age post enclosure, Lismullin, Co. Meath. The structure consisted of three concentric rings formed of upright timber posts, and a 4 m wide easterly facing avenue. The avenue leads from the emphasized four-post entrance structure to a transverse depositional pit and the inner enclosure. The largest diameter is c. 80 m. The illustration shows an axial view of the complex looking west (courtesy of Aidan O’ Connell, Archer Heritage Planning)

Table 26.1 Axis azimuth from linear regression analysis Architectural element North side of avenue South side of avenue Mean

Line slope obtained by regression analysis y ¼ 0.1310 x

a
82.6

C
1.14

A
83.7

Correlation coefficient R2 0.99

y ¼ 0.1273 x

82.8

1.14

83.9

0.98

-

82.7

1.14

83.8

0.99







The geodetic coordinates of the site are f ¼ +53 .596 and l ¼ 6 .589. The longitude (l) of the central meridian of Ireland is 8
. Here, the observer is located east of the central meridian and C is therefore added to the grid bearing (if west of the central meridian, C is subtracted from the grid bearing. This follows the rule that on a map projection, meridians project concave toward the central meridian and relative to the north grid line. At the central meridian, grid north and true north are parallel and C is thus zero)

where the direction of each line (m) is the tangent of the angle that the line makes with the positive direction of the x-axis. Because these data points represent plan coordinates (easting or x, northing or y), then 90
– tan-1 m yields the grid bearing (a
) of each avenue side. The respective azimuths (A
) of the lines (avenue sides) are then obtained from A¼aþC

(26.2)

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where C  Dl  sin f

(26.3)

and C ¼ meridian convergence (the angular difference between true north and the north grid line) at the location of the site on the Transverse Mercator map projection. All units are in degrees and in the above, Dl is the difference in longitude between the site and the central meridian of the projection, and f is the latitude of the site. Table 26.1 summarizes the method of analysis and includes the correlation coefficients (goodness-of-fit to a straight line) obtained from the site data. The azimuth of the avenue, the altitude of the indicated horizon, and the latitude of the site were subsequently used to compute the astronomical declination indicated by the entrance avenue to the enclosure.

Astronomical Azimuth Techniques and Instrumentation The azimuth of any structure, or a baseline, can be obtained from the following: • Astronomical observations (with respect to the vertical) • Gyro station observations (with respect to the vertical) • Geodetic observations of position (with respect to the normal to the local ellipsoid – the mathematical surface that best-fits the geoid/mean sea-level surface) • Magnetic bearing observations As previously described, other (indirect) methods of azimuth determination are possible, such as where a plane grid bearing is calculated from measured plane grid coordinates and then corrected for meridian convergence. In addition, azimuth can be computed using geodetic coordinates (of two points) procured from Google Earth imagery.

Astronomical Preliminaries Field astronomy can present significant challenges for new users in terms of the theory (see ▶ Chap. 30, “Basic Concepts of Positional Astronomy”), method of data acquisition (time and angle measurements), and processing. Here, the writer will describe a comparatively simple method which obviates the need to solve spherical equations. It is essential to use an astronomical ephemeris (a tabulation of the precise positions of celestial objects in an orderly sequence for a specified date range). One such ephemeris, and as used in the examples that follow, is MICA (Multiyear Interactive Computer Almanac).

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Fig. 26.4 Screen shot from MICA of the position of the sun for place, date, and time. The position type used here is Apparent Topocentric Local Horizon. The data in Fig. 26.4 are also used in Fig. 26.7

MICA Ephemeris This low-cost software system is supplied on CD with an excellent instruction manual (U.S. Naval Observatory 1998–2005). It provides high-precision astronomical data in user-specified tabular form for the sun, moon, planets, and 22 bright stars. Semidiameter values of the sun and moon are also determined, as well as their zenith distances (essential if either limb of the sun or moon are observed). The current edition has a computational date range from 1800 to 2050. For any userspecified celestial object sighted with a theodolite, the geodetic location of the observation station and the time of the observation in UT1 scale (see Fig. 26.7) are first entered. The software then returns the relevant azimuth and zenith distance (90
– altitude
) as shown in Fig. 26.4. Complex calculations for azimuth are thus avoided. Apart from the accuracy of the method, the significant advantage of this approach is in its versatility. For example, if neither the sun nor moon is above the horizon at the time of the survey, or are obscured by cloud cover, then any prominent star or planet that may be visible in the sky can be observed as an alternative. The writer has successfully used both limbs of the moon and the very bright planets and stars for azimuth, especially when these become visible in the daytime or evening sky. For azimuth determination, correct identification of the celestial object sighted in the field is crucial. Apart from the sun and moon whose identities are certain, this is not necessarily the case with stars and planets. Mistaken identity can easily occur and with disastrous results. Practitioners should therefore exercise maximum care when sighting stars and planets and, ideally, use at least two different celestial objects for error detection purposes. For sky object identification and session

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Fig. 26.5 Field identification of stars and planets with the iPad and “Go Sky Watch” application. The device was aimed at the sky and used to confirm the identity of a suitable bright star (Arcturus) for baseline azimuth determination by the hour angle method

planning, the writer has used touch screen astronomy applications (Apps) that are compatible with, for example, the Apple iPad and iPhone. Either “Star Walk” (http://vitotechnology.com/star-walk.html), or “Go Sky Watch Planetarium” (www.gosoftworks.com/), which is freeware (Fig. 26.5), is excellent for this purpose. Whichever tablet device is used as an aid for field astronomy, a 3 G or 4 G phone SIM card must be installed to obtain geo-referenced sky scenes in real time.

Instrumentation for Field Astronomy Archaeological sites of interest are invariably remote or located off-road. Where access is difficult, the overall weight of equipment that can be carried to the site becomes a crucial issue. As a general rule, minimal is best. A complete survey will typically record site description, location, orientation, horizon profile, horizon range, and intervisibility with other sites. The equipment inventory will be comprised of a field book, map(s), related literature, theodolite/total station, tripod(s), ranging pole(s), sun filter, stopwatch, measuring tape, torch, camera, and an iPad/ iPhone or equivalent (optional). A GNSS (Global Navigation Satellite System)

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Fig. 26.6 (continued)

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device is also essential for position finding/determination and as a time signal source in UTC (Coordinated Universal Time). Some of these devices are illustrated in Fig. 26.6.

Astronomical Azimuth Techniques Observing procedures for azimuth determination vary according to the application of the data. For geodetic purposes, azimuth for orientation may require rigorous observing procedures and choice of instrumentation (Bomford 1980; Ghilani 1996). For most archaeoastronomical applications, a final accuracy of several arc minutes is usually satisfactory, and this allows for a relaxation in rigor. Nonetheless, it is prudent to observe data to a higher level of accuracy than what is actually required. In Fig. 26.7, the writer observed timed transits (hour angle method) of the left/ trailing limb of the sun made with the stationary vertical stadia line of the theodolite in order to determine the azimuth of the reference object (RO). The stopwatch was initialized to UTC using the time display on a Garmin GPS60 GNSS receiver. The recorded split times of six horizontal transits of the sun’s limb were then added to the initialization time of the stopwatch in UT1 scale (the astronomical time scale used by MICA to determine azimuth and other astronomical parameters). The difference (correction) between UTC and UT1 is DUT1 (see note in Fig. 26.7). The full set of observations included three successive observations for time and direction with the theodolite in the face left (FL) position, followed by three similar observations with the theodolite in the face right (FR) position. The set commenced with a FL reading of the direction of the RO and ended with a similar reading on FR. This technique is quick, minimizes movement and handling of the theodolite and filter, and provides adequate redundancy for error checking purposes. To demonstrate the versatility and simplicity of field astronomy for azimuth using MICA, celestial objects other than the sun’s limb were additionally observed at the test baseline and at different dates. The center and left limb of the sun, various stars and planets, and the moon’s limbs were each used. The resulting azimuths, including those obtained by nonastronomical methods are shown in Table 26.2 (the nonastronomical methods are discussed in sections “Gyro Station Techniques” and “Geodetic Techniques for Azimuth Determination and Location”). The accuracies shown here demonstrate the level of compatibility and consistency that can be achieved with astronomical, geodetic, and magnetic methods. ä Fig. 26.6 Instrumentation for precise azimuth observation. (a) A Zeiss 010B optical theodolite fitted with a Roeloff prism for precise sighting of the sun’s center. (b) Roeloff Solar Prism objective attachment. (c) Homemade objective filter using Baader AstroSolarTM Safety Film. (d) Small torch essential for night-time illumination of the theodolite cross-hairs (when sighting a star/ planet) and for reading angular directions on the horizontal circle of an analogue theodolite after sunset. (e) Stopwatch with good timing tactility, synchronized to UTC (see Fig. 26.7), and with a facility for recording split times

Fig. 26.7 (continued)

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Although the Roeloff prism is no longer manufactured, it can be procured on the web. The design enables the sun’s center to be directly sighted (this avoids the need for limb corrections), and for the filter to be opened and closed with ease while observing. A low-cost and safe alternative can be simply constructed from an A4 sheet of Baader AstroSolarTM Safety Film (http://www.baader-planetarium.com/ sofifolie/sofi_start_e.htm). Instructions for making the filter are included with the pack. With a little practice, the sun’s center can be estimated to near arc minute accuracy with such a filter and by using the cross-hair graduations of the theodolite eyepiece. Both devices are illustrated in Fig. 26.6. Overall, best results are obtained by observing celestial objects with altitudes below about 40
.

Gyro Station Techniques A gyro station is the combination of a theodolite and a suspended gyroscope. It is primarily designed for underground use, such as in the mining industry, although it has many other applications. All types use a suspended spinning gyro-motor/rotor which precesses in the horizontal plane due to the rotation of the earth and the effect of gravity. At any location below about latitude 75
, it will precisely define (1˝–20˝ depending on the model) the direction of the local meridian on the horizontal circle of the theodolite. This allows for the azimuth of any observed target or line to be easily determined (see Fig. 26.8b). A gyro station has many potential advantages, especially when used for rapid or high-accuracy orientation surveys such as inside a burial chamber, a tomb, or a building. Provided cost and availability are not an issue, its use is a viable alternative in situations where a view of the sky for ä Fig. 26.7 Observation and reduction sheet for azimuth (hour angle method). These data constitute one set of observations. Multiple sets can be observed if necessary. If a laptop computer is available, on-site reduction of the data will confirm the quality of the data and the final azimuth before leaving the site. In the example, the identity of each target sighted is shown in column 1. The observed horizontal directions of the RO (stationary) and the sun (dynamic) are shown in column 2. The recorded split times of the sun’s left/trailing limb are shown in columns 3 in UTC. The UT1 of each sun-shot is shown in column 4 (UT1 of watch start + split time). The azimuth of the sun (column 5) is obtained by entering the location, date, and the UT1 of each observation in MICA. The azimuth of the RO (column 7) is obtained by subtraction of the clockwise horizontal angle between the RO and the sun (column 6) from the azimuth of the sun (column 5). Reference to the field sketch helps to avoid reduction errors. At the end of the session, a time-check of the stopwatch is undertaken as shown in Column 4. Column 8 shows the sun’s zenith distance obtained in MICA (this is only required to correct limb observations). Always draw a sketch box to illustrate site relationships between the meridian, the RO, and the celestial object. Observe a compass bearing to the RO as a check for gross error. To minimize the effect of any inclination of the vertical axis of the theodolite (plate bubble error), celestial objects having an altitude higher than about 40
should not be observed. This particularly applies if using an analogue/optical instrument which does not have a dual-axis compensator. The effect of plate bubble error in such instruments is not eliminated by changing the face position (FL and FR) of the theodolite during observations. In all cases where the sun is observed, extreme care must be taken to ensure protection of the eye

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Table 26.2 Azimuth comparison using astronomical and nonastronomical techniques

Method of observation Hour angle of sun (center)

Azimuth of test baseline (L ¼ 7.2 km) 063
580 0900

Hour angle of sun (left/trailing 063
580 0300 limb)

Hour angle of moon (right/ leading limb) Hour angle of Venus Hour angle of Saturn Hour angle of Spica Hour angle of Arcturus Geodetic azimuth computed from baseline coordinates (WGS84) Plane grid bearing derived from plane grid coordinates (Irish ITM)

Gyro station Magnetic compass Theodolite App for iPad/ iPhone

063
580 1900 063
063
063
063
063


580 580 580 580 580

Remarks Roeloff prism was fitted to the telescope objective (see Fig. 26.6) Baader AstroSolarTM Safety Film fitted to the telescope objective (see Fig. 26.6). Field data and computations for this example are shown in Fig. 26.7 Magnitude 12.4

2100 2000 0400 0900 0000

Magnitude –4.2 Magnitude +0.8 Magnitude +0.16 Magnitude +1.06 Computed by Vincenty’s formulae – inverse method (see section “Geodetic Techniques for Azimuth Determination and Location”) Plane bearing (62
260 5300 ) computed from 063
580 3000 measured baseline grid coordinates and corrected for meridian convergence C. Using data for the observing station MH1 shown in Fig. 26.7 and equation 3, C
 +01
310 3700 , that is, +(08
–06
060 0700 .8)  sin 53
340 0600 .7 Not measured See section “Gyro Station Techniques” and Fig. 26.8b 064
.3 The observed magnetic bearing (68
.3) was corrected for magnetic declination (4
.0) Variable and within “Theodolite” overlays real-time 25
of known information about position, altitude, azimuth bearing, range, and inclination on the device’s live camera imager

astronomical or satellite measurement is not possible. Sources of further information on these instruments are given in Table 26.3.

Geodetic Techniques for Azimuth Determination and Location GNSS receivers are now routinely used for a wide variety of positioning, mapping, and navigation tasks. They also disseminate time in UTC scale. Each of these properties makes them indispensible tools for archaeoastronomy. Applications include measuring the locations of sites/points of interest and baseline stations in three dimensions; deriving azimuths as an alternative to astronomical, gyro station,

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Table 26.3 Gyro station manufacturers Model Gyromat Gyro X

Further information DMT http://www.gyromat.de/gyromat-3000.html Topcon Corporation http://www.topcon.co.jp/en/positioning/sokkia/products/ product/ts/gyrox.html GYROMAX™ GeoMessTechnik Heger http://www.gmt-heger.com/index.php?id¼7&lang¼en

or magnetic methods; and navigating to predetermined locations in wilderness areas. Primarily, there are two types in common use, that is, high-cost survey grade receivers capable of delivering sub-centimeter levels of relative positional accuracy (Fig. 26.8a) and low-cost autonomous code-only receivers (Fig. 26.8c). The latter can deliver an instantaneous positional accuracy in plan to better than 10 m in an open sky environment. With position averaging over an extended period of time (c. 5 min), and with good satellite visibility (c. 10 satellites), the code-only type instrument can achieve an improved horizontal accuracy of up to 1–2 m. This capability makes both of these devices especially useful for azimuth determination. With a GNSS receiver, geodetic coordinates (latitude and longitude) are determined on a mathematical model/datum, such as the WGS84 ellipsoid, of the global geoid. The direction of the shortest line between any two points on this surface (the geodesic) defines the geodetic bearing of such a line. Globally, the difference between a geodetic bearing and azimuth is extremely small (up to a few arc seconds). This permits a geodetic bearing that is calculated from a pair of coordinates to be equated for most applications (including archaeoastronomy) to azimuth as obtained by astronomical methods or with a gyro station. On a cautionary note, the accuracy of any geodetic bearing is a function of the accuracy of the relevant baseline coordinates. In turn, this is dependent upon the system/method of GNSS surveying used, that is, with a Network Real-Time Kinematic (NRTK) or any other differential system, or with a code-only handheld receiver. NRTK methods provide precise positional correction data in real time but require the user to have licensed access to a suitable broadcast infrastructure (Martin and McGovern 2012). Further information on this, and on the providers of these systems throughout Europe, is given in Table 26.4. Azimuth and distance are now easily and precisely computed from measured/ given GNSS coordinates (expressed in degree format) with the aid of online calculators. The majority of these use Vincenty’s formulae (inverse method) which is a high-precision tool (Vincenty 1975). The accuracy of the derived azimuth is a function of the longitudinal and lateral position errors in the baseline coordinates and the distance between the terminal stations. Longitudinal errors (in the direction of the baseline) have no effect on azimuth accuracy. Lateral errors (at right angles to the baseline) will have maximum effect on azimuth accuracy, and this is modeled in Fig. 26.9 using three levels of assumed error. It is shown, for example, that for a lateral error of 0˝.1 in the coordinates (one tenth of an arc second), the resulting error in azimuth will likely not exceed about 6 min of arc for a baseline length of about 1 km. At a range of 2 km, this reduces to about 3 min

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Table 26.4 Providers of GNSS Network RTK systems in Europe System Leica Geosystems Topcon Corporation Trimble

Further information http://smartnet.leica-geosystems.co.uk/SpiderWeb/SmartNet/smartnet.html http://www.topnetplus.eu/ http://www.trimble.com/positioning-services/vrs-now.aspx

Table 26.5 Comparison between azimuths derived from NRTK and Garmin GPS60 geodetic coordinates computed by Vincenty’s formulae (inverse method) Line 1 2 3 4 5

Length 96.407 m 307.531 m 604.184 m 1152.431 m 1953.989 m

Azimuth (NRTK method) 304
530 5700 304
470 4000 305
100 5200 305
010 4800 305
000 0500

Azimuth (Garmin GPS60) 304
240 4500 304
210 2800 305
440 2400 305
000 0600 304
590 4500

Difference or error 00
290 1200 00
260 1200 00
330 3200 00
010 4200 00
000 2000

Table 26.6 Azimuth from Vincenty’s formulae (inverse method) Baseline jA lA jB lB Azimuth (A–B)

NRTK geodetic coordinates +53
210 08.4133900 06
180 2600 .84097 +53
210 4400 .65938 06
190 5300 .39326 305
000 0500

Garmin GPS60 geodetic coordinates 53
210 0800 .4 06
180 2600 .7 +53
210 4400 .7 06
190 5300 .4 304
590 4500

Table 26.7 Online calculators and freeware for azimuth calculation from geodetic coordinates Author Australian Government Geoscience Australia Wolfpack 6.1.1 by Charles D. Ghilani Grid InQuest v.6.6.0.1313 by Quest Geo Solutions Ltd (for use in the UK and Ireland)

Further information http://www.ga.gov.au/geodesy/ datums/vincenty_inverse.jsp http://www.personal.psu.edu/ cdg3/free.htm http://grid-inquest.software. informer.com/

of arc. It should be appreciated that 1 arc sec at the equator is the equivalent of c. 30 m on the ground. Thus, for sub-centimeter levels of accuracy, an NRTK receiver will display geodetic coordinates to 0000 .00001 which is consistent with millimeter precision (see Table 26.6). For verification of the modeling shown in Fig. 26.8, data was recorded at five suitably spaced stations on test baselines using a Trimble 5800 series antenna with a TSC3 logger operating in NRTK mode and a Garmin GPS60 device.

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Fig. 26.8 Geodetic instrumentation for positioning and azimuth. (a) A Trimble 5800 series antenna and the TSC3 logger for measuring location, site plans, or baseline/axial azimuths. (b) Topcon Gyro Station X for azimuth measurement (courtesy of Topcon Corporation). (c) Garmin GPS60 for location and baseline azimuth measurement

The results of these tests are shown in Table 26.5. Because of their very high relative accuracy, the NRTK values can be effectively regarded as error free for comparative purposes. These tests broadly confirm the modeling shown in Fig. 26.9. The calculation of azimuth from geodetic coordinates computed with data for the longest baseline (data-line 5 in Table 26.5) is given in Table 26.6 as an example. The online calculators tested here for the calculation of azimuth are given in Table 26.7. The use of these techniques will facilitate azimuth calculation with ease and reliability from field coordinates recorded to an appropriate level of accuracy.

A Tomb with a View: Synthesis and Conclusion In the north-east midlands of Ireland, the clustered Neolithic passage tomb complex at Loughcrew consists of 31 monuments distributed on three prominent hilltops (Prendergast 2011). Three kilometers to the south-east of Cairn T, which is the highest in the distribution, an additional ruined isolate of this type is located on lower ground in the townland of Thomastown. Sufficient stones of the passage have survived to allow the passage axis to be approximately defined. A preliminary

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Fig. 26.9 Accuracy modeling of azimuth from GNSS positions. The Garmin GPS60 receiver can readily achieve a positional accuracy of 000 .1 provided that data from the largest number of satellites possible is recorded and averaged (using an on-screen option) for about 5 min of time (300 measurements). Figure 26.8c shows the effect of poor visibility (signals from three satellites) and the resulting error (23 m) in the instantaneous geodetic coordinates displayed on the screen

Fig. 26.10 Survey of a passage tomb at Thomastown, Loughcrew, Ireland. (a) View of the hilltop horizon in the north-west and centered on Cairn T. (b) The ruined passage stones and estimated axial line

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Fig. 26.11 Summer solstice sunset behind Cairn T as viewed from the passage tomb at Thomastown. The equatorial coordinates (right ascension and declination) have been scaled to fit the local horizon coordinates. The date is 2010 June19, 20H 32M UTC. The writer is indebted to Ken Williams for providing site photography of the phenomenon. Freeware such as Stellarium 0.11.4 (www.winportal.com/stellarium) also allows panoramas of local landscapes/horizons to be integrated with celestial sky scenes for user-specified place and date

survey undertaken by the writer indicated the tomb (as like others in the complex) to be aligned toward the elevationally higher focal summit tomb (Cairn T). An orientation and profiling survey was subsequently undertaken to investigate this phenomenon, and any potential astronomical event of significance at this site. For this, the astronomical azimuths and altitudes of multiple natural points on the horizon were observed with a theodolite. Using these as control, the horizon image was transformed in ArcMap 10 (a component of ESRI’s ArcGIS software) from arbitrary to a local topocentric horizon coordinate system (azimuth and altitude). A minimum of three observed control points are required for this type of transformation (five were used). Figure 26.10 shows the resulting gridded image. Computation of the indicated astronomical declination of the summit tomb (see Fig. 26.10) suggested that a sunset phenomenon would also occur at the period of summer solstice. A revisit to the site observed and confirmed the expected phenomenon (Fig. 26.11). In the Neolithic, the setting sun would have appeared tangential with the burial cairn when viewed from the tomb at Thomastown. This is due to the effect of obliquity (tilt of the earth’s axis) change in the intervening 5,000 years.

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Perhaps, this tomb exhibits evidence of a mingling of two culturally relevant phenomena, that is, an apparent significant astronomical alignment and an alignment that is directed at the elevationally higher and focal Cairn T at the center of the Loughcrew complex (see ▶ Chap. 24, “Nature and Analysis of Material Evidence Relevant to Archaeoastronomy”). Such a hypothesis typifies the kind of research question that confronts all archaeoastronomers, and which is addressed by this and other writers elsewhere in this volume.

Cross-References ▶ Analyzing Orientations ▶ Basic Concepts of Positional Astronomy ▶ Best Practice for Evaluating the Astronomical Significance of Archaeological Sites ▶ Boyne Valley Tombs ▶ Irish Neolithic Tombs in Their Landscape ▶ Lunar Alignments - Identification and Analysis ▶ Stellar Alignments - Identification and Analysis

References Bomford G (1980) Geodesy. Clarendon, Oxford Darvill TC (2002) The concise Oxford dictionary of archaeology. Oxford University Press, Oxford De Valera R (1960) The court cairns of Ireland. Proc Roy Irish Acad 60C(2):9–140 Fraser D (1988) The orientation of visibility from chambered cairns of Eday, Orkney. In: Ruggles CLN (ed) Records in stone: papers in memory of Alexander Thom. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, pp 9–47 Ghilani C (1996) Astronomical observation handbook. http://surveying.wb.psu.edu/sur351/ CelestialCoords/ASTRO.pdf Kelley DH, Milone EF (2005) Exploring ancient skies: an encyclopedic survey of archaeoastronomy. Springer, New York/London Martin A, Mc Govern E (2012) An evaluation of the performance of network RTK GNSS Services in Ireland FIG Working Week 2012: knowing to manage the territory, protect the environment, evaluate the cultural heritage. Rome, Italy. http://www.fig.net/pub/fig2012/papers/ts05b/ TS05B_martin_mcgovern_5582.pdf O’ Connell A (2013) Harvesting the stars: a pagan temple at Lismullin, Co. Meath. Dublin, National Roads Authority Patat F (2011) Horizon synthesis for archaeo-astronomical purposes. Astron Notes 332(7):743–749 Prendergast F (2011) The Loughcrew hills and passage tomb complex. In: Stefanini B, Glynn GM (eds) Field Guide No. 29 - North Meath. Irish Quaternary Association, Dublin, pp 42–54 Prendergast F (2012) The Lismullin enclosure: design beyond the obvious in the Iron Age. In: Kelly B, Roycroft N et al (eds) Encounters between peoples. Archaeology and the National Roads Authority monograph series no. 9. National Roads Authority, Dublin, pp 15–30 Ruggles CLN (1999) Astronomy in prehistoric Britain and Ireland. Yale University Press, New Haven/London

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Somerville BT (1923) Instances of orientation in prehistoric monuments of the British Isles. Archaeologia 73(lxxiii):193–224 Thom A (1967) Megalithic sites in Britain. Clarendon, Oxford U.S. Naval Observatory (1998–2005) Multiyear interactive computer almanac, 1800–2050. Willmann-Bell, Richmond Vincenty T (1975) Direct and inverse solutions of geodesics on the ellipsoid with application of nested equations. Survy Rev 176(XXXIII):88–93

Analyzing Orientations

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Clive L. N. Ruggles

Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Establishment of the “Archaeoastronomical Facts” . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Visualizing Declination Data . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Target Declinations . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Discussion . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

412 413 418 420 422 423 424

Abstract

Archaeoastronomical field survey typically involves the measurement of structural orientations (i.e., orientations along and between built structures) in relation to the visible landscape and particularly the surrounding horizon. This chapter focuses on the process of analyzing the astronomical potential of oriented structures, whether in the field or as a desktop appraisal, with the aim of establishing the archaeoastronomical “facts”. It does not address questions of data selection (see instead ▶ Chap. 25, “Best Practice for Evaluating the Astronomical Significance of Archaeological Sites”) or interpretation (see ▶ Chap. 24, “Nature and Analysis of Material Evidence Relevant to Archaeoastronomy”). The main necessity is to determine the azimuth, horizon altitude, and declination in the direction “indicated” by any structural orientation. Normally, there are a range of possibilities, reflecting the various errors and uncertainties in estimating the intended (or, at least, the constructed) orientation, and in more formal approaches an attempt is made to

C.L.N. Ruggles School of Archaeology and Ancient History, University of Leicester, Leicester, UK e-mail: [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_26, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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assign a probability distribution extending over a spread of declinations. These probability distributions can then be cumulated in order to visualize and analyze the combined data from several orientations, so as to identify any consistent astronomical associations that can then be correlated with the declinations of particular astronomical objects or phenomena at any era in the past. The whole process raises various procedural and methodological issues and does not proceed in isolation from the consideration of corroborative data, which is essential in order to develop viable cultural interpretations.

Introduction There can be many reasons for a house, temple, or tomb to be oriented in a particular direction, and there are evident dangers in presupposing an astronomical, or even worse an exclusively astronomical, motivation (Ruggles 1984a, pp. 271–283; 1999, pp. 89–90, 130; 2005, pp. 319–321; Aveni 2001, pp. 217–222). These dangers are compounded by the fact that the mere existence of a structural alignment in a direction of apparent astronomical significance – for example, upon the horizon rising or setting point of a prominent celestial body – does not prove that it was intentional nor that it held any importance for, or was even noticed by, anyone between the time of construction and its being detected by modern archaeoastronomers. As was highlighted in critiques of “megalithic astronomy” in the early 1980s (Ruggles 1982, pp. 96–97), any given orientation could have resulted from the interaction of a number of different factors, many of which are likely to be inaccessible to us. A tomb might, for example, face a culturally significant point in the surrounding landscape, such as a prominent natural feature or a preexisting tomb. While such alternatives are quite often considered by archaeoastronomers, only a small proportion of nearby places that were significant to the builders are likely to be recognizable as such by us (see ▶ Chap. 1, “Concepts of Space, Time, and the Cosmos”), and as regards preexisting constructions, we are limited to those that remain conspicuous in today’s landscape or are at least detectable archaeologically. Orientations may also have been influenced by a range of concerns such as the lie of the land, the prevailing wind, or sun and shade. The tension between explanatory paradigms is epitomized in debates in the 1990s as to whether the predominantly southeasterly orientations of Iron-Age roundhouses in Britain could be better explained in symbolic/cosmological terms, related to the direction of the winter solstice sunrise, or as the practical consequence of having the entrance face the warmth of the early morning sun on cold winter mornings (Ruggles 1999, p. 153 and references therein). The two possibilities are not mutually exclusive, since the separation between “pragmatic” and “symbolic” exists in our minds, not necessarily in theirs (Ruggles 2005, pp. 196–197). Orientation is merely one of many different ways in which symbolic meaning could have been incorporated in the location and design of a monument or other construction. Its size and shape, the choice and provenance

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of materials, texture, visual impact, acoustic qualities, and many other factors may also have impacted upon those who visited, experienced, and used the place. There are many ways in which buildings might have embodied cosmological principles or aspects of the surrounding landscape, some of which may be reflected in the positioning of material traces visible to the modern archaeologist such as offerings and burials. Such possibilities have been considered in depth by prehistorians and anthropologists since the 1990s (e.g., Thomas 1991; Tilley 1994; Bradley 1998), gradually establishing a more secure interpretive framework. It is evident that the correct starting point for an analysis of structural orientations is broader cultural questions, and such an analysis may well form one strand among a set of related modes and topics of enquiry (see, e.g., ▶ Chap. 107, “Irish Neolithic Tombs in their Landscape”). Contextual evidence is not only important in confirming the intentionality of a putative astronomical alignment but is also vital in establishing its cultural relevance and possible meaning (see ▶ Chap. 24, “Nature and Analysis of Material Evidence Relevant to Archaeoastronomy”). But it is equally crucial that analyses of orientations, and particularly of putative astronomical alignments, are well founded methodologically in order to sustain viable interpretations. This means, in particular, that the question of fair data selection remains crucially important (see ▶ Chap. 25, “Best Practice for Evaluating the Astronomical Significance of Archaeological Sites”). The astronomical potential of a given structural orientation may be assessed quantitatively by establishing the “indicated declination”. On declination, see ▶ Chap. 30, “Basic Concepts of Positional Astronomy”. The use of the term indication, which follows standard practice, should not be taken to have any particular implications regarding the nature, use, or even the intentionality, of the alignment being investigated. The term alignment is itself used here, as quite commonly in the literature, to mean an oriented structure aligned upon some point on the horizon (or, if defined in three dimensions, some point on the celestial sphere), whether intentionally or not. (Others prefer to reserve “alignment” for cases where human intentionality has been argued – see ▶ Chap. 26, “Techniques of Field Survey” – but this begs the question of who is making that argument and on what basis.) When assessing the astronomical potential of a set of structural orientations, focusing on distributions of indicated declinations can avoid prejudging which might be “significant” astronomical targets (Ruggles 1999, pp. 49–78, 148).

Establishment of the “Archaeoastronomical Facts” Although the collection of archaeoastronomical data is a nondestructive process, the continual threat of damage to a monument or its environment means that the establishment of the archaeoastronomical facts, as a permanent record, is important and sometimes imperative (Ruggles 1999, p. 164; Hoskin 2001, p. 10). In essence, the empirical procedure necessary to explore the astronomical potential of a chosen structural orientation consists simply of determining the (true) azimuth and altitude

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of the horizon in the direction of the indication, and then deducing the indicated declination using standard formulae (see ▶ Chap. 30, “Basic Concepts of Positional Astronomy”). In practice, a number of issues arise. In principle, it is a straightforward matter to specify the oriented structure to be measured, but in practice, this is rarely the case. Sometimes it is possible to measure the orientation of a feature during an archaeological excavation, but more usually, the archaeoastronomer is limited to what remains above the ground. In this case, given the deterioration that might have occurred over centuries or even millennia, it is not necessarily obvious how to obtain the best estimate of the original orientation, which, in its turn, may have differed from the intended, “ideal”, orientation even at the time of construction, and indeed been remodeled in the past. A temple wall, even when partially collapsed, may provide enough segments of intact facing blocks to yield a good estimate of the original orientation; on the other hand, the original orientation of a short row of standing stones (and, indeed, the original degree of straightness) will normally be uncertain, because some may have leaned, fallen, or disappeared completely, so that systematic studies of several such rows are necessary even to obtain a reliable dataset (see ▶ Chap. 110, “Scottish Short Stone Rows”). Added to this, the stones themselves are generally irregular, so that an alignment along the bases will not necessarily be the same as that obtained by sighting along the sides or tops. Figure 27.1 illustrates some of these issues. Some favor formal approaches for estimating the original orientation – for example, taking the best-fit line through the centroids of the bases of stones in the case of short stone rows (Lynch 1982, p. 208) – while others rely on visual inspection and consider a range of possibilities within identified limits (e.g., Ruggles 1999, pp. 103–107 for the same group of monuments). The best approach will be dictated by the nature of the research questions being addressed – for example, if one is considering the possibility that structures were aligned upon conspicuous horizon foresights, this favors the “range of possibilities” approach (see Ruggles 1999, pp. 98–99, 106–108) – but the choice is also influenced by circumstance and available resources. Identifying the principal axis of a structure raises further issues since it is not always directly marked. Hoskin (2001, p. 12), for example, takes the principal axis of a megalithic tomb to be a line through the center of the backstone and the center of the entrance or passage; in the case of Scottish recumbent stone circles, Ruggles (1984b, p. S64) identifies two candidates for the principal axis, either or both of which may be available for measurement at any given site depending upon its state of preservation (see also ▶ Chap. 109, “Recumbent Stone Circles”). The choice of instruments to be used to determine the azimuth and altitude of any given structural orientation will depend upon the precision required as well as upon the resources available. Traditionally, a hand-held compass-clinometer would suffice for quick surveys accurate to about 1
; otherwise, a theodolite or Total Station (theodolite plus electronic distance measurement [EDM] device) would be needed (Ruggles 1999, pp. 165–166; see also Hoskin 2001, pp. 10–12; Prendergast 2001). Modern technological developments have added several new options in recent years (see ▶ Chap. 26, “Techniques of Field Survey”).

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Fig. 27.1 Different types of structural orientation, illustrating some of the issues that can arise in attempting to estimate the original or intended orientation given the current state of preservation and other imponderables. (a) Temple (heiau) KIP–1010, Kahikinui, Maui, Hawaiian Islands; (b) Doory stone row, Co. Kerry, Ireland; (c) Reenascreena South axial-stone circle, Co. Cork, Ireland; and (d) the remains of Cajiro´n 1 seven-stone anta, Valencia de Alca´ntara, Spain; all viewed along the principal axis (Photographs: Clive Ruggles)

Ruggles (1999, pp. 167–168) provides a “standard procedure” for theodolite surveys, including the accurate determination of true north by timed observations of the sun; Aveni (2001, pp. 120–124) and Ruggles (2005, pp. 423–425) also provide brief descriptions of how archaeoastronomical measurements are taken in the field using a theodolite. Ruggles (1999, p. 165, 2005, pp. 112–113) and Hoskin (2001, p. 12) give guidance about types of compass-clinometer and ways to minimize errors in the field.

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Azimuths and altitudes are converted to declinations directly using a standard formula (see ▶ Chap. 30, “Basic Concepts of Positional Astronomy”). In most circumstances (depending upon the precision required), it is necessary to take account of atmospheric refraction, and it is common practice to do this by applying a mean correction dependent only upon the altitude; for the moon it is necessary to take account of lunar parallax (see ▶ Chap. 30, “Basic Concepts of Positional Astronomy”). It is necessary to know the latitude which, in most circumstances, can be determined accurately enough on site using a hand-held GPS, or else from a large-scale map. “GETDEC”, a simple program to calculate declinations for archaeoastronomers (Ruggles 1999, p. 169), has been available online for many years (see http://www.cliveruggles.net). It is often sufficient to quote azimuth, altitude, and declination values for each indication but in other cases – for instance, in view of different theories about how any given astronomical alignment was set up and used in practice, or where there is a rugged horizon, or simply given the various imponderables and uncertainties in determining the intended orientation – it is more relevant to focus upon a sector of horizon in the direction of indication rather than a single point. This “indicated horizon”, however it is determined, may contain prominent features that merit particular special attention, as mentioned above. In practice, then, archaeoastronomers often survey a wider horizon profile in each of the directions of interest. Standard practice in these cases is to measure the azimuths and altitudes of sequences of identifiable points along the relevant ranges of horizon, complemented by a photographic record that enables the parameters of intermediate points to be interpolated. Particular indicated segments of horizon would then correspond to a range of azimuths and also a range of declinations. Sometimes, the entire horizon is considered as part of statistical investigations (e.g., Higginbottom et al. 2000; Pimenta et al. 2009), and some have suggested that it should be standard practice to survey the entire horizon, for use in such analyses or in case other structural orientations are subsequently considered as possibly significant. In many cases, it may not be possible to view all or part of a relevant stretch of horizon, either because of the weather conditions or owing to intervening buildings or vegetation. (Whether the sightline was obscured by vegetation in the past is a different question, which should clearly form part of the research agenda and be informed by the environmental evidence, but also introduces some methodological issues – see ▶ Chap. 25, “Best Practice for Evaluating the Astronomical Significance of Archaeological Sites”). One possibility, where the horizon profile in question can be seen from a nearby point, is to survey from that point and calculate the offset correction (or “eccentric position correction”) trigonometrically (Ruggles 1999, p. 169). Another is to estimate the relevant data from topographic maps (Thom 1971, p. 123). A convenient alternative that has emerged more recently is to use software that generates horizon profiles from digital terrain data, an excellent example being the “Horizon” program developed by Andrew Smith at the University of Adelaide, which also has the capacity to show rising and setting paths of specified celestial objects and lines of declination (see Fig. 27.2).

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Fig. 27.2 A digital horizon profile generated by Andrew Smith’s “Horizon” program showing the eastward view from temple (heiau) LUA–1, Kahikinui, Maui, Hawaiian Islands. It is annotated with grids showing the azimuth, altitude, and declination and the paths of the solstitial and equinoctial sun, together with the Pleiades in 1600 BC (Graphic: Andrew Smith)

In many cases, it may not be necessary to make survey measurements in the field at all, if sufficiently accurate data are retrievable from site plans or maps, although one must beware potential errors such as misdirected north points (e.g., to magnetic north rather than true north) on otherwise reliable plans by archaeologists for whom orientation was not a primary issue. It may also be possible to carry out an adequate archaeoastronomical assessment of a site destroyed or refilled since survey or excavation plans were generated, provided that the location (and the change in ground level, if relevant) is known accurately enough. In this case, the plans would be used in conjunction together either with a survey from the place in question, or with horizon information generated from maps or digital terrain data. As is evident from all that has been said, a variety of errors and uncertainties separate our estimates of structural orientations from those intended (if they were intended at all) by the builders. It is always important to be aware of these potential errors and to work at an appropriate level of precision (see ▶ Chap. 25, “Best Practice for Evaluating the Astronomical Significance of Archaeological Sites”). Typically, an archive of archaeoastronomical data relating to a single structural orientation, site (monument, building or complex), or landscape might consist of a plan or plans marking relevant structural orientations of possible interest, together with (for each structural orientation): • The azimuth or range of azimuths that represent the best estimate of the original orientation (e.g., “in the range 272
–276
”; “278.3
 0.4
”, or expressed as a graphical distribution of probabilities), and how these were derived; • A photograph or digitally generated horizon profile, showing – The indicated point or range, – Azimuth and altitude scales (and, preferably, lines of declination), – Surveyed points, and – The names or locations of hills and their distances; • A table showing the azimuths, altitudes, and declinations of surveyed points and other points of significance;

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• Notes on how the declinations were derived (refraction formulae used, etc.); and • Notes on the position from which the profile was measured or calculated (e.g., how far back along the alignment from the oriented structure).

Visualizing Declination Data While various types of radial graph can be used to present azimuth data, the same is not true for declinations. In the northern hemisphere, the range of possible horizon declinations in a flat location extends from approximately (90
 j) toward due north to (90
 j) in the southerly direction, where j is the latitude of the site. However, declinations can be considerably higher close to north if there is a high horizon in that direction. In the southern hemisphere, the limits for a flat location are (90
+ j) and (90
+ j) respectively, j now being negative, and declinations can be considerably lower in directions close to south. Given these complications, it is common practice simply to display declination data on a linear graph. In most cases, it is helpful to distinguish between rising (easterly) and setting (westerly) alignments, so values are often plotted both above and below the horizontal (declination) axis. In Fig. 4 of ▶ Chap. 109, “Recumbent Stone Circles”, and Fig. 1 of ▶ Chap. 52, “Astronomical Correlates of Architecture and Landscape in Mesoamerica”, sets of indicated declinations, represented as single squares, are plotted in this manner. More usually, given the various uncertainties in our knowledge of the original orientation, some attempt is made to represent the investigator’s estimate of what was intended as a distribution of probabilities over a spread of declinations. The most straightforward way is to assign equal weighting to all values between limits determined from the field procedures: a cumulative plot constructed in this manner is shown in Fig. 27.3a. A method that better reflects the errors involved is to assign greater probability to declinations close to the center of such a range, for example, in the form of a normal curve (“Gaussian hump”), resulting – when several of these are added together – in a curved histogram or “curvigram” (Ruggles 1999, pp. 51–52; Fig. 27.3b). This visualization technique was pioneered by Thom (1955, 1967, p. 102) and is still used extensively (e.g., Ruggles 1999, pp. 52–72; McCluskey 2007; Belmonte et al. 2009 – see also Figs. 4, 7, 10 and 11 of ▶ Chap. 133, “Orientation of Egyptian Temples: An Overview”; Fig. 2 of ▶ Chap. 52, “Astronomical Correlates of Architecture and Landscape in Mesoamerica”), although it cannot be implemented in a straightforward way using generally available graphical display tools such as those attached to spreadsheets. A point that is often overlooked is that modeling the uncertainties in determining the intended direction of an oriented structure results in a probability distribution in azimuth, not in declination. Given that the horizon altitude may vary from point to point, a normal distribution in azimuth will generally convert to a more complex probability distribution in declination. From a data-driven perspective, distributions of indicated declinations from sets of alignments can “speak for themselves” as regards their astronomical potential

−20

−5 0

−10

+5

0

10

+10 +15 +20 +25 +30 +35 +40

20

SET

RISE

30

40

50

Fig. 27.3 Visualizing sets of indicated declinations using cumulative probability histograms. (a) An example where, for each indication, equal weighting was assigned to each declination within a determined range (After Ruggles 1999, Fig. 6.4b). The data relate to sites in southwest Ireland, at latitudes around 52
, so that possible horizon declinations range from around 38
in the south to +38
(and more for higher horizons) in the north. (b) A “curvigram” where each indication is represented by a normal distribution (“Gaussian hump”) (After Ruggles 1999, Fig. 2.3c). The data relate to sites mostly in Scotland, at latitudes between 55
and 58
, for which the possible horizon declinations range from around 35
in the south to +35
(and more for higher horizons) in the north

−30

−35 −30 −25 −20 −15 −10

35 30 25 20 15 10 5 0 −40

b

a

27 Analyzing Orientations 419

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(see ▶ Chap. 25, “Best Practice for Evaluating the Astronomical Significance of Archaeological Sites”) In theory at least, it should be possible to recognize significant accumulations of probability, note the declinations where they occur, and on that basis identify the astronomical phenomena to which they are most likely to relate. Attempts to formalize this process using statistical methods were mostly confined to the early development of archaeoastronomy in the 1970s and 1980s (e.g., Freeman and Elmore 1979; Heggie 1981, pp. 136–184; Ruggles 1984c) and following this, archaeoastronomers tended to rely more on qualitative assessment of the declination distributions; however, recent years have seen renewed interest in developing appropriate statistical methods (e.g., Pimenta et al. 2009; Gonza´lezGarcı´a and Belmonte 2010). In practice, the process of assessing declination distributions is strongly influenced by contextual evidence where this is available: for an example, see ▶ Chap. 52, “Astronomical Correlates of Architecture and Landscape in Mesoamerica”. It is certainly easy to be misled, for example, by the apparent prominence of peaks on cumulative histograms which can be strongly affected by factors such as the form of each probability distribution (e.g., the width of each constituent Gaussian hump) and the relative weighting ascribed to different constituent indications. Misapprehensions can also arise because a random distribution of orientations, even in one location, would not produce a uniform distribution in declination but, rather, a bimodal pattern with the greatest probability concentrated toward the ends of the range, corresponding to the north and south directions where astronomical objects skim along the horizon, with sharp cut-offs beyond that (see Ruggles 1999, p. 74).

Target Declinations For the sun, moon, planets, and stars, positional astronomy provides clear information about “target” declinations both now and at any epoch during the past few millennia. The sun’s declination (d) at any time in the year can be calculated approximately using the formula sin d ¼ sin e cos ð0:9856nÞ; where e is the obliquity of the ecliptic – about 23.4
now but about 24.0
in around 2500 BC (see ▶ Chap. 30, “Basic Concepts of Positional Astronomy”) – and n is the number of days that have elapsed since the June solstice (Ruggles 1999, p. 24). For greater accuracy, one has to take into account the fact that the earth does not travel around the sun at a constant rate (see Ruggles 1999, p. 54). The declination of the sun at the point of rising or setting on any particular day will vary from year to year, largely because of the leap-year cycle. As an example, Table 27.1 shows the mean declination of the sun at approximately 23-day intervals through the year in 2000 BC. This is merely for reference: while it has been claimed that these dates – or at least the half of them representing the divisions of the solar year into 8 equal parts

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Table 27.1 The mean declination of the sun at approximately 23-day intervals through the year in 2000 BC No. of days from June solstice 0 23 46 68 91 114 137 160 183

Gregorian date Jun 21 Jul 14 Aug 6 Aug 28 Sep 20 Oct 13 Nov 5 Nov 28 Dec 21

Mean declination of sun +23.9
+22.3
+17.2
+9.8
+0.6
8.7
16.8
22.3
23.9


No. of days from June solstice 183 205 228 251 274 297 320 342 365

Gregorian date Dec 21 Jan 12 Feb 4 Feb 27 Mar 22 Apr 14 May 7 May 29 Jun 21

Mean declination of sun 23.9
21.8
16.2
8.3
+0.5
+9.2
+16.7
+21.8
+23.9


counting from either solstice – may have been significant in prehistoric Britain from the Early Neolithic right through to the Iron Age, none of these ideas has withstood critiques (Ruggles 1999, pp. 51–55, 128–129, 141–142). On the contrary, any dates in the annual cycle might have been significant in the context of a particular solar horizon calendar (see ▶ Chap. 2, “Calendars and Astronomy”). For more information on solar alignments, see ▶ Chap. 32, “Solar Alignments - Identification and Analysis”. The lunar standstill limits (see ▶ Chap. 30, “Basic Concepts of Positional Astronomy”) have been taken as self-evident “targets” by numerous archaeoastronomers since the 1960s, although Aveni (1980, p. 203; also 2001, pp. 205–206) has long used the Maya example to show that even cultures who developed a sophisticated knowledge of the lunar cycles, including eclipse prediction, may have had no interest whatsoever in the changing position of the rising and setting moon. Ruggles (1999, p. 97; see also ▶ Chap. 109, “Recumbent Stone Circles”) pointed out that a practice of aligning monuments upon, say, the rising or setting full moon nearest one of the solstices, if repeated at several sites, would result in a pattern of orientations concentrated around the major and minor standstill limits without implying any cultural conceptualization of the 18.6-year lunar node cycle or long-term programs of observation. In recent years, more nuanced approaches have explored a greater variety of ways in which an awareness, and observations, of the lunar cycles may have been incorporated or reflected in monumental architecture, including alignments upon the spring full moon, the crescent moon observed immediately after a “crossover” with the sun, and even the “dark moon” (see ▶ Chap. 33, “Lunar Alignments - Identification and Analysis”). Planetary cycles are complex, and in most cases the declinations that might reveal intentional alignments upon their rising and setting points are difficult or impossible to distinguish from those relating to the sun or moon (see ▶ Chap. 30, “Basic Concepts of Positional Astronomy”). However, Mayan alignments upon Venus’ heliacal rising and setting points are historically documented

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(see ▶ Chap. 50, “Astronomy in the Dresden Codex”), and a number of credible Venus alignments have now been discovered in Mayan architecture (see ▶ Chap. 34, “Alignments Upon Venus (and Other Planets) - Identification and Analysis”). The potential “overinterpretation” of alignments upon the lunar standstill limits, mentioned above, highlights a more general issue relevant to the motions of the sun, moon, and planets. In each case, the rate of change in their declination slows down close to the limiting northern or southern extreme declinations in any given cycle, so that orientations upon the celestial body in question at random times would produce a bimodal distribution in declination, not a uniform or unimodal one, over the possible range. For a discussion of this issue in relation to the sun, see ▶ Chap. 32, “Solar Alignments - Identification and Analysis”. The declinations of the stars are effectively fixed in the short term (over years and decades) but drift perceptibly over longer time periods owing to precession (see ▶ Chap. 30, “Basic Concepts of Positional Astronomy”). For a table of the declinations of the 25 brightest stars, and of some other asterisms of interest, at one-millennium intervals back to 5000 BC, see ▶ Chap. 31, “Long-Term Changes in the Appearance of the Sky”.

Discussion An indicated declination or range of declinations produced as described above (Section on “Establishment of the ‘Archaeoastronomical Facts’”) actually provides a minimum (northern hemisphere) or maximum (southern hemisphere) rather than an absolute value for the declination(s) that might have been relevant if the structure in question did, in fact, encapsulate an astronomical alignment. This is because it represents the declination in the indicated direction at the point of rising or setting, whereas the actual alignment might have been upon a celestial object up in the sky. Indeed, most stars cannot be seen at the point of rising or setting over a low horizon because of atmospheric extinction (see ▶ Chap. 35, “Stellar Alignments - Identification and Analysis”). Sky visualization software (“desktop planetarium”) packages such as Stellarium (www.winportal. com/stellarium) (see ▶ Chap. 29, “Visualization Tools and Techniques”) allow these possibilities to be explored but, by introducing many more alignment possibilities, greatly increase the danger of fitting fortuitous astronomical explanations that were quite unintentional (see ▶ Chap. 25, “Best Practice for Evaluating the Astronomical Significance of Archaeological Sites”). Some accumulations of indicated declinations may correspond to targets whose astronomical significance could not be known to us without direct cultural insights, historical or ethnographic. For example, it is possible that some English medieval churches were intentionally oriented upon sunrise on the Julian equinox (see McCluskey 2007, pp. 341–344), a concept that was only meaningful because of the persistent use of the Julian calendar despite the fact that it had drifted out of step with the seasonal year by 3 or 4 days.

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Some interpretations of declination distributions depend critically upon the limits of the spread of declinations rather than upon accumulations around particular values. Thus, the 177 declinations for seven-stone antas (a distinctive form of dolmen found in Portugal and Spain) quoted by Hoskin (2001, pp. 231–232) vary from +23
to 25.5
, limits which correspond, to within 1.5
, to the limits of the solar arc at the time of construction. This fact is critical in reaching the conclusion that they all faced sunrise (see ▶ Chap. 96, “Seven-Stone Antas”). However, such interpretations rest heavily upon the extreme values: in the case of the antas, just one or two declinations falling well outside the solar range could change the interpretation completely. It is also common for sets of declination values to contain outliers. Of the 23 measurable taula sanctuaries of southern Menorca, 22 face declinations between 38.5
and 50.5
, which is interpreted in terms of the Southern Cross, but a single example faces 17
, which is tentatively interpreted, given some independent corroborating evidence, as relating to Sirius (see ▶ Chap. 99, “Taula Sanctuaries of Menorca”). The axial orientations of Scottish recumbent stone circles yield a main cluster of declinations of 24
or below together with an outlying group of 4 or 5 cases between 16
and 20
. The latter have been critical in sustaining lunar rather than solar interpretations (see ▶ Chap. 109, “Recumbent Stone Circles”). Various questions arise. How critically dependent is any particular interpretation of a set of indicated declinations upon just a few, or even just one or two, extreme values? Does it remain credible given the existence of one or more outliers? Indeed, how far outside a perceived cluster does a value have to be in order to be counted as an outlier? More generally, how robust is any particular interpretation to the possibility that one or two values might prove false or incorrect, or that one or two new ones might be added in the future? The answers clearly depend upon the existence and nature of corroborating evidence (see ▶ Chap. 24, “Nature and Analysis of Material Evidence Relevant to Archaeoastronomy”; ▶ Chap. 25, “Best Practice for Evaluating the Astronomical Significance of Archaeological Sites”), but there remains a serious need for an in-depth treatment of the issue of extreme values and outliers and how they affect archaeoastronomical interpretations of groups of structural orientations.

Cross-References ▶ Alignments upon Venus (and Other Planets) - Identification and Analysis ▶ Astronomical Correlates of Architecture and Landscape in Mesoamerica ▶ Astronomy in the Dresden Codex ▶ Basic Concepts of Positional Astronomy ▶ Best Practice for Evaluating the Astronomical Significance of Archaeological Sites ▶ Concepts of Space, Time, and the Cosmos ▶ Inca Astronomy and Calendrics ▶ Irish Neolithic Tombs in their Landscape

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▶ Long-Term Changes in the Appearance of the Sky ▶ Lunar Alignments - Identification and Analysis ▶ Nature and Analysis of Material Evidence Relevant to Archaeoastronomy ▶ Neolithic Longhouses and Bronze Age Houses in Central Europe ▶ Orientation of Egyptian Temples: An Overview ▶ Recumbent Stone Circles ▶ Scottish Short Stone Rows ▶ Seven-Stone Antas ▶ Solar Alignments - Identification and Analysis ▶ Stellar Alignments - Identification and Analysis ▶ Taula Sanctuaries of Menorca ▶ Techniques of Field Survey ▶ Visualization Tools and Techniques

References Aveni AF (1980) Skywatchers of ancient Mexico. University of Texas Press, Austin Aveni AF (2001) Skywatchers. University of Texas Press, Austin Belmonte JA, Shaltout M, Fekri M (2009) Astronomy, landscape and symbolism: a study of the orientation of ancient Egyptian temples. In: Belmonte JA, Shaltout M (eds) In search of cosmic order: selected essays on Egyptian archaeoastronomy. Supreme Council of Antiquities Press, Cairo, pp 215–283 Bradley RJ (1998) The significance of monuments. Routledge, London Freeman PR, Elmore W (1979) A test for the significance of astronomical alignments. Archaeoastronomy 1(Supplement to the Journal for the History for Astronomy 10):S86–S96 Gonza´lez-Garcı´a AC, Belmonte JA (2010) Statistical analysis of megalithic tomb orientations in the Iberian Peninsula and neighbouring regions. Journal for the History of Astronomy 41:225–238 Heggie DC (1981) Megalithic science. Thames and Hudson, London Higginbottom G, Smith A, Simpson K, Clay R (2000) Gazing at the horizon: sub-cultural differences in western Scotland? In: Esteban C, Belmonte JA (eds) Oxford VI and SEAC99: astronomy and cultural diversity. Organismo Auto´nomo de Museos del Cabildo de Tenerife, La Laguna, pp 43–50 Hoskin MA (2001) Tombs, temples and their orientations. Ocarina Books, Bognor Regis Lynch A (1982) Astronomy and stone alignments in S.W. Ireland. In: Heggie DC (ed) Archaeoastronomy in the Old World. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, pp 205–213 McCluskey SC (2007) Calendrical cycles, the eighth day of the world, and the orientations of English churches. In: Ruggles CLN, Urton G (eds) Skywatching in the ancient world: new perspectives in cultural astronomy. University Press of Colorado, Boulder, pp 331–353 Pimenta F, Tirapicos L, Smith A (2009) A Bayesian approach to the orientations of central Alentejo megalithic enclosures. Archaeoastronomy: Journal of Astronomy in Culture 22:1–20 Prendergast FT (2001) Orientation for archaeoastronomy – a geodetic perspective. In: Ruggles CLN, Prendergast FT, Ray TP (eds) Astronomy, cosmology and landscape. Ocarina Books, Bognor Regis, pp 175–186 Ruggles CLN (1982) Megalithic astronomical sightlines: current reassessment and future directions. In: Heggie DC (ed) Archaeoastronomy in the Old World. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, pp 83–105 Ruggles CLN (1984a) Megalithic astronomy: the last five years. Vistas in Astronomy 27:231–289

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Ruggles CLN (1984b) A new study of the Aberdeenshire recumbent stone circles, 1: Site data. Archaeoastronomy 6(Supplement to the Journal for the History for Astronomy 15):S55–S79 Ruggles CLN (1984c) Megalithic astronomy: a new archaeological and statistical study of 300 western Scottish sites, vol 123. BAR British series. British Archaeological Reports, Oxford Ruggles CLN (1999) Astronomy in prehistoric Britain and Ireland. Yale University Press, New Haven Ruggles CLN (2005) Ancient astronomy: an encyclopedia of cosmologies and myth. ABC–CLIO, Santa Barbara Thom A (1955) A statistical examination of the megalithic sites in Britain. J Roy Stat Soc A118:275–291 Thom A (1967) Megalithic sites in Britain. Oxford University Press, London Thom A (1971) Megalithic lunar observatories. Oxford University Press, Oxford Thomas J (1991) Rethinking the Neolithic. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge Tilley C (1994) A phenomenology of landscape. Berg, Oxford

Analyzing Light-and-Shadow Interactions

28

Stephen C. McCluskey

Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Types of Sites . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Simple Edge Interactions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Small Apertures . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Large Apertures . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Multiple Edge Sites . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Documentation Practice . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

427 428 429 432 434 436 440 443 443

Abstract

There are many different kinds of light-and-shadow interactions, which can be classified geometrically from simple edge interactions, through apertures of various kinds, to complex three-dimensional multiple edge sites. Determining the astronomical intent of the builders of these interactions requires a geometrical understanding of the way the site interacts with the Sun’s daily and annual motion. This understanding also provides insights into procedures for surveying such sites.

Introduction Determining whether light-and-shadow interactions, or solar hierophanies as they are sometimes called, intentionally reflect a culture’s astronomical or calendrical concerns remains one of the most technically difficult objects of

S.C. McCluskey Department of History, West Virginia University, Morgantown, WV, USA e-mail: [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_27, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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archaeoastronomical investigation. Two different elements contribute to this obscurity. One is the historical distinction between the original circumstances in which a light-and-shadow interaction was created (either naturally or by human agency) and the, possibly later, circumstances in which an interaction’s significance was recognized and marked in some way. This significance may have been intended as part of a built site’s original design, or it may have only been recognized and marked some time later. This discussion focuses on the other source of obscurity: the geometric details of the interactions that generate light-and-shadow phenomena. Unlike the simple astronomical orientations of buildings or the alignments of stone rows, which are defined by the position of a celestial body rising or setting on the local horizon, these phenomena result from the interaction of complex collimating structures with the changing daily and yearly motion of the Sun (we will not consider other bright celestial bodies) across the entire dome of sky. We can describe the Sun’s motion in terms of its daily arc, with the Sun rising in the east, passing to the south (overhead in the tropics or to the north in the southern hemisphere) and setting in the west. This simple description ignores the annual motion of the Sun. Since antiquity, it had been recognized that in the course of the year, the Sun travels a spiral path passing slightly to the north each day between the December and June solstices and passing on similar paths to the south each day between the June and December solstices. Thus, it returns twice a year to the same point in the sky, once on its northward path and again on its southward path. Although aspects of some shadow-casting phenomena have been analyzed geometrically, there is no general analysis of the geometrical and astronomical principles underlying light-and-shadow interactions in the literature. In many cases, a rigorous general study is precluded by the varied details of the particular site. Nonetheless, qualitative geometrical analyses can provide conceptual insights into the processes by which images are formed on a receiving surface at different times in the course of the Sun’s motion across the sky, give guidance on appropriate data to collect during field surveys of such sites, and allow us to determine, in general, when and where these light-and-shadow interactions are produced. Such understanding of the general principles giving rise to these interactions can contribute to investigations of whether a site was intentionally astronomical.

Types of Sites To interpret light-and-shadow interactions, it is more useful to categorize them by the different mechanisms by which these phenomena are created than by a mere description of their appearances (Preston and Preston 2005, p. 112). Phenomena which appear similar, such as blades or daggers of light, can be generated by different mechanisms. The simplest and most general form of these interactions involves changes to the illumination of an exterior surface, the changes being caused by a nearby edge that obstructs sunlight or allows it to shine on a specific portion of the surface. More constrained situations arise when we consider small

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apertures or simple shadow-casting devices that project the image of the Sun, and of its changing daily paths through the sky in the course of the day and the year, onto a simple receiving surface. A similar interaction arises when sunlight passes through a large aperture in a simple two-dimensional surface (such as a window in a wall), sweeping a moving outline of the aperture across the receiving surface. The most complicated kind of interaction arises when sunlight shines through an extended gap in a multifaceted three-dimensional structure, where collimating edges at different distances from the receiving surface produce a dynamically changing image. The most commonly discussed interactions of this type are the “sun daggers” of southwestern North America, where sunlight passes through a gap (or gaps) defined by two (or more) large nearby rock edges. As in other aspects of archaeoastronomical investigations, evidence for deliberate astronomical intent is crucial to interpreting light-and-shadow interactions. Such evidence can be seen when the receiving surface is specially marked where the light and shadow phenomena occur, but we cannot assume an intentional connection between the markings and the corresponding solar phenomenon. For many interactions, light or shadow sweeps across an extended portion of the surface in the course of the day and the year. It is therefore difficult to determine whether an image on the surface is intended to mark a particular light-and-shadow interaction. Distinctive, culturally appropriate, solar, or calendric markers on the receiving surface provide the strongest indications of the place of a significant light and shadow interaction. Less-specific markings may be significant when they coincide with rapidly changing light effects, such as those caused by more complex three-dimensional interactions. Historical or ethnographic information about a culture’s astronomical practices, astronomical symbolism, the astronomical phenomena they consider significant, and their roles in that culture should always guide investigations of astronomical intent (Aveni 2006). With sufficient cultural knowledge, a researcher can develop rich interpretations of the cultural meaning of light-and-shadow interactions. Due to its limited geometrical focus, this chapter does not address the interplay between such cultural interpretations and the question of intent.

Simple Edge Interactions Light-and-shadow interactions can only take place when the Sun is shining on a structure’s surface. Since, in the northern hemisphere, the Sun rises in the east, passes through the south, and sets in the west, it is common to consider that the northern part of a structure remains in shadow throughout the day. This is only approximately true; since antiquity, it had been recognized that in summer, when the Sun rises in the northeast and sets in the northwest, the northern faces of structures are illuminated by the Sun early in the morning and late in the afternoon. Thus, light-and-shadow interactions can occur on any face of a structure. As an example (Fig. 28.1), there are sundials on all faces of the octagonal Tower of the Winds in Athens (Stuart and Revett [1762] 2008).

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Fig. 28.1 The Tower of the Winds (Athens). Detail showing East, Northeast, and North faces with sundials digitally enhanced (Stuart and Revett 1762)

Simple edge interactions take place when the moving Sun casts a shadow of a single edge on a nearby receiving surface. The shape of the edge determines the form of the shadow it casts, which can be a simple straight line, a pointer or a dagger of light, or more complex forms. One of the most complex edge interactions is the solar hierophany at the Castillo of Chiche´n Itza´, where the shadow cast by the steps of the pyramid upon the side of the north staircase appears to represent a serpent descending the staircase (Carlson 1999). The likelihood of a simple edge of light interacting with markings randomly distributed on a natural or artificial structure can be estimated by considering the structure as a vertical cylinder or an irregular vertical shape. Whatever the altitude of the Sun, it will illuminate markings on the half of the structure facing it, while those on the other half remain in shadow. As the Sun moves along the circle of the horizon, the terminator dividing the lighted from the shadowed portion of the structure will move at the same angular velocity. A marking crossed by the leading portion of the terminator is suddenly illuminated by the Sun; a marking crossed by the trailing portion is suddenly obscured in shadow. Although the details of illumination and obscuration are altered by the particular geometry and shadows cast by nearby rock formations, the average over the entire surface is adequately approximated by such a simplified analysis in which the changing azimuth of the Sun is the principal factor.

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Fig. 28.2 Change of solar azimuth in the course of the day. Computed for latitude 36 north

Since the azimuth of the leading and trailing edges of the terminator are 90 away from that of the Sun, their azimuth and angular velocity can be simply inferred from the azimuth of the Sun and its velocity in azimuth. The probability that a marking on the structure will be either newly illuminated or obscured in a given period of time is directly related to the change in azimuth of the Sun. The azimuth of the Sun changes most rapidly when it passes near the zenith at noon. Thus, the azimuth changes more rapidly at noon than in the morning or evening (Fig. 28.2), more rapidly near the tropics than at northern or southern latitudes (Fig. 28.3), and (outside the tropics) more rapidly at the summer solstice than at the equinoxes or winter solstice. These are the circumstances under which light-and-shadow interactions are more likely to occur, to be noticed and marked by indigenous observers, and to become part of their culture. Thus, we can expect simple edge interactions to be marked more frequently in the region from the equator to about 12 beyond the tropics. Furthermore, since chance interactions occur more frequently at specific times, we cannot assume that an interaction near noon or near the summer solstice is evidence of deliberate intent (McCluskey 1988). Such phenomena are so ubiquitous that a site only becomes significant when the affected portion of its surface is marked by an image that unambiguously signifies the phenomenon. Since these interactions depend strongly on local circumstances, we cannot draw universal conclusions about their particular details. Nonetheless, we can make some

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Fig. 28.3 Change of Sun’s noontime azimuth for different latitudes

general observations about these phenomena. The form of these interactions reflects the shape of the collimating edge and its interaction with the receiving surface. For example, a notched collimating edge can produce a blade of light, especially when light shines obliquely on the receiving surface.

Small Apertures A significantly different kind of light-and-shadow interaction occurs when sunlight shines through a small aperture to project an image of the Sun onto a darkened receiving surface or when a small shadow-casting device projects a round shadow onto a receiving surface. Since the fifteenth century, apertures have been constructed in Italian churches to project an image of the Sun onto a meridian line on the floor, precisely indicating the arrival of noon and the seasons of the year (Heilbron 1999). Simpler apertures in Puebloan dwellings projected an image of the rising Sun onto markers on the opposite wall to indicate the arrival of particular times of the year (Malotki 1983, pp. 491–4; Zeilik 1985a, p. S10). A globe atop an obelisk erected in Rome by the Emperor Augustus, projected its shadow onto a meridian line inlaid on the pavement which marked the seasons and the time of local noon (Heslin 2007). Since antiquity, designers of sundials have employed geometrical analyses of this problem for different latitudes (Evans 1999, pp. 243–251). If we take the daily

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Fig. 28.4 Pattern of the Sun on a horizontal sundial. Computed for latitude 35 north using W. D. Horst’s sundial calculator http:// www.jamesriverstudio.com/ sundials/calculator/Dial. xhtml

path of the Sun as a circle, the projection of that circle onto a planar surface yields a conic section – most commonly a hyperbola or an ellipse. We can approximate the Sun’s small circular image as a point, which will only illuminate a point on the receiving surface twice a year, once when the Sun is on its northerly path and again when it returns on its southerly path (Fig. 28.4). The projection of the Sun’s spiral path weaves a zigzag pattern, covering an extensive portion of the receiving surface in the course of the year. It is difficult to determine which, if any, portion of the receiving surface was intentionally marked by the Sun’s image, although the changing speed of the Sun’s image offers a possible clue. The image moves most slowly when the aperture is closest to the receiving surface and most rapidly when the sun shines obliquely on the surface. On a horizontal surface, its motion is slowest when the Sun passes through the meridian; on a vertical surface, its motion is slowest when the receiving surface faces the Sun. In the three cases mentioned above, historical records describe the astronomical uses of the solar images. However, given the extensive motion of the solar image across the receiving surface, how could we recognize these interactions as intentionally astronomical if we did not have such records? We could draw on the fact that the Italian and Roman meridian lines and the Puebloan sun markers all indicate a time when the Sun’s image moves slowly. Stronger astronomical evidence is found in the Italian and Roman examples, where the meridian lines which the Sun crosses at noon are clearly oriented north and south and are further marked with the signs of the Zodiac. By linking surveys of the markings on the line with astronomical calculations of the elevation of the Sun when it entered those zodiacal signs, we can test the markings against the annual motions of the Sun (Heslin 2007). Their astronomical intent is indicated both by the correspondence of the markings with the Sun’s motions and by the north–south meridian line. A weaker astronomical case is found in the Pueblo example; ethnographic descriptions indicate that markers on the wall indicated important dates for

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particular communities. Apertures facing east are not uncommon and markings on the opposite wall could be calendric indicators. But we generally lack evidence as distinctive as zodiacal symbols to link the apertures and markers to particular dates. Just as every structure must be oriented to some direction, so every aperture facing sunrise must indicate some date, and there is always the risk of selecting a date to fit the site. The indications of intentionality seen in these examples are the presence of culturally appropriate astronomical or calendric markings, the relation of the design to specific celestial motions, and that in all three cases, the image is used when the aperture is close to the receiving surface.

Large Apertures The monumental Neolithic passage grave of Newgrange in the Boyne Valley of Ireland provides a convincing example of the Sun shining through an extended aperture, defined by a rectangular “roof box” about two meters above the entrance (Fig. 28.5). The “roof box” appears to have no other function than to allow the admission of a beam of light which illuminates the chamber at the end of the passage for a few days either side of the winter solstice. One might consider this as a simple example of an oriented structure, were the interaction not further constrained by the three-dimensional relationships of the roof box and the long, narrow sinuous passage (Ray 1989). The interaction of the axial alignment with an otherwise unexplained three-dimensional structure at an astronomically significant time makes Newgrange one of the most unequivocal examples of a large aperture interaction. The Sun also gleams through the oculus at the apex of the dome of the Pantheon in Rome. While illuminating the interior of this vast structure, sunlight sweeps across the inner surface of the structure in the course of the day, following different paths throughout the year. If we choose to restrict our consideration to the appearance of the sunlight at local noon, the changing projection of the aperture acts something like the appearance of the Sun on a meridian line (Fig. 28.6; Hannah and Magli 2011). However, the site includes no astronomical or calendric iconography, and the building itself differs significantly from other Roman meridian lines. The solar appearance is striking, but it remains an open question whether the Pantheon was designed by its builders to indicate the changes of the seasons. It has been suggested that the light shining through the windows of medieval churches was used for two related purposes: first, to illuminate images on feast days commemorated in the image and secondly, to mark particular times of the day and of the year (Incerti 2001). Determining astronomical intent of images remains problematical however; each day light from a single window will sweep across a great portion of the interior of the church, throughout the year it will sweep over an even greater range, and multiple windows will illuminate even more of the interior (Fig. 28.7; Coray-Lauer 2007). Given the extended dimensions of the aperture and its projection, light will illuminate selected points on the receiving

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Fig. 28.5 Newgrange neolithic passage grave Note beam of sunlight passing through roof-box and collimated by passage sides (From Stout and Stout (2008), used by permission)

surface for an extended time of day over an extended number of days; most points in the church will be illuminated at some time in the day or year. If we focus on a particular image that is illuminated on a related feast day, we must first consider the many other times when that image was illuminated before considering it intentional. The general case for timekeeping is better documented. The late thirteenthcentury astronomer, Guillaume de St.-Cloud, saw that when churches are properly oriented toward the east, the Sun’s rays entering through a southern window would

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Fig. 28.6 Noontime Solstice sunlight at the Pantheon. Beams of sunlight through the oculus at winter and summer solstices (Hannah and Magli 2011, Figs. 28.6 and 28.9)

Fig. 28.7 Light from West Windows, St. John, M€ ustair. Light sweeping across the floor of the Cloister Church of St John on the Feast of St. John (24 June) (Coray-Lauer 2007, Diagr. 18, used by permission)

shine transversely across the church to indicate when it was midday (meridies). The rays falling some distance before or after that place would indicate the hours of daily prayer (Harper 1966, pp. 145–6, 241–2). The fourteenth-century astronomer, Levi ben Gerson, described using light shining through a southern window to determine the exact day of the summer solstice (Goldstein 2001). Note that the windows used for these observations were not built for that purpose nor are the receiving surfaces explicitly marked; individual timekeeping sites have an ambiguity similar to that of horizon calendars and require similar statistical support or historical documentation.

Multiple Edge Sites The defining element in these sites is the presence of at least two collimating edges that are located at different distances from the receiving surface. Because of their differing distances, the boundary between light and shadow caused by the more

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distant collimating edge moves across the receiving surface more rapidly than the boundary caused by the nearer collimating edge. The interaction between these two moving boundaries generates images that change shape dramatically and often move transversely to the apparent motion of the Sun. At the three slab site atop Fajada Butte, New Mexico, descending blades of light are formed shortly before noon throughout the year as the Sun moves from east to west in the southern sky (Sofaer et al. 1979). Horizontal blades of light are formed early in the morning when the Sun is ascending in the eastern sky near the summer solstice at the Holly House site at Hovenweep National Monument, Colorado (Williamson 1984, pp. 93–5) and the Mutau Flat site in Los Padres National Forest, California (Krupp and Wubben 1990), early in the morning near the winter solstice at the La Rumorosa site in Baja California, Mexico (Hedges 1986), and before noon near the equinoxes at Joshua Tree National Park, California (Rafter 1995). A triangle of light descends and shrinks to nothingness late in the morning as the Sun moves westward through the sky near the summer solstice at the “Sun house” site on San Carlos Mesa, Baja California, Mexico (Robin and Ewing 1989). Rock art on the receiving surfaces reinforces the solar significance of many of these sites. At the summer solstice at San Carlos Mesa, the shrinking triangle of light vanishes at the doorway of a house, which has been interpreted as representing the Native American concept of the Sun’s house where he dwells at the solstices. At the solstices at Fajada Butte and at the summer solstice at Hovenweep, blades of light bisect spiral petroglyphs, a Puebloan motif held to be associated with the Sun. At the winter solstice at La Rumorosa, a blade of light crosses the eyes of an anthropomorphic figure, which has been interpreted as representing a Sun watcher. Defining the mechanism that creates these changing images would require full models of the three-dimensional structure of each site and their changing interactions with the positions of the Sun (e.g., Sofaer et al. 2011; Luce 2010). Rather than addressing such detailed models of individual sites, this discussion will now address two general categories of multiple edge sites. We will begin our consideration with the simpler Hovenweep-type site, named after the first recorded example of this type (Williamson 1979). At Hovenweep, La Rumorosa, and Mutau Flat, the image is generated by two roughly horizontal collimating edges such as A and B, shown in cross section in Fig. 28.8a–d. As the Sun rises in the sky, the blade of light expands. However, to the extent that the edges and surfaces are not ideal geometrical lines and planes, they will define irregular boundaries between light and shadow, which can appear on the receiving surface as separated daggers of light which converge to form a single long blade of light. Converging daggers of light can be produced by different mechanisms. The dual sun daggers at Hovenweep and Mutau Flat are generated by irregularities on the collimating edges that allow separate images to form, and then converge at a central point as the gap defined by the edges opens. At La Rumorosa, on the other hand, two converging daggers of light appear when the irregular receiving surface is illuminated obliquely by a single blade of light. The blades grow as the sunbeam gradually illuminates more of the concave portion of the surface (Hedges 1986, p. 20).

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Fig. 28.8 Hovenweep-type site. Growing beam of sunlight defined by collimating edges A and B

Another site at Joshua Tree National Park is inside a rock shelter, formed by two huge boulders leaning against each other. Near noon on the equinoxes a single blade of light is generated on the sand floor of the rock shelter as sunlight shines through a crevice between the boulders. The point of the blade advances toward, enters, and bisects a 19 cm diameter circular mortar carved in a bedrock outcrop (Rafter 1995, pp. 34–5; Neff and Wilson 2004, pp. 63, 120–1). A markedly different variant of the Hovenweep-type site is found at San Carlos Mesa (Robin and Ewing 1989). Here, rather than an expanding lighted area bounded by roughly horizontal collimating edges, the illuminated part of the receiving surface is bounded by the shadows of a nearby vertical edge and a more distant inclined edge. As the Sun moves across the sky, the illuminated area shrinks away and vanishes off the lower edge of the receiving surface. A useful way to interpret Hovenweep-type sites considers the two collimating edges and a point on the receiving surface as defining two idealized planes, projected onto the celestial sphere to form two great circles. These two circles define a band of illumination on the celestial sphere. When the Sun passes through this band of illumination, it can shine through the gap in the rocks to illuminate the receiving surface, thus producing a blade of light. The Fajada Butte site is not just a vertically oriented version of the Hovenweeptype sites; it differs in several significant respects. First, two gaps between the three southward facing rock slabs generate two separate blades of light throughout most of the year, although one does not appear at the summer solstice. Secondly, at the

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Fig. 28.9 Fajada Butte-type site. Expansion and contraction of beam of sunlight. Note the changing collimating edges in the course of the process

summer solstice, a third horizontal collimating edge, located high above the slabs on the cliff face, overshadows a portion of the slabs and reduces the blade of light to a short dagger (Luce 2010). During the rest of the year, this blade of light extends almost the full height of the rock slabs (Sofaer et al. 1979, Fig. 28.9; Zeilik 1985b, p. S74), much as the horizontal blade of light at Hovenweep extends almost the full width of the receiving surface. Third, the more complex three-dimensional structure formed by rock slabs produces changes of the collimating edges and requires a more detailed analysis.

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A simplified analysis of how an extended structure of slabs of rock can generate the sides of the blade of light at Fajada Butte-type sites (Fig. 28.9a–i) employs a cross section of two idealized slabs AD and BC. The cross section is generated by a cutting plane that is inclined to the horizon and defined by the Sun’s motion during the period of interaction. The collimating edges intersecting the cutting plane need not be parallel to each other or perpendicular to the cutting plane. For example, at Fajada Butte near noon on the summer solstice the cutting plane is tilted more than 77 from the horizon, cutting an almost horizontal edge of one slab and an almost vertical edge of the other (Sofaer et al. 1979, Fig. 12; Luce 2010, Figs. 28.1 and 28.2). The interaction can be considered as having three phases. First, the blade of light expands as it is collimated by the pair of edges A and B, which are at unequal distances from the receiving surface (Fig. 28.9a–d). Next, the blade of light maintains an almost constant width as it is collimated by the pair of edges D and B, the right and left edges being about the same distance from the receiving surface (Fig. 28.9d–f). This maximum width of illumination is defined by the separation of the collimating surfaces. Finally, the blade of light contracts as it is collimated by the pair of edges C and D (Fig. 28.9f–i). Setting aside the irregularities of the collimating edges and receiving surfaces, two geometrically ideal planes can be defined parallel to the main collimating surfaces, AD and BC, and projected to form two great circles on the celestial sphere. When the Sun is between these two planes, the beam of sunlight will move across the surface maintaining an almost constant width. The other parts of the band of illumination where the beam of sunlight is growing or contracting can be crudely approximated by lesser circles on the celestial sphere, defined by two shallow cones whose axes are perpendicular to the collimating surfaces and whose vertex angles are determined by the separation and length of the two surfaces. Thus, for Fajada Butte-type sites, the band of illumination on the celestial sphere has three regions: an eastern border where the projected image is growing, forming a blade of light; a central region where the image remains almost constant in size; and a western border where the projected image is shrinking. At Fajada Butte, the bands of illumination intersect the horizon at close to a right angle and are so oriented that the receiving surface is illuminated when the Sun passes high in the south (Fig. 28.10).

Documentation Practice There are two complementary ways to document a light-and-shadow interaction. One approach focuses on the site itself, recording sufficient details of the receiving surface and of the apertures or edges that generate the images to allow a reader to reconstruct – at least approximately – the light-and-shadow interactions using the principles of spherical astronomy. The other approach focuses on the phenomena, recording the time of the changing light-and-shadow interactions and their positions on the receiving surface

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90∞ 11:30

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Fig. 28.10 Bands of Illumination at Fajada Butte. Approximate bands of illumination fitted to observations of light-and-shadow interactions

in the course of the day and throughout the year. The position of the Sun at the time of these observations constrains the structure of the site and so can provide a check upon its recorded dimensions. A comprehensive record should include both aspects of a site. As in all archaeological research, it is essential that the details of the site be recorded and either published or deposited in a repository where they will be available for future research. Current practice has tended to provide the most dramatic element; timed accounts of light and shadow as they move across the receiving surface (e.g., Sofaer et al. 1979; Hedges 1986). The edges, surfaces, and apertures that generate these images are seldom mentioned in the literature and are very rarely described with sufficient detail to reconstruct how they produce the images. Measuring the dimensions and orientation of the receiving surface and of the apertures or edges that generate the images is a relatively straightforward surveying problem for a built structure, which typically embodies a geometrically regular structure (Coray-Lauer 2007). A minimum survey of a structure comprises these elements: • Determining the orientation of the receiving surface and other relevant surfaces and edges, measuring the inclination of the surface to the horizon (the dip angle) and the azimuth of the perpendicular to the surface. • Recording all markings on the receiving surface using photographs or scale drawings. • Completely photographing the site and its surroundings from a variety of angles (include indicators of scale, orientation, and the local vertical in several photos). Later researchers may be able to draw on such photographs to develop an oriented photogrammetric model of the site. A complete survey goes beyond determining the spatial orientation of the receiving surface(s) and of the collimating edges and surfaces. The positions of these edges and surfaces and the markings on the receiving surface must also be located in relation to a fixed coordinate system, either local site-based coordinates,

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Table 28.1 Dates of uniformly spaced solar declinations in the course of the year Date and time (UTC) 21-Dec-2012 11:21 22-Jan-2013 16:08 6-Feb-2013 0:34 17-Feb-2013 19:19 28-Feb-2013 10:58 10-Mar-2013 13:30 20-Mar-2013 11:03 30-Mar-2013 9:57 9-Apr-2013 16:33 20-Apr-2013 15:24 2-May-2013 21:19 17-May-2013 23:13 21-Jun-2013 5:03

19-Nov-2013 9:11 4-Nov-2013 21:26 23-Oct-2013 23:14 13-Oct-2013 4:04 2-Oct-2013 21:58 22-Sep-2013 20:47 12-Sep-2013 18:14 2-Sep-2013 7:57 22-Aug-2013 5:26 9-Aug-2013 19:54 25-Jul-2013 14:23

Declination 23.44 19.53 15.62 11.72 7.81 3.91 0.00 3.91 7.81 11.72 15.62 19.53 23.44

a regional geodetic grid system, or geographic coordinates (Luce 2010, pp. 117–18; Sofaer et al. 2011, pp. 80–83; Coray-Lauer 2007, pp. 274–5, Diagr. 13). A full set of measurements, or a well-chosen subset of them, allows us to compute the movement of images across the receiving surface (Coray-Lauer 2007; Luce 2010). Alternatively, planes can be projected from selected points on the receiving surface past the collimating edges onto the celestial sphere to determine the times of day and seasons of the year when the Sun can shine on the receiving surface. A complementary type of record documents the interaction of light and shadow on the receiving surface. Here, it is essential to record the entire process; merely recording the light’s progress toward an assumed target is inadequate. The records should cover the entire period when light is shining on any portion of the receiving surface. Since light-and-shadow interactions often change dramatically, it is best practice to record these changing appearances throughout the day and in the course of the year, using precisely timed photographs. Adequate temporal discrimination would be obtained by photographs separated by 1 min, in which time the Sun’s moves about half its diameter. Fixed installations to periodically record (and even download) images of the phenomena are now possible with the arrival of low-priced digital cameras with large memories, webcams, or mobile phone-based cameras. When such an installed camera is not possible, periodic visits to a site can record changes in the course of selected days throughout the year. This is so labor intensive that light-and-shadow interactions have been recorded at intervals uniformly spaced through the year (Sofaer et al. 2011, pp. 76–7). A more astronomically meaningful sample can be obtained by making observations more frequently near the equinoxes, when the Sun’s declination is changing rapidly, and less frequently near the solstices, when the declination is changing slowly. Such records will be more useful for an analysis of a site; Table 28.1 provides an example of dates, uniformly spaced in solar declination, to guide sample selection.

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Recording the details outlined here will provide readers with the kind of information they need to evaluate whether, how, and to what extent a light-and-shadow interaction intentionally reflects a culture’s astronomical or calendric concerns.

Cross-References ▶ Astronomy and Rock Art in Mexico ▶ Astronomy and Rock Art Studies ▶ Boyne Valley Tombs ▶ Cave of the Astronomers at Xochicalco ▶ Light at the Pantheon ▶ Light–Shadow Interactions in Italian Medieval Churches ▶ Possible Astronomical Depictions in Franco-Cantabrian Paleolithic Rock Art ▶ Rock Art of the Greater Southwest ▶ Role of Light–Shadow Hierophanies in Early Medieval Art ▶ Sun-Dagger Sites ▶ Techniques of Field Survey

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Luce BP (2010) Modeling and analysis of the Chaco canyon sun dagger site. Archaeoastron J Astron Cult 23:115–131 Malotki E (1983) Hopi time: a linguistic analysis of the temporal concepts in the Hopi language. Mouton, Berlin McCluskey SC (1988) The probability of noontime shadows at three petroglyph sites on Fajada Butte. Archaeoastronomy 12 (Supplement to the Journal for the History for Astronomy 19): S69–S71 Neff LC, Wilson MA (2004) Archeological investigations at Joshua tree national park, California. Western Archeological and Conservation Center, Tucson Preston R, Preston A (2005) Consistent forms of solstice sunlight interactions with petroglyphs throughout the prehistoric American southwest. In: Fountain JW, Sinclair RM (eds) Current studies in archaeoastronomy: conversations across space and time. Carolina Academic, Durham, pp 109–119 Rafter J (1995) Sun and the lone woman of the cave. Rock art papers, vol 12; San Diego Museum papers, vol 24. San Diego Museum of Man, San Diego, pp 31–37 Ray TP (1989) The winter solstice phenomenon at Newgrange, Ireland: accident or design. Nature 337:343–345 Robin M, Eve E (1989) The sun is in his house: summer solstice at San Carlos Mesa, Baja California Norte. Rock art papers, vol 6; San Diego Museum papers, vol 24. San Diego Museum of Man, San Diego, pp 29–36 Sofaer A, Zinser V, Sinclair R (1979) A unique solar marking construct. Science 206:283–291 Sofaer A, Price A, Holmlund J, Nicoli J, Piscitello A (2011) The sun dagger interactive computer model: a digital restoration of a Chacoan calendrical site. In: Walker WH, Venzor KR (eds) Contemporary archaeologies of the southwest. University Press of Colorado, Boulder, pp 67–92 Stout G, Stout M (2008) Newgrange. Cork University Press, Cork. Stuart J, Revett N (1762) The antiquities of Athens, vol 1. Haberkorn, London Stuart J, Revett N [1762] (2008) The antiquities of Athens, vol. 1 Reprint. Princeton Architectural Press, New York Williamson RA (1979) Field report: hovenweep national monument. Archaeoastronomy: Bulletin of the Center for Archaeoastronomy 2(3):10–11 Williamson RA (1984) Living the sky: the cosmos of the North American Indian. Houghton Mifflin, Boston Zeilik M (1985a) The ethnoastronomy of the historic pueblos, 1: calendrical sun watching. Archaeoastronomy 8 (Supplement to the Journal for the History for Astronomy 16):S1–S24 Zeilik M (1985b) A reassessment of the Fajada Butte solar marker. Archaeoastronomy 9 (Supplement to the Journal for the History for Astronomy 16):S69–S85

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Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Computer Graphics and Astronomical Cultural Heritage . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Archaeological Maps . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Digital Terrain Models . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Horizon Data: The Digital Approach . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Model: Document or Reconstruction? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Simulation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Conclusion . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Abstract

In this chapter, we give an overview of current computer software and processing methods that can be used to build accurate representations of sites of interest to archaeoastronomy. Recent developments promise excellent results in the near future.

Introduction This Handbook contains many examples of temples and other historical buildings which can be surveyed in the field and where relationships to astronomical events can be directly experienced on certain days in the year. But what if an

G. Zotti Ludwig Boltzmann Institute for Archaeological Prospection and Virtual Archaeology, Vienna, Austria e-mail: [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_32, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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archaeological site is inaccessible, closed off for conservation reasons, or all that remains of a prehistoric site is soil and crop marks? And how can you present your results to a larger audience of non-astronomers? A fully immersive astronomical simulation environment that predates the age of electronic computers is the classical projection planetarium with a dedicated projector in the center of a hemispherical dome. Modern projectors simulate the appearance of the night sky in unsurpassed quality and are ideal to explain the night sky and processes involving the motions of the sun, moon, and planets, including precession and sometimes, for a handful of bright stars, even proper motion. A combination with archaeologically interesting features on the ground, i.e., the surrounding landscape and traces of potentially relevant buildings resting at the spectators’ feet is however hardly possible in a classical planetarium: the simulation is strictly limited to the upper hemisphere, so even if the surveyed horizon and a correctly aligned photo panorama can be accurately projected, any structures in the foreground, below the mathematical horizon, remain invisible (Zotti et al. 2006). At least the classical opto-mechanical projectors also fail to show the geometrical distortion and azimuth shift of rising and setting celestial objects caused by atmospheric refraction and the extinction of starlight close to the horizon, so that an accurate simulation of astronomical alignments of architectural structures is not really possible. An interactive investigation or demonstration of possible sight lines or orientation axes with respect to celestial objects therefore calls for real-time computer graphics.

Computer Graphics and Astronomical Cultural Heritage Virtual reconstructions of ancient architecture have become almost commonplace in recent years. Using this technique it is possible to provide plausible reconstructions of temples or other buildings based on archaeological evidence, sometimes also variant reconstructions or even reconstructions of several building phases. Such models, especially when not only a single building, but a larger assembly like a town has been reconstructed and set up for a real-time simulation where a user can freely move around, allow a better understanding of the spatial relationship between buildings which are no longer standing physically. Unfortunately, overelaborate reconstructions are sometimes criticized as not being “scientific” and more a product of fantasy best used for tourists in a museum, but not for research. On the other hand, virtual models of the status quo of cultural heritage monuments created by digital recording techniques (laser scanning or photobased models processed with the structure from motion approach (Doneus et al. 2011)) are also useful for documentation and later investigation of sites which are sometimes in remote locations and may therefore not be easily accessible, or where historical buildings are in danger of destruction by natural disasters like earthquakes, or even deliberate human action.

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If the archaeological survey data are available in digital form and are properly georeferenced, e.g., in a geographical information system (GIS), reconstructions based on the surveys will also allow the simulation of natural illumination by the sun or the moon, or, if the data also include a digital terrain model (DTM) of sufficient size and accuracy, the study of building axes and their orientation in relation to important natural directions like solstitial risings. The orientation of pre-Columbian temple remains at Lake Titicaca was thus studied in a large-scale VR installation (Frischer 2003). Physically correct simulation of light distribution has been applied in the Egyptian temple of Kalabsha to simulate the illumination by the sun and by ancient oil lamps (Sundstedt et al. 2004). Harding et al. (2006) used a VRML model of the prehistoric Thornborough henge sites (see ▶ Chap. 106, “The Neolithic and Bronze Age Monument Complex of Thornborough, North Yorkshire, UK”). The possible association with stars of Orion’s belt was studied by draping a series of static star maps created with a desktop planetarium for different years and days in those years onto a dome geometry that spanned over the archaeological site of interest. Today’s commercial advanced architectural visualization systems allow the creation of highly sophisticated models and provide the simulation of daylight as standard feature. An example of a high-tech approach for digital documentation and reconstruction with particular interest in accurate shadow simulation is the project done at the Fajado Butte Sun Dagger site (see also ▶ Chap. 28, “Analyzing Light-and-Shadow Interactions”), which combined earlier photogrammetric documentation of the site with two types of laser scan so that even though the important rocks had shifted before the site could be documented in a full 3D model using the laser scan, the original situation could be restored in the virtual model which can now be studied in a museum installation using a simulation of solar or lunar illumination (Sofaer et al. 2011). Most observing astronomers know and use desktop planetarium software. Some of those programs provide nice renderings of the night sky, and some allow the inclusion of a horizon panorama, usually resembling the landscape surrounding the observatory. Depending on the algorithms and data used for computing planetary positions, we will notice differences in positional accuracy between programs. This may not pose a problem for the present, but for instance ancient solar eclipses may be wrongly simulated by some of the programs, e.g., when the effect of the Earth’s slowing rotation known as DT is not properly simulated. Also, even if some programs allow to set a date in the Paleolithic, the results can usually not be trusted when the algorithms are overstrained into date domains far beyond their applicability. In general, data sources and algorithms used should be found in the software documentation, and in case of open-source software, we will have the chance to develop our own extensions into the far past. Recent developments from the computer game industry with their ever increasing demand of realistic graphics and immersive gameplay produced game engines like Unity3D (Unity3D website n.d.), the Cry Engine (Cry Engine website n.d.), or the Unreal Engine (Unreal Engine website n.d.) which allow relatively fast development of stunning interactive worlds through which a user can walk and experience realistic views (All software titles and product names should be understood as examples and their full applicability and capabilities may not always have been

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tested. There is often more than one software solution to a single problem!). The easy import of architectural models and modeling of whole landscapes makes these systems also increasingly popular for presentation of cultural heritage monuments in their respective landscape. Usually however, illumination is precomputed into scenes of day or night ambience, and most game developers have no particular interest in the changes of illumination caused by the apparent motion of the sun. During the Astrosim project (Supported by the Austrian Science Fund (FWF) under grant number P21208-G19) (2008–2012), a related group of archaeological monuments in Austria (Kreisgrabenanlagen or Neolithic Circular Ditch Systems) was reconstructed in their respective landscape in virtual models based on archaeological prospection and excavation data in order to assess their alleged potential for systematic astronomical orientation of their entrances. The models were based on a digital elevation model of the current landscape, the architectural reconstruction in virtual models, and a background image that surrounded the scene and consisted of a surveyed photo panorama taken on-site and a diagram with astronomical data consisting of declination lines and diurnal tracks of brighter stars computed for the archaeologically dated epoch of the monuments. For visualization purposes, the open-source desktop planetarium Stellarium (Stellarium website n.d.) was enhanced with a plugin that allows a walk-around in a 3D model in combination with an optically appealing sky simulation. This chapter is based mostly on experience gained from the project.

Archaeological Maps Archaeoastronomical research is often performed not by “pure” archaeologists but by researchers of other disciplines: astronomers, surveyors, or members of other technically inclined fields. On the other hand, surveys of archaeological excavations and their documentation in previous times often did not have the accuracy that is expected from a trained surveyor. If we want to go digital, the first thing must be to bring our archaeological survey data into a Geographical Information System (GIS). There exist a few solutions from cost-free open-source systems to highpriced commercial software which is not necessarily superior for our task. Conceptually, a usable system will allow to combine and display data in a geographical or projected coordinate system. Data recorded with a modern total station in a georeferenced survey grid will be immediately usable for further electronic processing and will show the surveyed points or object outlines in their correct location. Older maps may be scanned from paper and georeferenced by marking a few tie points on the old map which can be identified in current surveys. Optimally, the georeferencing should be done in the same coordinate system as the scanned map. If the older map turns out to show distortions and to be rather a sketch than a map, with features not drawn to scale, sometimes a “rubber band stretch” with a high number of tie points may still provide a useful data layer. Today’s survey maps usually record features inside the cartesian grid provided by a Transversal Mercator projection. One common implementation is the UTM or

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Universal Transversal Mercator projection, which records a strip of land that stretches 3
of longitude on both sides of a central meridian. Directly on the central meridian l0 the grid’s vertical axis points exactly to geographical north. However, the farther we move in longitude l away from the central meridian, the further this vertical axis will deviate from geographic north, an effect called meridian convergence g. If we do not require highest accuracy, we can in general safely ignore the Earth’s deviation from a true sphere, so for a position with longitude l and latitude ’ we can simply compute g ¼ ðl  l0 Þ sin ’:

(29.1)

That means, for locations on the northern hemisphere and east of the respective zone’s central meridian, true north is slightly west of grid north. For archaeoastronomical studies based on accurately mapped archaeology, it is therefore required to correct for this effect in order to properly identify geographical (or astronomical) north.

Digital Terrain Models Many archaeological publications of building structures contain outlines of buildings, ditches, or pits in a raster at best marked with UTM or other coordinates defined by the national survey authority but lack any information about the local topography surrounding the structure in question. A researcher asked to investigate potential astronomical orientation patterns and unable to visit the site in question may only receive these maps and must therefore assume flat ground and a far horizon for which a surveyed horizon may also be provided. Even if there might be an interesting result based on this data, it may turn out later that the very terrain has a crucial impact on the prevalent orientation pattern, which may far better explain the orientation. During Astrosim, the orientation of the entrances of Neolithic Kreisgraben monuments was found in most cases to follow the slope of the terrain, and local slope also rendered all purported lunar and stellar hypotheses untenable (Zotti and Neubauer to appear). There are several kinds of digital elevation models that can be added to our GIS database and visualization system, and applicability of a certain data set or technology may depend not the least on the available budget: • The elevations of the immediate vicinity of the site can be recorded manually by classical survey instruments like a total station. The resulting point samples can be connected to form a triangulated irregular network (TIN). • Pairs of vertical aerial images can be evaluated stereoscopically, or image sets can be processed with structure from motion software (see section “Model: Document or Reconstruction?”), again providing a TIN. • Higher-resolution digital elevation models should be available for a moderate fee from national or local authorities. These usually come as raster data with a grid spacing (or pixel size) of 10–25 m.

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• A very fine DTM with spatial resolution of 1 m or better can be gained from airborne LiDAR. Here a laser scanner mounted on an aircraft records a high number of reflection point samples, and by application of certain algorithms and data filters, it is possible to process the data into raster images which represent either a digital surface model (DSM) which includes houses and vegetation, or a digital elevation model (DEM) where all houses, bridges, and vegetation have been removed. The latest generation of instrumentation is able to show an incredible wealth of large-scale archaeological data previously hidden from aerial detection under forest canopies (Doneus et al. 2008) which may be used as base for deforested terrain in our digital model. • For visualization of larger areas, two well-known space-based DEMs have been published and are available for free download. The NASA STS-99 Shuttle Radar Topographic Mission (SRTM) flown in the year 2000 has delivered a DEM with a global spatial resolution of 3 arcseconds (1 arcsecond for the USA). The shuttle’s orbital inclination caused a limitation of geographical latitudes covered by the data to 56
. . . +60
. This DEM is widely used, e.g., also for Google Earth. Although its vertical and lateral data has been found to be accurate to within a few meters for 90 % of the data (Rodriguez et al. 2005), the resolution of this data set is unfortunately not high enough to provide a reliable basis for a model when we want to investigate a potentially high-accuracy orientation toward a close target on the horizon. Still, as first approximation, we can use it for modeling mountain peaks on the far horizon if no other data are available. A DEM published more recently is ASTER GDEM, which has been derived from stereoscopic evaluation of satellite images. Although it provides data with a lateral resolution of 15 m and therefore would seem better at first glance, also the elevation data in version 2 seem to be noisier with lots of pseudo detail when compared to SRTM (de Ferranti n.d.), and therefore it can also not be recommended for unverified use in archaeoastronomical models. All these models will of course only show today’s elevations. For models of very old structures in their landscapes, erosion might have to be taken into account, so you may have to develop a representation of the previous surface.

Horizon Data: The Digital Approach Until recently, any reference on horizon astronomy would have always recommended to go out into the field and measure horizon elevations yourself. This measurement is of course still the best solution in general. If we cannot perform on-site measurements, we can utilize a GIS function with a high-quality DEM or DSM to compute the visible horizon line from this data. Software dedicated to this purpose may deliver artificial horizon panoramas which may be useful to identify mountain peaks (de Ferranti n.d.), and Andrew Smith’s Horizon which has only recently been developed for archaeoastronomical research also allows export of panoramas to be used with desktop planetarium software (Smith 2012). Again, the result depends on the DTM quality, and SRTM or ASTER GDEM will generally not be enough if small

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details in the vicinity of our site matter in our application, but much could be done with the use of LiDAR data. Again, we have to make sure to correct measured or computed grid-based azimuths for the effect of meridian convergence.

Model: Document or Reconstruction? We have several possibilities to create a digital model of the structure of interest. If the building or structure in question still exists in its original location and we just want to include it into our GIS or 3D virtual landscape, the most accurate documentation will usually be possible with a terrestrial laser scanner (TLS). These devices use a laser beam and rotating mirror and measure the time of flight (TOF) to record millions of surface points within minutes into a point cloud with only a few mm of depth error at a range of upto several hundred meters. Such point clouds, recorded from a few properly surveyed fixed points around the building to avoid gaps caused by not being able to see and scan around corners, can be combined, and from the combined cloud a dense triangle mesh can be derived which accurately represents the surface of the structure. These meshes can be textured with photographs usually also taken in parallel to achieve a highly realistic documentation. A structured light scanner (SLS) can be used to record fine details, e.g., rock carvings or inscriptions in a stone surface. Here the object is illuminated by some known light pattern, e.g., a moving laser line, and the deviation from this pattern recorded with an off-axis camera is used to derive depth information with submillimeter accuracy. Both laser-based recording techniques have their problems. A TOF scanner is expensive and heavy, and SLS systems work best in darkness or at least twilight. A completely different approach for model generation has been developed in the last few years with methods that combine computer vision and photogrammetry: Automatic detection of corresponding point features in a group of digital images taken from different viewpoints allows the derivation of their location in 3D space, again resulting in a point cloud from which a triangle mesh can be derived and textured with the same photographs. The computational complexity of this structure from motion approach is quite high, however, and while current software solutions can process several dozens or even hundreds of images, the computer at work should be equipped with lots of memory and a multi-core processor, and the more advanced programs can also make good use of a programmable graphics card. Some of the programs even allow the identification of surveyed fix points in the photographs in order to produce either georeferenced models, or orthophotos or other synthesized images from well-defined viewpoints. For less demanding applications, Autodesk offers a solution with its 123D Catch service (previously called PhotoFly) which as of late 2012 is offered as a free technical preview of a cloud computing service. With a cost-free desktop client users can upload a few dozens of images from their PCs, the processing is done remotely on powerful computers, and usually within minutes the user receives a finished model which can be exported in several 3D formats (see Fig. 29.2). Unfortunately, these models do not include

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Fig. 29.1 A virtual model of an archaeological site including two monuments with suspected relations to astronomy. The structures have been reconstructed in Google SketchUp on a piece of terrain (DEM), and for each of the sites, a surveyed panorama has been taken and combined with a diagram configured for the site, showing diurnal tracks of celestial objects. The panorama includes mountains too far away to be included in the DEM. It is mapped onto a spherical ring which, seen from within the model, should always be centered on the camera position to avoid parallax errors. If available in a rendering system, a skybox (rendered at infinite distance) should be preferred for this purpose. A more realistic simulation of this area made in Unity3D is shown in ▶ Fig. 113.2

georeferencing. Also, in some situations like during actual field work, the requirement to be online with a fast internet connection may also be a problem. Several systems have been compared against results from laser scans, e.g., by Doneus et al. (2011) and Kersten and Lindstaedt (2012), documenting the competitiveness of this cheap method against laser scanning. Another benefit is the potential to process old photographs of a site taken in an era that predates laser scanning.

Simulation As soon as we have created our architectural reconstruction or site model, we may want to bring it into the larger context of a landscape and especially the sky in order to study astronomical orientation, alignments and if possible also shadow effects. Some of the open (e.g., geoVRML, X3D) and proprietary (e.g., SketchUp) file formats can store geographical information about the model, so that location and accurate north direction can be directly read from the model file itself. A family of applications is used in the field of architectural visualization, often also integrated in geographical information systems (GIS). Here models of planned buildings can be inserted into models of current cities, and the changes in the skyline

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Fig. 29.2 A model of a multifaceted eighteenth-century sundial derived with Autodesk 123D Catch beta from about 40 photographs, combined with a simple modeled geometrical support. The model is shown here in the Scenery3D extension to the Stellarium desktop planetarium

and effects of daylight illumination and new shadowed areas can be studied before the building is erected. These systems may therefore allow the setting of dates and times to simulate solar illumination over the year. However, the date range and the astronomical model of solar positions are frequently limited, e.g., to dates after 1901 or the Unix epoch (1970 and later), so that, for studies in archaeoastronomy, the slightly different solstice declinations from prehistory and antiquity and a simulation of stellar positions toward which certain prehistoric buildings may have been aligned are commonly not available with existing simulation environments. Another family of applications which involve larger landscape scenes and light has evolved in the computer games industry. Advanced graphical effects can deliver stunning views of landscapes with plants moving in the wind and steamy forests where beams of sunlight radiate through the canopy, and allow highly stimulating gameplay. But to increase performance for the gameplay, game scenes are usually set in a certain illumination ambience, so the illumination for the scenes is mostly precomputed and shadows are “baked” into the object textures. Real-time shadows, e.g., for the game character and other moving figures and objects, can then be limited to the close vicinity. Simulating a large landscape with lots of details in real time is not trivial and involves innumerable other tricks and tweaks. Distant 3D objects may be replaced by simpler versions or even just “billboards”, which are flat textured panels that just look toward the camera but may lack any geometrical accuracy as seen from the distance. The camera model settings may offer a “far clipping plane”, and everything behind this distance will just not be rendered. Even if the far distance is set to tens of km, for performance reasons distant mountains are usually greatly simplified

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and appear to pop out of the ground on approach, and then mountain tops change and evolve into ever finer detail as the viewer further closes in, e.g., in a flight simulator. Such behavior is of course a problem if we are interested in questions involving just this very far horizon! Two counteracting effects will also play a role in these larger distances but are generally not taken into account in flat-Earth simulations: the Earth’s curvature which would decrease mountain altitudes, and terrestrial refraction which can slightly lift far mountains but depends heavily on current atmospheric conditions. Therefore, it seems acceptable to limit the modeled terrain and add a visual background based on a panorama photograph or artificial rendering made with dedicated software (see section “Horizon Data: The Digital Approach”). So, until recently, a system for general use that would provide real-time illumination by correctly positioned celestial objects in a large landscape was missing. This gap can be approached from both sides, by adding accurate astronomical information to a landscape simulation or by adding model and landscape support to astronomical simulation software. Frischer and Fillwalk (2012) have used the Unity3D game engine for archaeoastronomical research on a model of the Roccabruna structure in the complex known as Hadrian’s Villa. They were interested to show the illumination through a conduit above the northwestern entrance which indeed was found to project a patch of light into the domed main hall above a statue which was itself illuminated by the sunlight radiating through the door at summer solstice sunset. Ephemeris data for the sun was fetched within their simulation via Web link to NASA’s Horizons service. Adding a script that controls a directional light simulating the sun including refraction is indeed a simple do-it-yourself extension, and several exensions are available that more or less correctly simulate the sun, atmospheric scattering, clouds and even rain. The present author’s solution extended a skydome with decorative clouds with a correctly placed sun (including refraction), stars and a multi-part informational diagram layer (Zotti and Neubauer 2013). A different approach was the development of the Scenery3D plugin for the opensource desktop planetarium Stellarium. This program already can show panorama photographs as accurate “landscape” to decorate the horizon, which can be used to estimate visibility of sunrise with respect to distant mountains. This panorama can also be artificial, and Andrew Smith’s Horizon can create one from SRTM data (support for other DEMs is in preparation), or a panorama could also be made from a horizon line computed by a GIS. The Scenery3D plugin can load a 3D model in the widely used OBJ format and allows the virtual user to walk around and explore the scenery. Optionally, shadows can be displayed which are cast by the sun, the moon, or even the planet Venus (Zotti and Neubauer to appear). The plugin was developed during the Astrosim project to demonstrate stellar alignments for prehistoric buildings, which however then could not be confirmed despite preliminary indications. The model should be exactly georeferenced (the configuration file includes also correction for meridian convergence), and the view coordinates in the cartesian survey coordinate grid can be displayed during use, making it a tool both for research and demonstrations. The shadow quality has been improved for

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Fig. 29.3 The public sky-observing platform Sterngarten in Vienna (a) was modeled in SketchUp (b) to verify correct geometrical and shadow simulation in the Scenery3D plugin for Stellarium. (c) At noon on the equinox, the shadow of a disk on the tip of the central pillar (left of platform in (a, b)) crosses the date mark at the foot of the sundial gnomon (far left in (a, b)). (d) The shadow is correctly placed, although the real-world shadow is softer than the artificially diffused shadow (Photos: G. Zotti)

larger models by using Cascaded Shadow Maps (Zotti and Neubauer 2012a), and the accuracy has been tested by comparing live captures taken on-site against a model of a definitely astronomically oriented structure, the Vienna Sterngarten public sky observation platform (See Fig. 29.3) (Zotti and Neubauer 2012b). No level of detail simplification has been implemented so far, so the landscape and model size is limited in geometric complexity, but the landscape model with possible mountains is never clipped or simplified. However, for distant mountains a photographed or properly computed horizon can be used as long as we do not move too far from its viewpoint.

Conclusion Remote sensing and archaeological prospection, geoinformatics, computer graphics, and virtual reality simulation have reached a point where whole ancient cities or landscapes can be reconstructed in a virtual world. The geometrical component, astronomical simulation of celestial positions, and even shadows moving on the ground or inside buildings has reached results which can be relied upon, if care is applied in all parts of the processing chain.

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Still it is hardly possible to make the reconstruction of a prehistoric landscape complete or include the “spiritual” component of a landscape in its respective time and culture which may be required to understand the feelings, beliefs, and motivation of the prehistoric inhabitants.

Cross-References ▶ Analyzing Light-and-Shadow Interactions ▶ Analyzing Orientations ▶ Neolithic Circular Ditch Systems (“Rondels”) in Central Europe

References Cry Engine website (n.d.) http://www.crydev.net. Last visited 22 Nov 2012 de Ferranti J (n.d.) Viewfinder panoramas (website). http://www.viewfinderpanoramas.org/. Last visited 28 Oct 2012 Doneus M, Briese C, Fera M, Janner M (2008) Archaeological prospection of forested areas using full-waveform airborne laser scanning. J Archaeol Sci 35:882–893 Doneus M, Verhoeven G, Fera M, Briese C, Kucera M, Neubauer W (2011) From deposit to point cloud – a study of low-cost computer vision approaches for the straightforward documentation of archaeological excavations. In: XXIIIth international CIPA symposium. Geoinformatics CTU FCE 2011, Prague, pp 81–88 Frischer B (2003) Mission and recent projects of the UCLA cultural virtual reality laboratory. In: Vergnieux R, Delevoie C (eds) Proceedings of the conference virtual retrospect. Biarritz, France, pp 65–76. http://www.frischerconsulting.com/frischer/pdf/FrischerVirtRetro2003.pdf Frischer B, Fillwalk J (2012) The digital Hadrian’s Villa project: using virtual worlds to control suspected solar alignments. In: Guidi G, Addison AC (eds) Proceedings of the VSMM2012 (Virtual Systems in the Information Society). IEEE, Milano, pp 49–55 Harding J, Johnston B, Goodrick G (2006) Neolithic cosmology and the monument complex of Thornborough, North Yorkshire. Archaeoastronomy: Journal of Astronomy in Culture 20:26–51 Kersten TP, Lindstaedt M (2012) Image-based low-cost systems for automatic 3D recording and modelling of archaeological finds and objects. In: Ioannides M, Fritsch D, Leissner J, Davies R, Remondino F, Caffo R (eds) Progress in cultural heritage preservation (Proceedings of the 4th international conference EuroMed 2012, Lemessos, Cyprus, 29 Oct–3 Nov 2012). Lecture notes in computer science, vol 7616. Springer, Heidelberg, pp 1–10 Rodriguez E, Morris CS, Belz JE, Chapin EC, Martin JM, Daffer W, Hensley S (2005) An assessment of the SRTM topographic products, Technical Report JPL D-31639. Jet Propulsion Laboratory, Pasadena Smith A (2012) Horizon website. http://www.agksmith.net/horizon. Last visited 25 Sept 2012 Sofaer A, Price A, Holmlund J, Nicoli J, Piscitello A (2011) The sun dagger interactive computer graphics model: a digital restoration of a Chacoan calendrical site. In: Walker WH, Venzor KR (eds) Contemporary archaeologies of the southwest, vol 3. University Press of Colorado, Boulder, pp 67–92 Stellarium website (n.d.) http://www.stellarium.org. Last visited 25 Oct 2012 Sundstedt V, Chalmers A, Martinez P (2004). High fidelity reconstruction of the ancient Egyptian temple of Kalabsha. In: Proceedings of AFRI-GRAPH. ACM SIGGRAPH Unity3D website (n.d.) http://www.unity3d.com. Last visited 28 Sept 2012 Unreal Engine website (n.d.) http://unrealengine.com. Last visited 28 Sept 2012

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Zotti G, Neubauer W (to appear) Astronomical and topographical orientation of kreisgrabenanlagen in lower Austria. In: Pimenta F et al (eds) Stars and stones (Proceedings of the SEAC2011, Evora, Portugal). BAR International Series, Oxford Zotti G, Neubauer W (2012a) A virtual reconstruction approach for archaeoastronomical research. In:Guidi G, Addison AC (eds) Proceedings of the VSMM2012 (Virtual Systems in the Information Society). IEEE, Milano, pp 33–40 Zotti G, Neubauer W (2012b) Virtual reconstructions in a desktop planetarium for demonstrations in cultural astronomy. In: Ioannides M, Fritsch D, Leissner J, Davies R, Remondino F, Caffo R (eds) Progress in cultural heritage preservation (Proceedings of the 4th international conference EuroMed 2012. Limassol, Cyprus, 29 Oct–3 Nov 2012). Lecture notes in computer science, vol 7616. Springer, Heidelberg, pp 170–180 Zotti G, Wilkie A, Purgathofer W (2006) Using virtual reconstructions in a planetarium for demonstrations in archaeo-astronomy. In: Lanyi CS (ed) Third Central European multimedia and virtual reality conference (Proceedings of the CEMVRC2006). Pannonian University Press, pp 43–51. http://www.cg.tuwien.ac.at/research/publications/2006/zotti-2006-pla/ Zotti G, Neubauer W (2013) Elements for the construction of 3D-models for archaeoastronomical analysis. In: Neubauer W, Trinks I, Salisbury RB, Einwo¨gerer C (eds) Archaeological Prospection. Proceedings of the 10th international conference (AP2013), Vienna, 29 MayJun 2, 2013. Austrian Academy of Sciences, Vienna, pp 354–356

Basic Concepts of Positional Astronomy

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Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Coordinate Systems . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Annual Cycle of Stellar Phenomena . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Annual Cycle of the Sun . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Motions of the Moon . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cycles of the Planets . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Long-Term Changes . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Further Details . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

460 460 463 465 466 469 471 471 471 471

Abstract

This article describes and defines a number of basic concepts that are commonly used in archaeoastronomy and ethnoastronomy, sometimes in particular ways, and attempts to clarify some of the issues of confusion that frequently arise. It is aimed primarily at archaeologists and ethnographers entering or exploring the field and emphasizes the broad principles that are generally of importance to them, while trying to avoid unnecessary complications as well as technical details. It is not aimed at those studying historical sources from antiquity onward, who need a more sophisticated knowledge of positional astronomy, mathematically formulated. Further detail can be found in a variety of sources, including a number aimed specifically at archaeoastronomers.

C.L.N. Ruggles School of Archaeology and Ancient History, University of Leicester, Leicester, UK e-mail: [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_33, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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Introduction Positional astronomy (McNally 1974; Green 1985) – essentially, the study of where things appear in the sky as viewed from points on the earth’s surface – has ceased to be of direct interest to most professional astronomers but remains vital to archaeoastronomy. It uses spherical geometry to calculate the positions of celestial bodies on the celestial sphere, which can be envisaged as a sphere centered on the observer (of which only the top half is visible above the ground at any given time) that spins around daily with all the astronomical bodies affixed to (but on longer timescales gradually moving around on) its surface.

Coordinate Systems In order to describe the position of objects on the celestial sphere, we need a coordinate system. A number of celestial coordinate systems exist (Ridpath 2004, pp. 3–5), but archaeoastronomers commonly use two (Aveni 2001, pp. 49–55). One, the “horizontal system”, is fixed for any position on the earth and describes what can be seen in a given direction as the stars move around in the sky; it is also useful for specifying horizon features, whose direction never changes. The other, the “equatorial system”, is fixed on the celestial sphere as it spins round, so that it is appropriate for specifying the position of any given celestial body relative to all the others. A third system, the “ecliptic system”, is particularly relevant to those studying Mesopotamian, Greek, Islamic, and Indian astronomy. In each system, a position on the celestial sphere (or, equivalently, a given direction outward from the observer) is specified using two angles, just as longitude and latitude specify any location on the earth. In the horizontal system, these are azimuth, the horizontal angle of the viewed point measured clockwise (as seen from above) round from due north, and altitude, the vertical angle between the viewed point and the horizontal plane through the observer. Azimuth varies from 0
to 360
: the azimuth of due north is 0
/360
, that of due east 90
, that of due south 180
, and that of due west 270
. All points on a level with the observer have altitude 0
(the actual horizon may be above or below this); the zenith (the point in the sky directly above the observer) has altitude +90
, and the nadir (the point directly below the observer) has altitude 90
. The angle between the observed point and the zenith (90
minus the altitude) is also known as the “zenith distance” (somewhat confusingly, since it is an angle, not a distance). “Magnetic azimuths” determined with respect to magnetic north rather than true north, which result when using a magnetic compass, must be converted to true azimuths before the astronomical possibilities can be assessed (Ruggles 1999, p. 165; Aveni 2001, pp. 118–119). There is also confusion in the literature between altitude and elevation (the height of a location above sea level), the meaning of the two terms often being transposed (Ruggles 2005, pp. 8–9). In the equatorial system, the coordinates are right ascension (RA) and declination. The north and south celestial poles, at opposite ends of the axis of

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Fig. 30.1 Determining the declination of a horizon point (Drawing by Deborah MilesWilliams; also Ruggles 1999, Fig. 1.7)

Line of constant declination, δ

E

Altitude h N

S

Azimuth A

W

rotation of the celestial sphere, are analogous to the north and south poles on the earth, and right ascension and declination are analogous to terrestrial longitude and latitude. In the short term, celestial objects effectively remain fixed in RA and declination, just as places remain at the same longitude and latitude on the spinning earth. Declination (not to be confused with magnetic declination, which is the difference between true north and magnetic north) varies from +90
at the north celestial pole down to 90
at the south celestial pole and is 0
at the celestial equator. RA is usually measured in hours rather than degrees, so it varies from 0 to 24 h. However, in most cases only declination is of interest to archaeoastronomers. This is because (again, on sufficiently short timescales) all the heavenly bodies move daily around lines of constant declination. Thus, by determining the declination of the point on the celestial sphere seen in any given direction from an observer, such as that of a point on the horizon, one can know what will rise and set there. Importantly for archaeoastronomers, one can also calculate what would have risen or set there at any epoch in the past (see ▶ Chap. 31, “Long-Term Changes in the Appearance of the Sky”). Aside from various corrections (see below), declination (d) is calculated from azimuth (A), altitude (h), and latitude (’) (southern hemisphere latitudes being taken to be negative) using the formula: sin d ¼ sin ’ sin h þ cos ’ cos h cos A (Ruggles 1999, p. 22; see Fig. 30.1). The dependency on terrestrial latitude arises because the amount by which the celestial sphere is tipped over varies according to the observer’s position on earth, the axis of the celestial sphere being inclined at an angle equal to the latitude (see Fig. 30.2). Ideally, the equatorial system would be independent of the observer’s location on the earth: the declination and right ascension of a celestial object would be the same regardless of the location from which they are viewed. Fortunately, to the levels of accuracy with which archaeoastronomers are concerned, this is

462 Fig. 30.2 The appearance of the celestial sphere at different latitudes. (a) North pole (latitude 90
N). From here the north celestial pole is directly overhead and the celestial bodies move around horizontal circles. (b) An intermediate latitude in the northern hemisphere. (c) The equator (latitude 0
). From here the celestial poles are level with the observer to the north and south, and the celestial bodies move around vertical circles (Drawings by Deborah Miles-Williams; also Ruggles 1999, Fig. 1.8)

C.L.N. Ruggles

a

North Celestial Pole 90°

North Pole (Latitude 90°N)

b

North Celestial Pole

57°

Pleiades

Ursa Major

E

Orion

S

N

W Central Scotland (Latitude 57°N)

c

E S

North N Celestial Pole

South Celestial Pole

W Equator (Latitude 0°)

true for nearly all celestial objects: the single exception is the moon, whose altitude must be corrected for parallax before target declinations are calculated (Ruggles 1999, p. 23). For most applications, this can be achieved accurately enough by applying a “mean parallax” correction equal to 0.95 cos h degrees (Thom 1967, p. 118), although when considering putative high-precision lunar sightlines, such as those proposed by Alexander Thom for Scottish megaliths in

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the mid-twentieth century, more complex calculations are needed (Thom 1971, pp. 34, 78–82; Ruggles 1999, pp. 60–61). The ecliptic coordinate system is very convenient for defining the relative position of the sun, moon, and planets and was of particular importance in the historical development of mathematical astronomy. In this system, the two angles that define the position of a celestial object are termed the celestial longitude and celestial latitude. This nomenclature is extremely confusing since the “equator” in this system is the ecliptic (see “Annual Cycle of The Sun” section below), not the celestial equator. The light from all visible astronomical objects is bent downward as it travels inward through the earth’s atmosphere. The effect is most serious at low altitudes, since light has to pass through more of the atmosphere before it reaches the observer. As in the case of lunar parallax, a correction needs to be applied to the observed altitude in order to account for atmospheric refraction, although the correction is in the opposite sense (objects are lower down than they appear) and this correction applies to all celestial bodies, not just the moon (Aveni 2001, pp. 103–105). It is a common practice to apply a mean correction for atmospheric refraction, dependent only on the altitude (Thom 1967, p. 26; Ruggles 1999, p. 23), although daily and seasonal variations in atmospheric conditions introduce an unavoidable variability in the apparent position of an astronomical body close to the horizon (see Ruggles 1999, p. 25) which limits the precision with which structural alignments upon horizon astronomical events could possibly have been set up in the past. Some have argued that this variability could have been as great as half a degree (Schaefer and Liller 1990). Extinction – the dimming of a star’s light by absorption as it passes through the atmosphere – also affects potential alignments by rendering celestial objects invisible when they are too low in the sky (Schaefer 1986; Aveni 2001, pp. 105–107). While it does not affect their apparent direction, it does (except at the equator, where they rise and set vertically) affect the azimuth at which they appear or disappear from view. In the following section, “rising” and “setting” should be understood as “nightly appearance” and “nightly disappearance”, both of which may take place somewhat above the horizon (see also ▶ Chap. 35, “Stellar Alignments - Identification and Analysis”).

Annual Cycle of Stellar Phenomena Stars, whose declination is effectively unchanging on a timescale of years, trace out lines of constant declination on the celestial sphere, completing a circuit in about 23 h 56 min. If it were not for the fact that the stars become invisible during daylight hours, then, from any fixed location, each star would be seen to follow the same path across the sky day after day and night after night. In each cycle around the heavens, a given star reaches any given point some 4 minutes earlier than on the previous day, and so on successively until a year has passed, when it gets there at the original time once again.

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Broadly speaking, stars whose declination exceeds the observer’s colatitude (i.e., d > 90
 j in the northern hemisphere, d < 90
 j in the southern hemisphere) always remain in the sky, never rising or setting. (This assumes a flat horizon on a level with the observer, so in practice this depends somewhat upon the shape of the horizon.) Such stars are known as circumpolar. A line running across the sky which passes through the zenith and the celestial pole (it also passes through the nadir and the other celestial pole below the horizon) defines the north and south directions, including the north and south points on the observer’s horizon. This line is known as the meridian. Any observer on earth, unless they are standing at one of the two poles, has a meridian, which represents an axis of symmetry in the curves traced out by the celestial bodies in the course of their diurnal motions. For non-circumpolar stars, there are three distinctive daily events: rising, culmination, and setting. Culmination (or transit) occurs when the star crosses the observer’s meridian and represents the moment when the star reaches its greatest altitude. Circumpolar stars do not rise or set, but each day cross the meridian a second time, below the pole, and above the horizon, at the point where they reach their lowest altitude. This is known as lower culmination, and for circumpolar stars, culmination is generally referred to as upper culmination to save confusion. For any given star, each of these events will actually occur during daylight, and hence be invisible, for about half of the year. So too will any part of the star’s daily passage across the sky. In the case of non-circumpolar stars, as viewed from a particular locality, the gradually changing timing of each daily circuit with respect to the hours of darkness and daylight gives rise to a distinctive sequence of occurrences over the course of a year (see also Aveni 2001, pp. 110–113). • At a certain time of year, typically lasting a few weeks, the star will not be visible at all, because it rises and sets at approximately the same times as the sun. This means that it is up in the sky during the day and below the horizon at night. • Once the rising time (moving backward by 4 minutes per day) precedes sunrise by a sufficient interval, a point is reached when the star can be seen briefly prior to sunrise before the sky brightens too much. This is known as the heliacal rise. On subsequent mornings the star will rise progressively earlier, climbing ever higher in the sky before it is lost in the predawn twilight. • Eventually, typically 5 months or so after the date of heliacal rise, the star’s rising time will have moved back through the entire night, and it will rise just as the sun sets. This event is known as the (true) acronychal rise. However, the rising of the star is invisible at this time, and the event that is of cultural and calendrical significance – for example, in Polynesia (see ▶ Chap. 215, “Archaeoastronomy in Polynesia”; ▶ Chap. 216, “Ancient Hawaiian Astronomy”) – is the last time the star can actually be seen to rise before becoming lost in the evening twilight: this occurs some days earlier. Indeed, even this can only be determined retrospectively, and what is observed in practice is the first time the star is already up in the sky by the time the sky darkens sufficiently for it to be seen; in other words “the first appearance . . . in the eastern sky in the evening

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twilight” (Makemson 1941, p. 77). The term apparent acronychal rise is used to refer to this empirical event, and when the term acronychal rise is used in the archaeoastronomical or ethnoastronomical literature, “apparent acronychal rise” is generally understood. • At around the same date, the star (having previously been setting during daylight) will set at sunrise, an event known as the (true) cosmical set. As with acronychal rise, the empirical event is different: the apparent cosmical set is the first visible setting of the star in the morning twilight, which will only occur some days later. Again as with acronychal rise, when archaeoastronomers or ethnoastronomers refer to cosmical set, “apparent cosmical set” is generally understood. • During the ensuing months, the star will be up in the sky at sunset and will set during the night, ever earlier. Eventually, it will only be visible briefly in the evening sky after sunset before it sets itself, and after this it will once again become completely invisible. The last appearance, only determinable retrospectively, is known as the heliacal set.

Annual Cycle of the Sun Unlike the stars, the sun, moon and planets move around significantly on the rotating celestial sphere, even on timescales of days. Over a year – strictly, a “sidereal year” which is only very slightly different from the “tropical year” (or seasonal year) – the sun completes a single circuit around the sphere, on a path known as the ecliptic. This is inclined to the celestial equator at an angle e, known as the obliquity of the ecliptic. e is equal nowadays to about 23.4
but was somewhat greater in prehistoric times, e.g., about 24.0
in around 2500 BC (see also ▶ Chap. 31, “Long-Term Changes in the Appearance of the Sky”). As a result, the sun’s declination varies annually between limits of +e at the June solstice and e at the December solstice. This annual variation approximates to a sine wave, so that close to a solstice, the day-to-day change is miniscule: three days before and after a solstice, the sun’s declination has only shifted from the limit by at most 20 , about 1/15th of its apparent diameter (Ruggles 1999, pp. 24–25). Accordingly, the variation in the sun’s rising position along the eastern horizon (or setting position along the western horizon) over the course of a year is also roughly sinusoidal, unless the horizon altitude varies considerably. This means that, for solstitial alignments, spatial accuracy does not imply temporal accuracy (see also ▶ Chap. 2, “Calendars and Astronomy”). The azimuths of the solstitial directions, i.e., the azimuth limits of the sunrise arc and sunset arc, depend upon the latitude. They are closest together at the equator, where (for a level horizon) they are exactly 90
 e for June solstice sunrise, 90
+ e for December solstice sunrise, 270
 e for December solstice sunset, and 270
+ e for June solstice sunset. As one moves northward or southward away from the equator, the widths of the sunrise and sunset arcs increase, gradually at first and then more rapidly, until one eventually

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enters the polar regions where they fill the entire horizon, and around the summer and winter solstices, respectively, the sun does not set, or rise, at all. The equinoxes can be defined technically as the times when the sun’s declination is 0
; in other words, when the sun is located on the celestial equator. However, archaeoastronomers more commonly discuss concepts such as the “temporal equinox” (halfway point in time between the solstices) and “spatial equinox” (spatial midpoint between the rising or setting positions of the sun at the two solstices). These alternatives would have been easier to determine empirically by naked-eye astronomers in the past, and it is straightforward enough to determine the extent to which they may have provided satisfactory approximations to the “actual” equinox, but there is a danger of failing to address the more fundamental question of the extent to which any of these “equinoxes” may actually have represented culturally meaningful conceptions (Ruggles 1997, 1999, pp. 148–151) (see ▶ Chap. 2, “Calendars and Astronomy”; ▶ Chap. 25, “Best Practice for Evaluating the Astronomical Significance of Archaeological Sites”). The same is true of the “equinox” defined (among cultures who had accurate clocks) as the day when the interval from sunrise to sunset is the same as that from sunset to sunrise, as among the Mesopotamians, unless there is direct historical evidence to support the practice. The time of day when the sun crosses the meridian is defined as local noon. Within the tropics, an additional phenomenon known or hypothesized to have been of significance among a number of cultures is that of zenith passage, when the sun passes directly overhead at local noon. This occurs at the two times of year when the sun’s declination d is the same as the latitude j. On the Tropic of Cancer (j ¼ +e), zenith passage occurs just once, at the June solstice (d ¼ +e), while on the Tropic of Capricorn (j ¼ e), it occurs just once, at the December solstice (d ¼ e).

Motions of the Moon A distinctive feature of the moon is that its naked-eye appearance changes significantly according to the phase cycle, otherwise known as a lunation or synodic month, averaging 29.5 days in length. Around new moon, it is not visible at all, and the first appearance of the thin crescent following new moon is always low in the western sky just after sunset, following the sun downward. This is an event of significance in a wide range of calendars, commonly taken to mark the start of the new month (see ▶ Chap. 2, “Calendars and Astronomy”). During the waxing phase, the moon is seen progressively further east in the sky each night at sunset; it takes progressively longer to cross the sky and sets progressively later in the night. By the time the moon has become full, it rises around sunset and sets around sunrise. During the waning phase, the moon rises progressively later each night and advances less far across the sky before the sun rises, until the last thin crescent is seen to rise just ahead of the sun. This broad sequence of events is independent of the observer’s location on earth, except at high latitudes where more subtle effects (see below) become increasingly obvious. Generally

Declination

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18.6 years 1 month

Major standstill limit Minor standstill limit ε–i

ε+i

0

Time

Major standstill

Minor standstill

Fig. 30.3 Schematic representation of the motions of the moon, showing the variation in its declination over an 18.6-year node cycle period (Drawing: Clive Ruggles)

speaking, the rising moon cannot be seen during the waxing phase nor the setting moon during the waning phase. Just as the sun completes a circuit of the rotating celestial sphere in a year, so the moon does this in just 27.3 days on average, a period known as the sidereal month. The moon’s path is inclined to the sun’s, at an angle i ¼ 5.15
(this is actually the tilt of the moon’s orbit around the earth with respect to the earth’s orbit round the sun) and crosses the ecliptic at two points known as the lunar nodes. Furthermore, the lunar nodes themselves move steadily (“precess”) around the ecliptic, over a period of 18.6 years known as the lunar node cycle or Draconic cycle. This means that the circle traced out by the moon around the celestial sphere, unlike that of the sun (the ecliptic), shifts significantly from month to month and year to year, as the plane of the moon’s path tips around with respect to the ecliptic, which is itself inclined to the celestial equator at an angle e. At the point where the two angles of inclination reinforce, known as the major standstill (Thom 1971, p. 18), the moon’s orbit is inclined at (e + i) to the celestial equator, and the moon’s declination varies each month between limits of +(e + i) and (e + i) (see Fig. 30.3). These monthly limits (whatever the stage in the node cycle) and the times they are reached are sometimes referred to as the lunistices by analogy with the solar solstices, although there is some confusion in the literature about the use of this term (e.g., Aveni 2001, p. 72 equates “lunistice” to “lunar standstill”). At the time known as the minor standstill, 9.3 years before and after the major standstill, the inclination of the lunar orbit to the celestial equator is at its minimum, and the moon only reaches declinations of  (e  i) at the monthly lunistices. (e + i) and (e  i) are about 28.6
and 18.3
, respectively, in modern times and were slightly greater in the past owing to the

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change in e, but the apparent declinations reached by the moon at a major or minor standstill (or at any other time) as seen from any particular location must be corrected for parallax, as discussed above. The moon’s rising position moves up and down the eastern horizon over the course of 27.3 days; in other words, it takes a fortnight to progress from the northern to the southern lunistice, or vice versa. This roughly sinusoidal progression is far less evident than the sun’s since the moon only actually rises once every 24.8 hours or so – i.e., no more than 27 times in each complete cycle. Furthermore, its phase is constantly changing, and for half of each cycle, moonrise will occur during daylight and so be invisible. The relationship between the lunar phase and the position of moonrise depends upon the time of year. Around the time of June solstice, the moon will be full when it rises close to its southern lunistice, with successive moonrises appearing progressively further northward until the last crescent is seen close to the northern lunistice. Around the December solstice, the moon will be full when it rises close to its northern lunistice. Similar remarks apply to the setting position on the western horizon. Added to all of this, the declinations reached at the lunistices vary over the course of a node cycle. Around the time of a major standstill, the moon moves exceptionally far north and south, in turn, in successive fortnights. The highest declination that the moon can reach, representing the furthest north that it can ever rise or set, is known as the northern major standstill limit or just the “northern major [lunar] limit”. It is also commonly referred to as the major northern lunistice, but this term is a little confusing, effectively meaning the “most northerly northern lunistice”. The southern major standstill limit (major southern lunistice) is defined similarly. These are theoretical limits, since in practice the moon’s actual rising or setting position from day to day depends upon the intersection of the node cycle, the monthly cycle, and the diurnal cycle: the standstill will generally occur between two lunistices (in the worst case, almost 14 days from each) and the lunistice between two risings or settings (in the worst case, over 12 h from each). The visibility of the moon also depends upon the phase cycle (as well as favorable weather), and there are further complications owing to a small variability in the inclination of the moon’s orbit (Morrison 1980). The northern and southern minor standstill limits are also discussed in the literature. These do not represent readily observable limits but rather the theoretical minima of the monthly lunistitial maxima (in the alternative terminology, the minor northern lunistice is the most southerly northern lunistice). However, they are of potential significance, for example, in the context of observations of full moons close to a solstice (see, e.g., ▶ Chap. 109, “Recumbent Stone Circles”). Another significant aspect of the lunar node cycle is in the prediction of both solar and lunar eclipses. If the lunar orbit were not inclined to the sun’s, then a solar eclipse would occur at every new moon and a lunar eclipse at every full moon. Instead, they are only possible during “danger periods” which occur when the moon passes a lunar node around the time of new moon or full moon. These danger periods occur at intervals of 173 days on average, and there are various longer-term cycles, discovered by different ancient cultures such as the Babylonians, Chinese,

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and Maya (see ▶ Chap. 2, “Calendars and Astronomy”), that enable eclipse danger periods to be predicted at various levels of reliability. See also Aveni (2001, pp. 67–80) and Ruggles (2005, pp. 230–234, 380–384). As one approaches the northern polar region, a point is reached where, around the time of major standstill, the moon will be circumpolar in the north for a few days each month and then, a fortnight later, disappear completely below the horizon in the south. This can have spectacular consequences, particularly in the polar regions themselves where the near full moon can light up the sky continuously over periods of several days during the polar night (see ▶ Chap. 36, “Inuit Astronomy”), but it will also happen (depending upon horizon altitudes in the north and south) down to latitudes of about 62
, which includes much of Scandinavia. At somewhat lower latitudes, the moon near its southern major standstill limit, and in particular the full moon closest to June solstice, will pass spectacularly low over the southern horizon, appearing larger as a result of its proximity to terrestrial referents (Ross and Plug 2002). This happens in northern Scotland, and this adds credibility to the idea that some prehistoric monuments such as Callanish on the Isle of Lewis (latitude 58
) may have had a particular association with the moon (Ruggles 1999, pp. 134–136). (No southern hemisphere landmasses apart from Antarctica approach similar high latitudes.) Similarly, some have argued that the zenith passage of the moon might have had significance in some cultures (see, e.g., ▶ Chap. 56, “Cave of the Astronomers at Xochicalco”) and this can happen well outside the tropics, out to latitudes of about 28
, around the time of major standstill.

Cycles of the Planets A strong cultural interest in the motions of the five planets visible to the naked eye (Aveni 1992), generally motivated by astrological concerns, is historically documented in a number of ancient cultures (see, e.g., ▶ Chap. 171, “Astronomy, Divination, and Politics in the Neo-Assyrian Empire”; ▶ Chap. 172, “Babylonian Observational and Predictive Astronomy”; ▶ Chap. 193, “Ancient Chinese Astronomy - An Overview”), but Venus has received by far the most attention among cultural astronomers, largely on account of the well-attested cultural importance of this planet in pre-Columbian Mesoamerica (see ▶ Chap. 50, “Astronomy in the Dresden Codex”; ▶ Chap. 52, “Astronomical Correlates of Architecture and Landscape in Mesoamerica”). Venus and Mercury, as inferior planets (which orbit closer to the sun than the earth), can never be seen in the middle of the night, since they can never be on the opposite side of the earth from the sun. Their apparent motions follow a distinctive sequence of four periods: • A period as “morning star”, when they are seen rising into the sky before dawn. • A period around the time when they pass behind the sun as seen from the earth, known as superior conjunction, when they are invisible. • A period as “evening star”, when they are seen in the sky after dusk and set after the sun.

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• A period around the time when they pass between the sun and the earth, known as inferior conjunction, when they are again invisible. This entire “synodic cycle” takes 584 days in the case of Venus but only 116 days in the case of Mercury. Another fundamental difference is that Venus is conspicuous – the brightest object in the sky apart from the sun and moon – whereas Mercury can only be seen for relatively short periods of time, relatively low in the sky. For Venus, the periods of invisibility and visibility last on average 263, 50, 263, and 8 days, respectively. For Mercury they last on average 38, 35, 38, and 5 days, respectively. However, there is great variability, particularly at higher latitudes. For example, periods of visibility of Mercury can sometimes be missed completely, when the ecliptic is too low in the sky for it to emerge from the twilight; this can happen at latitudes as far south as Babylon. Venus has the additional property that 5 synodic cycles happen to be very close to 8 seasonal (tropical) years (584  5 ¼ 365  8 ¼ 2,920), a fact that acquired particular cultural significance in Mesoamerica (Aveni 2001; see also ▶ Chap. 34, “Alignments upon Venus (and Other Planets) - Identification and Analysis”). Mars, Jupiter, and Saturn, the superior planets, revolve around the sun on orbits outside that of the earth. The sequence of events for each of these planets is as follows: • A period commencing when it can first be seen in the predawn sky – its heliacal rise similar to that of stars. Subsequently, it rises progressively earlier each night, climbing ever higher into the sky before the sky lightens. • A relatively short period around the time when the earth passes between the planet and the sun, known as opposition, because the planet is on the opposite side of the earth from the sun. It is in the sky for most of the night and is at its closest and brightest. Against the stars, it loops backward, going into retrograde motion. • A period when the planet is seen in the sky after dusk and sets during the night, progressively earlier, until its heliacal set after which it disappears from view. • A period of invisibility around conjunction, when the planet passes behind the sun as seen from the earth. The synodic period of Mars is 780 days; invisibility around conjunction lasts for about 120 days, and retrograde motion around opposition lasts for about 75 days (but varying a great deal from one cycle to the next). The synodic period of Jupiter is 399 days, disappearance around conjunction lasts for about 32, and retrograde motion for around 120. For Saturn the respective figures are 378, 25, and 140 days. Planetary motions are complex, and since the inclinations of their orbits to the ecliptic are small (7.0
for Mercury, 3.4
for Venus, 1.9
for Mars, 1.3
for Jupiter, and 2.5
for Saturn), their extreme rising and setting positions are difficult to distinguish from those of the sun or moon. For this reason, putative planetary alignments are rarely considered by archaeoastronomers, except where they can be directly supported by historical evidence, as is case with the Venus alignment of the Governor’s Palace at Uxmal (see ▶ Chap. 59, “Governor’s Palace at Uxmal”). This deficiency of demonstrable planetary alignments should be viewed as a limitation of the archaeological record rather than necessarily as evidence of a lack of interest in the planets by prehistoric cultures.

30

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Long-Term Changes Over timescales of decades and centuries, the declinations of the stars (and hence their rising and setting positions as seen from any given location) change gradually owing to the precession of the equinoxes, and the rising and setting positions of the sun, moon, and planets are affected by an even more gradual change in the obliquity of the ecliptic e. On these phenomena, see ▶ Chap. 31, “Long-Term Changes in the Appearance of the Sky”.

Further Details More detail can be found in a variety of sources, including a number aimed specifically at archaeoastronomers such as Heggie (1981, pp. 86–108), Aparicio et al. (1994); Aveni (2001, pp. 49–126), Ruggles (1999, astronomy boxes 1–8), and Kelley and Milone (2005, pp. 13–47), while full treatments are readily available in positional astronomy textbooks such as McNally (1974) and Green (1985).

Cross-References ▶ Alignments upon Venus (and Other Planets) - Identification and Analysis ▶ Ancient Chinese Astronomy - An Overview ▶ Ancient Hawaiian Astronomy ▶ Archaeoastronomy in Polynesia ▶ Astronomical Correlates of Architecture and Landscape in Mesoamerica ▶ Astronomy in the Dresden Codex ▶ Astronomy, Divination, and Politics in the Neo-Assyrian Empire ▶ Babylonian Observational and Predictive Astronomy ▶ Best practice for Evaluating the Astronomical Significance of Archaeological Sites ▶ Cave of the Astronomers at Xochicalco ▶ Governor’s Palace at Uxmal ▶ Inca Astronomy and Calendrics ▶ Inuit Astronomy ▶ Long-Term Changes in the Appearance of the Sky ▶ Recumbent Stone Circles ▶ Stellar Alignments - Identification and Analysis

References Aparicio A, Belmonte JA, Esteban C (1994) Las bases astrono´micas: el cielo a simple vista. In: Belmonte JA (ed) Arqueoastronomı´a Hispa´nica. Equipo Sirius, Madrid, pp 19–65 Aveni AF (1992) Conversing with the planets. Times Books, New York

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Aveni AF (2001) Skywatchers. University of Texas Press, Austin Green RM (1985) Spherical astronomy. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge Heggie DC (1981) Megalithic science. Thames and Hudson, London Kelley DH, Milone EF (2005) Exploring ancient skies: an encyclopedic survey of archaeoastronomy. Springer, New York Makemson MW (1941) The morning star rises: An account of Polynesian astronomy. Yale University Press, New Haven McNally D (1974) Positional astronomy. Muller, London Morrison LV (1980) On the analysis of megalithic lunar sightlines in Scotland. Archaeoastronomy 2 (supplement to the Journal for the History for Astronomy 11):S65–S77 Ridpath I (2004) Norton’s star atlas and reference handbook, epoch 2000.0. Pi Press, New York Ross H, Plug C (2002) The mystery of the moon illusion: Exploring size perception. Oxford University Press, Oxford Ruggles CLN (1997) Whose equinox? Archaeoastronomy 22 (supplement to the Journal for the History for Astronomy 28):S45–S50 Ruggles CLN (1999) Astronomy in prehistoric Britain and Ireland. Yale University Press, New Haven Ruggles CLN (2005) Ancient astronomy: an encyclopedia of cosmologies and myth. ABC–CLIO, Santa Barbara Schaefer BE (1986) Atmospheric extinction effects on stellar alignments. Archaeoastronomy 10 (supplement to the Journal for the History for Astronomy 17):S32–S42 Schaefer BE, Liller W (1990) Refraction near the horizon. Publications of the Astronomical Society of the Pacific 102:796–805 Thom A (1967) Megalithic sites in Britain. Oxford University Press, London Thom A (1971) Megalithic lunar observatories. Oxford University Press, London

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Contents Precession . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Changing Obliquity of the Ecliptic . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

473 479 481 481

Abstract

Precession – the precession of the equinoxes – causes the rising and setting positions of the stars to change significantly over the centuries, but does not affect the rising and setting positions of the sun, moon, and planets. These change by a much smaller amount, significant over timescales of millennia, owing to a gradual change in the obliquity of the ecliptic.

Precession The physical motion of the stars relative to one another is negligible to the naked eye, even over timescales of tens of thousands of years, so the distinctive patterns of the constellations has not changed significantly since early prehistory. However, on a timescale of decades and centuries, the entire mantle of stars shifts on the celestial sphere (see ▶ Chap. 30, “Basic Concepts of Positional Astronomy”) owing to the precession of the equinoxes, generally referred to simply as precession. As it progresses on its annual orbit around the sun, the earth also spins once daily around its own axis, which maintains the same orientation in space. Precession

C.L.N. Ruggles School of Archaeology and Ancient History, University of Leicester, Leicester, UK e-mail: [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_35, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

473

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arises because the orientation of the earth’s axis relative to the distant stars (the fact that the earth is orbiting around the sun being irrelevant) gradually turns in a way that resembles a spinning top, with a period of 25,800 years. (This means that the equinoxes, the points in the orbit where neither terrestrial pole leans toward the sun, gradually move – “precess” – around the orbit). The consequence from a terrestrial perspective is that the celestial poles, about which all the stars turn on a diurnal basis, gradually trace out circles of radius e among the stars, where e is the obliquity of the ecliptic (the circle is actually distorted because the obliquity also changes somewhat during this time; see below). At the present time, there is a “pole star” – a bright star (Polaris, a UMi) close enough to (within 1
of) the north celestial pole to appear to the naked eye more or less fixed in the sky – but this was not generally the case in the past nor is it the case for the south celestial pole today. Over a timescale of decades and centuries, precession shifts the declination of any given star and hence its rising and setting position; circumpolar stars may cease to become circumpolar, and vice versa, while others may disappear below the horizon completely or appear for the first time. The changing declinations of the 25 brightest stars over several millennia are summarized in Table 31.1, and those for some other asterisms of particular cultural significance are given in Table 31.2. In general, the declination of any star visible to the naked eye at any date during the past few millennia can be obtained from sky visualization software packages such as Stellarium (www.winportal.com/stellarium), although the accuracy will depend upon that of the catalog data and precession algorithms used. The gradual shifting of the stars due to precession could conceivably have had various social and material consequences. For example, stellar-aligned temples might have needed their axes to be altered after a few centuries. Unfortunately there are no clear examples in the literature: there is some evidence for consistent stellar alignments having been maintained at prehistoric sites, for example, at the Neolithic cursus and henges in Thornborough, UK, where different alignments on the rising of Orion’s Belt seem to span about a millennium (see ▶ Chap. 106, “The Neolithic and Bronze Age Monument Complex of Thornborough, North Yorkshire, UK”), but nothing has emerged from historically attested contexts. Even where we do find a succession of related structures built on the same spot – as is the case at the temple of Artemis Orthia in Sparta, Greece (four stages between c. 700 BC and AD 250), and which is known to have been the stage for rituals related to the Pleiades and Sirius – changes in axial orientation are not readily explained by precession (Boutsikas and Ruggles 2011). Hoskin (2001, pp. 49–51) has suggested that the sudden abandonment of a sanctuary at Son Mas, Mallorca, around 1700 BC, after centuries of use, may relate to the disappearance at that time of the stars of the Southern Cross, which until then would periodically have been clearly visible in a prominent steep-sided valley to the south, faced by the sanctuary. Precession has carried the Southern Cross steadily southward since Early Neolithic times: for example, it was clearly visible from the vicinity of Stonehenge (see ▶ Chap. 105, “Stonehenge and its Landscape”) about a millennium before the construction of the sarsen monument.

17

4

1.6

1.2

0.1

0.9

1.4

Castor (a Gem)

Pollux (b Gem)

Arcturus (a Boo)

Aldebaran (a Tau)

Regulus (a Leo)

21

14

23

5

0.0

Vega (a Lyr)

20

1.3

Brightness ordering 6

Deneb (a Cyg)

Star Capella (a Aur)

Apparent magnitude 0.1

+12.0

+16.5

+19.2

+28.0

+31.9

+38.8

+45.3

+24.7 0.1 +14.0 0.1 +16.5 +0.1

+29.8

+33.4

+38.2

+42.0

Declination (
) in. . . AD 2000 AD 1000 +46.0 +44.2

+20.2 +0.1

+30.6 0.1 +10.3

+30.2

+33.4

+38.5

AD 1/1 BC +41.0 0.1 +39.4 +39.5 0.1 +31.9 0.1 +29.1 0.1 +36.7 0.1 +5.8 0.1 +22.7 +0.2

1000 BC +36.6 0.1 +37.6

+0.7 0.2 +23.9 +0.2

+28.9 0.1 +26.5 0.1 +42.8

2000 BC +31.6 0.2 +36.7 0.2 +41.4

4.8 0.2 +23.6 +0.3

3000 BC +26.2 0.3 +36.5 0.2 +44.0 +0.1 +24.9 0.2 +22.9 0.2 +48.6

4000 BC +20.8 0.4 +37.2 0.4 +47.3 +0.1 +20.0 0.3 +18.3 0.3 +53.6 +0.2 10.3 0.4 +21.9 +0.3

5000 BC +15.6 0.6 +38.7 0.4 +51.2 +0.1 +14.7 0.4 +13.2 0.4 +57.5 +0.3 15.5 0.6 +18.9 +0.4 (continued)

Table 31.1 Approximate declinations of the 25 brightest stars (apparent magnitude greater than +1.6) at one-millennium intervals back to 5000 BC. Historical declination data are taken from Stellarium (www.winportal.com/stellarium), which is based upon the Hipparcos catalog (http://www.rssd.esa.int/ index.php?project¼HIPPARCOS&page¼Overview). Other data are from Ridpath (2004). For many years the only readily accessible tabulation of historical declination data was that provided by Hawkins and Rosenthal (1967), and for this reason, the amount by which Hawkins and Rosenthal’s determination differs from the Stellarium value, where nonzero, is shown in italics underneath each primary figure. A gross error is evident in the case of Rigil Kentaurus; otherwise the differences reflect improved data and algorithms since the 1960s but serve as a reminder that these figures are based upon computations whose reliability decreases as they are extended further back in time

31 Long-Term Changes in the Appearance of the Sky 475

15

1

0.2

1.0

1.4

1.1

1.5

1.2

Rigel (b Ori)

Spica (a Vir)

Sirius (a CMa)

Antares (a Sco)

Adhara (e CMa)

Fomalhaut (a PsA)

18

22

16

7

8

0.4

Procyon (a CMi)

10

0.5

Brightness ordering 12

Betelgeuse (a Ori)

Star Altair (a Aql)

Apparent magnitude 0.8

Table 31.1 (continued)

23.6 28.0 34.7

26.4 29.0 29.6

5.8

11.2 15.8

9.9

8.2

16.7

+7.3

+6.6

+5.2

+7.4

Declination (
) in. . . AD 2000 AD 1000 +8.9 +6.7

39.0 0.1

28.0

15.9 0.1 19.7

0.2

+8.0 +0.1 12.6

+4.6

AD 1/1 BC +5.8

16.2 0.1 +5.2 +0.2 17.1 0.1 15.0 +0.1 29.0 +0.1 42.2 0.2

1000 BC +6.0 0.1 +1.5 0.1 +7.6 20.6 0.1 +10.3 +0.2 19.3 0.1 9.7 +0.2 30.9 +0.1 44.0 0.2

2.6 0.1 +5.8

2000 BC +7.4

44.0 0.2

25.6 0.2 +14.7 +0.4 22.4 0.1 4.1 +0.2 33.6

3000 BC +10.0 0.1 7.5 0.1 +3.0

31.0 0.3 +18.2 +0.5 26.2 0.2 +1.4 +0.4 37.2 +0.1 42.2 0.3

12.8 0.2 0.8

4000 BC +13.5

18.3 0.4 5.3 0.1 36.6 0.4 +20.5 +0.7 30.7 0.3 +6.5 +0.6 41.4 +0.1 39.0 0.2

5000 BC +17.9

476 C.L.N. Ruggles

2

11

3

0.6

1.6

0.5

1.3

0.6

0.3

0.8

Canopus (a Car)

Gacrux (g Gem)

Achernar (a Eri)

Mimosa (b Cru)

Hadar (b Cen)

Rigil Kentaurus (a Cen)

Acrux (a Cru)

13

19

9

24

25

1.6

Shaula (l Sco)

51.5 62.4 0.1 54.2 +0.1 55.3 +0.1 57.0 +0.6 57.6 +0.1

57.1 57.2

63.1

60.8

60.4

59.7

52.4

35.7

52.7

37.1

46.0 +0.1 67.9 0.1 48.7 +0.1 49.8 +0.1 52.7 +1.4 52.2 +0.1

32.8 +0.1 52.6 40.8 +0.2 73.4 0.2 43.4 +0.1 44.3 +0.2 48.2 +2.1 47.0 +0.1

28.7 +0.1 53.4

23.8 +0.1 54.7 +0.1 36.0 +0.2 78.6 0.3 38.6 +0.2 39.0 +0.3 43.6 +2.8 42.4 +0.3

18.5 +0.3 56.5 +0.1 31.9 +0.3 82.3 0.3 34.4 +0.4 34.1 +0.4 39.4 +3.7 38.3 +0.4

12.9 +0.3 58.7 +0.2 28.5 +0.4 81.7 0.2 30.8 +0.6 29.8 +0.6 35.5 +4.6 34.9 +0.6

7.5 +0.6 61.4 +0.4 25.9 +0.5 77.5 +0.1 28.0 +0.7 26.2 +0.8 32.0 +5.4 32.2 +0.8

31 Long-Term Changes in the Appearance of the Sky 477

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C.L.N. Ruggles

Table 31.2 Approximate declinations of some other stars and asterisms at one-millennium intervals back to 5000 BC. Data are derived from Stellarium (www.winportal.com/stellarium). For the three stars of Orion’s Belt, comparative data with Hawkins and Rosenthal (1967) are provided as in Table 31.1

Star Polaris (a UMi) Thuban (a Dra) Pleiades, max dec (Taygeta, q Tau) Pleiades, brightest (Alcyone, Z Tau) Pleiades, min dec (Merope, 23 Tau) Orion’s Belt Mintaka (d Ori)

Apparent magnitude 2.0 3.6 4.3

Declination (
) in. . . AD AD AD 1/ 2000 1000 1 BC +89.3 +83.8 +78.3 +64.4 +69.3 +74.5 +24.5 +20.8 +16.3

2.9

+24.1 +20.5 +16.0

+10.9

+5.4

0.1

5.4 10.2

4.1

+24.0 +20.3 +15.8

+10.7

+5.2

0.3

5.6 10.4

1.9

0.3 1.6 4.0

Alnilam (e Ori)

1.7

1.2 2.4 4.7

Alnitak (z Ori)

2.4

1.9 3.0 5.2 0.1

7.5 11.8 16.7 22.1 27.6 0.2 0.2 0.4 8.1 12.3 17.2 22.5 28.1 0.1 0.1 0.2 0.3 8.5 12.6 17.4 22.7 28.3 0.1 0.2 0.2 0.3

1000 BC +72.9 +79.9 +11.1

2000 BC +67.8 +85.4 +5.7

3000 BC +62.9 +89.0 +0.2

4000 BC +58.4 +83.5 5.1

5000 BC +54.4 +78.0 9.9

Polaris, within 1
of the celestial north pole today, was almost 3
from it in AD 1600, yet it was still close enough to be referred to as Ho¯ku¯-Pa‘a (“fixed star”) in Polynesian navigation traditions (Buck 1938, p. 225; Johnson et al. n.d.). These extend back to at least around AD 1000, but at that time Polaris was over 6
from the pole (Table 31.2), raising the question of when it first became recognized as “fixed”. Thuban (a Dra), on the other hand, over 25
from the pole today, was within 1
of it around 2800 BC, and so it was the “pole star” for the ancient Egyptians around the beginning of the Old Kingdom (Belmonte 2012); one of the shafts in the Great Pyramid of Khufu at Giza may have been deliberately aligned upon it (see ▶ Chap. 134, “Monuments of the Giza Plateau”). Although there are a number of ways in which people in the past may have noticed that stars shifted in position over the generations, in the absence of historical evidence it can be difficult to prove. For example, there are substantial dangers for those studying putative stellar alignments at prehistoric sites, where the date of construction may be uncertain within several centuries, since the flexibility in dates significantly increases the chances of being able to find a fortuitous astronomical “explanation” for any given structural orientation (see Chap. ▶ 35, “Stellar Alignments - Identification and Analysis”). In particular, early attempts at “astronomical dating”, on the assumption that a particular stellar alignment identified at an ancient monument was indeed intentional, were dangerously prone to circular argument (see ▶ Chap. 25, “Best Practice for Evaluating the Astronomical Significance of Archaeological Sites”).

31

Long-Term Changes in the Appearance of the Sky

479

Despite these methodological difficulties, it remains plausible enough that many sedentary peoples in the past did indeed become aware that the positions of particular stars shifted over time. It is very different matter, though, to claim that they were aware of precession as a concept. An idea that achieved considerable notoriety in the 1970s, thanks to the publication of the best-selling book Hamlet’s Mill (De Santillana and von Dechend 1970), was that precession may have been encapsulated in myth on a global scale. This idea was firmly refuted by scholars from a range of disciplines, not only because it relied upon highly selective fragments of evidence taken out of context, often from untraceable sources, but also because it proposed that a metaphorical description of precession could somehow become “frozen” in a single archaic worldview, global in extent (e.g., Payne-Gaposhkin 1972; Krupp 2000, p. 14). There is every reason to believe, contrariwise, that a patchwork of localized cultural worldviews, constantly being adapted to circumstance, existed just as much in the distant past as in more recent times. An issue that causes some confusion is that when precession is discussed by palaeoecologists, in the context of longer-term cycles that may affect climatic change, the quoted periodicity is somewhat shorter – around 21,000 years (e.g., Berger 1996, pp. 558–60). This is because the relevant quantity in this context is precession of the equinoxes (or, equivalently, either of the solstices) relative to perihelion, the nearest point of approach of the earth in its orbit to the sun (or, equivalently, relative to aphelion, the farthest point from the sun), which itself precesses relative to the distant stars. See also Ruggles (1999, p. 57).

Changing Obliquity of the Ecliptic The rising and setting positions of the sun, moon, and planets are not affected by precession but do change over time, by a smaller amount, owing to the fact that the obliquity of the ecliptic (e) changes slowly with time. Over the past few millennia, it has been slowly decreasing, from about 24.15
in 5000 BC to 23.45
now (Table 31.3), but over a longer timescale (of about 41,000 years), it oscillates between limits of about 24.4
and 22.2
(Berger 1976, p. 133). A maximum was reached in about 6000 BC, and a minimum will be reached in about AD 14,000. Returning to the “spinning top” analogy (above), it is as if the top wobbles up and down slightly as it turns. Since the sun’s limiting declinations at the June and December solstices are +e and e, respectively (see ▶ Chap. 30, “Basic Concepts of Positional Astronomy”), the practical effect of this on the sun’s rising and setting position is that the width of the sunrise and sunset arc as viewed from any given terrestrial location was somewhat wider in the last few millennia than it is now. Compared with the shifts in stellar rising and setting positions due to precession, the differences are small: for example, in tropical zones around 2500 BC, the sun rose and set approximately its own diameter (0.5
) further north at the June solstice, and the same amount further south at the December solstice, than now. (In temperate zones the

480

C.L.N. Ruggles

Table 31.3 The obliquity of the ecliptic (e) and the inclination of the lunar orbit to the celestial equator at one-millennium intervals back to 5000 BC, to the nearest 0.05
(Data for e are derived from Laskar (1986) using the calculator provided by PH Science Labs at http://www. neoprogrammics.com/obliquity_of_the_ecliptic/)

Quantity Obliquity of the ecliptic Maximum inclination of lunar orbit to celestial equator (at major standstill) Minimum inclination of lunar orbit to celestial equator (at minor standstill)

Value (
) in. . . AD AD AD 1/ Symbol 2000 1000 1 BC e 23.45 23.55 23.7 e+i 28.6 28.7 28.85

1000 BC 23.8 28.95

ei

18.65 18.75 18.85 18.95 19.0

18.3

18.4

18.55

2000 BC 23.9 29.05

3000 BC 24.0 29.15

4000 BC 24.1 29.25

5000 BC 24.15 29.3

corresponding azimuth difference is somewhat greater, because here it is not true that the sun rises and sets almost vertically.) At other times of year, the effect is smaller, broadly in proportion to the magnitude of the sun’s declination at the time in question. Because of this small rate of change, “astronomical dating” using the rising or setting position of the sun is generally even less well advised than when done with reference to stellar alignments (see ▶ Chap. 25, “Best Practice for Evaluating the Astronomical Significance of Archaeological Sites”). Nonetheless the difference is important when assessing putative solar, and particularly solstitial, alignments at later prehistoric monuments. This is clearly the case where high precision is being postulated, as at the stone row of Ballochroy, Scotland, which Thom (1954) interpreted as a solar observatory on the basis that putative horizon foresights in both the June and December solstice sunset directions would have allowed an observer to pinpoint the last gleam of the setting sun around the same date, 1600 BC (Bailey et al. 1975), although this explanation was later discredited because of selection effects and conflicting archaeological evidence (see Ruggles 1999, pp. 19–25). But even when considering putative solar alignments of lower precision at sites more than a few centuries old, the effects of the changing obliquity must be considered and may well need to be taken into account. Thus, the essential nature of the sunlight hierophany at the Roman Pantheon (see ▶ Chap. 148, “Light at the Pantheon”) may not be too much affected, but the winter solstice hierophany at Newgrange passage tomb, Ireland, has certainly altered significantly since the time of construction around 3000 BC (see ▶ Chap. 108, “Boyne Valley Tombs”). The longer-term cycle of change in the obliquity becomes important when discussing solstitial associations of possible significance at Paleolithic sites, an example being a cave at Parpallo´, Spain, occupied from about 19,000 BC to 8000 BC, into which sunlight penetrated just after dawn around the winter solstice (Esteban and Aura Tortosa 2001).

31

Long-Term Changes in the Appearance of the Sky

481

The greatest inclination of the lunar orbit to the celestial equator, reached at major standstill, is e + i, while the minimum inclination, reached at minor standstill, is e  i (see ▶ Chap. 30, “Basic Concepts of Positional Astronomy”), so that the major and minor standstill limits for the moon’s declination vary in accordance with the variation in e. The values of e  i at one-millennium intervals from 5000 BC are tabulated alongside the changing value of the obliquity itself in Table 31.3. The extreme rising and setting positions of the planets, although unaffected by precession, are also shifted slightly in accordance with the changing obliquity but are also subject to complex short-term variations. A further practical effect of the changing obliquity is that the Tropics of Cancer and Capricorn, and also the Arctic and Antarctic Circles, move gradually up or down on the earth, affecting the regions of visibility of the zenith sun (and moon) and also affecting the regions in which the sun (and moon) sometimes becomes circumpolar while at other times remaining below the horizon for significant periods. Thus, for example, Necker Island to the northwest of the Hawaiian chain (see ▶ Chap. 215, “Archaeoastronomy in Polynesia”), at latitude +23
34.50 , was technically in the tropics up until around AD 950, but outside them thereafter, though whether this had any cultural significance is doubtful for a number of reasons.

Cross-References ▶ Archaeoastronomy in Polynesia ▶ Basic Concepts of Positional Astronomy ▶ Best Practice for Evaluating the Astronomical Significance of Archaeological Sites ▶ Boyne Valley Tombs ▶ Light at the Pantheon ▶ Monuments of the Giza Plateau ▶ Stellar Alignments - Identification and Analysis ▶ Stonehenge and its Landscape ▶ The Neolithic and Bronze Age Monument Complex of Thornborough, North Yorkshire, UK

References Bailey ME, Cooke JA, Few RW, Morgan JG, Ruggles CLN (1975) Survey of three megalithic sites in Argyllshire. Nature 253:431–433 Belmonte JA (2012) Pira´mides, templos y estrellas: astronomı´a y arqueologı´a en el Egipto antiguo. Crı´tica, Barcelona Berger AL (1976) Obliquity and precession for the last 5 000 000 years. Astronomy and Astrophysics 51:127–135 Berger AL (1996) Orbital variations. In: Schneider S (ed) Encyclopedia of climate and weather. Robert Ubell/Oxford University Press, Oxford, pp 557–564

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Boutsikas E, Ruggles CLN (2011) Temples, stars, and ritual landscapes: the potential for archaeoastronomy in ancient Greece. Am J Archaeol 115(1):55–68 Buck PH/Te Rangi Hiroa (1938) Vikings of the sunrise. Frederick Stokes, New York De Santillana G, von Dechend H (1970) Hamlet’s Mill: an essay on myth and the frame of time. Macmillan, London Esteban C, Aura Tortosa JE (2001) The winter sun in a Palaeolithic cave: La Cova del Parpallo´. In: Ruggles CLN, Prendergast F, Ray TP (eds) Astronomy, cosmology and landscape. Ocarina Books, Bognor Regis, pp 8–14 Hawkins GS, Rosenthal SK (1967) 5,000- and 10,000-year star catalogs. Smithsonian contributions to astrophysics, vol 10(2). Smithsonian Institution Astrophysical Observatory, Washington, DC Hoskin MA (2001) Tombs, temples and their orientations. Ocarina Books, Bognor Regis Johnson RK, Mahelona JK, Ruggles CLN (nd) Na¯ Inoa Ho¯ku¯: Hawaiian and Pacific star names (rev edn). Manuscript in preparation Krupp EC (2000) Sky tales and why we tell them. In: Selin H (ed) Astronomy across cultures. Kluwer, Dordrecht, pp 1–30 Laskar J (1986) Secular terms of classical planetary theories using the results of general relativity. Astron Astrophys 157:57–90 Payne-Gaposhkin C (1972) Myth and science. J Hist Astron 3:206–211 Ridpath I (2004) Norton’s star atlas and reference handbook, epoch 2000.0. Pi Press, New York Ruggles CLN (1999) Astronomy in prehistoric Britain and Ireland. Yale University Press, New Haven Thom A (1954) The solar observatories of megalithic man. J Br Astron Assoc 64:396–404

Solar Alignments - Identification and Analysis

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Juan Antonio Belmonte

Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The Stations of the Sun . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The Nature of Solar Alignments . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

483 485 488 491 492

Abstract

The sun was such an important divinity in antiquity, and even today, that solar alignments should be expected within a large variety of places and cultures. These are probably the most conspicuous kind of astronomical alignments a field researcher can deal with. The need for a correct identification is thus evident. The different kind of solar phenomena susceptible of being determined by astronomical alignments will be scrutinized, following by the way in which such alignments can materialize in space. It will be shown that analyzing solar alignments is not always an easy task.

Introduction The sun, our star, is without a doubt the most prominent celestial symbol in the sky. Source of light and heat, most singular cultures throughout the world have venerated this important luminary either by itself of as the seat of one of their most prominent deities. Solar cults are broadly spread everywhere in the globe, and there are evidences that they were prominent since at least the Neolithic and undoubtedly

J.A. Belmonte Instituto de Astrofı´sica de Canarias, Universidad de La Laguna, La Laguna, Tenerife, Spain e-mail: [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_36, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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Fig. 32.1 Astronomy and landscape in action: summer solstice sunrise over distant Fuji Yama as observed in the middle of Meteo Iwa, the two rocks representing Izanagi and Izanami, parents of the solar goddess Amaterasu, close to the sanctuary of the deity at Ise (Japan). This is an extremely nice sacralisation of a potential backsight, perhaps due to the relevance of an astronomical phenomenon in a prominent landscape foresight (# J.A. Belmonte)

since the early Bronze Age when solar representations are predominant in the rock art of the period. Greater cultures of the past in the Old World, such as the ancient Egyptians or the Hittites, had a solar divinity at the head of their pantheon, either with a male or with a distinctive female nature. Others, such as Shinto in modern Japan, still recognize in the solar goddess Amaterasu the ancestor of their royal lineage, a fact which may have drawn the landscape of the country (Fig. 32.1). This can be extended to the New World, where powerful states such as the Aztec or Inca Empires created a mythology where the sun was not only the ultimate cause of life but also the source to legitimize power. The modern western world, with its Christian roots, still has a debt with this solar tradition in different aspects such as our way of measuring and controlling time both daily and annually. Even Christian churches should still be orientated east and hence to the “sun of justice”. This is also reflected in our main feasts which are a remembrance of the stations of the sun: solstices, equinoxes, and mid-quarter days which are frozen in Christmas, Halloween, or the fires of Saint John, among many other prominent days. Only Islam seems to have broken its roots with the sun by using a calendar not related at all with its behavior (except for the number of months) and where the celestial luminary is certainly obliged to follow God’s dictates. However, even Muslims are subjected to solar inspiration in their necessity to pray at the adequate moments of the day or even in the correct direction, when they orientate mosques not toward Ka’aba, as dictated by God in Qura’an, but as Ka’aba as suggested by human smartness, capacity of imitation, and logic. Evidently, the importance of the sun ought to be reflected in architecture and landscape organization. If the solar deity was at the head of the pantheon, temples orientated accordingly should be expected and lines in the landscape should be

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Fig. 32.2 Major solar stations at the horizon susceptible of solar alignments for a tropical latitude of 15 . Apart from the standard solstices and equinox(es), sunrise/set at the day of the zenith passage of the sun could also be relevant

drawn in agreement with a world order governed by the divinity. Among all possible solar orientations, those of a special and relevant character either for a global world such as the most significant stations of the sun, or for a particular latitude or cultural root, must be expected when archaeoastronomically analyzing a potential cultural environment (Fig. 32.2). It is the work of the researcher to identify, test, and evaluate the actual possibilities of such alignments.

The Stations of the Sun The annual translation movement of the Earth around the Sun on the plane of the Ecliptic and the inclination of our planet’s rotation axis with respect to that plane is the cause of the seasons and of the horizontal annual movement of the sun for a certain location (see Fig. 32.2). This movement clearly defines a series of stations of the sun at the horizon which could have been, and actually were, the focus of attraction for different cultures along history. The most significant are the two solstices: the winter solstice (in December in the northern hemisphere) when the sun rises and sets in its southernmost position, culminates at the lesser angular height and the days are the shortest, and the summer solstice (in June in the northern hemisphere), when the days are the longest ones, and the sun rises and sets in its northernmost position at the horizon. The plural “days” is mentioned because due to the very small variation of the declination in those dates (Fig. 32.3), the sun seems to stop for a few days at the same position on the horizon. Hence, the name of the station: solstice, which comes from the Latin for sun standstill. This implies that solstitial alignments, although perfectly settled on the terrain or the horizon, can be very imprecise from a temporal point of view when used as a calendar marker. A word of caution must be stressed when dealing with solstitial alignments. Figure 32.3 shows that orientations to the summer or winter solstices must be by

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THE SUN IN A YEAR

Frequency (%)

10

5

−23.5

−15

−10

−5

0

5

19

15

23.5

Declination

Fig. 32.3 Evolution per day of sun declination in a tropical year. Notice the concentration in the days near the solstices. The asymmetry of the curve at these extremes is due to the slower movement of the Earth at the perihelion

nature more abundant than any other class of solar alignment. Hence, an orientation, or declination histogram with an aspect similar to that of Fig. 32.3, must always be taken with extreme caution since we can be considering as exceptional something which is absolutely common. Hence, when making a statistical analysis of a homogeneous set of monuments of a certain culture, solstitial peaks especially if both are present must be scrutinized with a severe eye and if proven as statistically significant, it would be wise to additionally find a relevant anthropological explanation for them. The next important solar stations are the spring and autumn Equinoxes, when the sun rises and sets closest to the due-east and due-west, respectively. There has been a lot of literature (see, e.g., Ruggles 1997 and Gonza´lez-Garcı´a and Belmonte 2006) about the importance, the relevance, or even the nature of equinox depending on the epochs and the cultures. However, it is pretty obvious that this was a most relevant phenomenon, whatever its definition, for several civilizations at different historical moments and that equinoctial alignments have not been an exception (see e.g., Fig. 32.4). Besides orientation in a general east–west axis, in general agreement with the cardinal points, or as a by-product of a cardinal orientation, has been a quite frequent reference frame for different epochs and places from the pyramids of Egypt to ancient and modern India (Fig. 32.5). It is worth noticing that the sun moves very quickly at the equinoxes (see Fig. 32.3), and, consequently, an equinoctial marker can be extremely precise and may act as nearly a perfect tool for the control of time and of a lunisolar calendar (Sofaer et al. 1979; Esteban et al. 1996/7). We should discuss now a series of solar stations that have come in and out of the archaeoastronomical literature, mostly depending on the origin of the investigator (they are most favored by English-speaking researchers). These are the mid-quarter days which are still relevant in most countries with a Western Christian tradition but

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Fig. 32.4 Human-created backsight and foresight related to a presumable relevant solar alignment: The equinoctial sunrise facing Sphinx (a) and the second pyramid of Giza behind it (b) were possibly designed as part of a coherent plan where cardinal directions and astronomical alignments played a most relevant role (Images by the author)

Normalized Relative Frequency

10

8

6

4

2

0

0

100

200

300

Azimuth (º)

Fig. 32.5 Orientation histogram of a 100 Hindu and Jain temples in India: Notice the concentration of orientation at the cardinal directions, notably east and west (Adapted from Aller and Belmonte 2013)

are absolutely absent in the rest of the world. It is well known that cultures with some sort of Celtic roots have paid attention to Candlemas (February 2), Beltane (Christianized as the Crosses of May, May 3), Lugnasad (not so important in modern times but Christianized as Saint Laurence, August 13), and Samhain (Christianized as Al Saints’ day or Halloween, November 1). These days have

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only a temporal significance (as a division of the tropic year in shorter periods) but have no significance at all in the horizon, or in other words, the sun does not get any special value of the declination nor a conspicuous azimuth in these dates. Consequently, a scholar would need to be very cautious and clearly justify the relevance of a certain proposal from the historical or ethnographical point of view when dealing with alignments of these characteristics. In a similar category, we could include a certain class of solar alignments that the author and his team have proposed for some of the monuments of ancient Egypt (Belmonte 2012). The Egyptian civil calendar had no leap years. Consequently, New Years’s Eve, or Wepet Renpet, moved one day forward with respect to the seasons completing a cycle in a little bit more of fifteen centuries. If we can prove, or ascertain, that a certain temple is orientated to sunrise or sunset at Wepet Renpet, we might then estimate the age of the monument within an interval of a decade under the best preservation premises. Egypt is a unique case on this particular situation all over the world and it would be worth exploring such possibility. Alignments related to the particular behavior of a certain calendar has also been proposed for Mesoamerica where the peculiar 15 family of orientations could be interpreted in the light of the interaction between the 365 day solar calendar and the ritual calendar of 260 days (Sˇprajc 2001, 2005). Interestingly, there is also in Mesoamerica (although it could be extended to other places of the world or cultures situated between the tropics such as the Inca Empire) another important station of the sun which is also materialized on space: the day of the zenith passage of the sun (see Fig. 32.2). On these days (there are actually two for any tropical location), the sun will not cast any shadow on the ground at noon and this could be tested in a relatively easy manner. Sunrise and sunset in these particular days could also be relevant and hence the corresponding alignments substantiated in the architecture and/or the landscape.

The Nature of Solar Alignments A most relevant question is how a solar alignment can materialize in space. This is not an easy query and it is not so uncommon to find claims for “ancient solar observatories” where the alignment used to categorize the place is not substantiated either in the architecture, in the terrain, or in the landscape. As a matter of fact, a solar alignment can be obtained through: 1. A building itself (i.e., a first category of complete artificial alignment) which is aligned with a relevant precision to the corresponding phenomenon under consideration without the need of any additional component in the landscape; Stonehenge (Ruggles 2006) would be a paradigmatic example of this nature. 2. Here we could include also buildings where a light-and-shadow effect is presented such as some Egyptian temples (see, e.g., Fig. 32.6) or as a number of Hindu temples (Fig. 32.7) where the ritual of Surya Puja (Malville and Swaminathan 1996) was, or still is, performed in dates close to the equinoxes.

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Fig. 32.6 A relevant solar alignment within a temple with an associated light and shadow effect: winter solstice sunrise at the temple of the ancient Egyptian god Sobek in Qsar Qarum (Images of the author)

3. On some occasions, the alignment is reinforced by the presence of a second building with a similar or adequate orientation which reinforces the particular characteristic of the ensemble. The Sphinx and the cardinal orientated pyramids of Giza could illustrate the case (see Fig. 32.4). In this particular case, a backsight (the Sphinx temple) and a foresight (the second pyramid southeast corner) could also be recognized. 4. This introduces another important category of alignments: those involving elements of the landscape, either natural or artificial. In some cases, a potentially irrelevant backsight in origin gets a determinant position which is clearly justified by archeology, history, or ethnography because of its relative position to a powerful foresight such as a distinct (perhaps of a sacred nature, see Fig. 32.1) mountain or an important building of a probable religious nature (Chankillo is a nice example: Ghezzi and Ruggles 2007). It must be clearly stressed that a backsight must never be justified by the alignment itself, i.e., to find a place where the observation can be achieved does not justify the true nature of the alignment if the relevance of that place is not justified.

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Fig. 32.7 Two Hindu temples of the god Shiva at Tanjore (a) and Kajuraho (b): Both are open close to due-east and the sun could have entered the sanctuary of the temple in special occasions that could be commemorated through the ritual of Surya puja (Photographs by courtesy of Margarita Sanz de Lara)

Before ending, it could be interesting mentioning that an alignment is not the only way in which the observation of a solar station can materialize in space or landscape. On some occasions (Fig. 32.8), solar phenomena are not manifested in alignments but rather in light and shadow effects which do not necessarily imply

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Fig. 32.8 Two solar phenomena in Mesoamerican monuments corresponding to relevant sun stations which are not necessarily related to solar alignments: “equinox” descent of Kukulkan at Chichen Itza (a modern myth of presumable Mayan roots) in a structure which is solstitially aligned and a recreation of the observation of the zenith passage of the sun at Teotihuacan (Photographs by courtesy of Jesu´s Galindo and Gonzalo Infante, respectively)

a corresponding building orientation. Mesoamerican zenith tube observatories also are a nice example of this nature (see also Fig. 32.8). Of each possible kind of astronomical alignments, solar ones are possibly the easiest to determine and the most conspicuous by nature. However, it is precisely this notorious nature which opens the gate to various degrees of speculative work which blemishes our discipline. Two stones may define an alignment, but not necessarily a solar alignment and, still less, an ancient solar observatory. Hence, a good additional deal of sensibleness will be needed when identifying and analyzing solar alignments. Acknowledgments This work is partially financed under the framework of the projects P310793 “Arqueoastronomı´a” of the IAC, and AYA2011-26759 “Orientatio ad Sidera III” of the Spanish MINECO.

Cross-References ▶ Alignments upon Venus (and other Planets) - Identification and Analysis ▶ Analyzing Light-and-Shadow Interactions ▶ Ancient “Observatories” - A Relevant Concept?

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▶ Astronomical Symbolism in Bronze-Age and Iron-Age Rock Art ▶ Astronomy at Teotihuacan ▶ Astronomy in the Service of Christianity ▶ Astronomy in the Service of Islam ▶ Astronomy of Indian Cities, Temples, and Pilgrimage Centers ▶ Cave of the Astronomers at Xochicalco ▶ Chankillo ▶ Lunar Alignments - Identification and Analysis ▶ Monuments of the Giza Plateau ▶ Orientation of Egyptian Temples: An Overview ▶ Orientation of Hittite Monuments ▶ Stellar Alignments - Identification and Analysis ▶ Stonehenge and its Landscape

References Aller EA, Belmonte JA (2013) Statistical analysis of temple orientation in ancient India. In: Pimenta F, Silva F, Campion N, Tirapicos L (eds) Stars and Stones: voyages through archaeoastronomy and cultural astronomy. BAR International Series. Archaepress, Oxford (in press) Belmonte JA (2012) Pira´mides, templos y estrellas: astronomı´a y arqueologı´a en el Egipto antiguo. Crı´tica, Barcelona Esteban C, Schlueter R, Belmonte JA, Gonza´lez O (1996/1997) Equinoctial markers in Gran Canaria Island. Archaeoastronomy 21:S73-S79. Part I, & 22:S51-6 Part II Ghezzi I, Ruggles C (2007) Chankillo: a 2300-year-old solar observatory in coastal Peru. Science 315:1239–1243 Gonza´lez-Garcı´a AC, Belmonte JA (2006) Which equinox? Archaeoastronomy: Journal of Astronomy in Culture 20:97–107 Malville JM, Swaminathan RN (1996) Surya Puja temples of South India. Archaeoastronomy: Journal of Astronomy in Culture 12–13:310–319 Ruggles CLN (1997) Whose’s equinox? Archaeoastronomy 22 (Supplement to the Journal for the History for Astronomy 28):S45–S50 Ruggles CLN (2006) Interpreting solstitial alignments in late Neolithic Wessex. Archaeoastronomy: Journal of Astronomy in Culture 20:1–27 Sofaer A, Zinser V, Sinclair RM (1979) A unique solar marking construct: an archeoastronomical site in New Mexico marks the solstices and equinoxes. Science 206:283–291 Sˇprajc I (2001) Orientaciones astrono´micas en la arquitectura prehispa´nica del centro de Me´xico. INAH, Mexico Sˇprajc I (2005) More on Mesoamerican cosmology and city plans. Lat Amer Antiq 16:209–216

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A. Ce´sar Gonza´lez-Garcı´a

Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Movements of the Moon . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Isolated Cases . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Statistical Samples . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Lunar Extremes . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Solstitial Crescent Moons . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Spring and Paschal Full Moon . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Crossovers . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Discriminating Among Models . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Bayesian Approach . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cluster Analysis and Principal Component Analysis . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Conclusions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Abstract

Lunar alignments are difficult to establish given the apparent lack of written accounts clearly pointing toward lunar alignments for individual temples. While some individual cases are reviewed and highlighted, the weight of the proof must fall on statistical sampling. Some definitions for the lunar alignments are provided in order to clarify the targets, and thus, some new tools are provided to try to test the lunar hypothesis in several cases, especially in megalithic astronomy.

A.C. Gonza´lez-Garcı´a Instituto de Ciencias del Patrimonio, Incipit, Santiago de Compostela, Spain e-mail: [email protected]; [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_37, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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Introduction In 2007, in an informal discussion during one of the coffee breaks at the 15th SEAC meeting held in Klaipe˙da (Lithuania), a known archaeoastronomer expressed the opinion that no historical lunar alignment could be demonstrated, even less any prehistoric one. Alexander Thom (1974) devoted a livelong endeavor to proving the existence of intentionality in the orientation of megalithic monuments, coming to the conclusion that in several cases in the British Isles such orientation was connected with the lunar extremes. Which of these opposites is closer to reality is difficult to ascertain. The complicated movements of the moon have been used on several occasions to justify both the ability of prehistoric people to measure those movements and even to predict solar or lunar eclipses, or the impossibility of this. However, one of the first problems comes when trying to disentangle whether a given alignment is solar or lunar, as both luminaries share the area of the sky where both are visible.

Movements of the Moon In order to continue, it is necessary to refresh a few terms, which are often obscure and subject to misinterpretation (see, for instance, Ruggles 1999 for a discussion; see also ▶ Chap. 30, “Basic Concepts of Positional Astronomy”). The combination of the angle of inclination, i, of nearly 5
90 between the moon’s orbit and the ecliptic and the retrograde motion of the line of nodes, with a period of some 18.61 years, means that the moon, as seen from a given spot on the surface of the Earth, reaches two extremes in that period of time, with declinations  ðe þ iÞ. Thom (e.g., 1969) coined the term “major lunar standstill” and the major standstill limits are the most extreme declinations reached by the moon in this movement. Such movement is subject to a further 90 variation (see, e.g., Thom 1969 for an explanation of this effect), and we must bear in mind that although it is called a “standstill” the moon does not stay close to an extreme declination for a long period of time, as the sun does close to the solstices; within a day it has moved appreciably away from it. This factor, together with local weather conditions, lunar parallax, and the circumstance that the moment of maximum declination does not need to coincide with the moonrise or set, has inclined many researchers to indicate that the moonrise or set at the actual standstill limit is a very difficult and rare event to witness. However, Thom (e.g., Thom and Thom 1983) found a number of alignments in the British Isles where he claimed that such events could indeed have been marked. In fact, all the considerations above might well render any “precise” lunar alignment – either to the major standstill limit or to any other lunar event – impracticable. The picture is further complicated if we include the minor standstill limits  ðe  iÞ. If a structure is orientated toward one of these declinations, which also coincides with possible solar declinations, could we tell if the intention was solar or lunar?

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Even if the precise major lunar standstill limit is not directly observable, it could still be aimed for. In each cycle of 18.61 years, an observer may witness an extreme moon and direct a monument toward it. After a set of many years, we would have a group of monuments with a consistent orientation. In fact, in some of the observed cases reported below, there are a number of monuments with declination distributions that cluster around those of the major lunar standstill limits. Another point to note is that close to declinations  ðe þ iÞ, the moon appears farther north or south than the most extreme solar positions. This means that in the years around a major standstill, once each month the moon could be clearly seen far away from the area where solar events may happen at the horizon. Of course, it must also be borne in mind that in this period and during all months, the moon will reach the extreme position with different lunar phases. In other words, appearances of the moon outside the solar arc are not rare around the time of a major standstill; indeed, tobserving the moon at declinations beyond those ever reached by the sun would be a rather frequent event happening twice a month. A note of caution should be added here. Not all orientations with declinations larger than the solstitial ones and less than the major lunar standstill limits need to be lunar. Such orientations could as well be connected to Venus (see ▶ Chap. 34, “Alignments upon Venus (and Other Planets) - Identification and Analysis”), and in some cultural contexts the archaeological evidence may suggest this is more likely. Besides, not all lunar events need to be reduced to standstills or even the full moon. An important event in the development of cultural astronomy in many societies was to associate the start of the year with a particular new moon. Such were commonly associated to conspicuous solar events, like the new moon after spring equinox, or summer solstice, or the lunation that included autumn equinox as a few examples. Such calendric events could also be imprinted in the orientation of the monuments built by those societies, although as it will be shown later, the definition to test is subject to some subjectivity. Recently, the crossovers of the sun and the moon (da Silva 2004; Silva and Pimenta 2012) have also been pointed out as possible interesting targets for the orientation of megalithic monuments. In such movements, the interesting spot is the moment that the full moon or the crescent moon seems to cross their movements in the horizon with that of the sun. However, the intentionality of such orientations is harder to prove as such moments are not fixed along the years nor they are in declinations, due to the incommensurability problem of the solar and lunar cycles. In those cases a statistical or probabilistic analysis is needed.

Isolated Cases Although it might be true that the lunar standstills were not conceived as such by ancient people, this does not mean that they did not pay attention to the extreme rising and settings of the moon. Several important deities in different societies had

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lunar characteristics. The inconstant moon was equated with the gods Nanna or Sin in Mesopotamia, the god Thoth in Egypt, or Kushuh among the Hittites under a Hurrian name. The Greek goddesses Selene, Artemis, and Hecate possibly had lunar characteristics like the Roman Luna. I would like to point out here three interesting examples from the Middle Eastern societies of Antiquity where a lunar alignment could be encountered and argued based on cultural grounds. The first case comes from Ur (see Fig. 33.1a). The most sacred temple to the lunar god Nanna and his wife Ningal (see, e.g., Woolley 1939) was placed at the base of the famous ziggurat, the step pyramidal structure with a temple on top of it, built by the king Ur-Nammu. We may profit from satellite images and GIS reconstructions of the horizon to do a first analysis of the orientation of this monument. Figure 33.1a shows the measurements done with Google Earth, while horizon altitude was reconstructed profiting from a digital terrain model from the SRTM satellite and the Horizon Software (kindly provided by A. Smith). It is interesting to see that the main staircase and possibly the top temple are oriented toward moonrise at the northern lunar standstill limit, toward an area where the sun is never observed. A second case comes from the Egyptian temple of Thoth at Seikh Abada (Fig. 33.1c). While lunar orientations seem to be absent from the norm in the nearly 400 temples measured by Belmonte et al. (2010), this temple might be seen as an interesting exception. This is the best-preserved shrine of Thoth in the area of ancient Hermopolis, the city under his patronage. The temple axis is not perpendicular to the Nile and is nearly directed, but not precisely, to Hermopolis at the other side of the river, so local topography does not seem mandatory. However, a very interesting situation is encountered when the outside looking inside direction is considered; then, the northernmost moonrise is produced over the hills of the Eastern Desert. Besides, considering the apparent diameter of the lunar disk, this moon would also pass across the zenith of the temple. It is fascinating to find a temple of the lunar god perhaps orientated to the northernmost rising lunar position at the precise geographical area within Egypt where that moon crosses the zenith. Our third and final case comes from the Nabataean lands. Al Khazna, or Treasury (Fig. 33.1b), greets the visitor to Petra after the long walk through the breathtaking As Siq. This impressive monument might have acted as a sort of sanctuary where, apart from the death of King Obodas IV, the genius protector of the city, represented as Tyche in the fac¸ade of the building, would have been venerated. Belmonte et al. (2013) indicate that considering the orientation and the altitude of the cliff it would be possible that extreme lunar events could be compatible with the orientation and layout of the internal structure and the external decoration of the monument. This would be a quite interesting event as in the zodiac stone found at the Nabataean temple of Tannur; Tyche is represented associated to a crescent moon.

Statistical Samples In all three cases indicated above, we have cultural information, which could be further elaborated, that demonstrate that such lunar alignments could be significant

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Fig. 33.1 Three examples of temples possibly related to the moon. The orientation of the three would be compatible with the lunar extremes, and in the three cases, cultural relations link them to lunar deities. (a) Ziggurat of Ur, picture courtesy of Google Earth. Mind the orientation of the temple. (b) Al Khazna in Petra, picture by A.C. Gonza´lez-Garcı´a. (c) Egyptian temple of Thoth at Sheikh Ibada looking from outside inward. Note the god Thoth depicted in one of the columns of the temple, pictures courtesy of J.A. Belmonte. See text for details

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for the societies who imposed such orientations on those monuments. However, when no writing and little or not clear artistic representations of the moon (or of the sun) are at our disposal, it is difficult to ascertain if a single orientation would be lunar or something else. In any of the three examples above, without the cultural information on the gods Nanna, Thoth, or Tyche, we would not be on firm grounds to propose the lunar interpretations. In such cases, further support could be provided by statistical weight, i.e., if a number of similar monuments share close orientations. The consistency of orientations would point to a determination to use a specific direction; the problem now would be to make clear that such intention had the moon as a target. In the case of the major standstill limits, such orientation would be easier to relate. However, in other cases, the degeneracy with solar orientations may prompt us to recourse to more elaborate statistical probabilistic tests.

Lunar Extremes Some lunar orientations have been claimed for the several sight lines of the famous Stonehenge; however, if we want to have some certainty on the robustness of such alignments, we should look for more parallels, i.e., similar monuments, with a comparable cultural background and similar orientations. This approach has been the standard one in archaeoastronomy in the last decades when studying megalithic monuments. Ruggles (1999) describes several groups of megalithic monuments in the British Isles where there might be lunar alignments. One of the most conspicuous is that of the Recumbent Stone Circles in Scotland. These stone circles dated to the end of the IV millennium and, with possibly a funerary use, present a quite systematic layout, with a number of standing stones forming the circle and a recumbent one with two standing stones next to it. Defining the orientation as the line connecting the center of the circle with the center of the recumbent stone, there is a clear systematicity toward southwest with a very small spread around the declinations of the standstill limits. In this case, at least from a statistical point of view, it seems that the lunar hypothesis is strongly supported. The obvious next step is to go to the archaeological record and see if this systematicity in orientations toward the lunar standstill limits has any archaeological meaning (see ▶ Chap. 109, “Recumbent Stone Circles”).

Solstitial Crescent Moons A second example where we may find orientations toward the lunar extremes, although less obvious, are the dolmens from southern France. These dolmens, commonly dated to the last Neolithic of first Chalcolithic on this area (around 2200 BC), present a peculiar set of orientations as these are among the few westerly facing groups of megaliths in western Europe (Hoskin 2001). Figure 33.2 shows the

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Fig. 33.2 Histograms for the BR-type dolmens (left) and the Languedoc-type dolmens (right) in solid black line. Dashed and dotted lines indicate respective models attempted by Gonzalez-Garcia et al. (2007). In this case, crescent moon may explain the orientation distributions

histograms for the two groups. Hoskin argues that the sunsetting custom could explain the orientation pattern. However, Gonzalez-Garcia et al. (2007) show that a number of models of the crescent moon would better explain the ranges of orientation and the maxima of the distributions. In these cases the extreme lunar positions are marked by the first visibility of the crescents. We still need further archaeological evidences, but these lunar targets seem somewhat more ethnographically supported than the solar one.

Spring and Paschal Full Moon The seven-stone antas from the Alentejo in Portugal and Extremadura in Spain forms a remarkably homogeneous set of monuments. Hoskin (2001) highlights that in all cases their orientation would be in agreement with the rising sun at a particular moment of the year. Hoskin proposed that such would be some time in the autumnal months, when possibly the economic activities of the monument builders allowed them to build such structures. However, da Silva (2004) proposed a different and stimulating hypothesis. According to him, the monuments where oriented following what he called the spring full moon. This moon, different from the Paschal moon – the first full moon after spring equinox, the same used today to mark Easter – would be the first full moon after the crossing of the sun and the moon in the horizon when the sun is moving toward north and the moon is moving toward south in their yearly dance on the horizon. In principle, and as pointed out by Silva and Pimenta (2012), such definition would not need a practical knowledge of the equinoxes, a caveat for this type of monuments as pointed out by Ruggles (1997). Da Silva (2004) showed that the distribution of rising positions of such full moon on a number of years would be in agreement with the distribution of orientations of the seven-stone antas.

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Figure 33.3 (top) shows that the agreement of the orientation is also quite good if we consider the Paschal full moon. Something to bear in mind when doing this kind of analysis is that often more than one target could fit our requirements. Recently, Gonza´lez-Garcı´a (2013) has shown that the Paschal full moon could also explain the orientation distribution for the Causses dolmens from central France (Fig. 33.3 bottom).

Crossovers Silva and Pimenta (2012) further explored the meaning of the crossover between the sun and the moon. They note that full moon crossovers happen at low declination values, while for the first crescent or the last moon prior to conjunction, such crossovers would happen at declinations close to the solstices or the lunar standstill limits (Fig. 33.4 top). It is particularly interesting that one of these crossovers offers an interesting alternative to the minor lunar standstill limit for the northern hemisphere. From an ethnographic point of view, such crescent moon seems a better candidate than the seemingly less evident minor lunar standstill – which is not an extreme position in itself and thus would be difficult to highlight. This is a particularly interesting possibility to apply to particular monuments. Silva and Pimenta (2012) present an example of such potentiality for the orientation of the Irish stone rows from Cork-Kerry studied by Ruggles (1996; Fig. 33.4 bottom).

Discriminating Among Models As has already been hinted, one of the most difficult tasks when facing a possible astronomical explanation for the orientation of a group of monuments is the inherent degeneracy between solar and lunar targets. To a possible solar explanation, there is always a lunar alternative (or even more than one). The reverse, however, is not always the case: for the major standstill limits there are no solar equivalents. How should we proceed to further delimit the possible targets when only orientation data is at hand? Two main possibilities have been explored in the recent years so far. One involves a Bayesian approach to the data, while the other tries several methods of cluster analysis.

Bayesian Approach Bayesian methods are a statistical framework that helps the process of decision making by incorporating the scientific hypothesis in the analysis of the data.

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Fig. 33.3 Top, histogram for the seven-stone antas from the Alentejo – grey shaded – compared with a model for the Paschal full moon. Bottom, histogram for the Causse-type dolmens from central France compared with the same model

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Fig. 33.4 Top, declination distribution of moonrise and moonset after a crossover. Dotted and dashed-dotted lines are for the rising and setting of full moon crossovers. Solid and dashed lines indicate first and last crescent crossovers. Bottom, solid line depicts Ruggles (1996) data for the stone rows of Cork-Kerry; grey solid line is the first crescent crossover distribution (Figures from Silva and Pimenta (2012)

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Bayesian analysis divides the information we have in two types, the data being analyzed – the orientation of monuments, for instance – and everything else. The first is included in what is called the likelihood function, while the other data are the prior distribution. The prior distribution may be, in our case, the different astronomical possibilities (see Gelman et al. 2009 for an introduction). Pimenta et al. (2009) performed an analysis of this type for the megalithic enclosures of the Alentejo. They considered 11 sites, for which they had measured the orientation of the semimajor axis and confronted this information with models for the spring full moon defined by da Silva (2004), the autumn full moon (symmetric to the previous one in the autumnal months), a combination of both that they call equinoctial moon, the orientation of the steepest slope, and a final control model with any other information not related to the data. Pimenta et al. (2009) find that according to the Bayesian analysis, the autumn full moon seems better supported by the data. One must bear in mind that this method will only discriminate among the proposed priors the one best supported by the data. In this sense, Pimenta et al. (2009) did not include solar models among their prior, failing to test if this was a possible target for the enclosures.

Cluster Analysis and Principal Component Analysis As part of multivariate analysis, cluster analysis and principal component analysis try to search for regularities in the data that may allow finding groups or clusters among them. Using a given distance-measuring algorithm, cluster analysis finds groups among the data and then finds distances among that clusters, building a hierarchy of distances. A plotting procedure of such hierarchy is known as dendrogram. Principal component analysis or PCA tries to find the vectors of maximum variance among multivariate data. In other words, if we have our data in a multidimensional space, it tries to find if the data could be well described by a combination of a number of those dimensions and thus if we could lower the number of dimensions. A by-product of this method is that we may find groups among our data and that we may include models of the movement of astronomical bodies directly among the data and see if this data is more closely related to one model or another in that multidimensional space (see, e.g., Lay 1994 for an introduction). Gonza´lez-Garcı´a (2009), Gonza´lez-Garcı´a and Belmonte (2010), and Belmonte and Gonza´lez-Garcı´a (2012) have been using these approaches lately to identify clusters among the megalithic groups of monuments in the Iberian Peninsula and beyond to later compare them with models of astronomical targets. Such models include distributions of both solar and lunar interesting rising and setting moments along the year. One of their main results is that the groups of monuments in neighboring regions tend to share similar orientation patterns, regardless of the possible differences in architecture or chronology. When comparing the data with astronomical models (Fig. 33.5), there are groups of data that appear closer to lunar models such as those in the Alentejo (signaled by a large cross in Fig. 33.5). According to their analysis,

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Fig. 33.5 Principal component analysis for the dolmens in the Iberian Peninsula and neighboring regions including solar and lunar models following Gonza´lez-Garcı´a and Belmonte (2010). The different symbols indicate the groups they found using the dendrogram analysis. Those groups are consistent with the PCA. Solar and lunar models are indicated by the sun and moon symbols. The numbers next to them give reference to the model. SOL and LUNA refer to models of the sun and moon along all their possible horizon positions. S_EP, S_EO, S_SV, and S_SI indicate models for the sun at spring and autumn equinox and summer and winter solstices, respectively. L_EO, L_EP, L_EP1, and L_SV refer to the full moon observed after autumn equinox, after spring equinox, one month after spring equinox, or after summer solstice. Finally, C_SI and C_EP indicate the models for the first visibility of the crescent moon after winter solstice and spring equinox

these seem better described by a lunar model of the Paschal moon – which in this methodology is virtually indistinguishable from the spring full moon. Another group in southern France (filled squares in Fig. 33.5) is better described by models of the crescent moon, providing further statistical support for the model presented above.

Conclusions A variety of lunar orientations have been identified so far in different sites around the globe, and they appear in both historic and prehistoric societies. For literate societies, although the lack of written accounts may be a major caveat, lunar alignments seem to be present in the orientation data. Using the traditional axiom “absence of evidence is not evidence of absence”, it would perhaps be wise to re-examine those written accounts in order to search for new clues on the lunar hypothesis.

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For oral societies, statistics and modeling seem an appropriate way to unveil possible lunar orientations. A possible course of action would be the following: after the data collection procedure and the corresponding formal analysis, a cluster analysis or similar approach could be attempted including models to identify those that best fit the data. If several models seem to fit equally well in this instance, then a Bayesian approach could discriminate among the competing models. However, when dealing with the moon, we must abandon any pretensions of high precision, and possibly a sounder anthropological understanding will be gained by incorporating other lunar targets apart from the full moon, such as those presented here and perhaps others such as “dark moon” as defined by Sims 2007). In any case, a combination of careful statistical treatment alongside wellfounded anthropological research is the right way to move forward. Acknowledgments I would like to thank Fabio Silva and Fernando Pimenta for making their figures available and JA Belmonte for a fruitful discussion and making his images of Seikh Abada available. This work is partially financed under the framework of the project AYA2011-26759 “Orientatio ad Sidera III” of the Spanish MINECO. ACGG is a Ramo´n y Cajal Fellow of the Spanish MINECO.

Cross-References ▶ Basic Concepts of Positional Astronomy ▶ Cave of the Astronomers at Xochicalco ▶ Inca Moon: Some Evidence of Lunar Observations in Tahuantinsuyu ▶ Nuraghic Well of Santa Cristina, Paulilatino, Oristano, Sardinia ▶ Recumbent Stone Circles ▶ Seven-Stone Antas

References Belmonte JA, Fekri M, Abdel-Hadi YA, Shaltout M, Gonza´lez-Garcı´a AC (2010) On the orientation of ancient Egyptian temples (5): testing the theory in Middle Egypt and Sudan. J Hist Astron 41:65–94 Belmonte JA, Gonza´lez-Garcı´a AC (2012) The “genetic” analysis of Iberian Dolmens: a test of the idea in the Central Pyrenees. J Hist Astron 43:227–232 Belmonte JA, Gonza´lez-Garcı´a AC and Polcaro A (2013) Light and shadows over Petra: astronomy and landscape in Nabataean lands. Nexus Netw J 15 (in press) Da Silva CM (2004) The spring full moon. J Hist Astron 35:475–478 Gelman A, Carlin JB, Stern HS, Rubin DB (2009) Bayesian data analysis. Chapman & Hall/CRC, Boca Raton Gonza´lez-Garcı´a AC (2009) Statistical analysis of Iberian Peninsula megaliths orientations. In: Rubin˜o-Martin JA, Belmonte JA, Prada F, Alberdi A (eds) Cosmology across cultures. Astronomical Society of the Pacific, San Francisco, pp 354–358 Gonza´lez-Garcı´a AC (2013) Profiting from models of astronomica alignments to unveil ancient cosmologies in Europe and the Mediterranean. In: Sˇprajc I, Pehari P (eds) Ancient cosmologies

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and modern prophets. Proceedings of the 20th conference of the European Society of Astronomy in Culture, Ljubliana, pp 47–64 Gonza´lez-Garcı´a AC, Belmonte JA (2010) Statistical analysis of megalithic tomb orientations in the Iberian Peninsula and neighbouring regions. J Hist Astron 41:225–238 Gonza´lez-Garcı´a AC, Costa-Ferrer L, Belmonte JA (2007) Solarists vs. lunatics: modelling patterns in megalithic astronomy. In: Zedda M, Belmonte JA (eds) Light and shadows in cultural astronomy. Stampa, Cagliari, pp 23–30 Hoskin MA (2001) Tombs, temples and their orientations: new perspectives in Mediterranean prehistory. Ocarina, Bognor Regis Lay DC (1994) Linear algebra and its applications. Addison Wesley, Wilmington Pimenta F, Tirapicos L, Smith A (2009) A Bayesian approach to the orientations of Central Alentejo megalithic enclosures. Archaeoastronomy: Journal of Astronomy in Culture 22:1–20 Ruggles CLN (1996) Stone rows of three or more stones in South-west Ireland. Archaeoastronomy 21 (Supplement to the Journal for the History for Astronomy 27):S55–S71 Ruggles CLN (1997) Whose equinox? Archaeoastronomy 22 (Supplement to the Journal for the History for Astronomy 28):S45–S50 Ruggles CLN (1999) Astronomy in prehistoric Britain and Ireland. Yale University Press, London Sims LD (2007) Lighting up dark moon: ethnographic templates for testing paired alignments on the sun and the moon. In: Zedda M, Belmonte JA (eds) Light and shadows in cultural astronomy. Stampa, Cagliari, pp 309–318 Silva F, Pimenta F (2012) The crossover of the sun and the moon. J Hist Astron 43:191–208 Thom A (1969) The lunar observatories of megalithic man. Vistas in Astronomy 11:1–29 Thom A (1974) Astronomical significance of prehistoric monuments in Western Europe. Philos Trans Roy Soc Lond A 276:149–156 Thom A, Thom AS (1983) Observation of the moon in megalithic times. Archaeoastronomy 5 (Supplement to the Journal for the History for Astronomy 14):S57–S66 Woolley L (1939) Ur excavations, vol v, The ziggurat and its surroundings. Oxford University Press, Oxford

Alignments upon Venus (and Other Planets) - Identification and Analysis

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Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Venus Extremes . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Alignments to Venus Extremes and Their Possible Cultural Significance . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Abstract

Considering the characteristics of the apparent motion of the planets, only the extreme rising and setting points appear to be possibly significant alignment targets. However, the extremes of most of the planets visible with the naked eye either hardly surpass those of the Sun or are highly variable and without clear periodicity. Venus seems to be the only planet whose extremes exhibit easily observable patterns and long-term periodicity. The greatest extremes visible on the eastern and western horizon, regularly occurring at 8-year intervals, are asymmetric and with differing seasonality. During the last millennia, both the maximum and the minimum declinations of Venus have always been attained by the evening star, markedly exceeding the extreme solar declinations, while the morning star has never reached declinations notably beyond those of the solstitial Sun. This peculiarity, as well as secular variations in the maximum and minimum declinations, must be taken into account in any assessment of possible Venus alignments.

I. Sˇprajc Institute of Anthropological and Spatial Studies, Research Center of the Slovenian Academy of Sciences and Arts, Ljubljana, Slovenia e-mail: [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_38, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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Introduction If we explore the possibility that certain alignments in a cultural landscape refer to planets, the only targets of conceivable significance, in view of the characteristics of the apparent motion of planets, seem to be their extreme northerly and southerly rising and setting points. While the possibility that any other planetary position was aimed at by an alignment cannot be discarded, the intentionality of such a coincidence can only be suggested by independent evidence. If the extreme of a planet is defined as any moment when the absolute value of its declination is greater than before and after it, then the extreme declination values are highly variable. It would thus appear that only the maximum and minimum declinations attained in a period may have been significant and that the intentionality of alignments corresponding to these phenomena within a certain cultural complex may be indicated by their distribution trend. However, Jupiter’s and Saturn’s maximum and minimum declinations do not exceed in any notable way the solstitial declinations of the Sun (the greatest difference attained during the last four millennia was about 1
); hence, it would be virtually impossible to distinguish the corresponding alignments from those referring to solstitial sunrises and sunsets; moreover, Jupiter and Saturn arrive at their greatest extremes only once in about 12 and 30 years, respectively. The most extreme declinations of Mars can be up to several degrees beyond those of the Sun, but they are highly variable and with no clear periodicity. Mercury reaches positions up to 2
beyond the extreme declinations of the Sun, but many of these extremes, always attained around the solstices, are not visible because of the proximity of the Sun. In view of these facts, the extremes of most of the planets visible with the naked eye do not seem to be significant events that may have been targeted by alignments; if such alignments do exist, however, it seems virtually impossible, in the absence of independent evidence, to establish their intentionality. The only exception seems to be the planet Venus; it thus comes as no surprise that only the alignments probably referring to the maximum extremes of Venus have so far been identified.

Venus Extremes Aveni (1975, p. 178ff) and Aveni et al. (1975) seem to have been the first to suggest that Venus extremes motivated some directions materialized in ancient architecture; they proposed that these phenomena were marked by architectural alignments at the Maya sites of Chiche´n Itza´ and Uxmal, in Mexico. Closs et al. (1984) noticed, furthermore, that during the eighth and ninth centuries all great northerly extremes of Venus, defined as the midpoint of a period of time during which the planet attained a declination in excess of 25.5
, occurred in late April or early May, which means that they approximately coincided with the onset of the rainy season in Mesoamerica. Further research showed that the greatest visible extremes of morning star and evening star are asymmetric and that they all remain seasonally fixed during very long periods (Sˇprajc 1993, p. 18ff, 1996, p. 23ff).

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If the trajectories of apparent motion of Venus as morning and evening star, obtained by connecting the planet’s positions at the beginning and end of twilight on successive days, are plotted on the eastern and western sky for subsequent synodic periods, we can observe that they are very similar every 8 years (Aveni 1991, p. Fig. 1; Flores 1991, Fig. 2). The 8-year patterns, which reflect the approximate commensurability of five synodic periods of the planet and eight tropical years (5  583.92 days ¼ 2,919.6 days; 8  365.2422 days ¼ 2,921.9376 days), gradually change, but these variations also exhibit a long-term periodicity: a given pattern of Venus’ apparent motion in the sky is almost exactly repeated after 251 tropical years (251  365.2422 days ¼ 91,675.7922 days; 157  583.92 days ¼ 91,675.44 days; Spinden 1928, p. 20; McCluskey 1983). The periodicities mentioned above are also evident in patterns of Venus extreme declinations. Here, we should recall that, if an extreme declination is defined as any moment when its absolute value is greater than before and after it, there are several highly variable extreme declinations in an 8-year Venus cycle, with one maximum (positive or northern) and one minimum (negative or southern) value, which regularly occur at 8-year intervals (Fig. 34.1). During the last four millennia, both the maximum and the minimum declinations have always been attained during the planet’s evening visibility, having values notably in excess of those reached by the Sun at the solstices; the morning star’s greatest northern and southern declinations have hardly exceeded the extreme declinations of the Sun, being from 2
to 4
smaller than those attained by the evening star (Figs. 34.2 and 34.3). The maximum/ minimum declinations of both the morning and the evening star exhibit long-term oscillations: as Figs. 34.2 and 34.3 show, any maximum/minimum declination is almost exactly repeated every 251 years. Whenever Venus reached the greatest northern and southern declinations plotted in Figs. 34.2 and 34.3, it had an angular distance from the Sun of at least 30
and was, therefore, visible as evening star in the moment of its setting (except in the extreme northern or southern geographic latitudes). While the maximum/minimum declinations most often recur at 8-year intervals, the exceptions correspond to the lowest/highest points of the curves reproducing variations of the evening star’s greatest northern/southern declination in Figs. 34.2 and 34.3: after the maximum/ minimum of a 251-cycle has been attained, the greatest northern/southern declination pertaining to a specific synodic period of a five-period (8-year) cycle (supposing we assign it a number from 1 to 5 within the cycle) gradually decreases, until it is replaced by a growing extreme of another synodic period (i.e., with a different consecutive number). Along various 251-year cycles during the last four millennia, an overall growth/decrease of maximum/minimum declination values can be perceived. An analogous explanation applies to the sharp breaks in the curves reproducing variations of the maximum/minimum declination of the morning star in Figs. 34.2 and 34.3. These curves do not include declinations for the moments when the angular separation between the planet and the Sun was less than 5
. However, since in several cases it was barely over 5
, the planet was not necessarily always visible at the moment of its rising, and the greatest visible extremes may have been

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Fig. 34.1 Variations of the declination of Venus as a function of date, for five successive 8-year cycles in the twentieth century. The maximum and minimum declination attained in each cycle is marked with a line

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Fig. 34.2 Variations of the maximum declination of Venus as morning and evening star as a function of time, for the last four millennia

Fig. 34.3 Variations of the minimum declination of Venus as morning and evening star as a function of time, for the last four millennia

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even smaller than those plotted in Figs. 34.2 and 34.3. The reason for selecting the (somehow arbitrary) limit of 5
is that, in the optimum circumstances (i.e., when it corresponds to the vertical separation between the planet on the horizon and the Sun below it), it is approximately equivalent to the arcus visionis required for Venus to be visible at its first/last appearance as morning or evening star (Schoch 1924; Huber et al. 1982; Weir 1982; Sˇprajc 1987–88). While the dates of typical moments of Venus’ synodic period, like the first and the last appearances of the morning and evening star, gradually move backward through the tropical year, the greatest extremes remain limited to short spans for very long periods: during the four millennia comprised in Figs. 34.2 and 34.3, 83 % of all the maximum northerly extremes occurred between April 30 and May 7, Gregorian, while 81 % of the greatest southerly extremes were visible between October 29 and November 6, Gregorian. The relatively few extremes occurring beyond the cited dates (the limits are April 24 and May 9 for the maximum and October 24 and November 9 for the minimum declinations) correspond to the timespans around the sharp breaks visible in Figs. 34.2 and 34.3, when a maximum extreme pertaining to one synodic period of an 8-year cycle is substituted by a growing extreme of another synodic period in the cycle (see above). The greatest northerly and southerly extremes attained by Venus during its morning visibility periods have also been seasonally fixed during the last four millennia, but more dispersed, occurring from June 30 to July 19 and from December 27 to January 16, Gregorian, respectively. The asymmetry of the maximum extremes visible on the eastern and western horizon, as well as their stable long-term seasonalities, is a consequence of the inclination of Venus’ orbit to the ecliptic and of the position of its ascending node relative to the vernal point (heliocentric longitude, currently 76.68
) during the last millennia, while the secular trend of growing/decreasing maximum/minimum declinations visible in Figs. 34.2 and 34.3 is an effect caused by the precessional motion of the ascending node (for a more detailed explanation, see Sˇprajc 1996, p. 139ff). All the positions plotted in Figs. 34.1, 34.2, and 34.3 derive from calculations based on the data obtained by JPL HORIZONS online ephemeris computation service, provided by the Solar System Dynamics Group of the NASA Jet Propulsion Laboratory (http://ssd.jpl.nasa.gov/?horizons).

Alignments to Venus Extremes and Their Possible Cultural Significance Even if the brightness of Venus, surpassed only by the Sun and the Moon, was undoubtedly a primary reason underlying its importance in many cultures, the above described characteristics of its greatest extremes have likely called attention as well. Since the maximum extremes, always visible in the western sky, are considerably greater than the solstitial extremes of the Sun, they may have been

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particularly relevant as alignment targets. Supposing the existence of alignments to the morning star extremes, which hardly exceed those of the Sun, their intentionality is difficult to demonstrate, unless we have independent evidence to this effect, or highly accurate alignments. Furthermore, it should be borne in mind that, due to the secular variations in maximum and minimum declinations (Figs. 34.2 and 34.3), the dating of material remains incorporating an alignment must be taken into account, if the degree of its correspondence with a Venus extreme is to be assessed. If a reliably dated alignment assumed to have been functional during a short timespan is under consideration, it is recommendable to check the precise ephemeris data for the corresponding period. While it should be pointed out that the exact date of a Venus extreme is difficult to determine by naked-eye observations, because around that date the variations in declination are hardly perceptible, the seasonality of extremes has likely been noted and considered significant in certain cultures. In Mesoamerica, where several architectural alignments probably referring to the greatest extremes of the evening star have been identified, the importance of these phenomena may be attributed to the fact that they approximately coincide with the beginning and the end of the rainy season and, therefore, delimit the maize cultivation cycle. In view of the evidence suggesting that the concomitance of the evening star’s extremes with seasonal climatic changes was, indeed, perceived, it has been argued that it was precisely this observational fact that may have motivated the conceptual association of Venus, particularly its evening aspect, with rain, maize, and fertility (Sˇprajc 1993, 1996). In addition, not only the greatest extremes manifest this seasonality: assuming that the extremes beyond the solstitial limits of the Sun may have been considered particularly significant, it is worth mentioning that Venus as evening star attains any declination in excess of 23.5
between April and the June solstice, while any declination smaller than 23.5
is reached between October and the December solstice. A relationship of the evening aspect of Venus with rain and cattle breeding, derived from the seasonally occurring turning points observed in the planet’s apparent motion in the western sky, has been ethnographically documented in the Canary Islands (Belmonte and Sanz 2001), and it would be interesting to verify whether a correspondence between these phenomena and culturally significant seasonal changes in natural environment exists also in other areas where the planet is known to have had similar symbolic connotations, e.g., in the South American Andes or Mesopotamia. In Mesoamerica, where large samples of data on architectural orientations have been subject to systematic research, most alignments evidently refer to the Sun; however, several buildings have been found to incorporate possible Venus alignments, their most likely referents being the greatest extremes of the evening star (Sˇprajc 1993, 1996; Sˇprajc and Sa´nchez 2012). The most persuasive cases, in which a relationship with Venus is additionally suggested by independent contextual data, are the Governor’s Palace at Uxmal, El Circular of Huexotla (Figs. 34.4 and 34.5) and El Caracol of Chiche´n Itza´. The latter two buildings are both round temples evidently dedicated to Quetzalco´atl/Kukulca´n, a Venus-related deity

514

I. Sˇprajc

Fig. 34.4 El Circular at Huexotla, a Postclassic site in central Mexico, viewing southwest. Note the balustrade of the early construction stage of the building between the balustrades of the late phase stairway

Fig. 34.5 View to the northwest along the balustrade of the early stage of El Circular at Huexotla (see Fig. 34.4), aligned to both the greatest northerly extreme of Venus and a prominent mountain on the horizon

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(Aveni 1975, p. 178ff; Aveni et al. 1975; Sˇprajc 1993, p. 48ff, Sˇprajc 1996, p. 79ff). The Governor’s Palace at the Late Classic Maya site of Uxmal has a plethora of iconographic elements explicitly denoting a relationship with both Venus and rain, which is in agreement with its orientation to the maximum northerly extremes of the evening star, harbingers of the rainy season. A disadvantage of the alternative proposal, connecting the orientation of this building to the greatest southerly extremes of the morning star (Aveni 1975, p. 182ff, 2001, p. 283ff), is both in the large alignment error that needs to be postulated and in the scarcity of supporting contextual evidence. One Mesoamerican building represents a singular case, as it has been related to Venus, but not to the extremes. A window preserved in the west wall of Temple 22 at the Classic Maya site of Copa´n in Honduras may have allowed the observation of Venus during agriculturally significant periods of the year (Closs et al. 1984; Sˇprajc 1987–88, 1993, p. 50ff, Sˇprajc 1996, p. 85ff). While there is some contextual evidence supporting the idea, it remains hypothetical because no other analogous device with an arguably comparable function has so far been identified. To my knowledge, the only possibly Venus alignments detected so far beyond Mesoamerica are those reported by Esteban and Escacena (2012, 2013) in the southern Iberian Peninsula. Analyzing orientations of buildings at several archaeological sites, dated to the early half of the first millennium BC and all having evidence of direct influence of Phoenician colonization, they have identified an orientation group probably referring to either the rising point of the Moon at its northern major standstill limit or the setting point of Venus at its maximum southerly extreme. While lunar orientations could certainly be expected in the given cultural context, Venus in its evening aspect seems to be a more likely referent of this alignment group, considering a bronze figurine of Astarte found at one site, the importance of this Venus-related goddess in Phoenician culture, including the Iberian colonies, and the fact that, in one case, the southernmost setting point of Venus is marked by both the architectural alignment and a prominent mountain on the horizon. The authors also discuss the possibility that some orientations in their sample relate to the maximum northerly extremes of the morning star, but the problem they face is that, depending on the precision assumed, these alignments may also have marked the summer solstice sunrise.

Cross-References ▶ Analyzing Orientations ▶ Astronomical Correlates of Architecture and Landscape in Mesoamerica ▶ Astronomical Deities in Ancient Mesoamerica ▶ Governor’s Palace at Uxmal

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References Aveni AF (1975) Possible astronomical orientations in ancient Mesoamerica. In: Aveni AF (ed) Archaeoastronomy in pre-Columbian America. University of Texas Press, Austin, pp 163–190 Aveni AF (1991) The real Venus-Kukulcan in the Maya inscriptions and alignments. In: Fields VM (ed) Sixth Palenque round table, 1986. University of Oklahoma Press, Norman/London, pp 309–321 Aveni AF (2001) Skywatchers: a revised and updated version of Skywatchers of ancient Mexico. University of Texas Press, Austin Aveni AF, Gibbs SL, Hartung H (1975) The Caracol tower at Chichen Itza: an ancient astronomical observatory? Science 188:977–985 Belmonte Avile´s JA, Sanz de Lara Barrios M (2001) El cielo de los magos: Tiempo astrono´mico y meteorolo´gico en la cultura tradicional del campesinado canario. La Marea, Santa Cruz de Tenerife Closs MP, Aveni AF, Crowley B (1984) The planet Venus and Temple 22 at Copan. Indiana 9:221–247 Esteban Lo´pez C, Escacena Carrasco JL (2013) Arqueologı´a del cielo: Orientaciones astrono´micas en edificios protohisto´ricos del sur de la Penı´nsula Ibe´rica. Trabajos de Prehistoria, Madrid (in press) Esteban C, Escacena JL (2012) Astronomical orientations of protohistoric sacred buildings of the south Iberian Peninsula. Paper presented at the conference SEAC 2012, 20th international conference of the European Society for Astronomy in Culture, Ljubljana Flores Gutierrez JD (1991) Venus y su relacio´n con fechas antiguas. In: Broda J, Iwaniszewski S, Maupome´ L (eds) Arqueoastronomı´a y etnoastronomı´a en Mesoame´rica. Universidad Nacional Auto´noma de Me´xico, Me´xico DF, pp 343–388 Huber PJ, Sachs A, Stol M, Whiting RM, Leichty E, Walker CBF, van Driel G (1982) Astronomical dating of Babylon I and Ur III. Monographic Journals of the Near East: Occasional Papers 1 (4). Undena Publications, Malibu McCluskey SC (1983) Maya observations of very long periods of Venus. J Hist Astron 14:92–101 Schoch C (1924) The “arcus visionis” of the planets in the Babylonian observations. Mon Not R Astron Soc 84:731–734 Spinden HJ (1928) Maya inscriptions dealing with Venus and the Moon. Bull Buffalo Soc Nat Sci 14(1):5–63 Sˇprajc I (1987–1988) Venus and Temple 22 at Copan: revisited. Archaeoastronomy: Journal of the Center for Archaeoastronomy 10:88–97 Sˇprajc I (1993) The Venus-rain-maize complex in the Mesoamerican world view: part I. J Hist Astron 24:17–70 Sˇprajc I (1996) Venus, lluvia y maı´z: simbolismo y astronomı´a en la cosmovisio´n mesoamericana. Instituto nacional de antropologı´a e Historia, Me´xico Sˇprajc I, Sa´nchez Nava PF (2012) Orientaciones astrono´micas en la arquitectura Maya de las tierras bajas: nuevos datos e interpretaciones. In: Arroyo B, Paiz L, Mejı´a H (eds) XXV simposio de investigaciones arqueolo´gicas en Guatemala, vol 2. Instituto de Antropologı´a e Historia – Asociacio´n Tikal, Guatemala, pp 977–996 Weir JD (1982) The Venus tablets: a fresh approach. J Hist Astron 13:23–49

Stellar Alignments - Identification and Analysis

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Clive L. N. Ruggles

Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Statistical Studies of Stellar Alignments . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Stellar Alignments in Groups of Similar Monuments . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Stellar Alignments at Complex Monuments . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . One-Off Stellar Alignments . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Discussion . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

518 520 520 524 526 527 528 528

Abstract

Fortuitous stellar alignments can be fitted to structural orientations with relative ease by the unwary. Nonetheless, cautious approaches taking into account a broader range of cultural evidence, as well as paying due attention to potential methodological pitfalls, have been successful in identifying credible stellar alignments—and constructing plausible assessments of their cultural significance—in a variety of circumstances. These range from single instances of alignments upon particular asterisms where the corroborating historical or ethnographic evidence is strong to repeated instances of oriented structures with only limited independent cultural information but where systematic, data-driven approaches can be productive. In the majority of cases, the identification and interpretation of putative stellar alignments relates to groups of similar monuments or complex single sites and involves a balance between systematic studies of the alignments themselves, backed up by statistical analysis where appropriate, and the consideration of a range of contextual evidence, either derived from the archaeological record alone or from other relevant sources.

C.L.N. Ruggles School of Archaeology and Ancient History, University of Leicester, Leicester, UK e-mail: [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_39, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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Introduction There are many bright stars in the sky, and their rising and setting positions change steadily over the centuries owing to precession (see ▶ Chap. 31, “LongTerm Changes in the Appearance of the Sky”). Where alignment evidence is being considered in isolation, this means that it is all too easy to assign a putative stellar target that appears to fit any randomly selected structural alignment. For example, in the case of a later prehistoric standing monument whose date of construction is uncertain within a 500-year period (ignoring the complication that it may have been reconstructed in prehistory – see ▶ Chap. 24, “Nature and Analysis of Material Evidence Relevant to Archaeoastronomy”), it is possible to “fit” one of the brightest 15 stars to one in every three alignments at some date within the permitted, “archaeologically plausible”, range (Cooke et al. 1977, p. 130; Ruggles 1999, p. 52). In the past, putative stellar alignments were often considered in the framework of a “recipe book” approach in which an investigator would first seek a solar target to “explain” an alignment, then (if that did not work) a lunar target, and finally, as a last resort, a stellar one. This type of approach was characteristic of studies of the orientations of classical Greek temples from the late nineteenth century onward (see Boutsikas and Ruggles 2011, p. 57) and of British megalithic monuments in the mid-twentieth century (Thom 1955, 1967, pp. 92–106; see also Ruggles 1999, p. 52), but many much more recent examples can be found in the literature (e.g., Eddy 1974; Proverbio 1993; see also ▶ Chap. 127, “Carahunge: A Critical Assessment”). The main critique of such “alignment-hunting” approaches is not the mere fact that they appear to “mix and match” different types of astronomical target, or that the intentionality of any given stellar alignment is virtually impossible to prove with certainty, but rather that they seek astronomical explanations that pay little or no attention to the cultural context. Aveni (1988, pp. 444–445) characterized this as the “Thom paradigm”, reproaching those who unthinkingly followed what was blatantly an ethnocentric vision in which Neolithic Britons studied the movements of the sun and moon in great detail (Thom 1971), sometimes applying it in totally unrelated, and very different, cultural circumstances. While the “butterfly collecting” of astronomical alignments out of context has not formed part of the mainstream of archaeoastronomy for many years (see ▶ Chap. 25, “Best Practice for Evaluating the Astronomical Significance of Archaeological Sites”), the identification of putative stellar targets within an “alignment-hunting” approach remains implicit (and is arguably unavoidable) even where this is being done in full cognizance of the cultural context. The extent to which stellar alignments identified in this way can be justified depends upon the nature and strength of the corroborating evidence, whether this comes from other aspects of the archaeology or from other types of evidence such as ethnohistory (see ▶ Chap. 21, “Cultural Interpretation of Archaeological Evidence Relating to Astronomy”). Monumental constructions and other edifices may have been associated with (and hence, in some cases, “aligned upon”) single stars or groups of stars,

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depending upon what was perceived in the indigenous context as a meaningful celestial entity. The term asterism is generally used by archaeoastronomers to denote a set of visible objects in the sky that might have had meaning, such as a group of stars (an indigenous constellation which might or might not correspond to a Western constellation), a star cluster (such as the Pleiades), or even a single star. This definition is adopted here. However, some astronomers, reflecting a Western rather than an anthropological viewpoint, prefer to use the term to help distinguish between indigenous constellations and Western ones. Thus Ridpath (2004, p. 186) defines an asterism as “a grouping or pattern of stars which does not make a constellation”, in other words does not correspond to a Western constellation. Kelley and Milone (2005, p. 10) draw a distinction between an asterism as an “apparent” grouping of stars and the modern definition of a constellation, which is a specified area on the celestial sphere. A complication with putative stellar alignments, especially at higher latitudes, is that of atmospheric extinction (see ▶ Chap. 30, “Basic Concepts of Positional Astronomy”). According to Schaefer (1986), only the brightest stars could actually be seen to rise or set over a low horizon because of atmospheric scattering and haze, even in the distant past. A rule of thumb quoted by Shaltout and Belmonte (2009, p. 21) is that a star only becomes visible at an altitude equal to its magnitude. This means that in general we should not think in terms of stellar rising or setting alignments but rather alignments upon the point of appearance or disappearance of the star in question, in some cases well above the horizon. Where, at higher latitudes, the rising or setting path is inclined at a significant angle to the vertical, the azimuth of the actual appearance or disappearance may be significantly different from that of the relevant rising or setting position, which is invisible. Furthermore, this azimuth would have varied from night to night, possibly considerably, because of changing atmospheric conditions. For further discussion on this issue, and for technical details, see Schaefer (1986, 1993) and Kelley and Milone (2005, pp. 53–55). Another issue is that annual stellar phenomena such as the heliacal rise are known to have been important in a range of cultures. The altitude at which an asterism was first observed in the predawn sky at heliacal rise would generally have been higher than on later nights, when it rose at earlier times in the night and the sky was darker (for technical details, see Schaefer 1987; Purrington 1988; also Schaefer 2000 specifically on Sirius), so the azimuth would have been different too, thus affecting the direction of a stellar alignment if it was set up or used specifically at heliacal rise. Not all stellar alignments necessarily relate to the nightly first appearance of a rising star or disappearance of a setting one. Various structures were oriented, it has been suggested, upon asterisms high up in the sky. In some instances the “indicating structure” is itself inclined, as is the case with shafts in the Great Pyramid of Khufu at Giza (see below), but where there is no material evidence such as this to indicate the altitude in the sky of the asterism concerned, this introduces so much flexibility of interpretation that it is essential to have solid corroborating evidence of the intentionality of the proposed stellar association.

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Statistical Studies of Stellar Alignments A systematic, data-driven approach in which, for example, one simply examines the principal axial orientation of a local group of monuments, can be useful in identifying consistent practices of solar or lunar alignment (see ▶ Chap. 95, “Patterns of Orientation in the Megalithic Tombs of the Western Mediterranean”; ▶ Chap. 109, “Recumbent Stone Circles”) but is generally of little use when it comes to putative stellar targets because of the manifold possibilities, given both the number of asterisms and the steady drift in their rising and setting positions owing to precession. One of the very few cases where this has been seriously attempted was in the early work of Alexander Thom, who performed a statistical analysis of the stars and dates that fitted best to concentrations of declinations obtained from an analysis of 72 structural orientations at British megalithic sites for which there was no evident solar explanation (Thom 1955, pp. 284–288). He concluded that significantly more stellar “hits” were obtained for a date around 2100 BC, which not only implied that the stellar alignments were intentional but also indicated a possible date of construction (see also Heggie 1981, pp. 162–168). However, these results have since been dismissed both because of selection effects in Thom’s data and issues relating to atmospheric extinction (see Ruggles 1999, pp. 52–53; Schaefer 1986). Although the idea of statistically testing a set of putative stellar alignments to see if there is any coherence in the best-fit dates remains sound in principle, few investigators since Thom have had an appropriate dataset, or the cultural motivation, to duplicate this type of approach. Two exceptions are Ruggles’s investigation of radial lines azimuths at Nazca, Peru (Ruggles 1990, pp. 266–267), which provided only marginal evidence for deliberate stellar alignment at a few radial line centers (see ▶ Chap. 63, “Geoglyphs of the Peruvian Coast”), and Aveni and Mizrachi’s analysis of radial wall segment azimuths at Rujm el-Hiri, Golan Heights (see below). Belmonte et al.’s (2009) analysis of ancient Egyptian temple orientations (also see below) did not include a formal statistical analysis but followed a similar approach. Stellar alignments are generally only postulated to be intentional (and mostly without statistical backing) if there is some kind of independent supporting evidence. The examples in the sections that follow give some idea of the forms such evidence can take, as well as illustrating various strengths and weaknesses and drawing attention to some of the methodological and interpretative issues that can arise.

Stellar Alignments in Groups of Similar Monuments In the course of identifying “orientation signatures” of many local groups of later prehistoric tombs and temples around the western Mediterranean, Hoskin (2001, pp. 37–52) identified one group of monuments that appeared to have a particularly clear stellar rather than a solar or lunar significance: the taula sanctuaries of southern Menorca, Spain. These are temple enclosures with a southward-facing

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Fig. 35.1 The taula at Torralba d’en Salort, Menorca, viewed from the east, within the interior of the taula precinct (Photograph: Clive Ruggles)

entrance containing a prominent stone “taula” – a single lintel supported centrally by an upright slab – facing the entrance (see Fig. 35.1). Of the 23 measurable examples, all but one are oriented between 143
and 210
in azimuth, which (because of open views with a low horizon) yield declinations between 38.5
and 50.5
(Hoskin 2001, p. 224). These are the declinations of the horizon in the direction of indication rather than of those points somewhat above the horizon where any given star would actually appear or disappear, but it is evident that they correspond quite closely to the declinations of the Southern Cross and Pointers (a and b Cen) at the time of construction, around 1000 BC (between 40.5
and 48
). The discovery at one taula site of a small inscribed bronze statue from Egypt, depicting the god of medicine, suggests a possible association with healing and hence with the Greek constellation of the centaur (see ▶ Chap. 99, “Taula Sanctuaries of Menorca”). This provides a tentative affirmation that the stellar association was in fact intentional. The single exception to the orientation pattern is Torralba (shown in the figure), which faces an azimuth of 110
yielding a declination of 16
. This corresponds reasonably closely to that of Sirius in 1000 BC (17
), and bronze horse hooves from a former statue provide equally tentative support for a possible association with the centaur Chiron and hence, indirectly, with rituals associated with the heliacal rising of Sirius. Finally, there is indirect support from a related type of monument, the pre-talayotic sanctuary at Son Mas in the neighboring island of Mallorca, which was abandoned at around the time when the Southern Cross disappeared below the (elevated) horizon owing to precession (Hoskin 2001, pp. 49–51; see also ▶ Chap. 31, “Long-Term Changes in the Appearance of the Sky”). Belmonte et al. (2009, pp. 221–249), analyzing 330 temple orientations from ancient Egypt, suggest that peaks in their cumulative declination histogram represent seven “families of orientations”, thus confirming an idea that first emerged in an earlier paper concentrating on 90 orientations, mostly from Lower Egypt (Shaltout et al. 2007a) (see also ▶ Chap. 133, “Orientation of Egyptian Temples: An Overview”). Two of these families relate to Canopus and Sirius, the two brightest stars in the sky, while the remainder represent alignments upon the

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cardinal and mid-cardinal directions, the winter solstice sun, and one centered at around d ¼ 11¾
tentatively interpreted as marking sunrise or sunset dates of calendrical significance (see Shaltout et al. 2007a, pp. 154–155). The authors make it clear that they “were not seeking. . . alignments of extreme precision” and that errors in estimating the azimuth of putative stellar alignments, especially for fainter stars, “can be as much as several degrees” (Shaltout et al. 2007a, pp. 141–142). More than two millennia passed between the start of the Old Kingdom (around 2700 BC) and the end of Late Period (sixth century BC), during which time the declinations of the two stars varied considerably owing to precession. That of Sirius ranged from 21.3
in 2700 BC to 16.4
in 500 BC and that of Canopus from 55.9
to 53.0
over the same period (see also Table 1 in ▶ Chap. 31, “Long-Term Changes in the Appearance of the Sky”). A declination peak at 18¼
 ¾
corresponds to Sirius during the Middle and New Kingdoms, while another, at 54
 ¾
, fits Canopus at around the same time. Historical sources fully attest to the importance of Sirius, Sopdet, especially during Middle and New Kingdom times (Belmonte et al. 2009, pp. 233–236; see also Shaltout et al. 2007b, pp. 427–430). Canopus is the second brightest star in the sky after Sirius, but there is no clear cultural evidence of an interest in this star (Belmonte et al. 2009, pp. 236–237). A group of monuments popularly associated with astronomy are the so-called Medicine Wheels, enigmatic patterns of boulders constructed by indigenous groups in the Great Plains region of Canada and the USA, mostly before the arrival of Europeans. They are typically arranged in the form of a central mound with radiating spokes, although there are many variants. In fact, alleged stellar and solar alignments at Big Horn Medicine Wheel in Wyoming, USA (Fig. 35.2; Eddy 1974), and elsewhere, identified using a paradigm imported from the Old World (see above), have been widely refuted on statistical grounds (see Vogt 1993, pp. 181–183; Schaefer 2006a, p. 33). However, in an independent analysis of 120 certain and possible Medicine Wheel sites, Vogt (1993) produced a more nuanced assessment of the archaeoastronomical possibilities within a more secure cultural context. On the one hand, he concluded that the orientations of the spokes were indeed important and were indeed astronomically determined, at least in general terms, although further refinement of this conclusion proved impossible on the basis of the alignment evidence alone. Regarding stellar alignments, the rich starlore of indigenous groups on the Plains is focused upon constellations rather than single stars (Vogt 1993, pp. 173–175), so that indigenous constellations would make more sense as potential alignment targets than individual stars. There is also the possibility that some spoke alignments could have related to asterisms viewed higher up in the sky rather than at their apparent rising or setting points, but in the absence of ethnohistorical accounts of actual ceremonies at particular sites associated with particular indigenous constellations, this is impossible to prove (see above). A context where viable evidence of alignments of this nature does actually exist is Classical Greece (see ▶ Chap. 140, “Greek Temples and Rituals”). Numerous examples from Greek literature show how watching the sky formed an essential preliminary to and/or an integral part of many religious festivals (e.g., Boutsikas and Ruggles 2011, p. 56), and combining historical evidence with alignment

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Fig. 35.2 Big Horn Medicine Wheel, Wyoming, USA (Photograph: United States Forest Service (Creative Commons License))

evidence has started to highlight examples of temples apparently aligned upon asterisms relevant to the particular cult practices carried out there. These include the Temple of Artemis Orthia in Sparta, where young girls called Peleades brought an offering to the altar of the goddess during the hour before dawn, just as the Pleiades were rising to the east, where the temple and altar faced (Boutsikas and Ruggles 2011, pp. 60–63). Another example is the Temple of Apollo at Delphi. According to myths recounted by historical sources, Apollo transformed into a dolphin in the sky to guide sailors to his oracle. The temple faces a high horizon which, according to Salt and Boutsikas (2005; see also ▶ Chap. 140, “Greek Temples and Rituals”), served to delay the annual appearance of Delphinus and hence the timing of the Delphic oracle, thus “giving notice” to travelers who would be forewarned by observing its heliacal rise from other locations. A slightly different case is the Erechtheion at the Athenian Acropolis, whose northern porch was ideally placed for observations of Draco, the upper culmination of which occurred in the early evening at the time of the Panathenaia celebrations in honor of Athena, who was associated with that asterism (Boutsikas 2011). While just as important for our understanding of astronomically related cult practices, this last example illustrates just how limited may be the available picture where we are constrained to

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work with the alignment evidence alone, since there is no clear structural alignment here as such. The same is true with regard to the Arrhe¯phoria, a secret nocturnal fertility rite, also held at the Acropolis, which – according to Boutsikas and Hannah (2011, 2012) – was strongly associated with observations of the Hyades. While there are no obvious structural alignments relevant to this interpretation, historical evidence relating to the nature and timing of the festival together with literary evidence on the mythical context suggests that a complex religious and cosmological narrative was played out not only in relation to the skies but also various features in the surrounding landscape. Where, as in ancient Greece, independent literary and/or historical evidence indicates that distinct cult practices were associated with different categories of temples and that each may well have given rise to distinct orientation preferences, this serves to emphasize the inevitable limitations of “overall” studies of orientations, even if this is the best available “formal” approach where no independent evidence is available (see ▶ Chap. 24, “Nature and Analysis of Material Evidence Relevant to Archaeoastronomy”). Another good example of this is Hawaiian temples (see ▶ Chap. 216, “Ancient Hawaiian Astronomy”), where ethnohistorical evidence singles out just one group of temples (those dedicated to the god Lono) as stellar aligned (upon the rising of the Pleiades) while others dedicated to different gods are solar, cardinal, or topographic.

Stellar Alignments at Complex Monuments Aveni and Mizrachi’s (1998) analysis of potential astronomical alignments at the Early Bronze Age monument of Rujm el-Hiri in the Golan Heights (Fig. 35.3; see also ▶ Chap. 165, “Astronomy in the Levant During the Bronze Age and Iron Age”) provides an example where stellar possibilities have been seriously considered in analyzing multiple alignment possibilities at a single, complex prehistoric monument. This enigmatic structure, constructed in the third millennium BC, comprises several walls of basalt blocks laid out in concentric rings, the outermost around 150 m in diameter, surrounding a central cairn that was probably constructed in the Late Bronze Age some 1,500 years later. A number of radial wall segments, apparently configured randomly, connect some of the adjacent walls, thereby compartmentalizing the circular spaces between them. There is a NE entrance in the outer two walls which is broadly aligned upon sunrise at the June solstice and two large boulders on the east side which, it is suggested, may have marked sunrise at the equinox. For the 34 radial wall segments, a stellar alignment hypothesis was tested, which provided a best-fit date consistent with the archaeological evidence. The analysis was “purely statistical” in nature (Aveni and Mizrachi 1998, p. 487), but further examination of the stars featuring in the alignments showed that the dates of their annual heliacal rising and setting correlated with dates most likely to have been significant in the agricultural year, when rainfall was least. This permitted the conclusion that some of the radial walls were used as alignment-fixing devices for an “orientation calendar” (Aveni and Mizrachi 1998, pp. 489–490; see also Aveni 2001, pp. 323–326).

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Fig. 35.3 The megalithic monument of Rujm el-Hiri in the Golan Heights (Photograph: ‫צ‬.‫אסף‬ (Creative Commons License))

The idea that the Neolithic and Bronze Age monument complex at Thornborough, UK, might have had stellar associations (see ▶ Chap. 106, “The Neolithic and Bronze Age Monument Complex of Thornborough, North Yorkshire, UK”) is supported by independent archaeological evidence. The complex, within a “sacred landscape” that was in active use for around 2,000 years, comprises an impressive near-alignment of three large henges built in the third millennium BC together with the remains of a 1.2 km-long cursus monument and barrow built in the previous millennium and a number of further barrows together with an “avenue” of timber posts built later, in the second millennium BC. A systematic procedure for identifying potential viewpoints of significance within the complex (Harding et al. 2006, pp. 32–48) revealed various possible stellar alignments that fit the broad chronology of the site but most notably a number of alignments upon the rising of Orion’s Belt and Sirius. The argument that these were deliberate is supported in the following way: • Thornborough was evidently a pilgrimage center of importance over a wide region. It was located on an important routeway. Archaeological field-walking has revealed an almost complete absence of surface scatters of flints from the area immediately around the henges, implying that this was not a place where people routinely lived and worked, but a large concentration of surface flint about 1 km away, much of it nonlocal and lightly worked, implying that this was a temporary encampment for people who came here from some distance.

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• The heliacal rise of Orion’s Belt, occurring in the late summer, and that of Sirius, 2 or 3 weeks later, would have provided an unequivocal signal for everyone in the surrounding area that a ceremony was imminent. • Such a ceremony would have taken place in early autumn, after harvesting had been completed and the seasonal workload had eased. By this time, Orion’s Belt would have been framed prominently in the southern entrance of each henge just before dawn. The existence of archaeological evidence to support the first part of this argument is a key factor in providing a plausible explanation as to why these particular stellar alignments may indeed have been deliberate. This is rarely possible for European megalithic monuments.

One-Off Stellar Alignments It is especially perilous to propose stellar alignments as one-off explanations of structural orientations that are one of a kind, or one of only very few examples, and in such cases corroborating evidence plays a particularly critical role. Thus in the case of Khufu’s pyramid at Giza, Egypt, it has long been noted the two “ventilation shafts” extending up and out from the King’s Chamber were aligned upon the stars Thuban (a Dra) and Alnilam (e Ori) (see ▶ Chap. 134, “Monuments of the Giza Plateau”). The fact that these two stars are known from later Pyramid Texts to have had cosmological significance gives credence to the idea that the alignments were deliberately set up in order to facilitate the passage of the pharaoh into the sky in the afterlife, an idea that is still taken seriously by many despite the fact that two similar shafts extending from the Queen’s Chamber are not similarly aligned. The most likely explanation of how the three great pharaohs’ pyramids at Giza were aligned so accurately upon the cardinal directions – to within a few minutes of arc in the case of those of Khufu and Khafre – is that they were set up by sighting upon circumpolar stars in the north (Lull 2004, pp. 287–302). A plausible procedure first suggested by Spence (2000) was that they might have used two stars, hanging a plumb line to determine when one was vertically below the other. However, Belmonte (2001) suggested that two different stars were used. Both proposals have their strengths and weaknesses (see ▶ Chap. 134, “Monuments of the Giza Plateau”), and discussions have invoked various historical and technical arguments. No new evidence or fundamentally new arguments have come to light more recently, and the issue remains unresolved. Occasionally it is possible to argue a strong case for the intentionality of a one-off structural alignment upon a stellar target “up in the sky”, despite the fact that numerous alignments of this nature could generally be found that would fit the structural orientation equally well. An example is the pa¯na¯na¯, or “sighting wall”, at the southernmost point of Maui in the Hawaiian Islands (Kirch et al. 2013; see also ▶ Chap. 216, “Ancient Hawaiian Astronomy”), which contains a single large notch through which the “kite” shape of the Southern Cross was framed when at its most upright, about 4
to the west of its culmination due south. Various linguistic,

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ethnohistoric, and ethnographic arguments combine to suggest that this was a symbolic alignment memorializing voyaging traditions. As far as selection methodology is concerned, the uncertain horizon altitude is not an issue (and circular argument about the dating is avoided) because precession carries the stars of the Southern Cross directly downward, so the direction of the alignment (as opposed to the height of the constellation in the sky) is unaffected by the passage of time.

Discussion The fact that stellar rising and setting positions shift significantly over the centuries raises methodological issues for those studying putative stellar alignments in cases where the date of construction may be uncertain within several centuries. In particular, “astronomical dating” based on putative stellar alignments, where only the alignment evidence itself supports the assumption that a particular stellar alignment was indeed intentional, is dangerously prone to circular argument (see ▶ Chap. 25, “Best Practice for Evaluating the Astronomical Significance of Archaeological Sites”). The danger is even greater where data selection issues are also involved, a classic example being Namoratung’a II in Kenya (see ▶ Chap. 86, “Mursi and Borana Calendars”; also Soper’s (1982) critique). A statistical critique is appropriate in cases where, as at Big Horn Medicine Wheel, “the sole positive evidence for the intentional nature of these alignments is the alignments themselves” (Schaefer 2006a, p. 31). Most authors do provide at least some independent evidence – archaeological, historical, or ethnographic – to support the case for intentionality and to steer their interpretations. The question then becomes the extent to which the strengths or weaknesses of the contextual arguments weigh against those of the alignment evidence, which is not something that can be determined quantitatively. Nonetheless, questions of data selection are still critical (see ▶ Chap. 25, “Best Practice for Evaluating the Astronomical Significance of Archaeological Sites”). In some cases, the existence of various different interpretations of the alignment possibilities at the same site, even though some may be more plausible in view of the broader context than others, serves to emphasize that there may be uncomfortably many possibilities and that caution is needed. A good example is Nabta Playa, Egypt (Malville et al. 1998, 2008; Brophy and Rosen 2005; Iwaniszewski n.d. – see ▶ Chap. 89, “Astronomy at Nabta Playa, Southern Egypt”). In other cases, fierce debate continues, focusing on both the alignment evidence and the contextual evidence and the balance between them. This is true of the Caracol at Chichen Itza, Mexico, which contains putative solar and Venus alignments as well as stellar ones (Schaefer 2006a, pp. 42–48, 2006b; Aveni 2006a, b, see also ▶ Chap. 24, “Nature and Analysis of Material Evidence Relevant to Archaeoastronomy”). Indeed, the inclusion of stellar possibilities may actually hinder rather than assist those aiming to demonstrate the broad astronomical potential of a site or set of sites, since they are inherently more numerous and flexible and tend to engender skepticism among those who are well aware of the methodological and data selection

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issues. For example, it is arguable that the inclusion of stellar alignment possibilities in the original assessment of the Caracol (Aveni et al. 1975) – which undoubtedly added to the force of Schaefer’s overall critique (2006a, pp. 42–48) but, in the terms of that critique, could not then be excluded on a post hoc basis (Schaefer 2006a, pp. 43–44) – draws attention away from solar or planetary alignments at the site for which a stronger case can be made.

Cross-References ▶ Ancient Hawaiian Astronomy ▶ Astronomy at Nabta Playa, Southern Egypt ▶ Astronomy in the Levant During the Bronze Age and Iron Age ▶ Basic Concepts of Positional Astronomy ▶ Best Practice for Evaluating the Astronomical Significance of Archaeological Sites ▶ Carahunge - A Critical Assessment ▶ Cultural Interpretation of Archaeological Evidence Relating to Astronomy ▶ Geoglyphs of the Peruvian Coast ▶ Greek Temples and Rituals ▶ Long-Term Changes in the Appearance of the Sky ▶ Monuments of the Giza Plateau ▶ Mursi and Borana Calendars ▶ Orientation of Egyptian Temples: An Overview ▶ Nature and Analysis of Material Evidence Relevant to Archaeoastronomy ▶ Patterns of Orientation in the Megalithic Tombs of the Western Mediterranean ▶ Recumbent Stone Circles ▶ Taula Sanctuaries of Menorca ▶ The Neolithic and Bronze Age Monument Complex of Thornborough, North Yorkshire, UK

References Aveni AF (1988) The Thom paradigm in the Americas: the case of the cross-circle designs. In: Ruggles CLN (ed) Records in stone: papers in memory of Alexander Thom. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, pp 442–472 Aveni AF (2001) Skywatchers. University of Texas Press, Austin Aveni AF (2006a) Evidence and intentionality: on method in archaeoastronomy. In: Bostwick TW, Bates B (eds) Viewing the sky through past and present cultures. Pueblo Grande Museum Anthropological papers no. 15. City of Phoenix, Phoenix, pp 57–70 Aveni AF (2006b) Schaefer’s rigid ethnocentric criteria. In: Bostwick TW, Bates B (eds) Viewing the sky through past and present cultures. Pueblo Grande Museum Anthropological papers no. 15. City of Phoenix, Phoenix, pp 79–83 Aveni AF, Mizrachi Y (1998) The geometry and astronomy of Rujm el-Hiri, a megalithic site in the southern Levant. J Field Archaeol 25(4):475–496

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Aveni AF, Gibbs SL, Hartung H (1975) The Caracol tower at Chichen Itza: an ancient astronomical observatory? Science 188:977–985 Belmonte JA (2001) On the orientation of Old Kingdom Egyptian pyramids. Archaeoastronomy 26(Supplement to the Journal for the History for Astronomy 32):S1–S20 Belmonte JA, Shaltout M, Fekri M (2009) Astronomy, landscape and symbolism: a study of the orientation of ancient Egyptian temples. In: Belmonte JA, Shaltout M (eds) In search of cosmic order: selected essays on Egyptian archaeoastronomy. Supreme Council of Antiquities Press, Cairo, pp 215–283 Boutsikas E (2011) Astronomical evidence for the timing of the Panathenaia. Am J Archaeol 115:303–309 Boutsikas E, Hannah R (2011) Ritual and the cosmos: astronomy and myth in the Athenian Acropolis. In: Ruggles CLN (ed) Archaeoastronomy and ethnoastronomy: building bridges between cultures. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, pp 342–348 Boutsikas E, Hannah R (2012) Aitia, astronomy and the timing of the Arrhe¯phoria. Annu Br Sch Athens 107:233–245 Boutsikas E, Ruggles CLN (2011) Temples, stars, and ritual landscapes: the potential for archaeoastronomy in ancient Greece. Am J Archaeol 115:55–68 Brophy TG, Rosen PA (2005) Satellite imagery measures of the astronomically aligned megaliths at Nabta Playa. Mediterr Archaeol Archaeom 5:15–24 Cooke JA, Few RW, Morgan JG, Ruggles CLN (1977) Indicated declinations at the Callanish megalithic sites. J Hist Astron 8:113–133 Eddy JA (1974) Astronomical alignment of the Big Horn medicine wheel. Science 184:1035–1043 Harding J, Johnson B, Goodrick G (2006) Neolithic cosmology and the monument complex of Thornborough, North Yorkshire. Archaeoastron J Astron Cult 20:28–53 Heggie DC (1981) Megalithic science. Thames and Hudson, London Hoskin MA (2001) Tombs, temples and their orientations. Ocarina Books, Bognor Regis Iwaniszewski S (nd) Archaeoastronomical analysis of site E-92-9 from Nabta Playa: a reassessment. In: Shaltout M, Belmonte JA (eds) From Alexandria to Al-Iskandariya: astronomy and culture in the ancient Mediterranean and beyond. Proceedings of the SEAC 2009 conference (in press) Kelley DH, Milone EF (2005) Exploring ancient skies: an encyclopedic survey of archaeoastronomy. Springer, New York Kirch PV, Ruggles CLN, Sharp WD (2013) The Pa¯na¯na¯ or “sighting wall” at Hanamauloa, Kahikinui, Maui: archaeological investigation of a possible navigational monument. J Polyn Soc 122:45–68 Lull J (2004) La astronomı´a en el antiguo Egipto. Universitat de Vale`ncia, Valencia Malville JM, Wendorf F, Mazar AA, Schild R (1998) Megaliths and Neolithic astronomy in southern Egypt. Nature 392:488–490 Malville JM, Schild R, Wendorf F, Brenmer R (2008) Astronomy of Nabta Playa. In: Holbrook JC, Medupe RT, Urama JO (eds) African cultural astronomy. Springer, New York, pp 131–143 Proverbio E (1993) New evidence concerning possible astronomical orientations of ‘Tombe di Giganti’. In: Ruggles CLN (ed) Archaeoastronomy in the 1990s. Group D Publications, Loughborough, pp 324–331 Purrington RD (1988) Heliacal rising and setting: quantitative aspects. Archaeoastronomy 12(Supplement to the Journal for the History for Astronomy 19):S72–S84 Ridpath I (2004) Norton’s star atlas and reference handbook, epoch 2000.0. Pi Press, New York Ruggles CLN (1990) A statistical examination of the radial line azimuths at Nazca. In: Aveni AF (ed) The lines of Nazca. American Philosophical Society, Philadelphia, pp 245–269 Ruggles CLN (1999) Astronomy in prehistoric Britain and Ireland. Yale University Press, New Haven Salt A, Boutsikas E (2005) Knowing when to consult the oracle at Delphi. Antiquity 79:564–572 Schaefer BE (1986) Atmospheric extinction effects on stellar alignments. Archaeoastronomy 10(Supplement to the Journal for the History for Astronomy 17):S32–S42

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Schaefer BE (1987) Heliacal rise phenomena. Archaeoastronomy 11(Supplement to the Journal for the History for Astronomy 18):S19–S33 Schaefer BE (1993) Astronomy and the limits of vision. Vistas Astron 36:311–361 Schaefer BE (2000) The heliacal rise of Sirius and ancient Egyptian chronology. J Hist Astron 31:149–155 Schaefer BE (2006a) Case studies of three of the most famous claimed archaeoastronomical alignments in North America. In: Bostwick TW, Bates B (eds) Viewing the sky through past and present cultures. Pueblo Grande Museum Anthropological papers no 15. City of Phoenix, Phoenix, pp 27–56 Schaefer BE (2006b) No astronomical alignments at the Caracol. In: Bostwick TW, Bates B (eds) Viewing the sky through past and present cultures. Pueblo Grande Museum Anthropological papers no 15. City of Phoenix, Phoenix, pp 71–77 Shaltout M, Belmonte JA (2009) Introduction: under ancient Egyptian skies. In: Belmonte JA, Shaltout M (eds) In search of cosmic order: selected essays on Egyptian archaeoastronomy. Supreme Council of Antiquities Press, Cairo, pp 13–26 Shaltout M, Belmonte JA, Fekri M (2007a) On the orientation of ancient Egyptian temples: (3) key points in Lower Egypt and Siwa Oasis, Part I. J Hist Astron 38:141–160 Shaltout M, Belmonte JA, Fekri M (2007b) On the orientation of ancient Egyptian temples: (3) key points in Lower Egypt and Siwa Oasis, Part II. J Hist Astron 38:413–442 Soper R (1982) Archaeo-astronomical Cushites: some comments. Azania 17:145–162 Spence K (2000) Ancient Egyptian chronology and the orientation of pyramids. Nature 408:320–324 Thom A (1955) A statistical examination of the megalithic sites in Britain. J R Stat Soc A118:275–291 Thom A (1967) Megalithic sites in Britain. Oxford University Press, London Thom A (1971) Megalithic lunar observatories. Oxford University Press, London Vogt D (1993) Medicine wheel astronomy. In: Ruggles CLN, Saunders NJ (eds) Astronomies and cultures. University Press of Colorado, Niwot, pp 163–201

Part III Pre-Columbian and Indigenous North America Stephen C. McCluskey

Inuit Astronomy

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Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Role of Latitude . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cosmology . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Star Naming . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Mythology . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Time Telling . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Navigation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Issues Raised . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Further Directions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Abstract

Inuit live mainly in the treeless Arctic regions of North America, Greenland, and parts of northeastern Siberia. Their cosmology, based on shamanistic belief, constructed a view of the sky and its contents distinctively suited to their spiritual and pragmatic needs. Their astronomy, particularly for those groups living far above the Arctic Circle, reflects the unique appearance of the celestial sphere at high northerly latitudes, demonstrated most noticeably in the annual disappearance of the sun during midwinter months.

Introduction This case study on Inuit astronomy is based on a series of interviews with Inuit elders recorded between 1985 and 2005 in the community of Igloolik, in the

J. MacDonald Nunavut Research Institute, Iqaluit, Nunavut, Canada e-mail: [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_40, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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Nunavut territory, of Canada’s eastern Arctic (MacDonald 2000). While the star lore and astronomical knowledge presented here relates particularly to Igloolik and neighboring communities in the north Baffin Island region, its cosmological principles and practice are generally applicable across the entire Inuit area. Similar astronomical traditions are also found among the native peoples of northeastern Siberia, such as the Chukchi and Evenks who, in common with the Inuit, have a worldview based on shamanistic belief (Anisimov 1972). Inuit occupy a large swath of the circumpolar North, stretching over 5,000 km east from the shores of Bering Strait, along the Arctic coasts of Alaska and Canada and finally across Davis Strait to the littorals of northwest and east Greenland. Numbering around 150,000, Inuit are predominantly tundra coastal dwellers, although a few groups live within the margins of the tree line, notably in parts of Alaska, northern Quebec, and Labrador (Nuttall 2005). Coastal Inuit traditionally subsisted mainly on marine mammals (seals, walrus, and whales), while those living inland relied, almost exclusively, on caribou. For all groups, diet was augmented seasonally by fish, by migratory game birds, and, minimally, by foraged berries and roots. Across their vast, sparsely populated territory, there are significant regional variations in dialect, cultural practice, and technology resulting from adaptation – over time – to the requirements and contingencies of local conditions. These differences, however, did not lessen the ancient commonalities underlying Inuit society as is evident in their perceptions, understandings, and uses of the celestial and atmospheric spheres. Over the past 50 years, Inuit have gradually become more urbanized, moving from their camps into crowded settlements established by governments throughout the Arctic. This increased urbanization is quickly eroding many elements of Inuit cultural practice and beliefs, including, unfortunately, the knowledge and application of their traditional astronomy.

Role of Latitude Igloolik’s latitude is just below 70 North, placing it approximately 350 km inside the Arctic Circle. At this latitude, the sky takes on an appearance unfamiliar to observers in more temperate climes. Refraction aside, stars with declinations further south than 20 are not visible. In winter, the sun is below the horizon from the end of November to mid-January and in summer continuously above the horizon – the so-called midnight sun – for about 10 weeks beginning in mid-May. Owing to low temperatures, atmospheric refraction in the Arctic is often intensified affecting the appearance and behavior of celestial objects near the horizon. This phenomenon greatly influences Inuit beliefs about the sun when it reappears on the horizon after winter’s darkness. Sky conditions at this latitude are rarely optimal for celestial observation. In the spring, summer, and early fall, the skies are too bright to see any stars. Nor is this

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period entirely balanced by the long, dark winters when the sky is frequently obscured by a variety of conditions including snow, blowing snow, cloud cover, ice crystals, the aurora borealis, and the moon which, in some years – depending on the lunar nodal cycle – is circumpolar for several days (Ruggles 2005, pp. 193–195). The overall effect of these conditions on the would-be stargazer tends to be one of relative impoverishment. These limitations, however, did not prevent Inuit from developing a unique relationship with the sky, elegantly molded to their social, economic, and spiritual needs.

Cosmology Inuit everywhere tended to regard the Earth as being at the center of the universe. Multiple celestial realms sometimes up to four or five in number were layered horizontally or spherically above the Earth, each supporting its own distinct world often associated with a particular “heaven” or “land of the dead” (MacDonald 2000). The observable flatness of water on the lakes and sea, together with an evident circular horizon, predetermined the notion of the Earth as a large flat disc, its perimeter bordered by the sky (Gubser 1965). A fringe of high cliffs around the lip of the disc effectively prevented anything living from passing to the region beyond. Inuit tradition everywhere underlines the close links between the Earth and the sky: the two realms are analogous, each having in winter similar, snow-clad topography. Spatially, the sky and its contents – especially the moon – were readily accessible to shamans on their spirit flights. The Earth is also connected to a number of other regions both below and above its surface, including, for example, the aurora borealis, where the spirits of those who died from blood loss, through murder or childbirth, dwell. Wrongdoing and taboo breaking carried dangerous consequences, sometimes leading to the creation of celestial objects. Legends warn of Inuit being transformed into stars after committing some grave social transgression. The best known of such narratives is the ubiquitous Inuit epic in which greed, murder, incest, and retribution account for the creation of the sun, moon, and the first stars (Rasmussen 1929; MacDonald 2000).

Star Naming Apart from the sun, moon, and the planets, the astronomy of the Igloolik Inuit settles on some 33 individual stars, 2 star clusters, and 1 nebula. Of the stars, seven have individual names, the remainder being incorporated into some 16 or 17 named asterisms (Table 36.1). Several stars hold two designations: an everyday “ordinary” name and a “literary” name used when the star serves as the personification of a mythic character. Only single stars are used to represent humans and animals, a practice consistent with the view that most stars were once animate beings

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Table 1 Names of the principal stars and asterisms observed by Inuit in the north Baffin Island area of Nunavut Territory, Canada Inuit name and meaning Aagjuuk (“indistinct”?) Akuttujuuk (“those [two] apart”) Kingulliq (“the one behind”) Nanurjuk (“polar bear”) Nuuttuittuq (“ it never moves”) Pituaq (“three-legged pot stand”) Qimmiit (“dogs”) Quturjuuk (“collar bones”) Sakiattiak (“breast bone”) Sikuliaqsiujuittuq (“he who never goes on the [sea] ice”) Singuuriq (“it pulsates”) Sivulliik (“those [two] in front”) Tukturjuit (“caribou pl.”)

Ullaktut (“the runners”) Qangiammaariik (“cousins”) Aviguti (“that which divides [the sky]”)

Principal star(s) and asterisms Altair and Tarazed Betelgeuse and Bellatrix Vega Aldebaran Polaris Schadar, Caph and Cih/Tsih Hyades Pollux and Castor/Capella and Menkalinan Pleiades Procyon Sirius Arcturus and Muphrid Dubhe, Merak, Phecda, Megrea, Alioth, Mizar-Alcor, and Alkaid Alnitak, Alnilam and Mintaka

Constellations/ Nebula/Galaxy Aquila Orion Lyra Taurus Ursa Minor Cassiopeia Taurus Gemini and Auriga Taurus Canis Minor Canis Major Boo¨tes Ursa Major

Orion Orion Nebula (M42) The Galaxy

on Earth, possessed of single souls, which in transformation retained their individual identities. Inanimate objects are represented by groupings of stars corresponding only coincidentally, if at all, to classical European constellations. Designations for stars and asterisms fall into two principal categories: human and animal personifications and “intrinsic” designations, derived from some particular feature of the stars including color; distance of separation; whether the star, in its western progression across the sky, is leading or trailing; and in the case of Polaris, its apparently fixed position. Two groupings have anatomical designations – the “breastbone” (the Pleiades) and “collarbones” (Pollux and Castor/Capella and Menkalinan) – based on the imagined arrangement of the stars. Another category includes material objects characteristic of Inuit culture such as a soapstone lamp stand or a blubber container (Table 36.1).

Mythology At a rudimentary level, star mythology “maps” the celestial sphere, and through graphic narrative teaches the location of various stars and their “literary” relationship to each other, instruction crucial when using stars in time telling or in

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navigation. Celestial mythology can also be seen as akin to hypotheses, advancing rationale for the way things are or seem to be (McCrickard 1990). For example, the myth of “sister sun and brother moon” – the so-called incest myth – involving a brother’s abuse of his sister and his subsequent pursuit of her into the sky, offers Inuit satisfactory explanations for number of celestial and atmospheric phenomena including the clockwise motion of the sun across the sky, the difference in luminosity between the sun and the moon, the dark patches on the moon’s face, and the reasons for sunspots, eclipses, and the phases of the moon (MacDonald 2000). This myth also provides Inuit with their principal metaphor for several of nature’s basic dichotomies – night/day, summer/winter, and male/female.

Time Telling The sun and moon, along with various stars in Auriga, Gemini, Ursa Major, and the Pleiades, were more or less taken for granted in marking the passage of during the day and night. Little attention was paid to the equinoxes or to summer solstice. However, particularly for Inuit living above the Arctic Circle, observing the winter solstice was important because it marked, paradoxically, both the darkest part of winter and the promise of the sun’s return. Thus, the first appearance of the stars Alatir and Tarazed (in Aquila) around mid-December, in the northeast quadrant sky, were used universally across the Arctic to mark, approximately, the winter solstice. This also signaled, in some parts, the time for a midwinter celebration. The idiosyncratic effects of refraction on the sun’s apparent behavior, when it first reappeared on the horizon in the new year, often caused anxiety. This was a delicate time, and strict taboos were observed to ensure the sun’s rapid and full return. Its recovery was anxiously observed until it reached a meridian altitude of approximately 15 (measured by the width of a mitten on an outstretched hand “fitting” between the lower limb of the sun and the horizon). At this stage, the sun was deemed to be safely back, longer dog-team journeys could now be taken and preparations begun for moving to spring camps. Inuit usually numbered 13 “moon months”, each named for a predictable seasonal characteristic of the environment coinciding with a particular moon: the nesting of eider ducks, the shedding of velvet on caribou antlers, or the birth of seal pups are common moon designations. In Igloolik, the moon associated with the sunless period was known as tauvijjuaq, the “great darkness”. Echoing the mythological pursuit of the sun by the moon (see above), these two luminaries compete with each other around the time of the sun’s return to the horizon. The outcome of their competition determines the weather for the coming year. If a new moon is seen in early January, prior to the sun’s appearance on the horizon, the moon was said to have won the race, and a cool, wet summer would follow. Conversely, a new moon, occurring shortly after the sun reappeared, gave the victory to the latter and with it the promise of a warm dry summer.

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Navigation Inuit wayfinding relied primarily on close observation of various local environmental phenomena including unique terrain, snowdrift formation, sky conditions, wind direction, tidal currents, the flight direction of birds, and lichen growth on rocks. The sun, moon, major stars, and even the aurora borealis played their part on occasion, but no one factor prevailed in determining direction: ever-changing circumstances dictated which combination of clues would be used in any given situation. If, for instance, the horizon was obscured by ice fog, walrus hunters on the moving sea-ice floe off Igloolik would use Vega or Arcturus and their knowledge of tidal currents to find their way back to the land-fast ice. Pollux, Castor, Capella, and Menkalinan, together forming a single Inuit asterism (Table 36.1), aided in keeping dog teams on course over featureless terrain. In the more southerly regions of Inuit territory, Polaris was used as a directional indicator, where its altitude was low enough to permit comfortable use. Above latitudes of 70 N Polaris, appearing to be almost directly overhead, is ineffective in navigation.

Issues Raised Over the past 50 years, most Inuit have moved from a seminomadic life on the land into small permanent settlements scattered across their homelands. The social and environmental circumstances that long sustained their culture and traditional values are rapidly diminishing. In common with most indigenous astronomies, Inuit views of the sky are rapidly giving way to the encroachment of western perspectives: Inuit children, admitting little knowledge of their own traditions, can readily point out and name a few familiar European constellations. For Inuit hunters, the ancient and necessary knowledge of their “guiding stars” is now almost totally eclipsed by GPS technology.

Further Directions Beyond the shared elements of Inuit cosmology across the Arctic, there are many important regional variations and emphases not fully comprehended or recorded. Gathering what remains of this information from extant knowledgeable Inuit elders should be an immediate priority if we are to achieve a more complete understanding of the complexities of Inuit cosmology. Education authorities in all regions of the Arctic should be encouraged to teach Inuit astronomy and cosmology as part of their schools’ cultural curricula. It is important that Inuit children discover that their culture developed astronomical traditions paralleling, and just as valid, as those of the Western world.

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References Anisimov AF (1972) Cosmological concepts of the peoples of the north. In: Henry NM (ed) Studies in Siberian shamanism, 2nd edn. University of Toronto Press, Toronto, pp 157–229 Gubser NJ (1965) The Nunamiut Eskimos: hunters of caribou. Yale University Press, New Haven MacDonald J (2000) The Arctic sky: Inuit astronomy, star lore, and legend. Nunavut Research Centre/Royal Ontario Museum, Iqaluit/Toronto McCrickard J (1990) Eclipse of the sun: an investigation into sun and moon myths. Gothic Image Publications, Glastonbury Nuttall M (2005) Inuit. In: Nutall M (ed) Encyclopedia of the Arctic, vol 2. Routledge, New York/ London, pp 990–997 Rasmussen K (1929) Intellectual culture of the Iglulik Eskimos in report of the fifth Thule expedition 1921–1924 vol 7, no 1. Gyldendalske Boghandel, Copenhagen Ruggles C (2005) Ancient astronomy: an encyclopedia of cosmologies and myth. ABC-CLIO, Santa Barbara

Medicine Wheels of the Great Plains

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David Vogt

Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Billions of Boulders . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Culture and Theory . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Memorial Theories . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Ceremonial Theories . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Pictorial Theories . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Utilitarian Theories . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Medicine Wheel Archaeoastronomy . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Methodology . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Scientific Status . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Future Directions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Medicine Wheels are unexplained aboriginal boulder configurations found primarily on hilltops and river valley vistas across the northwest Great Plains of North America. Their varied, complex designs have inspired diverse hypotheses concerning their meaning and purpose, including astronomical ones. While initial “observatory” speculations were unfounded, and quests to “decode” these structures remain unfulfilled and possibly misguided, the Medicine Wheels nevertheless represent a uniquely worthwhile case study in archaeoastronomical theory and method. In addition, emerging technologies for data acquisition and analysis pertinent to Medicine Wheels offer prospectively important new sight lines for the future of archaeoastronomy.

D. Vogt Media & Graphics Interdisciplinary Centre (MAGIC) Laboratory, University of British Columbia, Vancouver, BC, Canada e-mail: [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_41, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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Introduction Medicine Wheels rode the dawn of archaeoastronomy to instant celebrity as “America’s Stonehenges” (Eddy 1974). The proposal was that various features of certain sites were aligned to solstice and star-rise phenomena, thereby serving as observing instruments for prehistoric calendar-minded shamans. However it quickly became apparent that there was no scientific substance to this hypothesis, and the premature fame may have contributed to an ensuing period of remarkably reduced attention. Despite almost a doubling of the number of known Medicine Wheel sites over the last two decades, very little has been published during this time, including by traditional anthropological and archaeological researchers. There are other contributing factors to this quietude. First, while the oldest Medicine Wheels may predate the earliest phases of Stonehenge, the youngest ones bridge awkwardly into historic times, thereby enmeshing all sites in land claim and cultural identity issues. It is unlikely that any new scientific excavations will take place in the foreseeable future. Another factor is simply that the Medicine Wheels are not as grand as megaliths and many other prehistoric monuments. While their geographical settings are typically monumental, the structures themselves are by contrast quite modest, built from unmodified hand-carried boulders laid in patterns on the ground. Soil deposition over time can help anchor these boulders, but the sites are still inherently fragile. Untold numbers of sites have been destroyed by farmers clearing land and by grazing cattle. In this sense, Medicine Wheels should be considered as fragile as other forms of “rock art”, and protected as such. Additionally, the exposed nature of Medicine Wheels lends to a perception, supported by early excavations, that the sites are largely devoid of cultural materials. A consequence of this is that dates for construction, modification, and/or use are quite rare. While such deficits are daunting, Medicine Wheels still offer an important and fertile ground for research. For example, because the boulders are small they represent unambiguous “points” in three dimensions for analysis. This is a relatively unusual bonus in archaeoastronomy. And because so many Medicine Wheels are known, their internal variability offers indirect evaluations of many hypotheses. This chapter surveys this current Medicine Wheel research ground in terms of issues and potentials relevant to archaeoastronomy.

Billions of Boulders Medicine Wheels were constructed by foot-nomadic aboriginal populations whose primary building materials were earth, boulders, wooden poles, and animal skins. Boulders are more abundant on the Great Plains than stars in the night sky, and for thousands of years these boulders were used for countless purposes. So the first

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critical requirement of Medicine Wheel research is to differentiate them from other boulder constructs, including the literally millions of boulder “tipi rings” from about 4 m to 10 m in diameter that once held down the edges of domestic tipi structures. The second requirement is to determine if coherent groups of Medicine Wheels exist. This is crucial because earlier researchers have selected one or a few sites to support a particular theory. For example, if a researcher selected the few sites that seem to point toward MacDonald’s restaurants, they could bolster their case by saying all other sites are not Medicine Wheels, or are not “MacDonald’s Medicine Wheels”. Therefore, few reasonable conclusions can be made without an independent, objective classification. There is not space here to critically review the few existing definitions of Medicine Wheels (e.g., Brumley 1986), so the author will simply state his current definition: A Medicine Wheel is a ground-level configuration of boulders and/or earth that is ostensibly: 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6.

Of Great Plains aboriginal construction; Non-domestic in function; Concentric in design; Imperfectly symmetrical; Greater than 10 m in diameter; and Comprised of at least two of the following three features: • A distinct sense of place created by a center-defining cairn and/or a landform peak or prospect-creating vista; • Radiating spoke(s); and • Concentric ring(s).

Using this definition there are currently 351 known Medicine Wheel sites (179 verified, 57 probable, and 115 possible) distributed primarily in Alberta, Saskatchewan, and nearby states and provinces (Fig. 37.1). The smallest are a few meters in diameter, the largest extend for a few hundred meters. Some are quite simple and others intriguingly complex. Some are made with a few tens of boulders, others with tens of thousands. The author has completed the only systematic cluster analysis (Vogt 1990) resulting in four statistically significant groups: Group 1: Defined by a small cairn and spoke(s) Group 2: Large cairn and surrounding ring(s) Group 3: Large cairn, ring(s), and entryway(s) Group 4: Small ring and spoke(s) Representative members of each group are presented in Figs. 37.2, 37.3, 37.4, and 37.5, respectively, taken from the author’s database of plans digitized from survey maps, aerial photographs, sketches and descriptions. For many more examples see Vogt (1993).

Culture and Theory The Northwest Plains were icebound until about 10,000 years ago. The earliest Medicine Wheels were constructed more than 5,000 years ago, and the evidence suggests that they were a relatively continuous part of Plains culture throughout the prehistoric period.

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Fig. 37.1 Distribution of Medicine Wheel sites in the Northwest Plains of North America

However, as many as 30 different aboriginal tribes made intermittent use of the Great Plains during this time, meaning that no specific tribe can be identified as the makers or even primary users of Medicine Wheels. Brace (2005) provides a pertinent overview. The introduction of the horse by Europeans irreversibly transformed traditional prehistoric lifeways and territories on the Great Plains. It follows that a uniform decoding of Medicine Wheels is unrealistic because different tribes probably built, modified, adopted, and repurposed them alternately over thousands of years. Even if the Groups described above represent valid cultural or functional associations, the probability is that these associations also voice a blend of traditions. A case in point is the set of protohistoric Blackfoot Medicine Wheels in Alberta which are reported as memorials to chiefs. These are clearly derivative structures,

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Fig. 37.2 Rinker, Alberta. Representative Group 1 Medicine Wheel – identified as a small cairn and spoke(s)

Fig. 37.3 Buffalo Hill Cairn, Alberta. Representative Group 2 Medicine Wheel – identified as a large cairn and surrounding ring(s)

more symbolic in design and not specially located as most Medicine Wheels seem to be. The situation is reminiscent of work by Klassen (1998) making the distinction between “iconic” and “narrative” rock art in this same area, where a narrative trend apparently blossomed in post-contact time. With Medicine Wheels the trend seems opposite, with the strongly narrative elements of prehistoric sites (irregular,

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Fig. 37.4 Sundial Hill, Alberta. Representative Group 3 Medicine Wheel – identified as a large cairn, ring(s), and entryway(s)

Fig. 37.5 Suitor 2, Alberta. Representative Group 4 Medicine Wheel – identified as a small ring and spoke(s)

eccentric, and imperfectly symmetrical features and dramatic landscape selection) muted into a simple iconic form. Modern Medicine Wheels created by aboriginal and new age groups have pursued this narrative-free trend toward precise, geometrical symbolism. There are nearly a score of plausible extant theories regarding the function of Medicine Wheels. These can be generalized into four broad categories, which will be briefly reviewed here:

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Memorial Theories Too few human bones have been found at too few Medicine Wheel sites to support a Mortuary Monument hypothesis, even considering the effects of animals and “potting” (vandalism and treasure hunting). Perhaps the best evidence for this idea occurs with Group 4 sites, where the small rings are the same size as tipi rings and typically sit among other tipi rings, easily conjuring a scenario of a death lodge with an obituary of spokes. There is much better support for a Commemorative Monument hypothesis, where Medicine Wheels could signify an important person or event. The “narrative” design mentioned above relates well to the sacred aspects of prehistoric land use (see Lobb 2009 and Diggs and Brunswig 2013) and even the idea of Medicine Wheels being “boulder bundles” in the sense of Zedeno’s analysis of Plains sacred bundles (Zedeno 2008) comprising an aggregation of events within a larger cultural narrative. Medicine Wheels somehow seem to be making a statement, or are intentionally memorable, which resonates with these ideas.

Ceremonial Theories The extensive scholarly discourse concerning Plains ceremonial traditions generates many opportunities for symbolic associations with Medicine Wheels, but none of these are truly close or compelling. The question of how Medicine Wheels might have been connected with Sun Dance, Thirst Dance, Vision Quest, Buffalo Cult, etc., ceremonials has never been pursued fully. It was once considered that Medicine Wheels must have been ceremonial because their special, high locations seem inconveniently removed from protected camping spots and resources such as water, yet there is recent evidence that such high locations were actually preferred for camping due to the ease of monitoring roaming bison populations (Friesen N, 2012, personal communication). One thing Medicine Wheel placements can assure us is that they were built and used during summer months when such locations were habitable.

Pictorial Theories The northwest Plains are dotted with special pictograph sites, at least some of which were used consistently for thousands of years. There are also a number of “ribstones” – large boulders with incised patterns, including some patterns similar to Medicine Wheels. So it is not unreasonable to consider that Medicine Wheels themselves might be a complementary form of art, sympathetic magic, or religious expression, akin to petroform sites found on the eastern woodland border of the Plains. Indeed, the many Medicine Wheels which involve an obvious human or animal effigy raise

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the possibility that all Medicine Wheels are effigies, with most being much more abstract than some. A proposal that Medicine Wheels may have employed standard length units and geometry, following on Alexander Thom’s work with European megaliths, is not supported by available data. On the other hand, there is good evidence that Medicine Wheels may have originally incorporated a standing central pole or tipi (which would have since rotted away), opening the possibility that these acted as a gnomon to describe shapes and features via cast shadows and viewing lines. As interesting as this may be, there is no direct way to test this hypothesis without construction dates, pole heights, etc.

Utilitarian Theories When considering the prospect of navigating across the flat expanse of the Great Plains, it is natural to think that Medicine Wheels might be Signposts that “point” to routes, campsites, resources, sacred places, significant landforms, events in a person’s life, other signposts, etc. They could also be territory markers. And as discussed earlier, the Observatory hypothesis proposes a calendar marking function. All of these ideas lack quantifiable evidence, and are challenged by circumstances such as when several Medicine Wheels are found at the same location, often only meters apart. It should be remembered that very few of the above theories are exclusive of each other, and could have coexisted simultaneously or serially. It is also important to recognize that whatever a primary function might have been, a complementary orientation of the configuration toward a cardinal, solstice, or other direction would have been as natural to their builders as orienting their tipi doors away from the wind. The distinction between an approximate, respectful orientation and a precise, purposeful alignment is seminal to archaeoastronomy.

Medicine Wheel Archaeoastronomy Methodology The special significance of Medicine Wheels to archaeoastronomical research is that they are particularly amenable to approaches involving information science. Plains aboriginal cultures are very much a living and active presence, offering a rich bounty of knowledge systems, traditions, and material culture to create both a fertile reference ground and responsive sounding board for research questions. For example, much is known about Plains star lore and cosmological thought. A limitation of the direct ethnographic approach is that this richness is almost too great, and too full of opportunity, relative to specific surviving cultural

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knowledge concerning Medicine Wheels. A case in point is the work done by a pair of leading Plains anthropologists, utilizing strong ties to aboriginal elders and communities, which arrived at a major conclusion that Medicine Wheels were “solstice-aligned” (Kehoe and Kehoe 1979). The ethnographic reference ground and sounding board all too readily embraced this excitingly plausible conclusion arriving from a new discipline – a discipline that the anthropologists at least were not familiar with. Information science provides a different kind of reference ground and sounding board. We are fortunate that there are so many Medicine Wheels, and that they are so rich in features, dimensions, site characteristics, etc. The systematic analysis of the structure, implications, and limitations of this information bounty is where archaeoastronomy can best offer the kind of rigor that research questions of this kind deserve.

Scientific Status The current science can be summarized as follows: 1. There is no evidence for the precise, purposeful astronomical alignment of Medicine Wheels. 2. There is good evidence that at least one and possibly two groups of Medicine Wheels were very approximately oriented in azimuth. 3. The absence of reliable dates for construction and use is a severe limiting factor in archaeoastronomical studies of Medicine Wheels. In short, the archaeoastronomical claims about Medicine Wheels were premature. It is still quite possible that Medicine Wheels have an important and even precise astronomical context; it is just that we will require more and better information than we currently have before we might discover and understand what this might be.

Future Directions While obtaining accurate dates for Medicine Wheels remains merely hopeful, there are promising new streams of research underway. For example, the continuing giant strides taken by geographical information systems (GIS) in recent years continue to expand the scope and accuracy of the available reference ground. The ability to generate precise 3D elevation models of Medicine Wheel sites opens a frontier of “comparative landscape archaeology” that promises a rich perspective on questions such as the site selection and viewing intents of Medicine Wheel builders. From a forensic perspective, this may allow researchers to learn something about the original nature of sites that may since have been heavily modified or even destroyed. Another very promising avenue comes from improving sensing and platform technologies such as unmanned aerial vehicles (UAVs). A significant challenge in

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Medicine Wheel studies is the uneven quality and consistency of survey data. It is now both economical and feasible to obtain uniform, comprehensive, highprecision datasets, including identification of boulders and features that may be soil covered. This is especially important given that new excavations are unlikely to happen and such data can be acquired without any disturbance of Medicine Wheel sites. Acknowledgments The author would like to thank a host of contributors in multiple states and provinces for help with the activation of the current research program, and particularly Nathan Friesen, Senior Archaeologist with the Government of Saskatchewan, a very welcome collaborator.

References Brace G (2005) Boulder Monuments of Saskatchewan. Saskatchewan Archaeological Society, Saskatoon Brumley J (1986) Medicine wheels of the northern plains: a summary and appraisal. Restricted publication, Archaeological survey of Alberta Diggs D, Brunswig R (2013) The use of GIS and weights-of-evidence in the reconstruction of a Native American sacred landscape in Rocky Mountain National Park, Colorado. In: Lozny L, Bates D (eds) Continuity and change in cultural mountain adaptations: from prehistory to contemporary threats. Springer, New York (in press) Eddy J (1974) Astronomical alignment of the big horn medicine wheel. Science 184:1035–1043 Kehoe A, Kehoe T (1979) Solstice-aligned boulder configurations in Saskatchewan. Canadian Ethnology Service paper no. 48. National Museums of Canada, Ottawa Klassen M (1998) Icon and narrative in transition: contact-period rock-art at Writing-On-Stone, southern Alberta. In: Chippindale C, Tacon P (eds) The archaeology of rock art. Cambridge University Press, London Lobb WM (2009) The shadow of Chief Mountain and the Porcupine Hills: an analysis of prehistoric land use on the Piikani Reserve #147, Alberta, Masters Thesis, University of Calgary, Calgary, Alberta Vogt D (1990) An information science analysis of great plains medicine wheels. Dissertation, Simon Fraser University, Vancouver. summit.sfu.ca/system/files/iritems1/4638/b14460105. pdf Vogt D (1993) Medicine Wheel astronomy. In: Ruggles CLN, Saunders NJ (eds) Astronomies and cultures. University Press of Colorado, Niwot, pp. 163–201 Zedeno M (2008) Bundled worlds: the roles and interactions of complex objects from the North American plains. Journal of Archaeological Method and Theory 15:362–378

Hohokam Archaeoastronomy

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Todd W. Bostwick

Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Hohokam Solar Observations . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Hohokam Village Orientations . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Conclusions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Abstract

The Hohokam culture, one of the major pre-Columbian cultural groups in the American Southwest, is well known for their extensive irrigation systems, the largest in the New World. Choreographing the movement of people and scheduling the cleaning and repair of their canals during low water periods, as well as harvesting their bountiful crops during two growing seasons, would have required a calendar system that reflected the natural cycles of the Sonoran Desert. In addition, orienting their ritual architecture and public spaces such as ball courts, platform mounds, and plazas according to the cardinal directions would have required knowledge of the sun’s daily and annual movement through the sky. This chapter describes archaeological evidence at Hohokam sites for marking of the sun’s cycles, especially during the solstices and equinoxes, with rock art and adobe architecture. Several locations are identified in the Phoenix region of Arizona, including mountains and prominent rock formations, where the solstices and equinoxes could be tracked through horizon alignments during sunrise and sunset and by light-and-shadow patterns during midday on those

T.W. Bostwick PaleoWest Archaeology, Phoenix, AZ, USA Verde Valley Archaeology Center, Camp Verde, AZ, USA e-mail: [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_43, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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solar events. Several Hohokam villages also are described where ritual space was oriented according to basic cardinal directions.

Introduction The Sonoran Desert in Arizona, USA, was home to the ancient Hohokam culture. For about 1,000 years (ca. 450–1450 CE), these ingenious farmers employed sophisticated engineering skills in constructing their extensive canal systems and building adobe architecture. They also gathered a diverse range of plants and hunted animals available during different seasons. The archaeological term Hohokam is O’odham (Pima and Papago) in origin, and O’odham oral traditions link them to the Hohokam. Celestial events such as the rising and setting of the sun, moon, and Pleiades were used by the O’odham to establish calendars and provided symbolic elements incorporated into annual ceremonies designed to keep the universe in order (Bahr et al. 1994; Russell 1980; Underhill 1946). Dual spatial divisions and the organization of ritual space based on the cardinal directions were important components of those ceremonies. The winter and summer solstices were especially significant celestial events. Archaeological data for the Hohokam indicates that similar concepts of time and sacred space have great time depth in the Sonoran Desert.

Hohokam Solar Observations The agricultural Hohokam would have been succinctly in tune with the natural cycles of the desert, especially the desert’s bimodal rainfall pattern, which allowed two seasons of farming, and the annual flood cycles of the Salt and Gila Rivers. Labor demands and ritual obligations would follow those cycles. Choreographing the movement of people among their villages throughout the year would have been aided by a calendar system that maximized the creation or fulfillment of village obligations (Wilcox 1987, p. 161). Important Hohokam ceremonies took place at their ball courts, central plazas, and elevated sacred spaces called platform mounds, architectural elements which spread north circa 800 CE from the Mesoamerican frontier along with their associated religious ideology (Wallace et al. 1995, p. 609). Archaeological evidence indicates that the Hohokam tracked the movement of the sun. Numerous rock art sites have been recorded that have panels which align annually with the solstice and equinox sunrises and sunsets or are marked by light and shadow effects during midday on those occasions (Bostwick and Krocek 2003; Bostwick and Plum 2005; Preston and Preston 1987). In the South Mountains during the midday on summer solstice, a triangle of light touches the head of a quadruped at 10:50 and then moves for 20 min down the panel until it is located in the middle of a large spiral; it then continues to move downward for another 15 min until it disappears (Fig. 38.1) (Bostwick and Krocek 2003). At another site in these mountains, a lone anthropomorph petroglyph leans forward holding

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Fig. 38.1 Triangle of light and spiral petroglyph in the upper South Mountains during mid-day on the summer solstice

a hooked cane that during the midday on the equinox touches a beam of sunlight as though dipping the cane into a pool of light (Fig. 38.2). Other sites in the South Mountains have light-and-shadow effects during important solar events or align with the sun on the horizons during those times. A circular-shaped, masonry compound located on top of a knoll in the Phoenix Mountains is associated with numerous rock art panels accessed by eastern and southern trails. This compound is 40 m in diameter and parts of the wall originally stood more than 1 m in height. The Shaw Butte site has excellent views of the horizons in three directions: east, north, and west. Two rooms in the northeastern and northwestern portions of the compound provide views to the horizon where the summer solstice sun rises and sets. Artifacts are scarce, suggesting a non-domestic, specialized use for the site. The ceramics date circa 1050–1350 CE, but based on the amount of patination, some of the rock art probably dates earlier. More than 80 % of the petroglyphs at this site are geometric designs, with only 4 % anthropomorphs and zoomorphs. Half of the geometric designs are various kinds of circles, with 60 circles having central dots, a large proportion for a Hohokam rock art site. For some Pueblo Indians, a circle with a central dot symbolized the sun (Ellis 1975). Several rock art panels inside the compound provide points of reference for viewing the sunrise and sunset during both solstices and both equinoxes (Bostwick and Plum 2005). A boulder near the eastern trail has a panel containing an anthropomorph with downward pointing arms placed below

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Fig. 38.2 Anthropomorph petroglyph dipping a cane into a beam of light in the lower South Mountains during mid-day on the equinox

a circle dot and above an X figure. An open space is available for a person to sit and view the horizon over this panel, and on the winter solstice, the sun rises over the tip of the boulder and aligns with the human figure (Fig. 38.3). The south trail also has a rock art panel with an anthropomorph with downward pointing arms and two adjacent circle dots and a spiral. Do these individuals represent Hohokam sun watchers? In the center of the compound is a large, upright boulder which contains on its south surface 13 circles with dots. Near this boulder is a flat-lying boulder covered in geometric designs. The equinox sun rises through a mountain pass on the eastern horizon and aligns with three circle-dot petroglyphs in the middle of this panel. Placed at the right bottom of the panel is a single anthropomorph with arms raised upward toward the eastern horizon, as though in prayer (Fig. 38.4). On the west side of the compound, a boulder within the wall has three circle dots connected by a wavy line. A boulder seat, a short distance from the wall, provides a view of the sun setting during the equinox over the three circle-dot boulders before disappearing into a saddle in the White Tanks Mountains to the west. Outside the compound along the eastern trail is a small rock-shelter with an opening that faces east. A circle dot, a hollow cross with a central dot, and other geometric designs were pecked outside the entrance to the rock-shelter. Natural holes in the roof were filled with rocks, but four openings were left open, with some of the edges of these openings ground or flaked. At the edge of the southernmost opening in the roof, a small, upright rock that had been flaked was inserted to create a gnomon-like effect on the sunlight that entered the rock-shelter from that opening.

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Fig. 38.3 Rock art panel which aligns with the winter solstice sunrise at the Shaw Butte site in the Phoenix Mountains

Fig. 38.4 Rock art panel with numerous circles with the equinox sunrise at the Shaw Butte site in the Phoenix Mountains. The equinox sunrise aligns with a concentric circle with a central dot (not shown in photograph) and with two circle-dot petroglyphs

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Fig. 38.5 Light-and-shadow effects on a ledge with grooves during mid-day on the winter solstice inside a rock shelter at the Shaw Butte site in the Phoenix Mountains

At least three different light patterns are created inside the rock-shelter by the openings in the roof during the summer and winter solstices and during both equinoxes, separating periods of time inside the rock-shelter into approximately 28- or 56-day periods. During the midday of the two solstices, beams of light interact with three grooves cut into a ledge in the rock-shelter. The summer solstice produces a rod of light that marches up the grooves as though they are a stairway, which is then followed by a four-pointed cross of light. This light show lasts from 11:15 to 13:15. On the winter solstice, two arrow-like dots march up the grooves from 12:00 to 13:15 (Fig. 38.5). Other light effects occur elsewhere in the rockshelter during the midday of the equinoxes. A few kilometers south of the Phoenix Mountains is a prominent ridge of redcolored conglomerate sandstone called Hole-in-the-Rock. The upper part of this formation has two narrow rock-shelters connected by a hole large. The O’odham calls this rock the House of Buzzard, an important deity. In the eastern rock-shelter of the Hole-in-the-Rock is a hole in the roof which funnels a light beam onto a rock ledge during early midday on the summer solstice (Mixon and White 1991). The light beam that streams through this hole, which has

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Fig. 38.6 Light-and-shadow effects at Hole-in-the-Rock at Papago Park during mid-day on the summer solstice

had its edge modified, hits the rock ledge at 10:45 and then moves into a grinding slick that has two cupules ground into its center (Fig. 38.6). All of the Hohokam platform mound villages in the central part of the Salt River Valley could be seen from Hole-in-the-Rock, and many of the villages to the east were built at locations that align with the Hole-in-the-Rock’s sunrise alignments. In addition, two platform mound villages located to the west (La Ciudad and Las Colinas) have equinox sunset alignments with the Hole-in-the-Rock. A volcanic butte southeast of Hole-in-the-Rock, called Tempe Butte, contains more than 500 petroglyphs. A large Hohokam village, La Plaza, is present on the south side of the butte. Spirals, scrolls, concentric circles, and circles with dots make up nearly one-quarter of the designs at this location. On the southwest side of the butte is a set of panels that together serve as summer and winter solstice markers. One of these panels has three anthropomorphs, two of which are adjacent to each other and may represent the common southwestern hero twins; both have upstretched arms and wide-open legs. Below them is another anthropomorph in a similar stance. Above the twins are two circles, a larger circle to the left and a smaller circle to the right. As though on cue, the larger circle and the lower anthropomorph are bathed in light from the summer solstice midday sun, around 11:50, well before the twins or the other circle receives light.

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Fig. 38.7 Light filling a small circle petroglyph on a rock art panel at Tempe Butte during midday on the winter solstice

In contrast, the smaller circle fills with light from the winter solstice midday sun, at 10:00, before the large circle and other figures are lit (Fig. 38.7). The symbolism of the solar interactions seems obvious – the large circle is illuminated during the summer, when the longest day of the year occurs, and the smaller circle is lit during the shortest day. Perhaps the twin figures are related to the two O’odham shamans, Sinking Magician and South Magician, who live in houses at the summer and winter solstice locations (Russell 1980). The Zuni Pueblo’s twin culture heroes – elder brother and younger brother – are considered sons of the sun who led the Zuni from the underworld into this world and created the night sky (Young 1992, p. 73). The ancestral Pueblo and the Hohokam are known to have shared some cultural elements. A panel above and to the right of the twins also marks the summer and winter solstices with beams of light. During midday on the summer solstice, a shadow in the shape of a wedge covers the upper left quarter of a large spiral. In contrast, during midday on the winter solstice, a light beam in the shape of a wedge fills the lower left quarter of the spiral (Fig. 38.8). The Hohokam may have tracked the 584-day synodic cycle of Venus, broken into four phases during its movement through the sky and correlating with the sun’s annual cycles every 8 years. O’odham sing ceremonial songs about the Morning Star phase of Venus (Russell 1980, p. 252). Hohokam outlined-cross symbols may represent the planet Venus, similar to Mesoamerican Venus symbols (Johnson 1995). Hohokam outlined-cross petroglyphs have been recorded that align with

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Fig. 38.8 Triangle of light on a spiral petroglyph at Tempe Butte during mid-day on the winter solstice

the solstice sunsets, suggesting a symbolic connection between Venus and the sun. In the South Mountains, an outlined cross aligns with the winter solstice sunset (Bostwick and Krocek 2003) and two outlined crosses on the north and south sides of Twin Buttes in Tempe align with the summer solstice sunset.

Hohokam Village Orientations The locations of Hohokam residential, public, and ceremonial space appear to have been regulated from at least 800–1450 CE (Wilcox et al. 1981; Gregory 1987). Platform mounds post-dating 1000 CE are typically oriented north–south, with their central axis either slightly east of north (La Ciudad, Escalante, Las Colinas, and Pueblo Grande) or west of north (Adamsville, Casa Grande, Mesa Grande). The sun probably served as the basis for a north–south and east–west orientation to the ceremonial layout of their larger villages, as it did in Mesoamerica. The four corners of the earth coincided with the four points on the horizon where the sun rose and set during the summer and winter solstices (Bohrer 1994, p. 473). The O’odham seat themselves during rituals in a sequence which symbolizes the four corners of the world. The village of Snaketown was oriented around a central plaza ringed by eight platform mounds (Fig. 38.9). Mound 16 is unique and may have had an

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16

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Fig. 38.9 Plan view of the Hohokam village of Snaketown (adopted from Wilcox et al. 1981)

astronomical function (Bostwick 2010). A large oval-shaped ball court, oriented close to east–west (105 ), was located northwest of the central plaza, and a smaller ball court, oriented slightly northeast (15 ), was present southeast of the plaza (Wilcox and Sternberg 1981, Table 6.1). It is unknown if the Hohokam ball games were associated with the solstices as they were in Mesoamerica, but it is interesting that winter solstice sunrise can be seen rising through the twin peaks of Gila Butte, located east of the central plaza of Snaketown (Masse and Espenak 2006, pp. 279–280). Located on the north side of the Salt River near the Papago Buttes, Pueblo Grande controlled the head gates to a large canal system that watered up to 4,000 ha of farmland. By 1000 CE, the village displayed a certain north–south orientation, with a large platform mound at the south end of the village and an adobe Big House at the north end. In addition, two ball courts are present to the south and north of the platform mound.

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Fig. 38.10 Casa Grande Big House. A lunar portal is visible in the upper right portion of the structure and a solar portal is present in the upper left portion of the structure

A room on top of this platform mound has an unusual corner doorway that lets a beam of light into the center of the room during the summer solstice sunrise (Bostwick 2010). An adobe room at the Mesa Grande platform mound in Mesa also has a winter solstice light-and-shadow interaction (Howard 1995). At Casa Grande, a four-storey adobe building more than 10 m tall was located in the center of the village (Fig. 38.10). Dating to the 1300s CE, this unusual structure is called Sivan Vah’ki (Ancient House of the Priest) by the O’odham. Spanish padres who visited Casa Grande in the 1700s were told that the Big House was built by a Hohokam chief called The Bitter Man or Morning Green, who had power over the wind and rain gods. Bitter Man was reported to have looked at the sun through holes in his house (Fewkes 1912). The central precinct at Casa Grande is laid out in a general north–south and east– west orientation to its ceremonial structures. To the northeast of the Big House is a north–south-oriented ball court. Northeast of the ball court is another compound, which contains two opposing, north–south platform mounds. A study of the Big House determined that astronomical components were built into its design, with five circular-shaped portals and two doorways in its third and fourth stories having solar or lunar interactions (Molloy 1969). The portals were bored from both sides of a wall and are not empty beam sockets. The Big House solar events include horizon markers and light-and-shadow effects.

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The summer solstice sun can be seen setting through the edge of the northwestern portal from inside a third-storey room. This alignment is the northernmost location the sun sets on the western horizon before it “turns” and begins to set in a southern direction. An even more dramatic solar event takes place in the fourth storey involving two portals opposite each other in the east and west walls, about 3 m apart. Less than a half hour after sunrise on a day or two before Vernal equinox, the sun sends a beam of light through a portal in the east wall of the fourth storey, forming a circle of light on the inside of the west wall. The circle of light then moves across the west wall until it enters into the portal in the wall, with the light beam then shining from the eastern sunrise through both portals to the west. During the autumnal equinox, the beam of light performs its ritual dance through the upper room a day or two after the equinox (Norton 1987). It has also been proposed that the Big House was designed to mark lunar alignments, which would indicate that the Hohokam understood the moon’s 18.6-year cycle (Molloy 1969). The rising moon during its maximum excursion can be seen through the eastern doorway of the fourth-storey room and that the western doorway of the third storey aligns with the setting moon during its minimum excursion and maximum incursion. Finally, the minimum lunar incursion could also be seen from the southeastern portal in the third storey. Confirmations of these lunar alignments are needed. A space syntax analysis of the Big House determined that its doorways and roof entrances allowed individuals to navigate through the 11 rooms of the structure in a relatively unimpeded manner that could have facilitated ritual procession (Shapiro 1999). Rather than being built for storage or for residence, it was “designed to collect, manage, and disseminate esoteric knowledge” (Shapiro 1999, p. 430). The most restricted space is the fourth-storey room, which only has openings to the room below and to the roof above. Wilcox (1987, p. 150) has proposed that the Big House may symbolize a threedimensional model of the Hohokam’s six sacred directions. The three-level, central tier of room spaces represent the nadir, middle, and zenith houses; the third-storey rooms are the houses of the four cardinal directions. A so-called Clan House, also with 11 rooms, is located 225 m east of the Big House. Unlike the Big House, the Clan House is oriented east–west. Situated in the middle of one of the eastern rooms in the Clan House was a massive adobe seat that faces due south. Inside was also a burial cyst containing an older male, his head facing east. Fewkes (1912, pp. 107, 109) argued that the orientation of this structure “pertained to the worship of the six primary points – north, west, south, east, above, and below”.

Conclusions The Sonoran Desert’s broad valleys bordered by steep mountains lend themselves well to the observation of astronomical phenomenon, and Native peoples have long

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watched the patterned movements of several celestial bodies for timekeeping, especially the sun, in order to schedule labor demands and to orient public structures and important rituals. Decisions about when to organize labor forces would then be determined by natural cycles. This reinforcement of the natural order of social obligations would be especially important when large labor forces were needed for seasonal canal repairs or when harvests were ready. To better understand these cultural patterns, more systematic study is needed utilizing research designs that record all of the archaeological components and their potential astronomical interactions at Hohokam sites.

Cross-References ▶ Analyzing Light-and-Shadow Interactions ▶ Astronomy and Rock Art Studies ▶ Rock Art of the Greater Southwest

References Bahr D, Smith J, Allison WS, Hayden JD (1994) The short swift time of gods on earth: the Hohokam chronicles. University of California Press, Berkeley Bohrer VL (1994) Maize in middle American and southwestern United States agricultural traditions. In: Johannessen S, Hastorf SA (eds) Corn and culture in the prehistoric new world. West View Press, Boulder, pp 459–512 Bostwick TW (2010) Exploring the frontiers of Hohokam astronomy: tracking seasons and orienting ritual space in the Sonoran desert. Archaeoastronomy: The Journal of Astronomy in Culture 23:165–189 Bostwick TW, Krocek P (2003) Landscape of the spirits: Hohokam rock art at south mountain park. University of Arizona Press, Tucson Bostwick TW, Plum S (2005) The Shaw Butte hilltop site: a prehistoric Hohokam observatory. In: Fountain JW, Sinclair RM (eds) Current studies in archaeoastronomy: conversations across space and time. Carolina Academic Press, Durham, pp 151–160 Ellis FH (1975) A thousand years of the Sun-Moon-Star calendar. In: Aveni AF (ed) Archaestronomy in pre-Columbian America. University of Texas Press, Austin, pp 59–87 Fewkes JW (1912) Casa Grande, Arizona. In: 28th Annual Report of the Bureau of Ethnology, 1906–1907. Washington, DC, pp 25–179 Gregory DA (1987) The morphology of platform mounds and the structure of classic period Hohokam sites. In: Doyel DE (ed) The Hohokam village. Southwestern and Rock Mountain Division of the American Association for the Advancement of Science, Glenwood Springs, pp 183–210 Howard JB (1995) Preserving temples of clay: a stabilization plan for the Mesa Grande. Mesa Southwest Museum, Mesa Johnson B (1995) A unique expression of the Venus star symbol among the petroglyphs of the lower Colorado river. In: Brown N (ed) Utah Rock Art 10. Utah Rock Art Research Association, Salt Lake City, pp 33–57 Masse WB, Espenak F (2006) Sky as environment: solar eclipses and Hohokam culture change. In: Doyel DE, Dean JS (eds) Environmental change and human adaptation in the ancient American southwest. University of Utah Press, Salt Lake City, pp 228–280

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Mixon B, White RE (1991) Skywatchers of the Salt River Valley Hohokam. Astronomy Quarterly 8:245–259 Molloy J (1969) The Casa Grande archaeological zone: pre-Columbian astronomical observation. Ms, Western Archeological Center, National Park Service, Tucson Norton OR (1987) Early Indian Sun-watching sites are real. American West: People and Places (August) Preston R, Preston A (1987) Evidence for calendric function at 19 prehistoric petroglyph sites in Arizona. In: Carlson J, Judge WJ (eds) Astronomy and ceremony in the prehistoric southwest, Maxwell Museum Anthropological Papers 2, Albuquerque, pp 191–203 Russell F (1980) The Pima Indians. University of Arizona Press, Tucson (Re-edition with Introduction, Citation Sources, and Bibliography by Bernard L. Fontana) Shapiro JS (1999) New light on old adobe: a space syntax analysis of the Casa Grande. Kiva 64(4):419–445 Underhill RM (1946) Papago Indian religion. Columbia University Press, New York Wallace HD, Heidke JM, Doelle WH (1995) Hohokam origins. Kiva 60(4):575–618 Wilcox DR, McGuire TR, Sternberg C (1981) Snaketown revisited. Arizona State Museum Archaeological Series No. 160. University of Arizona, Tucson Wilcox DR (1987) The evolution of Hohokam ceremonial systems. In: Carlson JB, Judge WJ (eds) Astronomy and ceremony in the prehistoric Southwest. Maxwell museum of anthropological papers no. 2, Albuquerque, pp 149–168 Wilcox DR, Sternberg C (1981) Additional studies of the architecture of the Casa Grande and its interpretation. Arizona State Museum Archaeological Series 146. University of Arizona, Tucson Young MJ (1992) Morning star, evening star: Zuni traditional stories. In: Williamson RA, Farrer CR (eds) Earth and Sky: visions of the cosmos in native American folklore. University of New Mexico Press, Albuquerque, pp 73–100

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Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Mesa Verde National Park . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Mesa Verdean Culture . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Case Studies at Mesa Verde National Park . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Sun Temple (5MV352) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cliff Palace (5MV625) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Documentation Practices . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cultural Sensitivity . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Future Research in Mesa Verde National Park . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Abstract

Mesa Verde archaeoastronomy has been studied for over 100 years through academic research. Investigators have excavated, stabilized, and documented the major dwellings in Mesa Verde National Park. Evidence for astronomical orientation and alignment was found in Cliff Palace and Sun Temple. The level of documentation increased with each new research project. With good documentation practices, together, the research has shown that the cultures of the Mesa Verde were advanced in their social organization and use of astronomy. Consultation with Native American tribal leaders will add significant background to the depth of knowledge that their ancestors possessed.

G.E. Munson Dolores, CO, USA e-mail: [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_49, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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Introduction The study of archaeoastronomy in Mesa Verde National Park (www.nps.gov/meve) began in the early 1900s. Jesse Walter Fewkes excavated the major dwellings of Spruce Tree House, Cliff Palace, Sun Temple, and Square Tower House on Chapin Mesa (Fig. 39.1). He applied his knowledge of Puebloan archaeology and ethnography while conducting these tasks and first theorized that Sun Temple may have astronomical alignments and orientations. Jonathan Reyman reevaluated Sun Temple and documented the site in the 1970s. The work of J. McKim Malville in the 1990s confirmed that Sun Temple was likely used as a horizon marker for the observation of December solstice sunset and the southern lunar maximum moonset from marked observation points in Cliff Palace. Between 2005 and 2007, Gregory Munson conducted a research project at Sun Temple that refined the architectural documentation and archaeological interpretation of Sun Temple and confirmed the alignments theorized by Malville. Each of these researchers added to the body of knowledge about the archaeological and astronomical significance of the dwellings at Mesa Verde National Park.

Far View Sites Complex

To Far View Visitor Center and Park Entrance

Chapin Mesa Cedar Tree Tower

Four-Way Stop Picnic Area Sqruce Canyon Trail - 2.4 Miles

Museum Cafe and Cites

To Cliff Palace and Balcony House

RV and Overflow Parking

Spruce Tree House

Petroglyph Point Trail - 2.4 Miles

Navajo Canyon View

Square Tower Pithouses & House Puebto Sites P

Fig. 39.1 Map of Chapin Mesa (Courtesy of Mesa Verde National Park)

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Pueblo Village Foot Trail Road Picnic Area and Restrooms

Soda Canyon Overlook Trail 1.2 Miles

Cliff Palace

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Mesa Verde National Park The Mesa Verde, Spanish for “green table”, is a gently sloping uplifted geographically isolated landmass in southwest Colorado, USA, bisected by the Mancos River. The cliffs, canyons, and dwellings of the northern half have been federally protected as Mesa Verde National Park. The cliff dwellings to the south of the Park are protected in the Ute Mountain Tribal Park of the Ute Mountain Ute Native American Tribe. Together, they form the Mesa Verde. The mesa tops slope gently to the south and feature a predominantly Pinyon Pine (Pinus edulis) and Utah Juniper (Juniperus osteosperma) forest providing raw materials for construction and food sources. The soils are reddish clay loess and are well suited to dryland agriculture. Rainfall averages 18–20 in. (45–50 cm) annually and the growing season is about 120 days in length.

Mesa Verdean Culture The magnificent cliff dwellings that characterize the Mesa Verde are but a short time, less than 100 years, in a history of occupation that spans a period of over 1,000 years. The Ancestral Pueblo (Anasazi) people who lived in the Mesa Verde first settled there as an agricultural society for which we find archaeological evidence nearly 2,000 years ago. At that time they grew corn (Maize) and squash as crops. Their architecture was focused on family groups or households living in semisubterranean wood and earth structures called pithouses. With the introduction of beans as a crop and the bow and arrow around 500 CE, the population rapidly increased and the architecture developed. People aggregated into household communities and began to build with stone masonry, predominantly living up on the mesa tops. Their only dependable year-round source of water was the seep springs located at the bottom of the cliffs, an arduous journey even for today’s visitors. As the centuries passed, they continued to develop in their agricultural, architectural, and socio-ceremonial practices. Pithouses became more deeply entrenched into the ground, were lined with masonry, and roofed with cribbed beams forming a vaulted roof. These structures became the kiva, a space that is most commonly associated with ceremonial activities but was also likely used as living space due to its energy efficient design. Above ground, masonry was strengthened to build higher multistoried structures surrounding a kiva but staying open to the warm southern winter sun, a design we know today as passive solar heating. Social development also progressed. With the aggregation of people into larger communities, ordering of people’s social needs became necessary. With an ever shrinking resource base, the people became dependent on a predictable cycle of sun and rain to provide food and raw materials. Observation of the cycles of the sun and moon provided a fixed base for the calculation of the planting and harvest seasons, annual ceremonial activities to ensure and celebrate the return of the sun and rain, and to coordinate festivals or gatherings to establish new lines of kinship and reaffirm cultural identity (Munson et al. 2008, 2010).

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Fig. 39.2 1915 field map of Sun Temple (Courtesy of Smithsonian Institute, National Anthropological Archives, MS 4321)

For reasons that are still poorly understood today, many of the people began to build their homes in the alcoves of the cliffs in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries. Whether it was to get closer to and protect vital water sources, sheltering themselves from the elements to save precious natural resources, or seeking protection from some unknown foe, they built the magnificent dwellings that have been so well preserved until today. These cliff dwellings form the largest artifacts telling an untold story of social development, architectural and engineering expansion, and the advance of environmental and astronomical science.

Case Studies at Mesa Verde National Park Sun Temple (5MV352) Originally named Cliff Pueblo on the field map (Fig. 39.2), Fewkes excavated and repaired Sun Temple in August of 1915. These excavations revealed a different kind of architecture, one of symmetry and advanced style (Fewkes 1916). Fewkes came to realize that the buildings’ orientation off a true east–west axis might have indicated a connection to the rising and setting points of the solstice sun. A “sun shrine” was a fixed location from which to observe the setting equinox sun (Fewkes 1917). Even though the solstice alignments were largely discounted by Reyman (1977), Fewkes laid the foundation for a connection between the architecture and features of Sun Temple and the observation of solar cycles such as the solstices. Reyman (1985) clarified the importance of bi-wall and tri-wall structures like Sun Temple. Subsequent investigations by Malville established that Sun Temple is properly positioned and oriented to observe the setting December solstice sun and the setting

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Fig. 39.3 Cliff Palace (Photo by GE Munson)

southern lunar maximum moon over the center of Sun Temple from fixed observation points in and near Cliff Palace located across a narrow shallow canyon. Malville (1993) proposed that the central “kivas” of Sun Temple were originally constructed as towers that extended above the outside walls to form a “gun sight” for these observations. Malville did confirm Fewkes’ symmetry and advanced style exhibited by Sun Temple by noting a roughly equilateral triangle formed by a pecked basin and the corners of the principal D-shaped perimeter wall. Munson added to the base provided by Fewkes, Reyman, and Malville by conducting an architectural documentation of Sun Temple and astronomically associated features in Cliff Palace in a project conducted from 2005 to 2007. This included testing of previous results by new field documentation and observations, and a review of the archaeological records from the past 100+ years to evaluate the original condition of architectural and archaeological features associated with astronomical observations (Munson 2011, c. 2012). He confirmed that the central kivas of Sun Temple were indeed towers but they did not extend above the outside walls (Munson 2011). He determined the architectural construction sequence and augmented the findings of geometry and symmetry being used in the engineering and construction of Sun Temple (Munson et al. 2010).

Cliff Palace (5MV625) Cliff Palace (Fig. 39.3) was excavated and stabilized by Fewkes in 1909. His report (Fewkes 1911) did not characterize any of its features as being astronomically associated. Park staff performed additional documentation and mapping in the 1930s and late 1990s. It was the studies by Malville in the early 1990s and Munson in 2006 that established the link between the two adjacent sites. Malville conducted an extensive survey of the Mesa Verde for features termed pecked basins (cupules) that were thought to be fixed locations for horizon observations, shrines for veneration of the sun, and nodes in an extended communication network (Malville and Munson 1998). Malville located an isolated hemispherical bedrock cupule

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Fig. 39.4 Cliff Palace Tower (Photo by GE Munson)

(pecked basin) by the modern Cliff Palace exit trail that was determined to be a fixed location for observing the December solstice sun setting over the center of Sun Temple. While studying Sun Temple, Malville located an opening in the third storey (Room 122) of the Cliff Palace Tower (Fig. 39.4) that was in alignment with the setting moon at its southern maximum (Fig. 39.5) over the center of Sun Temple (Malville 1993). Historic photographs show this feature in poor condition and it was significantly reconstructed and stabilized in 1934. Additional evidence for astronomical use of this room is a prehistorically sealed portal in an unaltered condition in the southwest corner of this room. When open, this portal would have had a view of the center of Sun Temple at the time of southern lunar maximum moonset (Munson et al. 2010). The pecked basin and Cliff Palace Tower alignments were later confirmed by Munson through direct observation (Figs. 39.6 and 39.7). The features of the Cliff Palace Tower need additional documentation to confirm their condition and interpretation. The third storey of the Cliff Palace Tower features two pictographs (Fig. 39.8) that are reported to have astronomical meaning. On the southern wall, a box pattern with zigzag lines and dots is interpreted to represent the setting moon over its annual cycle (Malville 1993). Other interpretations of this pictograph include a “mended blanket” representing social integration (Nordby 2006). A repeating pattern of three peaks reminiscent of the profile of the nearby La Plata Mountains is found in the plaster band around the base of the wall. This is similar to a mural of the San Francisco Peaks, a Hopi solstice marker, found in the prehistoric Hopi settlement of Homol’ovi, near Winslow, Arizona (Adams 2002, p. 161). On the western wall, a series of four painted lines with “flags” has been associated with the 18.6-year periodicity of the lunar node cycle (Malville 1993). Each line was recorded to have 17–20 flags totaling 74–75 for the four lines. This averages to 18.5–18.75 per line, similar to the periodicity of the lunar maximum cycle. Munson’s review of the archaeological record located a photograph of the

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Fig. 39.5 Map of Cliff Palace Tower area (Courtesy of Mesa Verde National Park Archeological Site Conservation Program)

pictograph in original condition, circa 1902, proving the lines had different numbers of “flags” than were present in the 1990s (Munson c. 2012). Originally, the two southern lines had 20 flags each and the two northern lines each had 16. The average still comes to 18, the lunar maximum periodicity expressed as whole numbers, or possibly representing a 16–20 year period where the moon may be observed setting

572 Fig. 39.6 December solstice sunset over Sun Temple from pecked basin (Photo by GE Munson)

Fig. 39.7 Southern lunar maximum moonset over Sun Temple from Cliff Palace Tower (Photo by GE Munson)

Fig. 39.8 Cliff Palace Tower pictograph (Photo by GE Munson)

G.E. Munson

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over the center of Sun Temple at its southern maximum. Other interpretations of this pictograph must be considered, possibly associated to clan or other social structures.

Documentation Practices While the study of archaeoastronomy at Mesa Verde National Park has its roots in a 100-year history, it lacked a cohesive and comprehensive system of documentation until the development of standardized archaeological practices in the mid-twentieth century and, most recently, the development of the architectural documentation system in the late 1990s. Manuals of standardized documentation terminology and techniques unified a hierarchical framework for the study of standing Ancestral Puebloan architecture and its features (Nordby et al. 2002). This method is highly adaptable for the study of architecture and features associated with astronomical observations. Using a system with a solid foundation in archaeology will add reliability to conclusions of astronomical practices and their social implications.

Cultural Sensitivity The most often overlooked responsibility of our discipline is consideration of and consultation with today’s affiliated Native American tribes. Mesa Verde National Park frequently consults with today’s Pueblo and affiliated tribal leaders on matters of interpretation, cultural and natural resource protection, and archaeological research methods and practices. More effort is needed when it comes to issues of archaeoastronomy and ethnoastronomy. Past abuses and commercialization have made tribal leaders wary of discussing matters of sacred knowledge and practices. To address these valid concerns, we must consult regularly with both the academic anthropological community and Native American tribal leaders to portray the rich fabric of astronomical knowledge held by the Ancestral Puebloan peoples with respect and honor.

Future Research in Mesa Verde National Park Implementing a system of consultation and architectural documentation in the collection and assessment of data related to astronomical practices is vital to the future of archaeoastronomy research at Mesa Verde National Park. A new accurate map of Sun Temple, preferably using advanced 3D laser scanning technologies, will permit further investigations of its symmetry, geometry, and the potential for a standardized measurement system used in its construction. Additional documentation in the Cliff Palace Tower area is needed to collect data for establishing the original condition of astronomically associated features and to interpret these

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features accurately. Consultation with tribal leaders is needed to contribute to the discussions about the appropriate path for informing the public about the history of astronomy and science in the Ancestral Puebloan world.

Cross-References ▶ Analyzing Orientations ▶ Archaeoastronomical Heritage and the World Heritage Convention ▶ Astronomy and Politics ▶ Astronomy and Power ▶ Astrotourism and Archaeoastronomy ▶ Cultural Interpretation of Ethnographic Evidence Relating to Astronomy ▶ Cultural Interpretation of Historical Evidence Relating to Astronomy ▶ Development of Archaeoastronomy in the English-Speaking World ▶ Disciplinary Perspectives on Archaeoastronomy ▶ Inca Astronomy and Calendrics ▶ Lunar Alignments - Identification and Analysis ▶ Nature and Analysis of Material Evidence Relevant to Archaeoastronomy ▶ Presentation of Archaeoastronomy in Introductions to Archaeology ▶ Solar Alignments - Identification and Analysis ▶ Techniques of Field Survey ▶ Visualization Tools and Techniques

References Adams EC (2002) Homol’ovi: an ancient hopi settlement cluster. University of Arizona Press, Tucson Fewkes JW (1911) Antiquities of the Mesa Verde National Park: Cliff Palace. Bureau of American Ethnology. Bulletin 51. Smithsonian Institute. Washington, DC Fewkes JW (1916) The excavation and repair of sun temple. Bureau of American Ethnology. U.S. Department of the Interior, Washington, DC Fewkes JW (1917) A prehistoric Mesa Verde pueblo and its people. Annual report of the Smithsonian Institution for 1916, pp 461–488 Malville JM (1993) Astronomy and social integration among the Anasazi. In: Smith J, Hutchinson A (ed) Proceedings of the Anasazi symposium, 1991. Mesa Verde Museum Association, pp 155–166 Malville JM, Munson GE (1998) Pecked basins of the mesa Verde. Southwestern Lore 64(4):1–35 Munson GE (2011) Legacy documentation: using historical resources in a cultural astronomy project. In: Ruggles C (ed) Archaeoastronomy and ethnoastronomy: building bridges between cultures. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, pp 265–274 Munson GE (c. 2012) Using architectural documentation to assess architecture and features associated with astronomical observations. In: Munson GE, Bostwick TW, Hull T (eds) Astronomy and ceremony in the prehistoric southwest – revisited. Maxwell museum of anthropology, Anthropological papers series. University of New Mexico Press, Albuquerque, in progress

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Munson GE, Bates BC, Nordby LV (2008) Reading, writing, and recording the architecture: How astronomical cycles may be reflected in the architectural construction at Mesa Verde National Park. In: Vaisˇku¯nas J (ed) Astronomy and cosmology in folk traditions and cultural heritage. Archaeologia Baltica, vol 10. Klaipe˙da University Institute of Baltic Sea Region History and Archaeology, Klaipe˙da, pp 131–140 Munson GE, Nordby LV, Bates BC (2010) Reading, writing and recording the architecture: how astronomical cycles may be reflected in the architectural construction at Mesa Verde National Park. Archaeoastronomy: The Journal of Astronomy in Culture, 23:44–61 Nordby LV (2006) Surface finishes, decoration, and social organization at cliff palace, Mesa Verde National Park. In: Rainer L, Bass-Rivera A (eds) The conservation of decorated surfaces on earthen architecture. The Getty Conservation Institute, Los Angeles, pp 36–48 Nordby LV, Metzger T, Williams CL, Mayberry JD (2002) Mesa Verde National Park archeological site conservation program guidelines. Standards for field data collection and documentation, vol 1. Division of Research and Resources Management, Mesa Verde National Park, Colorado Reyman JE (1977) Solstice misalignment at sun temple: correcting Fewkes. The Kiva 42(3–4):281–284 Reyman JE (1985) A reevaluation of bi-wall and tri-wall structures in the Anasazi area. In: Folan WJ (ed) Contributions to the archaeology and ethnohistory of greater Mesoamerica. Southern Illinois University Press, Carbondale, pp 293–334

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Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Pueblo Bonito . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Una Vida, Pueblo Pintado, Kin Bineola, and East Community . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Pena˜sco Blanco . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Chetro Ketl . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Late Bonito Great Houses . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Concluding Remarks . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Abstract

The primary axes of Basketmaker III pit structures at Shabik’eschee in Chaco Canyon have two orientations, one to the south and the other to the south-south-east. This architectural tradition continued with remarkable continuity throughout the San Juan Basin to the end of Pueblo III. Many of the Great Houses in Chaco, which appear to be massively enlarged front-facing unit pueblos typical of the Northern San Juan, continued this tradition. Orientations of the back walls of Great Houses to the solstice sun or standstill moon may never have been intended by the builders. Claimed inter-site alignments of Great Houses to minor or major standstill limits appear to be the results of local topography and not intended by the builders. Late Bonito phase

J. McKim Malville (*) Department of Astrophysical and Planetary Sciences, University of Colorado, Boulder, CO, USA e-mail: [email protected] A. Munro Centre for Astronomy, James Cook University, Townsville, Qld, Australia C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_47, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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(AD 1100–1140) Great Houses are distinguished by their planned designs, relatively short construction period, and negligible middens. Solstice sunrise or sunset horizon foresights are present at the majority of these Great Houses, which may have been designed in part to provide demonstrations of the astronomical knowledge of the Chacoan leadership.

Introduction Chaco Canyon first caught the attention of the archaeoastronomical community with the suggestion that a pictograph below the Great House of Pena˜sco Blanco represented the supernova of AD 1054 (Brandt et al. 1975). During the decades of the 1970s and 1980s north-south alignments were documented at the Great Kiva of Casa Rinconada and the Great House of Pueblo Bonito (Williamson 1984). A June solstice marker was suggested at Casa Rinconada. December solstice appeared to be marked at a corner window of Pueblo Bonito (Reyman 1976). Jay Crotty and Anna Sofaer discovered a marker for June solstice at the three-slab site on Fajada Butte. Sofaer (2008) and her colleagues claimed that back walls of Great Houses were aligned to the solstices and lunar standstill limits. In addition, they proposed inter-site alignments between Great Houses, which involved distances up to 28 km and end points that were not intervisible. After the first burst of excitement, uncertainties about a number of these claims began to appear (Ellis 1975; Fisher 2010; Malville 2008). The so-called supernova site contains symbols that are common throughout the Southwest, and it may well not be a representation of the AD 1054 supernova. The light-and-shadow effects at Casa Rinconada and the corner window of Pueblo Bonito may be the result of reconstruction (Fisher 2010). The three-slab site on Fajada Butte is the result of a natural rock fall (Newman et al 1982), and, while the so-called sun dagger clearly marks June solstice, it is unlikely that it uniquely marks other solar or lunar events (Carlson 1987; McCluskey 1988; Zeilik 1985a, b). An unfortunate feature of the alignments proposed by Sofaer and colleagues (2008) is that they generally involved the back walls of room blocks, not the primary front-facing axes of the structures, for which there was a well-established tradition of Puebloan architecture starting with Basketmaker III. Furthermore, most of these alignments involved the minor standstill of the moon, which is certainly not an obvious element of the moon’s cycle and is difficult to observe. No accounting was made for the altitude of the horizon from these Great Houses. In addition, Sofaer proposed inter-site alignments between Great Houses, which involved alignments passing through canyon walls, distances up to 28 km, and end points that were not intervisible. Again these putative alignments primarily involved the minor lunar standstill. The proposed alignments of the back walls of Great Houses to the sun and moon appear to be the unintended consequences of long-standing architectural traditions of front-facing primary axes in which a room block faces an open area and kiva.

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The primary axis is nearly always clearly defined by the axis of symmetry for the room block, as well as bilateral symmetry in the kiva (Malville and Munro 2011). The symbolically significant axes in Puebloan structures, starting with Basketmaker III pit houses and continuing with Prudden unit-type structures throughout the San Juan Basin, are established by sipapus, hearths, and deflector stones as well as bilateral symmetries. These axes are characteristically to the south (“S”) or southsouth-east (“SSE”). The dual S and SSE orientations were initially pointed out by Hayes (1981, pp. 59–61). Except for precise cardinal north-south and east-west structural alignments such as those at Pueblo Bonito and Casa Rinconada that would most plausibly be achieved with reference to the sun, we can find no substantial evidence that Chacoan structures were directly aligned to coincide with astronomical events. The aforementioned SSE orientation tradition was most plausibly achieved using astronomical references; however, this imprecise tradition covers a range of azimuths, and it is not directly associated with any notable object or event in the sky. Thus, the SSE orientation tradition is not the same thing as accurate and precise alignment with some specific observable astronomical event. However, some Chacoan structures were built at locations that can be associated with visible astronomical events. The early Great Kiva in Marcia’s Rincon may have been constructed at that specific location to celebrate the rising of the sun above Fajada Butte at December solstice (Malville 2013). After AD 1100 in the Late Bonito phase, the majority of newly constructed Great Houses were located at sites with horizon markers for solstice sunrise or sunset. The two well-known north-south alignments between Great Houses across “downtown Chaco” were also created by Late Bonito phase construction.

Pueblo Bonito The first construction episode of what was to become the largest of the Great Houses took place at approximately AD 860 and consisted of a curved roomblock, very similar in orientation, design, and size with McPhee Pueblo north of the San Juan. The earliest stages of the Great Houses may have been built by migrants from the Northern San Juan region. Some two centuries later, after AD 1085, a new orientation of the building was established by the north-south wall, which is within 420 from true north. The west section of the south wall is remarkably accurate, 130 from cardinal east-to-west. Over the course of multiple stages of reconstruction and expansion, Pueblo Bonito gradually drifted away from its original circa AD 860 SSE orientation, and walls were ultimately aligned to the cardinal directions sometime after AD 1070. Great Kiva A to the west of the central cardinal wall put the stamp of the cardinal directions firmly on the structure. Its roof poles have tree ring dates of AD 1113, establishing it as one of the last building projects in Pueblo Bonito. Table 40.1 presents survey results for standing walls within Pueblo Bonito, Pueblo Alto (nearly cardinal east-west), and Chetro Ketl (SSE).

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Table 40.1 Measurements of wall orientations

Pueblo Bonito (north-south wall) Pueblo Bonito (western segment of south wall) Pueblo Bonito (eastern segment of south wall) Pueblo Alto (back wall) Chetro Ketl (back wall)

Orientation 0 420 90 120 85 470 87 480 70 100

Standard deviation 200 60 290 220 140

Number of measured points 40 62 62 32 100

Una Vida, Pueblo Pintado, Kin Bineola, and East Community Most of the early Great Houses started with a simple unit pueblo design containing a kiva to the SSE of a curved or rectangular roomblock. The first construction at Una Vida was in Rooms 3, 4, 5, and 43, (Lekson 1984, p. 80) which eventually became a small eastern appendage to the larger Great House. Both Kin Bineola and Pueblo Pintado may have started as a unit pueblo design, oriented to the SSE. The East Community Great House continues this unit pueblo style, oriented to the SSE with a curving wall enclosing a plaza. Table 40.2 presents front-facing orientation data for multiple Great Houses, including phases of construction for some sites.

Pena˜sco Blanco Pena˜sco Blanco was built close to the Basketmaker III village of 29SJ 423, perhaps partly because of reverence for that ancient site. The first building episode at Pena˜sco Blanco was AD 860–865, consisting of an arc of rooms on the highest area of the site. The structure contained type I masonry and opened to approximately 113–116 depending on how one identifies the perpendicular to the ends of its front walls. December solstice sunrise occurred at 119.6 . Sofaer has erred in claiming that Pena˜sco Blanco was built to face major moonrise and that the two other early Great Houses, Pueblo Bonito and Una Vida, were built along the same major lunar standstill alignment. At its southern major standstill limit as viewed from Pena˜sco Blanco, the moon rises at an azimuth of 127 , some ten lunar diameters to the south of Pueblo Bonito (Malville and Munro 2011).

Chetro Ketl Chetro Ketl was the second largest of the Great Houses: Bonito had 695 rooms during the Bonito Phase and Chetro Ketl had 580. The earliest room block was built in the period AD 990–1000. The orientation of the back wall, which now extends some 4 m below current ground level, was established at that time. Our measurements of 100 points

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Table 40.2 Great House orientations. Orientations listed to.1 are based on field work conducted between 2007 and 2010. Orientations listed as approximate (“”) are taken from published site plans (Munro 2012) Great House Una Vida I Pueblo Bonito I Kin Bineola Pueblo Pintado I East Community Kin Nahasbas Pena˜sco Blanco I Hungo Pavi Chetro Ketl Pueblo Alto Kin Klizhin Pueblo del Arroyo Pueblo Pintado II Pueblo Bonito II Una Vida II Pena˜sco Blanco II Kin Bineola II Tsin Kletsin Wijiji

First construction (AD) 860–865 860–861 860–900 900 900 900s 900 990–1010 1010–1030 1040 Mid-1000s 1065–1070 1060–1090 1070+ 1070+ 1090 1100 1110–1115 1110–1115

Orientation (degrees) 148 161 158–164 160.3 159 205 113–116 185.4 160.2 178.9 114.0 114.9 115 180.2 184.5 127–130 170.1 178.7 172

along the present wall give an orientation of 70 100 with a standard deviation of 140 . The perpendicular to the back wall, which we interpret as the primary axis of a frontfacing unit pueblo, has an azimuth of 160 150 . This orientation is close to the SSE azimuths of the principal axes at Pueblo Bonito, Kin Bineola, Pueblo Pintado, and East Community as well as the averages at McPhee Village and Duckfoot Pueblo. Sofaer (2008) proposes that the back wall was intentionally aligned to the rising point of the moon at the time of minor standstill. We consider this unlikely for several reasons. Chetro Ketl has all the appearance of an enlarged Prudden unit pueblo and has an orientation close to that of the early construction of Pueblo Bonito and other SSE-facing structures in Chaco Canyon and the Northern San Juan. Furthermore, the orientation of Chetro Ketl’s back wall is some 15 standard deviations away from the rising position of the moon at minor standstill on the flat horizon that Sofaer used in her models. That error is too large to claim an alignment. As surveyed from the west end of Chetro Ketl’s back wall, the east horizon’s altitude on the wall’s azimuth is 5.1 . Accounting for this horizon altitude, the minor standstill moonrise aligns with Chetro Ketl’s back wall from a single location along the wall. There is no reason to believe that this viewing location at the west end of the wall has special significance or is unique in any way. We also have performed surveys to test Sofaer’s proposed lunar standstill alignments at Pueblo del Arroyo and Una Vida; neither will function based on our results. We conclude

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that the unmarked single viewing location at Chetro Ketl where a minor standstill alignment may function is entirely coincidental. An additional proposal for a minor standstill alignment involves lines connecting Chetro Ketl with Pueblo Pintado and Kin Bineola (Sofaer 2008). These putative interhouse alignments pass through canyon walls, have end points that are not intervisible, and involve substantial distances: 26.7 km for Pueblo Pintado and 18 km for Kin Bineola. Van Dyke (2008, p. 134) criticizes this idea because of the non-contemporaneous nature of these Great Houses. Kin Bineola and Pueblo Pintado were built more than 100 years before Chetro Ketl, requiring “that Chetro Ketl, indeed the entire Chacoan landscape, was planned from the early 900s”. Another objection to a minor lunar standstill alignment involving Pueblo Pintado and Chetro Ketl arises because of the significant probability that such an alignment is also purely coincidental. There are 15 Great Houses close to Chetro Ketl as viewed from Pueblo Pintado, for which the spacing is 0.33 per structure. Chetro Ketl departs from the direction of minor standstill moonrise by 2.8 . Within that range of allowed error,  2.8 , there are 5.6/0.33 ¼ 17 Great Houses, which means there is a 100 % chance that the association is purely fortuitous. In addition to Chetro Ketl, Sofaer (2008) has proposed that the back walls of five other Great Houses are aligned to lunar standstill limits and one (Aztec) is aligned to June solstice. Using her published measurements, we test for significance using Student’s t-test and find that five of the six can be rejected at the 95 % level of confidence (Table 40.3). All of these Great Houses were first constructed following the traditional unit pueblo design with a deliberate front-facing orientation.

Late Bonito Great Houses Eight Great Houses were constructed in and around Chaco Canyon during the Late Bonito phase (AD 1100–1140) (Munro and Malville 2011). Figure 40.1 provides a map of Chaco Canyon in which Late Bonito Great Houses are labeled in boxes by “DSSR” for December solstice sunrise, “JSSR” for June solstice sunrise, or “JSSS” for June solstice sunset. Late Bonito Great Houses are distinguished by their planned designs, relatively short construction period, and negligible middens, which suggests that they never fully functioned as residences. Lekson (2006) has argued that they were administrative and storage buildings, an idea that has been contested by Van Dyke (2004, 2008) and others (Fig. 40.2). Van Dyke (2004, 2008) suggested that the Late Bonito Great Houses were built at a time when Chaco was losing credibility as an efficacious ceremonial center because of the decrease in agricultural production in the Chaco basin brought about by the drought in the decade of the AD 1090s. Figure 40.3 shows the added storage area in the Great Houses estimated by Wilcox (2004). The new storage rooms added

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Table 40.3 Evaluation of putative alignments of Great Houses by Student’s t-test Wall Wall length Wall standard (meters) orientation error Aztec 120 62.47 .33 Salmon 130 65.75 .15

Pueblo del Arroyo Pueblo Pintado

80

65.21

.25

70

65.2

.15

Kin Kletso

42

65.82

.64

Una Vida

80

54.8

.15

Claimed astronomical t-ratio alignment measured June solstice 6.27 Minor 9 standstill limit Minor 7.56 standstill limit Minor 12.67 standstill limit Minor 2 standstill limit Major 3.33 standstill limit

t-ratio critical 95 % confidence Hypothesis 1.98 Reject 1.98 Reject

1.99

Reject

2

Reject

2.02

Accept

1.99

Reject

may have been constructed to contain trade goods or gifts, offerings, and/or tribute donated by visitors to the residents of the Great Houses. The burst of construction in 1100s in the figure was at Pueblo Alto. That of the next decades was associated with the Late Bonito Great Houses. The construction activity after 1100 suggests a resurgence of ritual or political power after the drought of the AD 1090s. The Late Bonito Great Houses were built primarily at locations with horizon markers for solstice sunrises and may have been designed to demonstrate to visitors the ritual and political power of the residents of the Great Houses as well as their astronomical knowledge (Munro and Malville 2011). After AD 1100, both Wijiji and Kin Kletso were built at locations that include foresights suitable for marking December solstice sunrise as well as for anticipatory observations approximately 2 weeks prior to the solstice. Solstice sunrises visible from Wijiji and Kin Kletso are not architectural alignments of walls to significant azimuths; rather the buildings are located at observation sites for solstice horizon foresights (Malville 2008, pp. 70–73). Anticipatory horizon calendar foresights are useful for people who needed to prepare for ceremonies and for travel to a distant pilgrimage center. The solstice sunrise observed from Wijiji provides a marker against the right side of a notch on the horizon. The left side of the notch provides an anticipatory marker as observed from the same location 16 or 17 days prior to solstice (Fig. 40.4). By standing at the southeast corner of Kin Kletso, an anticipatory observation of the foresight may be made 15–16 days prior to solstice. On the solstice,

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Peñasco Blanco Casa Chiquita JSSS New Alto Kin Kletso DSSR

Pueblo Alto Chetro Ketl

Pueblo del Arroyo Pueblo Bonito Casa Rinconada

Mockingbird Canyon Hungo Pavi

Una Vida South Gap Tsin Kletzin

North

0

1

2 Km

Headquarters Site DSSR

Fajada Butte

Wijiji DSSR

Bis sa ani (10km) JSSR

Robert’s Small Pueblo DSSR

Fig. 40.1 Great Houses at Chaco Canyon. The Late Bonito Great Houses are identified in boxes, in which DSSR and JSSR indicate horizon markers for December solstice sunrise and June Solstice sunrise, respectively

Fig. 40.2 Line (dashed) between Pueblo Pintado (square) and Chetro Ketl (square) showing the putative alignment to moonset at the northern minor lunar standstill limit. Other Great Houses in the Canyon are shown. The solid lines show the limiting positions of Great Houses in this part of Chaco Canyon. An alignment to minor standstill moonset appears to be entirely a consequence of the natural landscape

a visually consistent sunrise is observable from the northeast corner. Figure 40.5 depicts the December solstice sunrise as observed from the southeast corner of Kin Kletso. Robert’s Small Pueblo was built 125 m from 29SJ2539, a complex site, which we identify as a likely calendrical station. It contains a number of cultural features

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Fig. 40.3 Storage floor area added to Great Houses (After Wilcox 2004)

Fig. 40.4 Sunrises observed from the northwest corner of the Great House of Wijiji: December 5 (left) and December 21 (right) (Photo by GB Cornucopia)

including a grinding stone, petroglyphs, pictographs, unusual bedrock grinding features on a ledge, and a cache of selenite sheets, as well as a workable foresight for December solstice sunrise (Munro and Malville 2010; Fig. 40.6). The horizon at Casa Chiquita contains a June solstice sunset marker, similar to the December solstice sunrise foresight visible from the northwest corner at nearby Kin Kletso (Munro 2012; Fig. 40.7). The back-filled Late Bonito Great House known as Headquarters Site A has an eastern horizon feature that produced a dramatic December solstice sunrise light and shadow effect on most of the building’s footprint. Sunrise on December solstice occurs in a well-defined notch on the horizon (Munro 2012). As depicted, the sunrise can be observed from multiple locations within the building’s footprint including a still-visible kiva depression in the southwest quadrant of the structure (Fig. 40.8). Fritz (1978) first identified the N-S alignment between Tsin Kletsin and Pueblo Alto as the N-S “line of symmetry” through the canyon that has become

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Fig. 40.5 Kin Kletso December solstice sunrise (Photo by GB Cornucopia)

Fig. 40.6 December solstice sunrise near Roberts Small Pueblo

emblematic of Chacoan culture. Sofaer (2008, p. 98) proposed a similar alignment between Casa Rinconada and New Alto, with an azimuth of 1.3 . These two intersite N-S alignments across the central canyon are especially interesting as possible demonstrations of ritual power. They are sufficiently accurate to enable dramatic visual observations of the night sky rotating directly above Great

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Fig. 40.7 Sunset at Casa Chiquita

Fig. 40.8 Sunrise at Headquarters Site A

House architecture. People at Tsin Kletsin could have watched the night sky rotate around the center of the cosmos directly above Pueblo Alto. Similarly, people observing the night sky from Casa Rinconada could have watched the cosmos rotate over New Alto. Torchlight at the northern mesa-top sites would have increased dramatic visual demonstrations that Chacoan Great Houses were located at the “Center Place” in the cosmos. The other Late Bonito Great Houses

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associated with solstice sunrises may have been destinations where visitors could witness demonstrations of the astronomical knowledge of residents of the major Great Houses.

Concluding Remarks Except for precise cardinal north-south and east-west structural alignments such as those at Pueblo Bonito and Casa Rinconada, which would most plausibly be achieved using shadow casting by a gnomon, we can find no substantial evidence that Chacoan structures were intentionally aligned to coincide with astronomical events. Likewise, except for the north-south connections between Tsin Kletsin and Pueblo Alto and between Casa Rinconada and New Alto, proposed interhouse alignments to the solstice sun or standstill moon do not stand up under scrutiny and appear to be the unintended consequences of local topography. Who were the residents of the Great Houses and how did they acquire their power? Initially that power may have been derived from the favorable location of Chaco Canyon in an extended trade network, allowing the residents of the canyon to organize and benefit from trade. The residents who organized periodic festivals must have acquired further power and prestige when rainmaking rituals appeared to be successful. They also should have acquired some measure of political or religious legitimacy through demonstrating their knowledge of astronomy and control of the calendar. The symbiotic linking of pilgrimage, periodic festivals, and entrepreneurial activity provides a means for integration of an extended population. If groups of people voluntarily visited Chaco Canyon to attend period festivals and religious ceremonies, the surrounding area could have become culturally integrated without any exercise of administrative control, force or political power (Malville and Malville 2001, p. 339).

The power of the resident elites of the Great Houses must have grown throughout the Classic Bonito Period. Lekson (2008) proposes that some of the Great House leaders may have established a coercive hegemony over outlying communities through threats of violence. On the other hand, judging from other pilgrimage events around the world (Malville and Malville 2001), physical coercion may not have been necessary to attract pilgrims, who were willing to pay for efficacious ceremonies and assist in the construction of the Great Houses. Such attractive power appears to have faltered in the 1090s when rains began to fail. Van Dyke (2004, 2008) has suggested that the Late Bonito Great Houses were built after the drought of the 1090 s with the intention of reestablishing the reputation of Chaco as a regional ceremonial center. Before that time, residents of each Great House may have organized their own festivals and trade fairs. In the Late Bonito period, a canyon-wide effort to construct Great Houses suggests that the residents of the Great Houses acted in concert with each other or were dominated by a central authority in the canyon. The placement of the Late Bonito Great Houses at locations

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that provide direct views of astronomical phenomena could indicate that visual demonstration of astronomical knowledge was deemed preeminently important for impressing visitors. For a number of years, Lekson (2008) has asserted that the Great Houses can best be described as palaces in which kings and other powerful nobility lived. Recently, he has speculated that Chacoan society had an organizational structure similar to that of Mesoamerican altepetals, which were small city-states composed of nobles living in palaces who collected tribute from outlying communities (Lekson 2011). Often the central administrative center of Mesoamerican altepetals contained a major market and a temple, pyramid, or other representation of the axis mundi, i.e., a symbiotic combination of trade, pilgrimage, and ritual. The combination of the spire of Fajada Butte, impressive Great Houses, and traders at pilgrimage festivals is consistent with the organization of altepetals. However, similarities between the Chaco system and altepetals do not necessitate any significant influence from Mesoamerican communities. Examples of similar organizations of center and periphery in which powerful leaders co-opted preexisting ceremonial traditions to obtain power and legitimacy are found in places as diverse as the Vijayanagara empire of South India (Fritz and Michell 2001) and the pre-Inca empire of Tiwanaku. In particular, Varnich (2009, pp. 29–30) interprets Tiwanaku as a highly complex ceremonial center, similar to the Chaco regional system, dependent upon “high-energy, popular ritual events” to attract resource-bearing visitors from outlying communities within its ritual catchment zone (Silverman 1993, p. 303). Tiwanaku even had outlying communities, similar to Chacoan outliers in that their residents visited the center for periodic festivals and constructed their own surrogates of the monumental structures of the center (Kolata 1996).

Cross-References ▶ Astronomy of Indian Cities, Temples, and Pilgrimage Centers ▶ Hopi and Anasazi Alignments and Rock Art ▶ Pre-Inca Astronomy in Peru ▶ Rock Art of the Greater Southwest ▶ Sun-Dagger Sites

References Brandt JC, Maran SP, Williamson RA, Harrington RS, Cochran C, Kennedy M, Kennedy WJ, Chamberlain VD (1975) Possible rock art records of the Crab Nebula Supernova in the Western United States. In: Aveni AF (ed) Archaeoastronomy in Pre-Columbian America. University of Texas Press, Austin, pp 45–57 Carlson JB (1987) Romancing the stone, or Moonshine on the Sun Dagger. In: Carlson JB, Judge WJ (eds) Astronomy and ceremony in the prehistoric Southwest. Papers of the Maxwell Museum of Anthropology, Albuquerque, pp 71–88

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Ellis FH (1975) A thousand years of the Pueblo Sun-Moon-Star calendar. In: Aveni AF (ed) Foundations of new world cultural astronomy: a reader with commentary. University Press of Colorado, Boulder, pp 647–667 Fisher VB (2010) Classic object lessons in southwestern archaeoastronomy. Archaeoastron J Astron Cult 23:27–34 Fritz JM (1978) Paleopsychology today: ideational systems and human adaptation in prehistory. In: Redman CL (ed) Social archaeology: beyond subsistence and dating. Academic, New York, pp 37–59 Fritz JM, Michell G (eds) (2001) New light on Hampi. Marg, Mumbai Hayes AC (1981) A survey of Chaco Canyon archaeology. In: Hayes AD, Brugge DM, Judge WJ (eds) Archaeological surveys of Chaco Canyon, New Mexico Publications in Archaeology 18A, Chaco Canyon studies. National Park Service, Washington, DC, pp 1–68 Kolata AL (1996) Valley of the spirits. Wiley, New York Lekson SH (1984) Great Pueblo architecture of Chaco Canyon, New Mexico. University of New Mexico Press, Albuquerque Lekson SH (2006) Chaco matters: an introduction. In: Lekson SH (ed) The archaeology of Chaco Canyon, an eleventh-century Pueblo Regional Center. School of American Research Press, Santa Fe, pp 3–44 Lekson SH (2008) A history of the ancient southwest. School for Advanced Research, Santa Fe Lekson SH (2011) Chaco as Altepetl: secondary states. In: The Southwest in the World. http:// stevelekson.com/2011/07/22/what-was-chaco/. Accessed 22 July 2011 Malville JM (2008) A guide to prehistoric astronomy in the southwest, rev edn. Johnson Books, Boulder Malville JM (2013) The enigmas of Fajada Butte. In: Bostwick TW, Hull T, Munson GE (eds) Astronomy and ceremony in the prehistoric southwest: revisited. Selected papers from the 2011 conference on archaeoastronomy in the American Southwest. Papers of the Maxwell Museum of anthropology, Albuquerque (in press) Malville JM, Malville NJ (2001) Pilgrimage and periodic festivals as processes of social integration in Chaco Canyon. Kiva 66:327–344 Malville JM, Munro AM (2011) Cultural identity, continuity, and astronomy in Chaco Canyon. Archaeoastron J Astron Cult 23:62–81 McCluskey SC (1988) The probability of noontime shadows at three petroglyphs sites in Fajada Butte. Archaeoastronomy 19:S70–S72 Munro AM (2012) The astronomical context of the archaeology and architecture of the Chacoan culture. PhD thesis, Centre for Astronomy, School of Engineering and Physical Sciences, James Cook University, Townsville Munro AM, Malville JM (2010) Calendrical stations in Chaco Canyon. Archaeoastron J Astron Cult 23:91–106 Munro AM, Malville JM (2011) Ancestors and the Sun: astronomy, architecture, and culture at Chaco Canyon. In: Ruggles CLN (ed) Archaeoastronomy and ethnoastronomy: building bridges between cultures. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, pp 255–265 Newman EB, Mark RK, Vivian RG (1982) Anasazi solar marker: the use of natural rockfall. Science 209:858–860 Reyman J (1976) Astronomy, architecture, and adaptation at Pueblo Bonito. Science 193:957–962 Silverman H (1993) Cahuachi in the ancient Nasca world. University of Iowa Press, Iowa City Sofaer A (2008) Chaco astronomy: an ancient American cosmology. Ocean Tree Books, Santa Fe Van Dyke RM (2004) Memory, meaning, and masonry: the late Bonito Chacoan landscape. Am Antiq 69:413–431 Van Dyke RM (2008) The Chaco experience, landscape and ideology at the center place. School for Advanced Research Press, Santa Fe

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Vranich A (2009) The development of the ritual core of Tiwanaku. In: Young-Sanchez M (ed) Tiwanaku. Denver Art Museum, Denver, pp 11–34 Wilcox D (2004) The evolution of the Chacoan polity. In: Malville JM (ed) Chimney rock: the ultimate outlier. Lexington Books, Lanham, pp 163–200 Williamson RA (1984) Living in the sky: the cosmos of the american indian. University of Oklahoma Press, Norman Zeilik M (1985a) The Fajada Butte solar marker: a reevaluation. Science 228:1311–1313 Zeilik M (1985b) A reassessment of the Fajada Butte solar marker. Archaeoastron Suppl J Hist Astron 9:S69–S85

Rock Art of the Greater Southwest

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Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Supernova Rock Art . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Light and Shadow . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Expanding the Inventory . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Ethnographic Illumination . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Conclusion . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Abstract

Archaeoastronomical studies in the American Southwest began in 1955 with recognition of what seemed to be pictorial eyewitness records of the Crab supernova of 1054 AD In time, reports of seasonally significant light-and-shadow effects on rock art and associations of rock art with astronomical alignments also emerged. Most astronomical rock art studies remained problematic, however, because criteria for proof of ancient intent were elusive. Disciplined methods for assessing cultural function were difficult to develop, but review of ethnographically documented astronomical traditions of California Indians and of Indians in the American Southwest subsequently increased confidence in the value of some astronomical rock art initiatives.

Introduction Rock art – painting and carvings on boulders, on cliff faces, in overhangs, and in caves – is found throughout the world, and it is plentiful in the American Southwest

E.C. Krupp Griffith Observatory, Los Angeles, CA, USA e-mail: [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_45, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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Fig. 41.1 Miller interpreted White Mesa’s red pictograph of a crescent truncated by a circle as an eyewitness report of the Crab supernova with the waning crescent moon on the morning of 5 July 1054 AD. In fact, the rock art appears to be much more recent, and it more likely represents the head of the one-horned kachina in historic Pueblo tradition (Photograph by E.C. Krupp)

and California, where it helped drive the development of modern archaeoastronomy in the 1970s with studies of celestial imagery. At the same time, some rock art sites in the American West were asserted to function astronomically, primarily as calendrical or seasonal indicators. Although astronomical significance has subsequently been attributed to rock art in other parts of the world, California and the American Southwest remain the primary territory from which astronomical rock art is reported.

Supernova Rock Art Astronomical studies of rock art began in the American Southwest, in 1955. William C. Miller, a staff member at Mount Wilson and Palomar Observatories, initiated this research with a report on the pairing of a “star” symbol with a crescent at two different rock art sites in northern Arizona (Miller 1955). He also suggested both panels might depict the Crab supernova of 1054 AD, a conspicuous event which was recorded at the time by official astronomers in China and Japan (Fig. 41.1). Miller’s work was never forgotten by the astronomers, but astronomical interpretation of rock art went dormant until the 1970s, when additional examples of star/crescent combinations in California and Southwest rock art were noticed. In 1972, paintings of a “star” and crescent were reported from Fern Cave in Lava Beds National Monument, in northeast California, and a year later, the star and crescent on an overhang at Penasco Blanco in Chaco Canyon, New Mexico, captured attention. In June, 1973, at a conference in Mexico City, a group of eight investigators discussed five different supernova rock art sites and mentioned the possibility of two others in the first survey of supernova rock art (Brandt et al. 1975). Two years later, astronomers John C. Brandt and Ray A. Williamson confirmed the two provisional sites and added six more. At the same symposium, Dorothy Mayer, a rock art researcher, discussed more than a dozen sites in California and Nevada and judged that four might represent the Crab supernova.

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Fig. 41.2 The star/crescent pictograph on an overhang at Penasco Blanco became so closely affiliated with the Crab supernova interpretation, National Park Service personnel installed a “Supernova” sign at the site for visitors (Photograph by E.C. Krupp)

By 1979, a new review listed 19 possible supernova depictions in rock art (Brandt and Williamson 1979) (Fig. 41.2). By 2005, however, detailed, disciplined review demonstrated some of the classic examples could not possibly represent the Crab supernova (Armitrage et al. 2005 and Krupp 2009). It was also clear no one knew the locations of the two original “supernova” sites and that no one had seen them since Miller described them. When the two sites were finally recovered and reappraised, it was evident the supernova interpretation at both sites is compromised (Krupp et al. 2010), and ongoing scrutiny of the other canonical star/crescent rock art panels may now result in a complete reassessment of the supernova record in Southwest rock art (Fig. 41.3).

Light and Shadow Recognition and investigation of other celestial imagery in rock art continued, but astronomical rock art studies also began to include accounts of seasonally significant light-and-shadow interactions with rock art in California and, subsequently, the Southwest. In 1975, Ken Hedges investigated La Rumorosa, a Kumeyaay pictograph site in northern Baja California, Mexico, on winter solstice and observed

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Fig. 41.3 Miller’s second example of Crab supernova rock art, a petroglyph of a crescent and a disk at a site he called “Navaho Canyon”, is also problematic. Other unexplained contiguous imagery is closely affiliated with the “star” and crescent, which are, in turn, small elements of a much larger and more complicated panel of petroglyphs in the same style (Photograph and image enhancement by Robert Mark, insert illustration of petroglyph by Margaret Berrier)

the formation of a dagger of light cast by the rising sun onto the wall of a rock shelter, where the beam sliced across the eyes of a red anthropomorph (Hedges 1986) (Fig. 41.4). While on Fajada Butte, in Chaco Canyon, near the 1977 summer solstice, Anna Sofaer observed the formation of a dagger of sunlight that cut through an inscribed spiral on a vertical wall close to midday. Further study (Sofaer et al. 1979) persuaded her the three slabs that lean against the petroglyph panel were configured to provide calendric information or at least work as a solstice marker, and she documented distinctive light-and-shadow effects at the equinoxes and winter solstice (Fig. 41.5). She promoted these results in a widely seen television program, The Sun Dagger, and Fajada Butte became the best known astronomical site in the American Southwest (Ruggles 2005). In subsequent work, Sofaer also attributed lunar standstill significance to the Fajada Butte site. Response to Sofaer’s work was mixed. On the one hand, the distinctive character of the dagger’s bisection of the large spiral was acknowledged, but some commentaries judged Sofaer overinterpreted the site. Energetic publicity, however, helped stimulate others to look for similar effects at other rock art sites, and new light-and-shadow effects were regularly reported.

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Fig. 41.4 Winter solstice sunrise at La Rumorosa slices across the eyes of red horned figure on the shelter wall (Photograph by E.C. Krupp)

Expanding the Inventory Because horizon observations of the sun had been documented ethnographically in the Southwest and in California, astronomy’s affiliation with rock art through astronomical alignments and through light-and-shadow effects was regarded as plausible, if not proved. In 1977, Williamson associated rock art with astronomical alignments near Wijiji Pueblo in Chaco Canyon (Williamson et al. 1977). A ledge, enriched with rock art, permitted observation of the winter solstice sunrise over a natural rock pillar on the other side of the rincon. One of the prehistoric petroglyphs is a line oriented toward the pillar (Fig. 41.6). An assessment of California rock art and astronomy (Hudson et al. 1979) identified ten sites for “direct” and “indirect” observation of solstice sunrises and sunsets. In the former, the rock art appeared to mark a place from which horizon observations could be made. In the latter, light-and-shadow interactions with rock art spotlighted the solstices.

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Fig. 41.5 Midday light-andshadow effects interact throughout the year with spirals carved high on Fajada Butte (Griffith Observatory)

Over the next decade, astronomical significance was attributed to dozens of rock art sites. In California, Ker 17, a pictograph site overlooking the south fork of the Kern River in T€ ubatulabal territory, combines a painted rayed disk with a horizon profile that can establish the date of the winter solstice with a day’s precision (Harper-Slaboszewicz and Cooper 1988). Sapaksi, the “House of the Sun”, a Chumash site on the Sierra Madre Ridge, hosts light-and-shadow effects at summer solstice and winter solstice in a shelter dominated by a large red, rayed disk (Hoskinson and Cooper 1988). Burro Flats, on what was the Santa Susana Test Facility of Rocketdyne, in the northwest corner of the San Fernando Valley, seems to have been exploited for summer and winter solstice light-and-shadow events (Krupp 2006). In the Southwest, Ray Williamson and Jane Young reported another persuasive light-and-shadow effect for summer solstice at the Holly rock shelter near Holly Ruin in Hovenweep National Monument (Williamson and Young 1979), and Jesse Warner and his collaborators collected light-and-shadow effects at many Utah rock art sites (Krupp 2006). The variety and idiosyncratic character of seasonally significant light-andshadow effects on rock art led Robert and Ann Preston to carry out an examination of sites at Petrified Forest National Park and elsewhere in Arizona, and their work received national news coverage. Spiral and concentric rings comprised most of the astronomically active rock art, but rigorous statistical confirmation eluded the survey (Preston and Preston 1985). The Prestons later conducted a more ambitious survey of 46 sites, and in 1996 (Preston and Preston 2005), they argued that

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Fig. 41.6 A line inscribed on a shelf with other Ancestral Pueblo petroglyphs at Wijiji points toward a natural rock pillar aligned with winter solstice sunrise (Photograph by E.C. Krupp)

a “consistent” effect involving spirals and concentric circles demonstrated the calendric use of light-and-shadow effects (Preston and Preston 2005) (Fig. 41.7). Ongoing studies of Burro Flats, Mutau Flat, and other sites in Chumash territory established that light-and-shadow effects at these rock art sites are too imprecise to provide calendric data. They typically perform in the same way throughout a 16-day period centered on the solstice, and if the effects were intentionally contrived, they must have operated symbolically, not calendrically, on the solstice (Krupp 2006). Mesa San Carlos, an extensive and remote petroglyph site overlooking the coast of northern Baja California, provides a light-and-shadow effect as compelling as La Rumorosa’s watcher of the winter sun. A triangle of midday sunlight strikes a cliff face near a stylized depiction of a traditional brush house and shrinks as it moves into the doorway of the house, where it is extinguished (Robin and Ewing 1989) (Fig. 41.8). Solar marker rock art continued to be reported, usually anecdotally, site by site, over a large geographic area, but John Fountain looked for shared properties of the sites by systematically cataloging the data and searching for trends. Light-andshadow effects, he concluded, may occur at any time throughout the day on seasonally significant dates. Circles and spirals are the most common solar markers (Fountain 2005).

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Fig. 41.7 Light from the midday sun at the time of summer solstice flows over the edge of a block of stone near Puerco Ruin in Petrified Forest National Park and pours into a circular petroglyph identified by the Prestons as a solstice marker. The theatrical character of the display is compromised, however, by the subsequent, undistinguished movement of the light past the petroglyph and across the face of the rock (Photograph by E.C. Krupp)

Studies of astronomically active rock art moved into Hohokam territory, with an examination of the Shaw Butte hilltop site in the Phoenix Mountains of southern Arizona (Bostwick and Plum 2005). More intricate light-and-shadow effects on a large, complex, and tall vertical panel of petroglyphs at the V-Bar-V Heritage Site, a Sinagua site in northern Arizona’s Verde Valley, were reported by Kenneth J. Zoll in 2008 (Zoll 2008). In Albuquerque, at the 2011 Conference on Archaeoastronomy of the American Southwest, Todd Bostwick and Ken Zoll detailed the character and importance of deliberate modifications of the shadow-casting elements on the bluff. Without rigorous, statistical evidence or other independent support, the identification of solar markers in rock art remains understandably subjective. Nonetheless, most of those who study these sites in the field are persuaded they were contrived to perform astronomically (Ruggles 2005).

Ethnographic Illumination In the first studies of astronomical dimensions of California rock art, the value of ethnographic data was recognized (Hudson et al. 1979), and the use of ethnography in similar investigations in the Southwest soon followed (Williamson 1982).

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Fig. 41.8 Light from the midday sun at Mesa San Carlos interacts with an edge high on the rock face to project a luminous triangle that enters the doorway in a petroglyph of a brush house (Photograph by E.C. Krupp)

Relying on unpublished field notes of ethnographer John Peabody Harrington, Travis Hudson and Ernest Underhay collaborated in an examination of astronomical traditions of southern California’s Chumash Indians (Hudson and Underhay 1978). Their research included a consideration of Chumash rock art and helped leverage further studies of celestial iconography. They linked rock art to ethnographically documented Chumash myth and ceremony. Through the 1980s, 1990s, and to the present, John Rafter has discovered astronomical effects at many California Indian sites in Luisen˜o, Cahuilla, and Chemehuevi territory and fortified them with detailed applications of ethnoastronomical data, including mythic narratives (Krupp 2006). The distinctive and ethnographically confirmed forked-ray design of some Chumash sun symbols permits identification of these emblems in the rock art (Krupp 2006), and some of the rock art at Alder Creek appears to be deliberately oriented toward the north celestial pole, a key location in Chumash cosmography (Krupp 1996) (Fig. 41.9). Tom Hoskinson combined relevant ethnography with his field observations at Sears Point, on the Gila River in southwest Arizona, and proposed several astronomical and calendrical interpretations of its rock art (Hoskinson 1992).

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Fig. 41.9 The Chumash of southern California equated the sun’s rays to the forked ventral rays on the sand dollar, and this ethnographic information confirms that disks with forked rays are emblems of the sun. This solar pictograph was painted on the ceiling of a small rock shelter at Indian Creek (Photograph by E.C. Krupp)

Fig. 41.10 White four-arm crosses (Navajo star symbols) painted on black and black crosses painted on white fill the ceiling of Many Stars Cave in Canyon de Chelly National Monument, Arizona (Photograph by E.C. Krupp)

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Fig. 41.11 Personified fourpointed stars have attributes of eagles and carry weapons in Southern Tewa rock art. This Morning Star imagery depicts Venus, here shown on a boulder at Staghorn with an eagle’s tail feathers and a dart (Photograph by E.C. Krupp)

As early as 1978, Von Del Chamberlain explored the astronomical connotations of Navajo rock art (Chamberlain 1978). He pioneered the study of Navajo star ceilings and demonstrated the fields of stars depicted on overhead surfaces did not map the sky but instead invoked the magical and symbolic power of the stars (Chamberlain 1989). He also identified explicit depictions of Navajo constellations in rock art and linked this imagery with constellation representations in Navajo sand paintings and other ritual paraphernalia (Chamberlain and Rogers 2005) (Fig. 41.10). Navajo rock art near Shabikeshchee, in Chaco Canyon, appears to mark backsite boulders for the solstice and equinox sunrises. Solar imagery and drill-hole petroglyphs of known Navajo constellations, like those on the ledge near Wijiji, are present. The constraints imposed by the boulders on the visibility of the horizon and the relevant sunrises argue effectively for a Navajo tradition of horizon astronomy that parallels what Pueblo peoples are known to have performed (Ambruster and Hull 2005). By the 1990s, rock art expert Polly Schaafsma had consolidated evidence for a celestial meaning in Southern Tewa rock art in New Mexico through analysis of mythology. Her detailed and disciplined work identified Morning Star warfare imagery in the rock art (Schaafsma 1993) (Fig. 41.11).

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Conclusion Early in the 1970s, enthusiasm over Crab supernova rock art motivated a number of professional astronomers to look for more evidence of ancient astronomy in the ruins and rock art of the American Southwest while anthropologists and archaeologists in California independently began to reevaluate rock art with an ethnographic perspective. These efforts soon converged in a broad effort to understand some rock art through an astronomical lens. Although this enterprise incurs the same methodological liabilities as other archaeoastronomical studies, when ethnography and anthropological parallels can be legitimately applied, a broader understanding of the nature and function of some rock art may be possible. Criteria for proof remain problematic in astronomical interpretations of rock art, but persuasive, disciplined arguments can be formulated. In 1979, Krupp outlined some primary requirements that apply to archaeoastronomy in general and to astronomical interpretation of rock art as well (Krupp 1979). The data must be understood in the entire cultural context in terms of cultural function, not as an isolated phenomenon. In addition, Krupp emphasized the importance of “the principle of converging lines of evidence”. These obvious notions were echoed with robust elaboration by David Whitley for the Oxford VI International Conference on Archaeoastronomy (Whitley 2006). Four decades of energized rock art research have delivered some productive conclusions buttressed by convergent lines of evidence.

Cross-References ▶ Astronomy and Rock Art Studies ▶ Dine´ (Navajo) Ethno- and Archaeoastronomy ▶ Hopi and Anasazi Alignments and Rock Art ▶ Sun-Dagger Sites

References Ambruster C, Hull T (2005) Evidence for early Navajo horizon astronomy in Chaco Canyon. In: Fountain J, Sinclair R (eds) Current studies in archaeoastronomy. Carolina Academic Press, Durham NC, pp 205–220 Armitrage R et al (2005) Fern cave rock paintings at lava beds national monument, California, not the AD 1054 supernova. In: Fountain J, Sinclair R (eds) Current studies in archaeoastronomy. Carolina Academic Press, Durham NC, pp 121–131 Bostwick T, Plum T (2005) The Shaw butte hilltop site: a prehistoric Hohokam observatory. In: Fountain J, Sinclair R (eds) Current studies in archaeoastronomy. Carolina Academic Press, Durham NC, pp 151–160 Brandt J, Williamson R (1979) The 1054 supernova and Native American rock art. Archaeoastronomy 1(Supplement to the Journal for the History for Astronomy 10):S1–S38 Brandt J et al (1975) Possible rock art records of the crab nebula supernova in the western United States. In: Aveni AF (ed) Archaeoastronomy in pre-Columbian America. University of Texas Press, Austin, pp 45–48

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Chamberlain V (1978) Sky symbol rock art. In: Snyder E, Bock A, Bock F (eds) American Indian rock art, vol 4. American Rock Art Research Association, El Toro, pp 79–89 Chamberlain V (1989) Navajo star ceilings. In: Aveni AF (ed) World archaeoastronomy. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, pp 331–340 Chamberlain V, Rogers H (2005) Tracking stars in Dine´tah: astronomical symbolism in gobernador phase rock art. In: Fountain J, Sinclair R (eds) Current studies in archaeoastronomy. Carolina Academic Press, Durham NC, pp 221–242 Fountain J (2005) A database of rock art solar markers. In: Fountain J, Sinclair R (eds) Current studies in archaeoastronomy. Carolina Academic Press, Durham NC, pp 109–119 Harper-Slaboszewicz V, Cooper R (1988) Ca-Ker 17: a possible T€ ubatulabal winter solstice observatory. In: Schiffman R (ed) Visions of the sky – archaeological and ethnological studies of California Indian astronomy. Coyote Press, Salinas, pp 135–142 Hedges K (1986) The sunwatcher of La Rumorosa. In: Hedges K (ed) Rock art papers, vol 4 (San Diego Museum of Man papers number 21). San Diego Museum of Man, San Diego, pp 17–32 Hoskinson T (1992) Saguaro wine, ground figures, and power mountains: investigations at Sears Point, Arizona. In: Williamson R, Farrer C (eds) Earth and sky: visions of the cosmos in Native American folklore. University of New Mexico Press, Albuquerque, pp 131–161 Hoskinson T, Cooper R (1988) Archaeoastronomical investigation of an inland Chumash site. In: Schiffman R (ed) Visions of the sky – archaeological and ethnological studies of California Indian astronomy. Coyote Press, Salinas, pp 31–40 Hudson T, Underhay E (1978) Crystals in the sky: an intellectual odyssey involving Chumash astronomy, cosmology, and rock art (Ballena Press anthropological papers no. 10). Ballena Press, Socorro Hudson T, Lee G, Hedges K (1979) Solstice observers and observatories in native California. Journal of California and Great Basin Anthropology 1(1):38–63 Krupp E (1979) A glance into the smoking mirror. In: Williamson R (ed) Archaeoastronomy in the Americas. Ballena Press, Los Altos, pp 55–59 Krupp E (1996) The top of the sky, the center of the world, and the road between. Griffith Observer 60(12):1–18 + 24 Krupp E (2006) Archaeoastronomy unplugged; eliminating the fuzz tone from rock art astronomy. In: Hamann D et al (eds) International rock art congress 1994, vol 3 (American Indian rock art, vol 21). American Rock Art Research Association, Phoenix, pp 353–369 Krupp E (2009) Rock star. In: Keyser J et al (eds) American Indian rock art, vol 35. American Rock Art Research Association, Tucson, pp 79–89 Krupp E, Billo E, Mark R (2010) Star trek; recovery and review of the first alleged supernova rock art. Archaeoastronomy: The Journal of Astronomy in Culture 23:35–43 Miller W (1955) Two possible astronomical pictographs found in northern Arizona. Plateau 27(4):6–13 Preston R, Preston A (1985) The discovery of 19 prehistoric calendric petroglyph sites in Arizona. In: Benson A, Hoskinson T (eds) Earth and sky – proceedings of the first western regional conference on archaeoastronomy. Slo’w Press, Thousand Oaks, pp 123–133 Preston R, Preston A (2005) Consistent forms of solstice sunlight interaction with petroglyphs throughout the prehistoric American southwest. In: Fountain J, Sinclair R (eds) Current studies in archaeoastronomy. Carolina Academic Press, Durham NC, pp 109–119 Robin M, Ewing E (1989) The sun is in his house. In: Hedges K (ed) Rock art papers, vol 6 (San Diego Museum of Man papers no. 24). San Diego Museum of Man, San Diego, pp 29–36 Ruggles C (2005) Ancient astronomy: an encyclopedia of cosmologies and myth. ABC-CLIO, Santa Barbara Schaafsma P (1993) Imagery and magic: petroglyphs at Comanche Gap, galisteo basin, New Mexico. In: Duran D, Kirkpatrick D (eds) Archaeology, art, & anthropology: papers in honor of J.J. Brody. The Archaeological Society of New Mexico, Albuquerque, pp 157–174 Sofaer A, Zinser V, Sinclair R (1979) A unique solar marking construct. Science 206:283–291

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Whitley D (2006) Issues in archaeoastronomy and rock art. In: Bostwick T, Bates B (eds) Viewing the sky through past and present cultures (Pueblo Grande anthropological papers no. 15). City of Phoenix Parks and Recreation Department, Phoenix, pp 85–102 Williamson R (1982) Casa rinconada, twelfth century anasazi kiva. In: Aveni A (ed) Archaeoastronomy in the new world. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, pp 205–218 Williamson R, Young M (1979) An equinox sun petroglyph panel at hovenweep national monument. In: Bock F et al (eds) American Indian rock art, vol v. American Rock Art Research Association, El Toro, pp 71–80 Williamson R, Fisher H, O’Flynn D (1977) Anasazi solar observatories. In: Aveni A (ed) Native American astronomy. University of Texas Press, Austin, pp 203–217 Zoll K (2008) Sinagua sunwatchers. Sunwatcher Publishing, Sedona

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Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Examination of Rock Art Exemplars . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Architectural Alignments . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Conclusion . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Abstract

The interaction of light and shadow on ancestral Puebloan rock art, or rock art demarcating sunrise/set horizon points that align with culturally significant dates, has long been assumed to be evidence of “intentional construct” for marking time or event by the native creator. However, anthropological rock art research requires the scientific control of cultural time, element orientation and placement, structure, and association with other rock art elements. The evaluation of five exemplars challenges the oft-held assumption that “if the interaction occurs, it therefore supports intentional construct” and thereby conveys meaning to the native culture.

Introduction Numerous controls are implemented in rock art research, among them are artifact orientation and placement, structure, association with other elements and cultural time (Thiel 1995; Cole 2009). Among these, the time period in which the rock art

B.C. Bates Coconino Community College, Flagstaff, AZ, USA e-mail: [email protected]; [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_42, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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was created is metered by cultural groupings such as Basket-maker II, III, or Pueblo I, II, III, IV, or V. However, cultural groupings are rarely mentioned in either archaeoastronomy rock art papers or conferences. Rather, the assumption tends to be that if light–shadow interaction or alignment occurs in a dramatic fashion on rock art, that alignment was intentionally created and therefore culturally significant. As Chamberlain et al. (1999) discovered, interactions with light and shadow may occur that were not originally intended by the artist, Thus, an eloquent presentation can convince the audience that the interaction of concern was “intentionally constructed” because it meets the physical constraints of the site; yet, the controls of cultural time, cultural information extracted, and the use of that information are rarely addressed. Ethnographically, rock art panels are seen as communication locations where the individual elements tell a story through association with other elements (Cole 2009). Thus, archaeoastronomers need to ask: “What information was being collected/communicated”? And, “How was that information used by the native culture”? For the control of time, this author has used the Museum of Northern Arizona “Hopi Ceremonial Cycle” (lunar) calendar for Pueblo II & III sites because it has strong ethnographic support where most other Puebloan cultures were heavily influenced by the Spanish. Bruenig and Lomatuway’ma (1983, p. 5) (Fig. 42.1). This chapter addresses archaeoastronomy rock art exemplars asking whether the research has demonstrated intentional construct that provides culturally important information to the ancestral Puebloan people. Whitley (2006, p. 91) states “To make archaeoastronomy relevant, it is also necessary to identify why (not how) this [the astronomical- alignment interaction] was done and how this knowledge and practice was used”. It should be noted that clear research guidelines for assessing “knowledge and practice” in rock art astronomy have yet to be developed. The ex post facto evaluation of an article’s cultural significance does not necessarily indicate poor research. Archaeoastronomers are very good at documenting the physics and light–shadow interactions; yet, what is needed to make the research more anthropologically relevant is an analysis of what information was obtained and how that information was used by the in situ native society. For obvious reasons, the author recuses himself from evaluating his own work, and, invites others to read his research, nonetheless.

Examination of Rock Art Exemplars The “Supernova” pictograph near Penasco Blanco, Chaco Canyon National Historic Park, portrays a hand, crescent moon, and the presumed 1,054 Supernova painted on an overhanging sandstone ledge approximately 5 M above ground level (Fig. 42.2). Brandt and Williamson (1979) assessed rock art and astronomy among different cultures, and suggest that because astronomical symbols were used in different cultures, the ability to document and interpret astronomical information within ancestral Puebloan culture was also evident. However, appropriate use of ethnographic analogy is generally constrained to use within a culture and not applied

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Fig. 42.1 Because of the extensive interference of ancestral Puebloan cultural practices by the Spanish Conquistadors (circa 1550s) and the relative isolation of the Hopi culture during this time period, the Hopi Ceremonial Cycle, as documented by the Museum of Northern Arizona, Flagstaff, Az., is the best preserved calendric system among the ancestral Puebloans. It provides a good model for the control of time among the ancestral Puebloan societies. Fig 42.2 Supernova Rock Art Site

across cultural boundaries (Bates and Bostwick 1999). While the Supernova would have been very bright at sunset (an “exciting event”) and the juxtaposition of the moon and “star” fit the “Supernova site” depiction, Ellis (1975) rejected the Supernova hypothesis because, ethnographically, “the Puebloan people did not record exciting events”. Further, alternative hypotheses, such as Venus, were not adequately tested. Brandt and Williamson’s paper fails to analyze what information Chacoan people would have derived from the pictograph, other than the occurrence of the event, which does not fit cultural classifications, per Ellis. Pasahow (1994) documents three sites on a mesa south of Zuni, N.M that contain a crescent shape and “sun” structures. (This site was cited as support for Brandt &

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Fig. 42.2 The “Supernova Rock art Site” near Penasco Blanco, Chaco Canyon. While no dating of thee pictograph pigments has been conducted, Supernova enthusiasts claim it marks the 1054 Crab Nebula; however, Ellis and others challenge that assumption (Photo by Todd Bostwick, used by permission)

Williamson’s hypothesis.) Pasahow interprets these as sun watching stations (there is no light shadow interaction on the petroglyphs) because the larger sun petroglyph site looks southwest toward two peaks that align with winter solstice and equinox sunset, respectively; however, he does not evaluate whether the alignment dates were culturally significant. He rejects the 1,054 Supernova hypothesis for this site as the geographic orientation of the site would not have allowed for observation of the crescent moon and supernova as it does at Penasco Blanco. This interpretation would have benefited from more clearly addressing whether cultural activities were associated with the anticipation of sunsets over the peaks and how those events were culturally significant. Zeilik and Elston (1983) researched Wijiji, a Chacoan community occupied mideleventh century and located 3 Km southeast of Fajada Butte. Originally proposed by Williamson (1987), a Zia or Zuni style white Sunshield pictograph lies near the location to directly observe the winter solstice sunrise over a remnant sandstone erosional pillar. The cultural association of other nearby petroglyphs is problematic, as a small counterclockwise spiral with an extended arm (potentially Chacoan) lies near a mirrored double triangle, likely a Navajo (Athapascan) mythological symbol “Born for Water”. There is the distinct possibility this site was originally created by Chacoans and later occupied by the Navajo. Because accurate dating is essential to good interpretation, the critical issue is determining the date of rock art creation. A pile of Chacoan pottery fragments exists on-site and artifact assemblages were used as a de facto dating proxy; however, proxy dates can lead to unjustified assumptions. Preston and Preston (2005) surveyed 46 sites with 109 petroglyphs displaying “precise examples of interaction of sunlit images . . . on the solstices” with a control of 17 rock art panels in Petrified Forest National Monument (Holbrook, Az.), and the remaining 29 sites scattered across the Southwest. However, five sites (#34, 35, 38, 45, 46) lie outside of the ancestral Puebloan geo-cultural region and another five sites (#39–44) are boundary sites. No cultural groupings were discussed, though most sites were likely Pueblo II–III, and all interactive sites were spirals or

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concentric circles thought to be migration symbols (Cole, Personal communication, 1988). The Prestons identify three patterns of light interaction: (1) wedge or pointer; (2) shadow line which “suddenly forms or disappears at the symbol center or edge”, and (3) “shadow line which moves up to the symbol center or edge and retreats”, thus helping us understand the dynamics of alignments. A fundamental problem is the loss of cultural research control as they compared petroglyphs constructed by different cultural families, a problem they acknowledge but did not eliminate from their database (Preston and Preston 2005, p. 111). Further, their research addresses the percentages of spirals and concentric circles, but not other rock art motifs which may have culturally important light interacting patterns. At the time of their research (late 1980s), Preston’s work clearly demonstrated that rock art was used to document horizon calendar observation points. While their research was never intended to address cultural information, their heavy reliance on spirals with light–shadow interactions suggests that intentional astronomical indications on rock art were more prevalent than they likely are. In a July 25, 2012, via e-mail Robert Preston stated: The goal of [our] research is to provide new understanding of the prehistoric cultures of the region. The early results make a strong case that this was a cultural trait in prehistoric times that withered before the first serious ethnographic studies. . . . our research has gone way beyond these earlier results and papers are now in preparation on detailed surveys in many regions. The newer results firmly establish this prehistoric pan-Southwest tradition and allow us to draw more detailed conclusions about its pan-Southwest development and variations across cultural regions, temporal changes in this trait and their correlation with the known evolution of the cultures, and how the rock art was integrated into their ritual life. This author looks forward to their next publication.

At Palatki Ruins west of Sedona AZ, Zoll predicts an intentional equinox alignment on “Sunshield pictograph” and a “thirty days later” solar alignment on the same pictograph with the “register marks”. The associated “why is this date anticipated”? is answered by agave root collection (equinox alignment) and April 20 roasting (“30 days later”), an important food source (Fig. 42.3). It is unclear as to whether the pictograph was created by Sinaguan (related to Hopi) or Yavapai (not related). Researchers are often perplexed by multiple cultures using the same rock art site at concurrent or different times. Deciphering which art elements belong to which culture is indeed challenging. A puzzling question at the Sunshield site is whether the pictograph was intentionally created to document both a sunrise event (upper left/lower right quadrants) and a sunset event (“register marks” upper and lower right quadrants). Stephen (1936) wrote in his Hopi Journal that, based upon the “Katcina cycle”, Hopi watch sunrise events from Soyalangwa (winter solstice) to Nimanywa (“Katcina Going Home”) summer solstice ceremony. Following Nimanywa (late July), Hopi observe sunset (Bates 2005). This author is not aware of other rock art elements/panels which demonstrably indicate intentional observation of both sunrise and sunset events during the same Katcina cycle. More problematic is Zoll’s (2010) interpretation of the “V-Bar-V Heritage Site calendar” 25 miles southeast of Sedona. The complex, light–shadow interactions on a large petroglyph panel led Zoll to predict an agricultural marker. Yet, the number of

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Fig. 42.3 The Sunshield pictograph likely indicates the time of year for harvesting (March 21) and roasting (April 21) yucca roots. The Equinox pattern indicates sunrise; however, the April 21 photo indicates sunset, a pattern which needs more ethnographic research. The “register markers” are visible midsection in upper and lower right quadrants of the Equinox marker, and are split by the light–shadow interaction in the April 21 photo. No explanation was given for the number of hash marks or the three lines forming the quadrants (Research and photo by Ken Zoll, used with permission)

rock art elements on the panel is overwhelming (Zoll cites 1032). He bases his interpretation on two rocks situated in upper level cracks, reportedly intentionally shaped and placed in the crevasses that casts two shadowed regions across the panel with the position of the shadows shifting with the Sun’s declination (Zoll 2012, in review). Billo (Personal communication, Aug 18, 2012) shared that Zoll has sharpened his cultural interpretation of the V-V site as per his 2011 CAASW conference presentation, the one under review. While spiral and concentric petroglyphs are likely migration symbols, seven petroglyphs out of 1,032 are chosen as reference markers, a designation which may ignore other petroglyph symbols involved in astronomical anticipation. This leads to the question: Does this interpretation “count the hits; ignore the misses”?, a practice that has plagued astronomical rock art research for years. From the perspective of moving the archaeoastronomy rock art field forward, we have to ask how the context of light–shadow interaction on specific rock art elements interfaces with the overall anthropological interpretation of the rock art panel.

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Fig. 42.4 The V-V Heritage Site Petroglyph contains 1,032 elements. Two rocks which are claimed to have been intentionally shaped and placed in cracks in the rock face above cast shadows on the petroglyphs when the Sun rises over the cliff edge in the early afternoon. Changes in the sun’s declination result in changes in the light–shadow margins. All photos were taken at the time of “first light on the rock face”. These changing patterns result in seven concentric circles, spiral petroglyphs with tails or snake figures to align along the margin of the light-and-shadow boundaries at different points of seasonal time. This is a very complex petroglyph panel; thus, further research into alternative hypotheses in the context of the overall panel is suggested (Research and photos by Ken Zoll, with permission)

Does the observed light–shadow interaction support or not support an “intentional construct” hypothesis? Further, researchers need to assess the null hypothesis that the light shadow interactions coincidentally result from solar declination shifts, independent of “intentional construct” (Chamberlain et al. 1999). From the sites evaluated herein, Zoll is certainly moving in an appropriate direction, with more cultural interpretation needed in his (and my) research. Second, Zoll elucidates the dates in which the alignments occur; however, Zoll fails to tie those dates to cultural activities and the use of astronomical information with the exception that corn planting is staggered by lunar cycles (30 days), as demarcated by the shift in light–shadow regions along spirals (see Fig. 42.4). Precisely defining the cultural calendar and classification system (McCluskey 2001) is challenging as: (a) many cultures maintain that their information is sacred; (b) it

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requires diligent reading of ethnographic records, parts of which are known to contain inaccurate information; and (c) it is best confirmed by knowledgeable natives who may not trust divulging information to researchers owing to historic patterns. ((a): L. Kuwanawesiouma, Personal communication, 1989. Kuwanwisiwma, previously known as Jenkins, was Director of the Hopi Cultural Preservation Office in Kykotsmovi. (a) & (c): EH Polingyouma, Personal communications, 1993–present. Polingyouma is an elder who has helped me understand Hopi astronomy.) We come back to the question of how is the information derived from an astronomical rock art alignment used within the culture? Alignments by themselves are insufficient to support the “intentional construct” hypothesis that all researchers need to test.

Architectural Alignments Ray Williamson (1987) and Craig Benson conducted the first systematic research of potential astronomical alignments of architectural sites at Hovenweep National Monument in southeast Utah. Hovenweep is known for its high number of “D-shaped towers”, tacitly assumed to have been used for astronomical observations though little cultural evidence has been garnered to support this hypothesis. What made Hovenweep Tower (circa 1166–1270 CE) intriguing was a number of portals and doorways that portended potential alignment with the setting sun. Indeed, Williamson and Benson measured the azimuth, altitude, and latitude through three openings at Hovenweep Tower and determined (both mathematically and by observation) the west facing portal projected the summer solstice sunset onto an interior doorway, a cross-jamb doorway alignment projected the sunset 4 days following vernal equinox to the lintel of the same doorway, and a portal just above the exterior left of the same doorway projected the winter solstice sunset light onto the lintel of a separate interior doorway. Two problems exist with Williamson’s Hovenweep Tower intentional alignment hypothesis: (a) this author has not been able to verify by either ethnographic analogy or actual documentation that the ancestral Puebloan people intentionally constructed cross-jamb alignments and (b) that Hovenweep Tower actually contains several portals that were either not documented or not reported (nor included in the Tower diagram (1987, p. 118)). Not documenting the additional portals and windows invalidates Williamson’s argument that there was a 1/216,000 probability – i.e., (1/60)3 – of a coincidental alignment for the three solar alignment sunsets. “So we can assume with considerable assurance that the alignments we have found are intentional” (1987, p. 119). The fallacy here is “counting the hits, ignoring the misses” while concurrently failing to build an argument for use of the information within a cultural context (Fig. 42.5). Williamson’s research at Unit-Type House faces similar problems. His measurement of the four portals is accurate as are his description of the portals aligning

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Fig. 42.5 Hovenweep Castle c. 1917 south facing wall. Courtesy GE Munson. Portal on west side of wall (not visible) facilitates summer solstice light beam intersecting with interior door way jamb (not visible). Cross-jamb alignment from entry doorway (center left of photo) creates equinox alignment. Small portal to top left of door facilitates winter solstice light beam to intersect different interior door lentil (not visible). Williamson only documents three potential alignments at Hovenweep Tower; however, several other portals are visible along the extended south wall as well as two other portals along the west wall. Failure to document these portals results in unrealistic probability predictions of intentional construct for marking astronomical alignment events

with the azimuth of winter solstice sunrise, equinox sunrise, and an hour after sunrise on the summer solstice. From this author’s personal research at Unit-Type House, the problem lies with the slanted unevenness of the unexcavated floor causing the summer solstice sunrise to fall on the floor in line with but not onto the southwest corner as portrayed in his depiction (1987, p. 131). Second, the back wall was all masonry and no plaster remains were evident, thus no evidence of an intentional alignment to a specific point either in location or in time. Third, this author personally confirmed Williamson’s projection that the southernmost portal might align with the southern maximum lunar excursion on Aug 25, 1987; however, aligning my eye to view the lunar rise through the portal was very uncomfortable and, again, the light fell on the uneven floor and did not interact with the protruding wall of the winter solstice alignment as anticipated (Bates, unpublished field notes, Aug 25, 1987). However, the greatest problem is a 1917 photograph (Munson 2011) that clearly shows that there were no portals in the original wall. It is not known who may have constructed the current portals, nor for what purposes. But if there were no portals

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Fig. 42.6 Unit-Type House east exterior. Adapted from Bureau of American Ethnology, Bulletin 70, J.W. Fewkes. Photograph by T. G. Lemmon. Previously published by Munson (2011). Note that there are not any portals through the exterior wall, thus negating the solstice and equinox alignment hypotheses

in the original construction, then all hypotheses concerning original intent of marking specific dates via sunrise azimuths become irrelevant (Fig. 42.6). While it is easy to use hindsight to critique previous research, it should be remembered that Ray Williamson authored one of the first books on native astronomy in the United States, and that his considerable effort in archaeoastronomy has brought us closer to an understanding of and appreciation for the development of science within native societies. This review of his work is intended to reiterate the need for evaluating alignments within the cultural context of the originating society and the limitations of over-reliance on physical and mathematical observation methodologies. Bates (2005) provides a cultural interpretation of a solar calendar wall at Wupatki National Monument (circa 1100–1300 CE). This dry-laid, north–south axis, masonry wall contains three portals of which the southernmost portal aligns with the Oct 31 and Feb 5 cross-quarter date sunrises, the middle portal aligns with the May 1 and Aug 6 cross-quarter sunrises, and the northernmost aligns with the June 21 summer solstice sunrise. “The portals track the sun azimuth via changes in the light-shadow lines” (2005, p. 135). As he describes, one issue is that an observer sitting on a natural rock bench on the west side of the wall can manipulate the date where the sun first appears, is center to or migrates out of a portal by the positioning of his/her head, though by no more than 1 or 2 days. What Bates has attempted to do is to tie the observation of the sunrise to the cultural activity of the probable Hopi ancestors, which based upon ethnographic documentation, was likely the Patki clan and the Powamu society, Bates identifies a quadruped petroglyph (2005, p. 137,

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Fig. 7) as the Water clan symbol; however, McCluskey (Personal communication, 1998) redirected Bates to examine Fewkes 1897 report on rock art symbols wherein Bates learned that the symbol was actually Sand clan, and thus potentially nullified the cultural association argument as presented. Reading further in Alexander Stephen’s Hopi Journals (Parsons 1936), Bates learned that the Sand clan and Water clan combined in a “phratry”, thus affirming both McCluskey’s observation and Bates’ basic cultural arguments. The strength of this approach is its reliance on ethnographic information together with vetted interpretation and archaeological research of both the ethnography and anthropology. Where more work is needed is incorporating knowledgeable living Hopi (or other appropriate native people) in confirming and extending viable information as to how their culture actually developed their science of astronomy, and how the information informed their decision-making process.

Conclusion Archaeoastronomy researchers have done a good job of documenting and describing the astronomical light–shadow interactions and alignment properties of different rock art and architectural structures. But science is based on asking “how do we know what we claim to know”? Thus archaeoastronomical rock art research needs to move beyond the light–shadow interaction or horizon observation and address: What information can be extracted from interacting on-site with the event? How does that information fit within the cultural classification system? And, how does the acquired knowledge inform the survival/social/religious decision-making process of the native culture? Our research challenge is to translate the acquired information into what it tells us about the society’s cultural development. Acknowledgments Evelynn Billo and Robert Mark opened their extensive library on rock art for this research, and Evelynn provided valuable insight through her comments. Todd Bostwick and Ken Zoll both gave permission to use their research photographs; but far beyond photos, our friendship and research endeavors have caused me to reflect on how I do the research and what the data indicates. Robert and Ann Preston’s research on rock art and light–shadow interactions have offered different insights on research techniques and interpretations. David Whitley wrote an exceptional article on rock art and archaeoastronomy (referenced herein) to which I consistently return. Sally Cole, Polly Schaafsma, Peter Pilles, and Steve McCluskey have all provided insights throughout our friendship.

Cross-References ▶ Analyzing Light-and-Shadow Interactions ▶ Analyzing Orientations ▶ Astronomy and Rock Art Studies ▶ Cultural Interpretation of Archaeological Evidence Relating to Astronomy ▶ Cultural Interpretation of Ethnographic Evidence Relating to Astronomy

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▶ Great Houses and the Sun - Astronomy of Chaco Canyon ▶ Hopi and Puebloan Ethnoastronomy and Ethnoscience ▶ Interactions Between “Indigenous” and “Colonial” Astronomies: Adaptation of Indigenous Astronomies in the Modern World ▶ Nature and Analysis of Material Evidence Relevant to Archaeoastronomy ▶ Possible Astronomical Depictions in Franco-Cantabrian Paleolithic Rock Art ▶ Rock Art of the Greater Southwest

References Bates B (2005) A cultural interpretation of an Astronomical Calendar (Site #WS 833) at Wupatki National Monument. In: Fountain J, Sinclair R (eds) Current studies in archaeoastronomy: conversations across time and space. Carolina Academic Press, Durham NC, pp 133–150 Bates B, Bostwick T (1999) Issues in archaeoastronomy methodology. In: Esteban C, Belmonte JA (eds) Oxford VI and SEAC 99: Astronomy and cultural diversity. Organismo Auto´nomo de Museos del Cabildo de Tenerife, La Laguna, pp 147–156 Billo E (2012) Evelynn Billo and husband Robert Mark, co-founders of Rupestrian Cyberservices, are noted internationally as rock art specialists who have written innumerable papers on SW and other world region rock art. (Personal communication) Brandt JC, Williamson RA (1979) The 1054 supernova and Native American rock art. Archaeoastronomy 1 (Supplement to the Journal for the History for Astronomy 10):S1–S38 Bruenig R, Lomatuway’ma M (1983) The ceremonial year. In: Kachina dolls. Museum of Northern Arizona publications, Flagstaff Cole S (1988) This author and Sally Cole worked together as interpretive naturalists on summer river trips for Four Corners School of Outdoor Education. (Personal communication) Cole S (2009) Legacy in stone: rock art of the colorado plateau and four corners region. Johnson Books, Boulder Chamberlain VD, Pachak J, Richman A (1999) SUN MARKER: a laboratory for experimental archaeoastronomy. In: Esteban C, Belmonte JA (eds) Oxford VI and SEAC 99: Astronomy and Cultural Diversity. Organismo Auto´nomo de Museos del Cabildo de Tenerife, La Laguna, pp 157–163 Ellis FH (1975) A thousand years of the Pueblo Sun-Moon Star calendar. In: Aveni A (ed) Archaeoastronomy in Pre-Columbian America. University of Texas Press, Austin, pp 59–87 McCluskey S (2001) Ordering Nature in the Pueblo World, published in Italian as “Etnoscienza dei Pueblo”. In: Storia della Scienza, vol 2, Cina, India, Americhe, Sec 3, “Le Civilta Precolombiane.” Istituto della Enciclopedia Italiana, Rome Munson GE (2011) Legacy documentation: using historical resources in a cultural astronomy project. In: CLN Ruggles (ed) Archaeoastronomy and ethnoastronomy: building bridges between cultures. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, pp 265–274 Parsons EC (ed) (1936) Hopi journals. Columbia University Press, New York Pasahow E (1994) Astronomical symbology in the rock art at the village of the Great Kiva, Zuni, New Mexico Hedges, K. Rock Art Papers, vol 11. San Diego Museum Papers 31, pp 131–139 Preston R, Preston A (2005) Consistent forms of solstice sunlight interaction with petroglyphs throughout the Prehistoric American Southwest. In: Fountain J, Sinclair R (eds) Current studies in archaeoastronomy: conversations across time and space. Carolina Academic Press, Durham NC, pp 109–120 Stephen AM (1936) Hopi Journal of Alexander M. Stephen. In: Parsons EC (ed) Columbia University Contributions to Anthropology 23. Columbia University Press, New York Thiel J (1995) Rock Art in Arizona: a Component of the Arizona Historic Preservation Plan Center for Desert Archaeology, Technical Report No 94–6, Tucson

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Whitley D (2006) Issues in archaeoastronomy and rock art. In: Bostwick TW, Bates B (eds) Viewing the sky through past and present cultures: selected papers from the Oxford VII international conference on archaeoastronomy. Pueblo Grande Museum Anthropological Papers No 15, Phoenix, pp 85–103 Williamson R (1987) Pueblo sun watching. In: Living the sky: the cosmos of the American Indian, University of Oklahoma Press, Norman, pp 88–91 and pp 112–132 Zeilik M, Elston R (1983) Wijiji at Chaco Canyon: a winter solstice sunrise and sunset station. Archaeoastronomy: Journal of the Center for Archaeoastronomy 4:67–73 Zoll K (2010) Prehistoric astronomy of central arizona. Archaeoastronomy: Journal of Astronomy in Culture. 22:154–164 Zoll K (in press) University of New Mexico Press

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Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Holly House Sun Serpent . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Fajada Butte Sun Dagger . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . La Rumorosa, Baja California . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Mutau Flat . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Interpretive Issues . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The Archaeological Context . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The Cultural/Artistic Context . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The Geological Context . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The Astronomical Context . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Conclusions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Abstract

This chapter reviews characteristics of several so-called sun-dagger sites, including the archaeological, geological, and cultural contexts in which they are found. It also raises issues regarding the analysis of sun-dagger sites relating to their artistic, geological, archaeological, and astronomical contexts.

R. Williamson Secure World Foundation, Broomfield, CO, USA e-mail: [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_247, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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Introduction The term “sun dagger” has come to refer to a set of phenomena in which sunlight and stone edges interact in such a way as to cast a sharply defined pattern of light at a calendrically significant time of year across a stone surface that generally contains a pictograph or petroglyph. Sun daggers are a special case of a broader use of the interaction of the sun and shadow to produce a “sacred showing” or heirophany (Eliade 1959; McCluskey ▶ Chap. 28, “Analyzing Light-and-Shadow Interactions”, this volume). The term “sun dagger” was popularized not only in the archaeoastronomical literature but also in the eye of the broader public after a sun-dagger type phenomenon was discovered on Fajada Butte in Chaco Canyon, New Mexico (Sofaer et al. 1979), and widely publicized (see ▶ Chap. 18, “Archaeoastronomical Concepts in Popular Culture”). The term has come to refer to a broad class of related solar phenomena yet is especially descriptive of only the one particular event, in Chaco Canyon, New Mexico. Visual appearances at other sites would be more accurately described, as noted below, in quite different terms. Nevertheless, it is very difficult to find a general term applicable to all cases to replace the “sun dagger” appellation. The following paragraphs review four selected sun dagger manifestations at archaeological sites in the southwestern and western United States and Mexico.

Holly House Sun Serpent This petroglyph site, near several well-preserved Ancestral Pueblo stone structures in Hovenweep National Monument dating between AD 1200 and 1300, is of archaeoastronomical interest because it contains a pecked symbol of 30 cm diameter made up of three concentric circles with a dot in the center and because sunlight reaches the panel between the first of March and the last of October (Williamson and Young 1978). In Pueblo culture, similar concentric circles often represent the sun (Ellis 1975, p. 74). The petroglyphs lie on the south face of boulder in a natural east-west corridor formed by two very large boulders (Fig. 43.1). Other pecked symbols on the rock face include two pecked spirals about 30 cm across, a meter-long undulating line that may represent a serpent, a small twin-like figure, and two forms each resembling a reverse S. A solstitial connection with the petroglyph panel was confirmed in June 1979 (Williamson 1979). In that event, 6 days prior to the summer solstice and 45 min after local sunrise, a sliver of sunlight entered the narrow corridor and began to move horizontally across the left hand spiral, broadening as it moved across the second spiral. Then another sliver of light appeared to the right of the concentric circles and snaked toward them. One minute later, the two slivers of light met about halfway between the concentric circles and the rightmost spiral and expanded downward to illuminate the entire petroglyph panel. Observers commented on how much like serpents the slivers of light looked as they moved toward each other across the petroglyph panel.

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Fig. 43.1 Artist’s drawing of the petroglyphs near Holly House, Hovenweep National Monument. Artist: Snowden Hodges

Periodic observations over several years from early March through the autumnal equinox showed that the site could have been used as an accurate predictor of the arrival of summer solstice (Ambruster and Williamson 1993), and indeed of important spring planting dates, critical to this dry desert environment. That the inhabitants of the area in the thirteenth century likely observed the solstices is confirmed by several structures that manifest well-defined solstitial astronomical alignments and by historic references to similar sunwatching practices by their descendants (Williamson 1987, pp. 112–132; Cushing [1882–3] 1967, p. 41).

Fajada Butte Sun Dagger First discovered during a rock art survey of Chaco Canyon, New Mexico, in 1978, this phenomenon appeared on a carefully pecked spiral petroglyph about an hour before noon near the summer solstice (Sofaer et al. 1979). The spiral is one of two located on a south-facing boulder behind three large vertical stones, which in 1978 allowed sunlight to penetrate to the center of the spiral, forming a well-defined shape resembling a sharp dagger of light. Sofaer and her colleagues also established that the boulders formed similar patterns between 10 and noon local time throughout the year, though the particular appearances changed in the course of a year. At the equinoxes two light daggers appear, one to the right of the center of the spiral and one bisecting a smaller spiral to the upper left of the larger one. At the winter solstice, the two light daggers nearly frame the larger spiral. Sofaer and colleagues (1979) originally suggested that the site was the result of careful engineering by the early inhabitants of Chaco Canyon. Nevertheless, other

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Fig. 43.2 From Williamson RA (1987) Living the sky: the cosmos of the American Indian, p. 271 Artist: Snowden Hodges

researchers, with geological knowledge of the area (Newman et al. 1982) demonstrated that the stones most likely originated as horizontal layers in the sandstone above the site and came to rest as vertical stones over time by a slow, natural process aided by weathering and the annual freeze-thaw cycle.

La Rumorosa, Baja California California and Baja California host several sun-dagger sites with possible solstitial connections. These sites are of particular significance because they are likely to be related to groups of hunter-gatherers, not agriculturalists, in contrast to the case of the U.S. Southwest Pueblo groups. Near the tiny town of La Rumorosa in Baja California, Mexico, a small rock shelter contains, among other images, a small red anthropomorph with wavy, hornlike appendages extending from its head (Hedges 1986). About 20 min after sunrise, a triangular band of light appears and over the next 20 min moves toward the red figure, lights up the face, then expands downward to cover the whole figure except for the horns before fading (Fig. 43.2). As part of the overall light display, another beam of light falls across a milling slick that may have been used for grinding pigments or seeds, emphasizing that important feature. Archaeological evidence in the area suggests that this site was likely created by the Kumeyaay Indians, who, though they practiced no agriculture, closely observed the sun and held ceremonies to celebrate both the winter and summer solstices.

Mutau Flat The Chumash Indians of California, also hunter-gatherers, followed the sun’s path along the horizon throughout the year and developed elaborate rituals centered on

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the arrival of winter solstice (Hudson and Underhay 1978). They also created elaborate polychrome pictographs throughout their territory. Several sun dagger sites are known in the area that appear to be related to the Chumash. Their characteristics and sun dagger appearances are summarized by Krupp (1993). Krupp also recorded a rather striking summer solstice event at Mutau Flat, in the Los Padres National Forest, which like the Holly House serpent-like appearance, involves the touching of the tips of two blades of light. The wall of one of the painted shelters in Mutau Flat contains several typical paintings, including a figure resembling a shaman in ceremonial skirt. Shortly after 09:00 PDT on the summer solstice, two small triangles of light appear on opposite sides of a natural shelf below the paintings and begin to move toward each other as they grow larger. In a few minutes, the two triangles of light elongate and meet at a “finely painted red line”, then merge into a single wide strip that moves to the north and gradually illuminates the shelter. Then at 9:45, this band of sunlight begins to illuminate a shallow stone bowl carved out of the top of a boulder attached to the floor of the shelter. About an hour later, a shadow begins to move across the lighted dish until it is one-half covered and then slowly rotates clockwise for the next 2 h and retreats. This detail may have been important to the Chumash because for them the summer solstice divides the year in half (Krupp 1993, p. 261). A second shadow covers the stone about one-half hour later and remains for the rest of the day. Later visits to the site demonstrated “a distinct difference in the behavior of the two knives of light 8 days before or after the summer solstice”, which suggests (Krupp 1993, p. 260) that the shelter functioned as a shrine to celebrate the solstice rather than an observatory.

Interpretive Issues Several issues plague the interpretation of sun-dagger sites. Considerations in each issue category can drastically affect our understanding of the relationship of these archaeological sites to the cultures that created them. The following paragraphs discuss these important issues.

The Archaeological Context As is the case with all interpretations of archaeological sites, we are limited to what can be substantiated by the archaeological and cultural context of the peoples who created the site. Because pictograph and petroglyph sites generally cannot be directly dated with certainty, they must be dated by their incorporation in or proximity to datable remains, or, as in the case of several California sites, also within the context of the knowledge collected historically from living descendants of the peoples who created the sites. Nor do we always know which

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of the area’s cultures created the sites in question. Further, several of these sites appear to be unique in the areas in which they are found, which should raise a red flag in attempting to interpret them in their cultural context.

The Cultural/Artistic Context All sun-dagger sites contain artistic representations of one sort or another. Although it is impossible to interpret with certainty the meaning of the rock art found at these sites, interpretations should be consistent with the culture represented by other archaeological remains in the area. Introducing cultural concepts typical of other cultural areas but not demonstrated in the site under investigation should be avoided, as they may well undercut the credibility of the interpretation. Considerations that would negatively affect interpretations should be fully explored in reports so that other researchers can evaluate the reported findings. Rafter (1995), for example, argues that the Red Lady pictograph found at the Counsel Rocks site in California could well be linked to a Chemehuevi myth about a lone woman collected by ethnographer Carobeth Laird (1984, p. 204), noting that a band of the Chemehuevi lived in the area for time in the late 1800s and could well have placed the painting in the cave. The connection between this cave and the collected myth is circumstantial, and Rafter explains his doubts sufficiently so that the uncertainties of his site interpretation are clear to the reader.

The Geological Context Because the creation of sun-dagger phenomena is highly dependent on the surfaces and especially the edges of various types of stone, the phenomena can be heavily affected by weathering. For example, in the case of the Holly Sun Serpent site, weathering is certainly a concern because the creation of the serpent of light depends on the upper edge of the northern boulder directly across from the petroglyphs, which is fully exposed to the elements, and the lower edge of the extension above the petroglyphs, which is subject to potential surface spalling. Changes in the stone surface of underlying petroglyphs or pictographs are also of great concern and researchers should take great care to preserve all aspects of the site. Pictographs, especially, can be subject to exfoliation in humid climates, and changes in the local environment can promote alterations of the pigment or loss of entire parts of the image over time. Even massive stones, such as those that make the Fajada Butte sun dagger possible, face environmental challenges. As a result, we cannot expect that the detailed manifestation of the sun dagger looks the same today as it did some ten to twelve centuries earlier. Indeed, because the center slab of the Fajada Butte sun

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dagger site shifted position slightly sometime between 1978 and 1990 (Sofaer and Sinclair 1990), the appearance of the sun dagger changed from a sharp, stiletto pattern to an irregular one, akin to the shape of a rutabaga. Sofaer and Sinclair (1990) suggest that this shift may have stemmed from the loss of supporting and stabilizing material at the base of the center slab. This may have occurred as a result of site investigation by a variety of researchers untrained in archaeological techniques and site preservation. Whatever the cause, such changes provide a cautionary tale of not reading too much into the detailed shape and progress of the light patterns in such cases.

The Astronomical Context For today’s researchers, and especially for scientists, within whom knowledge of Western science is ingrained, it is very tempting to impute intentionality to alignments or conjunctions that may in fact occur purely by chance. For example, Sofaer et al. (1982) have speculated that their observed lunar alignments of the large spiral on Fajada Butte indicate that the Ancestral Pueblo of Chaco Canyon paid close attention to the horizon rise and set positions during the full lunar cycle and might have used their observations to predict eclipses. Yet, as Carlson (1987) and Williamson (this volume, ▶ Chap. 45, “Pueblo Ethnoastronomy”) argue, there is no evidence that the historic Pueblos had an interest in following the 18.6 year cycle of the moon, let alone using it to predict eclipses.

Conclusions Sun-dagger visual phenomena draw researchers and the public because they delight the eye and intrigue the professional. Because the visual phenomena are so striking, they have often not received the critical examination they deserve. As the discovery of these sites continues, it will be important to subject them to the same sort of scrutiny to which other archaeological sites are subject. The analysis of McCluskey (this volume, ▶ Chap. 28, “Analyzing Light-and-Shadow Interactions”) and Novak et al. (1992) provide good starting points for this process.

Cross-References ▶ Analyzing Light-and-Shadow Interactions ▶ Cultural Interpretation of Archaeological Evidence Relating to Astronomy ▶ Hopi and Anasazi Alignments and Rock Art ▶ Pueblo Ethnoastronomy ▶ Rock Art of the Greater Southwest

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References Ambruster CW, Williamson RW (1993) Sun and sun serpents: continuing observations in southeastern Utah. In: Ruggles CLN (ed) Archaeoastronomy in the 1990s. Group D Publications, Loughborough, UK, pp 220–226 Carlson JB (1987) Romancing the stone, or moonshine on the sun dagger. In: Carlson JB, Judge WJ (eds) Astronomy and ceremony in the prehistoric Southwest, papers of the Maxwell Museum of Anthropology, No. 2, pp 71–88 Cushing FH ([1882–3] 1967) My adventures in Zuni. Filter Press, Palmer Lake Eliade M (1959) The sacred and the profane. Harcourt, Brace and World, New York Ellis FH (1975) A thousand years of the pueblo sun-moon-star calendar. In: Aveni AF (ed) Archaeoastronomy in pre-Columbian America. University of Texas Press, Austin, pp 59–87 Hedges K (1986) The sunwatcher of La Rumorosa. Rock art papers 4; San Diego Museum papers 21, pp 17–32 Hudson T, Underhay E (1978) Crystals in the sky: an intellectual odyssey involving Chumash astronomy, cosmology, and rock art. Ballena Press, Socorro Krupp EC (1993) Summer solstice: a chumash basket case. In: Ruggles CLN (ed) Archaeoastronomy in the 1990s. Group D Publications, Loughborough, UK, pp 251–263 Laird C (1984) Mirror and Pattern: George Laird’s world of Chemehuevi mythology. Malki Museum Press, Banning, California, pp 204–209 Newman EB, Mark RK, Vivian RG (1982) Anasazi solar marker: the use of a natural rockfall. Science 217:1036–1038 Novak K, Edmundson KL, Johnson P (1992) Spatial reconstruction and modeling of the sundagger site in Chaco Canyon. In: Fritz LW, Lucas JR (eds) Proceedings of the 17th congress of the international society for photogrammetry and remote sensing, part 5, pp 808–812 Rafter J (1995) Sun and the lone woman of the cave. San Diego Museum Papers 24: 31-37 Sofaer A, Sinclair RM (1990) Changes in solstice marking at the three-slab site. Archaeoastronomy 15 (Supplement to the Journal for the History for Astronomy 21):S:59–S60 Sofaer A, Zinser V, Sinclair RM (1979) A unique solar marking construct. Science 206:283–291 Sofaer A, Sinclair RM, Doggett LE (1982) Lunar markings on Fajada Butte, Chaco Canyon, New Mexico. In: Aveni AF (ed) Archaeoastronomy in the New World. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, pp 169–181 Williamson RA (1979) Field report: hovenweep national monument. Archaeoastronomy: Bulletin of the Center for Archaeoastronomy 11:11–12 Williamson RA (1987) Living the sky: the cosmos of the American Indian. Oklahoma University Press, Oklahoma City Williamson RA, Young MJ (1978) An equinox sun petroglyph panel at hovenweep national monument. Proc Am Ind Rock Art Res Assoc Symp 5:70–80

Dine´ (Navajo) Ethno- and Archaeoastronomy

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Von Del Chamberlain

Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Researching Dine´ Astronomy . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Astronomical Traditions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Identifiable Dine´ Star Patterns . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Artifacts . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Rock Art . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Sacred Geography . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Future Directions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Abstract

The Navajo (Dine´) are an Athabascan-speaking people who migrated from the far northwest of America into the desert southwest where they became the largest surviving Native American culture. Three words portray Dine´ philosophy – beauty, harmony, and balance. Their traditions are rich with astronomical symbolism found in literature, ceremony, iconography, artifacts, rock art, and the sacred landscape. This chapter summarizes Dine´ astronomical traditions, identification of stars known to be important to the Dine´, and how these are depicted on artifacts and rock art.

V.D. Chamberlain Kanab, UT, USA e-mail: [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_44, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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Introduction Beauty is before me And beauty behind me, Above and below me hovers the beautiful, I am surrounded by it, I am immersed in it. In my youth I am aware of it, And in old age I shall walk quietly The beautiful trail. From the Night Chant, poetically arranged (Babcock 1973, p. 49)

In the spectacular red rock country of the American Southwest – northern New Mexico and Arizona and southern Utah – reside a graceful, quiet, and peaceful people who know how to live in what most people today call “dry, desolate, and hostile”, a place everyone wants to drive through in air-conditioned vehicles, to look out at the vivid colors of dramatically carved spires, buttes, canyons, deserts, and mountains, but where few who make such journeys would ever want to live. Those who do live here and prefer this country to anywhere else on Earth call themselves Dine´, meaning “The People”, known to others as Navajo. They are the largest surviving group of Native North Americans, just one of the hundreds of groups who have resided on the American continent much longer than have people of European and other extraction. As we begin this case study, it is good to be reminded that Native Americans explored, hunted, farmed, and traded across this continent for thousands of years before Columbus and others “discovered” it (Calloway 2003, pp. 1–115). The Dine´ are of Athabascan stock, hunters and gatherers who made a long migration from north to south into the land they currently call home. As they moved from place to place, they acquired all sorts of survival skills, including knowledge now classified as medicine, biology, geology, climatology, and astronomy. One of their most noteworthy traits is a tendency to adopt good things they found among others they encountered. When they emerged into the Southwest, possibly as early as 1500 and certainly by 1700 AD, they quickly added Puebloan agriculture, animal husbandry, and weaving to their other “inherited” ways, and when horses entered their lives, they became master equestrians. But more than anything else, it is Dine´ philosophy that appeals to people who get to know them; the three words that most portray Dine´ thinking are beauty, balance, and harmony. Everywhere we look in Navajo practices, we find rich symbolism; indeed, it is unlikely that any people, anywhere throughout time on planet Earth, are more imbued with symbolism. With that in mind, let us turn to a brief summary of Dine´ astronomical traditions. For authoritative information about Navajo culture, see Locke 1976; Reichard 1983; Yazzi 1984.

Researching Dine´ Astronomy The reality that sets research on Dine´ cultural astronomy apart is that we are dealing with a contemporary culture where we can find information and artifacts that yield

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strong scientific evidences, thus greatly limiting the range of guesswork that is typical of most archaeoastronomy. We have a large quantity of anthropological literature, and we have artifacts and images of dry paintings (sand paintings) used in Dine´ ceremonies, and many of these contain astronomical icons. We also have an unusually rich treasury of rock art from a region where the Dine´ resided in their early occupation of the American Southwest. Although the Dine´ are very much in tune with the cardinal directions and seasonal migration of the Sun, they do not seem to have taken up Puebloan sunwatching practices for calendrics. Even though they were, like people everywhere, very much in tune with the seasonal movement of the Sun, they were focused more on stars, gearing both ceremonial and agricultural cycles to awareness of the seasonal migration of stars, especially to their heliacal risings and settings, and all of this is in tune with their traditions of origin of themselves along with the Sun, Moon, and stars. We shall review here the Dine´ tradition of origin with focus on the elements that deal with astronomy. One such element is that of direction, something that is intrinsically determined by astronomy. Throughout the southwest as well as elsewhere, we find relationships between cardinal or solstitial directions, colors, and other fundamentals. Examples are those of the Hopi (McCluskey 1982, pp. 32–34) and Zuni (Young 1988, p. 103). Dine´ directional relationships are particularly expressive of the sky with colors clearly representing times of day and directions as manifest in the sky.

Astronomical Traditions The Dine´ say that their ancient ancestors, the Holy People, came out of Mother Earth, acquiring important elements and experiences as they passed through a black world, a blue world, and a yellow world to finally emerge onto the glittering surface world. From that subterranean origin, they carried fundamental relationships between directions, colors, times of day and seasons of life, geography, gems, and many other things. The color white is associated with east, white shell, the east mountain (usually Blanca Peak in south central Colorado), clear thinking, the arts, and the sacred practice of going out alone into the first white light of dawn to pray and contemplate good and beautiful things desired for the coming day. Blue, represented by turquoise, signifies south, the south mountain (Mount Taylor in New Mexico), and the middle of the day when people are generally doing things to make their ways in life. Yellow hues of sunset are thought of in relation to the west mountain (San Francisco Peaks in Arizona), the direction west, abalone shell, the social sciences, and the evening time when families should gather at home. Finally, black is the north direction, represented by jet and obsidian, the North Mountain (Hesperus Peak in southwest Colorado), the sciences, and things of the night including stars. Shortly after the Holy People emerged, before the creation of ordinary people, the Sun was made from a perfect piece of turquoise, the Moon from a perfect white

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shell, and both were given feathers for flight and crystals for light and placed in the sky. Pondering the many pieces of crystal that were left over, the Holy People decided to place them in the sky in nice patterns to represent laws people should live by. After several such stellar patterns were put up, Coyote, one of the Holy People, came along and completed the work by grabbing hold of the buckskin containing the remaining crystals and flinging them across heaven, creating the Milky Way along with many random stars. In doing this, he established the Dine´ principle of rising early to walk in first light and spreading prayer meal and pollen in a motion resembling the Milky Way in the sky, in contemplation of harmony and balance in all things resulting in long and happy life. Thus, we can identify a few features of the starry night having particular importance. Dine´ mythology, summarized above, can be explored in depth in Matthews (1897), Newcomb (1967), Newcomb et al. (1956), O’Bryan (1956), and Zolbrod (1984).

Identifiable Dine´ Star Patterns The specific star patterns put up by the Holy People that we can identify with certainty today are the following: Na´hookos bokho´h, Fire Star (Polaris), always visible to guide people, sometimes referred to as the central fire of heaven. This signifies the fire in the Hogan about which families should gather. Na´hookos bika’ii, Revolving Male (Ursa Major) and Na´hookos ba’a´adii, Revolving Female (Cassiopeia), representing balance by their positions and movements, symbolic of mothers and fathers taking care of families gathered around their hogan fires, have been referred to as parents of all the other stars. Atse´’ets’o´zi, First Slim One (Orion), keeper of the months and Dilye´he´, the seven stars (Pleiades), symbolizing all the stars being created. The pairings of Dilye´he´ and Atse´’ets’o´zi are keys to the ceremonial and agricultural calendar. A common Navajo saying is “never let Dilye´he´ see you plant”, meaning that one should not plant until the Pleiades have disappeared in the western evening sky but before they reappear in the eastern predawn sky. This rule insures against late spring frosts and lack of moisture for germination and growth. Most ceremonies are held only after Dilye´he´ has appeared in the autumn evening sky and discontinued when this dim, tight cluster has disappeared from the spring evening sky. Hastiin Sik’ai’ı´, Man With Legs Ajar (Corvus and other stars), and Aste´’etsoh, First Big One (front part of Scorpius), represent divination of illness through stargazing and clear seeing and long life and happiness through good living into old age. It is said that certain gifted people can gaze through crystals at stars to know what ceremonies an ill person might need or to locate lost people and other valuable objects. The stars of Aste´’etsoh sit way up in the sky where they can see everything going on and then communicate through crystals to help people in their needs. One small wonderful pattern, Gah Heet’e’ii, Rabbit Tracks (tail of Scorpius), is the hunter’s guide; it is inappropriate to hunt while these stars are visible crossing the evening sky. In the author’s opinion, this group of stars is the finest representation of what it intends in the entire sky, patterned precisely like a set of rabbit tracks one might find on the ground.

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One more star must be mentioned. Before Coyote flung stars across heaven, he placed a single bright star low down in the south where it would briefly rise, then soon set again. There is some debate over the identity of the Coyote star, but it is most likely Canopus; the author has personally observed Canopus throughout Dine´ country and found that it nicely fulfills all of the characteristics indicated by all the traditions he has been able to locate. Detailed information on Dine´ stellar identifications can be found in Chamberlain (1983).

Artifacts The Dine´ are known for their highly developed ceremonial practices designed to cure people from unwanted influences believed to have made them ill of body or mind. These ceremonies often include the making of temporary sacred images, commonly called sand paintings, using sand and other materials to create vivid images of highly sacred figures (Bahti 2009; Griffin-Pierce 1992; Parezo 1983; Reichard 1977). Many of the sand paintings are rich in sky symbolism, including Sun, Moon, and stars. Because of limited space, only one example is shown and discussed here (Fig. 44.1). The night sky is inset among figures of animals and Holy People who guard the central images. Across the sky at the top, the crosshatched lines represent the Milky Way. The white horned image, inverted as if looking down, is the white-shell Moon below which is the turquoise Sun. Stars are gathered around, and some of these patterns can be recognized by their positions if not by their shapes: the group at top left is where Na´hookos ba’a´adii (Cassiopeia) should be; the four-pointed star, left center, is Na´hookos bokho´h Fire Star (Polaris); below Polaris is a crude rendering of Na´hookos bika’ii (Ursa Major); at the bottom left are the seven stars composing Dilye´he´ (Pleiades); the group at bottom right represents Atse´’ets’o´zi (Orion), identified by Orion’s belt and sword; next up on the right is the common rendering of Hastiin Sik’ai’ı´ (Corvus), and above that should be Aste´’etsoh (front of Scorpius) and Gah Heet’e’ii (tail of Scorpius); other stars are indistinct. Keep in mind that sand paintings are supposed to be made without precision in order not to offend the sacred figures they represent. Another artifact used in Dine´ ceremonies is a gourd rattle, some of which have star patterns drilled into them. Figure 44.2 shows one example of such a star-rattle, and other examples can be seen in Chamberlain (1983, Fig. 3, p. 51). The author was once informed that the reason for the star patterns is so that the stars of heaven will know they are being thought about, thus bringing them into ceremonies when the rattles are used. The author has identified nearly all of the star patterns discussed above on the many star-rattles he has examined (Chamberlain 1983, p. 51).

Rock Art In the northwest corner of New Mexico, in a region the Dine´ consider to be the place of their emergence and which they referred to as Dine´tah, a series of

634 Fig 44.1 Sand painting of the night sky from a ceremony known as the Hail Way. This rendering was made for sale and is owned by the author

Fig 44.2 A star-rattle with drill holes in the pattern of Na´ hookos ba’a´adii (Cassiopeia) (Photograph by the author)

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Fig 44.3 The discovery star pattern panel located in Dine´tah (Photograph by the author (digitally enhanced))

interrelated canyons contain an abundance of rock art that can be attributed to the Dine´. Here, we find images that clearly depict Sun, Moon, and stars (Chamberlain 2004; Chamberlain and Rogers 2001, 2005, 2006). It is rare to be able to identify star patterns with certainty in rock art. With the Dine´, however, we are fortunate to find the same star patterns depicted on rock art panels that we also find on sand paintings and star-rattles. The first rock art panel recognized to reveal star patterns of importance to the Dine´ is shown in Fig. 44.3. Along the right side, shown like the belt and sword of Orion, are two sets of pits portraying Atse´’ets’o´zi. Below these are seven pits in a pattern found over and over on sand paintings and star-rattles that clearly represent Dilye´he´. At the right-hand corner, four pits signify Gah Heet’e’ii, Rabbit Tracks. Beginning with this panel, about three-dozen additional panels in Dine´tah and elsewhere have been found to include the Dine´ constellations discussed above. The rock art star patterns indicated above remind us of the Dine´ tradition of how the stars were placed by the Holy People in nice patterns to signify principles for quality living. There is another form, however, of stars depicted by Dine´ people that remind us of how coyote flung stars randomly across heaven.

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Fig 44.4 A recently recognized star ceiling located in a canyon south of Canyon de Chelly

Called star ceilings, these were first discovered in Canyon de Chelly in northeastern Arizona and later found in Dine´tah and a few other places where Dine´ people have lived (Chamberlain 1989). More than 80 star ceilings have been documented. The pictographic stars are rendered as four-pointed stars resembling “plus” signs. The evidence strongly suggests that these random arrangements of stars were placed on rock shelter ceilings as symbols thought to secure protection for the places where they are found. Figure 44.4 shows one of the most recently recognized star ceilings. Limited space does not permit further comment on these interesting places, but much more can be found in Chamberlain and Schaafsma (1993, 2005).

Sacred Geography When the Holy People emerged from the underworld, they constructed a hogan with roof like the sky, floor representing Mother Earth, and entrance facing the direction of the rising Sun, a model of how people should make their houses. As time went on, ordinary people were created who began to move about the land. Their early migrations are marked with many sacred locations, and some of these have astronomical significance. One of these, Sonsela Buttes (meaning stars lying there) is a pair of truncated buttes said to have resulted when Coyote threw stars across the sky and two of them fell back down leaving the buttes lying there to remind us of how the stars came into existence (Fig. 44.5). Recorded traditions indicate that Sonsela Buttes is the place where the star-rattles came into existence and the buttes themselves are thought of as hogans, houses where some of the Holy People still reside (Chamberlain et al. 2010).

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Fig 44.5 Sonsela Buttes, “stars lying there”, viewed from the north (Photograph by the author)

Future Directions In this brief chapter, we have seen that Dine´ traditions, so rich in astronomical symbolism, clearly identify sets of stars that are found depicted on ceremonial sand paintings and rattles and also on rock art panels. We have found that stars in a more general sense are manifest on ceilings of rock shelters where the Dine´ have resided. It has been pointed out that the Dine´ rely on the heliacal rise and set of stars for pacing ceremony, agriculture, and hunting rather than on sunwatching which is more prevalent in the American Southwest Puebloan cultures. We have seen that for the Dine´, even the landscape is imbued with astronomy. We have discussed two sets of stars that are most significant for the Dine´, the only ones that have been clearly identified. The circumpolar set establishes family values for the Dine´. The other set, lying in the vicinity of the ecliptic, delineates the Dine´ ceremonial and agricultural/hunting seasons by their heliacal risings and settings. However, still other groups of stars have been listed in the scant primary literature (Haile 1947, pp. 7–11; O’Bryan 1956, pp. 16–18), and it remains for future research to identify these stars and learn more about them. The small amount we have learned about Dine´ astronomical traditions should make us want to know more. How and when did these traditions come into

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existence and how do they relate to the many other Native American groups the Dine´ came into contact with. Can any of these traditions be traced to Dine´ Athabascan heritage? More questions remain about the astronomical significance and meanings of rock art than the few that have been partially answered. Why, for example, were star patterns pecked onto rock panels in such similar manner to the ways they were drilled into star-rattles? Were these panels made as parts of ceremonies held at those places? Precisely, when and why were stars painted on rock shelter ceilings, and how are they related to Dine´ philosophy and tradition? How are they related to other Native American rock art renderings? There is at least one star ceiling of obvious Puebloan origin (Chamberlain 2004, p. 222; Chamberlain and Schaafsma 2005, pp. 83–86), and there are a few dot or pit patterns of Puebloan origin that are identical to Dine´ star patterns (Chamberlain 2004, p. 223). Recent research by Thomas Christian explores possible mythological and historical foundations of star ceilings drawn from analysis of a specific star ceiling manifesting Dine´, Puebloan and Spanish symbolic elements (Christian 2012). This work applies Dine´ mythological narrative and Spanish historical narrative in attempt to broaden our understanding of star ceilings and reveal the roots of their creation, uses and meanings. Christian concluded that at least this one star ceiling is older than previously supposed and that Dine´ star ceilings likely evolved from Publoan influence. In 1977, staff of the Navajo Community College (now Dine´ College) arranged for two Dine´ Medicine Men to spend 3 days in the Gates Planetarium of the Denver Museum of Natural History identifying and interpreting stars (Peterson 2005). The author has urged using planetariums for cultural astronomy research, but this method remains relatively untapped (Chamberlain 1984, 2005, p. 6). The author has been informed that the proper way for a hogan to be constructed is to orient its entrance to face the direction of sunrise at the time of its construction. There are many hogan rings scattered about the landscape where Dine´ people have resided, and some of these have been studied by archaeologists. Although archaeological publications often indicate the compass orientation of hogan remains, this does not give the necessary astronomical information. In order to know the dates of sunrise through the entrance, one must know the elevation of the local horizon in that direction. An in-depth study of hogan orientations that includes such information is needed. These are but a few of the many aspects of research that could be followed by those who might be interested. It is the author’s fervent hope that such interests will be pursued with quality scientific diligence and rigor.

Cross-References ▶ Hopi and Anasazi Alignments and Rock Art ▶ Hopi and Puebloan Ethnoastronomy and Ethnoscience ▶ Pueblo Ethnoastronomy ▶ Rock Art of the Greater Southwest

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References Babcock CM (ed) (1973) Walk quietly the beautiful trail. Hallmark Cards, Inc, Kansas City Bahti M (2009) Navajo sandpaintings, 3rd edn. Rio Nuevo, Tucson Calloway CG (2003) One vast winter count: the native American West before Lewis and Clark. University of Nebraska Press, Lincoln Chamberlain VD (1983) Navajoconstellations in literature, art, artifact and a New Mexico rock art site. Archaeoastronomy: Journal of Astronomy in Culture 6:48–58 Chamberlain VD (1984) Planetariums can be visual computers for ehnoastronomers. Archaeoastronomy: Journal of Astronomy in Culture 7:12–15 Chamberlain VD (1989) Navajo Indian star ceilings. In: Aveni AF (ed) World archaeoastronomy. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, UK, pp 331–340 Chamberlain VD (2004) Father sky on mother earth: Navajo celestial symbolism in rock art. In: Matheny RT (ed) New dimensions in rock art studies. Occasional papers series no. 9. Museum of Peoples and Cultures, Brigham Young University, Provo, pp 195–226 Chamberlain VD (2005) The sky is an ethnographic treasure trove. In: Chamberlain VD, Carlson JB, Young MJ (eds) Songs from the sky: indigenous astronomical and cosmological traditions of the world. Ocarina Books, Bognor Regis, pp 1–8 Chamberlain VD, Rogers HC (2001) On the trail of Dine´tah skywatchers: patterned dots and scattered pluses. In: American Indian rock art, vol 27. American Rock Art Research Association, Tucson, pp 49–58 Chamberlain VD, Rogers HC (2005) Tracking stars in Dine´tah: astronomical symbolism in Gobernador Phase rock art. In: Fountain JW, Sinclair RM (eds) Current studies in archaeoastronomy: conversations across Time and Space. Carolina Academic Press, Durham, pp 221–242 Chamberlain VD, Rogers HC (2006) On the trail of Dine´tah skywatchers: sun and moon. In: Bostwick TW, Bates B (eds) Viewing the sky through past and present cultures. Pueblo Grande Museum anthropological papers no. 15. City of Phoenix Parks and Recreation Department, Phoenix, pp 155–167 Chamberlain VD, Schaafsma P (1993) The origin and meaning of Navajo star ceilings. In: Ruggles CLN (ed) Archaeoastronomy in the 1990s. Group D Publications, Loughborough, pp 227–241 Chamberlain VD, Schaafsma P (2005) The origin and meaning of Navajo star ceilings. In: Chamberlain VD, Carlson JB, Young MJ (eds) Songs from the sky: indigenous astronomical and cosmological traditions of the world. Ocarina Books, Bognor Regis, pp 80–98 Chamberlain VD, Rogers HC, Walters H (2010) Sonsela Buttes; where stars fell down to earth. Archaeoastronomy: Journal of Astronomy in Culture 23:19–26 Christian TM (2012) Under the Navajo stars: The intersection of mythic narratives, archaeology, and star ceilings. Published doctoral dissertation, Pacifica Graduate Institute, Carpinteria, CA Griffin-Pierce T (1992) Earth is my mother, sky is my father: space, time and astronomy in Navajo sandpainting. University of New Mexico Press, Albuquerque Haile B (1947) Star lore among the Navaho. Museum of Navajo Ceremonial Art, Santa Fe Locke RF (1976) The book of the Navajo. Mankind Publishing Company, Los Angeles Matthews W (1897) Navajo legends. Houghton Mifflin, Boston, reprinted (1994) University of Utah Press, Salt Lake City McCluskey SC (1982) Historical archaeoastronomy: the Hopi example. In: Aveni AF (ed) Archaeoastronomy in the New World. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge/New York, pp 31–57 Newcomb FJ (1967) Navajo folk tales. Wheelwright Museum of the American Indian, Santa Fe, Republished (1990) University of New Mexico Press, Albuquerque Newcomb FJ, Fishler S and Wheelwright MC (1956) A story of Navajo symbolism. Papers of the Peabody Museum of Archaeology and Ethnography, vol. 32, no 3, Cambridge MA

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O’Bryan A (1956) The Dine´: origin myths of the Navaho Indians. U.S. Government Printing Office, Washington, Republished (1993) with new title Navaho Indian Myths, Dover Publications, New York Parezo NJ (1983) Navajo sandpainting from religious act to commercial art. University of New Mexico Press, Albuquerque Peterson MB (2005) Using a planetarium to study Navajo star lore. In: Chamberlain VD, Carlson JB, Young MJ (eds) Songs from the sky: indigenous astronomical and cosmological traditions of the world. Ocarina Books, Bognor Regis, pp 65–72 Reichard GA (1977) Navajo medicine man sandpaintings. Dover, New York Reichard GA (1983) Navajo religion: a study of symbolism. University of Arizona Press, Tucson Yazzi E (1984) Navajo history. Navajo Community College Press, Tsaile Young MJ (1988) Signs from the ancestors: Zuni cultural symbolism and perceptions of rock art. University of New Mexico Press, Albuquerque Zolbrod PG (1984) Dine´ Bahane´: the Navajo creation story. University of New Mexico Press, Albuquerque

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Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Sunwatching . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Lunar Observations . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Stars and Planets . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Astronomical Myths . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Artistic Representations . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Conclusions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Abstract

The Pueblo people embed astronomical observations and concepts into their very lives. Astronomical observations are key not only for arranging for practical aspects of their lives such as preparing the fields and planting crops, but also for setting the dates and times of religious ceremonies. Astronomical concepts appear in myths and stories, in ceremonial objects, and on mundane objects such as bowls and baskets.

Introduction The homeland of the American Indian groups we call Pueblo is located in the high desert mesas of the Southwest United States, in the states of Arizona and New Mexico. It is a high desert land of snow-capped mountains, colorful sandstone, ancient lava flows, crystalline skies, brilliant clouds, and wide-open vistas.

R. Williamson Secure World Foundation, Broomfield, CO, USA e-mail: [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_248, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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It is a region well suited for observing the sky and noting the motions of the celestial bodies above and against a sharply defined horizon. The name Pueblo Indians derives from the fact that historically, they have lived in relatively well-defined, compact villages (pueblo from the Spanish word for village), originally constructed out of stone or adobe bricks. From the Hopi villages of northern Arizona and the Zuni people of western New Mexico to the eastern villages in central New Mexico along or near the Rio Grande, historically, all are agricultural societies, originally subsisting largely on the trio of corn (maize), beans, and squash, supplemented by wild game and greens. Although their languages fall into four different language groups and their villages are dispersed geographically over two US states, the Pueblo people share many traits in common, including following similar astronomical practices. The study of Puebloan knowledge and practice of astronomy essentially began in late nineteenth century when a small stream of ethnologists began to visit the Native American tribes of the Southwest United States to record their language, customs, myths, and rituals. As part of their studies, they also collected origin myths and information about how these Pueblo groups related to the sun, moon, and stars. Not only do these early studies provide insights into Puebloan thinking about observational practices and understanding of the celestial realm, they also reveal how the villages incorporated observations into their ceremonial practices and daily lives. Most of what we know about Pueblo astronomical practices come from the western Pueblos of Zuni and Hopi, which were relatively unaffected by European influence until the twentieth century. Spanish settlers near the eastern Pueblos, strongly aided by the Catholic Church, attempted to convert the Pueblo people to Catholicism, forcibly suppressed Native religious practices, and imposed a Western calendar. These practices led the Eastern Pueblos to close most access to esoteric, religiously related knowledge, including astronomy. Unlike Western astronomy, Puebloan practices are integrated deeply into their daily lives and religious ceremonies. Indeed, it is impossible to separate completely their awareness and participation in celestial cycles from mundane, daily activities. In traditional Pueblo thinking, Earth and sky are closely related and the two realms part of one creation. Activities in either realm can affect the other. See also ▶ Chap. 46, “Hopi and Puebloan Ethnoastronomy and Ethnoscience” for other details about Pueblo astronomy, especially that of the Hopi.

Sunwatching Pueblo astronomical observations focus primarily on the sun. Although the need to maintain a solar calendar for planting and harvesting disappeared with the introduction of the Western calendar during the eighteenth through twentieth centuries, sunwatching practices still persist in many, if not most, Pueblo groups, especially in the most conservative villages. Some Hopi villages, for example, are known still to keep an official sunwatcher. In one case, the sunwatcher was observed to maintain his record of solar observations on a commercial wall calendar advertising the local service

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station (Colleran, J. Personal Communication, 1998). Other Pueblo groups also maintain some version of a sunwatcher, who keeps the ceremonial calendar, though today, the duties of sunwatcher are often subsumed among other religious duties. Pueblo calendars mark both religious and apparently secular events, such as the best times for planting or harvesting. Yet in contrast with most Western practices, the Pueblo people differentiate little between religious matters and more secular ones, such as agriculture. Religious practice and therefore intense skywatching was deeply embedded in all activities, from hunting and gathering to planting and harvesting. The local horizon generally provides a convenient backdrop for setting the yearly calendar, which is focused especially on setting the dates for winter and summer solstice ceremonies, especially at Zuni and the Hopi Pueblos. Sunwatching is less observed in the eastern Pueblos (Parsons 1939, pp. 952–953). When sun reaches the solstice positions, he is said to stand still for several days (Harrington 1916, p. 47). Zeilik (1985, pp. S4–S8) compiled a useful list of calendrical observations collected by researchers from vantage points in different Pueblos, divided by language group. Except for one known case, all are sunrise or sunset observations. That single case is the village of Isleta, where Parsons (1930, pp. 290–300) describes a ceremony at summer and winter solstice in which the White Corn priest “pulls down the sun” at noon, as a bright beam of light pierces the relative gloom of the ceremonial room. Other dates were of concern as well. For example, Cushing ([1882–3] 1967, pp. 40–41) records a Zuni practice involving observations to determine when to prepare the fields for planting. The Sun Priest daily watched from a solar shrine for a particular day in mid-February when shadows of Corn Mountain falling on the sun symbol located in a shrine would indicate that field preparations should start for the spring planting cycle. At the Hopi Pueblos, shrines, some many kilometers from the villages, are closely tied to sunwatching and used as distant foresights when observed from near the village (McCluskey 1993, pp. 40–43). The Hopi typically established dates for their fall and winter ceremonies by observing the position of sunset across the western horizon and their spring and summer ceremonies by observing sunrise in the east (Fig. 45.1) (McCluskey 1990). The official sunwatcher at Zuni (Pekwin), determines “the solstices by watching the sunrise in winter from a petrified stump on the east edge of town and the sunset in summer from a hill below Corn Mesa” (Parsons 1939, pp. 122–123). Anticipation of ceremonial events a few days or weeks ahead was a critical element of Pueblo astronomical observation, as the religious leaders, indeed the entire Pueblo, need time to make proper preparations for these events (Zeilik 1985, pp. S1–S24).

Lunar Observations Lunar observations were also very important to the Pueblos, not only for ceremonial matters but also as a monthly timepiece. Ellis (1975, p. 64) provides a relatively

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EARLY CORN PLANTING MAIN CORN PLANTING LOHALIN KWITCALA TAWAT KYATA

FIELD CLEARING TAWAT HEVERKTCOMO PAVONTCOMO MASNAMAJO KYATA

SQLIASH PLANTING

WINTER SOLSTICE 3RD WEEK IN MAY 1ST WEEK IN MAY 3RD WEEK IN APRIL DEC 21ST 45° 3RD WEEK IN FEB SUMMER SOLSTICE 75° 99° 103° 65° JUNE 21ST APPROX MAG. 43° BEARING HORIZON CALENDAR, DECEMBER TO JUNE, WALPI.

Fig. 45.1 Eastern sunwatching from the Hopi village of Walpi from winter solstice to summer solstice. Adapted from: Stephen (1936). Reprinted from: Williamson (1986). Artist: Snowden Hodges

detailed summary of Pueblo lunar observations, noting that “The periodic reappearance of a new moon provided another reference for measuring time, and the consideration of moon and sun together was thought to strengthen chances for good omens because Moon could aid in influencing Sun”. At the same time, the incommensurability of the yearly periods of the sun and moon gave the Pueblos difficulty (Ellis 1975, pp. 64–65), as it has for other skywatchers around the world. Nevertheless, the Pueblos tended to observe both the sun and moon when attempting to determine the proper time to hold important ceremonial activities, including agricultural ones (Alexander Stephen, cited in McCluskey 1981, p. 173). Here, the arrival of the new moon was especially watched for in conjunction with the position of the sun along the horizon. As Ellis (1975, p. 65) reports, Moon “must be in correct position so that she can bring her influence to bear on Sun for the good of mankind at the winter solstice”. Because the apparent path of the Moon takes it both outside and inside the horizon solstice positions, depending on which part of its 18.61 year cycle it is in, one might assume that Puebloan observers followed those aspects of the lunar cycle as well. Nevertheless, as far as this author knows, there is no record among historic Pueblo groups recording lunar positions along the horizon as the moon rises or sets.

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Pueblo attention is focused instead on observing the phases of the moon in their relationship to solar positions, not rise or set positions. Further, although various researchers recorded Pueblo reactions to lunar and solar eclipses, they observed no evidence of the ability to predict solar or even lunar eclipses (Ellis 1975, p. 85). Because the Pueblo people are very conservative and hold to traditional ways as much as possible, it seems unlikely that their ancestors anticipated eclipses, especially solar events.

Stars and Planets Despite the fact that observations of sun and moon were primary in Pueblo astronomical practice, especially distinctive stars or star groupings garnered interest as well, primarily for timing of ceremonies and planting of crops. Patterns of interest included Orion, Pleiades, and Ursa Major. Pueblo observers also took note of and named several other star groupings, though the names and exact groupings differed among the villages. One of the most striking constellations known was pointed out by a resident of Zuni Pueblo to J. P. Harrington in 1929 (Young and Williamson 1981, pp. 185–189). It is the so-called Chief of the Night, which stretches across most of the sky observable from Zuni Pueblo, and includes several western star groupings. Were the Pueblo people aware of the planets as different in kind from the nightly panoply of stars? We have no record that they did. Like other cultures, they observed the very bright appearances of Morning Star and Evening Star when Venus, Mars, or Jupiter rose or set in the East and West. Yet, bright stars such as Sirius were often observed as Morning or Evening Star when they appeared on the western or eastern horizon, which seems to indicate that they did not differentiate between the stars and the planets.

Astronomical Myths Certain astronomical knowledge is embedded within Pueblo mythological tradition. For example, Cushing (1896, pp. 428–29) retells the Zuni myth of the settling of the Zuni people after emerging into this world from the underworld. After wandering for a long time, searching for the Center, where they might settle down in peace and stability, the people implored Water Strider (Gerris remigis) to help them. Water Strider reached out his four long legs to the four solstice directions and his two small ones to the zenith and nadir. Where his heart lay marked the midpoint, or the Center, where the Zuni people finally established their home. The story also places them in the Middle Place between the four solstice points. It is thus not only the appropriate place on Earth for the Zuni people, but also the proper place in the Zuni universe. As in most societies, creation myths provide insights into Pueblo thinking. For example, the story of the creation of the stars, sun, and moon after the people came

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Fig. 45.2 Photograph of petroglyph thought to represent the sun at the Holly House sun-dagger site, Hovenweep National Monument (see ▶ Chap. 43, “Sun-Dagger Sites”). Photo: Ray Williamson

up from the underworld reveals Pueblo appreciation of both orderliness and chaos in human life. In a myth collected by Parsons (1926, p. 170) from the Hopi village of Walpi, the two sons of the suns, often referred to by Hopis and Zunis as twins, boys, or Warrior Twins because they help rid the world of fearsome monsters, are tasked with bringing light to the dark upper world by placing the stars in the firmament. The people make stars, which the boys place carefully in recognizable patterns – Pleiades, Orion, Ursa Major, and other well-known groupings. Coyote, impatient troublemaker, well-known throughout Native America, interrupted with his own special kind of help by grabbing the bag and tossing the remainder in disarray all over the sky. Later, seeing that the stars gave only feeble light, the people decided they needed even more light, so the boys created moon and sun. This myth even links death to sun’s creation and the passage of time, for someone has to die in order for sun to move across the sky in his daily journey. As well as reflecting the tension in life between order and chaos, which often threatens to break through, this myth provides one rationale for uncertainty in life. Much of Pueblo ceremonial life is an attempt to maintain order in the universe (Parsons 1939, p. 180).

Artistic Representations Symbols of the sun, moon, and stars are common in Pueblo art today, appearing on pottery, and other objects designed for the tourist trade. They are also prominent on the katchinas, the representations of the gods that are a major part of Pueblo ceremonies, especially in Hopi and Zuni villages. Astronomical symbols are also prominent in Pueblo rock art and historic shields, and ceremonial objects. They have also been noted at historic sunwatching sites (Stevenson 1904, p. 118) and at pre-Columbian rock art panels purported to have served as sunwatching sites in the past (Ellis 1975, pp. 74–75).

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According to Ellis and Hammack (1968), the Pueblos’ most widespread sun symbol is one that resembles Maya glyphs of the sun that Ellis (1975, p. 62) believes may have come northward from Mexico along with other symbols found in Pre-Columbian rock art. This style is composed of two concentric circles with a dot in the center (Fig. 45.2). According to Ellis, the outside circle represents sun’s rays, the inside one sun’s body, and the center dot, sun’s umbilicus. Other probable sun representations are present throughout the Pueblo region in rock art, on pottery, and ceremonial objects. Certainly, the most visible one is the sun symbol on the New Mexico State flag, patterned after one from Zia Pueblo in central New Mexico. It is a simple circle from which emanate four straight lines from the top, bottom, and two sides, representing the four cardinal directions.

Conclusions Most of the evidence from Pueblo practice underscores the view that observations of celestial bodies are very practical matters, primarily to regulate timing of ceremonies and for agricultural needs. For religiously observant Puebloans, organizing and carrying out the ceremonies correctly is every bit as important as the proper time to plant or harvest. The practice of setting the dates for ceremonies has changed over time as a result of outside influences, particularly the need for many tribal members to maintain a Monday-Friday work schedule (McCluskey 1981, p. 181). Thus, ceremonies have shifted markedly toward the weekends, especially when American federal holidays allow a particularly long one. The astronomical knowledge and practice of the historic Pueblos is clearly closely related to the knowledge of their ancestors (Ellis 1975), though the passage of time and Puebloan interaction with other cultures makes drawing a straight line to the past a matter of conjecture. Nevertheless, because the Western Pueblos, especially, have held on to their ritual practices, and encoded astronomical knowledge and practice in a variety of stories and myths, images, ritual prayers, and ceremonies, it is possible to draw conclusions about archaeological evidence by comparing it with practices recorded in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries.

Cross-References ▶ Hopi and Anasazi Alignments and Rock Art ▶ Hopi and Puebloan Ethnoastronomy and Ethnoscience ▶ Rock Art of the Greater Southwest

References Cushing FH (1896) Outlines of zuni creation myths, In: 13th annual report of the bureau of American ethnology, 1896. Government Printing Office, Washington

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Cushing FH (1967) My adventures in Zuni. Filter Press, Palmer Lake, CO, Cushing FH (1882–1883) Ellis FH (1975) A thousand years of the Pueblo Sun-Moon-Star calendar. In: Aveni AF (ed) Archaeoastronomy in pre-Columbian America. University of Texas Press, Austin, pp 59–87 Ellis FH, Hammack L (1968) The inner sanctum of the feather cave, a mogollon Sun and Earth shrine linking Mexico and the Southwest. American Antiquity 33:25–44 Harrington JP (1916) The ethnogeography of the Tewa Indians. In: 29th annual eport of the bureau of American ethnology, 1907–08. US Government Printing Office, Washington McCluskey SC (1981) Transformations of the Hopi calendar. In: Williamson RA (ed) Archaeoastronomy in the Americas. Ballena Press, Los Altos, CA, pp 173–182 McCluskey SC (1990) Calendars and symbolism: functions of observation in Hopi astronomy. Archaeoastronomy 15 (supplement to the Journal for the History of Astronomy 21): S1–S16 McCluskey SC (1993) Space, time and the calendar in the traditional cultures of America. In: Ruggles CLN (ed) Archaeoastronomy in the 1990s. Group D Publications, Loughborough, pp 33–44 Parson EC (1930) Isleta. In: 47th annual report of the bureau of American ethnology, US Government Printing Office, Washington Parsons EC (1926) Tewa Tales. Memoirs of the American Folklore Society 19:169–75 Parsons EC (1939) Pueblo Indian religion (2 vols), vol 2. University of Chicago Press, Chicago Stephen AM (1936) Hopi journal, Columbia University contributions to anthropology, vol 23. Columbia University Press, New York Stevenson MC (1904) The Zuni Indians. In: 23rd annual report of the bureau of American ethnology, 1901–02. US Government Printing Office, Washington Williamson RA (1986) Living the Sky: the cosmos of the American Indian. University of Oklahoma Press, Norman, pp 80–81 Young MJ, Williamson RA (1981) Ethnoastronomy: The Zuni case. In: Williamson RA (ed) Archaeoastronomy in the Americas. Ballena Press, Los Altos, CA, pp 183–192 Zeilik M (1985) The ethnoastronomy of the Pueblo Indians I. Calendrical Sun watching, Archaeoastronomy 8 (supplement to the Journal for the History of Astronomy 16):S1–S24

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Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The Horizontal Directions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Above and Below . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Directions, Colors, and the Puebloan Ordering of Nature . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Summary . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Abstract

The puebloan peoples developed a framework derived from their astronomical observations that was based on the four directions (usually the solstitial directions) plus the above and the below. This framework not only guided their astronomical observations but was extended into a cosmological structure that was used to organize a wide range of natural phenomena that were ritually or economically important.

Introduction This chapter will approach the natural knowledge of the puebloan peoples as an example of the ways in which they organized their knowledge of astronomical and other natural phenomena. It focuses on the empirical basis and organizing principles of this knowledge, drawing on a recent definition by two distinguished historians of science (Lloyd and Sivin 2002, p. 4):

S.C. McCluskey Department of History, West Virginia University, Morgantown, WV, USA e-mail: [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_48, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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The mark of science . . . lies in the aims of the investigation and the subject matter – the bid to comprehend aspects of the physical world – not in the degree to which either the methods or the results tally with those of later inquiries, let alone modern science.

The ethnographic record of the puebloan peoples of the southwestern United States provides rich material for an evaluation of how such ethnoscientific systems work. Extracting the scientific content from this documentation removes much of the rich cultural context of puebloan knowledge; those wishing to investigate that context should consult the references cited herein. The puebloan peoples are not a single group; they form four linguistically distinct groupings, sharing a common agricultural way of life centered on small villages (Spanish: pueblos), consisting of connected multistory house-groups made of stone or adobe. Although their languages have been distinct for millennia, the puebloan peoples have a common world view and share many beliefs, practices, and rituals.

The Horizontal Directions The puebloan ordering of nature takes as its starting point astronomical observations of the risings and settings of the Sun, which they use to define a framework that organizes their observations of many other facets of their environment. The central element of this framework is a system of four (or six, or seven) directions, a framework which is shared by many other Native American peoples (McCluskey 1993, 2001). This organizing framework is astronomical, having an empirical basis in the simple astronomical observations of the directions of sunrise and sunset plus the above and the below (McCluskey 1982). Yet it is seen as primordial; it is presented in many puebloan origin myths and frequently expressed in ritual acts (Parsons [1939] 1966, pp. 365–368). Anyone who studies puebloan cultures, and a fortiori anyone who was raised in a pueblo community, cannot escape the influence of this directional framework. In Acoma myth (Stirling 1942, pp. 2–3), the first act of human beings after their emergence from the underworld, the first step in their ordering of nature, was to name the six directions: at the rising Sun, East; to their right would be South; to their left, North; behind them, West; under them the Below from which they had come; and over their heads the Above. This framework was defined by two simple observations, the place where the Sun rises and the direction of emergence (which is both the direction that the first trees grew and the direction that the first people had climbed from the underworld). The Hopi watch the day to day travels of the Sun around the horizon in a counterclockwise sequence, observing the place of sunrise from the winter to the summer solstice, and the place of sunset from the summer to the winter solstice (Fig. 46.1). Alexander Stephen noted (SI/NAA 29 June 1893) how this counterclockwise sequence of observations punctuated by the solstices finds its place in Hopi ritual.

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Fig. 46.1 Hopi and Tewa solar direction markers. Colored lines reflect Hopi color-direction system. Map by Nicole Edwards, West Virginia GIS Technical Center

The Hopi . . . invariably begins his ceremonial circuit by pointing (1) to the place of sunset at the summer solstice, next to (2) the place of sunset at winter solstice, then to (3) the place of sunrise at winter solstice, and (4) the place of sunrise at summer solstice &c &c . . .

The directions of solstitial sunrise and sunset, rather than the cardinal directions, are given names in the Hopi language (Hopi Dictionary, p. 890). Directional concepts have not been fully defined for all the pueblos; they are commonly described in terms of the conventional cardinal directions (Parsons [1939] 1966, p. 365 and note {), yet there is evidence that the solstitial directions are more important in many of the pueblos. At the Tiwa speaking pueblo of Picuris, the named directions fall between the customary cardinal directions. The directional sequence begins with “east” (actually north of east) and continues counterclockwise to a fifth direction (pı´ma), literally the middle place between “east” (northeast) and “south” (southeast). Pı´ma is described as the place “where the Sun rises, what you would call east”. (Trager and Trager 1970, p. 34) A similar pattern is found at Taos Pueblo, where directions are named counterclockwise from east, through north, west, and south and back to east again. The first east is in the direction of Taos (Wheeler) Peak, northeast of the pueblo; but the second east is described as the real east, where the sun rises (Trager and Trager 1970, p. 32). Unpublished notes by Harrington and Cushing describe the Zuni terms for the directions as solstitial. The Zuni ritually scatter sacred corn meal in the four

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Fig. 46.2 Eastern Pueblo direction markers. Colored lines reflect Tewa color-direction system. Map by Nicole Edwards, West Virginia GIS Technical Center

directions of solstitial sunrise and sunset following the sequence northwest, southwest, southeast, and northeast (Young 1985, pp. 16–18). The Tewa, however, employ a direction framework similar to that seen in the Acoma origin myth, in which the four directions correspond to the customary cardinal directions. The Tewa of Ohkay Owingeh (formerly San Juan Pueblo) mark the cardinal directions by the pueblo’s four dance plazas, by four shrines near the edges of the pueblo, by four sacred flat-topped hills about 10 km from the pueblo (Fig. 46.2), and by four sacred mountains (Ortiz 1972, pp. 18–21; Harrington 1916, pp. 44–45). All these landmarks are in fact oriented to the cardinal directions. The Arizona Tewa, who migrated to the Hopi country from the Rio Grande valley around 1700, have a Sun shrine on a mesa almost due East of their village. In this, they differ from their Hopi neighbors whose Sun shrines mark the solstices (Forde 1931, Fig. 7). Further evidence for cardinal orientation is found in the architectural orientation of Ancestral Pueblo sites in Chaco Canyon. The overall plan of the Chaco complex reveals an arrangement of the individual structures around a precise north-south axis of symmetry, which is extended some 50 km to the north by the so-called Great North Road (Williamson 1982, pp. 214–215; Sofaer et al. 1989, p. 370). The existence of this cardinal framework in Acoma myth, in the Ohkay Owingeh sacred mountains and hills, in the Arizona Tewa Sun shrine, and in Chacoan architecture confirm that cardinal orientation is an authentic variant of the puebloan direction framework and not a post-colonial adaptation of European orientation practice.

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The Hopi establish their directional framework by a sequence of solar observations from summer to winter sunset and from winter to summer sunrise following the counterclockwise pattern found in pueblo myth and ritual. Two complementary kinds of observation are made around the time of the solstices. Anticipatory observations (Zeilik 1985, pp. S15–S18) of the Sun rising or setting at distant natural landmarks before each solstice precisely signal the coming of these ritually and cosmologically significant days. A subsequent confirmatory observation of the slowly-moving Sun on the day of the solstice confirms the arrival of the Sun at his house and determines the position of a cosmologically significant place, the Sun’s house, to within a few minutes of arc (McCluskey 1990). The Eastern Pueblos are more secretive than the Western Pueblos; consequently, their sun-watching practices have been less well documented than those of the Hopi and Zuni (Zeilik 1985, p. S1). Many details of their observational methods remain hidden from outsiders, although the general practice of determining the time to plant by watching the Sun rise above particular landmarks is well attested (Zeilik 1985; Ortiz 1972, p. 105; Harrington 1916, pp. 46–47, 344). At Hopi, a regular sequence of specific community leaders observe when the Sun has arrived at the proper point on the horizon (tingappi) to announce preparations for a ceremony (Malotki 1983, pp. 429–430) or at a point (naatwa`npi) marking a specific phase of planting (Hopi Dictionary, p. 308; Zeilik 1985, p. S21). Since leaders of different ritual societies or clans are responsible for different events in the ceremonial and planting calendar, the responsible individual will take up his observations after the previous event in the calendar has been completed, often guiding himself by the approach of the Sun to his particular announcing point. Although watching the Sun rise at markers on the local horizon is the principal method of puebloan solar observation, some puebloan Sun watchers determine the times for both planting and for ceremonies by noting when a sunbeam passes through an aperture in an outer wall to strike a specific marker (Hopi: tuvoyla) on an interior wall (Zeilik 1985, p. S10; Malotki 1983, pp. 491–494). Besides watching the Sun, the puebloan peoples also counted the passing of days and observed the Moon to regulate their calendar. Days for rituals were reckoned using calendar sticks, by untying knots on a string, by arranging corn kernels, or by erasing tally marks from a wall until the designated number of days has passed (SI/NAA 1850–1930; Malotki 1983, pp. 482–491; Zeilik 1985, pp. S18–19). The four directions make four a ritually important number; therefore, day counts are often reckoned in units of four days or nights.

Above and Below Thus far, the discussion has focused on the four horizontal directions; equally important in puebloan cosmology are the other two directions, the Below and the Above. The Hopi, the Arizona Tewa, (SI/NAA 21 Dec 1893) the Zuni, and many other groups extending as far as California share a pattern in which the same lunar months are repeated twice a year in the winter and summer seasons (McCluskey

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1982, pp. 44–45). Zeilik (1986, S19) suggests that the original puebloan pattern of naming the months, before Spanish contact, involved five or six repeated months (Spier 1955, pp. 18-19, 24-25). This repetition of the same months reflects a fundamental duality in the puebloan conception of time. The clearest expression of this concept comes from the Hopi (SI/NAA 1894): Ten of the moons are counter parts . . . illustrated by placing the hands together – horizontally – naming the five moons upon the upper fingers – and saying that the five under fingers were the same.

Beans were ritually planted during the Powamu ceremony, in harmony with the planting of crops taking place at the same time in the underworld. The Hopi believed that when the Nashan Moon shining in the Below comes to the Above in September, it will bring just the same amount of fruits and vegetation that it is now shining on in the Below (Stephen 1936, p. 239). This notion that a harvest in the above first takes place in the below is natural in the Hopi language, where the morpheme -tpi- (below) also indicates before and the morpheme -ts- (above) also indicates after (Malotki 1983, pp. 118–121). This vertical axis reflects both the growth of plants and the direction in which the Hopi people came forth from the Below in the mythological past, providing something like a quasi-temporal axis of becoming in Hopi thought.

Directions, Colors, and the Puebloan Ordering of Nature For the puebloan peoples the directions are more than just a way to orient themselves in space and time. In mythological accounts, artistic motifs, sacred songs, and ceremonial reenactments, the six directions are repeatedly associated with corresponding colors and with groups of six (or four or seven) beings that define important categories in pueblo thought. These categories provide valuable insights into puebloan understandings of nature. Each pueblo uses a version of the color-direction framework to order those elements of the natural world that they consider important. Note that tables like the one below were not created by the puebloan peoples; they were extracted from puebloan myths, art, songs, and rituals by academics seeking to understand the pueblo world. We will discuss one of the most complete versions of the six directional framework, that of the Hopi (McCluskey 2001; Geertz 2003, pp. 316–319), to illustrate how puebloan peoples order their universe (Fig 46.3). If we approach this framework looking for what is shared among all the creatures associated with a direction, we are left in confusion. The only common theme is color, but while bluebirds, jays, and butterflies, as well as flowers, maize, and beans may all be blue, bears seem to be better described as black, not blue or green. If, however, we look at what is common among mountain lions, bears, wildcats, wolves, eagles, and badgers, we see in these carnivores a fundamental category in the puebloan ordering of nature.

blue cloud

Gap in San Francisco Peaks San Francisco Peaks White Fir Bluebird

yellow cloud

Ponotuwi Huzruing Wuhti's House Kishyu'ba Spring near Black Mountain Douglas Fir

Oriole (Sun maiden)

Clouds

Wildcat Antelope

Bear

Mountain Sheep

Mountain Lion

Deer

Snipe (water-bird)

Elk

Wolf

a small frog zra'na

Jack Rabbit

Eagle

pakisha (water hawk)

Sunflower

black butterfly

white butterfly Primrose (butterfly flower)

black beans

purple corn

Blackbird

white beans

white corn

Magpie

---

---

Cottontail

Badger

Tadpole

all kinds of flowers

all colors of butterflies

spotted beans

sweet corn

Canyon Wren

---

---

---

all kinds of clouds

black storm cloud ---

Below At'kyami

all colors

Above O'mi

black / purple

Important food sources

Carnivores / Associated with hunting and warfare

Symbolic or Practical Significance Rituals follow counter-clockwise directional circuit / Common motif in ritual objects / Rain comes from SW Sources of rain / Depicted in ritual objects Used as Sun Watching markers Offerings deposited at Shrines at Ponotuwi and Kwatipkya Sources of water in rain clouds, snow, or springs / Homes of kachinas Building material / Used in ritual Skins & Feathers used in ritual Symbolize lightness / Macaw and Oriole associated with Sun Corn ears & meal used in ritual Principal food Pure colored ears = pure strains Planted in Powamu ritual Keresan use bean meal in ritual Important food “same as meat” “Pollen eaters” associated with fertility / Many butterflies signify rain and abundant crops Petals ground to make colored “pollen” for ritual / Associated with fertility / Mansi used as oral contraceptive Associated with water / In Zuni myth, children became water animals which became Kachinas

Hopi and Puebloan Ethnoastronomy and Ethnoscience

Fig. 46.3 Hopi color-direction system

War god pets Somai'koli pets

(water pets)

Duck (scoops the water)

Painted Cup mansi (girl's flower)

Larkspur (bluebird flower)

Mariposa Lily

Flowers

Frog (water-eagle)

red butterfly

blue butterfly

yellow butterfly

Butterflies

red beans

blue beans

yellow beans

Beans

red corn

Macaw

yellow corn

Kachina pets

Kwitcala (the Gap)

white cloud

NE Ho'poko Summer Sunrise

white

We'nima Lake in Buttes Mount Taylor SW of Zuni Red Willow Aspen

Kwatipkya Sun's House

red cloud

SE Ta'tyûka Winter Sunrise

red

Maize

Trees

blue corn

SW Te'vyûña Winter Sunset

NW Kwini'wi Summer Sunset

Directions

Places

blue / green

yellow

Colors

Hopi Color-Direction Symbolism

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Many of the categories found in this table, such as birds, trees, herbivores, and carnivores, are similar to those found in European classification schemes, but the existence of a category of animals associated with water which includes amphibians, birds, and insects indicates how much the puebloan ordering of nature differs from our own. Those categories that differ from ours indicate those elements of the natural world that the puebloan peoples examined closely because they were seen to be important, either in the economic realm of hunting and farming or in the symbolic world of religious and scientific ideas. An examination of the role of two related categories, clouds and sacred places, suggests why these categories were given important places in the color-direction framework and illustrates how that framework functions in puebloan thought and culture. Rain is a rare and valuable bounty in the pueblo world; it is no surprise that the puebloan peoples portray clouds as central deities in myth and ritual. To anyone who has lived in the southwest the concept that Cloud brings rain is more than a trivial point. Cloud also withholds rain in a tantalizing fashion when the dark streamers of rain, personified by the Hopi as the Long Hair Kachina, evaporate before they reach the cornfields. But clouds and rain do not come from anywhere; they have their homes at sacred places at the directions. For the Eastern Pueblos, the cardinal directions are marked symbolically by four sacred mountains. Each of the Tewa mountains is associated with a nearby lake or pond, which are also considered to be the homes of spiritual beings (Ortiz 1972, pp. 18–19, 140–1; Harrington 1916, p. 44). Unlike the Eastern Pueblos, the Hopi mark only two of the four sacred directions by tall snow-capped mountains. They mark the other two sacred directions by other sources of water: Kishyu’ba, a spring in a valley to the Northwest and We’nima, a distant lake near Zuni in the Southeast (Stephen 1936, p. 1168). The Hopi place a principal home of the kachinas, the bringers of clouds and rain, atop the snow-capped San Francisco Peaks (Stephen 1936, pp. 1161–1162), while the Zuni place the home of the kachinas at We’nima (called in Zuni Kolhu/wala: wa), a lake nestled at the foot of two sacred hills (Stephen 1936, p. 829, 1168). Kolhu/wala:wa lies to the southwest of Zuni, just as the San Francisco Peaks are southwest of the Hopi (Stevenson 1904, p. 21, Plate IV). The Zuni perform a quadrennial pilgrimage to Kolhu/wala:wa at the summer solstice to deposit prayer sticks in the lake and upon the two sacred hills, asking the kachinas to bring rain. As they return to the village, one of the pilgrims, representing Shulawitsi, the boy god of fire and corn, sets fires to brush so that great clouds of smoke may approach Zuni, inducing the kachinas in Kolhu/wala:wa to bring copious rainclouds (Stevenson 1904, pp. 153–158). And so it is that in late summer, rain-filled clouds first form in the Southwest at the home of the kachinas, as moisture-laden air flows northward from the Gulf of California. They then bring rain and good harvests to the pueblo people. The sacred mountains and directions, the clouds and the colors, all serve to represent vital meteorological patterns in mythological terms and ritual actions.

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Summary Although the elements of nature that the puebloan peoples incorporate into their frameworks are formed by their cultural and physical environments, their natural knowledge reflects careful observations. By placing their knowledge of natural phenomena within an astronomically fixed organizing framework, they have organized those aspects of their world that are ritually or economically important.

Cross-References ▶ Cultural Interpretation of Historical Evidence Relating to Astronomy ▶ Disciplinary Perspectives on Archaeoastronomy ▶ Hopi and Anasazi Alignments and Rock Art ▶ Pueblo Ethnoastronomy

References Forde CD (1931) Hopi agriculture and land ownership. Journal of the Royal Anthropological Institute of Great Britain and Ireland 61:357–405 Geertz AW (2003) Ethnohermeneutics and worldview analysis in the Study of Hopi Indian religion. Numen 50:309–348 Harrington JP (1916) The ethnogeography of the Tewa Indians. In: 29th Annual Report of the Bureau of American Ethnology, 1907–08. Government Printing Office, Washington, pp 29–636 Lloyd G, Sivin N (2002) The way and the word: science and medicine in early China and Greece. Yale University Press, New Haven Malotki E (1983) Hopi time: a linguistic analysis of the temporal concepts in the Hopi language. Mouton, Berlin McCluskey SC (1982) Historical archaeoastronomy: the Hopi example. In: Aveni AF (ed) Archaeoastronomy in the New World. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, pp 31–57 McCluskey SC (1990) Calendars and symbolism: functions of observation in Hopi astronomy. Archaeoastronomy 15 (Supplement to J History of Astronomy 21): S1–S16 McCluskey SC (1993) Native American cosmologies. In: Hetherington NS (ed) Encyclopedia of cosmology: historical, philosophical, and scientific foundations of modern cosmology. Garland, New York, pp 427–436 McCluskey SC (2001) Etnoscienza dei Pueblo. In: Storia della Scienza, vol 2. Cina, India, Americhe Sec. 3, “Le Civilta Precolombiane.” Istituto della Enciclopedia Italiana, Rome, pp 1002–1009 Ortiz A (1972) The Tewa World: space, time, being, and becoming in a Pueblo Society. University of Chicago Press, Chicago Parsons EC [1939] (1996) Pueblo Indian religions, 2 vols. University of Nebraska Press, Lincoln Smithsonian Institution, National Anthropological Archives (SI/NAA). 1850–1930. Jesse Walter Fewkes Papers, MS 4408(4)

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Sofaer A, Marshall MP, Sinclair RM (1989) The Great North Road: a cosmographic expression of the Chaco culture of New Mexico. In: Aveni AF (ed) World Archaeoastronomy. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, pp 365–376 Spier, L (1955) Mohave Culture Items. Museum of Northern Arizona Bulletin, 28. Northern Arizona Society of Science and Art, Flagstaff, AZ. Stephen AM (1936) Hopi Journal of Alexander M. Stephen. In: Parsons EC (ed) Columbia University Contributions to Anthropology 23. Columbia University Press, New York Stevenson MC (1904) The Zuni: their mythology, esoteric societies, and ceremonies. In: 23rd Annual Report of the Bureau of American Ethnology, 1901–02. Government Printing Office, Washington Stirling MW (1942) Origin myth of Acoma and other records, Bureau of American Ethnology Bulletin 135. Government Printing Office, Washington Trager GL, Trager FH (1970) The Cardinal directions at Taos and Picuris. Anthropological Linguistics 12:31–37 Williamson RA (1982) Casa Rinconada, A twelfth century Anasazi Kiva. In: Aveni AF (ed) Archaeoastronomy in the New World. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, pp 205–219 Young MJ (1985) Images of power and the power of images: the significance of rock art for contemporary Zunis. J Am Folk Lore 98:3–48 Zeilik M (1985) The Ethnoastronomy of the historic pueblos, I: Calendrical sun watching. Archaeoastronomy 8 (Supplement to J Hist Astron 16): S1–S24 Zeilik M (1986) The Ethnoastronomy of the Historic Pueblos, II: Moon watching. Archaeoastronomy 10 (Supplement to J Hist Astron 17): S1–S22

Astronomy and Rock Art in Mexico

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Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Rock Art and Archaeoastronomy in the Gran Chichimeca . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Conclusions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Abstract

Many traditions involving sky observation among the Amerindian cultures of prehistoric Mexico are associated with rock art. This relation appears in the form of iconographic representations of celestial objects, graphic images which are culturally associated with these sky objects, and the location and orientation of rock art images within the natural landscape. The origins of the Classic period Mesoamerican astrocalendrical system reach back to an earlier phase based on a mobile hunting and gathering economy. For this phase, rock art is often one of the principal surviving artifacts and indicates how the night sky was carefully observed as a guide to the cyclical rhythms of the natural environment.

Introduction Throughout the territory of modern-day Mexico, rock art often relates to prehistoric sky observations and celestial knowledge. This relationship varies significantly

W.B. Murray Departamento de Ciencias Sociales, Universidad de Monterrey, San Pedro Garza Garcı´a, Nuevo Leo´n, Mexico e-mail: [email protected]; [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_51, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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over time between regions separated by a more ancient boundary: the Mesoamerican frontier that separated the mobile hunter-gatherers of more arid northern Mexico from Mesoamerican agriculturalists to the south. These contrasting natural environments associated with different adaptive strategies are reflected in the physical contexts for rock art as well as cultural orientations to the sky. About two thirds of all Mexican rock-art sites are found in the states of northern Mexico (Viramontes et al. 2008) where they often form a major component of the archaeological record. In this area, often referred to as the Gran Chichimeca, sedentary cultivation was limited to isolated enclaves during certain time periods, often directly associated with Mesoamerican influence. Throughout most of the region, a hunting and gathering way of life persisted uninterrupted from earliest occupation up to Spanish colonial times. For mobile hunter-gatherers, celestial knowledge was a guide to the cyclical rhythms of the natural environment. Hunter-gatherer rock art is intimately linked to the landscape, the visible horizons, and the key periods of the annual year. Further south, in Mesoamerica, rock art sites are also quite frequent but less prominent. Undoubtedly, much earlier evidence was destroyed or transformed by later developments as rock art became integrated into a new urban and rural landscape. What survived is often overshadowed by clearly artistic expressions – monumental rock sculptures and friezes. It occurs only in special places, sometimes in the shadows of monumental architecture or on the outskirts of urbanized cores. Similarly, Mesoamerican sky-watching was transformed into a full-time activity of elite specialists who guided state ritual. The archaeoastronomical context of earlier forms of rock art in the Mesoamerican context is discussed elsewhere in this Handbook (see ▶ Chap. 53, “Astronomy at Teotihuacan”) and will be mentioned only incidentally. Nonetheless, the cultural continuity between the earlier and later phases is evident. Rock art provides an indirect access to an antecedent Archaic phase in Mesoamerica proper, revealing a heritage shared by all later cultures. Fortunately, in Mexico, ethnographic analogy provides important insights into the cultural context of otherwise enigmatic rock art imagery. Although many questions remain unanswered, these analogies combined with the available archaeological evidence provide guidance into the origins of Classic period Mesoamerican astronomical symbols by pointing out their continuity with earlier iconographic traditions and confirming shared perceptions of the sky.

Rock Art and Archaeoastronomy in the Gran Chichimeca Along the Mesoamerican frontier itself, intervals of occupation by both Mesoamerican agriculturalists and hunter-gatherers alternate in a shifting zone of interaction. The frontier is an ecological boundary, rather than a cultural barrier, and rock art occurs in both natural and settled landscapes. Shared elements deriving from a sustained contact in both directions now bridge the apparent gap, and rock art is an important part of the evidence which identifies some of them.

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In geographical terms, the northern frontier of Mesoamerica runs roughly parallel to the Tropic of Cancer (Lat. 23 North) from central Sinaloa on the Pacific Ocean side to southern Tamaulipas on the Gulf of Mexico coast. To the North of the Tropic, solar horizon calendars were used very early to mark the annual year (see ▶ Chap. 48, “Boca de Potrerillos”). Further to the south, these horizon calendars were often incorporated into the built environment at many Mesoamerican sites and zenith passage observations were also added to the annual observational cycle (Sˇprajc 2001; see ▶ Chap. 52, “Astronomical Correlates of Architecture and Landscape in Mesoamerica”). Modern measurements confirm that the Mesoamerican ceremonial center at Alta Vista, Durango, is located almost exactly on the Tropic of Cancer. Aveni (1981), and his collaborators proposed that this location was intentionally chosen. Mesoamerican peoples could have located the Tropic by direct observation of the sun’s shadow at summer solstice. A short distance away at Cerro El Chapin, a Teotihuacan-style pecked cross petroglyph (see ▶ Chap. 54, “Pecked Cross-Circles”) marks the summer solstice sunrise on the horizon. It could also be marking the very place where the northern limit of the zenith sun was originally identified. Aveni’s proposal has been reinforced by the recent identification of another petroglyph site also located on the Tropic of Cancer. At the Las Labradas site, just north of Mazatla´n Sinaloa, petroglyphs are carved in hard basaltic rock literally bathed in the tidal zone of the Pacific Ocean. According to archaeologist Victor Joel Santos (2006, 2009), it is “a site dedicated to the summer solstice”. Santos identifies one of its most prominent motifs, a stylized human face with radiating hair (Fig. 47.1), as a personified solar deity symbolically linking land, sea, and sky within some kind of ritual context. These and other images at the site are generally oriented to the cardinal directions and include several cross-in-circle petroglyphs analogous to the pecked cross at El Chapin. Whether the rock art is attributed to sedentary Mesoamerican agriculturalists expanding northward during the Late Classic period (600–1000 AD), or an earlier Archaic occupation recently identified nearby (Santos 2010), it is easy to see how coastal navigators of any time period might independently discover the Tropic through their own sky and shadow observations. The Mesoamerican link at Las Labradas fits the broader archaeological reconstruction of prehistoric movements along the Pacific littoral. At Palma Sola, a ritual site overlooking Acapulco Bay, Cabrera (1986) identified representations very similar to the solar deity at Las Labradas as well as quadripartite geometrical designs which are comparable indicators of cardinal directionality. On the La Caleta beach (Manzanilla and Talavera 2008, p. 38), a large monolith (now incorporated beside the pool of a hotel) presents an impressive tally and dot configuration – the symbols of later Mesoamerican counting which appear prominently in northeast Mexican rock art. These motifs also appear at the La Sabana site in association with rayed circle motifs. They adjoin the only known Mesoamerican center on Acapulco Bay, but archaic occupations are also well documented nearby at Puerto Marque´s and could also be associated with the rock art on the coastal beaches. Moving northward from Sinaloa, a notable cluster of rock art sites around Caborca, Sonora, lies just below the USA-Mexican border. Dominique Ballereau

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Fig. 47.1 Las Labradas, Sinaloa: a stylized solar deity looks out to sea and up at the sky on the Tropic of Cancer

(1988, 1991) systematically recorded the motifs at Cerro La Proveedora and Cerro Calera. He identified anthropomorphs as one of his four principal categories, including some in a very similar style to the solar deity at Las Labradas. Celestial motifs, particularly numerous representations of the sun, the crescent moon, and stars, were another important category. The Caborca sites are closely associated to the Trincheras culture, and Ballereau points out their similarities to rock art in southern Arizona attributed to the Hohokam culture (see ▶ Chap. 41, “Rock Art of the Greater Southwest” and ▶ Chap. 42, “Hopi and Anasazi Alignments and Rock Art”). For him, the archaeoastronomical context is abundantly present but entirely iconographic. Amador (2011) extends this context by further relating these celestial images to features of the natural landscape which could have been endowed with symbolic value. Systematic observational data of a horizon calendar is lacking but may also be present at this site associated with another rock feature, a geoglyph which could delimit a ritual space. To the west, in the Sierra de San Francisco of central Baja California, Smith (1985) proposes that the Cochimi also created a ritual landscape to mark an annual cycle. Their year was defined by the availability of gathered foods and the reproductive cycle of two key prey species, the bighorn sheep and the mule deer. None of the Cochimi seasons are directly related to the solstices or equinox, but Smith proposes that their relation to the cardinal directions is symbolically encoded in the prominent color-bisected figures of the Great Mural painted rock art of central Baja California.

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Another archaeoastronomical feature in the Sierra de San Francisco range is a possible representation of the 1054 AD supernova (Crosby 1997). A small two-color pictograph shows a rayed circle next to a color-bisected circle, possibly a half-moon, which could represent a conjunction known to have occurred during the supernova’s duration. Other possible representations of this unique event have been suggested for a number of locations in the US Southwest, but recent analysis has raised new questions about this relationship (see ▶ Chap. 41, “Rock Art of the Greater Southwest”). At the La Rumorosa site in northern Baja California (and other sites in the ancestral territory of the Kumeyaay), solsticial observation has been proposed (Hedges 1985) to explain a light-and-shadow hierophany which occurs around the winter solstice. In the center of a painted panel, an anthropomorphic figure with an antler headdress is illuminated at this time. Hedges proposes that this personage may have been a shaman in charge of a seasonal ritual for renewing fertility or even a deity representation associated with the ritual’s theme. Whatever the case, similar anthropomorphs with deer antler headdresses appear in rock art all across northern Mexico and adjoining Texas and may indicate a widely shared ritual tradition connected to sky observation (Murray 2012, 2013). Traces of this tradition may even survive today in cyclical rituals like the Yaqui deer dance, the Raramuri Holy Week dances, and the annual peyote pilgrimage of the Huichol. Their connection to sky observation is based on the fact that deer antler growth is an annual biological cycle controlled by sunlight. As the days lengthen in the spring, male hormonal levels rise and initiate antler formation. Maximum size is achieved at the fall mating season when ritual combat determines successful male reproduction. Antlers are then thrown just before the winter solstice, when hormonal levels diminish rapidly and the annual cycle begins anew. Thus, each deer antler symbolically represents one solar year as well as the continued fertility evidenced by antler regrowth in the stags and the does giving birth to their fawns 7 months later. Deer may also be the key to the lunar tally count at the Presa de La Mula, Nuevo Leo´n (Fig. 47.2), one of the most elaborate examples of a petroglyphic counting tradition which is present at various northeast Mexican sites (Murray 1982, 1986). The 207 tallies it records are consistently divided into seven synodic months, which is also a good approximation of the gestation period of the female whitetail deer. Just above the count, deer hoofprint petroglyphs mark the spot. At nearby Boca de Potrerillos (see ▶ Chap. 48, “Boca de Potrerillos” in this Handbook), a prominent dot configuration records the same total number and reaffirms the relation between lunar observation and deer fertility. Other north Mexican sites appear to mark the year by means of horizon calendars. At Cueva Ahumada, Nuevo Leo´n, a rock shelter in a canyon of the Eastern Sierra Madre mountains with both paintings and petroglyphs (including petroglyphic dot configurations), Corona (2005) identified a horizon calendar centered on the equinox and the summer solstice and accompanied by a probable light-and-shadow hierophany. A large and densely carved stone occupies a central position in front of the shelter whose tip can be used to sight along the eastern

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Fig. 47.2 The La Mula (Nuevo Leo´n) Count Stone is a record of seven lunar synodic months which includes special markers for the 148- and 177-day eclipse cycles. Its sum is a good approximation of the gestation period of the female whitetail deer

horizon. Because of the high horizon, the paintings which cover the shelter’s rock wall are dramatically illuminated in sequence each day some time after the sunrise (Fig. 47.3), but at the equinox, the paintings inside the rock shelter remain in full shadow. The site’s initial occupation is carbon-dated to approximately 6000 BP and Corona observes that sky observation may have been a motive for its choice and account for a significant part of its rock art imagery. On the Gulf coastal plain of Nuevo Leo´n, Rivera has found evidence of a horizon calendar made by large-scale rock manipulation at two sites near General Tera´n, Nuevo Leo´n (Rivera 2011; Solı´s and Rivera 2010; Solis et al. 2011). Loma El Muerto and Loma de Barbechos are low hills with a relatively flat horizon to the east and a dramatic western (setting) horizon over the peaks of the Sierra Madre Oriental. To compensate for the flat rising horizon, a large monolithic stone was moved to provide a sighting profile. Petroglyphs on the hill flanks also appear to mark specific sighting directions on both the rising and setting horizons. In Durango and Chihuahua, along an interior route of the Western Sierra Madre mountains, evidence of Mesoamerican contacts is more prominent. At El Zape, Durango, a light-and-shadow hierophany illuminates a petroglyph panel marking both solstices and equinox (Peschard et al. 1991). This panel contains quincunce figures within shield motifs, some of which are crowned with deer antlers. Recent work by Herrera (2012) at La Cantera, Durango, and other sites in the nearby Rı´o Tepehuanes valley firmly links this imagery to the sedentary Chalchihuites cultural

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Fig. 47.3 At Cueva Ahumada (Nuevo Leo´n), the rising sun dramatically illuminates the painted panels of the rock shelter in sequence, creating a visual hierophany

phase and a cosmovision defined in the surrounding landscape by rock art. At La Cantera, the rock art of the Gran Chichimeca meets and meshes with the settled landscape of Mesoamerica. Further to the south within the Mesoamerican sphere, rock art is more often integrated directly into urban landscapes and structures. This difference is well illustrated at site of El Co´poro, Guanajuato, a major center just below the Mesoamerican frontier in the fertile Bajı´o region. Here, the petroglyphs have been incorporated into the stairways leading up to a ritual space which includes a sweat bath (temascal). The structure itself is oriented to the cardinal directions and the stairway faces directly to cardinal east. The petroglyphs include a quincunce figure located right below the drainage outlet of the temascal. According to field observations, it may have served as a gnomon indicating the date and timing of rituals (Cruces 2011). Viramontes (2005) identifies a similar mingling of styles at sites in the neighboring state of Quere´taro which were occupied alternately by both hunter-gatherers and agriculturalists at different periods. Some of these sites are associated with natural landscape features which are still visited by the local Otomı´ population on calendrically timed pilgrimages now incorporated into the Christian calendar.

Conclusions Rock art iconography provides significant evidence of a tradition of sky-watching shared between Mesoamerican civilizations and hunter-gatherer peoples of Arid

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America. These shared features include: (1) the use of local horizon calendars to mark the annual solar cycle, in the north marked by petroglyphs, whereas in Mesoamerica, they are integrated into the built environment and site layout; (2) counting the days of celestial cycles, particularly lunar counting of both sidereal and synodic months and eclipse cycles; and (3) cardinal directional orientation expressed in the cross-in-circle motif and its many variants as well as spatial relation to the landscape. This spatial relation also identifies at least some circular petroglyphs associated with sighting points as probable representations of the sun (and/or moon). For the hunter-gatherers of the Gran Chichimeca, counting is more often related to shorter seasonal periods directly related to adaptive survival, such as the gestation cycle of important animal species, especially deer and mountain sheep, and the seasonal availability of plant foods and other resources. Rock art may decorate ritual spaces associated with these plants and animals and sometimes defines symbolic connections with the sky observations associated with these rituals. Rock art eventually becomes transformed into systematized patterns and specialized features, including Mesoamerican calendrical inscriptions and iconography within elaborate ritual scenarios. In this sense, rock art provides a bridge between the preliterate and literate traditions of Mesoamerican art and archaeoastronomy and gives a privileged access to the continuity between them.

Cross-References ▶ Astronomical Correlates of Architecture and Landscape in Mesoamerica ▶ Astronomy at Teotihuacan ▶ Boca de Potrerillos ▶ Hopi and Anasazi Alignments and Rock Art ▶ Pecked Cross-Circles ▶ Rock Art of the Greater Southwest

References Amador BJ (2011) El Arte Rupestre y el Simbolismo del Paisaje en el Noroeste de Sonora. In: Iwaniszewski S, Vigliani S (eds) Identidad, Paisaje y Patrimonio. INAH/ENAH/DEH, Me´xico DF, pp 287–320 Aveni AF (1981) Tropical archaeoastronomy. Science 213:161–171 Ballereau D (1988) El Arte Rupestre en Sonora: Petroglifos en Caborca. Trace 14(December):5–72 Ballereau D (1991) Lunas Crecientes, Soles, y Estrellas en los Grabados Rupestres de los Cerros La Proveedora y Calera (Sonora, Me´xico). In: Broda J, Iwaniszewski S, Maupome´ L (eds) Arqueoastronomı´a y Etnoastronomı´a en Mesoame´rica. Universidad Nacional Auto´noma de Me´xico, Me´xico DF, pp 537–544 Cabrera M (1986) Palma Sola: una Muestra de Petrograbados en Acapulco. In: Arqueologı´a y Etnohistoria del Estado de Guerrero. INAH/Gobierno del Estado de Guerrero, Me´xico, pp 211–238

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Corona JC (2005) Los Eventos Astrono´micos en la Construccio´n del Espacio y el Tiempo en Cueva Ahumada, Nuevo Leo´n. In: Wieshau W, Fournier P (eds) Perspectivas de la Investigacio´n Arqueolo´gica. INAH/ENAH, Me´xico DF, pp 109–122 Crosby HW (1997) The cave paintings of Baja California. Sunbelt Publications, San Diego Cruces O (2011) Espacio Ritual y Petrograbados en El Co´poro, Guanajuato. In: Iwaniszewski S, Vigliani S (eds) Identidad, Paisaje y Patrimonio. INAH/ENAH/DEH, Me´xico DF, pp 135–151 Hedges K (1985) Archaeoastronomical sites in the Territory of the Kumeyaay Indians of Southern California and Northern Baja California. In: Benson A, Hoskinson T (eds) Earth and sky. Slo’w Press, Thousand Oaks, pp 135–150 Herrera D (2012) Estudio del Sitio de Arte Rupestre “La Cantera”, Valle del Rı´o Tepehuanes, Durango: una Aproximacio´n a la Representacio´n del Cosmos Chalchihuiten˜o (Licenciatura Thesis). Escuela Nacional de Antropologı´a e Historia, Me´xico Manzanilla LR, Talavera GA (2008) Las Manifestaciones Gra´fico Rupestres en los Sitios Arqueolo´gicos de Acapulco. INAH, Me´xico DF Murray WB (1982) Calendrical Petroglyphs of Northern Mexico. In: Aveni AF (ed) Archaeoastronomy in the New World. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, pp 195–203 Murray WB (1986) Numerical Representations in North American Rock Art. In: Closs M (ed) Native American Mathematics. University of Texas Press, Austin, pp 45–70 Murray WB (2012) Connections: Rock art across the river with two names. In: Ritter E, Greer M, Whitehead P (eds) American Indian rock art, vol 38. American Rock Art Research Assn, Glendale, pp 77–88 Murray WB (2013). Deer: Sacred and profane. (To be published in Rock Art and Sacred Landscapes by Springer) Peschard A, Ganot RJ, Lazalde JE (1991) Petroglifos de El Zape, Durango: un Calendario Solar en el Norte de Me´xico. In: Broda J, Iwaniszewski S, Maupome´ L (eds) Arqueoastronomı´a y Etnoastronomı´a en Mesoame´rica. Universidad Nacional Auto´noma de Me´xico, Me´xico DF, pp 529–536 Rivera EA (2011) Sobre el Modo de Vida de los Grupos Cazadores-Recolectores de Nuevo Leo´n: Impresiones del Paisaje en la Percepcio´n de su Mundo. In: Iwaniszewski S, Vigliani S (eds) Identidad, Paisaje y Patrimonio. INAH/ENAH/DEH, Me´xico, pp 321–340 Santos RVJ (2006) Los Grabados Rupestres de Sinaloa: el Sitio de Las Labradas. In: Santos RVJ, Vin˜as VR (eds) Los Petroglifos del Norte de Me´xico. INAH, Me´xico DF Santos RVJ (2009) Informe Te´cnico. Primera Temporada del Proyecto Arqueolo´gico Las Labradas. (ms.) Instituto Nacional de Antropologı´a e Historia (INAH), Oficina Regional, Sinaloa Santos RVJ (2010) Informe Te´cnico. Segunda Temporada del Proyecto Arqueolo´gico Las Labradas. (ms.) Instituto Nacional de Antropologı´a e Historia (INAH), Oficina Regional, Sinaloa Smith R (1985) The Cochimi Ritual Landscape. In: Benson A, Hoskinson T (eds) Earth and Sky. Slo’w Press, Thousand Oaks, pp 163–184 Solı´s N, Rivera A (2010) The Hunter’s memory and ritual space: Interpreting the rock art at Loma El Muerto, Nuevo Leo´n, Me´xico. In: Hedges K (ed) American Indian Rock Art, vol 36. American Rock Art Research Assn, Glendale, pp 133–146 Solis N, Herrera D, Rivera A (2011) Agency and structure in South Central Nuevo Leo´n: the Petroglyphs at Loma de Barbechos (Me´xico). In: Greer M, Greer J, Whitehead P (eds) American Indian Rock Art, vol 37. American Rock Art Research Assn, Glendale, pp 195–208 Sˇprajc I (2001) Orientaciones Astrono´micas en la Arquitectura Prehispa´nica del Centro de Me´xico. Instituto Nacional de Antropologı´a e Historia, Me´xico DF Viramontes C (2005) El Lenguaje de los Sı´mbolos: el Arte Rupestre de las Sociedades Prehispa´nicas de Quere´taro. Gobierno del Estado de Quere´taro, Quere´taro Viramontes C, Gutie´rrez M, Murray WB, Mendiola F (2008) Rock Art Research in West and Northern Mexico, 2000–2004. In: Bahn P, Franklin N, Strecker M (eds) Rock art studies: News of the World III. Oxbow Books, Oxford

Boca de Potrerillos

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Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Site Description . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Archaeoastronomy at Boca de Potrerillos . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Petroglyphic Counting . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Conclusions and Prospects . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Abstract

Boca de Potrerillos is an archaeological site located in the municipio of Mina, Nuevo Leo´n, about 60 km. northwest of Monterrey, Mexico´s third largest city. Its principal feature is one of the largest concentrations of petroglyphs in the country. Archaeoastronomical features include petroglyphic markers of the cardinal directions, dot configurations which count lunar synodic periods, and one of the earliest horizon calendars in North America. They indicate that the site was probably used for sky observation from the Middle Archaic time period onward and may represent evidence of the initial stages in the development of Mesoamerican numeration and astronomy.

Introduction According to modern calculations, the initial date of the Maya Long Count is 3114 BC but the earliest recorded dates in that calendar come from a much later

W.B. Murray Departamento de Ciencias Sociales, Universidad de Monterrey, San Pedro Garza Garcı´a, Nuevo Leo´n, Mexico e-mail: [email protected]; [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_52, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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period. A long tradition of sky observation lies behind the achievements of Mesoamerican astronomers, but so far, evidence about its earlier phases is very limited or has not been recognized. The archaeological site of Boca de Potrerillos (Municipio of Mina, Nuevo Leo´n) provides a unique glimpse behind this chronological barrier. Its rock art provides insights into the sky observations and time-keeping practices of the mobile hunting and gathering peoples who preceded sedentary Mesoamerican agriculture and urban development.

Site Description Boca de Potrerillos is located at Lat. 26
N., that is, 3
above the Tropic of Cancer, and about 300 km north of the so-called Mesoamerican frontier. Its principal features are an estimated 4,000 carved stones dispersed along 2 km. at the base of a rocky crest (Sierra de Antrisco) and in adjacent areas on both sides of the canyon mouth which gives the site its name. The total site area covers about 6 km2. At present, it is the only officially designated archaeological site in northeast Mexico and represents one of the largest concentrations of prehistoric rock art in the country (Valadez 2006). The site lies in the rain shadow of the Sierra Madre Oriental Mountains and forms the southeastern edge of the Chihuahuan Desert biological province. Surface water is scarce to nonexistent and the predominant vegetation is cacti and desert shrubs. Stream flow from the Potrerillos canyon is now limited to infrequent but intense downpours with great erosive potential. Today’s environment is suitable only for goat herding, but these conditions were evidently not present throughout prehistory. In some earlier periods, stream flow was more constant and the canyon mouth formed a natural dam, creating a wetland or shallow lagoon upstream whose traces are still clearly visible on the modern landscape (Fig. 48.1). Exactly when and how many times these wetter episodes occurred is one of the principal unknowns at this site. Archaeological fieldwork at Boca de Potrerillos was carried out in the 1990s by a field team directed by Solveig Turpin and Herbert Eling of the University of Texas at Austin and Moise´s Valadez of the Nuevo Leo´n regional office of the INAH (Turpin et al. 1998). As part of that project, more than 200 stone hearths ( fogones) were surveyed in front of the carved slopes and in exposures of recently cut arroyo walls. Twenty radiocarbon dates were obtained from well-preserved charcoal and established an initial occupation in the Middle Archaic period (7800–7600 BP to about 4800 BP), then an apparent occupational hiatus, and finally a later occupational phase from 2700 BP to Spanish colonial times. During this time, the hearth constructions remained virtually unchanged, indicating the presence at this site of a continuing cultural activity (be it ritual or practical) which extends back over 7000 years. Paleoenvironmental data confirmed the dramatic transformation of the landscape during wetter episodes. Associated pollen indicated the presence of pine/juniper forests on the nearby mountain slopes and more extensive grasslands on the valley floors. Presence of five varieties of freshwater snails and aquatic vegetation demonstrated that

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Fig. 48.1 Aerial view of the Boca de Potrerillos site area

permanent water was impounded behind the canyon mouth and would probably have added fish as well as migratory fowl to the food resources available. These all add up to a very favorable environment for early hunter-gatherers and help to account for the density of carvings at this currently inhospitable and waterless location. Initial documentation of the site’s rock art in the 1970s immediately revealed a heavy predominance of abstract geometrical motifs, particularly circular and lineal forms (de Witt Sepu´lveda and Garza Carrillo 1999; Olson 1999). At least two (and perhaps more) phases of rock art production are indicated by numerous examples of overcarving and superposition of motifs as well as stylistic and technical differences. These phases could be parallel to the occupational phases identified by carbon dating, but the apparent occupational hiatus may be the result of a limited dating sample and the petroglyphs can only be dated in relative terms. Even so, rock wear (fracturing and spalling) and petroglyphs recently exposed by erosion at the canyon mouth suggest that the earliest phase of carving probably coincided with the initial occupation of the site.

Archaeoastronomy at Boca de Potrerillos The relation of the Boca petroglyphs to sky observation was immediately evident from their distribution (Murray 1982). Carvings are especially concentrated near

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Fig. 48.2 Monolithic Carved Rock, promontory zone

the canyon mouth and on large monoliths at the base of the slopes. Although rocks apt for carving are equally available on both faces of the crest, all (except a handful) of the 4,000+ petroglyphs face east. This pervasive feature indicates that from the beginning, the people who chose the site were looking at the celestial rising horizon for some reason over the distant mountains about 10–20 km to the east. This focus on the eastern horizon is reaffirmed by a dense cluster of petroglyphs on a rocky promontory about 500 m directly behind the canyon mouth. At the promontory zone, nearly all the motifs are circles, visual analogs to the sun (or moon). Moreover, a densely carved monolith (Fig. 48.2) has been artificially positioned with great effort, evidently as a horizon observational foresight (and perhaps a gnomon rock as well), It is placed between two quadripartite petroglyph motifs, one rectangular and the other a cross-in-circle, both of which are identified in Mesoamerican iconography as cardinal directional markers (see ▶ Chap. 54, “Pecked Cross-Circles”). The effort required to place these stones implies both conscious planning and the mobilization of considerable manpower to move the stone to the desired location. From this point, the canyon mouth frames the sunrise around the time of the equinox; the winter solstice sunrise occurs over a prominent notch of the nearby rocky crest, and the summer solstice is marked by a prominent peak on the more distant horizon. The end result is a horizon calendar easily viewed from either the promontory zone or the east-facing slope by using natural rock profiles with petroglyphic

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Fig. 48.3 Map showing cardinal orientation of the site

markings as foresights (see ▶ Chap. 52, “Astronomical Correlates of Architecture and Landscape in Mesoamerica”). The observation of the equinox defines a visual east– west axis crossing the entire site (Murray 2004). Another large monolith is artificially placed at the tip of the north crest where it intersects with the natural north–south axis of the rocky crest. This rock defines the axial point in the cardinal directional orientation of the site landscape and its carved features (Fig. 48.3). The north–south orientation is marked by prominent clusters of cross-in-circle petroglyphs on both crests (Murray 2006). On the south crest, this cluster surrounds a prominent carved monolith whose profile fits the profile of the north crest in front and visually marks the cardinal north direction in the sky (Fig. 48.4). From this point, on any clear night, the bright stars of Ursa Major would be seen moving around the north pole of the sky and some would disappear behind the crest only to reemerge later the same night on the opposite side. This movement may be depicted in a circle-and-line petroglyph prominently placed on the north crest (Fig. 48.5). On the adjoining panel, projectile points crowned by deer antlers are depicted.

674 Fig. 48.4 Petroglyph on the south crest with sky simulation showing orientation to the north pole of the sky

Fig. 48.5 Circle-and-line petroglyph, North crest panel

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Temporal and spatial orientation is critical to human survival and successful adaptation under the conditions of a hunter-gatherer economy. Using its observational potential, seasonal changes as well as animal and human migratory movements could be timed with relative precision by means of the horizon calendar and directionality could be readily established by observation of the polar sky motion. Although we cannot identify what specific stars or star groups were used as time markers of stellar motion, both sun-time and star-time were being observed at Boca de Potrerillos as markers of the annual cycle. A solar horizon calendar is based on universally applicable principles and may have been one of early man’s first sky-watching discoveries. A polar sky replete with bright stars could also have guided the direction of movements anywhere in the northern hemisphere and constitute another element of an ancient and widely diffused sky-watching heritage.

Petroglyphic Counting Observation of the moon is manifested principally by a series of dot configurations carved on prominent rock panels near the tip of the north crest adjoining the previously mentioned pole-star petroglyph. From this point, there is a panoramic view of the horizon to the east, south, and west where lunar motion could be readily observed in relation to the zodiacal constellations. The dots are arrayed in vertical, horizontal, and curvilinear configurations, some of whose unit numerical values systematically coincide with lunar synodic and sidereal months. They suggest that each dot represented a day/night, just as we find in later Mesoamerican counting, and their sequence represents a series of counted sums. The examples at Boca de Potrerillos are part of wider complex we have identified as the Northeast Mexican Petroglyphic Counting tradition (Murray 1982a,b, 1986, 1993, 1996) which is present at many other regional sites. It includes counts using both dot and tally motifs – symbols later combined in Mesoamerican binomial bar-and-dot counting, but used here separately as monosymbolic representations to count only accumulating sums. In particular, one prominent dot configuration at Boca (Fig. 48.6) records the same eccentric sum (207) as a complex tally configuration at nearby Presa de La Mula. This sum (207 days) is numerically equivalent to seven synodic months and it is also a good approximation of the gestation cycle of the female whitetail deer. Marking this time may have had both practical and symbolic importance. The La Mula tally count records each synodic month as a separate unit, but the dot configuration at Boca records this period in a very different four step sequence: (63 + 61 + 69 ¼ 193 + 14 ¼ 207). The sum of the first three elements is a reasonable approximation of seven lunar sidereal months (27.32  7 ¼ 191.24 days), while the last step appears to note the difference between seven sidereal and synodic months. It provides another clue that lunar, stellar, and solar calendars were all being used for calculating natural seasonal cycles based on direct observation of the sky.

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Fig. 48.6 Curvilinear dot configuration, North crest

Fig. 48.7 Dot configurations, North crest panel

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The 7-month 207-day count probably approaches the effective limit of monosymbolic counting and the majority of the counts record much smaller sums and shorter periods of time. An adjoining panel (Fig. 48.7) appears to be a series of attempts to determine how to count successive lunar synodic months (Murray 2009). Since the lunar synodic month is an irregular period (29.54 days), no repeated whole number fits and a one-day observational error is generated immediately at the end of the second month if either 29 or 30 days are counted. In the Maya Long Count inscriptions, one of the lunar glyphs notes this alternation (see ▶ Chap. 51, “Counting Lunar Phase Cycles in Mesoamerica”), but solving the problem by direct observation would obviously require a series of trial-and-error notations. On the Boca panel, the count in the middle records 27 days (an observable lunation), while the count beside it marks a full 29-day synodic month, and the curvilinear configuration to the right notes 44 days or 1½ synodic months counting from New Moon to Full Moon of the following month. If these are treated as a set, they would represent 3½ months of lunar observations (29.54  3.5 ¼ 103.39 days) with an observed error of 3 days (27 + 29 + 44 ¼ 100). Something was still wrong, and the remaining 18 days to complete 4 synodic months (118.16 days) may be recorded within the unique omega glyph just above (an inverted Mesoamerican lunar symbol). Using this formula (118 days ¼ 4 synodic months) would allow the lunar synodic months to be counted for a full year with less than one full-day observable error (29.54  12 ¼ 354.48 days; 118  3 ¼ 354). It would also allow the entire 7 months of the whitetail deer gestation period to be counted by lunar observation.

Conclusions and Prospects Not all the petroglyphs at Boca de Potrerillos refer directly to sky-watching, and other meanings or analytic frameworks have been suggested (Castan˜eda 2007; Rettig 2007). Also, sky-watching was evidently associated with activities other than mere nightly contemplation, calendrically timed rituals being one possibility which fits both the rock art evidence and the archaeological context (Turpin 2007). Nevertheless, a substantial number show clear evidence of astronumerical notation of the solar and lunar cycles, celestial observation, and spatial orientation to the cardinal directions. These are based on the observed relation between the sky and the terrestrial landscape which may have influenced the initial selection of this site. All three sky objectives (sun, moon, and stars) could have been observed in the contiguous area around the tip of the north crest, a sky-watcher’s observatory located at the fulcrum of the cardinal directional axis. All of these features have clear parallels to later Mesoamerican astrocalendrics, iconography, and site alignment, but here, they appear at a site which lies at some distance beyond the Mesoamerican frontier which was occupied exclusively by hunter-gatherers from Archaic to colonial times. At least two explanations for these parallels can be posited. They could be attributed to an ancestral (Middle Archaic) hunter-gatherer stage which was here retained up to contact, or they may be a reflection of interaction between Classic

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Mesoamerica and its “barbarian” neighbors in some later period. A more precise chronology of site occupation and its relation to petroglyph production is needed in order to resolve whether either (or both) of these explanations fits the evidence. In either case, the petroglyphs confirm the use and relevance of rock art for celestial time-keeping and directional orientation in response to the survival needs and interests of hunter-gatherers. At this site, time is a practical and symbolic measure of natural biological rhythms which govern resource availability and spatial orientation derives from an infallible and always visible marker of cardinal directionality: the celestial north pole.

Cross-References ▶ Astronomical Correlates of Architecture and Landscape in Mesoamerica ▶ Counting Lunar Phase Cycles in Mesoamerica ▶ Nature and Analysis of Material Evidence Relevant to Archaeoastronomy ▶ Pecked Cross-Circles

References Castan˜eda VR (2007) El Lenguaje Rupestre. In: Murray WB (ed) Arte Rupestre del Noreste. Fondo Editorial Nuevo Leo´n, Monterrey, pp 241–258 De Witt SMG, Garza Carrillo JF (1999) Arte Rupestre en la Sierra El Antrisco, Mina, Nuevo Leo´n. In: de Salas EL (ed) Boca de Potrerillos. Universidad Auto´noma de Nuevo Leo´n/Museo Bernabe´ de Las Casas, Monterrey, pp 35–46 Murray WB (1982a) Rock art and site environment at Boca de Potrerillos, Nuevo Leo´n, Me´xico. In: Bock F (ed) American Indian rock art, vols 7–8. Rock Art Research Assn, El Toro, pp 57–68 Murray WB (1982b) Calendrical petroglyphs of Northern Mexico. In: Aveni AF (ed) Archaeoastronomy in the New World. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, UK, pp 195–203 Murray W (1986) Numerical representations in North American rock art. In: Closs M (ed) Native American mathematics. University of Texas Press, Austin, pp 45–70 Murray WB (1993) Counting and skywatching at Boca de Potrerillos. In: Ruggles CLN (ed) Archaeoastronomy in the 1990s. Group D Publications, Loughborough, pp 264–269 Murray WB (1996) The Northeast Mexican petroglyphic counting tradition: a methodological summary. In: Koleva V, Kolev D (eds) Astronomical traditions in past cultures. Bulgarian Academy of Sciences, Sofia, pp 14–24 Murray WB (2004) El Equinoccio entre los Pueblos Amerindios del Noreste de Me´xico. In Boccas M, Broda J, Pereira G (eds) Etno y Arqueoastronomı´a en las Americas, Memorias del Simposio ARQ 13, 51st International Congress of Americanists, Santiago de Chile, pp 243–254 Murray WB (2006) The Cross-in-Circle Motif at Boca de Potrerillos, NL, Me´xico: Cardinal directional symbolism in rock art? In: Bostwick TW, Bates B (eds) Viewing the sky through past and present cultures. City of Phoenix Parks and Recreation Department (Pueblo Grande Museum Anthropological Papers, No. 15) Phoenix, pp 225–236 Murray WB (2009) Discovering the Synodic Month. Paper presented at the 53rd Congress of Americanists, Me´xico DF Olson J (1999) Un Sitio de Petroglifos en el Noreste de Me´xico. In Lozano de Salas E (ed) Boca de Potrerillos, Universidad Auto´noma de Nuevo Leo´n/Museo Bernabe´ de las Casas, Monterrey, pp 55–123

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Rettig Hinojosa D (2007) Unio´n y Descendencia en Boca de Potrerillos, Nuevo Leo´n: Elementos Gra´ficos Transmitidos por el Hacer Rutinario. In Murray WB (ed) Arte Rupestre del Noreste, Fondo Editorial Nuevo Leo´n, Monterrey, pp 261–296 Turpin S (2007) La Nucleacio´n Cı´clica y el Espacio Sagrado. In: Murray WB (ed) Arte Rupestre del Noreste, Fondo Editorial Nuevo Leo´n, Monterrey, pp 177–194 Turpin S, Eling H, Valadez M (1998) Boca de Potrerillos, Nuevo Leo´n: Adaptacio´n Prehispa´nica ´ ridas del Noreste de Me´xico. In Williams E, Weigand PC (eds) Arqueologı`a del a las Zonas A Norte y Occidente de Me´xico, Colegio de Michoaca´n, Zamora, pp 177–224 Valadez M (2006) Los Petrograbados de Boca de Potrerillos. In: Santos VJR, Vin˜as RV (ed) Los Petroglifos del Norte de Me´xico. Instituto Nacional de Antropologı´a e Historia, Me´xico DF, pp 59–72

Part IV Pre-Columbian and Indigenous Mesoamerica Stanisław Iwaniszewski

Astronomical Deities in Ancient Mesoamerica

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Susan Milbrath

Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Sacred Star Groups . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Venus . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Solar Deities . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Sun and Moon Paired . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Lunar Deities . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Abstract

The best known astronomical deities in ancient Mesoamerica are the sun, moon, and Venus. The Milky Way was also deified, and its constellations were visualized as celestial animals or locations. The sun and Venus were male deities, but the moon had both male and female aspects. Some of these concepts survive today in Mesoamerican ethnographic accounts referencing different transformations of the moon.

Introduction Mesoamerica includes a rich array of astronomical imagery, best known from the lowland Maya and highland Aztec cultures of the Postclassic period (AD 900–1520). This chapter focuses on deities representing the sun, moon, and

S. Milbrath Florida Museum of Natural History, University of Florida, Gainesville, FL, USA e-mail: [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_55, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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Venus. Other planets were certainly worshipped, but the associated deities are not recorded in ethnographic and ethnohistoric sources. These accounts most often refer to deities of the sun, moon, and Venus but also provide some information about deification of the Milky Way and important star groups.

Sacred Star Groups Although more commonly seen as a road, a river, or a place of death, the Milky Way is sometimes visualized as a celestial snake among the contemporary Maya, a reptilian form that may also be evident in Classic Maya art (AD 300–900; Milbrath 1999). This Milky Way “Cosmic Monster” can be represented with a skyband body that bears symbols of the sun, moon, and Venus. A skyband also appears on the Cosmic Monster in Postclassic codices (painted screenfold books), as on Dresden Codex 74, where a Venus God (God L) is paired with the aged goddess O (see ▶ Chap. 50, “Astronomy in the Dresden Codex”, Fig. 50.5). The Postclassic Paris Codex (23–24) depicts a Maya zodiac of 13 constellations, showing five animal constellations on a skyband, symbolizing star groups at the intersection of the Milky Way and ecliptic. Among these are a turtle referencing stars in Orion, a rattlesnake constellation that includes the Pleiades, and a fish-snake formed by stars in Sagittarius (Bricker and Bricker 2011). There is also a scorpion constellation representing stars in Scorpius, a surprising and rare congruency with western astronomy. This zodiac accompanies an 1,820-day almanac comprised of five periods of 364 days, each subdivided into sets of 28 days, probably used for computing the sidereal lunar month (Aveni 2001). The Aztecs of highland Central Mexico worshipped the Milky Way as a male and female couple known as Citlaltonac (“resplendent stars”) and Citlalicue (“star skirt”), a goddess also called the “mother of the gods” (Sahagu´n 1950–1982; Seler 1990–2000). This Central Mexican avatar of the Milky Way also appears in the Codex Borgia, which depicts her in an elongated form with a star skirt (Fig. 49.1, Borgia 46; Milbrath 2013). Fire serpents in the central scene may symbolize the stars in Scorpius on the Milky Way. This fire serpent is represented more graphically by a serpent with a curved row of stars on its snout in Aztec art (Milbrath 1980, 1997). To the Aztecs, star groups on the Milky Way were especially important. The Pleiades, described as the celestial “marketplace”, was the focus of the New Fire Ceremony every 52 years in November (Milbrath 1980; Sahagu´n 1980–1982). Other Milky Way constellations include a bird with a bloodletter symbolizing the Southern Cross (Aveni 2001; Milbrath 2013).

Venus Feathered serpent images seem to be related to Venus throughout Mesoamerica (Milbrath 1999). Sometimes, Venus symbols are attached to the feathered serpent or his anthropomorphic counterpart, known as Quetzalcoatl (“feathered serpent”) in

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Fig. 49.1 Codex Borgia 46. Framing elements represent the goddess of the Milky Way, and Quetzalcoatl burning in a fire surrounded by Fire Serpents alludes to Venus transitioning from superior conjunction to the god of the Evening Star, who emerges to drill a fire on the Fire Serpent constellation, representing stars in Scorpius on the western horizon at dusk in November

Central Mexico and Kukulcan in the Maya area (Milbrath 1999). In the central highlands, the wind god aspect of Venus, called Ehecatl-Quetzalcoatl, is associated with round temples, a link perhaps also seen in the Maya lowlands of Yucatan with Kukulcan. Aztec ethnohistorical accounts identify Quetzalcoatl as a culture hero who descended into the underworld for 8 days and was transformed into the Morning Star, called Tlahuizcalpantecuhtli (“lord of the House of Dawn”). This is a metaphor for Venus transitioning from Evening Star to Morning Star during 8 days of inferior conjunction (Aveni 2001; Milbrath 2013). A Central Mexican narrative in the Codex Borgia shows Quetzalcoatl being transformed by fire at the center of the scene on page 46 (Fig. 49.1, Borgia 46). Below, the next scene in

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the narrative shows Quetzalcoatl drilling a fire on the back of a fire serpent encasing the Fire God, Xiuhtecuhtli, apparently referring to the dusk rise of the Evening Star, when Venus was in Scorpius just above the western horizon (Milbrath 2013). Venus imagery in Yucatan often appears to be linked with the number eight, referencing either eight days of inferior conjunction or the 8-year cycle of the Venus almanac. Integration of five synodical Venus cycles with the solar year resulted in a seasonal almanac that repeated after a short period of 8 years, as seen in Mesoamerican codices with Venus almanacs. Tlauhuizcalpantecuhtli is the dominant figure in Postclassic Venus almanacs of Central Mexico (Codex Borgia, Cospi, and Vaticanus B), but subtle variations in the Codex Borgia show that the god of the Morning Star had five different aspects (Milbrath 2013). The Maya Dresden Codex (46–50) also shows five variants of the Morning Star, but here Tlauhuizcalpantecuhtli (Dresden 48) is only one of the five different avatars of Venus, each representing a different seasonal aspect of the Morning Star (Milbrath 1999). On Dresden 49, the Central Mexican fire god appears as a dry season avatar of Venus. Dresden 46 represents a different seasonal aspect of Venus, here in the guise of the Postclassic Maya deity God L, known as a lord of the underworld in Classic Maya art. Another Classic Maya Venus god appears as one of triad of brothers in mythological texts at Palenque. A Mopan legend collected in the early twentieth century identifies a related triad, naming, Venus as the elder brother, the sun as the third born, and the middle brother being either Jupiter or Mars (Milbrath 1999; Thompson 1930). Both these planets were probably worshipped in Precolumbian Mesoamerica, but information on them is scarce. A “Mars Beast” does appear in two Postclassic Maya codices (Madrid and Dresden; Aveni 2001; Bricker and Bricker 2011). He may also have a Classic period counterpart represented by a celestial deer (Milbrath 1999). K’awil, a god of royal lineages, is associated with royal rituals linked to dated events involving Jupiter and Saturn (Milbrath 2004). His counterpart in Central Mexico may be Tezcatlipoca (“smoking mirror”), a god of the night sky who seems to be connected with the moon and various planets, and also Ursa Major (Milbrath 2013).

Solar Deities The principal Central Mexican solar god is Tonatiuh (“sun”), often represented as youthful warrior with a rayed disk (Fig. 49.2, Borgia 55, right). Tonatiuh is rarely mentioned in mythology, but both Piltzintecuhtli (“prince lord”) and Xochipilli (“flower prince”) appear in mythic cycles. Piltzintecuhtli is most probably the sun’s nocturnal avatar. Xochipilli, a youthful solar god, seems to be linked with the rainy season, the season of flowers and butterflies (Milbrath 2013). Huitzilopochtli (“hummingbird of the south”) seems to represent a dry season aspect of the sun (Milbrath 1997). His name and costuming indicate that he is closely associated with the hummingbird. Other birds representing the sun in Aztec cosmology include the eagle and roseate spoonbill (Milbrath 2013).

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Fig. 49.2 Codex Borgia 55, detail. On the right is Tonatiuh, the sun god with his solar disk, and on the left is Tlazolteotl with the Moon Goddess alongside the rabbit on the moon

Among the Maya, the sun’s animal avatars include the red macaw, the hummingbird, and the puma (Milbrath 1999). The sun incarnate is Kinich Ahau (“sun lord”) in Classic and Postclassic texts. Kinich Ahau is youthful in Classic Maya art, but in the Postclassic codices, he is an aged, bearded male who is known as God G. A separate deity, Hun Ahau (“one lord”), one of the youthful Hero Twins who plays ball in the underworld, represents an underworld aspect of the sun. Hun Ahau can be linked with the third born of the Palenque triad (GIII), who represents a the sun as one of three brothers (Milbrath 1999). In the Palenque triad, a lunar goddess (“Lady Egret”) is the mother of the three brothers, but more often the moon and sun as siblings or youthful rivals.

Sun and Moon Paired Chatino ethnographic accounts from the highlands of Oaxaca say the sun and moon are brothers who rose up to the sky on their mother’s cotton thread (Ba´ez-Jorge 1988). In a similar fashion, the Classic Maya solar twin, Hun Ahau, is paired with his lunar twin, Yax Balam (“first Jaguar”). They are the counterparts of Hunahpu (“one hunter”) and his female sibling, Xbalanque in the Popol Vuh. This deity, is a jaguar aspect of the moon in the colonial-period Tı´tulo de Totonicapa´n (Milbrath 1999). The Popol Vuh chronicle describes the primordial birth of the sun and moon, with Hunahpu as the first to emerge from the underworld, followed closely thereafter by Xbalanque, who may be the full moon (Tedlock 1985). Aztec accounts of the birth of the sun and moon are somewhat similar, with the sun emerging before the moon, and the pair being youthful males (but not brothers). Legends say that Nanahuatl threw himself into the fire and emerged as the resplendent sun, but the cowardly Nahuitecpatl (“4 Knife”) or Metztli (“moon”) entered the fire after it had died down, so the moon was not burned, only covered with ashes, apparently an explanation for why the moon is darker than the sun (Milbrath 2013; Sahagu´n 1950–1982).

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Fig. 49.3 Codex Borgia 57, Deities pairs as marital couples. Among the couples only the solar and lunar deities are in disaccord, with Xochiquetzal, the young Moon Goddess, turning away from the solar god Xochipilli. Both deities have similar rainy season associations, being associated with flowers and butterflies

Almanacs recording subdivisions of the 260-day calendar in Central Mexican codices pair Tecciztecatl (“conch-shell lord”) with Tonatiuh, contrasting the sun’s youthful appearance as a warrior with that of Tecciztecatl, who is invariably old and often bearded, and sometimes has attributes of a priest. Another pairing of the sun and moon is seen in the solar god Xochipill who is married to the lunar goddess, Xochiquetzal (“flower quetzal”), both being rainy season deities associated with butterflies and flowers. The Codex Borgia 57 shows them as an antagonistic marital pair, for Xochiquetzal turns her back on Xochipilli, just as the moon seems to move away from the sun right after the new moon (Fig. 49.3, Borgia 57; Milbrath 2013). Aztec legends also recount an antagonistic pairing of the sun and moon in the legend of Huitzilopochtli and his sister, Coyolxauhqui (“she of the bells”). The Aztec festival of Panquetzaliztli reenacted Huitzilopochtli’s triumph over Coyolxauhqui at the onset of the dry season in November. The newborn Huitzilopochtli decapitates Coyolxauhqui with the Xiuhcoatl (the fire serpent), a creature symbolizing stars in Scorpius seen on the western horizon in November during Panquetzaliztli (Milbrath 1997). The birth of Huitzilopochtli represents the seasonal triumph of the sun in the dry season, when the sun dominated the cloudless sky (Milbrath 1980). The myth also refers to the water drying up after Coyolxauhqui was decapitated, another metaphor of seasonal transition. Because the Aztecs believed that the moon died when it disappeared at the time of the new moon (Sahagu´n 1950–1982), the death of the moon goddess in the legend could allude to the new moon, or alternatively, her death could symbolize a lunar eclipse at the time of the full moon (Milbrath 1997).

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Lunar Deities Because Mesomaerican lunar images are so complex, the remainder of this chapter focuses on the moon. Many lunar attributes seem to be linked with gender roles. Female lunar imagery is dominant, but male moon deities can be recognized in Maya and Central Mexican art, and occasionally, the same deity has both male and female avatars. Female lunar deities are often linked to spinning, weaving, and childbirth, all feminine activities. Male lunar deities are involved in masculine roles, such as ball playing or the priesthood. Some ethnographic accounts from Central Mexico describe the moon as a bisexual being with both male and female aspects (Milbrath 1995, 1999; Sandstrom and Sandstrom 1986). Usually, a female aspect of the moon controls menstruation, as among the Quiche´ Maya and the Tepehua, a group of Nahua people who call this lunar goddess the Red Siren. This realm, however, is not always under the control of a feminine moon, for the Totonac of Veracruz say that the Moon God controls menstruation and formation of the fetus. Among the Nahua, Tonantsi (“our sacred mother”) and the Virgin of Guadalupe are equated with the moon, just as the Aztecs identified Tonantzin (Tonan) with the Virgin during the early colonial period (Broda de Casas 1991; Sahagu´n 1950–1982; Sandstrom and Sandstrom 1986). Tonantsi, the most important spirit in Nahua religious thought, is associated with positive aspects of the moon. She is also an earth deity because she lives in a sacred cave on earth and controls the seeds, including most prominently maize (Sandstrom 1991; Sandstrom and Sandstrom 1986). Similarly, in the Maya area there is a widespread link between the moon and maize agriculture in ethnographic accounts, and this connection is confirmed in Classic Maya images that show the moon merged with male and female Maize deities (Milbrath 1999; Taube 1992). During the Classic period, the Maya Moon Goddess is most often youthful, like Goddess I in the Postclassic codices, but there are both young and old moon deities in the codices, and also male and female aspects, with varying seasonal associations. On Madrid 30, the aged Goddess O pouring water is probably an aged aspect of the moon producing rainfall during the rainy season, whereas on Madrid 79, an aged lunar goddess is weaving, performing an activity associated with the dry season (Figs. 49.4, 49.5; Milbrath 1999). Specific lunar phases may be implicated in the gender of the moon, as seen in the colonial-period Popol Vuh, where Xbalanque may represent the full moon and a youthful goddess could be the moon in other phases (Tedlock 1985). Xbalanque seems related to the Postclassic God CH, who is a youthful, jaguar-spotted god (Milbrath 1999; Taube 1992). Thompson (1972) identified most of the females in the Dresden Codex as the Postclassic Maya Moon Goddess. Some have questioned his identifications (Bricker and Bricker 2011), but multiple lunar deities would seem to be the norm in ethnographic accounts, where the moon plays many different roles. Variations in representations of the lunar complex may allude to different lunar phases or seasons. There is also a similar multiplicity of lunar deities in highland Central Mexico (Milbrath 1995, 1999, 2013). Although the central Mexican Moon God, Tecciztecatl, is usually an aged male, he appears as an aged female in one section of the Codex Borgia (10). His name,

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Fig. 49.4 Madrid Codex 30a, Aged Goddess O pours water during the rainy season (After Milbrath 1999, Fig. 4.8a)

Conch-shell Lord, links him with a marine environment, evoking how the moon controls the tides. As previously noted, he is co-regent with the sun god, Tonatiuh, in the 260-day calendar, and in this context, Tecciztecatl is sometimes fused with Tezcatlipoca, as on Codex Borbonicus 6. Tezcatlipoca shares traits with the moon. Like the ever-changing moon, he is a master of deception. Tezcatlipoca has many disguises in the epic tale of his conflicts with the Venus god, Quetzalcoatl. He transforms himself into an old man, a naked Huastec, and an old woman, and he also appears as a spider that transforms itself into a jaguar in a ball game with Quetzalcoatl (Sahagu´n 1950–1982). Tezcatlipoca seems to have so many different aspects that he may embody the night itself, including the stars, planets, and the moon (Milbrath 2013). Tepeyollotl, the jaguar aspect of Tezcatlipoca, is a lunar deity in a number of contexts, and he plays a nocturnal role as eighth Lord of the Night. Another avatar of Tezcatlipoca (Itztli) appears as second among the Lords of the Night, a calendar sequence of nine deities that may embody a lunar count (Milbrath 2013). In Central Mexico, Xochiquetzal is a weaving goddess who seems to represent the moon in her role as wife of a solar god (Xochipilli or Piltzintecuhtli in different mythic cycles). According to the Codex Telleriano-Remensis (22v), Xochiquetzal was the patroness of pregnant women, and those that knew how to spin, weave, and embroider worshipped her because she was the first to spin and weave. Xochiquetzal

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Fig. 49.5 Madrid Codex 79c, the aged Moon goddess weaves cloth during the dry season (After Milbrath 1999, Fig. 4.9a)

was honored in the Aztec festival of Atamalcualiztli, a ceremony performed every 8 years (Sahagu´n 1950–1982, 1997; Nicholson 1971). The timing of the ceremony corresponds to an 8-year cycle of approximately 99 lunar months that coordinates with five Venus cycles of 584 days each (Milbrath 2000, 2013). In the Aztec festival of Hueypachtli, a young woman impersonating Xochiquetzal was sacrificed. A man then donned her skin and deity costume and was forced to weave (Sahagu´n 1950–1982). This transformation of the goddess represents a gender change, and the peculiar act of making a man to do a woman’s work relates to the gender ambiguity surrounding the cult of the lunar deities (Milbrath 1995). Tlazolteotl is often identified as a lunar deity, although she clearly represents a different lunar goddess than Xochiquetzal (Milbrath 1995, 2013; Thompson 1939). She is most closely connected with pregnancy, spinning and cotton, whereas Xochiquetzal is a wanton woman linked to flowers and embroidery. Spinning is a generic female task appropriate to Tlazolteotl’s role as a goddess of the moon. Spinning itself may be linked to the waxing and waning of the moon, as the spindle grows fat with thread, just as the moon grows round as it waxes (Sullivan 1982). This in turn becomes a metaphor for pregnancy with the winding thread representing the growing fetus. Tlazolteotl is the Moon Goddess in her role as the goddess of childbirth. Her association with snake imagery probably symbolizes the moon’s monthly trip into the interior of the earth, the abode of snakes, and possibly also the serpentine path of the moon. Maya lunar goddesses are similarly associated with snakes, pregnancy, childbirth, spinning and weaving (Milbrath 1999).

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Tlazolteotl wears the yacametztli (“nose moon”) ornament and also appears alongside a moon symbol in a number of contexts (Fig. 49.2; Borgia 55, left). She is one of the nine Lords of the Night, and a lunar symbol sometimes replaces the goddess in this sequence of nine deities (Codex Cospi, Milbrath 2013). Tlazolteotl may be connected with both the moon and the earth (Sullivan 1982; Thompson 1939). Among the Huastecs today, where the cult to Tlazolteotl-Ixcuina may have originated, the goddess of the earth and water is also a goddess of the moon (Sullivan 1982). Ixcuina is a Huastec word, meaning “lady cotton”, which is appropriate to her origin in the Huasteca, the chief center for cotton production. The earth-mother goddesses all seem to display “lunar connections” and that this is particularly true of Tlazolteotl-Ixcuina (Nicholson 1971). As Ixcuina, she is also a goddess of salt in the Codex Telleriano-Remensis (17v), apparently because the moon plays an important role in tides that affect salt harvesting. Whereas Tlazolteotl is a woman of childbearing age (Codex Borbonicus 13) and has a close connection with women who died in childbirth (Cihuapipiltin), Teteoinnan (“mother of the gods”) and her alter ego, Toci (“our grandmother”), both represent aged aspects of the moon (Milbrath 2013). Sahagu´n (1950–1982) records that Teoteoinnan-Toci was worshipped by fortune-tellers, physicians, midwives, and owners of sweat baths. Medicine and childbirth were also the domains of the Maya Moon Goddess in the codices, but youthful aspects of the lunar goddess dominate these realms, whereas the aged lunar goddess is associated with water and weaving (Thompson 1960, 1972). Lunar iconography is evident in the decapitation of Teteoinnan-Toci’s impersonator during Ochpaniztli, coinciding with the autumn equinox (Milbrath 2013). During the festival, a woman representing the goddess was decapitated, and the priest who donned her skin was called tecciszcuacuilli, a name that probably refers to the Moon God, Tecciztecatl (Gonza´lez Torres 1975; Sahagu´n 1950–1982). A transformation from female to male in lunar imagery associated with decapitation may symbolize the changing lunar phases. The rabbit on the moon (Fig. 49.2, left), a pan-Mesoamerican counterpart for our “man on the moon”, is an image closely associated with the Central Mexican pulque cult, for the pulque gods were sometimes referred to collectively as the “400 rabbits”. Pulque gods wearing the yacametztli ornament have sometimes been interpreted as lunar deities (Seler 1963; 1990–2000), but their lunar connection derives from pulque production being linked to the lunar phases, important in planting and tapping the maguey cactus used to make pulque (Milbrath 2013). A lunar connection is also seen in the goddess of the maguey plant, Mayahuel, who was a goddess of weaving, but instead of cotton, she wove maguey fiber used in the clothing of the poor – making her a “poor man’s Tlazolteotl” (Milbrath 2013; Sullivan 1982). The multiple roles the moon plays in art and rituals mirror the complexity of lunar imagery seen in modern ethnographic accounts from Mesoamerica. We are fortunate that ethnographic and ethnohistoric data allow us to recognize a number of important patterns for astronomical deities in ancient Mesoamerica. Future research on ancient calendar rituals holds promise for helping to determine more about the role of astronomy in religion, and the identities of the more elusive planets.

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Cross-References ▶ Astronomy in the Dresden Codex

References Aveni AF (2001) Skywatchers: a revised and updated version of skywatchers of ancient Mexico. University of Texas Press, Austin Ba´ez-Jorge F (1988) Los oficios de las diosas. Universidad Veracruzana, Xalapa Bricker H, Bricker V (2011) Astronomy in the Maya Codices. American Philosophical Society, Philadelphia Broda de Casas J (1991) The sacred landscape of Aztec calendar festivals: myth, nature and society. In: Carraso D (ed) Aztec ceremonial landscape. University Press of Colorado, Niwot, pp 74–120 Gonza´lez Torres Y (1975) El culto a los astros entre los mexicas. SEP/SETENTAS, Mexico City, p 217 Milbrath S (1980) Star Gods and astronomy of the Aztecs. In: La antropologı´a americanista en la actualidad: Homenaje a Raphael Girard, vol 1. Editores Mexicanos Unidos, Mexico City, pp 289–303 Milbrath S (1995) Gender and roles of lunar deities in postclassic central Mexico and their correlations with the Maya area. Estud ios de Cultura Nahuatl 25:45–93 Milbrath S (1997) Decapitated lunar goddesses in Aztec art, myth, and ritual. Ancient Mesoamerica 8(2):185–206 Milbrath S (1999) Star Gods of the Maya: astronomy in art, folklore, and calendars. University of Texas Press, Austin Milbrath S (2000) Xochiquetzal and the lunar cult of central Mexico. In: Keber EQ (ed) Precious greenstone, precious, quetzal feather. Labyrinthos, Lancaster, pp 31–54 Milbrath S (2004) The classic katun cycle and the retrograde periods of Jupiter and Saturn. Archaeoastronomy: Journal of Astronomy in Culture 18:81–97 Milbrath S (2013) Heaven and earth in ancient Mexico: astronomy and seasonal cycles in the Codex Borgia. University of Texas Press, Austin Nicholson HB (1971) Religion in pre-hispanic central Mexico. In: Ekholm GF, Bernal I (eds) Archaeology of northern Mesoamerica, part 1. Handbook of middle American Indians, Robert Wauchope, general editor, vol 10. University of Texas Press, Austin, pp 395–446 Sahagu´n B de (1950–1982) Florentine Codex: general history of the things of new Spain, 12 vols (2nd ed of Book 1 [1981] and Book 2 [1970]) (trans: Anderson AJO, Dibble CE). School of America Research and University of Utah Press, Salt Lake City Sahagu´n B de (1997) Primeros memoriales: paleography of Nahuatl text and English translation by Thelma D. Sullivan, completed and revised with additions by H. B. Nicholson, Arthur J. O. Anderson, Charles E. Dibble, Eloise Quin˜ones Keber, and Wayne Ruwet. University of Oklahoma Press, Norman Sandstrom AR (1991) Corn is our blood: culture and ethnic identity in a contemporary Aztec Indian village. University of Oklahoma Press, Norman Sandstrom AR, Sandstrom PE (1986) Traditional papermaking and cult figures of Mexico. University of Oklahoma Press, Norman Seler E (1963) Comentarios al Co´dice Borgia, 2 vols and facsimile. Fondo de Cultura Econo´mica, Mexico City Seler E (1990–2000) Collected works in Mesoamerican linguistics and archaeology, translation under the supervision of Charles P. Bowditch, vols 1–6. Frank E. Comparato, general editor. Labyrinthos, Lancaster Sullivan TD (1982) Tlazoleotl-Ixcuina: the great spinner and weaver. In: Boone EH (ed) The art and iconography of late post-classic central Mexico. Dumbarton Oaks, Washington DC, pp 7–35

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Taube K (1992) The major gods of Yucatan. Studies in Pre-Columbian Art and Archaeology. Dumbarton Oaks, Washington DC Tedlock D (1985) Popol Vuh. Simon and Schuster, New York Thompson JES (1930) Ethnology of the Mayas of southern and central British Honduras. Anthropological series 2. Field Museum of Natural History, Chicago Thompson JES (1939) The moon goddess in middle America. Carnegie Institution of Washington pub 509, Contributions to American Anthropology and History no 29. Carnegie Institution, Washington, DC Thompson JES (1960) Maya hieroglyphic writing: an introduction, 3rd ed. University of Oklahoma Press, Norman Thompson JES (1972) A commentary on the Dresden Codex: a Maya hieroglyphic book. The American Philosophical Society, Philadelphia

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Gabrielle Vail

Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Layout of Astronomical Tables . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Venus Table . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Eclipse Table . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Mars Table . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Seasonal Table . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Water Tables . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Final Considerations . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Abstract

Much of the content of the extant Maya codices concerns astronomical and celestial matters, largely contained within astronomical tables. Originally composed during the Late Classic period (c. 600–900 AD), these tables were subsequently updated for inclusion in Late Postclassic (1250–1521) codices. They served to track a number of different celestial cycles (eclipses, the synodic cycles of Venus and Mars, etc.) that were thought to have a significant influence on everyday events in the lives of Maya people. As such, they serve as an important window onto pre-Hispanic belief systems and conceptions of time.

G. Vail Division of Social Sciences, New College of Florida, Sarasota, FL, USA e-mail: [email protected]; [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_65, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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Introduction Of the perhaps hundreds of hieroglyphic codices that existed at the time of the Spanish conquest in the sixteenth century, only three believed to have come originally from the Yucata´n Peninsula have come to light; they include the Dresden, Madrid, and Paris codices (Bricker and Bricker 2011; Love 1994; Vail 2006). These manuscripts were painted by a specialized class of scribes, who were likely trained in schools or workshops dedicated to this purpose. The history of the Dresden Codex remains unknown before it surfaced in Europe in the late eighteenth century. Circumstantial evidence suggests that it was probably taken to Europe within a generation or two of the Spanish conquest, when it would likely still have been in active use. Although the Dresden Codex contains dates based on the linear calendar (or Long Count) used during the Classic period, the latest contemporary dates recorded in the codex fall several centuries before the conquest. Nevertheless, studies of almanacs with astronomical and ritual content suggest that the codex was added to subsequently (unlike tables, almanacs lack dates in the Long Count calendar, focusing instead on various cyclical calendars important to Maya cultures). Triangulating information pertaining to calendrical, seasonal, and astronomical cycles allows the provisional dating of almanacs with these types of references (Bricker and Bricker 1992). Ethnohistoric evidence likewise supports dating the Dresden Codex to the later part of the Late Postclassic period (Bricker and Bricker 2011). Of its 74 painted pages, 48 (or 65%) contain explicit astronomical content, often as part of astronomical tables concerned with the movement of specific celestial bodies. These tables highlight the synodic cycles of Venus and Mars, the sidereal cycle of Mars, the prediction of eclipses, and the stations of the tropical year (the solstices and equinoxes). The primary concern of these astronomical tables was to commensurate the ritual calendar (tzolkᛌin) of 260 days with celestial cycles and rhythms in order to establish predictive instruments that focused on meteorology and agricultural matters, as well as activities of a more esoteric nature. Early interest in the astronomical tables by late nineteenth- and early twentieth-century scholars provided the basic framework for our understanding of these important instruments. Only recently, however, with a fuller understanding of the iconography and the ability to read the hieroglyphic texts in all of their grammatical complexity, have we come to more fully appreciate the ingenuity of the codical scribes.

Layout of Astronomical Tables The Dresden’s astronomical tables are all formatted in a similar manner: they typically begin with an introductory text highlighting the actions of deities in mythological time, coupled with calendrical data that can be used to calculate

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Fig. 50.1 The Mars table on pages 43b–45b of the Dresden Codex. Fo¨rstemann (1880)

“base” and entry dates for the table. (base dates serve to situate astronomical tables in time; they are generally not used for entering the table proper, however, without the addition of a further interval.) Following this is a “table of multiples” for recycling the astronomical table, which often includes correction factors to make up for slippages between the canonical and true values of a particular cycle (e.g., 584 vs. 583.92 days for Venus’ synodic period). After this introductory information, or “preface”, is the body of the table, which is organized in discrete units or frames containing hieroglyphic captions, dates referring to the events described, and occasionally pictures (Fig. 50.1). Although there continues to be some dissension about how best to correlate dates in the Long Count with those in the Gregorian calendar, the majority of codical scholars use the modified GMT-2 correlation constant of 584,283 days (for more information, see Bricker and Bricker 2011, Chap. 4). On the other hand, while there is general agreement on how base dates are calculated, there is much less agreement on determining entry dates for the various tables (see Aldana 2011). Consequently, a number of different dating models have been proposed for the Dresden tables (see, e.g., Aveni 2001; Bricker and Bricker 2011; Justeson 1989; Lounsbury 1983; Milbrath 1999).

Venus Table Pages 46–50 of the Dresden Codex are dedicated to tracking the synodic cycle of Venus, which is associated with a 584-day interval on each of the table’s five pages. The fact that five synodic cycles of the planet corresponded to eight haabᛌs of 365 days (¼2,920 days) was of considerable interest to Maya daykeepers, who used this information when constructing their instrument for tracking Venus. Users were instructed to cycle through the table 13 times, for a total length of approximately 104 years. Because the actual synodic period of the planet is slightly less than 584 days, corrections were incorporated into the preface. Of key interest in this regard was the importance of maintaining a connection between the planet’s heliacal rise and the tzolkᛌin date 1 Ahaw, which had specific mythological associations with this event. Three separate entry dates are included on page 50: 1 Ahaw 13 Mak, 1 Ahaw 18 Kᛌayabᛌ, and 1 Ahaw 3 Xul, corresponding to three separate versions of the table.

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Fig. 50.2 The heliacal rise manifestations of Venus, portrayed as five different deities on Dresden pages 46–50. Fo¨rstemann (1880)

(The corresponding Long Count and Gregorian dates are 10.5.6.4.0 1 Ahaw 18 Kᛌayabᛌ [23 Nov AD 934]; 10.14.17.11.0 1 Ahaw 13 Mak [16 July AD 1123]; and 10.19.16.10.0 1 Ahaw 3 Xul [22 Jan AD 1221].) Recent interpretations suggest that the 3 Xul version corresponds with the text and pictures on the right side of each page, which emphasize the Morning Star aspect of the planet (Bricker and Bricker 2011; Vail and Herna´ndez 2013). The heliacal rise manifestations of Venus are pictured in the middle register (Fig. 50.2); the five different depictions can be associated with the five patterns traced by Venus as Morning Star in the sky during a period of 2,920 days (equaling five synodic cycles of the planet and eight haabᛌs). According to ethnohistoric sources from central Mexico, Venus was considered extremely dangerous at heliacal rise, having just emerged from the underworld, where it resided during the previous 8 days (Bierhorst 1992, pp. 36–37). Its rays of light were linked metaphorically to darts used to spear various unfortunate victims (pictured in the lower register of the table). The pictures and hieroglyphic captions on these pages serve to link the deeds of the gods in the remote mythological past (primarily focused on battles between underworld and celestial deities) with prognostications pertaining to the period of danger associated with Venus’ heliacal rise. For example, page 46 (Fig. 50.3) alludes to the struggle between the forces of order and chaos, in the form of the underworld lord God L (Venus as Morning Star in the

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Fig. 50.3 Page 46 of the Venus table, showing the crocodilian aspect of the creator deity in the upper register, God L as the heliacal rise aspect of Venus in the middle register, and his victim Kᛌawil in the lower register. Fo¨rstemann (1880)

middle register) and K’awil, the god of sustenance and lightning (Venus’ victim in the lower register). The scene is set in mythological time by the inclusion of the crocodilian aspect of the creator deity in the upper register (Vail 2009). In Maya narratives, this figure rose into the sky just prior to the present creation in order to bring forth a deluge. This was forestalled, however, and the crocodile was beheaded and its body used to form the surface of the earth (Knowlton 2010, p. 73). On Dresden 46, Kᛌawil is overcome by God L, leading to the “burial” of the symbols of governance and to there being no genesis for the lords and their progeny. For the thirteenth century users of the Venus table, this led to various negative prognostications such as “woe” to the maize and food. Evidence internal to the Venus table suggests that it was originally designed for use in the tenth century and was updated several times to make it relevant at a later period (Bricker and Bricker 2011, pp. 204–207). The earlier versions focus on all four “stations” of the planet (its first and last appearances as both Morning Star and

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Fig. 50.4 The deity Xiuhtecuhtli as the warrior aspect of Venus on Dresden 60b, shown here with his captive. Fo¨rstemann (1880)

Evening Star). Each of these aspects was visualized as a deity moving through a ritual circuit from east to north to west to south. With each change in direction, Venus apparently underwent a change in aspect. References to Venus appear in a number of other contexts in the Dresden Codex (Fig. 50.4). The planet – as either Morning or Evening Star – is sometimes depicted in anthropomorphic form; more often, however, Venus is referenced by the “star” or “Venus” glyph in skybands or hieroglyphic captions (Fig. 50.5).

Eclipse Table Pages 51–58 include what has been recognized since the early twentieth century as an eclipse table. This ingenious instrument predicts, with complete accuracy, all solar eclipses that occurred worldwide during a 33-year period in the eighth century. It also warns of lunar eclipses during this same period, although somewhat less successfully (Bricker and Bricker 2011, p. 249). The table has two base dates, one falling in the eighth century and the other in the fourteenth. It also includes a table of multiples (totaling 11,960 days, the full length of the eclipse table), as well as correction factors that were inserted periodically to ensure the accuracy of the table when it was recycled. Three separate entry dates for the table are given, corresponding to 10 November, 25 November, and 10 December, AD 755; they were meant to be used

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Fig. 50.5 The first glyph block in the hieroglyphic caption specifies that “Venus descends”. A descending Venus god is pictured below this, with its head replaced by the Venus glyph. This glyph also appears in the skyband (as the middle of the three glyphs). Dangling from the skyband are paired solar and lunar eclipse glyphs defining an eclipse season. Fo¨rstemann (1880)

concurrently to overlap with a 37-day period centered on the day of lunar nodal passage, which serves to define an “eclipse season”, or period of time during which an eclipse may occur (Bricker and Bricker 2011, p. 254). Eclipse seasons were represented in the Maya codices by the pairing of solar and lunar eclipse glyphs (see Fig. 50.5) (Bruce Love (1994 and personal communication, September 2011) argues that these glyphs have no association with eclipses, a view not shared by other researchers). Eclipse glyphs occur on 40 separate occasions in the Maya codices, making them one of the more prevalent astronomical references. Eclipses were also represented iconographically by an open-mouthed serpent poised to devour a glyph symbolizing the sun (Fig. 50.6). These depictions highlight the fact that eclipses were of considerable concern to Maya and other Mesoamerican peoples; according to ethnohistoric sources, they represented times of danger when the forces of darkness and chaos reigned (Closs 1989). In light of these images, it is of interest that several frames of the eclipse table include hieroglyphic captions that suggest the scribe was well aware of the role the moon played in solar eclipses (Bricker and Bricker 2011, p. 305).

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Fig. 50.6 Eclipse iconography on Dresden 56. Fo¨rstemann (1880)

The Brickers’ recent study suggests that the table’s contemporary use date was likely in the thirteenth or fourteenth century, although it could have been recycled with almost complete accuracy for many centuries beyond that (Bricker and Bricker 2011, p. 273).

Mars Table Although not as prevalent as Venus, Mars’ role in the Dresden Codex attests to the planet’s importance to the Postclassic Maya. It forms the subject of three separate tables, one emphasizing its synodic period, another the empiric sidereal interval of the planet, whereas the third (incomplete table) commensurates the synodic periods of Mars and Venus (Bricker and Bricker 2011, p. 367). The table on pages 43b–45b is structured in terms of Mars’ 780-day synodic cycle, although its iconography highlights its 78-day retrograde period in June

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through August of AD 818. Nevertheless, the table was not limited to these dates and could have been used with considerable accuracy until at least the thirteenth century (Bricker and Bricker 2011, pp. 367, 374). Like most of the astronomical tables, the text of the Mars table is largely focused on meteorological matters and agricultural prognostications. This serves to highlight the important role the cycles of the celestial bodies tracked by the Maya played in determining what a particular year (or rainy season) portended. In the Maya codices, Mars, or perhaps more specifically the retrograde manifestation of the planet, is represented by a hoofed creature resembling a peccary or deer with a long upturned snout (see Fig. 50.1). This creature is depicted four times in the Mars table and also appears once in the upper seasonal table, where its hindquarters (which are not visible in the Mars table) are characterized by spiny protuberances similar to those characterizing crocodiles elsewhere in Maya iconography. Scholars have previously commented on similarities between this section of the seasonal table and page 74 of the codex, which likewise shows a creature with hoofs and crocodilian scales associated with a deluge of water. The scene on Dresden 74 has been related to a mythological episode related in colonial period sources in which a crocodilian ascended to the sky to bring down a flood (but the flood was forestalled). Reference is also made to the decapitation of a crocodilian in a Classic period text from Palenque, occurring far back in mythological time (Stuart 2005). It is likely that this mythological episode is being referenced on Dresden 74, but that it is being related to an event of historical significance (see below). There is good evidence to suggest that astronomical tables played the dual role of referencing mythological events and relating them to the conditions (and prognostications) of historical time. This is the case, for example, with the 3 Lamat entry date of the Mars table, which is linked to another 3 Lamat date in the preface occurring almost four millennia earlier in time. The two dates can be seen as homologous in that they both highlight a Martian retrograde period that overlaps with an eclipse season, the former of the two being the last such occurrence before the start of the present era in 3114 BC (Bricker and Bricker 2011, pp. 380–381). The Mars table likewise appears to reference mythological events in its hieroglyphic captions, which refer to the decapitation of the Mars creature. If this figure can indeed be linked to the crocodile, as suggested by the example in the Dresden seasonal table, then this may well be another variant of the myth discussed previously of the beheading of this creature. There is nothing in the extant mythology to explain the connection between Mars and the sky crocodilian, however.

Seasonal Table The two parts of the seasonal table share a preface and table of multiples on pages 61–64 and occupy the upper and lower registers of pages 65–69. The tables have different starting dates (see Table 50.1) and interval structures, but the iconographic, calendrical, and astronomical evidence

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indicates that they were used together to commensurate the 365-day haabᛌ, the stations of the tropical year, and the eclipse cycle (Bricker and Bricker 2011, p. 489). The extant version of the table refers to the mid-tenth century, but the introduction includes more than a dozen base dates ranging from the fourth to eleventh centuries. Perhaps the most important commensuration made by the table involves tracking the relationship of the summer solstice to the midway point of the haab’ (Fig. 50.7). The Brickers found that this relationship was Table 50.1 The structure of the seasonal tables Table Upper seasonal table Lower seasonal table

Pages Entry date 61–64, 10.6.1.5.16 3 Kibᛌ 65a–69a 19 Muwan (11 Oct 949) 61–64, 10.6.1.16.14 13 Ix 65b–69b 12 Mol (17 May AD 950)

Fig. 50.7 The midpoint of the haabᛌ on Dresden 65b, represented by the rain god Chaak walking along a road, followed by the summer solstice (Chaak seated on a skyband) in the next frame. Fo¨rstemann (1880)

Structure 2  91-day (13 frames of varying length) 2  91-day (13 frames of varying length)

Purpose Emphasizes eclipse season, spring equinox, New Year station, heliacal rise of Mars Tracks relationship between Half Year and summer solstice

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recorded several times in both the Dresden and Madrid codices; the Madrid Codex shows the point when the two intersected, on 22 June AD 925 (Bricker and Bricker 1988). The seasonal iconography present on Dresden 61–69 occurs in a number of almanacs in the Dresden (and Madrid) codices as well, where it can be used to help date the events depicted in the almanacs in question.

Water Tables The seasonal tables share several features with the water tables on pages 69–74, including almost identical introductory texts and the depiction of “serpent numbers” (Fig. 50.8). The structure of these tables is outlined in Table 50.2.

Fig. 50.8 The preface text on Dresden 69, followed by a depiction of Chaak emerging from the open mouth of a serpent whose body encloses bar-and-dot numbers. The only other context where “serpent” numbers have been identified is on a fragmentary vessel from the Classic period site of Ekᛌ Balam. Fo¨rstemann (1880)

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Table 50.2 Structure of the water tables Table Upper water table

Pages 69–70, 71a–73a

Total Base dates length Structure 9.17.15.6.14 9 Ix 702 13  54 12 Sip (18 days days March AD 786)

Lower 69–70, 9.16.8.5.12 (16 water 71bc–73bc, July 759) table 74

1,820 28  65 days days

Purpose Sidereal Mars cycle (includes retrograde period). Tenth multiple (10  702 days) allows commensuration of sidereal and synodic cycles of Mars (Bricker and Bricker 2011, pp. 398, 424) Concerned with agricultural and meteorological cycles; seasonal variation in the position of constellations; the eclipse cycle; and the relationship of the Milky Way to the horizon (Bricker and Bricker 2011, pp. 398–399)

One of several controversial areas involving the water tables concerns the interpretation of page 74 (Fig. 50.9), which has been linked to a mythic flood that led to the destruction of the previous creation (see e.g., Fo¨rstemann 1886, p. 80; Taube 1988; Thompson 1972, p. 89; Vela´squez 2006). Bricker and Bricker (2011, p. 421) challenge this interpretation, noting that, although there may be references to these mythological events, this page can only be understood within the context of the table of which it is part, which emphasizes its historical nature. The Brickers associate the entry date of this table with 9.16.13.6.12 4 Ebᛌ 0 Chᛌen (9 July AD 764), which correlates well with the seasonal data but not the eclipse seasons (although the base date of the table, listed in Table 50. 2 below, does). Vail and Herna´ndez (2011) suggest a different entry date, corresponding with 9.5.1.9.12 5 Ebᛌ 5 Muwan (6 January AD 536), that better explains the eclipse and Venus iconography on page 74, although it falls outside of the rainy season. Their interpretation of the iconography is that, because of the extreme danger represented by the astronomical events depicted on the page, prognostications for the upcoming rainy season were of such a dire nature that the events transpiring in January of 536 were likened to the flood episode from the mythic past (Vail and Herna´ndez 2013). References to mythological time are a key component of the preface texts relating to the upper and lower water tables and the seasonal table. The text on page 69 (see Fig. 50.8) is divided into two sections by the use of color: The upper part refers to a mythological date, whereas the lower section is concerned with the current era. In his dissertation, Michael Grofe (2007) proposed that the calendrical data on this page can be interpreted to suggest that the pre-Hispanic Maya were aware of the precession of the equinoxes. This interpretation has been called into question, however, based on several lines of evidence (Bricker and Bricker 2011, pp. 405–406).

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Fig. 50.9 Dresden 74 depicts a crocodilian whose body forms the sky and who belches forth a torrent of water. Eclipse glyphs dangle from its body. Below this, the Maya creator goddess empties a container of water. The black god appearing at the bottom of the scene represents Venus as a warrior deity having just emerged from the underworld. Fo¨rstemann (1880)

Final Considerations The use dates of the Dresden astronomical tables suggest the most intense period of use occurred during the thirteenth century, although they were created centuries before this as prognosticatory instruments. Their most important function was to commensurate human and celestial cycles in order to develop predictive mechanisms to schedule agricultural and subsistence activities. The observation of celestial bodies was integrated within a mythological tradition well known to the Dresden scribes that served to link events from the distant past (such as Venus’ initial heliacal rise) with like-in-kind events in the present, thereby serving to bring the past into the present so that they coexisted. Pre-Hispanic and colonial Maya texts, as well as contemporary oral performances, all rely on this “telescoping” of time.

Cross-References ▶ Astronomical Deities in Ancient Mesoamerica ▶ Counting Lunar Phase Cycles in Mesoamerica

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References Aldana y Villalobos, Geraldo (2011) Tying headbands or Venus appearing: new translations of Kᛌal, the Dresden Codex Venus pages and classic period royal ‘binding’ rituals. BAR International Series 2239, British Archaeological Reports, Oxford Aveni AF (2001) Skywatchers: a revised and updated version of Skywatchers of ancient Mexico. University of Texas Press, Austin Bierhorst J, translator (1992) History and mythology of the Aztecs: the Codex Chimalpopoca. University of Arizona Press, Tucson Bricker VR, Bricker HM (1988) The seasonal table in the Dresden codex and related almanacs. Archaeoastronomy 12 (Supplement to the Journal for the History for Astronomy 19):S1–S62 Bricker VR, Bricker HM (1992) A method for cross-dating almanacs with tables in the Dresden codex. In: Aveni AF (ed) The Sky in Mayan literature. Oxford University Press, New York, pp 43–86 Bricker HM, Bricker VR (2011) Astronomy in the Dresden Codex. American Philosophical Society, Philadelphia Closs MP (1989) Cognitive aspects of ancient Maya eclipse theory. In: Aveni AF (ed) World archaeoastronomy. Cambridge University Press, New York, pp 389–415 Fo¨rstemann E (1880) Die Maya handschrift der Ko¨niglichen o¨ffentlichen bibliothek zu Dresden. Mit 74 tafeln in chromo-lightdruck. Verlag der A. Naumannschen Lichtdruckeret, Leipzig Fo¨rstemann E (1886) Erl€auterungen zur mayahandschrift der ko¨niglichen o¨ffentlichen bibliothek zu Dresden. Warnatz and Lehmann, Dresden Grofe M (2007) The Serpent series: precession in the Maya Dresden codex. PhD dissertation, Native American Studies, University of California, Davis Justeson J (1989) Ancient Maya ethnoastronomy: an overview of hieroglyphic sources. In: Aveni AF (ed) World archaeoastronomy. Cambridge University Press, New York, pp 76–129 Knowlton TK (2010) Maya creation myths: words and worlds of the Chilam Balam. University Press of Colorado, Boulder Lounsbury FG (1983) The base of the Venus table of the Dresden Codex, and its significance for the calendar-correlation problem. In: Aveni AF, Brotherston G (eds) Calendars in Mesoamerica and Peru: native American computations of time. BAR International Series 174, British Archaeological Reports, Oxford, pp 1–26 Love B (1994) The Paris codex: handbook for a Maya priest. University of Texas Press, Austin Milbrath S (1999) Star gods of the Maya: astronomy in art, folklore, and calendars. University of Texas Press, Austin Stuart D (2005) The inscriptions from Temple XIX, Palenque. Pre-Columbian Art Research Institute, San Francisco Taube K (1988) The ancient Yucatec new year festival: the liminal period in Maya ritual and cosmology. Ph.D. Dissertation, Yale University, New Haven CT Thompson JES (1972) A commentary on the Dresden codex: a Maya hieroglyphic book, vol 93. Memoirs of the American Philosophical Society, Philadelphia Vail G (2006) The Maya codices. In: Durham WH, Hill J (eds) Annual review of anthropology, vol 35. Annual Reviews, Palo Alto, pp 497–519 Vail G (2009) Cosmology and creation in late postclassic Maya literature and Art. In: Cecil LG, Pugh TW (eds) Maya worldviews at conquest. University Press of Colorado, Boulder, pp 83–110 Vail G, Herna´ndez C (2011) The Maya Hieroglyphic Codices. Available online at www. mayacodices.org Vail G, Herna´ndez C (2013) Re-creating primordial time: foundation rituals and creation mythology in the postclassic Maya codices. University Press of Colorado, Boulder Vela´squez E (2006) The Maya flood myth and the decapitation of the cosmic Caiman. PARI Journal 7(1):1–10

Counting Lunar Phase Cycles in Mesoamerica

51

Stanisław Iwaniszewski

Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The Structure of the Maya Lunar Series . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The Xultun Lunar Table . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Conclusions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Abstract

Though ancient Mesoamericans did not develop formal lunar calendars, they nevertheless timed diverse agricultural activities with the lunar phases. Only the Classic Period Maya created a complex system of recording the lunar cycles, called the Lunar Series, attached to various mythological or historical narratives. It is probable that the structure of the Lunar Series was used to make eclipse predictions.

Introduction There can be no doubt that like most other peoples, ancient Mesoamericans paid attention to various lunar phenomena. The cyclical changes in the appearance of the Moon were incorporated into a dualistic system of complementary oppositions in which the phases of the waxing moon and waning moon were interrelated with the periods of agricultural planting and harvesting. As current ethnographic research shows, the idea that the Moon affects the growth of plants is widely disseminated

S. Iwaniszewski Divisio´n de Posgrado, Escuela Nacional de Antropologı´a e Historia, Tlalpan, Me´xico, D.F., Mexico Pan´stwowe Muzeum Archeologiczne, Warszawa, Poland e-mail: [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_54, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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among the Mesoamerican farmers (Iwaniszewski 2007). Though the dates of the solar and divinatory calendars are consulted for specific agricultural activities, they still had to be aligned upon the proper lunar phase (Gossen 1974, p. 224). In most cases, the lunar month is divided into two parts and correlated with important farming activities: planting by the waxing moon and cropping by the waning moon. As far as we know, the Mesoamericans did not develop a formal lunar calendar. Though in modern Mesoamerican languages, the terms for moon and month are the same, it is difficult to find traces of a formal lunar calendar. When first Spaniards arrived at Yucata´n, they noticed the Maya utilized two ways to count the time: They divide it [the year] into two kinds of months, the one kind of thirty days and called u, which means “moon”, and they counted it from the time at which the new moon appeared until it no longer appears. They had the other kind of months of twenty days and they called these winal jun ekek. . ..(de Landa 1941, pp. 133–134).

The 365-day Maya haabᛌ, year, consisted of 18 periods of 20 days each to which 5 days were added. The 20-day units were known as winal jun ekᛌek, (winal “the old month of 20 days”, jun, “one, once”, and ekᛌek with meaning unknown), and not connected to the lunar phases. The lunar month is called uᛌ or uh, meaning simply “moon” in Yukatekan Maya and, according to Landa’s account, describes the period that begins with the first visibility of the lunar crescent and lasts until the day of its disappearance. We do not know if the term uh is used in the sense of lunation, or whether it describes only the period of the moon’s visibility.

The Structure of the Maya Lunar Series The Classic Maya incorporated the lunar cycle to the Long Count in the form of the Lunar Series. The Long Count recorded the days elapsed from an arbitrary or mythological zero point fixed on the month of August of 3114 BC. The date expressed in the Long Count is usually followed by the 260-day divinatory cycle and the 365-day haabᛌ calendar. We find the Lunar Series on Maya monuments from the fourth century on, suggesting they were added to meet the political and ritual requirements of the Maya ruling elites. The invention of the Lunar Series means the development of the more abstract and less season-dependent system of time-reckoning. First, the Lunar Series represent a continuous lunar count, consisting of standard 29-day and 30-day units, a rough correspondence with hollow and full lunar months known from the Old World lunar calendars. Thus, the simple counting of days from the first appearance up to 29 or 30 is already an abstract method, independent from actual observations of the moon. Second, the moons were arranged in a series of lunar months, forming a regular and easily predictable sequence providing strings alternating 30-day and 29-day units. Since the mean synodic month is little over 29.5 days, this method establishes the fixed relationship between the observed and calculated lunations, so discrepancies could have been easily predicted. Third, with the invention of the Long Count, all earlier seasonal cycles were abandoned and substituted for a more universal system. Any position in the

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Table 51.1 Hypothetical semesters patronized by three Glyph C head variants: s – skull, f – young female, j – male or jaguar god. Two alternative sequences are displayed (starting either with a 30-day or a 29-day Glyph A) Group I: starts with a 30-day lunar month

Group II: starts with a 29-day lunar month

1Cs 30 1Cf 30 1Cj 30 1Cs 29 1Cf 29 2Cs 29 2Cf 29 2Cj 29 2Cs 30 2Cf 30 3Cs 30 3Cf 30 3Cj 30 3Cs 29 3Cf 29 4Cs 29 4Cf 29 4Cj 29 4Cs 30 4Cf 30 5Cs 30 5Cf 30 5Cj 30 5Cs 29 5Cf 29 6Cs 29 6Cf 29 6Cj 29 6Cs 30 6Cf 30 177 days 177 days 177 days 177 days 177 days 18 months ¼ 531 days 18 months ¼ 531 days 18 lunations
29.5305889 days ¼ 531.5505 days

1Cj 29 2Cj 30 3Cj 29 4Cj 30 5Cj 29 6Cj 30 177 days

Long Count is recorded by cycles of various magnitudes; therefore, we cannot study the lunar cycle in relation to the length of the year, either calendar or astronomical one. The Lunar Series glyphs inform about the cycle of the Moon’s phases: the age of the current lunar month, the number of completed moons grouped in a series of subsets consisting of 6 and 18 differentiated lunar months, and the statement establishing the standard length of the current lunar month of either 29 or 30 days. This information is represented by hieroglyphic signs, called by epigraphers Glyphs A, B, C, D, E, and X. This may be roughly translated like “‘x’ (days after the Moon) arrived, it is the (1st to 6th) Moon under the patronage of (S,F or J God) the one that is bound; Glyph X is/was his sacred/young name, of this 29 or 30-day (moon)”. Glyph C is composed of two variable elements: the numerical coefficients varying from 1 to 6 and three variable head variants: a skull (s), a female (f) and a male jaguar deity head (j) (compare in Aldana 2006). During the Classic period, the sequence of Glyph C head variants was fixed and followed the order: a skull, a female head, and a male or jaguar head (see Table 51.1). It may be observed that Glyph A (defining whether the moon is 29 or 30 days long) combined with Glyph C (3
6 moons) provides, at least in theory, as much as 36 differentiated lunar months (see Table 51.1). The earliest known uses of Glyphs D and/or E (Moon Age) and Glyphs C (Moon Number) are from Uaxactun (Stela 18 at 8.16.0.0.0, or AD 357), of Glyph A (Moon Length) from Rı´o Azul (Tomb 1 at 8.19.1.9.12, or AD 417), of Glyph X – from Copa´n (Stela 63 at 9.0.0.0.0, or AD 435), of Glyph B – from Balakbal (Stela 5 at 9.7.1.6.0, or AD 575). The earliest known Maya lunar count record is from the Seattle stela with a hypothetical Glyph C variant (at 8.8.0.7.0, or AD 199).

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For a long time, the Lunar Series have been believed to never occur alone, they were always attached to the dates expressed by the Long Count system. The recent discovery of a lunar table in Xultun, Pete´n, Guatemala, shows that the Classic Maya skywatchers developed methods of regularly inserting a 30-day month.

The Xultun Lunar Table The regular distribution of 29-day and 30-day lunar months produces a growing discrepancy between observed and computed moons, so the Maya should have added an extra 30-day lunation, instead of that of 29-days. This would mean the abandonment of the regular and symmetrical sequence of alternating 30-day and 29-day units, however, any addition of an extra 30-day lunar month breaks up with the symmetry, as it allows for the occurrence of two consecutive 30-day moons. The placement of two consecutive 30-day months implies shifts of posterior months from even to odd and from odd to even numbered months. Various scholars attempted to reconstruct the Maya intercalary methods, but without much success. On the other hand, on several occasions, the Dresden Codex Eclipse table records the series of 6 moons equal 178 days or of 5 moons equaling 148 days, implying that such intercalations were made (since 4
30 + 2
29 ¼ 178 days, and 3
30 + 2
29 ¼ 148 days). The recent publication of the mural painting motifs displayed on the wall found in the house of aj kᛌin, “priest-astronomer” who lived in Xultun, Peten, Guatemala, during the first half of the ninth century (Saturno et al. 2012), throws new light on the methods used by the Classic Maya scribes to perform lunar computations. The panel records the count of 162 lunar months, arranged in 27 columns of 6 moons each (27
6 ¼ 162), each topped by one of the three head variants of Glyph C, and below recording a cumulative count of days, recorded in a customary dot-and-bar format, increasing from left to right. In most columns, the numbers of 177 days are recorded, with few occasions when the number of 178 days is written. The lunar table bases on the following sequence: 6
177, 178, 4
177, 178, 4
177, 178, 4
177, 178, 4
177, and 178 days, in total 4,784 days. As 4
177 + 178 ¼ 886, we can easily identify greater intervals of 886 days each, and the overall pattern of 354 +886 + 886 +886 +886 +886 days. Observe that the number of 886 days is composed of 30 lunar months where there are 16 moons of 30 days and 14 moons of 29 days (16
30 + 14
29 ¼ 886). The appearance of an 886-day cycle indicates that one lunar day was added (intercalated). The Xultun table consists of five 886-day periods, implying that (about 2.4 years), 5 extra days were regularly added. Two columns of 177 days each, placed before the first 886day cycle, seem to correspond a lunar year of 12 months (354 days). It may easily be deduced that the intercalation was first made during the period located between 36 and 42 moons completed, indicating that the first lunar month of the lunar table started with a 30-day moon. The mean length of a lunar month is 29.5308642 days (4,874 days: 162 lunations) – see Table 51.2.

Glyph C head variant Tun Winal Kᛌin Sum Number of added days Cumulative moon length Glyph C head variant Tun Winal Kᛌin Sum Number of added days Cumulative moon length

17 14 354 177

8 17 177 177

F 1 8 11 531 177

J 1 17 8 708 177

C 2 8 5 885 177

F 2 17 2 1,062 177

J 3 8 0 1,240 178

C 3 16 17 1,417 177

F 4 7 14 1,594 177

J 4 16 11 1,771 177

C 5 7 8 1,948 177

F 5 16 6 2,126 178

J 6 7 3 2,303 177

C 6 16 0 2,480 177

J 7 15 14 2,834 177

C 8 6 12 2,972 178

F 8 15 9 3,189 177

J 9 6 6 3,366 177

C 9 15 3 3,543 177

F 10 6 0 3,720 177

J 10 14 18 3,898 178

C 11 5 15 4,075 177

F 11 14 12 4,252 177

J 12 5 9 4,429 177

C 12 14 6 4,606 177

F 13 5 4 4,784 178

2,657.75 2,834.94 3,012.12 3,189.30 3,366.49 3,543.67 3,720.85 3,898.04 4,075.22 4,252.40 4,429.59 4,606.77 4,783.95

F 7 6 17 2,657 177

177.18 354.37 531.55 708.73 885.92 1,063.10 1,240.29 1,417.47 1,594.65 1,771.84 1,949.02 2,126.20 2,303.39 2,480.87

C

J

Table 51.2 The structure of the Lunar Table at Xultun

51 Counting Lunar Phase Cycles in Mesoamerica 713

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Conclusions It is necessary to observe that the number of 4,784 days equals two intervals of 2,392 days (¼ 81 moons, the lunar count used at Palenque) and that 2
4,784 + 2,392 ¼ 11,960 days, the number of days recorded in the Table of Eclipses in the Dresden Codex. These coincidences seem to show that both the Lunar Series and the Eclipse Tables stem from the same organizing principles.

Cross-References ▶ Astronomical Deities in Ancient Mesoamerica ▶ Astronomy in the Dresden Codex

References Aldana GV (2006) Lunar alliances: shedding light on conflicting classic Maya theories of hegemony. In: Bostwick TW, Bates B (ed) Viewing the sky through past and present cultures. Pueblo Grande Museum anthropological papers no 15, City of Phoenix Parks and Recreation Department, Phoenix, pp 237–258 Gossen GH (1974) A Chamula solar calendar board from Chiapas, Mexico. In: Hammond N (ed) Mesoamerican archaeology: new approaches. University of Texas Press, Austin, pp 217–253 Iwaniszewski S (2007) Lunar agriculture in Mesoamerica. Mediterr Archaeol Archaeom 6(3):67–75 Landa D (1941) Relacio´n de las cosas de Yucata´n (trans and ed: Tozzer, AM). Peabody Museum papers 18. Harvard University, Cambridge MA Saturno WA, Stuart D, Aveni AF, Rossi F (2012) Ancient Maya astronomical tables from Xultun, Guatemala. Science 336:714–717 (together with the supplementary materials)

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Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Alignments in Architecture and Urban Layouts . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Astronomical Referents . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Relations to the Surrounding Landscape . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Alignments in Cultural Context . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Practical Uses . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Symbolic Significance . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Political Role . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Abstract

Mesoamerican civic and ceremonial buildings were largely oriented to astronomical phenomena on the horizon, mostly to sunrises and sunsets on particular dates; some orientations were probably intended to mark major lunar standstills and Venus extremes. Solar orientations must have had a practical function, allowing the use of observational calendars that facilitated a proper scheduling of agricultural activities. Moreover, some important buildings seem to have been erected on carefully selected places, with the purpose of employing prominent peaks on the local horizon as natural markers of sunrises and sunsets on relevant dates. However, the characteristics of buildings incorporating deliberate alignments, their predominant clockwise skew from cardinal directions, and their relations to the surrounding natural and cultural landscape reveal that the architectural and urban planning in Mesoamerica was dictated by a complex

I. Sˇprajc Institute of Anthropological and Spatial Studies, Research Center of the Slovenian Academy of Sciences and Arts, Ljubljana, Slovenia e-mail: [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_56, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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set of rules, in which astronomical considerations were embedded in a broader framework of cosmological concepts substantiated by political ideology.

Introduction Fray Toribio de Motolinı´a, a Spanish friar who arrived to Mexico soon after the Conquest, writes in his work Memoriales that the Aztec feast of Tlacaxipehualiztli “took place when the sun stood in the middle of [the Temple of] Huitzilopochtli, which was at the equinox, and because it was a little out of line, [King] Moctezuma wished to pull it down and set it right” (Aveni 2001, p. 236ff). Complementary information is found in a map of Tenochtitlan attributed to Corte´s, where the face of the Sun is shown between the twin sanctuaries of the Templo Mayor (Sˇprajc 2000). Even if, aside from some drawings in codices, these seem to be the only documentary sources alluding to the astronomical orientation of a pre-Hispanic building, it can now be affirmed that the practice of orienting important edifices on astronomical grounds was common in Mesoamerica.

Alignments in Architecture and Urban Layouts Astronomical Referents The orientations of Mesoamerican civic and ceremonial buildings exhibit a clearly nonuniform distribution, which can only be accounted for by the use of astronomical references on the horizon. Despite regional and time-dependent variations, certain orientation principles were widely spread over Mesoamerica throughout its history. Most of the known orientations can be related to sunrises and sunsets on particular dates (Figs. 52.1 and 52.2; Aveni 2001; Aveni and Hartung 1986, 2000; Galindo Trejo 1994; Tichy 1991; Sˇprajc 2001). In early periods, solstitial orientations seem to have been particularly common (Aveni and Hartung 1986, p. 17, Fig. 2d, 2000; Aveni et al. 2003, p. 163; Tichy 1991, p. 55f; Sˇprajc 2001, p. 74f), probably because the solstices, marked by easily perceptible extremes of the Sun’s movement along the horizon, must have been the most elementary references for orientation in time. In later times, however, more complicated orientation principles began to prevail. Analyses of large data samples from central Mexico and the Maya area have revealed that the intervals separating sunrise and sunset dates recorded by orientations at a particular site tend to be multiples of 13 or 20 days (Figs. 52.3–52.8), which were basic periods of the Mesoamerican calendrical system (Aveni and Hartung 1986; Aveni et al. 2003; Sˇprajc 2001; Sˇprajc and Sa´nchez Nava 2012). For some sites, the existence of intervals of 73 days has also been postulated (Galindo Trejo 2009). It is still a widespread belief that the orientations in Mesoamerica largely refer to the Sun’s positions on the horizon on the solstices, equinoxes, and the days of its

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Fig. 52.2 Normalized frequency distribution of declinations corresponding to architectural orientations in the Maya Lowlands

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Fig. 52.3 The orientation of the central part of the Acropolis of Xochicalco, whose east–west axis marks sunrises on February 12 and October 30 (above) and sunsets on April 30 and August 13 (Fig. 52.4), belongs to one of the most widespread alignment groups in Mesoamerica. Each of the two pairs of dates delimits an interval of 260 (¼ 13  20) days

passage through the zenith. While the solstitial orientations are relatively common, as well as those marking quarter days of the year, i.e., midpoints in time between the solstices (March 23 and September 21,
1 day; Tichy 1991, p. 56ff; Sˇprajc 1995; 2001, p. 75ff; Sˇprajc and Sa´nchez Nava 2012), there is hardly any alignment that can be convincingly related to true astronomical equinoxes (Aveni et al. 2003, Table 1; Sˇprajc 2001; Sˇprajc and Sa´nchez Nava 2012). In view of ethnographic and ethnohistorical data, zenith transits of the Sun were likely observed, but there is no compelling evidence that the Sun’s positions on the horizon on those dates were recorded by orientations (Sˇprajc 2001, p. 79; Sˇprajc and Sa´nchez Nava 2013). Among the alignments beyond the angle of the annual movement of the Sun along the horizon, some may refer to certain stars or asterisms, but the evidence supporting their intentionality is tenuous at best (Aveni 2001, p. 262ff; Flores 1998). More likely, in view of the alignment data distribution (Figs. 52.1 and 52.2), is the existence of orientations to Venus extremes and major lunar standstills (Sˇprajc 1996; Sˇprajc and Sa´nchez Nava 2012). Little is known about observational techniques. If a building was oriented to another one, the latter could have served as a foresight. Illustrative examples, suggesting that astronomical motives underlay not only the orientation of buildings but also their placement with respect to each other, are found at the Maya sites of Yaxnohcah, El Gallinero, and El Mirador (Sˇprajc 2008; Sˇprajc et al. 2009). Direct observations along the buildings’ axes of symmetry, perhaps with the use of

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Fig. 52.4 The orientation of the central part of the Acropolis of Xochicalco, whose east–west axis marks sunrises on February 12 and October 30 (Fig. 52.3) and sunsets on April 30 and August 13 (right), belongs to one of the most widespread alignment groups in Mesoamerica. Each of the two pairs of dates delimits an interval of 260 (¼ 13  20) days

Fig. 52.5 The Pyramid of the Feathered Serpents and the eastern sector of the Acropolis of Xochicalco are aligned to a hilltop marking sunrises on February 9 and November 1, separated by 100 (¼ 5  20) days

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Fig. 52.6 The Temple of the Warriors at Chiche´n Itza´ is oriented to sunsets on May 13 and August 1, separated by 80 (¼ 4  20) days

Fig. 52.7 The Upper Temple of the Jaguars at Chiche´n Itza´ records sunsets on May 7 and August 6, separated by 91 (¼ 7  13) days

Fig. 52.8 The orientation of El Castillo at Tulum corresponds to sunsets on May 20 and July 24, separated by 65 (¼ 5  13) days

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instruments such as crossed sticks, are suggested by some codices (Aveni 2001, p. 19ff). On the other hand, the dates recorded by solar orientations may have been determined by observing light-and-shadow effects produced by appropriate spatial arrangement of certain architectural elements. Such is the case of the Temple of the Seven Dolls at Dzibilchaltu´n, oriented to quarter-day sunsets: The building has windows and smaller orifices in the east and west walls placed in pairs along its east–west orientation axis in such a way that, at quarter-day sunsets, the illuminated rectangles formed by solar rays entering through the openings in the west wall align with the apertures in the east wall (Sˇprajc 1995). Other instances of light-and-shadow effects relate to the Sun’s positions well above the horizon. The roughly vertical shafts leading to the artificially modified cave of Xochicalco and to Structure P of Monte Alba´n may have served for observing zenithal passages of the Sun (Aveni 2001, p. 265ff), but there is no archaeological evidence supporting this idea, because both shafts allowed the passage of solar rays around noon during considerable time spans. However, as the latter seem to have been delimited by dates commonly recorded by architectural alignments, an astronomical use of these devices remains plausible (Sˇprajc 2001, p. 128, 272ff). More questionable is the intentionality of the famous equinoctial “hierophany” produced before sunset on the northern stairway of El Castillo at Chiche´n Itza´, giving an impression of a descending rattlesnake with illuminated dorsal triangles (Carlson 1999; Aveni et al. 2004; see ▶ Figs. 18.7, ▶ 18.9, ▶ 32.8 left). Since the most attractive illumination occurs about 1 h before sunset, and the phenomenon does not change much during several days before and after the equinox, it could not have served for determining any date with precision. If achieved on purpose, it may only have had a symbolic function, but in view of the near-absence of equinoctial alignments in Mesoamerica, it seems more likely that the quarter days were commemorated (Sˇprajc and Sa´nchez Nava 2013). A comparable effect can be observed on a similar pyramid at Mayapa´n during several weeks around the December solstice (Aveni et al. 2004).

Relations to the Surrounding Landscape Various Mesoamerican structures are oriented to prominent mountain tops on the local horizon. In view of the number of such coincidences in central Mexico (Figs. 52.5 and 52.9), they could not have been produced by chance (Sˇprajc 2001, p. 57). It is likely that rhomboidal ground plans, relatively common in Mesoamerican structures, at least in some cases, resulted from the builders’ attempts to orient the east–west axis to a celestial event and, at the same time, the north–south axis to a prominence on the horizon; the Ciudadela of Teotihuacan and the Acropolis of Xochicalco constitute but two of the most persuasive examples (Sˇprajc 2001). Obviously, if a building was oriented both astronomically and to a chosen landscape feature, the place of construction must have been carefully selected, and the central Mexican data provide additional evidence to this effect. Observing

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Fig. 52.9 The Pyramid of the Sun at Teotihuacan is aligned to a prominent mountain on the northern horizon. The east–west axis of the pyramid corresponds to the same sunrise and sunset dates as the central sector of the Acropolis of Xochicalco (Figs. 52.3 and 52.4)

from the most important building of a site, some prominent peaks on the local horizon often correspond to the Sun’s positions on dates frequently recorded by architectural orientations (Figs. 52.1 and 52.10). It has thus been argued that the principal buildings were not only oriented but also located on astronomical grounds, with the purpose of using prominent horizon features as markers of sunrises and sunsets on relevant dates (Sˇprajc 2001).

Alignments in Cultural Context Practical Uses As mentioned above, the astronomical orientations in Mesoamerican architecture refer predominantly to sunrises and sunsets on certain dates. Since the alignments at a particular site tend to mark dates separated by multiples of 13 or 20 days, it seems natural to conclude that they allowed the use of observational calendars composed of calendrically significant and, therefore, easily manageable intervals. For a number of central Mexican sites, it was possible to reconstruct observational

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Fig. 52.10 Observing from the top of the Sun Pyramid at Teotihuacan, the Sun rises on March 23 and September 21 (quarter days of the year) over a prominent mountain on the eastern horizon

schemes in which the dates separated by such intervals are marked by both architectural orientations and conspicuous hilltops on the horizon. The correspondence between the most frequently recorded dates and the crucial moments of the maize cultivation cycle suggests, furthermore, that these observational calendars served for predicting important seasonal changes and for an efficient scheduling of the corresponding agricultural labors and the associated rituals (Aveni and Hartung 1986; Aveni et al. 2003; Sˇprajc 2001; Sˇprajc and Sa´nchez Nava 2012). It should be recalled that, since the Mesoamerican calendrical year of 365 days, due to the lack of intercalations, did not maintain a perpetual concordance with the tropical year, astronomical observations must have had an important role in the timing of seasonal activities. The orientations, marking critical and canonized moments of the year, not only allowed their determination by means of direct observations; if the observational schemes were composed of elementary periods of the formal calendrical system, it was relatively easy to anticipate the relevant dates (which was important because cloudy weather may have impeded direct observations on these dates), knowing the structure of a particular observational calendar and the mechanics of the formal one. Particularly important for these purposes must have been the 260-day calendrical count, in which the cycles of 13 and 20 days were intermeshing, so that every date had a name composed of a number from 1 to 13 and a sign in the series of 20. Given the structure of this calendrical count, the sunrises and sunsets separated by 13-day intervals and their multiples occurred on dates with the same numeral, while the events separated by periods of 20 days and their multiples fell on dates having the same sign (Sˇprajc 2001, p. 99ff, 151ff).

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Symbolic Significance Even if the observational function of solar orientations indicates their practical uses, they cannot be understood in purely utilitarian terms. In general, the astronomically oriented buildings can rarely be interpreted as observatories, in the modern sense of the word, or as devices serving practical needs only, because their functions were primarily religious, residential, or administrative. The following discussion shows that, in the ideas underlying architectural design and urban planning, the astronomical knowledge was intermingled with a wide range of concepts pertaining to religion and world view. A well-known characteristic of Mesoamerican architectural orientations is that, notwithstanding exceptions found in certain periods and areas, they tend to be skewed clockwise from cardinal directions, which means that the orientations referring to the Sun and exhibiting this skew recorded sunrises in autumn and winter and sunsets in spring and summer. This peculiarity, which cannot be compellingly explained in practical or observational terms, might have been based on the symbolism of world directions. The south-of-east/north-of-west skew of orientations implies that the dates recorded on the eastern and western horizon fell mostly in the dry and wet seasons, respectively; and this is precisely what the Mesoamericans most probably intended to achieve, considering that the dry season was conceptually related to the eastern and the rainy season to the western part of the universe (Sˇprajc 2004). The alignments upon the Moon and Venus can also hardly be explained in practical terms. Significantly, most orientations to major lunar standstills have been found on the northeastern coast of the Yucatan peninsula (Sˇprajc and Sa´nchez Nava 2012, p. 980f), where a lunar cult is known to have been very important (Milbrath 1999, p. 147f). As they are commonly associated with solstitial orientations, their target was likely the standstill full Moon nearest to a solstice. In the absence of other evidence, these orientations can only be accounted for by the religious significance of the Moon and its associations with water and fertility (Milbrath 1999, p. 27ff, 105ff), and possibly by some meaning assigned to the directly opposite simultaneous positions of the full Moon and the Sun at their greatest distances from the east and west. Similarly, the fact that all of the relatively few known Venus orientations can arguably be related to the maximum extremes of the evening star is attributable to the agriculturally significant seasonality of these phenomena, which approximately delimit the rainy season and thus the maize cultivation cycle, and may have been responsible for the prominent role of the evening star in the amply documented conceptual association of the planet with rain, maize, and fertility (Sˇprajc 1996). Considering the relationship of rain deities with the evening star, we can imagine that the latter, whenever it reached extreme positions on the horizon, was believed to trigger seasonal climatic changes that were essential for Mesoamerican agriculturalists. An illustrative case supporting this idea is the Governor’s Palace at Uxmal, oriented to the northerly extremes of evening star and decorated with Venus glyphs placed in the masks of the Maya rain god Chac (Sˇprajc 1996, p. 75ff).

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The role of religious beliefs and world view in Mesoamerican orientation principles is also clearly attested in the alignments to prominent mountains on the local horizon. Even if conspicuous peaks on the eastern and western horizon (Fig. 52.5) could have served as foresights facilitating observations (as some codices also seem to imply: Aveni 2001, p. 26), those lying along the north–south building axes suggest that the relationship of architectural orientations with mountains, in general, may be explained with the latter’s aquatic and fertility symbolism, an important aspect of the Mesoamerican world view (Broda 1991). In central Mexico, where a number of such cases have been detected, there is no clear preference for the east- or west-lying mountains, but the number of buildings aligned to a peak to the north (Fig. 52.9) is nearly twice as large as of those oriented to a hill to the south (Sˇprajc 2001, p. 57), probably reflecting the beliefs connecting not only mountains but also the northern part of the universe to water and fertility (Sˇprajc 1996, p. 41ff, 58ff). An observational function or a symbolic significance can also be attributed to some apparently deliberate inter-site alignments: For example, the Governor’s Palace at Uxmal is oriented to the pyramid of Cehtzuc, 4.5 km to the east, while Structure 1 of Calakmul is aligned to the Danta pyramid of El Mirador, visible at a distance of 40 km on the southern horizon (Sˇprajc 1996, p. 75ff; Sˇprajc et al. 2009). In some Mesoamerican cities, the astronomical orientation of the most prominent building was reproduced by the whole urban layout or extensive parts of it; examples of it are grid patterns of Tenochtitlan, dictated by the early stage of the Templo Mayor, and of Teotihuacan, imposed by the Sun Pyramid and the Ciudadela (Sˇprajc 2001). Although in such cases, the orientations of most buildings were neither precise nor observationally functional, the act of integrating a meaningful direction into large portions of the built environment undoubtedly reflects the importance of underlying concepts in architectural and urban planning.

Political Role Since the repeatedly occurring alignments are most consistently incorporated in urban cores with important religious, residential, and administrative buildings, evidently commissioned by the governing class, it is clear that both practical uses of astronomical knowledge and broader cosmological beliefs formed a very important part of the ideology of power. On the one hand, an efficient scheduling of agricultural activities, based on astronomical knowledge that was obviously not a public domain but rather reserved for the elite, contributed to the legitimation of power and justification of privileges of the ruling class. On the other hand, the apparently immutable and perfect order observed in the sky, evidently superior to that on the earth, must have been the primary source of deification of heavenly bodies, whose cyclic behavior thus was not viewed as being simply correlated with seasonal transformations in natural environment but rather as provoking them. Assuming, therefore, that timely

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occurrences of these changes were believed to be conditioned by the arrival of celestial bodies, such as the Sun and Venus, to specific points on the horizon, the architectural alignments reproducing directions to these phenomena may well have been intended to secure, in accordance with principles of magic, their regular sequence. Astronomically oriented civic and ceremonial buildings suggest that this was a major concern of rulers, who as men-gods pretended to be responsible for maintaining the cosmic order. Just like other types of evidence, however, the characteristics of architectural alignments and spatial ordering in Mesoamerican cities reflect the complexity of political ideology, in which astronomically derived concepts were inextricably intertwined with beliefs about the natural environment, and the structure and functioning of the universe as a whole.

Cross-References ▶ Alignments upon Venus (and Other Planets) - Identification and Analysis ▶ Ancient “Observatories” - A Relevant Concept? ▶ Astronomical Deities in Ancient Mesoamerica ▶ Astronomy and Power ▶ Astronomy at Teotihuacan ▶ Cave of the Astronomers at Xochicalco ▶ E-Group Arrangements ▶ Governor’s Palace at Uxmal ▶ Lunar Alignments - Identification and Analysis ▶ Solar Alignments - Identification and Analysis ▶ Templo Mayor, Tenochtitlan - Calendar and Astronomy

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Flores Gutie´rrez D (1998) Aspectos astrono´micos del inframundo en Bonampak. In: Staines ´ rea maya, Bonampak, tomo II: Cicero L (ed) La pintura mural prehispa´nica en Me´xico II: A Estudios. Universidad Nacional Auto´noma de Me´xico, Me´xico DF, pp 159–175 Galindo Trejo J (1994) Arqueoastronomı´a en la Ame´rica antigua. CONACYT – Ed. Equipo Sirius, Me´xico DF Galindo Trejo J (2009) Mesoamerican cosmology: recent finds. In: Rubin˜o-Martı´n JA, Belmonte JA, Prada F, Alberdi A (eds) Cosmology across cultures. Astronomical Society of the Pacific Conference Series 409, San Francisco, pp 253–260 Milbrath S (1999) Star gods of the Maya: astronomy in art, folklore, and calendars. University of Texas Press, Austin Sˇprajc I (1995) El Satunsat de Oxkintok y la Estructura 1-sub de Dzibilchaltu´n: unos apuntes arqueoastrono´micos. In: Memorias del Segundo Congreso Internacional de Mayistas. Universidad Nacional Auto´noma de Me´xico, Me´xico DF, pp 585–600 Sˇprajc I (1996) Venus, lluvia y maı´z: Simbolismo y astronomı´a en la cosmovisio´n mesoamericana. Instituto Nacional de Antropologı´a e Historia, Me´xico DF Sˇprajc I (2000) Astronomical alignments at the Templo Mayor of Tenochtitlan, Mexico. Archaeoastronomy (25) (Supplement to the Journal for the History for Astronomy 31):S11–S40 Sˇprajc I (2001) Orientaciones astrono´micas en la arquitectura prehispa´nica del centro de Me´xico. Instituto Nacional de Antropologı´a e Historia, Me´xico DF Sˇprajc I (2004) The south-of-east skew of Mesoamerican architectural orientations: astronomy and directional symbolism. In: Boccas M, Broda J, Pereira G (eds) Etno y arqueo-astronomı´a en las Ame´ricas: Memorias del Simposio ARQ-13 del 51 Congreso Internacional de Americanistas, Santiago de Chile, pp 161–176 Sˇprajc I (2008) Alineamientos astrono´micos en la arquitectura. In: Sˇprajc I (ed) Reconocimiento arqueolo´gico en el sureste del estado de Campeche, Me´xico: 1996–2005. BAR International Series 1742. Archaeopress, Oxford, pp 233–242 Sˇprajc I, Sa´nchez Nava PF (2012) Orientaciones astrono´micas en la arquitectura maya de las tierras bajas: nuevos datos e interpretaciones. In: Arroyo B, Paiz L, Mejı´a H (eds) XXV Simposio de Investigaciones Arqueolo´gicas en Guatemala, vol 2. Instituto de Antropologı´a e Historia – Asociacio´n Tikal, Guatemala, pp 977–996 Sˇprajc I, Sa´nchez Nava PF (2013) Astronomı´a en la arquitectura de Chiche´n Itza´: una reevaluacio´n. Estudios de Cultura Maya 41:31–60 Sˇprajc I, Morales-Aguilar C, Hansen RD (2009) Early Maya astronomy and urban planning at El Mirador, Peten, Guatemala. Anthropol Noteb 15(3):79–101 Tichy F (1991) Die geordnete Welt indianischer Vo¨lker: Ein Beispiel von Raumordnung und Zeitordnung im vorkolumbischen Mexiko. F. Steiner, Stuttgart

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Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The Street of the Dead . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The Pyramid of the Sun . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The Ciudadela and the Pyramid of Feathered Serpent . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-Circle Designs . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Astronomical Caves . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Conclusions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Abstract

Located 37 km from Mexico City, during the first part of the first millennium AD, Teotihuacan was one of the world’s largest and most populated cities. The city controlled the obsidian mines and developed far-reaching economic and political interactions, especially with the Classic Maya dynasties, Monte Alba´n in the Valley of Oaxaca and the Mexican Gulf Coast. Teotihuacanmade pottery and jewelry along with talud-tablero architectural style and the cult of the Feathered Serpent and Rain gods was spread throughout Mesoamerica. From the first century CE, the city was carefully planned. Its street grid and main ceremonial architecture were precisely aligned to revoke the concepts of the Teotihuacan worldview.

S. Iwaniszewski Divisio´n de Posgrado, Escuela Nacional de Antropologı´a e Historia, Tlalpan, Me´xico, D.F., Mexico Pan´stwowe Muzeum Archeologiczne, Warszawa, Poland e-mail: [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_59, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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Introduction Teotihuacan (j ¼ 19 410 N) was the largest city in pre-Columbian Mesoamerica. Located within the Valley of Teotihuacan, the northeastern part of the Valley of Mexico, the city flourished during 1–650 CE, reaching 125,000–150,000 inhabitants during the period of greatest prosperity (Millon 1992, p. 344; 1993, pp. 18, 29, 33). For more than 5 hundred years, it functioned as a well-developed urban center that politically, economically, and culturally influenced most parts of Mesoamerica. The city covered about 24 sq. km and consisted of a large ceremonial center with more than 75 temples and over 2,000 residential compounds, all arranged within the same inflexible grid-street layout (Millon 1992, pp. 340–341, 353). It was a multiethnic city, probably inhabited by diverse Otomi-, Zapotec-, Mixtec-, Maya-, Totonac-, and Nahua-speaking groups. Its name, Teotihuacan, “the place where gods were born”, was given to the ruins of this city by the Nahua-speaking peoples who migrated to the Valley of Mexico during the fourteenth century; about 700 years after its collapse and abandonment, and a century later founded the Aztec Empire. The Aztecs believed that the Fifth Sun, the era in which they lived, began at Teotihuacan where the sun and moon were created. The city is located on the southern slopes of Cerro Gordo, an ancient volcanic cone and perhaps the sacred mountain, from which permanent springs flow (see Figs. 53.1 and 53.2). The San Juan River bisects the city into: the northern part built on the ancient lava flows but rich in springs and natural caves, and the southern part extending toward agricultural fields and springs. While we do not know the precise meaning of caves at Teotihuacan, they seem to be symbolically combined with springs and conceived as entrances to the netherworld, or as places from which the people or the gods emerged. The time when most monuments were erected at Teotihuacan coincides with the Classic Period (1–650 CE). Teotihuacan was a planned city. The builders of this city situated Teotihuacan in the landscape in such a way that it was connected to the sky, the mountains, the caves, and waters. The Street of the Dead, the main avenue running across the central and ceremonial part of the city, was aligned upon Cerro Gordo and all secondary and tertiary streets were following the same orientation. The major monuments in Teotihuacan are the Pyramid of the Sun, located at the center of the city, the Pyramid of the Moon and the Palace of Quetzalpapalotl in the north, and the Ciudadela with the Pyramid of Feathered Serpent in the south. Teotihuacan archaeoastronomy relies on a large corpus of sources. Relevant data on pre-Hispanic practices of skywatching and or calendar-making are embedded in spatial distribution of archaeological remains, particularly in architectural orientations and other alignments detected in ancient cultural landscapes. The city’s urban planning reveals the knowledge of celestial movements perceived and selected as meaningful by ancient teotihuacanos. Circle-cross patterns, also known as astronomical markers, are often found in the city and in other Classic sites such as Tepeapulco. Various caves with calendrical-astronomical functions were used to observe the sun. The inference to the 260-day divinatory cycle already made by Caso (1967, pp. 143–153) has recently been affirmed by the excavations made at the Temple

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Fig. 53.1 Aerial view of Teotihuacan. The Pyramid of the Sun is seen at the center and the Pyramid of the Moon is on the left. The white line marks the Teotihuacan east–west axis

Fig. 53.2 The Street of the dead. In front of the Cerro Gordo massive stands the Pyramid of the Moon, the Pyramid of the Sun is on the right

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of the Feathered Serpent where the burials of the individuals that had been sacrificed located to inaugurate this structure were arranged to honor this cycle.

The Street of the Dead The north–south lines of the street grid in Teotihuacan followed the pattern established by the orientation of the Street of the Dead, the city’s major axis. The Street is skewed 15 280 to the east from the north (Millon 1973, p. 13) and aligned with the summit of Cerro Gordo. This should be interpreted as novelty, because Cuicuilco, the first regional center located in the southwestern part of the Valley of Mexico and flourished in the last centuries BCE, was oriented to the seasonal points (solstices and equinoxes). The east–west orientations are not perpendicular to the main axis and exhibit small deviations (between 1 and 1¼ ) from this pattern. Despite these small variations, all major structures at Teotihuacan embody the deviations of about 15.5 from the cardinal directions belonging to the so-called 15–17 family of orientations (Aveni 2001, pp. 233–234). This orientation must have been extremely important to the builders, because it incorporated even the residential compounds located on the outskirts of the city.

The Pyramid of the Sun The Pyramid of the Sun is basic to the street grid at Teotihuacan: its north–south axis is oriented 15 280 and parallel to the Street of the Dead (Millon 1973, p. 13, 53), while its east–west axis is skewed by about 105 450 (Sˇprajc 2000, p. 404). The Pyramid is the earliest major ceremonial building erected in the city in the Tzacualli phase (AD 1–150). The monument was carefully planned: its original base measured 216  216 m corresponding to 260 Teotihuacan units of 83 cm each (Sugiyama (1993, pp. 120, 122)). The number may be associated with the days of the divinatory and ritual cycle known as tonalpohualli among the Aztecs, consisting of 260 days. The Pyramid is oriented to the setting sun on April 30 and August 13 (Sˇprajc 2000, pp. 405–406). These dates are meaningful, because they are separated by an interval of 260 days (August 13 ! April 30), a complete tonalpohualli cycle. Both dates are also 52 days before and after the day of June 22, the summer solstice date. In sum, pyramid’s westward alignments fix cycles of 260/105 days, running from August 13 to April 30 and from April 30 to August 13 (see Fig. 53.1). When archaeologists discovered a tunnel and cave system underneath the Pyramid, they suggested that this place became the focus of ceremonial activities before the Pyramid was built. Now, considering that the entrance to the cave marked the sightline toward the western horizon where the sun was seen to set on April 29, and August 12, and the latter date was close enough to the standard date of the beginning of the present era (August 11–13, 3114 BC, corresponding to the zero-day in the Maya Long Count, or 0.0.0.0.0 4 ajaw 8 kumkᛌu), archaeologists proposed that the cave had been considered by the Teotihuacanos as the place of emergence of

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the present world, or the place where present era commenced. Drawing on those coincidences, scholars started to believe that the sacred cave under the Sun Pyramid indeed represented the place where time began and through the creation of that sightline did in fact commemorate when time began (Millon 1993, pp. 20–23; 34–35). Furthermore, the Pyramid of the Sun affirmed that the overall street grid pattern of the city “was oriented to the day that time began because it was believed that Teotihuacan was where time began” (Millon 1992, p. 383). The same alignment toward the eastern horizon also produces significant dates: February 11 and October 29 (see Fig. 53.1). This pair of days also divides the 365-day year into meaningful intervals of 260 and 105 days (Feb 11 ! Oct 29 ¼ 260d, Oct 29 ! Feb 11 ¼ 105d) and is symmetrically pivoted upon the December solstice, being respectively 52 days before and 52 days after it. The dates seem to be important for the agricultural cycle: the start of the preparatory works in the milpa (February), the end of planting and the arrival of the rainy season (end of April), bending of maize stalks (mid-August) and beginning of cropping (Iwaniszewski 1991). Rich modern ethnographic evidence from different parts of Mesoamerica suggests that these four dates could have corresponded to important feasts of the annual agricultural cycle, despite the variations in climatic and geographical settings. As Broda (1993, p. 261) pointed out, the first of the mentioned dates, that of February 11, stays near to February 12 that was the first day of the Aztec year according to Sahagun’s (1979, p. 444) account.

The Ciudadela and the Pyramid of Feathered Serpent The Citadel (Ciudadela in Spanish) is located at the southern end of the Street of the Dead. Inside this complex, between CE 150 and 200, was built the Temple of the Feathered Serpent which displays slightly different alignments. The pyramid is aligned around 106 300 /286 300 recording the dates of February 9 and November 1 in the east and of May 3 and August 11 in the west (Dow 1967) displaying the division of 265/100 days. This alignment was planned after the Pyramid of the Sun was already built, possibly reflecting changing political relationships and the translation of governing institution to the area of the Ciudadela. The coexistence of both alignments at various sites (not only at Teotihuacan) led Sˇprajc (1999, pp. 110–111; 2000, p. 408) to conclude that their calendrical-astronomical functions were interrelated (Table 53.1). Table 53.1 The solar observatory calendar inferred from two groups of alignments at Teotihuacan (According to Sˇprajc 1999, Figure 7 and Sˇprajc 2000, Table 4) Date Feb 12 May 3 Scheme 1

Interval (days) 260/105 80,80 100

Date Oct 30

Date Feb 9

Aug 11

Apr 30 Scheme 2

Interval (days) 265/100 80,80 105

Date Nov 1 Aug 13

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Cross-Circle Designs The other relevant feature of possibly astronomical alignments at Teotihuacan is the sightline that connects the cross-circle design called TEO 1, located in the paved floor in one of the shrines in the Street of the Dead, with another similar design known as TEO 5, situated about three km westward from TEO 1 on the slope of Colorado Chico hill, on the outskirts of the city. The line bears 285 210 and is almost perfectly perpendicular to the axis of the Street of the Dead. This sightline coincides with the setting point of the Pleiades, and Aveni (2001, pp. 227–228) believed this was not a fortuitous coincidence, since the Pleiades rose heliacally on the day of the first zenithal passage of the Sun (May 18). Due to the precession, this alignment was functional during the second century CE and could not be repeated in other locations.

Astronomical Caves The caves at Teotihuacan were also used to perform calendrical-astronomical observations. These bottle-shapes caves, with a narrow opening gradually widening toward the bottom, had a small altar with a stone slab placed in a specific location that emphasized the desired date through the production of light-and-shadow effects. Cave 1 marked

Table 53.2 The observational calendar scheme with intervals of 20 days reconstructed Date Mar 22 equinox

Interval (days) 40

Date May 1

Date Aug 12

Interval (days) 40

Date Sep 21 equinox

DEC 22 FEB 12

OCT 30 52 52 260

260

Fig. 53.3 A scheme of a 260-day calendar cycle at Teotihuacan

52 52 APR 30

JUN 22

AUG 13

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solar observations on the dates of the solstices, zenithal passages, and the dates of February 9 and November 1. Cave 2 marked the dates of April 30 and August 13, and of February 12 and October 30 (Soruco 1991; Morante 1996, pp. 171–180).

Conclusions The dates registered by Teotihuacan alignments are also recorded by alignments at many other sites in Mesoamerica, in different geographical latitudes and ecological settings. Since the Teotihuaca´n dates are separated by 20-day intervals and their multiples from the dates of astronomical seasons (solstices, equinoxes, zenithal passages of the Sun), various scholars (Sˇprajc 1999, 2000; Aveni et al. 2003) proposed that such a 20-day period which gave a fix structure to a solar horizon calendar must have originated either in Teotihuaca´n or in the Maya Lowlands (see Table 53.2 and Fig. 53.3). For reasons of space, it is not possible to discuss all other relevant issues associated with the astronomical alignments at Teotihuacan.

Cross-References ▶ Astronomical Correlates of Architecture and Landscape in Mesoamerica ▶ Pecked Cross-Circles

References Aveni AF (2001) Skywatchers, Revised edn. University of Texas Press, Austin Aveni AF, Dowd AS, Vining B (2003) Maya calendar reform? Evidence from orientations of specialized architectural assemblages. Lat Am Antiq 14(2):115–142 Broda J (1993) Astronomical knowledge, calendrics, and sacred geography in ancient Mesoamerica. In: Ruggles CLN, Saunders NJ (eds) Astronomies and cultures. University Press of Colorado, Niwot, pp 253–295 Caso A (1967) ¿Tenı´an los teotihuacanos conocimiento del tonalpohualli? In: Caso A Los calendarios prehispa´nicos. Universidad Nacional Auto´noma de Me´xico, Me´xico DF, pp 153–163 de Sahagun B (1979) Historia general de las cosas de nueva Espan˜a. Porru´a, Me´xico DF Dow J (1967) Astronomical orientaions at Teotihuaca´n, a case study in astro-archaeology. American Antiquity 32(3): 326–334. Iwaniszewski S (1991) La arqueologı´a y la astronomı´a en Teotihuaca´n. In: Broda J, Iwaniszewski S, Maupome´ L (eds) Arqueoastronomı´a y etnoastronomı´a en Mesoame´rica. Universidad Nacional Auto´noma de Me´xico, Me´xico DF, pp 269–290 Millon R (1973) The Teotihuacan map, Part 1: the text, vol 1. Urbanization at Teotihuacan, Mexico. University of Texas Press, Austin Millon R (1992) Teotihuacan studies: from 1950 to 1999 and beyond. In: Berlo JC (ed) Art, ideology, and city of Teotihuacan. Dumbarton Oaks, Washington, DC, pp 339–429

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Millon R (1993) The place where time began. An archaeologists’s interpretation of what happened in Teotihuacan history. In: Berrin K, Pasztory E (eds) Teotihuacan art from the city of the gods. Thames and Hudson, London, pp 16–43 Morante Lo´pez R (1996) Evidencias del conocimiento astrono´mico en Teotihuacan. PhD dissertation, Universidad Nacional Auto´noma de Me´xico, Me´xico DF Saruco Sa´enz E (1991) Una cueva ceremonial en Teotihuaca´n y sus implicaciones astrono´micas religiosas. In: Arqueoastronomı´a y etnoastronomı´a en Mesoame´rica. Universidad Nacional Auto´noma de Me´xico, Me´xico DF, pp 291–296 Sˇprajc I (1999) Architectural alignment s and observational calendars in prehispanic central Mexico. In: Esteban C, Belmonte JA (eds) Oxford VI and SEAC99: Astronomy and cultural diversity. Organismo Auto´nomo de Museos del Cabildo de Tenerife, La Laguna, pp 107–114 Sˇprajc I (2000) Astronomical alignments at Teotihuacan, Mexico. Lat Am Antiq 11(4):403–415 Sugiyama S (1993) Worldview materialized in Teotihuacan, Mexico. Lat Am Antiq 4(2):103–129

Pecked Cross-Circles

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Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Structure of the Figure . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Meaning . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Conclusions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Abstract

Cross-circle together with cross-square designs, consisting of concentric circles and squares centered on a cross, and consisting of cups appear in ceremonial buildings and on rock boulders throughout Mesoamerica. They were variously defined as architectural benchmarks, calendars, astronomical devices, game panels, and symbolic images of the cosmos.

Introduction There is a singular figure that has been singled out and studied in Mesoamerican archaeoastronomy. It is composed of cups or cupules made in stucco floors in ceremonial buildings or engraved on boulders or rock outcrops and displays a design consisting of two or more concentric circles, squares, or rectangles centered on two orthogonal axes. This figure has been variously described as a “pecked cross” or a “circle-cross” motif and investigated in the broader context of Mesoamerican quadripartite symbolism and calendrics. Similar cupmarks made on rock panels are less regular.

S. Iwaniszewski Divisio´n de Posgrado, Escuela Nacional de Antropologı´a e Historia, Tlalpan, Me´xico, D.F., Mexico Pan´stwowe Muzeum Archeologiczne, Warszawa, Poland e-mail: [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_57, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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Pecked cross-circle motifs were placed in different locations: within the urban area of Teotihuacan, near or within the ceremonial districts (Teotihuacan, Xihuingo, Uaxactun), between the urban area and its outskirts, near to the lake shore, between the farmland and the foothills, at the mountain edges near to the mountaintops, etc. On general, they were located in places with views toward a limited portion of landscape, always close to the farming lands, in locations that hardly could accommodate more than a few people (Iwaniszewski 2006). They were displayed horizontally in plastered floors and on both horizontal and inclined surfaces of rock crags (see Fig. 54. 1). Not all figures display regular “cross-circle” or “square-circle” motifs. At Teotihuacan, one figure displays a triple “Maltese Cross”, while another shows a double “Gaussian curve”. Since the form of a “Maltese Cross” closely resembles the figures known from the Late Postclassic codices (Codex Fejerva´ry Mayer, p. 1; Codex Madrid, pp. 75–76) on which strings of 260 days, composed of the units of 20 day names and 13 dots each, were inserted, it has been accepted they all were used as calendric counters. Due to their abundance in Teotihuacan sites, scholars suggested that cross-circle designs originated in this metropolis (Winning 1987, p. 61; Cabrera Castro 2000, pp. 202–203). Indeed, the greater number of figures was discovered on the plastered floors corresponding to the Miccaotli and Tlamimilopa Phases (ca. AD 150–450), the period of an enormous architectural activity. Sometimes, they were located in specialized locations as are the figures displayed in the Floor of Markers, at the foot of the south wall of the platform that surrounds the Pyramid of the Sun, near to the buildings corners, in temples situated in the Street of the Dead, and also on the slopes of diverse hills and mountains surrounding the city. Aside from Teotihuacan, circle-cross motifs occur in Classic Central Mexican sites, such as Xihuingo, Cocotitla´n, and Amecameca, and other locations within the Basin of Mexico and the state of Mexico, some have been discovered as far as Uaxactun (Guatemala), Michoacan, and in northwest Mexico (El Chapin, Tuitan). In general, it is suggested they were created under the influence of the Teotihuacan polity and locations where they are found would have denoted its cultural authority (Aveni 2001, p. 231). So far, more than 150 examples have been described and discussed.

Structure of the Figure The shape of cross-circle figures is always delineated with cupmarks. Generally pecked cups are shallow, with varying diameters (most being between 1 and 2.5cm wide), they are irregularly spaced reproducing rough circular or rectangular shapes. Some of the axes are perfectly straight; sometimes, their exterior parts are slightly bent. Their design is greatly patterned. In most cases, the number of holes forming axes remains static, while the number of holes in circles is highly variable. This may suggest that the holes in circles served for specific practices, while the rest of the design remained standardized.

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Fig. 54. 1 A cross-circle figure COC 1 from Cocotitla´n, Mexico

In 1988, Aveni classified cross-circle figures on formal grounds, separating designs located in floors from those made in rock. He then separated cross-circle figures from those representing squares or rectangles. He also classified as different category figures with intersecting lines. The discovery of further examples at

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Xihuingo, some 30 km northeast from Teotihuacan, and at the platform surrounding the Pyramid of the Sun provided much more examples of this figure and offered ground for new interpretations. The “classic” design consists of two perpendicular axes and two concentric circles. Each axe usually contains 20 cups, creating a pattern of 10 + 1 + 4 + 1 + 4 ¼ 20 dots. Not counting the central hole, the first ten cups are placed inside the inner circle, one cup marks the intersection with the inner circle, four more cups are between the inner and outer circles, another cup is placed to mark crossing the outer circle, and finally four more cups are placed outside the outer circle (Aveni 2001, p. 331). The number of 20 cups seems to be in accordance with a vigesimal counting system used throughout Mesoamerica, but here it is regularly divided into smaller units. When the cups onto intersections are not counted, the pattern appears as a 10 + 4 + 4 sequence reminding the number of 18 20-day months in Mesoamerican 365-day year. So, assuming that calendar keepers designed cross-circle figures to suit their specific needs, it may well be argued that the holes depicted at the intersections with the circles do not count, so there are only 18 holes to be counted, possibly to express 18 units of 20 days, or a total of 360 days (see Fig. 54. 1b). Conventional approach has suggested they were used as counting devices, probably calendric counts, where each hole represented a unit, a day. On the other hand, the figure’s arms, or axes, have habitually been interpreted as intentional alignments. Both Aveni (1988) and Iwaniszewski (1993) provided descriptions of its possible functions.

Meaning There is no reliable pre-Hispanic or indigenous information regarding the meaning of “circle-cross” figures. First interpretations focused on astronomical significance of their oriented axes (Dow 1967; Gaitan Meza et al. 1974), and on their use as bench marks or as instruments used for orientation in planning Teotihuacan’s layout (Dow 1967; Millon 1968, p. 113; Millon 1973; Aveni et al. 1978; Aveni and Hartung 1982). Archaeological dating of Teotihuacan cross-circle figures suggests than the city’s layout influenced the orientation of the figures rather than the use of the figures to orient the city. Other interpretations focused on the quartered shape of the figure which seems to refer to the four quarters of the world and to the cyclic completion of a given calendar cycle (Coggins 1980; Mansfeld 1981). Since at Teotihuacan, most circle-cross figures are oriented, with few exceptions, with the main axis of this city, and also exhibit numerological correspondences with the 260-day divinatory calendar, it has been suggested they were iconic spatial-temporal representations of the world, or imago mundi, symbolizing the image of the (local) world.

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On several occasions, it has been proposed (Aveni et al. 1978, p. 278; Aveni 1988, pp. 466–468) that the figure is similar to a game board. On the one hand, the rectangular- or square-circle variant shows a striking similarity to the patolli boards described in the codices or displayed at the archaeological sites; on the other hand, there are numerous ethnographic records of “quince” boards that often show the count of units of five. Of course, the cross-circle figures could have served as religious games involving some divination. Leaving this hypothesis as plausible alternative, it is necessary to notice that the cupmarks that constitute the figure are usually of a varied size and the figures cut into the rock are often placed on slopes making difficult movements from one cup to another. Recent interpretations have focused on the possible numerological and calendrical symbolism of the cupmarks located within particular quadrants of figures combined with the astronomical meaning of the axes. Aveni (2000, pp. 254–259) has noticed that the Teotihuacan principal orientation (April29/August 12), shown by the orientation of the Pyramid of the Sun, is also present in a pair of cross-circles (TEO 1 and 5), marking the 20-day units that separate the equinoxes and the dates of the solar zenith passage: March 21 + 2  20 days ¼ April 29 + 20 days ¼ May 19, or July 24 + 20 days ¼ August 12 + 2  20 days ¼ Sep 21 These dates are a day or two after or before the usual dates of the solar zenithal passages through Teotihuacan (May 18–19 and July 25–26). Aveni found that the equinox dates are related systematically to the dates of solar zenithal passages at Teotihuacan in terms of standardized 20-day units and concluded that counts of 20 days determined its principal orientation. In the tallies of the Uaxactun “circle-cross” figure, Aveni and colleagues (2003) found two different calendar systems, the one that denoted intervals between equinoxes and the winter solstice day (88 cupmarks: Sep 23 + 88 ¼ Dec 20, Dec 21 + 88 ¼ March 19), presumably belonging to the older Maya calendar system, and the other that counted the number of days between the equinox and the solar zenithal passage (51 cupmarks: March 21 + 51 ¼ May 10, Aug 3 + 51 ¼ Sep 23), possibly of Teotihuacan origin. Iwaniszewski (2005) investigated similar tallies between cupmarks in “squarecross” figures and days in the divinatory almanacs found in Late Postclassic codices. The tallies tended to display the series of 7, 9, 10, 65, 80, 104 cupmarks. Since the axes of the figures generally followed the main Teotihuacan orientation, Iwaniszewski concluded the figures were used to synchronize the solar-agricultural year of 365 days with the 260-day divinatory cycle to perform divination.

Conclusions Current interpretations of Mesoamerican cross-circle figures stress their importance for the establishment of various divinatory or ritual cycles which often appear to be pivoted around important astronomical and calendrical dates (see Fig. 54.1c).

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S. Iwaniszewski

Cross-References ▶ Astronomy at Teotihuacan ▶ Nature and Analysis of Material Evidence Relevant to Archaeoastronomy

References Aveni AF (1988) The Thom paradigm in the Americas: the case of the cross-circle designs. In: Ruggles CLN (ed) Records in stone. Papers in memory of Alexander Thom. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, pp 442–472 Aveni AF (2000) Origins of celestial canon in Mesoamerica. In: Carrasco D, Jones L, Sessions S (eds) Mesoamerica’s classical heritage: from Teotihuacan to the Aztecs. University of Colorado Press, Niwot, pp 253–268 Aveni AF (2001) Skywatchers, rev edn. University of Texas Press, Austin Aveni AF, Hartung H (1982) New observations of the pecked cross petroglyph. Lateinamerika Studien 10:25–41 Aveni AF, Hartung H, Buckingham B (1978) The pecked cross symbol in ancient Mesoamerica. Science 202:267–279 Aveni AF, Dowd AS, Vining B (2003) Maya calendar reform? Evidence from orientations of specialized architectural assemblages. Lat Am Antiq 14(2):115–142 Cabrera Castro R (2000) Teotihuacan cultural traditions transmitted into the postclassic according to recent excavations. In: Carrasco D, Jones L, Sessions S (eds) Mesoamerica’s classic heritage: from Teotihuacan to the Aztecs. University Press of Colorado, Boulder, pp 195–218 Coggins C (1980) The shape of time: some political implications of a four-part figure. Am Antiq 45(4):727–739 Dow J (1967) Astronomical orientations at Teotihuacan, a case study in astroarchaeology. Am Antiq 32(3):326–334 Gaitan Meza M, Morales Quin˜ones A, Harleston H Jr, Wallrath M (1974) La triple cruz astrono´mica de Teotihuaca´n. Ponencia presentada al XLI congreso internacional de. Americanistas, Me´xico DF Iwaniszewski S (1993) Mesoamerican cross-circle designs revisited. In: Ruggles CLN (ed) Archaeoastronomy in the 1990s. Group D Publications, Loughborough, pp 288–295 Iwaniszewski S (2005) Leer el tiempo: el feno´meno de la sincronicidad en la pra´ctica ma´ntica teotihuacana. In: Wiesheu W, Fournier P (eds) Perpectivas de la investigacio´n arqueolo´gica IV coloquio de la maestrı´a en arqueologı´a. CONACULTA-INAH-ENAH, Me´xico DF, pp 93–108 Iwaniszewski S (2006) Out of Teotihuacan: cross-circle figures in the valley of Mexico. In: Bostwick TW, Bates B (eds) Viewing the Sky through past and present cultures. Pueblo Grande Museum Anthropological papers no 15. City of Phoenix Parks and Recreation Department, Phoenix, pp 213–224 Mansfeld VN (1981) Mandalas and Mesoamerican pecked circles. Curr Anthropol 22(3):269–284 Millon R (1968) Urbanization at Teotihuacan: the Teotihuacan mapping project. In: Actas y memorias del XXXVII congreso internacional de Americanistas, Buenos Aires Liberı´a, Buenos Aires, vol 1, pp 105–125 Millon R (1973) Urbanization at Teotihuacan, vol 1. University of Texas Press, Austin, part 1 von Winning H (1987) La iconografı´a de Teotihuacan: los dioses y los signos. Universidad Nacional Auto´noma de Me´xico, Me´xico DF

Templo Mayor, Tenochtitlan - Calendar and Astronomy

55

Jesu´s Galindo Trejo

Contents Introduction: From a Mythical Mount to an Astronomical Observatory . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Previous Studies of the Solar Alignment of the Templo Mayor . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Calendric-Astronomical Orientation of the Templo Mayor . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Abstract

The Templo Mayor of Tenochtitlan was the principal symbol of political power and religious control of the Mexicas. Its orientation was chosen according to ancestral calendrical traditions that considered the Mesoamerican calendar as a sacred concern. The solar alignments incorporated into this emblematic building symbolized moments that divided the solar year according to basic properties of the Mesoamerican calendar.

Introduction: From a Mythical Mount to an Astronomical Observatory The Aztecs or Mexicas were one of the last Nahuatl-speaking peoples to arrive in the Valley of Mexico, at the beginning of the fourteenth century. However, they needed only a few decades to establish a powerful Postclassic Empire embracing a considerable part of Mesoamerica. According to numerous

J. Galindo Trejo Instituto de Investigaciones Este´ticas, Universidad Nacional Auto´noma de Me´xico (UNAM), Mexico City, Mexico e-mail: [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_60, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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ethnohistorical sources, the foundation of the Mexica capital Tenochtitlan was in a year 2 House or 1325 AD. After a long pilgrimage from the mythical native country called Aztlan, they decided to found their city on a small island in Lake Texcoco. There they recognized the sacred symbol in the form of an eagle poised on a cactus (opuntia) and devouring a snake. In the course of time, this symbol became the national coat of arms of Mexico. It is interesting to note that on April 21, 1325 AD, from 10:54 for 4 minutes, the sun was totally eclipsed for the inhabitants of the Valley of Mexico. The Mexicas never again saw a comparable cosmic spectacle in their capital. Could this astronomical phenomenon have been the cause for stopping the arduous pilgrimage? Perhaps, the darkened solar disk was interpreted as a sacred mandate to take possession of the land. Some sixteenthcentury chroniclers report another name for Lake Texcoco, namely the Lake of the Moon. On the other hand, in Mexica religious thought, the eagle is considered as the solar bird par excellence. Therefore, the sacred signal could have described metaphorically the spectacular event in the sky. The original population in the Valley of Mexico apparently consisted of the Otomı´ or n˜h€ an˜hu, a moon-worshipping people who surely shaped many Mesoamerican cultural characteristics. Was the sacred signal an indication of the subjugation of a moon-worshipping people by the sunworshipping Mexicas? Beginning with a humble shrine dedicated to their tribal war god Huitzilopochtli, the Mexicas considered the Templo Mayor as a symbol of their political prestige. This temple soon became the main architectural structure in Tenochtitlan. According to numerous ethnohistorical sources, this temple consisted of a large platform of four or five stepped levels, facing toward the west, with two parallel stairways giving access to the topmost level. There were two shrines: The north shrine was devoted to the god of rain and fertility called Tlaloc, while the south shrine was dedicated to the war god with solar attributes, known as Huitzilopochtli. The Nahuatl name of this god means “hummingbird on the left” or “hummingbird on the south” and indicates precisely the importance of the direction defined by the west orientation of the Templo Mayor. In this way, an observer located on the top level and seeing toward the west could have associated his left hand with the south, the direction of Huitzilopochtli. Matos Moctezuma (1984) explains the presence of both deities at the temple as a reflex of the fundamental needs of the Mexicas: their economy was based on agriculture (emphasizing therefore the importance of water and rain) and also on tribute obtained by military conquest (highlighting therefore the importance of war). Recent excavations in the Templo Mayor have shown that the orientations of five earlier construction phases of the temple pyramid are notably similar to each other (Aveni et al 1988).

Previous Studies of the Solar Alignment of the Templo Mayor Maudslay (1912) was the first author to attract attention to the now-famous quotation of the chronicler Motolinia (1996) referring to Motecuhzoma’s concern about the alignment of the Templo Mayor. On the occasion of the festival of

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Tlacaxipehualiztli, Motolinia says that this important ceremony took place when the sun stood in the middle of Uchilobos, which was at the equinox (“Esta fiesta caı´a estando el sol en medio del uchilobos que era equinoc¸io. . .”). Maudslay concludes that the priest and worshippers faced to the east, to watch the equinoctial sun appearing in the space separating the twin shrines. As we will show below, the alignment of the Templo Mayor, indicated by the line between both shrines, is certainly not equinoctial. Another possible way of interpreting Motolinia’s assertion is in terms of colloquial Spanish so that “estar el sol en medio del Uchilobos” means simply that at the day of equinox, the priest could observe how sunbeams entered through the space between the two shrines. Motolinia’s assertion does not necessary mean that the priest could observe the solar disk directly. Concerning Motolinia’s assertion Sˇprajc (2000) suggests that it could refer to sunset along the temple’s axis. He has determined two apparently different orientations for the Phase II and the other subsequent phases of the Templo Mayor (Sˇprajc 2000). On the basis of rather arbitrary assumptions regarding the behavior of long-lasting subsidences and the sequence of differential deformations of the soil on which this temple was built, he finds the solar alignment for the late construction phases of the Templo Mayor to be April 4. In the sixteenth century this date corresponds to March 25 in the Julian calendar. This sunset occurred in 1519 AD at the end of the month Tlacaxipehualiztli in accordance with Caso’s (but not with Motolinia’s!) correlation of the Julian and Mexica calendars. Motolinia’s assertion was written before the Gregorian correction of the calendar in 1582 AD. Sˇprajc argues that Motolinia’s allusion to the equinox should be interpreted as a reference to the medieval traditional day of the vernal equinox celebrated on March 25. Motolinia quotes a medieval calendar of a Benedictine monk Beda in which presumably both equinoxes, the canonical one on March 21 and the traditional one on March 25, were mentioned. Certainly, for most of the sixteenth century, the astronomical equinox mainly occurred on March 11 in the Julian calendar. On the other hand, the statement of the historian O’Gorman (1989) may be important here since it states that the appendix containing Motolinia’s famous assertion does not belong to the original book of Motolinia. This could mean that the information reported in the appendix belongs rather to another calendrical tradition which could greatly differ from that of other chapters. Aveni (1980) proposed another possible explanation for Motolinia’s assertion. He suggested that the circular Temple of Quetzalcoatl, erected at some distance from the Templo Mayor, functioned as the observing point toward the space between both shrines. Although the Templo Mayor does not have an equinoctial orientation, the ascending sun on the day of the equinox, some minutes after sunrise, could appear between the shrines (Mundy 1996). However, this proposal is strongly dependent on two free parameters: the distance between both important temples and the height of the Temple of Quetzalcoatl. From both parameters, one can calculate the sighting angle using which an Aztec observer could see the solar disk just at the top level in the middle of Uchilobos. However, it is not yet possible archaeologically to check these parameters because the Temple of Quetzalcoatl has not been fully excavated.

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Calendric-Astronomical Orientation of the Templo Mayor In order to obtain the correct value for the orientation of the Templo Mayor, we noticed that the symmetry axis of the temple, which passes through the narrow passage between the two upper shrines, has an azimuth of 277
360 to the west and correspondingly one of 97
360 to the east. To the west the horizon, approximately 17 km distant, has an altitude of 2
120 ; to the east the horizon is about 28 km distant and has an altitude of 2
090 . From these data, we find that the Templo Mayor of Tenochtitlan is aligned to the evening sun on April 9 and September 2 (Galindo 1994). Seen from the temple, the solar disk makes contact with the western horizon over a small plain, in a place that still bears a Otomi name: Geishto. These alignment dates do not correspond to astronomically important events; we have no solstices or equinoxes, or zenithal passages of the Sun. To understand why the priest-astronomers would have chosen these peculiar dates to align their main temple, we can imagine that sunset observations were made all year round. From the day of the first alignment in the year, on April 9, one notices that the Sun sets gradually further north, i.e., to the right of the observer, day by day. Just 73 days later, the sun reaches its northern extreme position on the horizon on the day of the summer solstice, June 21. From that day, the solar disk slowly returns to positions already covered, so that after 73 days, it will arrive at the second alignment of the Templo Mayor, on September 2. After this date, the sun will set progressively further south, i.e., to the left of the observer, until it reaches its extreme southerly position at the winter solstice, on December 21. Finally the solar disk will resume its gradual movement to the north, until April 9 when the next year’s annual cycle is completed with another alignment at the Templo Mayor. The number of days from September 2 to April 9 is 219, i.e., 3 times 73. It is worth noting that 73 is a number of great calendrical significance in Mesoamerica. It is the number that closes the fundamental relationship between the ritual calendar Tonalpohualli and the solar calendar Xiuhpohualli: 73260 ¼ 52365. This fact manifests without a doubt the will of priest-astronomers to bring into a solemn harmony the most important Mexica building with their own time count. The solar alignment of the Templo Mayor on the mornings of March 4 and October 9 leads to a similar scheme of division of the year to that explained above. On both dates, the Sun rises from the summit of Cerro Yeloxochitl which is located between Cerro Tlaloc and Cerro Telapo´n. In this case, beginning on October 9, the Sun will need 73 days to reach the winter solstice. After another 73 days, the sun will return to align to the Templo Mayor, on March 4. From this date, the solar disk will embark on its long road to reach the summer solstice and return, closing the annual cycle on the following October 9, after exactly 3 times 73 days. The utilization of the same scheme of division of the year, both on the western and eastern horizons, suggests a very precise observation exercise. In order to ensure balance in the height of the horizon in both directions, it was necessary to choose the east–west position of the Templo Mayor with great care (Galindo 2013). Lo´pez Austin and Lo´pez Luja´n (2009) have recently studied the broad ceremonial and religious content of devotion at the Templo Mayor of Tenochtitlan.

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Certainly, the calendrical-astronomical orientation of this building gave it particular prestige, as it symbolzes a ritual harmony with the principles established by the gods for the correct passage of time. In addition, the wall painting, sculpture, architectural elements, and the various ceremonies that were performed in the building would complete a complex display of religious symbolism and of political power. Therefore the ruling elite was offering up a symbolic speech to compassionate deities who would favor them with large benefits, not only for the aristocracy but also for the people. This peculiar way of setting the orientation of the main architectural structures undoubtedly represents a fundamental feature of Mesoamerican identity. It appeared in the Preclassic period, and was manifested formidably in the last great Pre-Hispanic Kingdom in Mesoamerica: MexicoTenochtitlan.

References Aveni AF (1980) Skywatchers of ancient Mexico. University of Texas Press, Austin Aveni AF, Calnek E, Hartung H (1988) Myth, environment, and the orientation of the templo mayor of Tenochtitlan. American Antiquity 53(2):287–309 Galindo TJ (1994) Arqueoastronomı´a en la Ame´rica antigua. Consejo Nacional de Ciencia y Tecnologı´a/Equipo Sirius, Me´xico DF/Madrid Galindo TJ (2013) Mexico-Tenochtitlan: una ciudad disen˜ada en armonı´a con la cuenta del tiempo de sus fundadores. In: La ciudad de Me´xico escenario de las artes. Instituto de Investigaciones Este´ticas, UNAM, Me´xico DF (in press) Lo´pez Austin A, Lo´pez Luja´n L (2009) Monte sagrado-templo mayor. Universidad Nacional Auto´noma de Me´xico-Instituto Nacional de Antropologı´a e Historia, Me´xico DF Matos Moctezuma E (1984) Great temple of Tenochtitlan. Scientific American 251(2):70–79 Maudslay AP (1912) A note on the position and extent of the great temple enclosure of Tenochtitlan. Taylor and Francis, London Motolinia BT (1996) In: Dyer NJ (ed) Memoriales. Chapter VII, fol. 13r El Colegio de Me´xico, Me´xico DF Mundy BE (1996) The mapping of New Spain. The University of Chicago Press, Chicago/London O’Gorman E (1989) El libro perdido: ensayo de reconstruccio´n de la obra histo´rica extraviada de fray Toribio. Consejo Nacional para la Cultura y las Artes, Me´xico DF Sˇprajc I (2000) Astronomical alignments at the templo mayor of Tenochtitlan, Mexico. Archaeoastronomy 25(Supplement to the Journal for the History of Astronomy 31):11–40

Cave of the Astronomers at Xochicalco

56

Arnold Lebeuf

Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . New Measurements at Xochicalco . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The Practical Use of the Chimney at Xochicalco . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

749 752 757 757 757

Abstract

The chimney built in the roof of the artificial large cave at Xochicalco, known as “Cave of the astronomers”, has been interpreted as a solar zenithal observation tube. Nevertheless, different elements and especially the latitude of the site itself led the author to present a lunar hypothesis. Precise measurements of the impact of light inside the cave show the degree of precision that can be obtained in this camera obscura.

Introduction There was in the lands of Cuernavaca, in a certain cave, two persons, husband and wife, counted among the gods, the man was called Oxomoco and she was Cipactonal, and they were discussing together about it [the calendar]. Then it seemed to the woman it would be good to take advice of her nephew Quetzalcoalt (Geronimo de Mendieta Lib II. Cap. XIV).

The archaeological site of Xochicalco is situated at 18
480 North and 99
180 West, in the state of Morelos, Mexico, about 15 km Southwest of Cuernavaca. One of the

A. Lebeuf Institute for the History of Religions, Jagiellonian University, Krako´w, Poland e-mail: [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_58, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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most remarkable elements of architecture of that site is the chimney built of dry stones in the ceiling of an artificial cave known as “The cave of the astronomers”. The diameter of the chimney is roughly of 35/40 cm, and the distance from the upper opening to the ground in the cave is of 870 cm. This chimney is not perfectly vertical but slightly inclined toward the North. In the first mentions of archaeological reports, it had been named an “air vent” but was soon interpreted astronomically. (Togno 1892, names this cave “the cave of the sun” (“gruta del Sol”), which is very interesting because, although the chimney was then obstructed, this is the first mention that it could have any sort of relation to the observation of celestial objects and astronomy. Unfortunately we do not know from where he took this name.) The different authors who have studied and measured the chimney at Xochicalco agreed more or less together to interpret it as an instrument for the observation of the Sun, either to set the exact length of the tropical year or to divide this tropical year into two parts, of respectively 260 days for the penetration of sunlight inside the cave, and 105 days when the Sun’s rays do not reach the ground inside the cave (Nuttal 1928; Malmstro¨m 1973; Anderson 1981; Aveni and Hartung 1981; Broda 1986, 1993; Iwaniszewski 1991; Morante Lo´pez 1993). I shall not discuss these hypotheses here but see Lebeuf (1995, 2003). The proposal of an observation of the zenithal passage of the sun seems reasonable enough, considering the traditions frequently associated with the solar zenithal passages throughout the Mesoamerican subtropical area (Coggins 1982; Aveni et al. 1982; A. Villa Rojas, in M. Leon Portilla 1986, p. 136). Nevertheless, at Xochicalco, the appearance of a large spot of light at those moments of the year does not constitute a very convincing example of the great care for exactitude usually attributed to the builders by these authors. And we cannot find at Xochicalco any peculiar meaning or specific necessity in the solar calendar for these two dates of May 14/15 and July 28/29. But Xochicalco still constitutes an important cosmic axis if we consider the Moon and not the Sun. The latitude of Xochicalco is +18
480 1500 , which corresponds almost exactly to the declination of the Moon at the minor northern lunistice (18
190 with maximal inclination and 18
370 with minimal inclination in the middle of the seventh century). That is to say that the cave of the astronomers at Xochicalco is situated under the zenithal passage of the moon at one of its four absolute limits in declination, the northern minor standstill limit. This means that every month, the moon will reach the zenith of Xochicalco at least once when it crosses the meridian and, during the winter months, it cast its light vertically through the chimney and inside the cave. The very precise location of this site built over the terraces of a cut-out mountain leads one to think that it was chosen precisely and deliberately for this specificity of its latitude. In fact, only when the moonlight does not reach the zenith, or hardly reaches the zenith, are we informed that the moon has reached the precise northern minor lunistice with maximum inclination of the orbit (Fig. 56.1). This limiting situation only occurs at the minor standstill; the moon will generally progress further to the North each month, reaching as far as þ28.5
around the

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Fig. 56.1 The upper line represents the zenith at the latitude of Xochicalco in the seventh century; circles A and B show the positions of the Moon at the northern minor standstill limit with minimum and maximum inclination of the orbit of the moon to the ecliptic

major standstill. However, moonlight can only enter into the cave until it reaches the declination of the mean northern lunistice which is also roughly the declination of the Sun at Summer solstice (þ23.5
). Thus, the chimney and the cave can be used as a camera obscura for the measurement of the distance of the moon to the zenith at the time of the monthly lunistice during half of its draconitic (lunar node) cycle of 18.61 years (Figs. 56.2 and 56.3). The declination of the lunistice allows us to deduce the corresponding ecliptic longitudes of the nodes, which is the basic information needed to predict eclipses. So the cave of the astronomers at Xochicalco might well be a lunar observatory for the prediction of eclipses. Other testimonies to an interest in the moon and eclipses on this site support the idea that this coincidence of the latitude of Xochicalco with the declination of the northern minor lunistice is deliberate. • First, the frieze around the upper part of Temple of the Feathered Serpent is decorated with crossed circles usually interpreted as representations of eclipses (Pina Chan 1989; Noguera 1946, in Morante Lo´pez 1993, VII:50; see Fig. 56.4). • Second, there is a stela containing a representation of a crescent moon, rare in Mesoamerica (Fig. 56.5). • Third, there is a half-Moon graffito at the defensive narrow entrance to the cave of the astronomers at Xochicalco (Fig. 56.6). Relationships between the Moon and the underworld, caves or wells have frequently been found in Mesoamerican cultures. Le´on-Portilla (1986) writes of the Maya glyph meaning “a well”: “Chen (the well) is known with a variation of the glyph for the moon”. The Moon hides inside a well, in a cave (see Milbrath 1993;

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Fig. 56.2 Schematic plan of the cave of the astronomers at Xochicalco

1995, pp. 69–73, esp. p. 71). “Of the creation of the Moon, they say that when that one threw himself in the brazier and came out a Sun, the other jumped into a cave and became Moon” (Mendieta, Lib.II, Cap.IV). Finally, the translation of a fragment of the eclipse table on page 55 of the Dresden Codex gives: “Eclipse of the Sun, eclipse of the Moon, . . .bad luck for the humans, bad luck for the earth, bad luck for the wells, bad luck for the heaven, bad luck for the wells” (Grube, 2012, p. 136). The use of wells and caves or cameras obscuras to observe lunar movements is also known in Old World sources (Lebeuf 1990, 2011; see also ▶ Chap. 123, “The Nuraghic Well of Santa Cristina, Paulilatino, Oristano, Sardinia”). All this legitimates the analysis of the cave of the astronomers at Xochicalco as a possible lunar observatory.

New Measurements at Xochicalco We cannot be convinced that the rather roughly constructed stone chimney could have served for very precise observations in its present state. In times of its use, the chimney would have needed to be covered with a plaque and a small orifice; this would have been the only way to use it for precise observations by the projection of

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Fig. 56.3 The curve represents the declination of the northern lunistice during half of the draconic cycle of 18.61 years. It shows the direct relation of the position of the moon at the lunistice to the ecliptic longitude of the node. For example, when the highest monthly declination of the moon is þ18
370 (declination of the minor northern lunistice with minimum inclination), this means that the ascending node of the lunar orbit is at (or near) 180
ecliptic longitude. The tube at Xochicalco permits the measurement of the ecliptic longitude of the node from 100
to 180
, and symmetrically from 180
to 260
. The remainder of the cycle can be extrapolated because the regression of the node along the ecliptic is regular

a narrow beam of moonlight. We know from one of the earliest descriptions of the tube that it was formerly covered (Togno 1903), supposedly with a flat stone plaque, but we lack any further details to know if this plaque was pierced or not, which is very unfortunate (Fig. 56.7). (During my first fieldwork at Xochicalco I found, at a short distance from the upper opening of the chimney of the cave, in a heap of stones of the temazcal (steam bath), a well worked flat stone with a circular opening 6.5 cm in diameter. This diameter was used for the measurements in 1995, as it

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Fig. 56.4 Glyph of eclipse on the upper frieze of the temple of the feathered serpent

Fig. 56.5 Crescent Moon, stela at Xochicalco

gives the best result for casting a precise spot of light on the floor at a distance of 870 cm, considering the diameter of the solar or lunar discs.) New measurements were taken by first placing a piece of a cardboard with a circular opening 6.5 cm in diameter on the upper opening of the chimney and marking on the floor of the cave the point of impact of a plumbline hanging from the center of this upper orifice. Then, the west-to-east passage of moonlight on the floor

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Fig. 56.6 Half Moon at the narrow defensive entrance to the cave of the astronomers, Xochicalco

of the cave was observed five times, and marked as a line on the floor. The perpendicular distance to the point of the plumbline was measured. The ratio between these measurements and the vertical distance from the upper opening to the floor in the cave produces the angle between the lunar declination and the zenith. Table 56.1 presents the results of these observations and calculations compared to the results of modern astronomical calculation. This table shows that the difference does not reach 2 arc minutes, so that the uncertainty of the measurements by direct observation of the moonlight inside the cave is much less than the perturbation in the Moon’s orbit (18 arc minutes) and thus gives us the possibility of observing and measuring it. We are no longer dealing here with a ritual or ceremonial arrangement but with a real instrument for making precise measurements. As the results of the first experiment had been positive, it was necessary to take other measurements at Xochicalco. Next, therefore, I placed the upper orifice in such a way that the plumbline would fall as near as possible to the northernmost part of the chimney (tangential to the most protruding stone inside the northern part of the conduit), and marked again the impact on the ground inside the cave (point B, Fig. 56.2). Then, keeping the same upper point of attachment (in A), I pulled the line southward on the floor of the cave until it was tangential to the southern edge of the lower part of

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Fig. 56.7 The stone construction inside the chimney

Table 56.1 Table of the measurements taken at Xochicalco compared to the results of modern calculation

Date 27 Nov 1993 02 Dec 1993 08 Feb 1995 10 Feb 1995 11 Feb 1995

Distance in cm. on the floor 12.5 South 0.0 4.0 South 10.7 South 9.0 North

Angle to the zenith of Xochicalco (18
480 2000 ) +490 2300 0.0 +150 4800 +420 1700 350 3400

Declination obtained by direct observation inside the cave 19
370 4300 18
480 2000 19
040 0800 19
300 3700 18
120 4600

Declination obtained from modern calculations 19
360 1300 18
460 2600 19
050 5300 19
280 5000 18
140 3500

Difference +10 3000 +10 5400 10 4500 + 10 4700 10 4900

the chimney and marked the position on the ground (point C). The distance between these two points (B and C) is 78 cm which corresponds to an angle of 5
70 . This is exactly the mean of the maximum and minimum values of the inclination of the lunar orbit to the ecliptic (4
590 and 5
170 ). This means that the diagonal from the upper northern part to the southern lower part of the chimney marks exactly the declination of the Sun at the summer solstice or, equally well and better, the mean northern lunistice.

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The Practical Use of the Chimney at Xochicalco Every month, the moon reaches its northernmost limit. When this limit is situated between 18
190 and 23
370 , its light enters the chimney and touches the ground inside the cave. It is then possible to mark the center of the spotlight when it passes the meridian, for example, by depositing a pebble for the three consecutive nights including the moment of the lunistice proper. These observations allow us to verify the position of the northern lunistice. The positions of the nodes on the ecliptic and two dates correspond to each of the positions from B to C when the Sun passes them. Every full moon within 15 days of these dates will be eclipsed, and every New Moon within 15 days of these dates will eclipse the Sun. The question of the visibility of eclipses is easily solved for lunar eclipses but is much more complicated for Sun eclipses and will not be addressed here. This extremely simple system does not necessarily call for modern European astronomical concepts but can be purely empirical and any units of measurement can be used, as they are evidently purely conventional.

Cross-References ▶ Basic Concepts of Positional Astronomy ▶ Lunar Alignments - Identification and Analysis ▶ Nuraghic Well of Santa Cristina, Paulilatino, Oristano, Sardinia

References Anderson NS (1981) The solar observatory at Xochicalco and the Maya farmers almanac. Archeoastronomy: Bulletin of the Center for Archaeoastronomy 4(2):22–25 Aveni AF (1991) Observadores del cielo en el Me´xico antiguo. Fondo de Cultura Econo´mica, Me´xico DF Aveni AF, Hartung H (1981) The observation of the Sun at the time of passage through the zenith in Mesoamerica. Archaeoastronomy 3 (Supplement to the Journal for the History for Astronomy 12):S51–S70 Aveni AF, Hartung H, Kelley JC (1982) Alta Vista, un centro ceremonial mesoamericano en el tro´pico de cancer: implicaciones astrono´micas. Interciencia 7(4):200–210 Broda J (1993) Astronomical knowledge, calendrics and sacred geography in ancient Mesoamerica. In: Ruggles CLN, Saunders NJ (eds) Astronomies and cultures. University Press of Colorado, Niwot, pp 253–295 Broda J (1986) Arqueoastronomia e historia de la ciencia en Mesoamerica, in Boletin del Intituto Historicas, UNAM, Me´xico DF Closs M (1989) Cognitive aspects of ancient Maya eclipse theory. In: Aveni AF (ed) World archaeoastronomy. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, pp 389–415 Coggins C (1982) The zenith, the mountain, the center, and the Sea. In: Aveni AF, Urton G (eds) Ethnoastronomy and archeoastronomy in the American tropics. Annals of the New York Academy of Sciences 385, New York Academy of Sciences, New York, pp 111–123 Geronimo de Mendieta, 1945, Historia Eclesiastica Indiana, S. Chavez, Me´xico DF Grube N (2012) Der dresdener maya-kalender. Herder, Freiburg

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Iwaniszewski S (1991) La arqueologı´a y la astronomı´a en teotihuacan. In: Broda J, Iwaniszewski S, Maupome´ L (eds) Arqueoastronomı´a y etnoastronomı´a en Mesoame´rica. Universidad Nacional Auto´noma de Me´xico, Me´xico DF, pp 269–290 Lebeuf A (1995) Astronomia en Xochicalco. In: Gonza´lez N, De la Fuente B, Wimer J (eds) La acropolis de Xochicalco. Instituto de Cultura de Morelos, Cuernavaca, pp 211–287 Lebeuf A (2003) Les e´clipses dans l’ancien Me´xique. Jagielonian University Press, Krako´w Lebeuf A (1990) “Les yeux de Sainte-Lucie”: une alle´gorie astronomique dans la cathe´drale SaintLizier. The`se de doctorat, E´cole des Hautes E´tudes en Sciences Sociales, Paris Lebeuf A (2011) Il pozzo di Santa Cristina, un osservatorio lunare, Tlilantlapalan, Krako´w Leon Portilla M (1986) Tiempo y realidad en el pensamiento maya, 2nd edn. Universidad Nacional Auto´noma de Me´xico, Me´xico DF Malmstro¨m VH (1973) Origin of the Mesoamerican 260-day calendar. Science 181:939–941 Milbrath S (1993) Postclassic metaphors for lunar motion. In: Macri MJ, Mc Hargue J (eds) Palenque Round Table, vol X. Precolumbian Art Research Institute, Washington DC Milbrath S (1995) Gender and roles of lunar deities in postclassic Central Mexico and their correlations with the Maya area. Estudios de Cultura Nahuatl 25:45–93 Morante Lo´pez RB (1993) Evidencias del conocimiento astrono´mico en Xochicalco, Morelos. Master´s Thesis, Escuela Nacional de Antropologı´a e Historia, Me´xico DF Noguera (1946) Exploraciones in Xochicalco, Cuadernos Americanos, (ano 4) 19(1):119–157 Nuttal Z (1928) La observaciones del paso del Sol por el Zenit por los antiguos habitantes de la America tropical. Publicaciones de la Secretarı´a de Educacio´n Pu´blica 17(20) Pina-Chan, Roman (1989) Xochicalco: El mitico Tamoanchan. INAH, Me´xico DF Thompson JE (1959) Grandeza y decadencia de los mayas. Fondo de Cultura Econo´mica, Me´xico DF Togno JB (1903) Xochicalco, documento topogra´fico y te´cnico-militar de sus ruinas por el ingeniero Juan B. Togno, 1892. In: Pen˜afiel A (ed) Documentos publicados en manuscritos de Texcoco. Editorial Inovacion, Me´xico DF

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Contents Conventions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Calendars . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The Divinatory Calendar . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The Year . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Dates of Special Salience . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Practices and Practitioners . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Abstract

A great deal is known about colonial Zapotec calendar systems. Every panMesoamerican system was in use: the divinatory/sacred calendar of 260 days, together with its partition into 13- and 20-day subdivisions; the civil year of 365 days and its subdivision into eighteen 20-day months plus a final period of 5 days; and the cycle of 52 years, a permutation of the divinatory and civil calendars. A surprising amount is known about the activities and professional tools and practices of the calendar specialists, and about the ways that calendrical knowledge was transmitted. We have scant information on Zapotec astronomical knowledge and practices, believed to have been in their hands, but an understanding of the timing of eclipses was among their applications of calendrical constructs.

J. Justeson University at Albany, Albany, NY, USA e-mail: [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_61, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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Conventions Citations of colonial Zapotec forms are presented between angled brackets (e.g., ‹cocii›). Words attested across different Zapotec languages are presented in proto-Zapotec garb (e.g., kossi); actual reconstructions, preceded by *, are due to Kaufman (1994–2007). Proclitics – unstressed words preposed to other forms – are marked by a following +, e.g., the noun classifiers *ko+ and *kwe+. Original *kw most often corresponds to p in forms of Zapotec discussed here, which except when geminate is typically transcribed ‹b› in colonial Northern Zapotec. Spellings of consonants in colonial forms are generally reliable, but suprasegmental vowel features of breathiness, laryngealization, length, and tone are not represented.

Calendars The Divinatory Calendar The vast majority of what is known from colonial sources about Zapotec calendars and their uses concerns the 260-day DIVINATORY CALENDAR (DC). Like DCs throughout Mesoamerica, its Zapotec variant consisted of two permuting components: a VEINTENA cycle of 20 named days – corresponding to the base-20 structure of Mesoamerican numeration generally – and an independent TRECENA cycle of 13 days. The full name of a DC day consisted of a root that corresponds to the day’s position in the veintena, plus a preposed element that corresponds to the day’s position in the trecena. No Zapotec term for the DC is known. While it is widely reported that its name was something like piye´, this word is applied in indigenous calendar manuals (see below) to the DC, the 365-day year, the cycle of 52 years, and the 13-year subdivisions of that cycle. Fray Juan de Co´rdova’s (1578b) dictionary lists it for both calendrical and noncalendrical time periods, possibly including a particular Zapotec month. The same or a similar term was used for a tenth digit (the little finger of the left hand and the little toe of the left foot; Co´rdova 1578a, pp. 213–214); it may apply to complete groupings of comparable components. Its etymology is unknown, but it probably consists of a proclitic pi + (< proto-Zapotecan *kwi+) plus a root pronounced something like ye. We have two ample and systematic sources about the DC. For Central/Valley Zapotec, Co´rdova (1578a) provides a detailed description, including the information that the day started at noon – possibly uniquely in Mesoamerica; he also lays out one complete cycle of 260 named days. For Northern Zapotec of the Villalta area, 103 calendrical manuals, most of them laying out the full cycle, were surrendered to Spanish authorities as part of communal confessions of heathen practices (Alcina Franch 1993); it survives in the Archives of the Indies (AGI) in Seville, Spain. Because Zapotecs were named for the DC day of their birth, numerous examples of day names are scattered through other colonial sources, especially in sixteenth- and seventeenth-century legal records (also in annotated pictorial genealogies of political leaders that reach back to the pre-Columbian era; see, e.g., Whitecotton 1990; Oudijk 2000).

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The Trecena The 13-day (trecena) cycle was a kossi, a term whose broader denotation was seemingly a subdivision of any complete (major?) cycle of time; it is recorded by Co´rdova and survives in present-day Central and Northern Zapotec, as ‘season (of the year)’. The trecena seems to have played the leading role in conceptually structuring the DC and in organizing its presentation in the manuals. In Co´rdova’s layout of the calendar, each trecena is labelled as a numbered kossi. Several manuals divide the DC into successive demarcated trecenas, each named for its first day; and each trecena commonly occupies an entire page. In some manuals, every trecena is introduced by a statement that it emerges from the ‘house’ of the earth, the underworld, the earth, or the upper world – a recurring cycle of four houses – in that order. Co´rdova states that the DC is broken up formally into four quarters of 65 days, each called a ‹cociyo› (approximately ¼ kossiyo). In his layout, every 65-day segment is so labelled and numbered one through four; each is named by its first day. Some northern manuals also label these segments, occasionally numbered (spelled ‹cozio› or orthographically equivalent variants). Widely thought to be the word *ko + sseɁyu ‘thunder, lightning, the storm god’, it more plausibly derives from kossi ‘trecena’. (I suggest that it is kossi yoɁo ‘trecena of houses’; the four quarters go through the cycle of four trecena houses and in the same order.) In Mesoamerica generally, the day in the trecena is encoded in the day name by a numeral between 1 and 13. Co´rdova and a few manuals postpose such a numeral to the Zapotec name of each day. However, this is rare in the manuals, and the numeral never appears in personal names. Instead, or in addition, an “augment” that corresponds to the trecena position is preposed to the root of each day name (Table 57.1). The augment consists of one or two elements, possibly also noun classifiers. The first (obligatory) element corresponds to the numeral. The second (optional) element appears between the obligatory element and the veintena name; it was pronounced something like la or lla and may be the proclitic *lla+ of *lla+ ni ‘festival’ and *ko+ lla+ ni ‘calendar specialist’. When the augment ends in a vowel and the root begins with a vowel, one vowel or the other is eliminated. The Veintena The cycle of 20 named days (Table 57.2) is structurally like that of other Mesoamerican calendars. There is a recognized first position in the sequence, expressed as usual in Mesoamerica by a word for cayman (in Zapotec, by its root). Most of the names have a meaning in the general vocabulary, generally being the root of a word for an animal, plant, or force of nature. The meanings of days 1–4, 7, 9, 11, 13–14, and 16–17 agree with those of corresponding days in other systems; the meaning of day 6 ‘stinking (meat, fish)’ relates in many Mesoamerican languages to death (Yucatec Maya kis as the root of kisin ‘death god’). Five other names (10, 15, 16, 18, 20) show discrepancies peculiar to Zapotec; three (5, 8, 19) are of unknown meaning. For veintena names that occur in normal vocabulary with an (obligatory) noun classifier – such as *kw+ eeʔ ‘wind’, *k+ eeʔla ‘night’, *kwe+ tzinaʔ ‘deer’,

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Table 57.1 Colonial Zapotec day name augments. Co´rdova labels forms extracted by Kaufman (2000) from Co´rdova (1578a); Villalta labels forms extracted by the author from Oudijk’s (2005) transcriptions of the Villalta manuals

Co´rdova

Basic phonemic Trecena shape numeral gyag  gyaj 1

Villalta Co´rdova Villalta Co´rdova Villalta Co´rdova Villalta Co´rdova Villalta Co´rdova Villalta Co´rdova Villalta Co´rdova Villalta Co´rdova Villalta

yag be-la yeo-lo be-la yo-lo beo-la yeo-lo bel yo-lo kka-la (k)ka-la kwa-la kwa-a bil-la bil-la nel 0-la

Co´rdova Villalta Co´rdova Villalta Co´rdova Villalta

0-l 0-l bino bene beze yeze

2 9 3 5 4 6 7, 10 8 11 12 13

Before l gyaC gyaj yag [ yagy] be-la y(e)o(lo) be-la yo(lo) beo-la y(e)o be yo kka-la (k)ka-la kwa-la kwa(la) bil-la bi(la) ne 0 [ (y)a  na] ne na  ya  0 bino  bina bene beze yeze

Before other consonant gya gyaj yag be y(e)o(lo) be yo(lo) beo y(e)o(lo) be yo(lo) kka [(k)ka-]la kwa kwa bil(la) bi(la) ne 0  0-la [ ya  na] ne 0-la bino bene beze yeze

Before vowel gyag gyaj yagy [ yag] be-l yo-l be-l yo-l beo-l y(e)ol bel yol kka-l (k)ka-l kwa-l kwa-l bill bil ne-l 0-l 0-l 0-l bin ben  bin bez yiz

*k+ ii ‘reed’, and *kw+ eeʔtzi(k) ‘large wild feline’ – the trecena augment appears in place of the classifier (e.g., yageeʔ ‘1 wind’, yageeʔla ‘1 night’, yagtzinaʔ ‘1 deer’, yagii ‘1 reed’, yageeʔtzi ‘1 jaguar’).

Shorter Cycles Associated with the DC Alcina Franch (1993) recognized a 4-day cycle of auspicious and inauspicious days in the AGI manuals; each day in the cycle was associated with a one-word augury. Justeson and Tava´rez (2007, p. 44) identify a 7-day cycle through a set of Zapotec annotations that repeat at multiples of 7 days from one another. The 260-day cycle also had five 52-day subdivisions. These subdivisions, not previously reported, are reflected by systematic patterns of alternating annotations in trecena positions 6 and 13 in the Villalta manuals, in which identical sets of annotations repeat at 52-day intervals. One typical pattern is displayed in Fig. 57.1. The annotations often relate to and in many manuals incorporate the vocabulary of the system of trecena houses (See section “The Trecena”). In any manual showing such a pattern, annotations 20 days apart typically relate, either by contrast or by equivalence or similarity, the relation being consistent throughout the manual.

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Table 57.2 Colonial Zapotec day names. Co´rdova, as extracted by Kaufman (2000) from Co´rdova (1578a), except for days 2 and 13, extracted by the author; Northern Zapotec, extracted by the author from Oudijk’s (2005) transcriptions of the Villalta manuals; proto-Zapotec reconstructions from Kaufman (1993–2007); meanings based on Kaufman (2000), informed by Urcid (2001)

1 2 3 4

Co´rdova, Arte chilla ii EEla Echi

Colonial Northern Zapotec chila ee Ela Echi

5 6

zii laana

c¸ee lana

7

china

8 9 10

Proto-Zapotec comparison kwe+ ttyiʔilla kw+ eeʔ ty/k+ eeʔla ko+ wattziʔ

Meaning in colonial Zapotec cayman wind night big lizard

tzina

kwe+ tzinaʔ

(meaning unknown) smelling like fish, meat deer

laba nic¸a tella

laba niza tela  dela

nissa

11

loo

lao

12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20

piia ii Eche nnaa loo xoo opa aappe lao

biaa ee Etzi ina lao xoo opa Epag lao

(meaning unknown) water knot monkey

(kwe+) yaʔa k+ ii kw+ eeʔtzi(k) yaaʔna (kwe+) xoo k+ okkwaʔ lawo

soaproot reed jaguar corn farming crow earthquake root of cold and dew (meaning unknown) face

Original meaning in Mesoamerica generally Cayman Wind night lizard [esp. iguana] Snake death deer [not brocket] rabbit [not hare] water dog [maybe coyote] monkey [esp. howler] tooth or twist reed jaguar eagle buzzard, crow earthquake flint storm macaw

Manual 65 instantiates the pattern similarly, though with several annotations missing in trecena position 13. Different sets of annotations that conform to the same recurrence pattern, sometimes with few but possibly structured deviations, occur in at least 16 other manuals (4, 5, 6, 8, 12, 14, 15, 30, 36, 47, 53, 54, 57, 84, 89, and 90). A less common recurrence pattern is A B A C, E F G F (manuals 18?, 19, 20, 22, 24, 25, 26, 31, 32, 67).

The Year The Zapotec year (*yisa) consisted of 365 days, with no leap days. It was subdivided into 18 20-day units; as in several other Mesoamerican languages, these “months” were referred to by the word for ‘moon’ (*kw+ eɁyoɁ). The year ended with a 5-day period.

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I

II

III

IV

V

VI

VII

VIII

IX

X

XI

XII

XIII

XIV

XV

XVI XVII XVIII XIX

XX

1 2 3 4 5 6

A B C D A B C D A B C D A B C D A B C D

7 8 9 10 11 12 13

E F G F E F G F E F G F E F G F E F G F

Fig. 57.1 Schematic of the 52-day cycle in manuals 60 and 61 of the AGI collection (English glosses provided by David Tava´rez). Annotations accord with the following key: A ‹birog ti c¸eag raa› it came out (and) goes above, B ‹bebi ti raa› it returned to above, C ‹birog ti c¸eag chi› it came out (and) goes below, D ‹bebi ti chi› it returned to below, E ‹beho ti raa› it went up above, F ‹bechina ti ni› it arrived here, G ‹bexog ti chi› it fell to below, H ‹bechina ti ni› it arrived here

Co´rdova does not discuss the Zapotec year at all. Its structure is laid out in one Villalta manual (Alcina Franch 1993), each month having a label that is plausibly but not surely its name (Urcid 2001, pp. 87–88; Justeson and Tava´rez 2007, pp. 32–34). Calendar specialists performed rituals in association with the entry of a new year; one manual marks the DC date of the new year ceremonies – not explicitly but by labelling it with the saint’s day on which the new year began. Another refers to new year ceremonies for a year Five Earthquake (in 1663) by saying that the year ‘seated itself’ on that day (Justeson and Tava´rez 2007, pp. 56–57). Each year was named, like each trecena and each cociyo, by its first day. The DC and the year commensurate in 52 years (52  365 ¼ 73  260), so the year names repeat in a cycle of 52. The 52 year names are laid out in sequence in more than half of the manuals, after the DC. Usually they are divided into four lists, each 13 years long; sometimes these 13-year sections were labelled as ‘cycles’ (pi+ ye), each such cycle named for its first year (One Earthquake, One Wind, One Deer, and One Soaproot); in one manual they are numbered as piye´ one through piye´ four.

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Dates of Special Salience Calendar specialists (ko+ lla+ ni, literally, ‘festival person’; hereafter, colanı´) annotated their manuals to mark dates of special salience for indigenous religious practices, community events, or divination. Some of these dates were marked by comments in Zapotec. This is the case for the 4-day cycle of auspicious and inauspicious days, for the stations at the end of the “half trecenas” in the 52-day cycle and for certain other dates of uncertain significance. Other DC dates were marked by annotations in Spanish; at least 25 mention a Gregorian date or a saint’s feast day. Four such annotations, in a manual published by Alcina Franch (1993), showed that February 23, 1695 (Gregorian) equates with the day 11 Earthquake as the first day of the yisa that he also published. This result was verified by Justeson and Tava´rez (2007), mostly through our recognition of more date annotations in two unpublished manuals. The DC correlation is the same as among the Aztecs, most likely due to known late pre-Columbian Aztec influence in Oaxaca (Justeson and Tava´rez 2007, pp. 66–68). The correlation permits us to recognize the unspecified reasons for some annotations. Among the annotated dates are the first day of a Zapotec year; a 2-day ceremony beginning on the last day of the DC and ending on the first; a procession in the community associated with January 1st, and so perhaps with the installation of local officials; and three annotations of astronomical significance within Zapotec cosmology, involving four eclipses. Two full passes through the DC, at 520 days, exceed three nodal passages by under 2 hours. Eclipses therefore occur in three segments of the DC and often recur on the same DC day at multiples of 520 days. The shortest near recurrence comes when 516–518 days separates a solar and lunar eclipse; the shortest exact return occurs after 2,600 days. Eclipse recurrences in the DC were given particular attention by some colanı´s (Tava´rez and Justeson 2008). A solar eclipse, total in Northern Zapotec country, that occurred on August 23, 1691, and a total lunar eclipse that occurred 517 days later, are remarked upon in annotations to the corresponding DC dates in one manual (Fig. 57.2); the earlier, lunar eclipse is referred to as background information contextualizing the later but previously mentioned solar eclipse. Two partial lunar eclipses visible in the region in 1686 and 1694, 2,600 days apart, are alluded to obliquely by an annotation alongside the day 11 Water “29 November Saturday St. Gregory” (1686). Eclipse recurrence in the DC seems to have been part of colanı´ astronomical observation and theory.

Practices and Practitioners The richest study of the calendar specialists (colanı´s) is Tava´rez’s (2011) account; his data and analysis are based largely on archival records of judicial proceedings against the calendar specialists, their clients, and other townspeople, partly building

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Fig. 57.2 Zapotec and Spanish eclipse annotations of folio 4r, manual 81 of the AGI collection; translation by David Tava´rez (Justeson and Tava´rez 2007). Alongside 2 Jaguar: “Wednesday. On this day, the moon got eaten [eclipsed]. It floated in the air. January 21, year of 1693”. Alongside 5 Corn: “It was on a Thursday, previously, (that) the sun burned [eclipsed]. August 23, year of 169[1]”. (1692 is recorded, erroneously)

on Berlin’s (1957) seminal work for the Western Zapotec region. Oudijk’s (2005) transcriptions are the most accessible source of primary data for 1704–1705 Villalta records. Active knowledge of indigenous calendars appears to have been limited to colanı´s. A colanı´ arranged community festivals, organized sacrifices (typically of chickens, puppies, or cacao) for particular days, determined auspicious dates for other activities, and assigned calendrical names to newborn children. Judging from the manuals, unrecorded knowledge would have been needed to make use of the documents in connection with most of this work. In the north, colanı´s were men, but in the west some few were women. We have scant information on their training, but each appears to have learned the trade from another colanı´, in some cases from their father. In the northern manuals, the days of the divinatory calendar and the names of the years are written out, usually in full and in a single hand; evidently a single individual was responsible for the initial production of the manual. Some colanı´s distributed copies of their manual to colanı´s in other towns (Oudijk and Romero 2003, p. 37). Some were copied from that of another colanı´, and some were passed down from father to son. Some colanı´s copied their manual from one in a different form of Zapotec. The manuals show that northern colanı´s annotated their calendrical notebooks with information concerning particular events; the handwriting of some annotations differs from that of the calendar, reflecting a role of more than one individual at different stages of their production and active use. Gregorian dates and feast day annotations, marking these corresponding Zapotec dates as having special salience without specifying its nature, seem intended to keep the significance of these dates opaque for the uninitiated; it would have helped to keep the colanı´s’ specialized knowledge within the community of specialists.

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Among Western Zapotecs of the Sola de Vega region, some colanı´s were illiterate and did not use texts, but most were literate and kept a working manual in which the calendars were laid out. These manuals were kept within their families, passed on by inheritance, and colanı´s also made and distributed copies of their own manuals, especially to other colanı´s or to clients who were their kin; occasionally they sold them. Berlin (1957, p. 17) reports that one notebook had been copied into Solteco Zapotec from Chatino (a language more different from Zapotec than French is from Romanian). Although they provided some level of explanation of the manuals, only trained colanı´s were able to use them. All of these manuals were confiscated by civil or ecclesiastical authorities and destroyed. Acknowledgments I thank Terrence Kaufman for discussion of etymological issues addressed in this entry, and Michel Oudijk and David Tava´rez for discussion of the 52-day cycle annotations.

References Alcina Franch J (1993) Calendario y religio´n entre los zapotecos. Universidad Nacional Auto´noma de Me´xico, Me´xico DF Berlin-Neubart H (1957) Las antiguas cree´ncias en San Miguel Sola´, Oaxaca, Me´xico. Beitr€age zur Mittelamerikanische Vo¨lkerkunde, Band IV. Hamburgischen Museums f€ ur Vo¨lkerkunde und Vorgeschichte, Berlin Co´rdova Fray Juan de (1578a) Arte del idioma zapoteca. Casa de Pedro Ballı´, Me´xico DF Co´rdova Fray Juan de (1578b) Vocabvlario en lengva c¸apoteca. Pedro de Ocharte y Antonio Ricardo, Me´xico DF Justeson J, Tava´rez D (2007) The correlation between the colonial northern Zapotec and Gregorian calendars. In: Ruggles CLN, Urton G (eds) Skywatching in the ancient world: new perspectives in cultural astronomy. University Press of Colorado, Boulder, pp 17–82 Kaufman T (1994–2007) Proto-Zapotec reconstructions. Unpublished manuscript. p 77 Kaufman T (2000) Day-names of the Mesoamerican calendar. Unpublished manuscript. p 105 Oudijk M (2000) Historiography of the Beniza´a: the postclassic and early colonial periods (1000–1600 A.D.). Research School of Asian, African, and Amerindian Studies, Leiden Oudijk M (2005) Transcription of AGI Me´xico 882. Unpublished manuscript, version of summer 2005, p 244 Oudijk M, Romero Frizzi M (2003) Los tı´tulos primordiales: un ge´nero de tradicio´n mesoamericana del mundo prehispa´nico al siglo XXI. Relaciones 24(095):19–48 Tava´rez D (2011) The invisible war: indigenous devotions, discipline, and dissent in colonial Mexico. Stanford University Press, Stanford Tava´rez D, Justeson J (2008) Eclipse records in a collection of colonial Zapotec 260-day calendars. Ancient Mesoamerica 19:67–81 Urcid Serrano J (2001) Zapotec hieroglyphic writing. Dumbarton Oaks, Washington, DC Whitecotton JW (1990) Zapotec elite ethnohistory: pictorial genealogies from eastern Oaxaca. Vanderbilt University Publications in Anthropology, no 39, Nashville

Layout of Ancient Maya Cities

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Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cultural Context . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Scientific Evidence . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Archaeoastronomical Significance . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Future Directions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Abstract

Although there is little doubt that the ancient Maya of Mesoamerica laid their cities out based, in part, on astronomical considerations, the proliferation of “cosmograms” in contemporary scholarly discourse has complicated matters for the acceptance of rigorous archaeoastronomical research.

Introduction The ancient Maya people of Belize, Guatemala, southeastern Mexico, and western Honduras build large urban settlements that frequently had, at their heart, a variety of temple structures. These structures are frequently the focus of archaeological investigations and have been found to have served a variety of purposes in ancient Maya life, including “homes for the gods, a place to worship, a stage for ceremonies, a depository for offerings, and a place to redistribute goods”, and also served as a locus of political competition (Lucero 2007, p. 407). Different parts of ancient Maya cities seem to have been located metaphorically, according to the cardinal

G.R. Aylesworth Anthropology, St. Thomas University, Fredericton, NB, Canada e-mail: [email protected]; [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_66, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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directions. The east–west emphasis in the layout of earlier Maya building complexes later gave way to a north–south emphasis. Further, there is no doubt that within Maya culture, the cardinal directions were “associated with particular deities, colors, birds, trees, and other symbolic elements. . .[and] were important components of Mesoamerican mythology, cosmology, and ritual practice” (Smith 2005, p. 217).

Cultural Context The placement of buildings, their arrangement at ancient Maya sites, has been interpreted as an expression of cosmological and political order (Ashmore and Sabloff 2002; Aveni and Hartung 1989). While factors other than cosmology, such as the political life history of a city, influenced planning and spatial order, cosmology has been interpreted as an important consideration owing to architectural layouts that are internally consistent (Ashmore and Sabloff 2002). On the other hand, the suggestion that the internal layout of temples within ancient Maya cities reflects an ancient Maya intent to build cosmograms has been questioned as a “speculative interpretation”, that is, as assertions that are less than rigorous (Smith 2005, p. 217). Sˇprajc (2005), however, has countered that sufficient rigor has been applied in these interpretations and that advances in archaeoastronomical methods and field research have led to specific and robust interpretations of the cosmological underpinnings of urbanism and architecture in Mesoamerica.

Scientific Evidence Ashmore and Sabloff (2002, p. 201) argued that “the position and arrangement of ancient Maya buildings and arenas emphatically express statements about cosmology and political order”. These authors correlate the relative complexity of ancient Maya city layouts with the length and complexity of their political histories, as learned from archaeological and epigraphic evidence. The longer and more complex the political history of an ancient Maya city, they argue, the more complex the mix of building strategies and planning principles. With reference to the ancient Maya cities of Copan, Xunantunich, Sayil, Seibal, and Tikal, Ashmore and Sabloff extend the arguments made previously by Ashmore (1991) that directionality, that is, the cardinal directions, was critically important conceptually and metaphorically in the layout of ancient Maya cities. Within ancient Maya cities, smaller assemblages of architecture, such as the twin pyramid groups of Tikal, represent spatial order, while “the site as a whole is a complicated assemblage of many city-planning principles” (Ashmore and Sabloff 2002, p. 210). Moreover, Ashmore and Sabloff suggest that the north–south axis, with north representing the heavens, is a “dynastic” axis that is emphasized in later ancient Maya city layouts, while the east–west “solar” axis is emphasized in the

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layout of earlier Preclassic architecture. At ancient Maya cities such as Tikal, inhabited for centuries, the shift in emphasis, the changes in architectural form and layout, are ascribed to “shifts in political fortunes over many generations of dynastic rule” (Ashmore and Sabloff 2002, p. 210). In the larger political sphere, the interaction between ancient Maya cities, a number of archaeologists have noted that the north–south emphasis in layout indicates political alliances and is linked to the layout of the large sites of Tikal and Copan.

Archaeoastronomical Significance Smith (2003, 2005) was critical of the suggestion that ancient Maya cities had strong cosmological influences in their layouts, in particular, noting that “poorly supported speculations are being treated like established empirical findings” (Smith 2005, p. 217). One of Smith’s chief concerns relates to interpretations of cosmograms in ancient Maya city planning, whereby there has been a proliferation of the use of the term “cosmogram” among Mayanists, who have applied it to the layout of the architecture of numerous ancient Maya sites, both to buildings and to the location of features such as reservoirs, stelae, causeways, and even the bodies of rulers. It is the proliferation of the use of the term cosmogram in the late 1990s and early 2000s, and its poorly defined nature, with which Smith (2005) specifically took issue. Sˇprajc (2005, p. 209) agreed with Smith (2005) about the recent proliferation of cosmograms in our contemporary interpretations of the ancient Maya world, stating that it is “the result more of a kind of fashion trend than of serious research supported by evidence”. Nevertheless, Sˇprajc (2005, p. 210) did see rigor and value in some interpretations of cosmograms in ancient Mesoamerica, noting that “to conclude, with a reasonable degree of confidence, that an architectural orientation, or any alignment recognized in the archaeological record or ancient cultural landscape, had an intentionally chosen astronomical target”, one needs a statistically significant sample of alignments or independent evidence suggesting an astronomical motive for an alignment. In short, although Sˇprajc saw the proliferation of the “cosmogram”, sometimes uncritically applied in scholarly discourse to be somewhat troubling, he found that there were many studies of Maya and other Mesoamerican cities that were both rigorous in terms of significance and also met the requirement of having supporting evidence that was independent of astronomical alignments and fit within the cultural context in the ancient world. Ashmore and Sabloff (2003), countered Smith’s (2003) critique by earlier (2002) work in the scientific method. Not all suggestions about cosmograms in the layout of ancient Maya buildings, cities, and features are backed up by multiple lines of evidence. It is not the case, however, that one can simply discount the spatial order and planning of all ancient buildings based on the fact that some interpretations have been less than rigorous assertions. One of the issues that Sˇprajc (2005) identified was a communication gap

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between practitioners of archaeoastromony and other archaeologists – it seemed to be the case that while archaeoastronomers were following the work of others in their specialization, the wider community of Mesoamericanists and archaeologists were not reading the work of the archaeoastronomers.

Future Directions There can be little doubt that the ancient Maya planned their cities based on cardinality and that, over time, the vagaries of political fortunes and other demands had an influence on the layout of those cities. Although directionality was important in ancient Maya city planning, more earthly demands had an effect on the layout of ancient Maya cities as well. If, as Sˇprajc noted, the fascination with cosmograms was nothing more than a contemporary fashion trend, the less rigorous statements about the layout of ancient Maya buildings and features will eventually yield to the more rigorous studies. This is particularly true as archaeoastronomy itself becomes more accepted as a “mainstream” archaeological discipline.

Cross-References ▶ E-Group Arrangements ▶ Governor’s Palace at Uxmal

References Ashmore W (1991) Site-planning principles and concepts of directionality among the ancient Maya. Lat Am Antiq 2(3):199–226 Ashmore W, Sabloff JA (2002) Spatial order in Maya civic plans. Lat Am Antiq 13(2):201–215 Ashmore W, Sabloff JA (2003) Interpreting ancient Maya civic plans: reply to Smith. Lat Am Antiq 14(2):229–236 Aveni A, Hartung H (1989) Maya city planning and the calendar. Trans Am Philos Soc New Ser 76(7):1–87 Lucero LJ (2007) Classic Maya temples, politics, and the voice of the people. Lat Am Antiq 18(4):407–427 Smith ME (2003) Can we read cosmology in ancient Maya city plans? Comment on Ashmore and Sabloff. Lat Am Antiq 14(2):221–228 Smith ME (2005) Did the Maya build architectural cosmograms? Lat Am Antiq 16(2):217–224 Sˇprajc I (2005) More on Mesoamerican cosmology and city plans. Lat Am Antiq 16(2):209–216

Governor’s Palace at Uxmal Ivan Sˇprajc

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Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Orientation of the Palace and Its Astronomical Significance . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Conclusion . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Abstract

The orientation of the Governor’s Palace at the Classic Maya city of Uxmal can be related to the extremes of the planet Venus on the horizon. While the sculptural decoration of the building contains iconographic elements clearly indicating an association with the planet, two opposing interpretations have been forwarded regarding its orientation, one linking it with the southernmost rising point of the morning star and the other suggesting it refers to the northerly extremes of the evening star.

Introduction Uxmal, situated in the northwestern part of the Yucatan peninsula, in Mexico, is one of the largest and most famous archaeological sites pertaining to the Maya civilization. The buildings preserved in the core area of the ancient city, which reached its florescence in the Late and Terminal Classic periods

I. Sˇprajc Institute of Anthropological and Spatial Studies, Research Center of the Slovenian Academy of Sciences and Arts, Ljubljana, Slovenia e-mail: sprajc@zrc-sazu C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_68, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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Fig. 59.1 Uxmal, Palace of the Governor, viewing southwest

(ca. AD 800–1000), apparently as the capital of a regional state, are typical of the so-called Puuc architectural style, characterized by finely dressed stones and sophisticated fac¸ade decorations composed of stone mosaics. One of the most prominent constructions of Uxmal is the magnificent building traditionally known as the Palace (or House) of the Governor, “thought by many to be the finest example of pre-Columbian architecture in the Americas” (Pollock 1980, p. 242). The 99-m long multiroom building with a rectangular ground plan faces east and has eleven doorways on the main fac¸ade and two more on the north and south sides (Fig. 59.1). Decorated with latticework, step frets, masks of the rain god Chac, and other typical elements of the Puucstyle architectural sculpture, the Palace stands on an elongated platform, which itself sits upon a huge, roughly square basal platform; measuring some 150 m along its sides and rising up to 14 m above the surrounding ground level, this is one of the most voluminous constructions in the northern Maya Lowlands (Barrera Rubio 1991). In the plaza upon the platform and in front of the Palace, a cylindrical stone monument traditionally called picota and a small platform with a double-headed jaguar throne are placed roughly along the central east-west axis of the building (Fig. 59.2). Serving as a royal residence or as an administrative center, or both, the Palace was probably commissioned by the ruler Chan Chak Kᛌakᛌnal Ahaw (commonly known as Lord Chac), who reigned in the polity of Uxmal around AD 900 and was also responsible for the construction of other important buildings of the city (Kowalski 1987, 2003; Bricker and Bricker 1996, p. 195ff).

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Fig. 59.2 View through the central doorway of the Governor’s Palace to the southeast; note the picota stone and the platform with the double-headed jaguar throne in front of the Palace, and the Cehtzuc pyramid barely visible on the horizon

Orientation of the Palace and Its Astronomical Significance Noticing that the Governor’s Palace, whose main fac¸ade aligns 28
110 , is notably skewed relative to the prevailing orientations at Uxmal, Aveni (1975, p. 182ff, Table 5) and Aveni and Hartung (1986, p. 22ff) suggested it was deliberately oriented to the maximum southerly extremes of Venus as morning star, and mentioned some iconographic elements supporting this interpretation: More than 350 Venus glyphs are preserved on the building’s fac¸ade (Figs. 59.3 and 59.4), and numerals 8 are sculptured in the Maya dot-bar notation over the eyes of the Chac masks placed at both northern corners of the building (Fig. 59.5). It may be added that eight stylized double-headed serpents are set in the decoration above the central doorway (Fig. 59.6). While these motives may refer to the mean 8-day disappearance interval of the planet around inferior conjunction, it is also possible, or even more likely, that the 8-year Venus cycle is implied (Seler 1908; Bricker and Bricker 1996, p. 195): since the Chac masks on the main fac¸ade are diagonally arranged and vertically stacked in groups of five (Figs. 59.3 and 59.4), the two numbers highlighted in the iconography of the Palace probably reflect the equivalence of five synodic periods of Venus of 584 days – which was the canonical length used by the Maya and other Mesoamericans (true mean length: 583.92 days) – and eight calendrical years of 365 days. The awareness of this correspondence is clearly attested in several pre-Hispanic and Contact-period manuscripts, most clearly in the Postclassic Maya Dresden Codex, which contains a Venus Table composed of five pages covering one synodic period each. According to Aveni (1975, p. 183f) and Aveni and Hartung (1986, p. 27), Venus at is maximum southerly extreme rose above a distant bump visible on the flat eastern horizon directly in front of the Governor’s Palace. While they identified it with the Great Pyramid of Nohpat, a relatively large archaeological site lying about 8.5 km southeast of Uxmal, later field surveys revealed that it was rather the pyramidal mound some 8m high dominating Cehtzuc, a minor site located 4.5 km away (Sˇprajc 1990). It was also realized that Venus, whenever it reached

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Fig. 59.3 The masks of the rain god Chac decorating the fac¸ade of the Governor’s Palace are arranged in groups of five and have Venus symbols below their eyes. While these glyphs are read simply as “star”, in many contexts, they refer specifically to Venus

Fig. 59.4 The masks of the rain god Chac decorating the fac¸ade of the Governor’s Palace are arranged in groups of five and have Venus symbols below their eyes. While these glyphs are read simply as “star”, in many contexts, they refer specifically to Venus

this point on the eastern horizon (Fig. 59.2), was not visible as morning star: due to the asymmetry of maximum extremes visible on the eastern and western horizon (Sˇprajc 1993, p. 20f), the planet in its morning manifestation could never have reached an azimuth greater than about 115
400 . Since the azimuth of the line

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Fig. 59.5 Numeral 8 sculptured in the Maya bardot notation on the Chac mask at the northwestern corner of the Governor’s Palace

Fig. 59.6 Sculptural decoration above the central doorway of the Governor’s Palace includes a ruler (probably Lord Chac) seated on a throne and wearing a lavish headdress, eight stylized double-headed serpents, and a hieroglyphic inscription in seven rows

connecting the central doorway of the Palace and the Cehtzuc pyramid is 117
350 , the difference corresponds to about four diameters of the solar disk. Re-examining the case, Sˇprajc (1993, p. 47, 1996a, p. 173ff) argued that the orientation of the Governor’s Palace was intended to be functional in the opposite direction: observing from the main pyramid of Cehtzuc, the Palace would have marked the maximum northerly extremes of Venus as evening star. To be precise, if we consider an extinction angle of 1–2
, valid in the humid tropical atmosphere (Bradley Schaefer, personal comm., 1999), it is likely that the setting Venus, reaching its maximum declination in the decades around AD 900 (between 26
450 and 27
), disappeared exactly above the Palace’s northern edge, seen from Cehtzuc at the azimuth of 298
130 . Significantly, it is this direction, rather than the line to the central doorway, that is perpendicular to the eastern fac¸ade of the Palace (whose azimuth is 28
110 ). Additional evidence indicating astronomical connotations of the Governor’s Palace was presented by Bricker and Bricker (1996). Arguing that the so-called Throne Inscription on the main fac¸ade above the central doorway (Fig. 59.6) refers to both Venus and some Maya zodiacal constellations, they checked whether these asterisms

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Fig. 59.7 Main buildings of Uxmal, with the Governor’s Palace in the center, as seen from the pyramid of Cehtzuc

were visible at the time of southernmost rising and northernmost setting of Venus during the relevant period, and concluded that their interpretation of iconographic motives and inscriptional evidence is consistent with both alignment hypotheses. Attributing less importance to precision, Aveni (2001, p. 286) and Kowalski (1996) contended that, since the building faces east and considering that both the picota stone and the double-headed jaguar throne in front of the Palace form an important part of the alignment to Cehtzuc (Fig. 59.2), but would not have been visible from the latter site, an eastward-directed orientation scheme is more likely. On the other hand, the arguments summarized below support the relationship of the Palace’s orientation with the evening star northerly extremes: 1. Since the results of systematic research accomplished so far indicate that the astronomical alignments in Mesoamerican architecture were quite exact (largely recording sunrise and sunset dates separated by calendrically significant intervals: Sˇprajc 2001; Sˇprajc and Sa´nchez Nava 2012), it seems unlikely that the builders’ attempt to orient the Governor’s Palace to the maximum southerly extremes of Venus as morning star would has resulted in such a large error. 2. There are relatively few known alignments to Venus extremes in Mesoamerican architecture, but all of them correspond to the maximum extreme positions of the evening star much more closely than to those of the morning star (Aveni 2001, p. 273ff; Sˇprajc 1993, p. 45ff). 3. The orientation to the evening star extremes makes sense in terms of the natural and cultural context. While the dates of the morning star maximum southerly extremes (early January) do not seem significant, the greatest northerly extremes

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of the evening star, always occurring in early May, heralded – as they still do – the beginning of the rainy season; conditioning the time of maize planting, this moment has always been of crucial importance for Mesoamerican agriculturalists. It should be added that not only the maximum northerly extremes of the evening star, attained at 8-year intervals, manifest a significant seasonal relationship. In any 8-year cycle, five northerly and five southerly extremes can be observed in the western sky; while the dates of the former are spread between April and June, the latter are visible between October and December, coinciding with the end of the wet season and the time of harvest. There is evidence indicating that these Venus phenomena were, indeed, observed and that it was precisely the agriculturally significant seasonality of the evening star extremes that may have been responsible for the amply documented conceptual association of Venus, particularly its evening manifestation, with rain, maize, and fertility in the Mesoamerican worldview (Sˇprajc 1993, 1996a). 4. The relationship of the Palace’s orientation with the phenomena signaling the arrival of seasonal rains is consistent with the fact that the Venus glyphs, so numerous in the decoration of the fac¸ade, are placed in the cheeks of the rain god Chac (Figs. 59.3 and 59.4). Furthermore, since it is the evening aspect of the planet that had a paramount importance in the so-called Venus-rain-maize conceptual complex, the references to Venus in the Throne Inscription on the Palace, combined with rain god symbols, which include two skeletal images of Chac, may well relate specifically to the evening manifestation of the planet: There is plenty of evidence indicating that bony appearance was a characteristic of both Venus as evening star and the fertility images in Mesoamerican iconography (Sˇprajc 1993, 1996a, b).

Conclusion In view of contextual evidence associated with the Palace of the Governor at Uxmal, it is highly likely that its orientation was related to the planet Venus. While there is no consensus about the directionality of this orientation, the arguments exposed above favor the idea that the building was intended to record the northerly extremes of the evening star. The orientation cannot be regarded as particularly useful in practical terms: Since Venus extremes are not annual phenomena and do not occur constantly on precisely the same dates of the tropical year, they are rather unsuitable for accurate measurement of time. However, if the orientation to these phenomena was incorporated into the finest building of Uxmal, it must have had an enormous symbolic significance. Considering the relationship between the Mesoamerican rain gods and Venus as evening star, and the fact that the rulers commonly acted as impersonators of important deities, the name of the lord who commissioned the Governor’s Palace, as well as the faces of the god Chac decorating his building and having Venus signs, suggests that this personage pretended to be an incarnation of both the rain deity and his celestial manifestation. If Venus, whenever it was visible as

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evening star reaching its northernmost position, was believed to bring about the rainy season, then the Governor’s Palace can be viewed as a monumental materialization of the direction that must have been sanctified, because it marked the phenomena whose timely occurrences, conditioning annual climatic changes essential for a successful agricultural cycle, were vital for subsistence. We can also imagine that Lord Chac, by orienting his residence or administrative building to the relevant position of the rain god’s celestial avatar whose power he assumed or shared, displayed in a singular way his divine identity and, consequently, his kingly responsibility for a proper development of natural cycles and for maintaining the ideal cosmic order, which guaranteed the survival of his subjects.

Cross-References ▶ Astronomical Correlates of Architecture and Landscape in Mesoamerica ▶ Astronomical Deities in Ancient Mesoamerica ▶ Astronomy in the Dresden Codex ▶ Alignments Upon Venus (and Other Planets) - Identification and Analysis

References Aveni AF (1975) Possible astronomical orientations in ancient Mesoamerica. In: Aveni AF (ed) Archaeoastronomy in pre-Columbian America. University of Texas Press, Austin, pp 163–190 Aveni AF (2001) Skywatchers: a revised and updated version of Skywatchers of ancient Mexico. University of Texas Press, Austin Aveni A, Hartung H (1986) Maya city planning and the calendar. Transactions of the American Philosophical Society, vol 76, part 7. American Philosophical Society, Philadelphia Barrera Rubio A (1991) La Gran Plataforma del Palacio del Gobernador de Uxmal. Cuad Arquit Mesoam 12:41–56 Bricker HM, Bricker VR (1996) Astronomical references in the Throne Inscription of the Palace of the Governor at Uxmal. Cambridge Archaeological Journal 6(2):191–229 Kowalski JK (1987) The House of the Governor: a Maya palace of Uxmal, Yucatan, Mexico. University of Oklahoma Press, Norman Kowalski JK (1996) Comment to Bricker HM, Bricker VR (1996) Astronomical references in the Throne Inscription of the Palace of the Governor at Uxmal. Cambridge Archaeological Journal 6(2):219–221 Kowalski JK (2003) Evidence for the functions and meanings of some northern Maya palaces. In: Christie JJ (ed) Maya palaces and elite residences. University of Texas Press, Austin, pp 204–252 Pollock HED (1980) The Puuc: an architectural survey of the hill country of Yucatan and northern Campeche, Mexico, Memoirs of the Peabody Museum, vol 19. Harvard University, Cambridge MA Seler E (1908) Studien in den Ruinen von Yucatan. In: Seler E (ed) Gesammelte Abhandlungen zur Amerikanischen Sprach- und Alterthumskunde, vol 3. Behrend, Berlin, pp 710–717 Sˇprajc I (1990) Cehtzuc: a new Maya site in the Puuc region. Mexicon 12:62–63 Sˇprajc I (1993) The Venus-rain-maize complex in the Mesoamerican world view: part I. J Hist Astron 24:17–70 Sˇprajc I (1996a) La estrella de Quetzalco´atl: El planeta Venus en Mesoame´rica. Diana, Me´xico DF

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Sˇprajc I (1996b) Comment to Bricker HM, Bricker VR (1996) Astronomical references in the Throne Inscription of the Palace of the Governor at Uxmal. Cambridge Archaeological Journal 6(2):216–219 Sˇprajc I (2001) Orientaciones astrono´micas en la arquitectura prehispa´nica del centro de Me´xico. Instituto Nacional de Antropologı´a e Historia, Me´xico DF Sˇprajc I, Sa´nchez Nava PF (2012) Orientaciones astrono´micas en la arquitectura maya de las tierras bajas: nuevos datos e interpretaciones. In: Arroyo B, Paiz L, Mejı´a H (eds) XXV Simposio de Investigaciones Arqueolo´gicas en Guatemala, vol 2. Instituto de Antropologı´a e Historia – Asociacio´n Tikal, Guatemala, pp 977–996

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Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Factual Information: History of Interpretations . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Factual Information: E-Group Typology . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Factual Information: History of E-Group Research . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Issues Raised: A Variety of Interpretations . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cultural Context: Architectural Contemporaneity . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Archaeoastronomical Significance . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Future Directions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

784 784 785 785 787 789 789 789 790 790

Abstract

Group E at Uaxactu´n has long been considered an ancient Maya observatory in which an observer could see the sun rise along architectural alignments at the solstices and equinoxes. E-Groups named for the architectural complex list identified in Group E at Uaxactu´n, typically consist of a large radial pyramid on their west side and three temples on a raised platform on their east side. E-Groups have been interpreted in a variety of ways over the last 90 years. According to researchers, E-Group complexes may be viewed as (1) functioning solar (solstice and/or solar zenith passage) observatory; (2) seasonal orientation calendar device applied to large-scale trade movements; (3) functioning specialized observatory for marking the positions of the sun and Venus; (4) the commemorative astronomical complex; (5) nonfunctioning symbolic or allegoric architectural complex; and (6) theatres or proscenia that served as planetariums rather than observatories.

G.R. Aylesworth Anthropology, St. Thomas University, Fredericton, NB, Canada e-mail: [email protected]; [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_69, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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Introduction Ancient Maya E-Group, or Group E Arrangements, or “E-Groups” are an assemblage of structures found at numerous sites in the Maya lowlands. Since the 1920s, archaeologists have generally assumed that E-Groups contain architectural alignments with the horizon position of sunrise on the solstices and equinoxes. Nevertheless, almost 100 years of research into E-Groups has left many E-Group alignments unexplained. This, in turn, has led to the questioning of the astronomical alignment hypothesis originally put forward in the 1920s. More recently, archaeologists have attempted to ground E-Group interpretations more firmly within a broader cultural context.

Factual Information: History of Interpretations E-Groups are often thought to have been solar “observatories” in an extension of the early idea put forward by Blom (1924). The apparent preoccupation with Blom’s suggestion, in effect its reification, has led most E-Group investigations over the last 90 years to focus almost exclusively on solar alignments or to simply take solar alignments as a given. More broadly viewed, E-Groups are brought in line with what is known about ancient Maya astronomy in general, and they are placed in wider social, political, and religious contexts. While E-Groups warrant continued attention from archaeoastronomers, the scope of E-Group research has expanded beyond exacting solar alignments (Aimers and Rice 2006; Aylesworth 2004; Doyle 2012). Aimers and Rice note that E-Groups “served as theaters in which calendrical rituals—especially katun celebrations—were enacted, as well as dramatic displays of rulers’ agency within a divinely directed cosmos” (2006, p. 93). Aylesworth (2004), following the work of others, suggested that E-Group morphological variation could mean that numerous E-Groups could have served to align with the zodiacal band and thereby served as proscenia without having to accurately mark a specific day in a solar calendar. The zodiacal band subsumes other celestial bodies of interest to the ancient Maya, including Venus and the moon. The zodiacal band (in this article, this term refers to the peri-ecliptic band about 18 wide and centered on the ecliptic) is an area in which most of the major astronomical bodies of importance to the ancient Maya appeared. Within the zodiacal band, people could view the rising of zodiacal constellations, the planets, the moon, and the sun against a proscenia of architecture. More recently, Doyle (2012) has suggested that E-Group distribution reveals that sites with E-Groups were early communities with complementary visible access to the landscape while calling for further research into E-Groups and group identity and political power. Doyle suggested that E-Groups formed the center of “a hub of ritual and perhaps economic activity” (2012, p. 374). The ideas put forward by Aimers and Rice, Aylesworth, and

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Doyle are largely complementary, and these authors provide further in-depth treatment of the history of research, E-Group layout, and E-Group locations.

Factual Information: E-Group Typology E-Groups are architectural complexes named for their general similarity to what was designated Group E at Uaxactu´n (Rathje 1972). Ruppert (1934) was first to note that this architectural form occurs at many sites besides Uaxactu´n. The E-Group name has nothing to do with structures shaped like the letter “E”, as is the case with E-shaped structures in the Chaco area (e.g., Sofaer et al. 1991). E-Groups or E-Group variants have been identified at over 60 sites, mostly, but not exclusively, located in the central lowlands of the Maya area (see tables in Aimers and Rice 2006; Aylesworth 2004). An E-Group complex generally consists of a pyramidal structure on the west side of a plaza and a tripartite structure on the eastern side (Fig. 60.1; Ruppert 1934). E-Group plazas are often the loci of stela erection (Fialko 1988) and frequently contain other structures along their north and south sides. Early forms have long platforms on their eastern side without clear evidence of tripartite buildings on them. Typically, ancient Maya architecture was heavily modified over the course of several centuries or more of occupation. The general pattern of a single western structure and an eastern platform (with several structures on top) was present in the E-Groups at Uaxactu´n (Ricketson and Ricketson 1937, Figure 98; see also various figures in Rosal et al. (1993) for Preclassic construction phases), Caracol (Chase and Chase 1995, Figure 60), and Tikal (Laporte and Fialko 1990, 1995) but not from the earliest to latest construction phases. It is important to note that earlier construction phases at Tikal had only one structure on the eastern side, a long platform with no structures on top (compare Figs. 60.2 and 60.3). Difficulty in establishing the contemporaneity of structures within E-Groups is a problem for archaeoastronomers in that alignment azimuths must be measured from structures that are demonstrably coeval.

Factual Information: History of E-Group Research Uaxactu´n, first visited by archaeologists in 1916 (Blom 1924), was the locus of much archaeological research supported by the Carnegie Institution of Washington (Ricketson and Ricketson 1937). Initially Uaxactu´n was best known for what was, at that time, the earliest dated stela in the Maya area, but it quickly became known for another feature more at issue here – a solar “observatory”. The site also became well known for its early, well-preserved architecture, particularly Structure E-VII sub, a structure that is a principal component of the E-Group complex. After Blom’s observatory hypothesis was formulated, the focus of the Carnegie Institution of Washington’s research at Uaxactu´n became the E-Group, with the purpose of determining its function (Ricketson 1927).

786 Fig. 60.1 Uaxactu´n E-Group with structure E-VII shown at the west and structures E-I, E-II, and E-III (top to bottom) at the east (Simplified, based on Ricketson and Ricketson 1937)

Fig. 60.2 Late Eb Phase (600–500 BC) E-Group at Tikal (Simplified, based on Laporte and Fialko 1990, Figure 3.11)

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Fig. 60.3 Manik Phase 2 (AD 300–378) E-Group at Tikal (Simplified, based on Laporte and Fialko (1990, Figure 3.9))

Ruppert (1940) was first to note E-Group-like complexes at many more sites than Uaxactu´n. Ruppert (1940, p. 222) named up to 19 E-Group sites and published the first critical analysis of the potential of E-Groups, concluding that E-Groups were probably not solar observatories because the alignments seen at Uaxactu´n are not duplicated at other sites. Ruppert believed that although Uaxactu´n may have been used for this purpose, the other sites were, in effect, effigies of the Uaxactu´n E-Group as the inhabitants of these other sites may have given more attention to the ritual and ceremony attendant with observations than with the observations themselves. Although the Uaxactu´n E-Group was the first identified by archaeologists, it is no longer seen as the earliest (Chase and Chase 1995, p. 91). Since Uaxactu´n’s Group E is no longer viewed as the earliest E-Group, it can no longer be argued that other E-Groups are effigies of the Uaxactu´n Group E example.

Issues Raised: A Variety of Interpretations E-Groups have variously been suggested to be solar “observatories” (Blom 1924), played a role in regulating trade (Rathje 1972), served as Venus observatories (Coggins and Drucker 1988), acted as Commemorative Astronomical Complexes (LaPorte and Fialko 1990, 1995), or served as proscenia or theaters.

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Blom (1924) reported that the most important finding of the first season at Uaxactu´n was that Structures E-I and E-III aligned with the horizon extremes of sunrise (i.e., sunrise at the time of summer solstice and winter solstice). There remain a number of problems with the solar observatory interpretation, whether they relate to the solstices and equinoxes or to solar zenith passage (Aveni et al. 2003). Early on, support for it was based on the Spinden correlation. Later, alignment azimuths in the architecture were found not to align well with the solar stations (Aveni and Hartung 1989). It is unlikely that solstices were marked in architecture as the sun moves almost imperceptibly along the horizon at these times (Aveni 2001, p. 65). E-Groups were not observatories in any modern scientific sense of the word (see Aveni et al. 2003, p. 173; see also ▶ Chap. 9, “Ancient ‘Observatories’ A Relevant Concept?”) nor were they observatories in the way that some structures at Copa´n and Chiche´n Itza´ appear to have been (Aveni et al. 1975; Aveni and Hartung 1978a, b). In these latter structures, windows align with astronomical events in the sense that they permit the viewing of a specific celestial body during cyclically occurring astronomical events (e.g., Venus extremes, sunset on days of solar zenith passage) (Aveni et al. 1975). E-Groups may have been locales where astronomical events were viewed; in this sense, they are more akin to a planetarium (following Aveni 2003). Seen as a planetarium, astronomical events need not have been precisely embodied in architectural alignments. The Dzibilchaltu´n “reverse” E-Group may have served as a proscenium (Coggins and Drucker 1988, p. 31), with astronomical events as backdrop to ritual, taking place on the architectural “stage”. While it is true that the paths of Venus in the eastern sky noted by Coggins and Drucker encompass solar phenomena, the apparent movements of Venus and the sun are both constrained, by definition, to within the zodiacal belt–natural phenomena that probably did not escape the eye of ancient Maya skywatchers. The E-Group in the Mundo Perdido complex at Tikal has been interpreted as a “commemorative astronomical complex”, linked to dedication ceremonies (Fialko 1988; Laporte 1995; Laporte and Fialko 1990, 1995). While Laporte and Fialko made no attempt to specifically relate the Tikal E-Group to any astronomical phenomena, they do link the function and meaning of the Tikal E-Group to that of Uaxactu´n as these two E-Groups are so similar in form. The concept of “hierophany” neatly ties together the multiplicity of astronomical events that would have been viewable within an ancient Maya E-Group. Aveni (2001), in discussing hierophanies in Mesoamerica, was evidently inspired by Eliade (1959 in Aveni (2003)). Further, Aveni (2003, p. 163) stated that “one might also think of Uaxactu´n’s Group E as performative rather than practical, a theater rather than a laboratory, a planetarium rather than an observatory”. While E-Groups vary somewhat in form and the azimuths of their alignments, they remain confined to a particular range of azimuths within which falls the apparent path of the zodiac along the eastern horizon.

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Cultural Context: Architectural Contemporaneity The reassessment of the Uaxactu´n E-Group developmental sequence by Rosal et al. (1993) shows that the E-Group was under continual renovation and the Western structure was clearly constructed long before the tripartite aspect of the eastern structure. Whatever the reason for the construction of the E-Group during the Preclassic period, it was not, at that time, possible to view the sun or any other luminaries over the top of the then nonexistent eastern tripartite structure. Whatever one elicits from the available construction sequence information, it is clear that the “archetypal” E-Group layout with the western radial pyramid and the eastern tripartite structure was not the earliest form of the E-Group.

Archaeoastronomical Significance E-Groups were possibly more sophisticated astronomical complexes than has been believed. Although they did not function as observatories, it seems likely that they served as theatres, planetariums, and proscenia. E-Groups appear to have delimited the zodiacal band, an area of the sky of central importance to the ancient Maya that contains many celestial objects that were of interest to the ancient Maya. Although E-Group forms are not identical from site to site, some E-Groups are very similar to one another, not only in architectural form but also in the way in which the azimuths of architectural alignments are constrained to a limited segment of the eastern sky. There is enough similarity in E-Group forms, alignments, and orientations to indicate that they may have served a similar role from site to site. Recent interpretations underscore the importance of placing E-Groups in their cultural context and in considering their location in early centers that were imposing order on the landscape. If E-Groups can be interpreted more loosely in terms of astronomy, rather than meeting strict solar alignment requirements, in astronomical terms, it seems that they may have delimited the zodiacal band area of the sky, this area having been of great interest to the ancient Maya since it was within this band that the sun, moon, planets, zodiacal constellations, and the zodiacal light appeared. Thus, while E-Groups may generally exhibit azimuths that point toward the solstices or mark the approach of first zenith passage, they more importantly, and in a broader sense, delimit the path of the zodiac and thereby were the locus of multilayered hierophanies. Recent interpretations underscore the importance of viewing E-Groups not as observatories but as proscenia and suggest that E-Groups were located at significant centers that were imposing a settlement order across the landscape.

Future Directions Putting aside the narrow notion that E-Groups must have marked solar events with some kind of precision, we see the important role that E-Groups would have played in the religious and political lives of the ancient Maya. Maya E-Groups may not

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have functioned as observatories designed to collect calendrical information or to precisely mark specific astronomical events, but as the theater/planetarium focal points public ritual at early civic centers, E-Groups were a crucial locus of sacred space within ancient Maya cities. As more E-Groups are excavated and we learn more about construction sequences and architectural contemporaneity, our understandings of the role of E-Groups in ancient Maya culture will further develop.

Cross-References ▶ Ancient “Observatories” - A Relevant Concept? ▶ Layout of Ancient Maya Cities ▶ Nature and Analysis of Material Evidence Relevant to Archaeoastronomy

References Aimers JJ, Rice PM (2006) Astronomy, ritual, and the interpretation of Maya “E-Group” architectural assemblages. Anc Mesoam 17(1):79–96 Aveni AF (2001) Skywatchers: a revised and updated version of Skywatchers of ancient Mexico. University of Texas Press, Austin Aveni AF (2003) Archaeoastronomy in the ancient Americas. J Archaeol Res 11(2):149–191 Aveni AF, Hartung H (1978a) Los Observatorios Astrono´micas en Chiche´n Itza´, Mayapa´n, y Paalmul. Boletı´n de la Escuela de Ciencias Antropolo´gicas de la Universidad de Yucata´n 6(32):2–13 Aveni AF, Hartung H (1978b) Three Maya astronomical observatories in the Yucatan peninsula. Interciencia 3:136–143 Aveni AF, Hartung H (1989) Uaxactu´n, Guatemala, Group E and similar assemblages: an archaeoastronomical reconsideration. In: Aveni AF (ed) World archaeoastronomy. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, pp 441–461 Aveni AF, Gibbs SL, Hartung H (1975) The caracol tower at chichen itza: an ancient astronomical observatory? Science 188:977–985 Aveni AF, Dowd AS, Vining B (2003) Maya calendar reform? Evidence from the orientations of specialized architectural assemblages. Lat Am Antiq 14:159–178 Aylesworth GR (2004) Astronomical interpretations of ancient Maya E-Group architectural complexes. Archaeoastronomy: Journal of Astronomy in Culture 18:34–66 Blom F (1924) Report of Mr. Frans Blom on the preliminary work at Uaxactu´n, Guatemala. In: Yearbook, vol 23. Carnegie Institution of Washington, Washington DC, pp 217–219 Chase AF, Chase DZ (1995) External impetus, internal synthesis, and standardization: E Group assemblages and the crystallization of classic Maya society in the southern lowlands. In: Grube N (ed) The emergence of lowland Maya civilization: the transition from the Preclassic to the early classic; a conference at Hildesheim, Nov 1992. Acta Mesoamericana, vol 8. Anton Saurwein, Mo¨ckm€ uhl, pp 87–101 Coggins C, Drucker RD (1988) The observatory at Dzibilchaltu´n. In: Aveni A (ed) New directions in American archaeoastronomy. BAR International Series 454, Oxford, pp 17–55 Doyle JA (2012) Regroup on “E-Groups”: monumentality and early centers in the middle Preclassic Maya lowlands. Lat Am Antiq 23(4):355–379 Fialko V (1988) Mundo Perdido, Tikal: un ejemplo de Complejos de Conmemoracio´n Astrono´mica. Mayab 4:13–21

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Laporte JP (1995) Precla´sico a Cla´sico en Tikal: processo de transformation en Mundo Perdido. In: Grube N (ed) The emergence of lowland Maya civilization: the transition from the Preclassic to the early classic; a conference at Hildesheim, Nov 1992. Acta Mesoamericana, vol 8. Anton Saurwein, Mo¨ckm€ uhl, pp 17–33 Laporte JP, Fialko V (1990) New perspectives on old problems: dynastic references for the early classic at Tikal. In: Clancy F, Harrison PD (eds) Vision and revision in Maya studies. University of New Mexico Press, Albuquerque, pp 33–66 Laporte JP, Fialko V (1995) Un reencuentro con Mundo Perdido, Tikal, Guatemala. Anc Mesoam 6:41–94 Rathje W (1972) Trade models and archaeological problems: the classic Maya and their E-Group complex. In: del Atti XL (ed) Congresso Internazionale degli Americanisti, vol 4. Tilgher, Genova, pp 223–235 Ricketson O Jr. (1927) Report of Mr. O. G. Ricketson Jr. on the Uaxactu´n project. In: Year book, vol 26. Carnegie Institution of Washington, Washington DC, pp 256–263 Ricketson OG, Ricketson EB (1937) Uaxactu´n, Guatemala, Group E, 1926–31. Publication 477, Carnegie Institution of Washington, Washington DC Rosal MA, Valde´s JA, Laporte JP (1993) Nuevas exploraciones en el Grupo E Uaxactu´n. In: Tikal y Uaxactu´n en el Precla´sico. Instituto de Investigaciones Antropolo´gicas/Universidad Nacional Autono´ma de Me´xico, Me´xico DF, pp 70–91 Ruppert K (1934) Explorations in Campeche. In: Year book, vol 33. Carnegie Institution of Washington, Washington DC, pp 93–95 Ruppert K (1940) A special assemblage of Maya structures. In: Hay CL, Linton RL, Lothrop SK, Shapiro HL, Vaillant GC (eds) The Maya and their neighbors. Appleton-Century, New York, pp 222–231 Sofaer A, Sinclair RM, Donahue JB (1991) Solar and lunar orientations of the major architecture of the Chaco culture of New Mexico. In: Santi MF (ed) Colloquio Internazionale Archeologia e Astronomia. Supplementi 9 alla Rivista di Archeologia. Giorgio Bretschneider Editore, Roma, pp 137–150

Part V Pre-Columbian and Indigenous South America Alejandro Martı´n Lo´pez

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Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Late Archaic Period: Norte Chico and Chillon . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Casma Valley . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Chavı´n de Huantar . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Tiwanaku . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Concluding Remarks . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Abstract

Huacas (shrines) and ushnus (ceremonial platforms) are ever-present elements of millennia-old Andean cosmology extending backward to 3100 BCE. Major themes of Pan-Andean cosmology include sacred mountains, the power of water, the solstice sun, as well as shamanic-like movement across the three worlds of the cosmos. Common features of many pre-Inca sites are monumental platforms and sunken circular plazas, and stairways with axes established by bi-lateral symmetries oriented along solstice lines. This style of ritual architecture first appeared in Chupacigarro/Caral, other sites in the Norte Chico area, and Sechin Bajo in the Casma Valley. Ceremonial plazas provided opportunities for public viewing of ritual ceremonies on the tops of platforms, which may have been understood as sacred mountains. Mounds and temples of the Casma Valley, such as Sechin Alto, Sechin Bajo, and Chankillo, developed an explicit astronomy associated with June and December solstices. The ritualistic use of water, which is typically associated with visual astronomy at Inca sites, appeared at Chavin de Huantar and later in Tiwanaku.

J. McKim Malville Department of Astrophysical and Planetary Sciences, University of Colorado, Boulder, CO, USA e-mail: [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_77, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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Introduction The presence of cosmological motifs in Andean architecture can be traced back to the Late Archaic Period (3100–1800 BCE) in the platform mounds found in Norte Chico, especially those of Chupacigarro/Caral (Kosak 1965; Engel 1987; Shady Solis 2006). Haas and Creamer (2006, p. 745) identify Norte Chico as the “crucible for an emergent Andean civilization”, out of which radiated a tradition of ceremonial structures. Many of these contain platform mounds that are oriented to sunrise on June solstice or December solstice. On the largest mounds, stairways lead upward from sunken circular plazas, evoking the symbolism of movement across the three worlds. These platform mounds, some of which were immense, may have been viewed as surrogate sacred mountains, which would have displayed the prestige and power of leaders. By performing ceremonies on the summits, the leaders could have been associated with the sun, the power of mountains, and their life-giving springs and streams, These were precursors to the Inca ushnu which served as throne, seat, platform for ritual performances (in which liquid offerings were offered to the apus, the mountain gods), and shrine (Staller 2008). As a shrine, the ushnus shared meaning and function with huacas (see ▶ Chap. 67, “Inca Royal Estates in the Sacred Valley”, e.g., Moray was both a huaca and an inverted ushnu). Huacas were regarded as living beings with extraordinary powers. They were brought to life and maintained by the life force responsible for animating all that exists on earth, known as camaquen, through the process of camay (Solomon and Urioste 1991; Bray 2009; Malville 2009). The animating offerings to huacas were water, corn beer (chicha), or blood, which were poured into basins or flowed along stone-lined channels.

Late Archaic Period: Norte Chico and Chillon Located 182 km north of Lima, Chupacigarro/Caral is the best known of the 30 sites with platform mounds in Norte Chico. The earliest calibrated radiocarbon dates obtained in Chupacigarro/Caral is 2627 BCE from under the circular plaza of the Great Pyramid (Shady Solis 2006; Haas and Creamer 2012). The city’s major building, the Great Pyramid (Fig. 61.1), faces a sunken circular court with an interior diameter of 21.5 m. Staircases lead to the summit of the pyramid, perhaps a mimesis of the path of the shaman from the lower to the upper world. The face of the Great Pyramid has an orientation of 114 /294 which is in the direction December solstice sunrise/June solstice sunset. The Great Pyramid lies on the northeast edge of a large plaza, some 430 m  220 m in size, ringed by six smaller pyramids. The axis of the plaza tends along a 114 /294 line. The Lesser Pyramid has a stairway facing the plaza with an orientation of 295 . Further to the southeast, the Pyramid of the Gallery has another stairway facing the plaza oriented to 293 . A lower terrace is dominated by the Temple of the Amphitheater,

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Fig. 61.1 Chupacigarro/Caral: Great Pyramid (left) and Temple of the Amphitheater (right)

containing the largest sunken circular court of the city, with an interior diameter of 31 m (Fig. 61.1) and an axis with an orientation of approximately 27.5 , which is perpendicular to the solstitial axis of the plaza. The oldest structure in the Casma Valley north of Norte Chico, Sechin Bajo has a date of 3500–3000 BCE, which predates that of Chupacigarro/Caral (Fuchs and Lorenz 2011). It has a large sunken circular plaza some 16 m in diameter. The major axis of the site has orientation of 112 , close to the azimuth of the December solstice sunrise. Benfer and colleagues (Adkins and Benfer 2009; Benfer 2012) have documented two pre-ceramic (Late Archaic) temples at Buena Vista in the Chillon Valley, south of Norte Chico, which are also oriented along 114 /294 axes. The offering chamber of the Temple of the Fox faces December solstice sunrise. The Temple of the Menacing Disk faces toward 294 . Rocks on the eastern horizon of the Temple of the Fox mark December solstice sunrise. They suggest another rock could anticipate the major lunar standstill and a stairway in the temple is oriented to the major lunar standstill limit. The offering chambers contain niches that would have been illuminated by the sun. Benfer notes that some offering chambers contain polished river pebbles, which would be another case of the sun combining with water to bring a huaca to life.

Casma Valley The dense settlements and large ceremonial mounds of the Casma valley (Fig. 61.2) demonstrate its strategic linkage between the resources of the Pacific, the rich agricultural lands of the valley itself, the highlands of the Santos Valley lying between the Cordillera Negra and the Cordillera Blanca

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HUACA DESVIO

A Sechin River

HUAYNUNA TORTUGAS HUEREQUEQUE Pan American Hwy

TAUKACHI-KONKAN Casma River

B

A

SECHIN BAJO

B

A SECHIN ALTO

A

CERRO SECHIN SAN DIEGO PAMPA ROSARIO

Casma

A

PAMPA DE LAS LLAMAS-MOXEKE

96°

LA CANTINA Casma River CHANKILLO

Pacific Ocean

PALLKA

B

0

5

10 km

200 m Contour Lines Preceramic Sites LAS HALDAS

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Early Ceramic Sites

N

Fig. 61.2 Map of sites in the Casma Valley: A June solstice sunrise, B December Solstice Sunrise (After Pozorski and Pozorski 1987)

(Callejon de Huaylas) and the ritual center of Chavı´n de Huantar beyond (Pozorski and Pozorski 1987). The major mound of Sechin Alto was the largest structure in the western hemisphere at that time, with a volume of 2,000,000 m3 (Pozorski and Pozorski 1987, 2002, 2012). The effort involved points to a well-organized social hierarchy operating with carefully preconceived plans. The contemporaneous structure, mound A at Poverty Point in northeastern Louisiana, had a total volume of 240,000 m3. Monks Mound of Cahokia has a volume of 622,000 m3, and the Pyramid of the Sun in Tenochtitlan contains 1,200,000 m3. The major axis of Sechı´n Alto, which connects June solstice sunrise with December solstice sunset, has a length of 1,130 m. The average orientation of its sides is 65.3 . As detailed in Table 61.1, the primary axes of 10 out of the 13 sites in the Casma Valley contain orientations with June solstice sunrise or December solstice sunrise. It is a fascinating commentary on the power of the sun that the axis of Sechin Baho, which was initially to December solstice in the Late Archaic, was reoriented to 66 . The axis of Las Haldas is perpendicular to December solstice sunrise, notably similar to the configuration of the Temple of the Amphitheater of Chupacigarro/Caral (Fig. 61.3).

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Table 61.1 Orientations and characteristics Orientation of principal axis (perpendicular) Pre-ceramic/Late archaic (3000–1800 BCE) DSSR Sechin Bajo 114 Chupacigarro/ 24 DSSR Caral Buena Vista 114 DSSR Initial period (2150–1000 BCE) Las Haldas 26 (116 ) DSSR Pampa de las 46 Llamas-Moxeke E Pallka 96 Sechin Alto 65 JSSR Taukachi64 JSSR Konka´n Sechin Bajo 64 JSSR Huerequeque 116 DSSR Huaca Desvio 66 JSSR Early horizon (1000–200 BCE) Pampa Rosario 68 JSSR ceremonial platform Chavin de DSSR Huantar JSSR Huaca Desvio 66 Chankillo 24 (114 ) DSSR (highest towers) DSSR San Diego 114 La Cantina 47

Linked platforms and Circular U-Shaped Mounds plazas plazas structure Y Y

Y

Y Y

Y Y

Y Y

Y Y

Y

Y Y Y

Y Y Y

Y Y Y

Y Y

Y Y Y

Y Y Y

Y Y Y

Y Y Y

Y

Y

Y

Y

The best-known site of the Casma Valley, Cerro Sechin with its carvings of brutal dismemberments, may record a massacre of local inhabitants around 1290 BCE by invaders, perhaps from the highlands of Callejon de Huaylas (Pozorski and Pozorski 1987). The Initial Period was terminated in the Casma Valley around this time, bringing an end to the temple traditions associated with Sechin Alto. The new inhabitants brought maize cultivation, brewing of chicha, and domesticated animals. They showed little respect for the temples of the Initial Period, dismantling walls on the Sechin Alto mound and dumping rubbish in the stairways of Las Haldas. Unlike the communities of the Initial Period, the area does not appear to be controlled by any central authority. Each new community developed its own style of layout, appropriating some of the architectural styles of the earlier temples and combining them with their own. Ceremonies included ritual processions along ascending platforms, ritual gatherings in public plazas, and solstice alignments.

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Fig. 61.3 Casma Valley: Sechin Alto (left) and Las Haldas (right)

Chankillo (see ▶ Chap. 62, “Chankillo”) has been one of the most frequently described sites in the Casma Valley, and, after the work of Ghezzi and Ruggles, its 13 towers have captured the attention of the archaeoastronomical community (Fung and Pimental 1973; Ghezzi and Ruggles 2007, 2011; Kroeber 1944; Kosak 1965; Roosevelt 1935; Squier 1877; Thompson 1961). Radiocarbon dates of 342 + 80 BCE and 120 + 100 BCE were obtained from lintels of the fortress by Collier (1962, p. 413; Pozorski and Porzorski 1987, p. 98). Recent calibrated radio carbon dating of the fortress by Ghezzi (Ghezzi and Ruggles 2007, 2011) confirms a range of dates from 400 to 100 BCE. It is important to note that the fortress was contemporary with another fortress built on Cerro Sechin, evidence of social unrest in the area. Chankillo is one of four new communities built after the invasion depicted at Cerro Sechin. It appears to combine architectural styles of both the original inhabitants and the invaders. In addition to the Fortress (Ghezzi 2006), the most significant structure of Chankillo is the U-shaped “labyrinthine” compound to the east of the towers (Thomson 1961, p. 272). The building has an elegant bi-lateral symmetry around an axis with an orientation of 114.5 . It opens to December solstice and faces the longest solar axis of the Casma valley extending over a distance of 1,870 m. Similar to other sites of the Casma Valley, Chankillo contains three rectangular plazas that have evidence for solar ritual. All are locations for viewing June solstice sunset. The largest of the three plazas is east of the towers, has an area of 22,200 m2, and is visually connected to a platform on the ridge that is south of Tower #13. Celebrants in the plaza would see the sun setting over that platform on June solstice. The large plaza of the labyrinthine compound is crossed by the shadow of Tower #13 near June solstice sunset. Celebrants within it would view the sun setting over that tower as well as ritual performance silhouetted against the setting sun (Fig. 61.4).

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Fig. 61.4 Chankillo: the Labyrinthine Compound at June Solstice Sunset. The shadow of Tower #13 is circled. The inset is the view from the compound of sunset over Tower #13

The third and smallest plaza lies between the towers and the Fortress. Celebrants in it would see the June solstice sun setting over the Fortress (Fig. 61.5). It is noteworthy that the eastern wall of the Fortress was low enough to allow those in the plaza to view ceremonies performed therein. Ghezzi and Ruggles (2007, 2011) argue that the 13 towers functioned as a calendrical device covering the entire year. Malville (Malville et al. 2009; Malville 2011) has criticized this interpretation, arguing instead that the scale of these towers and their stairways are superfluous to any calendrical purpose and, if any calendrical observations were made, they must have been unintended consequences of the original ritual function of the towers. The 13 towers may have served as successively higher platforms for upward ritual movement, similar to other temples of the Casma Valley. The connected platforms of Las Haldas utilize a rising land form to achieve height, as do the towers of Chankillo. The highest towers have orientations of 24–30 , roughly equivalent to the platforms of Las Haldas. The towers of Chankillo have stairways on both sides, except for the highest, which has a stairway only on its north side, indicating that it was the final destination for upward ritual movement. (According to the excavator, each tower has staircases on both the north and south sides. See ▶ Chap. 62, “Chankillo”. – Ed.)

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Fig. 61.5 Chankillo: the rectangular plaza at June solstice sunset viewed from the Temple of the Pillars in the Fortress. Upper inset: view from the plaza. Lower inset: view downward from the Temple of the Pillars

Chavı´n de Huantar At Chavı´n de Huantar, which served as a major pilgrimage center throughout much of the Early Horizon, ritual movement from the dark underworld to the heavens is expressed in stairs leading upward and downward in its dark labyrinthine interior, which contains the 4.5-m-high carved granite Lanzo´n shaft. Chavı´n is filled with images of shamanic transformation, shamanic flight, and movement between the worlds (Burger 1992). Occupation occurred between 1200 BCE and 200 BCE (Rodriguez-Kembel 2009). The interior corridors connected by stairways show evidence of colored plaster, leading (Rodriguez-Kembel 2009) to suggest a symbolic of movement between different worlds, each designated by a different color. Rick (2008) suggests that the earliest architectural axis of Chavı´n was established by the appearance of the December solstice sun over a sharply pointed hill, as viewed from an U-shaped structure. Within the temple, there is an intricate network of water channels, which exceed any need for drainage (Contreas and Keefer 2009). These channels may reveal an early manifestation of the water cult so prominent in Inca times related to the animating power of water (Solomon and Urioste 1991; Bray 2009).

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Fig. 61.6 Eastern Gateway of Kalasasaya, monumental stairway, and the Ponce stela located along the east–west axis of Tiwanaku

Tiwanaku Located 72 km west of La Paz on the SE shore of Lake Titicaca, Tiwanaku was an influential precursor of the Inca. The city functioned as a ceremonial center and pilgrimage center from 300 CE to around 1000 CE, when the climate changed and the city was abandoned. The Akapana Pyramid is the most imposing structure of the city, and it appears to have served both as a huaca and an ushnu, as well as a surrogate sacred mountain. Kolata (1996) reports a complex system of subterranean channels that lace the structure and drained the pyramid’s central sunken court, perhaps similar in intent to those of Chavı´n. Other stone-lined channels in Tiwanaku appear to be further examples of the animation of a huaca through the action of camay (Couture 2004). Adjacent to the Akapana Pyramid are two other major ceremonial structures of the city: the Semi-subterranean Temple and the Kalasasaya (Figs. 61.6 and 61.7). Benitez (2009) suggests that the Kalasasaya complex served as a calendrical device covering the entire year. The Kalasasaya is oriented along the primary east–west axis of the city and is entered by means of a massive eastern stairway. The inner court contains a central platform. Beyond the platform at a distance of 64 m is the balcony containing 10 upright andesitic monoliths with heights of 4 m, with a regular spacing of 4.8 m. As viewed from the center of the platform, the southern monolith is 0.09 from December solstice and the northernmost monolith is 0.9 from June solstice sunset. Splitting these two extreme positions gives an azimuth for equinox of 270.25 , which may have been

J. McKim Malville

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Solstitial Cycle Antizenith

Solstitial Cycle Zenith-Antizenith Cycle

Central Platform

Equinox

Zenith-Antizenith Cycle Solstitial Cycle

Zenith

Summer Solstice

Balconera

Solstitial Cycle

Fig. 61.7 Kalasasaya with the western markers of a solar calendar (After Benitez 2009)

Winter Solstice

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the technique for establishing the east–west axis. Two other monoliths placed at declinations of 16.1 may be the first evidence for interest in the zenith and antizenith sun.

Concluding Remarks The Inca Empire with its brilliant architecture, complex astronomy, and rich symbolism was the apex of 4,500 years of evolving cosmological traditions of Peruvian cultures. One can watch Inca cosmology being assembled piece by piece over the millennia in the Andean culture area. In the Late Archaic, the platform mounds found of Norte Chico, especially those of Chupacigarro/Caral and other sites along the Supe Valley, reveal attention to the December solstice sunrise, construction of surrogate sacred mountains, and ritual processions across the three realms of the cosmos. A millennium later, the mounds of the Casma Valley contain interconnected platforms and long solar axes, typically linking solstice sunrise to solstice sunset. The sacred power of water, so prominently associated with astronomy in Inca sites, appears to have first been first manifest in the labyrinths of Chavı´n de Huantar and reappears in Tiwanaku’s ushnu/huaca/sacred mountain of the Akapana pyramid.

Cross-References ▶ Chankillo ▶ Inca Royal Estates in the Sacred Valley

References Adkins LR, Benfer RA (2009) Lunar standstill markers at preceramic temples at the Buena vista site in Peru. Astron Soc Pacific Conf Ser 409:267–278 Benfer RA (2012) Monumental architecture arising from an early astronomical-religious complex in Peru, 2200–1750 BC. In: Burger RL, Rosenswig RM (eds) Early new world monumentality. University of Florida Press, New York, pp 313–363 Benitez L (2009) Descendants of the sun: calendars, myth, and the Tiwanaku state. In: YoungSa´nchez M (ed) Tiwanaku. Denver Art Museum, Denver, pp 49–81 Bray T (2009) An archaeological perspective on the Andean concept of Camaquen: thinking through the late Pre-Columbian Ofrendas and Huacas. Camb Archaeol J 19:357–366 Burger RL (1992) Chavı´n and the origins of Andean civilization. Thames and Hudson, London Contreas DA, Keefer DK (2009) Implications of the fluvial history of the Wacheqsa river. Geophys J Roy Astron Soc 24:589–618 Couture NC (2004) Monumental space, courtly style, and elite life at Tiwanaku. In: YoungSanchez M (ed) Tiwanaku: ancestors of the Inca. University of Nebraska Press, Lincoln Engel F (1987) De las Begonias al Maiz: Vida y Produccion en el Peru Antiguo. Centro de Investigaciones de Zonas Aridas de la Universidad National Agraria, Lima. Fuchs PF, Lorenz B (2011) New findings of an earlier december solstice alignment to the sunrise in the earlier occupation of Sechin Bajo, whose later occupation is oriented towards the june solstice sunrise. Paper presented at the 9th Oxford international symposium, Lima

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Ghezzi I (2006) Religious warfare at Chankillo. In: Isbell WH, Silverman H (eds) Andean archaeology III: north and south. Springer, New York, pp 67–84 Ghezzi I, Ruggles CLN (2007) Chankillo: a 2300-year-old solar observatory in coastal Peru. Science 315:1239–1243 Ghezzi I, Ruggles CLN (2011) The social and ritual context of horizon astronomical observations at Chankillo. In: Ruggles CLN (ed) Archaeoastronomy and ethnoastronomy: building bridges between cultures. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, pp 144–153 Haas J, Creamer W (2006) Crucible of Andean civilization: the Peruvian coast from 3000 to 1800 BC. Curr Anthropol 47:745–775 Haas J, Creamer W (2012) Why do people build monuments? Late archaic platform mounds in the Norte Chico. In: Rosenswig RM, Burger RL (eds) Early new world monumentality. University of Florida Press, Gainesville, pp 289–312 Kembel SR (2008) The architecture at the monumental center of Chavı´n de Huantar: sequence, transformations, and chronology. In: Conklin WJ, Quilter J (eds) Chavin: art, architecture, and culture. Cotsen Institute of Archaeology, Los Angeles Kolata AL (1996) Valley of the spirits: a journey into the lost realm of the Aymara. Wiley, New York Kosak P (1965) Life, Land, and Water in Ancient Peru. Long Island University Press, New York Malville JM (2009). Animating the inanimate: Camay and astronomical Huacas of Peru. In: Rubino-Martin JA, Belmonte JA, Prada F, Alberdi A (eds) Astronomy across cultures. Astronomical Society of the Pacific conference series, San Francisco, pp 261–266 Malville JM (2011) Astronomy and ceremony at Chankillo: an Andean perspective. In: Ruggles CLN (ed) Archaeoastronomy and ethnoastronomy: building bridges between cultures. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, pp 154–161 Malville JM, Zawaski M, Gullberg S (2009) Cosmological motifs of Peruvian Huacas. In: Vaisˇku¯nas J (ed) Astronomy and cosmology in folk traditions and cultural heritage. Archaeologia Baltica, vol 10. Klaipe˙da University Institute of Baltic Sea Region History and Archaeology, Klaipe˙da, pp. 175–182 Pozorski S, Pozorski T (1987) Early settlement patterns in the Casma valley. University of Iowa Press, Iowa City Pozorski S, Pozorski T (2002) The Sechin alto complex and its place within Casma valley initial period development. In: Isbell WH, Silverman H (eds) Andean archaeology I, variations in sociopolitical organization. Kluwer/Academic/Plenum, New York Pozorski S, Pozorski T (2012) Preceramic and initial period monumentality within the Casma valley of Peru. In: Rosenswig RM, Burger RL (eds) Early new world monumentality. University of Florida Press, Gainesville, pp 364–398 Rick J (2008) Context, construction, and ritual in the development of authority at Chavı´n de Huantar. In: Conklin WJ, Quilter J (eds) Chavı´n: art, architecture, and culture. Cotsen Institute of Archaeology, Los Angeles, p 3 Rodriguez-Kembel S (2009) Architecture at the monumental center of Chavı´n de Huantar: sequence, transformations, and chronology. In: Conklin WJ, Quilter J (eds) Chavı´n: art, architecture, and culture. Cotsen Institute of Archaeology, Los Angeles Shady Solis R (2006) America’s first city? The case of late Archaic Caral. In: Osbell WH, Silvermann H (eds) Andean archaeology III: north and south. Springer, New York, pp 28–66 Solomon F, Urioste GL (1991) The Huarochirı´ manuscript: a testament of ancient and colonial Andean religion. University of Texas Press, Austin Staller JE (2008) Dimensions of place: the significance of centers to the development of Andean civilization: an exploration of the Ushnu concept. In: Staller JE (ed) Pre- Columbian landscapes of creation and origin. Springer, New York, pp 269–313 Thomson DE (1961) Architecture and settlement patterns in the Casma valley, Peru. PhD dissertation, Department of Anthropology, Harvard University, Cambridge MA

Chankillo

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Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The Thirteen Towers as a Solar Observation Device . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The View from Other Buildings and Plazas . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Methodological Issues . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Discussion . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Abstract

A line of thirteen rectangular towers, built along a north–south hilltop ridge within a ceremonial complex in coastal Peru dating to c. 300 BC, appears to represent the oldest known solar observation device in the Americas. The fact that this device functions throughout the seasonal year, and still functions today, makes it unique on the planet. The broader archaeological evidence suggests that observations of sunrise and sunset against the thirteen towers served to regulate a social and ritual calendar while reinforcing a solar cult that helped to lend legitimacy and authority to a rising warrior elite. Recent archaeoastronomical work has identified a wider range of potentially significant alignments, possibly including some lunar ones, visible from publicly accessible places rather than just by a few high-status individuals. The site and its interpretation also illustrate some fundamental issues of archaeoastronomical methodology and practice that are of broader significance.

I. Ghezzi (*) Instituto de Investigaciones Arqueolo´gicas, Miraflores, Lima, Peru e-mail: [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles School of Archaeology and Ancient History, University of Leicester, Leicester, UK e-mail: [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_75, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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Introduction Chankillo (Fig. 62.1) is a ceremonial site with complex ritual, administrative, and defensive functions dating to between 350 and 150 BC, located in Peru’s arid coastal strip some 365 km north of Lima (UTM Zone 17S, centered around 8 04 8942). It is situated 15 km inland from the Pacific coast, and immediately to the south of the irrigated Casma/Sechin river basin, one of several fertile valleys that cut through barren foothills and sandy plains beneath the western slopes of the Andes and which have provided a focus for human settlement over many millennia in an otherwise inhospitable environment. Chankillo was constructed, occupied, and abandoned within the late Early Horizon period (500–200 BC) in central Peruvian chronology (Burger 1995). The main constructions at the site are a massive fortified temple (centered at 8 0345 894235); a row of thirteen rectangular or rhomboidal towers placed along the ridge of a low hill (centered at 80438 894188); and surrounding the latter, a large ceremonial area with a ceremonial road, room complexes, plazas, and food preparation and storage facilities. The layout of these constructions indicates a concern with maximizing intervisibility (Fig. 62.1). The fortified temple (Fig. 62.2) is a massive oval-shaped hilltop enclosure containing three central structures – two identical circular buildings and a rectangular one surrounded by a large platform with parapets – all surrounded by double defensive walls standing in places up to 8 m. The twin buildings themselves have double walls with three restricted-access gates. The rectangular building contains four rooms whose walls were decorated with representations of supernatural beings and is thought to have been either a temple used for rituals or a palace for elite habitation. It has become known as the Temple of the Pillars. Forming its front atrium, facing ESE, is a U-shaped two-tiered platform with dual staircases on each level. The whole enclosure is located strategically 180 m above the valley floor and may have served as a last refuge when violent conflict and defeat resulted in the partial destruction and abandonment of the site in the second century BC: excavations have clearly revealed the intentional destruction of the inner temple and its religious images, followed by its entombment beneath a thick layer of rock and debris (Ghezzi 2006). The thirteen towers (Fig. 62.3) run in a north–south line, although the southernmost three (Towers 11–13) are twisted around toward the northeast–southwest (Fig. 62.4A). While they are regularly spaced – the gaps between the towers range from 4.7 m to 5.1 m – they vary widely in size, with areas from 75 m2 to 125 m2 and heights from 2 m to 6 m. The northernmost towers are the tallest, apparently to compensate for the drop in elevation of the natural hill on which they stand. The top of each tower was flat (though not horizontal) and was accessed by inset staircases on the north and south sides (Fig. 62.5), so that it would have been possible to walk along the line, up and down each tower in turn. While it has been proposed that the stairways could have been used for processions (Malville 2011), the fact that they are narrow (1.3 m–1.5 m wide), and that the length and height of

Chankillo

Fig. 62.1 Archaeological map of the main buildings at Chankillo, including (A) the fortified temple, (B) the Observation Building, (C) the thirteen towers, and (D) the administrative complex. Coordinates in UTM, Zone 17S, WGS 1984 (Drawing: Iva´n Ghezzi)

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Fig. 62.2 Aerial view of the fortified temple (Photograph: Servicio Aerofotogra´fico Nacional, Peru)

Fig. 62.3 The thirteen towers as viewed from the fortified temple (Photograph: Iva´n Ghezzi)

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Fig. 62.4 Archaeological map of the Thirteen Towers and adjacent buildings. (A) Thirteen towers; (B) Western Observing Point; (C) Eastern Observing Point; (D) Administrative complex; (E) Unexcavated structure on the eastern end of the plaza. Coordinates in UTM, Zone 17S, WGS 1984 (Drawing: Iva´n Ghezzi)

individual steps vary in proportion to tower dimensions – making several of them too steep to climb – suggests instead that they were of ritual rather than practical importance. Within a walled enclosure to the west of the towers, situated on lower ground between them and the fortified temple, is a group of buildings. The best preserved of these is 54 m long, 36 m wide, and has an outer corridor running for 40 m along its south side (Fig. 62.4B). This corridor connected a restricted gateway on the southwest side of the building with a southeast opening that directly faced the thirteen towers 235 m away. However, the southeast doorway, unlike every other doorway at Chankillo, lacked barholds – niches where a stone pin could be tied firmly into the masonry, presumably for attaching supports for a door. In other words, it was a doorless opening. This corridor was an unusual construction that ran alongside the building, but never led into it, and yet it was carefully built, plastered, and painted white. Its sole purpose appears to have been to channel movement from the restricted gateway to the doorless opening directly facing the thirteen towers. Following the recognition of its astronomical significance, this opening has become known as the Western Observing Point and the building as the Observation Building. To the east of the towers is a public area comprising a plaza surrounded by buildings. In particular, located directly southeast of the towers is the “administrative complex”,

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Fig. 62.5 Oblique view of the excavated staircase on the north side of the northernmost tower. Detail: Inca-period offering found on top of the first step (Photographs: Iva´n Ghezzi)

a major complex of interconnected rooms, corridors, patios, and storage places (Fig. 62.4D). A small staircase on the eastern perimeter wall apparently provided the only point of access to this building’s interior; it led into a large patio surrounded by a U-shaped platform with inset staircases providing access to the different groups of patio-rooms. The whole public area was evidently a setting for ceremonial feasts. In several places within the plaza, archaeologists have found offerings of panpipes and thorny oyster (Spondylus) shells; nearby middens contain the remains of serving vessels, panpipes, and maize; and the administrative complex is associated with facilities for preparing, storing, and serving drinks (Ghezzi 2006).

The Thirteen Towers as a Solar Observation Device The corridor running around the side of the Observation Building was 2.4 m wide, had walls 2.2 m high, and probably had a roof, but once the opening was reached there was an unobstructed view of the complete row of towers, which formed an artificial horizon (Fig. 62.6). Before their partial collapse, the profile would have been tooth-shaped, the line of the flat tops of the towers being broken by relatively narrow gaps at regular intervals. The southern slopes of a hill 3 km away, Cerro Mucho Malo, rise up behind the nearby ridge on which the towers are constructed, just to the left of the northernmost tower (Tower 1), thus forming a 13th “gap” of

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Fig. 62.6 View of the thirteen towers from the Western Observing Point (Photograph: Iva´n Ghezzi)

similar width to those between each pair of adjacent towers down the line. A more distant hill runs across the base of this gap, forming its base (Ghezzi and Ruggles 2011, p. 149; see Fig. 62.8). As viewed from the Western Observing Point, the spread of the towers along the horizon corresponds almost exactly to the annual sunrise arc (Ghezzi and Ruggles 2007). At the December solstice, the sun rose directly behind the southernmost tower (Tower 13), while at the June solstice, it rose at the junction of Cerro Mucho Malo and the more distant hill, in other words, at the left-hand side of the leftmost gap (see Figs. 62.7a and 62.8). Away from the solstices, when the sunrise position only changes by a tiny amount from day to day, the appearance of the rising sun at any particular point along the towers would have reliably indicated a particular time in the seasonal year to within 2 or 3 days. On the other hand, there is no convincing evidence for the existence of a calendar structured in any specific way. In the public area to the east of the towers, excavations also revealed the existence of a small isolated building (Fig. 62.4C) from which the towers form the western skyline and correspond almost exactly to the sun’s annual setting arc. As viewed from the approximate center of this building, the June solstice sun would have set squarely into the top of the rightmost tower, Tower 1 (Fig. 62.7b), mirroring the appearance of December solstice sunrise from the Western Observing Point, which rose squarely out of the rightmost tower (Ghezzi and Ruggles 2011, p. 149). The December solstice sun would have set down the left side of the southernmost visible tower, Tower 12, Tower 13 being hidden behind the ridge

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Fig. 62.7 The thirteen towers as viewed from (a) the Western Observation Point and (b) the Eastern Observing Point, annotated with the positions of sunrise/set at the solstices, equinoxes, and the days of zenith and antizenith passage in c. 300 BC (results from 2010 total station survey) (Photographs and annotations: Clive Ruggles)

(only the top part of Tower 12 would have been visible, and it is only partially visible now because of its ruinous condition). It is reasonable to suppose, therefore, that this was an Eastern Observing Point that paralleled the western one. The natural horizon profile to the east of the site contains significant features close to the solstitial sunrise positions, and a distant stretch of mountainous horizon between them (Ghezzi and Ruggles 2011, p. 150; Fig. 62.9). It is therefore possible, though unproven, that it may have provided a natural precursor and even an inspiration for the towers.

The View from Other Buildings and Plazas Almost all the buildings and plazas, including remains that extend out into the landscape for over 3 km from the fortified temple, broadly conform to a similar WNW–ESE axis of orientation, the azimuths of different sectors varying from about 115 –295 to about 120 –200 . While this is roughly solstitial (Malville 2011), the actual alignments in relation to the rising or setting of celestial

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Fig. 62.8 Close-up of the gap between Cerro Mucho Malo and Tower 1 as viewed from the Western Observing Point, showing the more distant hill beyond. Declination +24.0 represents the left limb of the June solstice sun rising in c. 300 BC (Photograph and annotations: Clive Ruggles)

bodies depend upon the altitude of the features that form the horizon from any particular point, and recent surveys have revealed a number that may be of significance. For example, as viewed from the only entrance to the administrative complex east of the towers, the southernmost tower (Tower 13) – which, owing to bending of the southern end of the line of towers, is viewed more or less squarely on to one side – marks the setting of the June solstitial sun (Fig. 62.10). The atrium of the Temple of the Pillars itself faces ENE (azimuth 119.0 ) and affords a magnificent view over the walled enclosure and towers to the buildings and plazas beyond (Fig. 62.1). Conversely, the single entrance connecting the atrium to the secluded rooms in the back of this Temple may well have been the most sacred spot on the whole site (Ghezzi 2006), being a place where elite individuals could make public appearances. As viewed from the vicinity of the Observation Building, the June solstice sun would have descended over, and set just to the left of, the entrance (Fig. 62.11 shows the view from the NW corner of the building), suggesting a possible hierophany involving the appearance of the chief or high priest at the appropriate time. As viewed from the eastern end of the large plaza, where there is a small structure as yet unexcavated (Fig. 62.4E), the entrance to the Temple appears in the gap between Towers 12 and 13, which appears to have been planned, but the alignment is upon the setting position of the moon close to its most northerly limit (Fig. 62.12). This is one of two or three putative lunar alignments at the site that raise, albeit very tentatively, the possibility that lunar

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Fig. 62.9 The natural horizon to the east. Declinations of +24.0 and 24.0 correspond to the limits of sunrise at the June and December solstices, respectively, around 300 BC (Photographs and annotations: Clive Ruggles)

observations as well as solar ones were also important at Chankillo (Ghezzi and Ruggles 2011, p. 149). The towers are the dominant feature in the horizon from many locations among the surrounding plazas, meaning that sunrise and sunsets against the towers were publicly visible. However, only privileged individuals could perform critical observations from certain key points in order to fix dates with precision.

Methodological Issues The Chankillo alignments raise methodological, and particularly data selection, issues of a nature that is very familiar within archaeoastronomy (see ▶ Chap. 27, “Analyzing Orientations”). A general concern is how we balance the desire for a “clean and simple” explanation against more complex contextual arguments: the latter typically give more plausible interpretations in anthropological terms but introduce greater subjectivity in reading the data (Ruggles 2011; see also ▶ Chap. 25, “Best Practice for Evaluating the Astronomical Significance of Archaeological Sites”).

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Fig. 62.10 The setting track of the June solstice sun beside Tower 13 c. 300 BC, as viewed from the top of the staircase at the entrance to the administrative complex. The direction of the orientation of the structures within the complex is also shown (Photograph and annotations: Clive Ruggles)

Fig. 62.11 The fortified temple as viewed from the vicinity of the Observation Building. Declination +23.9 shows the setting track of the June solstice sun c. 300 BC just to the left of the entrance to the Temple of the Pillars (Photograph and annotations: Clive Ruggles)

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Fig. 62.12 The entrance to the Temple of the Pillars in the gap between Towers 12 and 13 as viewed from the small structure at the eastern end of the large plaza. Declination +28.0 corresponds to the moon setting only about 1 from the most northerly position theoretically possible, where it can only be viewed infrequently (see ▶ Chap. 33, “Lunar Alignments Identification and Analysis”) (Photograph and annotations: Clive Ruggles)

The most obvious of these is whether the Western and Eastern Observing Points have simply been “chosen” by the modern investigator: after all, if the north–south line of towers had been constructed without regard for astronomy, there would still be some point to the west from which they would span the sunrise arc, and likewise one to the east for sunset. However, the position of the Western Observing Point is defined by the archaeological evidence: furthermore, excavations around the opening have revealed a concentration of offerings of ritually smashed pottery, shell, and lithics scattered at floor level, confirming that significant elements of ritual were involved in the process of passing through the corridor and standing at its end to observe the towers. The more damaged Eastern Observing Point does not stand out as a special location in the same way, although excavations did succeed in revealing a small isolated building at the requisite spot. A similar issue arises because the June solstice sun does not rise behind Tower 1 as seen from the Western Observing Point, but at a hill junction to the left; the argument that Cerro Mucho Malo was perceived as an additional “tower” (Ghezzi and Ruggles 2007) is speculative. A more exact fit of the towers to the solar arc would be much more pleasing to modern Western sensibilities but might not reflect the anthropological reality. On the other hand, it adds subjectivity to our interpretation. One possibility is that by retaining this one natural feature as part of the constructed horizon, the builders retained a connection with the natural horizon to the east that,

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Fig. 62.13 An artist’s reconstruction of ceramic vessels decorated with figurines representing pairs of warriors engaged in duel atop public buildings (Drawing by Jose´ Luis Diaz)

as already mentioned, could have been used for sunrise observations before, and perhaps motivated, the construction of the towers. Another criticism is that the gaps between the towers were more or less equally spaced, rather than closer together at the ends, as would have been expected if they had been placed to mark off regular time intervals throughout the year (Malville 2011, p. 159). However, equal spacing does not reduce the efficacy of the towers as solar markers capable of indicating any day with impressive accuracy: it simply means that the people who built and used Chankillo had no need to compute strictly regular time intervals. In order to identify dates of ceremonial and social importance, they relied on direct observation rather than abstraction (see also ▶ Chap. 2, “Calendars and Astronomy”).

Discussion The solar observation device using the thirteen towers is one of the earliest known examples in the Americas of a monument devoted to an astronomical function (Ghezzi and Ruggles 2007), and the fact that it functioned throughout the seasonal year, and continues to function today, makes it unique on the planet. The archaeological and archaeoastronomical evidence taken together imply that the thirteen towers and nearby plazas and buildings provided a setting for people participating in public rituals and feasts directly linked to observations of the seasonal passage of the sun. At the same time, entry to the Western Observing Point to make the critical observations and conduct ceremonies was evidently highly restricted. This implies that the power to regulate time, ideology, and the rituals that bound this society together was in the hands of an elite few. Ceramic warrior figurines found ritually smashed at the Observation Building clearly portray warriors as high-status individuals (Ghezzi 2006; Fig. 62.13). It seems, then, that at Chankillo, around the third century BC, sun worship and related cosmological

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beliefs may have helped to legitimize the authority of a warrior elite, just as they did within the Inca empire over 1,500 years later (see ▶ Chap. 64, “Inca Astronomy and Calendrics”).

Cross-References ▶ Analyzing Orientations ▶ Best Practice for Evaluating the Astronomical Significance of Archaeological Sites ▶ Calendars and Astronomy ▶ Inca Astronomy and Calendrics ▶ Lunar Alignments - Identification and Analysis

References Burger R (1995) Chavı´n and the origins of Andean civilization, 2nd edn. Thames and Hudson, New York Ghezzi I (2006) Religious warfare at Chankillo. In: Isbell W, Silverman H (eds) Andean archaeology III. Springer, New York, pp 67–84 Ghezzi I, Ruggles CLN (2007) Chankillo: a 2300-year-old solar observatory in coastal Peru. Science 315:1239–1243 Ghezzi I, Ruggles CLN (2011) The social and ritual context of horizon astronomical observations at Chankillo. In: Ruggles CLN (ed) Archaeoastronomy and ethnoastronomy: building bridges between cultures. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, pp 144–153 Malville JM (2011) Astronomy and ceremony at Chankillo: an Andean perspective. In: Ruggles CLN (ed) Archaeoastronomy and ethnoastronomy: building bridges between cultures. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, pp 154–161 Ruggles CLN (2011) Pushing back the frontiers or still running around the same circles? ‘Interpretative archaeoastronomy’ thirty years on. In: Ruggles CLN (ed) Archaeoastronomy and ethnoastronomy: building bridges between cultures. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, pp 1–18

Geoglyphs of the Peruvian Coast

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Clive L. N. Ruggles

Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Coastal Geoglyphs: Their Nature and Geographical and Temporal Distribution . . . . . . . . . . . . . The Nazca Lines Interpreted as an “Astronomy Book” . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Broader Context and Interpretations . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Putative Associations of the Nazca Lines with Astronomy . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Conclusion . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Abstract

“Geoglyphs” in the form of lines, geometric designs, and zoomorphic figures were laid out across wide expanses of arid coastal desert (“pampa”) near Nazca, in southern Peru. They represent an extraordinary cultural phenomenon but are also notorious for some of the outlandish theories purporting to explain them. Geoglyphs are also found in adjacent pampas as well as being scattered up and down coastal areas of Peru and northern Chile. The idea that they represented a vast “astronomy book”, although continuing to be propagated to tourists, is long discredited. However, astronomical considerations may still help to explain a complex phenomenon that clearly stretched over a considerable geographical area and a significant time period. The broader context suggests that astronomy, and particularly observations of sunrise and sunset, may well have played a significant role in regulating a ritual calendar, but the archaeoastronomical evidence to connect this to geoglyph orientations is weak.

C.L.N. Ruggles School of Archaeology and Ancient History, University of Leicester, Leicester, UK e-mail: [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_76, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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Introduction The famous “Nazca lines” are in fact a jumble of different lines and geometric designs, with a scattering of figures recognizable from the air as stylized creatures such as a monkey (Fig. 63.1a), spider, hummingbird, and whale, etched into the surface of the Nazca desert in south coastal Peru (UTM Zone 18S, centered around 485 8370). The term “geoglyph” is now used commonly to describe such large-scale designs. The Nazca geoglyphs were created, broadly speaking, by the straightforward process of moving or brushing aside the surface layer of small rocks to reveal the lighter, sandy soil beneath. They are primarily associated with the Nasca culture (Silverman and Proulx 2002), which thrived in the arid coastal strip of southern Peru over the period ca. 100 BC–AD 700, leaving an abundant archaeological record including a fine and distinctive style of pottery, brightly colored and richly decorated. (A useful convention, followed in this article, is to use the indigenous spelling with an “s” when talking about the ancient culture, but the Spanish spelling with a “z” when talking about the modern place.) The Nazca desert, an area of some 200 km2, is one of many flat desert plains, or pampas, squeezed between the coast and the Andean foothills and separated by habitable river valleys. Measurable rainfall occurs on average only once in several years. Most rivers are dry for much of the year, and water is plentiful only for a short period when the seasonal meltwater flows down from the snow-capped Andes to the east. Occasional El Nin˜o episodes cause flash floods when waters flow directly across the pampa, creating both shallow and deep washes that provide a constant reminder that water does very rarely pass through this landscape. The geoglyphs that cover this area were brought to scholarly attention by the Peruvian archaeologist Toribio Mejı´a Xesspe in the 1920s. Public interest in them mushroomed following the publication of Erich von D€aniken’s notorious alien landing strips theory (von D€aniken 1969), since when they have become enshrined in popular culture as one of the world’s great “mysteries” (e.g., Morrison 1987). Various projects since the 1980s have gradually revealed the more widespread existence of geoglyphs up and down the Peruvian coast.

Coastal Geoglyphs: Their Nature and Geographical and Temporal Distribution Geoglyphs were more than casual doodles. Some lines run across the Nazca pampa for several kilometers, remaining dead straight even where they pass over significant hills and dips (Fig. 63.2a). They can be no more than 0.5 m wide, or widen out, or break into several parallel lines, in stretches. Many run radially from one of over 50 “line centers” generally located toward the edges of the pampa (Fig. 63.1b), and some connect two such line centers (Aveni 1990b). There are abstract geometrical designs such as zigzags and spirals, and great cleared areas, trapezoidal in shape and typically covering a hectare or so (Fig. 63.2b); the largest extends over more than 13 ha. Finally, there are the famous zoomorphic figures, localized in the

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Fig. 63.1 Some Nazca geoglyphs viewed from the air. (a) The monkey, c. 100 m across (Photograph: Colegota, creative commons license) (b) A radial line center (Photograph: Clive Ruggles)

Pampa de San Jose´ area in the northern part of the Nazca pampa, close to the fertile Ingenio valley, which can only be seen for what they are from the air (Reinhard 1986; Aveni 2000, pp. 24–37). Although the main concentration of geoglyphs is found on the Nazca pampa, the practice of creating “monumental drawings” was more extensive both in space and time. Around the Nazca pampa itself, geoglyphs extend into adjacent valleys (where many have been obliterated by cultivation) and hills (Arnold 2009). In particular, there are many hilltop geoglyphs – mostly trapezoidal areas and fragments of geometrical designs – around the Palpa valley directly to the north (Lambers 2006; Reindel et al. 2006; Sauerbier 2009), which, like those on the

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Fig. 63.2 Some Nazca geoglyphs viewed from the ground. (a) A long narrow line running into the distance across the pampa (Photograph: Clive Ruggles) (b) A trapezoidal cleared area (Photograph: Nicholas Saunders)

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Nazca pampa itself, are clearly attributable to the Nasca culture (Reindel and Wagner 2009). Geoglyphs are also known to exist in the Ica valley, some 100 km and more northward from Nazca, but also up and down the coastal strip far beyond the Nasca culture area – as far as the Casma valley more than 600 km to the north and extending into northern Chile as far as 800 km to the south (Reinhard 1986, pp. 22–28; Johnson 2009). They are also found inland, in the altiplano region of northern Chile and Bolivia: a network of long straight lines in Bolivia’s Sajama region extends over an area of ca 16,000 km2 (Morrison 1978, pp. 154–178; Erickson 2003). Distinctive biomorphic figures found in the Palpa-Nazca region date to the earlier Late Paracas period (c. 400–100 BC) (Orefici 2009, pp. 96–99) and some geometric geoglyphs were also constructed as early as this (Lambers 2006, pp. 78–94). While it is likely that the conceptual integrity of the “grid” of line centers and radial features spanning the Nazca pampa had largely or completely been lost by AD 700 (Ruggles and Saunders 2012), the broad conception of dividing the landscape using straight lines radiating out from a center is evident in the Andes in later Inca times (AD 1438–1532) in the “ceque” system centered upon Cusco (see ▶ Chap. 66, “Ceque System of Cuzco: A Yearly CalendarAlmanac in Space and Time”). Numerous straight lines in the Bolivian and Chilean altiplano region radiate out from villages, connecting them to distant shrines on hilltops or remote plains (Bauer 1998, pp. 150–154). Some of these were used for ceremonial processions until at least the 1980s (Reinhard 1986, pp. 55–59), and some continue to be walked in the course of specific rituals (e.g., Wachtel 1990).

The Nazca Lines Interpreted as an “Astronomy Book” In the 1940s, the North American geographer Paul Kosok visited the Nazca desert and chanced to observe the sun setting along one of the long lines on June 22, the winter solstice in the southern hemisphere. This single fortuitous observation apparently led him to the conviction that the Nazca lines had a calendricalastronomical function, and he later described them as the “largest astronomy book in the world” (Kosok 1965). In a series of articles in popular magazines, Kosok set the seal on an astronomical interpretation that came to dominate Nazca studies for many years, and still remains an influential public narrative. Its leading and most famous proponent was Maria Reiche, a German mathematics teacher living in Lima, who met Kosok in the 1940s and quickly became committed to solving what she saw as the riddle of the mathematical and astronomical meaning of the lines and figures (Fig. 63.3). She spent many years living as a recluse, walking on the desert and making measurements, and her unrelenting devotion to the investigation of the lines lasted for the rest of her life: she died in 1998, aged 95.

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Fig. 63.3 Maria Reiche walking a line in 1984 (Photograph: Clive Ruggles)

Despite all this effort, there is remarkably little published hard data. Reiche’s book Mystery on the Desert (Reiche 1968) concentrates mainly on descriptive material, and the actual evidence is scattered in a few minor and mostly obscure papers and articles. This basically falls into two categories: putative alignments of linear geoglyph features upon the rising and setting points of the solstitial sun and certain bright stars, and putative correlations between the shapes of some of the zoomorphic figures and groups of stars in the sky – for example, the monkey with certain stars in Leo, Leo Minor, and Ursa Major. These claims, which have been critically assessed by Aveni (1990a), exhibit the two classic flaws – methodological and interpretative – that are typical of much early work in archaeoastronomy, namely, highly subjective data selection and a lack of any serious consideration of the cultural context (see ▶ Chap. 24, “Nature and Analysis of Material Evidence Relevant to Archaeoastronomy”; ▶ Chap. 25, “Best Practice for Evaluating the Astronomical Significance of Archaeological Sites”; ▶ Chap. 27, “Analyzing Orientations”). More recently Pitluga (2004) has suggested that some of the figures might have represented dark-cloud constellations; such constellations do at least have cultural significance in the Andes (Urton 1981, pp. 169–191) and elsewhere in South America (▶ Chap. 74, “Astronomy in Brazilian Ethnohistory”).

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Broader Context and Interpretations There is little mystery as to how the geoglyphs were constructed: for example, particular techniques of clearing are evident from incomplete segments (e.g., Lambers 2006, pp. 94–98 at Palpa). As to their design, it would have been relatively straightforward to set out long-distance straight lines by sighting between intervisible points in the landscape, and there are various plausible suggestions as to how the more complex geometrical designs were laid out (e.g., Aveni 1990c) and the zoomorphic figures were “scaled up” (Aveni 2000, pp. 37–39). The more profound issue is the reasons for their construction, particularly given the intensity of the concentrations at Nazca and Palpa. Here, the archaeological evidence shows clearly that different geoglyphs were created over many generations, and they almost certainly had a variety of meanings and purposes – there was no simple “master plan”, astronomical or otherwise. In broad terms, it is likely that geoglyphs helped to express social and spatial order in the landscape, perhaps related to units of socioeconomic organization similar to the ayllus of later, Inca times (Urton 1990; Lambers 2006, pp. 119–123). It is also likely that there were associations of various kinds with water and irrigation, and some geoglyphs up and down the Peruvian coast appear to mark directly the passage of subterranean water through underground faults, indicating water sources that were critical for survival in this landscape (Johnson 2009, but see Proulx 2006). A few of the Nazca geoglyphs may have acted as conduits for pilgrims heading for the great pilgrimage center of Cahuachi in the Nazca valley to the south (e.g., Silverman 1993, pp. 324–325), but many more of them may have served as formal pathways to sacred places on the pampa, well away from population centers in the surrounding valleys, where ceremonial activities took place. These may well have included fertility rituals to proposition the mountain gods for rain (Reinhard 1988). The recent discovery of a 4.4 km-long labyrinth in the southern part of the Nazca pampa (Fig. 63.4), apparently laid out specifically to be walked by small numbers of people in single file who were constantly surprised and disorientated along the way (Ruggles and Saunders 2012), has begun to explore what might have been experienced by pilgrims or initiates while in the process of “sacred walking” (Aveni 2000, pp. 217–222).

Putative Associations of the Nazca Lines with Astronomy Within this broader context, astronomy may well have played a significant role. If geoglyphs were indeed loci for religious activities related to agricultural fertility and the supply of water, then they likely also related to a ritual calendar that would have been regulated by observations of both the skies and a variety of other natural phenomena (Silverman 1990, pp. 236–242). The similarity in form between the radial line centers on the Nazca pampa and the later Inca ceques

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Fig. 63.4 Plan of the “LC51 labyrinth” showing washes (Drawing: Deborah Miles-Williams)

suggests that sightings upon the rising and setting points of the sun during its annual passage (Aveni 1990b, 2000, pp. 125–135) may have been of particular importance in this regard, at least during one phase of geoglyph construction in the Nazca pampa. The problem lies in extracting any robust evidence from the material record that attests to the specific nature of those astronomical connections. Systematic studies of Nazca radial line orientations overall show no preferential patterns of alignment upon astronomical targets (Ruggles 1990), which is unsurprising since these orientations would have been affected by many different factors. A slight preference for azimuths around 100 may indicate that a number of lines radiating out from line centers were deliberately aligned upon sunrise around the beginning of November, the time when water starts to flow down from the Andean foothills through the Nazca basin, and also the time of solar zenith passage (Aveni 2000, pp. 152–155). Intriguingly, the one obvious astronomical correlate of the “LC51 labyrinth” (Ruggles and Saunders 2012) is that the directions of the various straight segments, although apparently random, neatly avoid the horizon arcs of sunrise and sunset. While there are insufficient data to claim with confidence that this was deliberate, it may have been the intention that those traversing the labyrinth should never move directly toward a point where the sun rose or set, reflecting one aspect of the ideological principles important to those who constructed this figure.

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Conclusion The Nazca lines have gradually recovered from being a “mystery” attracting an ill-founded “astronomical explanation”. Astronomical connections are now recognized as a small yet perhaps vital element in attempts to understand the possible functions and meanings of Peruvian coastal geoglyphs in the context of broader cultural developments. This case study demonstrates the gradual transition in recent decades to a more mature application of archaeoastronomy where astronomical associations are merely one of a multitude of different factors that might be evident in the material record and can inform broader interpretations (see ▶ Chap. 24, “Nature and Analysis of Material Evidence Relevant to Archaeoastronomy”).

Cross-References ▶ Analyzing Orientations ▶ Astronomy in Brazilian Ethnohistory ▶ Best Practice for Evaluating the Astronomical Significance of Archaeological Sites ▶ Ceque System of Cuzco: A Yearly Calendar-Almanac in Space and Time ▶ Nature and Analysis of Material Evidence Relevant to Archaeoastronomy

References Arnold V (2009) Interactive map over Nazca geoglyphs (Peru, 200 BC–AD 600). http://www. museum-albersdorf.de/nazca/enazcakarte.htm. Accessed 14 Dec 2012 Aveni AF (1990a) An assessment of previous studies of the Nazca geoglyphs. In: Aveni AF (ed) The lines of Nazca. American Philosophical Society, Philadelphia, pp 3–40 Aveni AF (1990b) Order in the Nazca lines. In: Aveni AF (ed) The lines of Nazca. American Philosophical Society, Philadelphia, pp 43–113 Aveni AF (1990c) An analysis of the Cantalloc spiral. In: Aveni AF (ed) The lines of Nazca. American Philosophical Society, Philadelphia, pp 307–312 Aveni AF (2000) Between the lines: the mystery of the giant ground drawings of ancient Nasca, Peru. University of Texas Press, Austin Bauer BS (1998) The sacred landscape of the Inca: the Cusco ceque system. University of Texas Press, Austin Erickson CL (2003) Tierra Sajama, Bolivia. http://cml.upenn.edu/tierrasajama/. Accessed 9 Oct 2013 Johnson D (2009) Beneath the Nasca lines and other coastal geoglyphs of Peru and Chile. Global Learning, Poughkeepsie Kosok P (1965) Life, land and water in ancient Peru. Long Island University Press, New York Lambers K (2006) The geoglyphs of Palpa, Peru: documentation, analysis, and interpretation. Linden Soft, Aichwald Morrison T (1978) Pathways of the gods: the mystery of the Andes lines. Harper and Row, New York Morrison T (1987) The mystery of the Nasca lines. Nonesuch Expeditions, Woodbridge

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Orefici G (2009) Nasca: el desierto de los dioses de Cahuachi. Graph Ediciones, Lima Pitluga PB (2004) Correlacio´n de nuevas mediciones de las figuras/lı´neas de Nasca con figuras de la Vı´a La´ctea andina. In: Boccas JMB, Broda J, Pereira G (eds) Etno y arque-oastronomı´a en las Ame´ricas, Memorias del Simposio ARQ-13, 51º Congreso Internacional de Americanistas, Santiago de Chile, pp 21–38 Proulx D (2006) The Nasca Lines project. http://people.umass.edu/proulx/Nasca_Lines_Project. html. Accessed 14 Dec 2012 Reiche M (1968) Mystery on the desert. Offizindruck, Stuttgart Reindel M, Wagner GA (eds) (2009) New technologies for archaeology: multidisciplinary investigations in Palpa and Nasca, Peru. Springer, Berlin Reindel M, Isla J, Lambers K (2006) Altares en el desierto: las estructuras de piedra sobre los geoglifos Nasca en Palpa. Arqueologia y Sociedad 17:179–222 Reinhard J (1986) The Nazca lines: a new perspective on their origin and meaning, 2nd edn. Los Pinos, Lima Reinhard J (1988) The Nazca Lines, water and mountains: an ethno-archaeological study. In: Saunders NJ, de Montmollin O (eds) Recent Studies in Pre-Columbian Archaeology. British Archaeological Reports, Oxford, pp 363–414 Ruggles CLN (1990) A statistical examination of the radial line azimuths at Nazca. In: Aveni AF (ed) The lines of Nazca. American Philosophical Society, Philadelphia, pp 245–269 Ruggles CLN, Saunders NJ (2012) Desert labyrinth: lines, landscape and meaning at Nazca, Peru. Antiquity 86:1126–1140 Sauerbier M (2009) GIS-based management and analysis of the geoglyphs in the Palpa region (IGP Mitteilungen 104), Institut f€ ur Geod€asie und Photogrammetrie. Eidgeno¨ssische Technische Hochschule, Z€ urich Silverman H (1990) The early Nazca pilgrimage center of Cahuachi and the Nazca lines: anthropological and archaeological perspectives. In: Aveni AF (ed) The lines of Nazca. American Philosophical Society, Philadelphia, pp 207–244 Silverman H (1993) Cahuachi in the ancient Nasca world. University of Iowa Press, Iowa City Silverman H, Proulx DA (2002) The Nasca. Blackwell, Malden/Oxford Urton G (1981) At the crossroads of the earth and sky: an Andean cosmology. University of Texas Press, Austin Urton G (1990) Andean social organization and the maintenance of the Nazca lines. In: Aveni AF (ed) The lines of Nazca. American Philosophical Society, Philadelphia, pp 173–206 Von D€aniken E (1969) Chariots of the gods? Souvenir Press, London Wachtel N (1990) Le retour des anceˆtres: les indiens urus de Bolivie. E´ditions Gallimard, Paris

Inca Astronomy and Calendrics

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David S. P. Dearborn and Brian S. Bauer

Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The Lunar Cult and Lunar Months . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The Sun Cult and the Solar Year . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Stars and Planets . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Other Celestial Phenomena . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Overview . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Abstract

Half a millennium ago in the central Andes of Peru, the movements of the sun, moon, and stars were watched and interpreted by the Inca. The astronomical observations made in and near the former capital, Cuzco, formed the nuclei of the most important public rituals of the empire. As the regulator of time, the ruling Inca scheduled the rituals that bound this society together. In this article, we review the major astronomical observations that were made by the Inca and discuss their importance in defining the ritual calendar.

D.S.P. Dearborn (*) Lawrence Livermore National Laboratory, Livermore, CA, USA e-mail: [email protected] B.S. Bauer University of Illinois at Chicago, Chicago, IL, USA e-mail: [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_78, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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Introduction In the fifteenth and early sixteenth centuries, the Inca Empire ran the length of the Andes. Inca cosmology developed from a broader Andean system that associates powerful “animas” with unusual features such as mountaintops, caves, springs, and large rocks. These sacred objects are known in Quechua, the language of the Inca, as huacas. The Inca worshiped many such huacas, but their cosmology placed paramount importance on the sun and the moon. For the Inca, the Sun and the Moon held important gender-related roles. The Sun was largely associated with the ruling Inca and masculinity, while the Moon was affiliated with the royal wife of the Inca and femininity. These celestial objects were used both to define and divide the year, and other celestial phenomena were watched with hopes of understanding the future.

The Lunar Cult and Lunar Months The early Spanish writers of Peru make it clear that the lunar worship was a widespread and an important aspect of Andean culture. They are also unanimous in its association with women. For example, Chisto´bal de Molina, a priest who lived and worked in Cuzco, describes the adoration of the Moon within the confines of the Coricancha (Temple of the Sun): They would also bring out a statue of a woman, which was the huaca of the Moon, which they called Passa Mama [Moon mother] Women were in charge of it. Thus, when they came out of the House of the Sun, where it had its own abode, where the balcony of Santo Domingo is now, [the women] would carried out [the huaca] on [their] shoulders. The reason why women were in charge of it [was] because they said [the moon] was a woman, as portrayed by her statue (Molina 2011, p. 54 [ca. 1575]).

There is also rich linguistic evidence for Andean interest in lunar phases (Zio´łkowski and Sadowski 1992, pp. 65, 111, 293–368), and like many other societies, the Inca divided the year into 12 calendar months by the phases of the moon (Alborno´z 1984, pp. 203–204 [ca. 1582]). A document (ca. 1608) commissioned by the descendants of Paullu Inca incorporates an account purported to be from a 1542 inquiry (Duviols 1979; Urton 1981, pp. 43–46). In it, four indigenous informants, said to be quipucamayocs (quipu keepers) for the Inca, describe the use of a calendar with 12 synodic lunar months: The years and months that make the count, are lunar months and years, marking every month from the new moon, and there are twelve of these months to a year. (Callapin˜a, Supno, y otros Quipucamayos 1974 [1542/1608], translation by authors)

This account is consistent with information recorded by other writers, including Cieza de Leo´n (1976, p. 172 [1554, Pt. 2, Chap. 26]) who notes that “they know the revolutions the sun makes and the waxing and waning of the moon” as well as his observation that “they counted the year by this and the year consists of 12 months by their calculations”. It is also consistent with Molina’s (2011 [ca. 1575]), and

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many other detailed descriptions, of a 12 lunar months system being used by the Incas to regulate the annual agricultural calendar. However, it is important to note that to remain useful, a 12-lunar month agricultural calendar requires that it be maintained within the solar year. As a 12-month lunar calendar falls 11 days short of a year, the position of specific rituals (e.g., the annual plant and harvest celebrations) will move to inappropriate parts of the year, unless an extra month is added about every 3 years. Unfortunately, the early Spanish writers provide no clear statement for how an extra month was inserted into the Inca calendar or how the lunar calendar was kept in-sink with the solar year.

The Sun Cult and the Solar Year While there is evidence that the sun was watched and worshiped by much earlier South American cultures (e.g., Ghezzi and Ruggles 2007), it is certain that at the time of the European contact, the Inca claimed kinship to this powerful deity to legitimize their imperial status and used its movement on the horizon to mark the passing of years. Two of the most important rituals of the year, Capac Raymi (Royal Celebration) and Inti Raymi (Sun Celebration), were held on the June and December solstices, respectively. The linking of the rulers of the empire to the sun cult was made almost unquestionable by the fact that the statue of the Sun, perhaps the most important religious relic of the empire, held the hearts of former emperors (Toledo 1924, pp. 344–345 [1572]). The establishment and maintenance of the solar cult required different kinds of specialists to monitor the sun. For example, an indigenous chronicler, Guaman Poma de Ayala (1980, p. 830 [1615, p. 884 (898)]), describes an “astrologer”, who measured the way light entered a window. A document by an anonymous author, the Huarochirı´ Manuscript (1991, p. 72 [ca.1608]), refers to a local specialist called a “yanca” and describes how he watched the way in which sunlight fell on a wall. These individuals were local specialists who monitored the motion of the sun to obtain specific dates for planting and harvest festivals. These light-and-shadow observations were generally done by an individual or a small group of people, and the derivative time was passed on to the village in general. These village-level skywatchers did not need large constructions or specialized buildings. Nevertheless, structures suited to light casting along an aligned fiducial to the June solstice have been identified at Machu Picchu and Pisac (Dearborn and White 1983). There is also good documentation that the Incas built sets of stone towers on the horizons that were used during large public celebrations. The number of towers used, and the solar events that they marked, is open to some debate, yet all scholars agree that there were horizon pillars to mark the sunrise and sunset on the solstices (Bauer and Dearborn 1995). The best-described cases of the use of horizon pillars come from the capital city, Cuzco. Unfortunately, those pillars have long since been destroyed by looting and urban growth. Nevertheless, the remains of solar pillars marking the June solstice sunrise have now been found in the Urubamba Valley

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(Carrasco et al. 2003; Gullberg and Malville 2011) and in the Vilcabamba region, and horizon markers for the June solstice sunset have been found on the Island of the Sun (Dearborn et al. 1998; Seddon and Bauer 2004) and in the Vilcabamba region (Bell 2011). More will certainly be found as research on Inca astronomy continues. The solar markers described by many authors in the Cuzco area provide an empirical ability to observe the annual solstices and maintain the phase of the lunar year, combining elements to form a lunisolar calendar. However, some chronicles go beyond that to describe a purely solar calendar. For example, Betanzos (1987, pp. 73–74 [1551, Chap. 15]) claims the Inca established a year with fixed months of 30 days (loosely phased with the moon). Polo de Ondegardo (1965, pp. 20–22 [1585, Chap. 7]) writes, “Each moon or month had its monument or pillar around Cuzco, where the Sun reached that month”. While it is possible that such monthly pillars were built, no archaeological evidence of them has been found.

Stars and Planets The Inca were also interested in the planets and stars. Inca stellar astronomy shows a night sky filled with animal images frequently associated with the processes of reproduction. These animals include a snake, a fox, a bird, a jaguar, and a number of llamas. Andean constellations were not limited to star-to-star configurations but included dark lanes visible against the background of the Milky Way. Unlike solar worship with its imperial trappings, this plethora of animals was part of a general pan-Andean, folk astronomy that underwent little change during the growth of the Inca Empire. While bright (large) stars are named by the Inca, striking faint groups like the Pleiades were also important. The considerable variations found among the star names suggest that there was no systematic attempt by the Inca to impose a centralized, state-controlled, stellar astronomy on conquered peoples. Though information on Inca constellations is not abundant, historical and ethnographic research permits a number of identifications as compiled in Bauer and Dearborn (1995). Preeminent among the observed stars were the Pleiades. This asterism had several names, including Collca and Oncoy as well as Larilla, Fur, and Pugllaiguaico. Polo de Ondegardo (1965, pp. 2–5 [1585, Chap. 1]) writes that this cluster was considered to be the mother of all stars and that “. . . those Indians who were informed about such matters kept better track of its course all year long than that of any of the other stars”. Following Polo de Ondegardo, Cobo (1990, pp. 30–31 [1653, p. Bk. 13, Chap. 6]) states that several constellations served as patrons to animals and birds and that these constellations came from the Pleiades which was locally called Collca (storehouse). The Pleiades were also believed by the Inca to be associated with maize production, and their appearance and disappearance was observed with great interest. This custom continues today as villagers examine the brightness of the Pleiades for information concerning the maize harvest (Urton 1981, p. 119).

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Another well-identified group of constellations were llamas. This is an economically valuable animal in Andean culture, and Polo de Ondegardo (1965, pp. 2–5 [1585, Chap. 1]) writes that “Shepherds worshipped and sacrificed to a star they call Urcuchillay, which they say is a sheep [llama] of many colors . . . that the astrologers call Lyra”. Lyra, an ancient constellation of Mediterranean origin, is a prominent constellation that includes the star Vega, one of the brightest in the sky. Far across the sky, a dark lane stretching across the Milky Way from Scorpius to Centaurus was seen as another llama (Huarochirı´ manuscript 1991, pp. 132–133 ca. 1608, Chap. 29; 1981, pp. 185–188). At the Centaurus end are the third and eleventh brightest stars in the sky, a Cen (Rigil Kent) and b Cen (Hadar), which the Incas called Llamacnawin (“eyes of the llama”). Besides being the progenitor of herds, this llama constellation may also be associated in Andean mythology with rain (Urton 1981, pp. 54–65; Zuidema and Urton 1976). Less is known about the functioning of planets in Inca astronomy, although it is clear that Venus was closely watched. Because Venus orbits the sun closer than the earth does, it can only be seen in the evening or in the morning. Venus, like the Pleiades, bore a number of names including Chasca Cuyllor, Pacaric Chasca, Pacari Cuyllor, Auquilla, Pachahua´rac, Chachaquaras, and Atungara. The identification of Venus in historical texts, however, should be considered tentative since, as Urton (1981, pp. 166–167) notes, some of these names refer to bright evening and morning stars as well as Venus.

Other Celestial Phenomena A regular feature of the night sky is meteors and their more spectacular brethren, fireballs. Cieza de Leo´n (1976, p. 316 [1553, Bk. 1, Chap. 15]) and Cobo (1990, p. 175 [1653, Bk. 13, Chap. 38) mention meteors, and meteor watching for purposes of divination continues to be practiced in Andean villages (Urton 1981, pp. 88–94). Less frequent celestial events include visible novae, supernovae, comets, and eclipses. While not commonplace, these celestial phenomena are frequent enough that good skywatchers (as was almost anyone born before the advent of electricity) will see them and wonder about their significance. As unpredictable events to the Inca, comets and eclipses were not incorporated into the ritual fabric of the annual calendar. As unexpected guests in the sky, comets and eclipses disrupted the regular cycles and were interpreted as ominous events (Dearborn 1986). In general, solar and lunar eclipses are frequent enough that they can be recognized without reliance on a long historical record. As extraordinary and visually compelling events, eclipses attract great attention. In the Andes, these events were interpreted to represent the near death of these celestial objects, and this must be particularly troubling for people who recognize the Sun and the Moon as paramount forces. Cobo (1990, pp. 27, 29 1653, Bk. 13, Chaps. 6, 7) writes that an “eclipse of the Sun was a grave matter, and when an eclipse occurred, they consulted with their diviners about its significance”. Cobo notes that eclipses of the

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moon were also considered a serious omen. In a lunar eclipse, “a [mountain] lion or a serpent was attacking in order to tear her (the moon) apart”. During a lunar eclipse, people shouted, blew trumpets, beat drums, and whipped dogs to create noise to scare away the destroyers. They also menaced the moon with arrows and spears so that the moon would not be torn apart, leaving the world in darkness.

Overview Many ancient societies watched the movements of the celestial bodies. Observations of the sun, moon, planets, and stars formed basic tenets of their calendar systems, ritual celebrations, and cosmologies. Ancient astronomy is an investigation of native social organizations and the foundations for elites’ claims to authority and power. As Cuzco expanded from a village community to an imperial capital, changes in the Inca social organization included the development of a new class of elites that claimed the sun as their ancestor and patron. New ceremonies were developed during this period, encoding the new rights and duties of each member of the society. Development of a ritual calendar, which reinforced the ruling Inca’s role as the paramount religious authority and which was largely based on solar and lunar sightings, helped to justify the status of the emperor. The ruling Inca, divine descendant of the sun, was seen as having access to ethereal knowledge and powers through which he controlled or interacted with universal forces. Participation in large public astronomical observations in conjunction with elaborate ceremonies provided visible links to their origin myth and helped to strengthen the ruling elites’ claim to dynastic power. The unique position of the ruling Inca, as mediator between the Sun and the people of the Andes, provided him with eminent powers and proved to be an important component element of Inca statecraft. The foundations of Inca sun worship and society were shattered with the arrival of the Spaniards and the subsequent executions of Atahualpa (1533) and Tupac Amaru (1572). The deaths of these Incas, the conquest of the empire, and the replacement of huaca worship with Christianity marked the end of indigenous rule in the Andes. The changes brought about by the Spaniards were so thorough that within decades the imperial monuments of the Inca, including the horizon pillars of Cuzco, were in ruins. With the introduction of the European calendar and Catholic ritual cycle, much of Andean astronomy was transformed or abandoned altogether. As a new structure of time – a European one – was imposed on the Andes, the solar pillars, the time pieces of the Inca, ceased to apply. Time management and social organization came to be governed by Spanish rituals, and the Andean sky was forever altered.

Cross-References ▶ Analyzing Light-and-Shadow Interactions ▶ Astronomy and Politics

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▶ Astronomy and Power ▶ Calendars and Astronomy ▶ Gnomons in Ancient China ▶ Inca Calendar ▶ Inca Royal Estates in the Sacred Valley ▶ Island of the Sun: Elite and Non-Elite Observations of the June Solstice ▶ Machu Picchu

References de Alborno´z C (1984) Instruccio´n para descubrir todas las guacas del Piru´ y sus camayos y haziendas [ca. 1582]. Revisita Andina 2(1):169–222. Cuzco Bauer BS, Dearborn DSP (1995) Astronomy and empire in the ancient Andes. University of Texas Press, Austin Bell BW (2011) Decoding an Inca observatory: solar alignments at Puncuyoc. Nawpa Pacha 31(1):101–116 de Betanzos J (1987) In: Maria del Carmen Martin Rubio (ed) Suma y narracio´n de los Incas [1551]. Ediciones Atlas, Madrid Callapin˜a, Supno, y otros Quipucamayos (1974) In: Juan Jose´ Vega (ed) Relacio´n de la descendencia, gobierno y conquista de los Incas [1542/1608]. Ediciones de la Biblioteca Universitaria, Lima Carrasco Ayme C, Soria MP, Carrasco OF (2003) Pacha Unancha: astronomı´a inka en Urubamba. Saqsaywaman 6:217–279 Cieza de Leo´n, Pedro de (1976) The Incas of Pedro Cieza de Leo´n [Part 1, 1553 and Part 2, 1554]. University of Oklahoma Press, Norman Cobo B (1990) Inca religion and customs [1653]. University of Texas Press, Austin Dearborn DSP (1986) The death of an Inka. Griffith Observer 50(8):17–20 Dearborn DSP, White RE (1983) The ‘torreo´n’ at Machu Picchu as an observatory. Archaeoastronomy 5(Supplement to the Journal for the History for Astronomy 14):S37–S49 Dearborn DSP, Seddon M, Bauer BS (1998) The Sanctuary of Titicaca: where the sun returns to earth. Lat Am Antiq 9(3):240–258 Duviols P (1979) Datation, Paternite´ et Ideologie de la “Declaracion de los Quipucamayocs a Vaca de Castro”. Discurso de la descendencia y gobierno de los Ingas. Les Cultures Iberiques en Devenir, par Fondation Singer-Polignac, Paris, pp 583–591 Ghezzi I, Ruggles CLN (2007) Chankillo: a 2300-year-old solar observatory in coastal Peru. Science 315:1239–1243 Guaman Poma de Ayala F (1980) In: Murra JV, Adorno R (eds) El primer nueva coro´nica y buen gobierno [1584–1615] (trans: Jorge I). Urioste, vol 3. Siglo Veintiuno, Mexico City Gullberg S, Malville JM (2011) The astronomy of Peruvian Huacas. In: Highlighting the history of astronomy in the Asia-Pacific region, astrophysics and space science proceedings, Part 2, pp 85–118 Huarochirı´ Manuscript (1991) The Huarochirı´ manuscript: a testament of ancient and colonial Andean religion [1608]. University of Texas Press, Austin Molina C (2011) Account of the fables and rites of the Incas by Cristo´bal de Molina. University of Texas Press, Austin Polo de Ondegardo J (1965) On the errors and superstitions of the Indians, taken from the treatise and investigation done by Licentiate Polo. Human Relations Area Files, New Haven, pp 1–53 Seddon M, Bauer BS (2004) Excavations at Tikani. In: Stanish C, Bauer B (eds) Archaeological research on the Islands of the Sun and the Moon, Lake Titicaca, Bolivia: final results from the

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Proyecto Tiksi Kjarka. Monograph 52. Cotsen Institute of Archaeology, University of California, Los Angeles, pp 83–91 de Toledo F (1924) Carta de D. Francisco de Toledo, virrey del Peru´, sobre la victoria obtenida en Vilcabamba contra los indios, y la prisio´n de los incas, ejecucio´n de Tupac Amaru´ y descubrimiento del ´ıdolo Punchau [1572]. In Gobernantes del Peru´: Cartas y papeles, siglo XVI, vol 4, pp 341–345. Documentos del Archivo de Indias. Coleccio´n de Publicaciones Histo´ricas de la Biblioteca del Congreso Argentino, Imprenta de Juan Pueyo, Madrid Urton GD (1981) At the crossroads of the earth and the sky: an Andean cosmology. The University of Texas Press, Austin Zio´łkowski MS, Sadowski RM (1992) La Arqueoastronomia en la investigacion de las culturas Andinas. Instituo Otavalen˜o de Antropologia Banco central del Ecuador, Quito Zuidema RT, Urton G (1976) La Constelacio´n de la Llama en los Andes peruanos. Allpanchis Phuturinqa 9:59–119

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Mariusz Zio´łkowski

Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Calendars in Tawantinsuyu . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The Structure of the “State” Calendar . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The “Quipu-Calendar” Hypothesis . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The Eras and Multi-Annual Cycles . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Aspects of Further Research . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Abstract

The ritual, central Inca calendar, adapted to the ecological, cultural, and ethnic realities of the Cuzco valley, was the basis of the imperial calendar, used for the administration of the Inca Empire. According to the main historical sources, it was composed of 12 synodic months calculated from new moon to new moon. The correlation of this cycle with the tropical year was achieved by the intercalation of an additional 13th month, every 2 or 3 years. Tom Zuidema’s thesis about the existence of the “stellar lunar calendar” or “quipu-calendar” is also analyzed.

Introduction The Inca state, or Tawantinsuyu, was the final, and relatively short, period of cultural development of the Central-Andean territory that had lasted many thousands of years.

M. Zio´łkowski Centre for Precolumbian Studies, University of Warsaw, Warsaw, Poland e-mail: [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_79, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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Many of the achievements of that civilization, popularly associated with the Inca, in fact had much earlier origins. Leaving open the question of the Incas’ place of origin, it is assumed that during the period between twelfth and thirteenth century, a semblance of a state was established, with its center in Cuzco. By the beginning of the fifteenth century, the Inca had taken over an area of approximately 100,000 km2. By 1532, they had conquered lands along the Pacific — in the Andes and in the jungle, descending to an elevation of about 200 m — extending from the Ancasmayo river in Colombia, up to the river Maule in Chile. In total, this amounted to 1–1.5 million square kilometers (the difference in estimates is due to a dispute over the spread of Inca authority in some of the areas). The conquerors were three rulers from the so-called traditional list: Pachakuti Inka Yupanki, Thupa Inka Yupanki, and Wayna Qhapaq Inka, whose reign, calculated on the basis of data taken from chronicles, lasted over 100 years. This relatively short chronology of the expansion phase of the Inca state finds confirmation in archaeological data: material traces considered to be identifiers of the imperial phase (characteristic types of ceramics, administrative structures, etc.), start appearing at 1400 AD approximately. The estimated population of the Inca empire was between 10 and 15 million, with the Inca representing a minority of a few hundred thousand; ergo at least 90 % of the inhabitants of Tahuantinsuyu were not Inca. Only high-level officials of the political, military, and religious hierarchy, as well as special groups of settlers from the Inca population, lived in the provinces of the Inca Empire.

Calendars in Tawantinsuyu An important role in managing such a large and diverse country was played by the imperial calendar, which facilitated the coordinating of administrative, economic, and religious-ceremonial functions of importance to the Inca. The imperial calendar, however, was not the only time-measuring tool used in Tawantinsuyu; there is evidence of the existence of other systems with a different genesis and purpose. This was due to several factors: • First, the terrain of the Inca state was ecologically extremely varied (from tropical jungle to high altitude plateau with a subpolar climate), as well as diverse in terms of its ethnic, linguistic, social, political, and religious divisions. It is obvious that one central calendar could not replace the local ones adapted to the specific conditions and needs of the people living in the various provinces (see Urton 1982). • Secondly, the evolutionary aspect has to be taken into account, since (as rightly noted by John Earls) establishing and reforming the Inca calendar were but the final stage of the lengthy process of development of Andean time measurement systems (Earls 1976). During the history of the Inca state, lasting 250–300 years, important changes in its social, political, administrative, and religiousceremonial structures were taking place. These changes also affected time measurements and the calendar, which was reformed several times, even just prior to the Spanish Conquest.

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Fig. 65.1 “A native Andean astrologer, who studies the sun, the moon, and all other heavenly bodies in order to know when to plant the crops”, Guaman Poma de Ayala, drawing from ca.1615. Notable is the khipu, which the “astrologer” is holding in his hand (Guaman Poma Web site http://www.kb.dk/ permalink/2006/poma/897)

There are source limitations to be considered. We do not have the same documents from the Tawantinsuyu before the Spanish Conquest as we do from Mesoamerica: Mayan astronomical-calendar inscriptions or Aztec and Mixtec codices. It is known that the astronomical-calendar cycles were registered using khipu, as is clearly shown in a drawing from the Guaman Poma de Ayala chronicle (see Fig. 65.1). But until now, only few khipu with a probable astronomical function have been found (Nordenskiold 1926; Urton 2001). The main source still remains in the form of chronicles from colonial times, written in Spanish, containing scattered bits of information about calendars or the cult of celestial bodies practiced by the Incas and other Andean peoples.

The Structure of the “State” Calendar The ritual, central Inca calendar, adapted to the ecological, cultural, and ethnic realities of the Cuzco valley, is best described in sources. Some doubt exists even here, including the fundamental question of whether this was a solar calendar,

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with 30-day months, or a luni-solar calendar (see ▶ Chap. 2, “Calendars and Astronomy”). Most of the evidence points to it being a calendar composed of 12 synodic months calculated from new moon to new moon (first possible sighting of the Moon following the new Moon in the western sky), in the manner of many other cultures, among them those of the Old World. As we know, such a cycle consists of approximately 354 days, or ca. 11.25 days fewer than a solar tropical year. A system of adding on the calculations for the lunar months to the solar cycle had to be introduced. This was probably done by adding, every 2 or 3 years, an additional 13th month (Zio´łkowski 1989a). The next question is: When did the Inca year begin? Here, again, we find contradictions in the source material; what is more, there exist several “beginnings” — at least three or four. Without going into the details of these findings, it may be worth noting the difference in opinion between the chroniclers, as well as contemporary researchers. Therefore, even though the months were, as agreed, most probably lunar, they still had to be tagged on, one way or another, to the solar cycle, which was closely scrutinized. In the inter-tropic latitudes, such as the one on which Cuzco is located, the sun encounters several critical moments in its annual transition. Foremost are the solstices (June and December), equinoxes (March and September), and transits through the zenith (twice) and the nadir or “anti-zenith” (twice) (Zuidema 1981). These phenomena, or at least some of them, were singled out and celebrated by the Inca under the name of raymi. Three raymi celebrations have been apparently considered as beginnings of the year: both of the solstices and the February transit through the Cuzco zenith. Each of these dates is backed by one of the reliable chroniclers. F. Christoual de Molina and Inca Garilaso de la Vega, for example, claim that the most important holiday beginning the Inca year was Intip Raymin (de Molina 1575/1916; Garcilaso de la Vega 1608/1963, p. I, Bk. VI, Chap. XX–XXIII), celebrating the June solstice (Fig. 65.2). Other no less well-informed authors — such as Juan Polo de Ondegardo, for instance — also consider Intip Raymin as important in the ritual calendar but state that the beginning of the year is associated with Qhapaq Raymi (Polo de Ondegardo 1571/1916), celebrating the December solstice (Fig. 65.3). Then again, the same Polo de Ondegardo suggests in another document that the Inca started their year in early February (Polo de Ondegardo 1561/1940), linking it to the solar transit through the Cuzco zenith. It is worth adding that the Inca agricultural year in the Cuzco valley began in August, close to the Sun’s transit through the nadir of the state capital (Zuidema 1981, 2010; Bauer and Dearborn 1995). This was far from the end of the discussion. After 3 years, the shift in the position of the synodic month amounted to over 33 days in relation to the solar phenomena. The introduction of an additional month did more or less bring the situation to the point of departure, but the mobility of Inca months created a problem in finding equivalents in the Christian calendar. What should one call the month of Hawkay Kuzki, which encompasses the solar holiday Intip Raymin (celebrating the June solstice), but because of the new moon (marking the beginning of the year) may begin on June 7th (Julian calendar) in one year and in the middle of May in another? Is it therefore the equivalent of the European “May” or “June”? Additional

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Fig. 65.2 “The sixth month, June; Hawkay Kuski, rest from the harvest”. Guaman Poma de Ayala, drawing from ca. 1615. According to some parts of the sources, the Intip raymin holiday, falling on that month, dictated the beginning of the Inca year (Guaman Poma Web site http://www. kb.dk/permalink/2006/poma/ 248)

complications result from the necessity of taking into account the consequences of Gregorian reforms of the Julian calendar, adopted in the Spanish colonies in 1584. The dispute between the chroniclers as to the Cuzco new year is not as essential to the reconstruction of Inca rituals as it may appear, since most of the sources (with a few exceptions) agree in principle on the sequence of months and ceremonies associated with them, as shown in the comparative Table 65.1. One issue remains: did the Inca use a period similar to our week? Information found in historical material is, once again, somewhat contradictory and refers in principle to three different cycles: 1. The so-called lunar age, or its phases. Terms, like musuq killa, new moon (month) and, pura killa, full moon, can be found in quechua dictionaries. However, other than referring to a particular phase and (or) number of days before or after it, there is no reference to a cycle with a fixed number of days (Gonza´lez Holguı´n 1608). The only noticeable rule in this respect seems to be the custom of performing major religious and ceremonial rituals during the first 21 days of the synodic cycle (Zio´łkowski 1987, 1988; compare Urton 2001).

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Fig. 65.3 “The twelfth month, December; Qhapaq Inti Raymi, month of the festivity of the lord sun”. Guaman Poma de Ayala, drawing from ca. 1615. According to other historical sources (compare Fig. 65.2), it is the holiday taking place this month that dictated the beginning of the Inca year (Guaman Poma Web site http://www.kb.dk/permalink/ 2006/poma/248)

2. Ten-day “week”. The mention of such a cycle appears in chronicles and dictionaries, although mainly in relation to distance, for example: the roar of wamani – a distance equal to a 10-day march (Gonza´lez Holguı´n 1608). Don Phelipe Guaman Poma de Ayala argues that such a 10-day cycle was indeed the Inca week (Guaman Poma 1615/1616, fol. 235, 260). The only confirmation of this is source information, transmitted by Martı´n de Muru´a, that supplies for the soldiers taking part in military action in present day Ecuador were handed out every 10 days (Muru´a 1613/1962–1964, Ip. Chap. 34). 3. There were probably other cycles “close to a week” in duration. Pedro Pizarro, for example, when describing the court of Ataw Wallpa, adds the information that each of the ruler’s wives served her brother-husband for 1 week: the chronicler does not specify, however, whether this was a 7-, 8- or 10-day cycle (Pizarro 1571/1997, Chap. 10). Leaving behind the unresolved issue of the “Inca week”, let us attempt to answer the question of the nature of annual holidays. They can be divided into three groups: (a) Ceremonies and “ordinary” sacrifices were performed in each of the 12 months, following a more-or-less similar scenario. The main element was the offering of a cremation sacrifice of 100 llamas, spread over specific days of the month.

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(b) Holidays pertaining to a specific month, where ceremonies connected to the aforementioned critical moments in the Sun’s transition were of particular importance. (c) Ceremonies with stages spread out over the entire year that may also have been performed in cycles of several years. The most important of them was warachikuy, or the initiation ritual of young Incas. The synodic lunar cycle regulated not only major public ceremonies but also military activity. For example, it was not carried out during new moon; the full moon, on the other hand, was considered most auspicious for a battle. Sowing, too, was regulated by lunar phases. Venus synodic cycle (Ch’aska Quyllur – Chuqui Illa) played an important role in the cult, and may have affected the schedule of the initiation ceremony – warachikuy. Let us go back to the three main holidays of the Inca ritual year: Intip Raymin (on the occasion of the June solstice), Qhapaq Raymi (December solstice) and Zitwa, cleansing holidays, falling in the Quya Raymi month, dedicated to the Moon (Fig. 65.4). The feast of the dead was also an important holiday, celebrated in the month Aya Marqᛌa (November–December). One must not forget the tight socio-ethnic hierarchy of all the Inca festivities. In accordance with this, during a single holiday, ceremonies were restricted to specific categories of participants. This is the reason for the seemingly contradictory descriptions of certain holidays: information given to the chronicler referred only to the ceremonies in which the informer (or his ancestors) took part. But there is no general description encompassing all the rituals, often performed simultaneously and in different places. An attempt at such a correlation of elements composing the most important of the Inca holidays has been presented in another publication (Zio´łkowski 1987, 1988).

The “Quipu-Calendar” Hypothesis Tom Zuidema, a distinguished researcher of Inca culture, is an advocate of a thesis about the existence of yet another type of Inca calendar, the so-called stellar lunar calendar or quipu-calendar (see ▶ Chap. 66, “Ceque System of Cuzco: a Yearly Calendar-almanac in Space and Time”). In a nutshell, this hypothesis is based on the assumption that the 328 sacred places, so-called huacas, found in the environs and around Cuzco, corresponded to a cycle of 328 days/nights. These 328 nights are supposed to represent: 1. An equivalent of 12 sidereal lunar months of 27⅓ nights each 2. An approximate length of 11 synodic lunar months, with a difference of 3½ days (11
29½ ¼ 324½ days) 3. An approximate duration of the period of visibility of the Pleiades, while the leftover 37 days (corresponding to the difference between the solar year and the 328 nights cycle) will represent the “ideal” duration of the period of invisibility of the Pleiades (Zuidema 1982, 2010). A detailed critique of this concept has been presented elsewhere (Zio´łkowski 1989b; Sadowski 1989; Nowack 1998). The main weakness of Zuidema’s

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Table 65.1 Reconstruction of Inca months for the years 1532–1533. The date (according to the Julian Calendar) in column 1 is the first possible sighting of the Moon following the new Moon in the western sky. Estimates based on calculations done by Robert M. Sadowski and verification of the visibility conditions for Cusco using the Carte du Ciel v. 3.6. program. Of course, true visibility depends also on other factors such as weather conditions. In column 2 and 3 are given the names and positions of the months according to two chroniclers, with differing views as to the beginning of the Inca year. Clearly, this difference does not affect the complicit sequence of the months. Column 5 lists a number of important historical events for this period. Describing their position not only in the European but also in the Andean time measuring system may be useful, among other things, in explaining the symbolic meaning ascribed to them in Andean mythological and historical tradition. For example: did the fact that Atahualpa was slain by the Spaniards in the first days of the Inca month commencing the agricultural cycle (sowing) have an effect on the concept that the body of an Inca grows back from his severed head (in fact the Inca was garroted not beheaded)? Did the fact that the Spaniards’ arrival in Cajamarca in 1532, and a year later in Cusco, took place during the Inca month dedicated to the cult of the dead, have an effect on the concept, appearing in the early stage of the Conquest, that the Spaniards were the deceased returning from the Otherworld? Detailed reconstruction of the holidays and ceremonies taking place in specific months is presented elsewhere (Zio´łkowski 1987, 1988) First visibility of the New Moon (Julian date) – beginning of an Inca month 1532 June 04 July 04 August 02

August 31 September 29

Month number and name according to Molina “El Cusquen˜o” Haocay llusqui (1) Cauay or chahuarhuay (2) Moronpassa tarpuyquilla (3)

Month number and name according to Polo de Ondegardo Aucaycuzqui (7)

Feast Intip raymin

Historical events

Chahua Huarquiz (8) Yapaquis (9)

Coya raymi (4) Omac rayma (5)

October 29

Citua quilla (10) Homaraymi puchayquis (11) Ayarmaca raymi (6) Ayamarca (12)

November 28

Capac Raymi (7)

Capacraymi (1)

December 27 1533 January 26 February 25 March 27

Camay quilla (8) Hatun pucuy (9) Pachapucu (10) Paucarguara (11)

Camay quilla (2) Hatun pucuy (3) Pachapucuy (4) Arihuaquiz (5)

Beginning of the agricultural season in the Cusco region Citua

Feast of the Atahuallpa is deads imprisoned by Pizarro in Cajamarca on November 16th, the 17th or 18th day of the Inca month Capac Raymin Mayucati

(continued)

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Table 65.1 (continued) First visibility of the New Moon (Julian date) – beginning of an Inca month April 25 May 25 June 23 July 23

August 21 September 19

Month number and name according to Molina “El Cusquen˜o” Ayriguay (12) Haocay llusqui (1) Cauay or chahuarhuay (2) Moronpassa tarpuyquilla (3)

Month number and name according to Polo de Ondegardo Hatun cuzqui (6) Aucaycuzqui (7)

Feast

Historical events

Intip raymin

Chahua Huarquiz (8) Yapaquis (9)

Coya raymi (4) Omac rama (5)

October 19

Citua quilla (10) Homaraymi puchayquis (11) Ayarmaca raymi (6) Ayamarca (12)

November 17

Capac Raymi (7)

Capacraymi (1)

December 17

Camay quilla (8)

Camay quilla (2)

Beginning of the agricultural season in the Cusco region Citua

Death of Atahuallpa on July 26th, the 2nd or 3rd day of the Inca month

Feast of the Pizarro and deads Manco Inca enter Cusco on November 15th, the last day of the Inca month Capac Raymin Mayucati

hypothesis is that no historical source explicitly mentions the existence of a 328-day/night cycle. Even the chronicler preferred by Zuidema, in description of the huacas around Cuzco, clearly states that, having taken into account other Cuzco huacas, the total number amounted to 350, not 328 (Cobo 1653/1964, II p. Bk. XIII, Chap. XXVII). Certainly, the “quipu-calendar” is far from being an established, undisputed historical fact.

The Eras and Multi-Annual Cycles One finds echoes of an expanded cosmology in Andean mythology, describing earlier creations, culminating in catastrophic transformations called pacha kuti, or “reversing time-space”. There were probably 4 or 5 such eras. Information about a concept of eras constitutes an interesting analogy to Mexican concepts, for example. Unfortunately, we do not have more detailed information on this subject, other than a document stating that a least one “pacha kuti” appeared in the form of a widespread flood.

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Fig. 65.4 “The ninth month, September; Quya Raymi Killa, month of the feast of the queen, or quya” Guaman Poma de Ayala, drawing from ca. 1615. This was the month of the main feast of the Moon, with ceremonies performed by Quya (main wife of the Inca ruler) and a priestess. Another important ceremony performed at that time was the Citua, or cleansing ritual (Guaman Poma Web site http://www.kb.dk/permalink/ 2006/poma/254)

In respect to the existence of multi-annual Andean cycles that could be compared to Maya calculations, katun, or the Mesoamerican cycle of 52 years, we have documentation on the observation of the Venus synodic cycle and its correlation with the 8-year cycle. There are also interesting indications resulting from the description of the life of the ruler Pachakuti Inka Yupanki, creator of the Incas’ imperial power. According to chronicler Juan de Betanzos, he was to have reigned for 120 years, divided into 20-year stages of peace/war. It is obvious that we are dealing here with a question of the “ideal” length, perhaps symbolically linked with the Venus cycle (75
584 + 120
365), which bestowed special care over this ruler (Betanzos 1551/1987).

Aspects of Further Research The written sources are, unfortunately, significantly more limited than in Mesoamerica. This makes further development of archaeoastronomical

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research on the Inca solar and lunar orientations (and, more broadly, Andean) ceremonial-religious structures so much more important (see ▶ Chap. 70, “Inca Moon - Some Evidence of Lunar Observations in Tahuantinsuyu”, this volume). New data may also come from research done on khipu (quipu) (Urton, 2001; cf. ▶ Chap. 2, “Calendars and astronomy”).

Cross-References ▶ Astronomy and Power ▶ Calendars and Astronomy ▶ Ceque System of Cuzco: A Yearly Calendar-Almanac in Space and Time ▶ Counting Lunar Phase Cycles in Mesoamerica ▶ Inca Astronomy and Calendrics ▶ Inca Moon: Some Evidence of Lunar Observations in Tahuantinsuyu ▶ Interactions Between “Indigenous” and “Colonial” Astronomies: Adaptation of Indigenous Astronomies in the Modern World ▶ Pre-Inca Astronomy in Peru

References Bauer BS, Dearborn DSP (1995) Astronomy and empire in the ancient Andes. University of Texas Press, Austin de Betanzos J (1551/1987) Suma y Narracio´n de los Incas. Transcripcio´n, notas y pro´logo por Marı´a del Carmen Martı´n Rubio, Ediciones Atlas, Madrid Cobo B (1653/1964) Historia del Nuevo Mundo, II parte, BAE, t. 92, Madrid Earls J (1976) La evolucio´n de la administracio´n ecolo´gica inca. Rev Mus Nac 42:207–245 Garcilaso de la Vega, El Inca (1608/1963) Comentarios reales de los Incas, primera parte, BAE, t. 133; segunda parte, BAE, t. 134 Madrid Gonza´lez Holguı´n D, (1608) Vocabulario de la lengua general de todo el Peru, Lima Guaman Poma de Ayala F (1615/1616) El primer nueva coro´nica y buen gobierno (1615/1616) (København, Det Kongelige Bibliotek, GKS 2232 4 ) Autograph manuscript facsimile, annotated transcription, documents, and other digital resources. http://www.kb.dk/permalink/2006/ poma/info/en/frontpage.htm de Molina C (1575/1916) Relacio´n de las fabvlas i Ritos de los Ingas, Coleccio´n de Libros y Documentos referentes a la Historia del Peru´, t. VI, Lima de Muru´a M (1613/1962–1964) Historia General del Piru´. Origen y descendencia de los Incas (. . .). Coleccio´n Joyas Bibliogra´ficas. “Bibliotheca Americana Vetus”. Edicio´n realizada bajo el patrocinio del Instituto Gonzalo Ferna´ndez de Oviedo. Tomo I (1962), Tomo II (1964), Madrid Nordenskioˆld E (1926) Le calcul des anne´es et des mois dans les quipus pe´ruviens. J Soc Am 18:51–65 Nowack K (1998) Ceque and more. A critical assessment of R. Tom Zuidema’s studies on the inca. Bonner Amerikanistische Studien 31, Bonn/Markt Schwaben Pizarro P (1571/1997) Relacio´n del descubrimiento y conquista del Peru´/edicio´n, consideraciones preliminares, Guillermo Lohmann Villena; y nota, Pierre Duviols, Fondo Editorial PUCP, Lima Polo de Ondegargo J (1561/1540) Informe del Licenciado Juan Polo de Ondegardo al Licenciado Briviesca de Mun˜atones sobre la perpetuidad de las encomiendas en el Peru´, Revista Histo´rica 13, Lima, pp 125–197

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Polo de Ondegardo J (1571/1916) Informaciones acerca de la Religio´n y Gobierno de los Incas por el licenciado. . . (1571) seguidas de las Instrucciones de los Concilios de Lima, Notas biograficas y concordancias de los textos por Horacio H. Urteaga. . ., Biografı´a de Polo de Ondegardo por Carlos A. Romero . . ., Coleccio´n de libros y documentos referentes a la Historia del Peru´, Tomo III, Lima Sadowski RM (1989) A few remarks on the astronomy of R. T. Zuidema’s “quipu-calendar”. In: Zio´łkowski M, Sadowski R (eds) Time and calendars in the Inca empire. BAR, International Series 479, Oxford, pp 209–213 Urton G (1982) Astronomy and calendrics on the coast of Peru. In: Aveni AF, Urton G (eds) Ethnoastronomy and archaeoastronomy in the American Tropics. Annals of the New York Academy of Science 385, New York, pp 231–247 Urton G (2001) A calendrical and demographic tomb text from northern Peru. Lat Am Antiq 12(2):127–147 Zio´łkowski M (1987) Las fiestas del calendario metropolitano inca: Primera parte. Ethnol Pol 13:183–217 Zio´łkowski M (1988) Las fiestas del calendario metropolitano inca: Segunda parte. Ethnol Pol 14:221–258 Zio´łkowski M (1989a) El calendario metropolitano Inca. In: Zio´łkowski M, Sadowski R (eds) Time and calendars in the Inca Empire. BAR International Series 479, Oxford, pp 129–166 Zio´łkowski M (1989b) Knots and oddities. The quipu-calendar or supposed Cusco luni-sideral calendar. In: Zio´łkowski M, Sadowski R (eds) Time and calendars in the Inca Empire. BAR, International Series 479, Oxford, pp 197–208 Zuidema RT (1981) Inca observations of the solar and lunar passages through Zenith and Anti – Zenith at Cuzco. In: Williamson RA (ed) Archaeoastronomy in the Americas. Ballena Press, Los Altos, pp 319–342 Zuidema RT (1982) The sideral lunar calendar of the Incas. In: Aveni AF (ed) Archaeoastronomy in the New World. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, pp 59–107 Zuidema RT (2010) El calendario inca: tiempo y espacio en la organizacio´n ritual del Cusco – la idea del pasado. Fondo Editorial del Congreso del Peru´ – Fondo Editorial de la Pontificia Universidad Cato´lica del Peru´, Lima

Ceque System of Cuzco: A Yearly Calendar-Almanac in Space and Time

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Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The Numbers of Ceques and Huacas . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Introduction to the Sociopolitical Order in Cuzco . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Panacas in Charge of Months . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The Three “Months” Without a Panaca . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The Registration of Astronomical Observations in Cuzco . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The Calendar and the Pleiades . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The System of Solar Observations . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The Worship of Only Four Moons in the Year . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Conclusions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

852 852 853 855 856 857 857 857 859 861 861 862

Abstract

The Incas used for the administration of Cuzco, the capital of their empire, and its valley a system of 41 directions, called ceque, as viewed from their central temple of the Sun. This system registered their concerns with space, including ritual space, hierarchy, and time, the latter in the form of a detailed calendaralmanac of weekly, monthly, seasonal, and yearly activities. From Inca times are also preserved some textiles that represent different regular calendars concerning the sun, moon, and stars. Detailed ethnohistoric evidence allows the reconstruction of the Ceque calendar-almanac.

R.T. Zuidema University of Illinois, Urbana, IL, USA e-mail: [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_80, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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Introduction In 1532, a Spanish army took the Inca king prisoner at their first encounter with him. It was the last moment that the invaders saw his empire functioning in independent greatness. Still they were soon impressed by all the signs of a thought-out political organization. Detailed chronicles appeared some 20 years later; in about 1560, the jurist and chronicler Polo de Ondegardo (1940, pp. 183–4; 1981, p. 478; 1990, p. 46; Santilla´n 1968, p. 112 [1563]) first mentions the central role of the ceque system in Cuzco, the capital of the Inca empire in describing its culture and society. Copies of his description, he claims, were used by priests from around Cuzco, but the full account, probably composed by Polo himself, is preserved only in the late chronicle of Bernabe´ Cobo (1956, pp. 169–186) [1653]; Rowe 1979, pp. 1–80). For the Incas, the ceque system was the theoretical instrument for integrating their ideas about space, sociopolitical hierarchy, time, and the calendar in terms of demography, agriculture, water management, herding, etc., and of the cosmos. Though not mentioned by earlier chroniclers, it led their informants in describing Inca institutions. The system is indispensable for describing any aspect of Inca culture and probably had ancient roots in Andean civilization. A first purpose of the system was the selection and registration of 328 huacas “places of worship” throughout the valley of Cuzco as organized according to 41 ceques “straight lines” going in all directions from the central temple of the Sun called Coricancha “golden enclosure of the Sun”. Ceques could cross the nearby western horizon or end before the distant eastern one. Examples exist of how a ceque was related to a specific horizon point. Two modern maps take into account alternative uses of the ceques. As a first endeavor, I depicted each ceque as a sightline to the documented or suggested horizon point. Huacas related to the ceque were worshipped in sequence going out from Coricancha (Zuidema 1982, 1986, 2011a, b). Bauer (1998) made a map of identified or suggested huaca locations and connected these by non-straight lines. Both methods are valid but incomplete and should be combined (Zuidema 2002). For practical purposes, both maps will do; huacas with additional astronomical use are well located (see ahead). Essential to the ceque system was that it did not refer to just one system of social and temporal order but functioned as a blank table registering separate ones that had to be adjusted to each other.

The Numbers of Ceques and Huacas The distribution of ceques and huacas by itself already reveals a combination of two numerical orders. In the probable original system, the city of Cuzco was first divided into a northern “upper” half, Hanan Cuzco, and a “southern” lower one, Hurin Cuzco, by the river Huatanay, flowing from West to East. Thus, a first descending hierarchy of four sections, suyu, was defined by Hanan and Hurin and by upriver and downriver. This division was extended from the Cuzco valley to the Cuzco province and the whole empire. In each quarter or suyu were three ranked

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groups (1, 2, 3) of three ranked ceques (a, b, c) each, all again in descending sequence from west to east. The ceques were called Collana “principal” (a), Payan “second” (b) and Cayao “?” (c) and from comparison with similar examples elsewhere, we can conclude that the same names applied to the groups 1, 2, and 3, recognizing for each ceque also its group name. The organization of 36 ceques was presented, however, also in another numerical way. In one suyu – later I will indicate which – the six ceques 1 a b c and 2 a b, c were duplicated and assigned 12 half-values of huacas; ceque group 3 was split into two, 3ac and 3b; and ceques 3a and 3c were said to be counted as one, notwithstanding the fact that they represented different directions. The ceque total came to be counted as 41. Similar organizations elsewhere made the same effort but solved the problem somewhat differently (Zuidema 2011a, }6.6). The total of huacas in the ceque system was 328, and this number is confirmed by Polo and Cobo also in other ways (Zuidema 2011a, }2.2). Apparently, not all huacas in the Cuzco valley were covered but only those used in the ceque system. The average of huacas per ceque or half-ceque was eight (41
8 ¼ 328) but as will become evident, their numbers in moieties, suyus, and ceque groups were readjusted progressively to other demands.

Introduction to the Sociopolitical Order in Cuzco Kirchhoff (1949, pp. 293–311) first observed the great similarity of the organization of the ceque system and that of the Inca province of Collaguas south of Cuzco, well described by its Spanish governor in 1583. Other documents from Collaguas help to confirm that its population since pre-Inca times was divided into moieties, four “suyus” and villages each of three ayllus (“lineages” in the old spanish terminology) and nine sub-ayllus with the same 9(3
3) rank-names as the ceques in Cuzco (Zuidema 1964, in press-a). One crucial distinction must be made, however, between the two organizations. While for Collaguas, a real political and social system is explained, the ceque system describes well its huacas and abstract model but hardly mentions the immediate people who took care of the huacas and ceques. They were supervised by members of various higher ranked organizations, and it is through these that we learn about the calendrical and astronomical order of the ceque system on which Polo himself in a general way already had insisted. Matienzo (1967, pp. 119–120), a close colleague and relative of Polo, claims that the latter wrote down a list of families in the Cuzco valley taking care of huacas following a festive calendar as registered on a quipu, a collection of knotted chords. As apparently we are dealing with the ceque system, here I add an imagined view of that quipu (Fig. 66.1). Knots representing huacas, each for a day, were read on the chords from the inside out and, as will become clear, following the chords according to the arrows of a clock. Although we have no spanish information on the existence of a ceque system in Collaguas or its state calendar, the region of which it forms part, that of the Colca river, gives us a unique other tool from Inca times to work out the spatial-temporal

854 Fig. 66.1 The ceque system as figured on a quipu

R.T. Zuidema

Hanan Cuzco

Hurin Cuzco problem there and in Cuzco. It specialized in documenting by way of large tapestries – known as the Chuquibamba style – intricate numerical orders, including of various kinds of precise calendars documenting days, “weeks”, and “months”. Thus, I recently could document the knowledge there of: • A solar year [1,096 ¼ 3
365⅓ ¼ 4
274 ¼ 4
(30 þ 31 þ 30 þ 31 þ 30 þ 31 þ 30 þ 31 þ 30)]; • A sidereal-lunar cycle [27 þ 27 þ 27 þ 27 þ 27 þ 28 þ 27 þ 28 þ 27 þ 28 þ 27 þ 28]; • A sidereal year-cycle [13
28 ¼ 364] (with possible reference to its place in the solar year) • A reference to a synodic lunar calendar (8
29/30) (Zuidema 2011b). Tapestries in an Inca-Chuquibamba style are also well known although none of numerical or calendrical interest. Still, we must assume that the Incas in Cuzco seriously took into account the calendrical examples. Two supervising organizations in Cuzco were in charge of the calendrical rituals, the first in terms of 12 “months” and the second of 41 “weeks”. We can relate them, respectively, to ceque groups and ceques. Later I will argue that the months originally derived from a solar year calendar (12
30/31 ¼ 365) and the weeks from a sidereal-lunar one (41
8 ¼ 12
27⅓ ¼ 328). However, the actual calendar, for use as a daily almanac, became transformed by including various other interests. I summarily list these here: 1. It registered the yearly advance of the Pleiades, this constellation is considered to be the “mother” of all other stars by way of a sidereal-lunar cycle but with a fixed place in the solar year.

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2. It fitted actual lengths of “months” and “weeks” into one scheme. 3. It registered by way of months and/or weeks the precise dates of certain solar and sidereal events according to Cuzco’s latitude. 4. Some specific and thus not all synodic months were ritually important; the ceque calendar did not register a regular sequence of synodic months. 5. Divisions of the supervising organizations were ranked according to their association to certain ceque groups and/or ceques and by way of allotting to these more or less huacas.

Panacas in Charge of Months The foremost role in Inca administration of the Cuzco valley was given to members of the king’s large polygynic family according to five ranked divisions, the panacas, in each moiety. Future membership of a specific panaca involved a variety of choices: the mother’s rank, professional competence, and religious reasons. Each panaca – or a representative of it – was in charge of the state rituals of another month. We are given the association of each panaca to a ceque group and a ceque therein. Ritual information on panacas allows us to reconstruct their calendrical sequence. I will not use information that ultimately led to place panacas in a European kind of dynastic model. Thus, the descending panaca numbers only represent ranking values within each moiety: 10 → 6 in Hanan and 5 → 1 in Hurin. As part of the most important state rituals celebrating Inca royalty around the summer solstice (in December), the five panacas of Hanan and of Hurin each sacrificed a llama according to their ranks to, respectively, the following deities: the Sun, the Thunder, Viracocha – thought by the Spaniards to be the Creator god – the Earth, and the Moon (Zuidema 1990; Cobo 1956). We are well informed about the respective connections between the first three major deities, ceque groups, and, in a more circumstantial way, months (Sarmiento 1943). In explaining the place of panacas and months in the ceque system as an almanac, I will first present it in a simpler way as a regular sidereal-lunar calendar of 12 months of 27 or 28 days with a fixed location in the solar year that I discuss later (Fig. 66.2). Ethnohistoric and ethnographic information affirm that solar and sidereal-lunar observations were of separate male and female interests (Urton 1981; Zuidema 1978). Although we have no access to any regular calendars from Cuzco, I assume that they were well known and conclude that the fixed location of the ceque calendar had been worked combining both interests. Two royal (Capac) solar celebrations (raymi) – Capac raymi, 10, and (Capac raymi) Camay quilla, 9 – were organized around the December summer solstice (DS) and a single one for the sun (Inti) around the June winter solstice (JS) – Inti raymi. The associated ceque groups and panacas confirm a higher ranking of suyus I and II and the calendrical reading of all ceques according to the arrows of the clock. Information on the rituals of other months and panacas supports this reading (Zuidema 2011a, Chap. 10). Thus, we can draw also other conclusions about the calendrical use of the ceque system. In Hurin Cuzco, the higher ranked panacas

856 Fig. 66.2 Ceque system and calendar: I → IV descending order of suyus; 10 → 6, 5 → 1 descending panaca ranks of Hanan, Hurin; ••• two ceque groups without panaca

R.T. Zuidema > Sun I

>

calendar Hanan Cuzco Viracocha

Thunder

10

9

6

8

•••

7

III

DS 3 2 1 abc abc abc >> river Huatanay abc abc ac abc abc b abc abc 1 2 3 1 2 3 1 2 1 Abc

2 abc

A IV

2


> abc 3

(37 extra days)

JS

B 1

3 abc

•••

4 Th.

calendar Hurin Cuzco

5 Sun

3 Vir.

II

135 ) remain well beyond the lunisolar

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5.

6.

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Y. Gauthier

interval. In other words, for a large database, neglecting the correction due to reliefs around the monuments has little impact on the qualitative behavior and on the general conclusions. These remarks apply to other cases below. In conclusion, while a majority of the keyhole monuments seem to be oriented toward the rising moon or sun (Savary 1966; Gauthier 2009), a small fraction does not follow this rule. The eastern goulets are localized in the same mountains as keyhole monuments. The orientation distribution (254 values, corrected for relief) is similar to that for keyholes and is even narrower. The Gaussian-like curve shows a maximum and a mean value exactly for the east direction. A single orientation (45 ), well outside the NSM-SSM interval, may be neglected for a general discussion. Three monuments point to directions in the range WSS-SMS, and three others have azimuths just 1–3 beyond SMS. A lunar alignment of the goulets would perfectly account for such a pattern, but, owing to the general behavior (including the small number of weak southward shifts), a rising sun alignment is highly probable. The orientation pattern of V-shaped monuments resembles that of keyhole monuments, with most of the azimuths lying within the rising moon limits and covering almost the whole range. The Gaussian-like distribution exhibits a peak and a mean value around 96 . Fewer than ten values lie outside this range, a majority being less than 5 beyond the limits. Here again a lunar alignment is most probable. Axle-shaped monuments exhibit a wider orientation distribution (35–177 ) although they are also predominantly east oriented; a significant fraction (18 %) is outside the lunisolar range. In no case can those monuments with the smallest azimuths fit within a rising sun or moon rule. Nor can the reliefs explain a shift for the largest values: corrections on a sample of 40 monuments result in a very similar pattern and angle range (Fig. 88.4). Two main zones of such monuments also exhibit azimuth ranges much greater than the moon range (Fig. 88.5), and various sites contain monuments with quite different orientations, suggesting diverse or multiple considerations in the choice of orientation. Furthermore, in some locations, axle-shaped structures are almost systematically aligned along ridges whose directions are locally identical but change abruptly from one sector (Fig. 88.6a–c) to another (Fig. 88.6d–f). The landscape has certainly influenced orientation, at least for some monuments (Fig. 88.7). The particular orientation pattern of axle-shaped monuments may be the result of two different rules (lunisolar alignment and orientation along ridges). Without dated examples, it is not clear whether these rules were in use at the same time or whether one rule was superseded by the other. The orientation of monuments with auxiliary towers is highly variable and gives rise to a broad Gaussian distribution, extending beyond the moon standstills on both sides, 9% of the azimuths being north of the NMS. Uniquely among Saharan monuments, the center of the distribution is shifted to the NE quadrant (azimuth 85 ). While the reasons for this shift are unknown, the dominance of eastward orientations is clear, with 88% of the data covering

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Fig. 88.5 Orientation of axle-shaped monuments for two important sectors

the lunar range. A more detailed study reveals that most of the small azimuths are in Niger and Mali, whereas for Algeria and western countries, a lunar rule would account for the regional distributions. Furthermore, contiguous sectors analysis yields a small shift in the average orientation, possibly linked to seasonal migration from mountains to plain in Niger (Gauthier 2008b). It is not surprising to find slightly different orientations over so wide a distribution area (from the Te´ne´re´ to the Atlantic Ocean) and over so long a period of construction (on the basis of the Niger radiocarbon dates). 8. Crescents (7,370 monuments) present an additional degree of complexity. The orientation pattern (1,128 measures only) has much in common with that of MAAs in the sense that there is also a clear tendency for eastward orientations. The azimuths are distributed in a very wide range from 29 to 308 , but the actual range is larger as some monuments, not included in the present analysis, are oriented to true north. The 1,041 east-opened monuments exhibit a Gaussian-like distribution centered on azimuth 102 , with 90 % of the azimuths within the rising moon range. The most striking difference from the previous monuments is the occurrence of west-oriented crescents. The 87 such monuments yield a Gaussian-like distribution, centered almost true west, that also extends beyond the (setting) moon range. The number of excavated crescents is presently much too small to confirm the hypothesis of a gender-based orientation, with eastward (westward) orientation for males (females) (Gauthier 2008a). The regional answers yield analogous patterns. However, the ratio of west/ east-opening monuments varies with longitude (0.22–0.006 from Niger to

Fig. 88.6 Axle-shaped monuments parallel to ridges with directions variable with the latitude

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Fig. 88.7 Two axle-shaped monuments parallel to the ridge, one  perpendicular and a V-shaped monument

Mauritania). We note a simultaneous and significant shift in the average orientation (97–108 ). Cultural or time evolution may explain these variations (Gauthier 2009). Although a moving celestial object orientation is highly probable for a large majority of crescents, another criterion has obviously played a role. The crescents west of Atar (Mauritania) make a large contribution to both the above variations: this is certainly due to the fact that (i) many are aligned along ridges and perpendicular to them (ii) in several instances, they turn with the ridge direction. In other words, the landscape has, in this region at least, a large influence on the orientation pattern (Gauthier 2009). Here again, we suggest a double alignment mode – perpendicular to ridges for a minority and toward the rising or setting moon for the majority. More than 6,000 crescents await a more detailed analysis to understand this complex orientation pattern, which differs from all others. 9. The orientation direction of the western goulets (127 measured orientations) is more evenly distributed (Fig. 88.3). The northern sector remains empty, but the data are not fully exploited, and we know of some monuments with northward orientation. It is also worth noting that it is not rare to find head-to-tail goulets and, quite often, a wide range of azimuths for the same site, which excludes the possibility of alignment on a remarkable feature in the landscape. The presence of an apparent horizon will never change the main qualitative features, i.e., the fact that the goulet corridors are, apparently, randomly oriented, with a weak preference for the SE sector (120 ). 10. An even more regular pattern is found for the orientation of 71 (out of 93) tumuli associated with a line of stones (TLS) recorded to date, although we note a weak preference for the east to southwest sector. Some sites yield a relatively narrow distribution (50 ), elsewhere we find 160 between extreme values. This is one of the smallest series of monuments, and most often, these TLS are isolated. It is quite rare to count more than one to three specimens on a site so

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that statistical analysis of specific sites is not possible. At the southernmost site, in Mauritania, the orientations of the 11 TLS monuments are in a narrow range (67–110 ). Nevertheless, without more data, a random distribution rule may be postulated. 11. A total of 371 rectangular tumuli were recorded and their orientation measured. Owing to their shape, the orientation is defined modulo 180 . We have therefore represented the whole series of azimuth doubled by a second one shifted by 180 . The values cover the entire space with a maximum in the SSE sector. A local analysis of six important sites sheds light on this distribution (Fig. 88.8). Both average orientation (7–147 ) and angular range (34–170 ) are site specific and vary, apparently at random, with latitude. On the third site, where many orientations are very close (Fig. 88.8c), we failed to find a local feature in the landscape that could have served as target. We are thus tempted to conclude that the distribution is random with local constraints, in contrast to all the previous monuments.

Discussion At this point, we can definitely reject some alignment modes. A fixed (common) point (such as Mecca for use in mosques) would result in a narrow range of azimuths, varying slowly and regularly with latitude: this is not the case for the 11 monument types considered here, for which quite different orientations may be observed at the same site. For the same reason, we reject an orientation rule based on remarkable landscape features. However, this does not exclude the possibility that some monuments were aligned with such features. An important conclusion of this analysis, performed on an expanded number of monuments and of monument types, is that orientation rules may cross cultural barriers: indeed, ceramics, monument architecture(s), rock art, and linguistic evidence differ on either side of the Murzuq Edeyen (Libya), but Kompassgr€aber of Tibesti on the one hand and keyhole monuments, eastern goulets, and tumuli with antenna (central Sahara) on the other exhibit orientation patterns focused on the same eastern quadrant. Likewise western goulets, tumuli with lines of stones, and rectangular tumuli, all situated close to the Atlantic Ocean, yield quite similar orientation patterns (360 distribution) although they are the products of different populations. Simultaneously, we infer quite different orientation patterns and criteria in the east and west of the area considered. A lunisolar alignment is most probable for eastern monuments (east of 3 E) as opposed to a random distribution for western monuments (west of 6 W), irrespective of their age (Fig. 88.3). A more complex behavior is observed for monuments having a pan-Sahara distribution, namely, the crescents and the monuments with auxiliary towers. In these cases, and also for axle-shaped monuments, while most monuments are open to the east and might have been aligned on the moon, a significant fraction have orientations falling well outside the lunisolar range. True north or true south orientations cannot be explained by the presence of apparent horizons.

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Fig. 88.8 Orientation of rectangular tumuli for various sites

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For the widespread monuments (crescents and MAA), we detect regional variants, with changes in the mean orientation with longitude associated with small architectural differences. In particular, we note the occurrence, for the crescents, of a secondary maximum in a westerly direction that could perfectly correspond to a setting moon orientation for a small percentage of monuments. Finally, at least for three monument types (crescents, axle-shaped monuments, and rectangular tumuli), a correlation between landscape and orientation is apparent from analysis at the site or sector level for a small percentage of monuments. These complex orientation patterns where lunisolar and landscape-based orientation rules overlap may simply express cultural (i.e., spatial) differences or reveal variations over time within a population. In the central Sahara, V-shaped monuments (around 3000–3500 BP) appear to have replaced keyhole monuments (4500–4200 BP) while retaining the same orientation pattern and burial mode (underground), indicating continuity of rites over millennia. Regarding the occurrence of two orientation modes, we can only speculate as to their relative chronology.

Future Research To date, a relatively small number of dry-stone monuments have been excavated, principally in the Aı¨r in Niger (Paris 1996; Paris and Salie`ge 2010) and the Tanezzuft valley in Libya (di Lernia and Manzi 2002). The ages of most monuments remain unknown, meaning that we do not know where and when the various types of monuments first appeared, whether they expanded through diffusion and if so over what time periods, and whether/how they evolved over time. As a result, we can say little if anything about the chronological development (if any) of orientation rules and criteria and the role of transcultural influences. Age and chronology of the monuments are thus the most important points to consider in the future. In addition, a full understanding of orientation rules requires a much more detailed analysis to reveal, for each type of monument, regional or local variants that might also yield important information about past Saharan populations. We are indebted to Nick Brooks for his help in translating the text.

References Brooks N, Clarke J, Crisp J, Crivellaro F, Jousse H, Markiewicz, E, Nichol M, Raffin M, Robinson R, Wasse A, Winton V (2006) Funerary sites in the “Free Zone”: report on the second and third seasons of fieldwork of the Western Sahara Project di Lernia S (2006) Building monuments, creating identity: cattle cult as a social response to rapid environmental changes in the Holocene Sahara. Quat Int 151:50–62 di Lernia S, Manzi G (eds) (2002) Sand, stones, and bones. The archaeology of death in the Wadi Tanezzuft Valley (5000–2000 BP). Universita La Sapienza, Roma Gabriel B (1999) Enneri Tihai: eine vorgeschichtliche Grabanlage aus S€ udlibyen. Beitr Allg vgl archae¨ol band 19:129–150

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Gauthier YC (2003) Chronologie relative de trois types de monuments l’Immidir : monuments a` antennes en “V”, goulet et monuments en trou de serrure. Sahara 14:155–161 Gauthier YC (2006) Monuments en trou de serrure et art rupestre. Cah l’AARS 10:79–110 Gauthier YC (2007) Monuments fune´raires sahariens et aires culturelles. Cah l’AARS 11:65–78 Gauthier YC (2008a) Monuments en trou de serrure, monuments a` alignement, monuments en « V » et croissants : contribution a` l’e´tude des populations sahariennes. Cah l’AARS 12:105–124 ` propos des monuments a` alignement du Sahara. Almogaren 38:27–88 Gauthier YC (2008b) A Gauthier YC (2009) Orientation and distribution of various dry stone monuments of the Sahara. In: Rubin˜o-Martı´n JA, Belmonte JA, Prada F, Alberdi A (eds) Cosmology across cultures. ASP conference series 409. Astronomical Society of the Pacific, San Francisco, pp 317–330 Gauthier YC (2011) Des chars et des Tifinagh: e´tude are´ale et corre´lations. Cah l’AARS 15:91–118 Paris F (1996) Les se´pultures du Sahara nige´rien, du Ne´olithique a` l’islamisation, vol 2. ORSTOM e´ditions, Bondy Paris F, Salie`ge JF (2010) Chronologie des monuments fune´raires sahariens: proble`mes et re´sultats. Nouv l’Arche´ologie 120–121:57–60 Savary JP (1966) Monuments en pierres se`ches du Fadnoun (Tassili n’Ajjer), me´m. du CRAPE VI, A.M.G, Paris

Astronomy at Nabta Playa, Southern Egypt

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Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The Valley of Sacrifices and the Calendar Circle . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Ring Hill . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The Complex Structures . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Alignments . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The People . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Alternate Perspectives . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Final Remarks . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Abstract

Nabta Playa may contain the oldest human-made features with astronomical alignments in Egypt. In the Late and Terminal Neolithic (7,500–5,400 BP), nomadic pastoralists built a ceremonial center on the western shore of Nabta Playa, consisting of some 30 complex megalithic structures, stone circles, and lines of megaliths crossing the playa. The megaliths may once have aligned with Arcturus, the Belt of Orion, Sirius, and a Cen. Reorientations of the northern set of megaliths suggest a response to precession. Elaborate burials at the nearby cemetery at Gebel Ramlah indicate the nomads consisted of Mediterranean and sub-Saharan populations with little social stratification.

J. McKim Malville Department of Astrophysical and Planetary Sciences, University of Colorado, Boulder, CO, USA e-mail: [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_101, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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Introduction Nabta Playa is an internally drained basin, scoured out by winds during the hyperarid period between 70,000 and 13,000 years BP (Wendorf and Schild 1998, 2001). It is located about 100 km due west of Abu Simbel, is the second largest internally drained basin of the southern Western Desert of Egypt, and is fed by runoff from an enormous eara some 1,500 km2 in size. The earliest excavated sites at Nabta have calibrated radiocarbon dates of 10,300–9,800 BP. The area began to function as a ceremonial center for nomadic pastoralists during Middle Neolithic (8,100–7,600 BP), based upon the numerous hearths and the highest frequency of cattle bones of any locality in the Nubian Desert. The Middle Neolithic ended with a short but deep drought, which began around 7,600 BP, lasting about 100 years. In the Late Neolithic (7,400–6,600 BP), new group of nomads began frequenting the playa when it had water. These people, the Ru’at El Baquar people (Cattle Herders), were responsible for cattle burials in clay-lined and roofed chambers. The diminished rainfall in the Late Neolithic meant that only a few watered refuges such as Gilf Kebir and Nabta Playa remained. Increasingly skillful navigational techniques were required of the nomadic pastoralists to locate these isolated sources of water. Finally, some 30 complex megalithic structures together with lines of megaliths were built during the Terminal Neolithic by Bunat El Ansalm people (Megalith Builders). The Terminal Neolithic at Nabta Playa extended from 6,600 BP to total abandonment of the area in approximately 5,400 BP. These nomads skipped sedentism with its associated agriculture, permanent villages, and political hierarchy, and entered the Late Neolithic with their own repertory of concepts involving astronomy, design of sacred structures, and ritual. Another place where monumental ceremonialism bypassed sedentism appears to have been Go¨bekli Tepe in southern Turkey. After 7,500 BP, the changing climate in the Sahara may have been the major driving force for development of complexity, astronomical knowledge, and sophisticated ritual (Kuper and Kro¨pelin 2006). When monsoon rains failed around 5,500 BP, the ensuing exodus from the desert coincided with the rise of sedentary life along the Nile. Some of the cognitive features of early Dynastic Egypt, such as cattle worship expressed by deification of Hathor, the cow goddess, may have resulted from the movement of the nomads into the Nile Valley.

The Valley of Sacrifices and the Calendar Circle Along the western rocky bank of a wadi entering Nabta Playa from the north, there are at least ten mounds or tumuli. Built of broken sandstone blocks, the tumuli contained offerings of parts of butchered cattle, goats, and sheep. The largest and perhaps the oldest tumulus contained an entire young cow, the most precious offering that a pastoralist can make. A piece of tamarisk from its roof yielded a calibrated radiocarbon date of 7,270  270 years BP. The animal was lying on its

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Fig. 89.1 Calendar circle (January 1997)

left side, oriented approximately north–south, with its head to the south. This wadi, which is now called the Valley of Sacrifices, brought water to the playa and would have been an appropriate place to ask the gods for rain by performing cattle sacrifices and other rituals (Fig. 89.1). The wadi ends with a small sandy knoll with a circle of stones at its top (Malville et al. 1998, 2007, 2008; Applegate and Zeden˜o 2001). A radiocarbon date from a hearth adjacent to the circle yielded a date of 6,800  60 years BP. The circle is extremely fragile made up of stones, ranging in length from 20 to 70 cm, set in the sand, many of which have collapsed. Of the original 14 presumed upright slabs, only eight remained in place at the time of the site’s discovery (Applegate and Zeden˜o 2001). A possible reconstruction of the circle was attempted by Schild and Zeden˜o, which is shown in Fig. 89.4. Unfortunately, recent visitors to the site have added stones without apparent reason to the circle, and for its protection, the circle has been moved to the Nubian Museum in Aswan. The circle, approximately 4 m across, contained four sets of prominent upright slabs, which appear to be gates for viewing. When one is lying in the sand, these portals provide sightlines approximately toward the north and the position of the rising sun on June solstice. These two alignments may reveal two major astronomical elements in the lives of the nomads. North was important when navigating across the oceans of sand of the Sahara. Even though there was no star at the north celestial pole during this period, the point in the sky around which stars circle would have been a useful navigation tool. June solstice would have been significant for marking a date near the onset of monsoon rains. The association of the stone circle with cattle

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Fig. 89.2 Stone circle: upright slabs, “gates” (January 1997)

sacrifices in the Valley of Sacrifices suggests it may have been a place for rainmaking rituals. These rituals may actually have been public. Shadows cast from one gate to the opposite gate can be viewed by a group of people standing above the stones and afford a greater precision than sighting through the upright stones. Alternate interpretations of the stone circle have been provided by Iwaniszewski (2010) who has suggested that NE sightline may have been to the rising sun on the morning of the zenith sun, which occurred 22 days before or after June solstice. He also suggested that the Calendar Circle might mark the heliacal rising of Sirius that occurred close to the first of the 2 days of the zenith sun. The heliacal rising of Sirius was important in Dynastic Egypt, because it heralded the life-giving rise of the Nile; however, for the nomads of the western desert, that event may not have been significant. Brophy (2002) has suggested another considerably less likely interpretation by fitting three of the inner stones to the three stars in the belt of Orion as they appeared in the sky of 6,940 BP. He has suggested the two other inner stones represent Betelgeuse and Bellatrix at 18,500 BP. Considering the many stones of the circle that were not included in his model and the uncertainties of the reconstruction itself, the assertion that Orion is represented by the Calendar Circle is unconvincing (Figs. 89.2 and 89.3).

Ring Hill Some 500 m west of the western group of monoliths is a more substantial triple ring of stones, 17 m in diameter. A grave shaft lies to the east of the center of the double or triple ring. It contained a 3-year-old boy’s skull with a few potsherds. Analysis of bones gives calibrated radio carbon dates of 5,500–5,200 BP, making it one of the last human-made structures in the area before abandonment. Placement of the large stones of the outer circle suggests an intentional arrangement around the grave. The asymmetry of the inner ring and the location

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Fig. 89.3 Ring Hill showing possible spokes connecting the outer ring of megaliths to the burial pit. The asymmetry of the inner rings of stones suggests an eastern orientation.

of the grave suggest an intentional orientation to the rising sun around the day of equinox. A prominent feature 1.5 km to the east known as Salt Hill contains megaliths, which could have been intended as an equinoctial foresight (Figs. 89.4 and 89.5).

The Complex Structures South of the Valley of Sacrifices, there are about 30 complex megalithic structures built during the Terminal Neolithic by the Bunat El Ansalm peoples. The largest of the structures, A, is the focus of five radiating megalithic alignments. The builders

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Fig. 89.4 Ring Hill. Note the burial pit

Fig. 89.5 North–south profile of Complex Structure A (1: table rock; 5 sculptured “cow” stone)

dug a pit through playa sediments to expose a table rock at a depth of 2.6 m. The rock is a thick lens of hard, quartzitic sandstone that remained after the surrounding softer sediments had been removed by erosion. The northern and western sides of the table rock were shaped, and its top was probably worked and smoothed. The oval rock measures 3.3 m by 2.3 m, with its long axis aligned slightly west of north. The pit was partially refilled with sand, and a large secondary stone, weighing 2–3 t, was placed over the center of the table rock. This stone was carefully shaped with a large head-like projection and was also oriented approximately north–south, parallel to the axis of the table rock. It was held upright by two large slabs set against the structure at its north end. The stone may have been a surrogate sacrificial cow (Fig. 89.6).

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Fig. 89.6 Excavation of the sculptured stone from Complex Structure A

Alignments When they were initially investigated by the Combined Prehistoric Expedition (Wendorf et al. 1992–1993), the megaliths appeared to be grouped in a broad area, which seemed vaguely oriented along a line 10 east of north. In 1997, after exploring the area in detail and sitting in the sand among the megaliths, we discovered that the megaliths were organized along three lines that radiated outward from the largest tumulus, complex structure A (Malville et al. 1998). This insight allowed us to identify two further groups of megaliths along alignments to the southeast (Figs. 89.7 and 89.8). Charcoal from fires in the nearby quarry have given us five radiocarbon dates associated with the quarrying of the megaliths ranging from 6,600 to 6,200 BP (Schild and Wendorf 2004). It is interesting that not all the blocks that had been quarried were used in the alignments or complex structure. Approximately 100 m east of the quarry is a storage area where dozens of additional sandstone blocks had been stored (Figs. 89.9 and 89.10).

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Fig. 89.7 Table rock at the base of the excavation of Complex Structure A

The brightest star in the region of the sky north of the celestial equator, Arcturus, is a reasonable candidate for the three northern alignments. The three times when alignments A1, A2, and A3 were oriented to the rising positions of Arcturus lie after the onset of quarrying. Each of these three alignments may have been built to account for the changing location of that star due to precession. There may have been some remarkable visual effects when shallow waters lay upon the playa and the reflections of these stars on the horizon were in alignment with the monoliths rising from the dark waters. The alignment, B2, may have been lined up with stars in the belt of Orion between approximately 6,300 and 6,100 BP. The set of megaliths, B1, would have lined up with Sirius and a Cen, which is the third brightest star in the night sky. Except for alignment A1, all these the dates fall within the window established by the dates from the quarry. Those megaliths may have been put in place using megaliths that had been stored in the quarry. Alignment A3 A2 A1 B2 B1

Azimuth (degrees) 26.3 28.1 30.6 116.6 120.1

Arcturus Arcturus Arcturus Belt of Orion Sirius a Cen

Approximate dates (BP) 6,530–6,320 6,220–6,020 5,810–5,630 6,300–6,100 6,640–6,400 6,500–6,260

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Fig. 89.8 Megalith A-2. Embedded 1 m into playa: 2.4-m long, 2.6-m wide, 0.6-m thick, embedded to a depth of 1 m. Blowout on north

Fig. 89.9 Radiocarbon dates. Samples 3–7 are from the quarry. Samples 2 are from Ring Hill

The People Judging from the elaborate burials at the nearby cemetery at Gebel Ramlah, about 20 km from Nabta Playa, the nomads associated with the ceremonial center were prosperous and healthy, possessed a strong aesthetic sense, and were interested in preserving and honoring their dead (Irish et al. 2002; Kobusiewicz and Schild 2005). Inspection of dental features indicates that two different populations, Mediterranean and sub-Saharan, were represented in the cemetery. The lack of differences in burial goods reveals there was little, if any, social stratification in the community. The absence of dental enamel hyperplasia shows that children must have been healthy and well-fed. All primary inhumations were in flexed position,

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Fig. 89.10 Alignments of megaliths

22.518

A2 22.516

A1 22.514

Latitude

A3

22.512

22.51

Complex Structure A 22.508

B2 22.506 B1

22.504 30.725 30.726 30.727 30.728 30.729

30.73

30.731

Longitude

oriented to west, facing south. There were secondary inhumations, which may have been of nomads who died while traveling.

Alternate Perspectives Nabta Playa has recently attracted advocates for an ancient Egyptian civilization with advanced scientific knowledge that has vanished without a trace.

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Brophy (2002) has proposal that table rock at the base of tumulus A represents the Milky Way galaxy as viewed from outside our galaxy. He also suggested the megalith alignments contain values for the distances of Bellatrix, Betelgeuse, Alnitak, Mintaka, and Alnilam (placed at distances scaled at 0.799 light years per meter on the ground), which would have required a knowledge of stellar parallax, light curves of Cepheids, and spectroscopic parallax. Needless to say, there is no evidence in the archaeological supporting the existence such high technology. Brophy also suggested the curved surface of the cow sculpture represented the cosmic microwave radiation left over from the big bang. These extraordinary propositions recall Carl Sagan’s injunction: “extraordinary claims require extraordinary evidence” (Sagan 1980). Brophy and colleagues (Brophy and Rosen 2005; Bauval and Brophy 2011) have suggested Vega, Dubhe, and Alkaid as targets for the northeastern alignments during the period 8,400–8,100 BP. Neither of these proposed stellar associations occurred during the Late or Terminal Neolithic when the megaliths had been quarried and moved into place. These alternate hypotheses are in conflict with the archaeological investigations of the area, in particular its chronology and cultural context. Here as in other sites where substantive archaeological investigations have taken place, priority should be given to archaeological evidence when speculating about the role of astronomy in culture.

Final Remarks The evidence for very early attention to the heavens by these ancient herdsmen comes in three forms. The repetitive orientation of megaliths along a north–south direction, and the cardinal orientations of human and cattle burials reveals an early symbolic connection to the north. The second bit of evidence for astronomy is found in the stone circle, with its two sightlines toward the north and the direction of rising sun near June solstice. The stones are small, but the four pairs of upright slabs establishing the sightlines are more substantial and imply intentionality. There is a hint of orientation of Ring Hill to the east. Finally, the alignments of megaliths, which, if intentionally oriented to the brightest stars of Nabta Playa, suggest an even more careful attention to the heavens. Honoring those stars is understandable if the nomads relied upon them for navigation across the Sahara. When water lay in the playa, reflections of these stars among the stones set in the dark waters would have been powerful. The cultural context for the astronomy at Nabta Playa is provided in great detail by the work of the Combined Prehistoric Expedition (Wendorf et al. 2001). For example, we know the dates at which the megaliths were quarried, the nature population and its wide trade networks based upon 67 primary and secondary burials (Kobusiewicz and Schild 2005), cattle worship by the nomadic pastoralists, the evolution of the cultures from 10,800 BP to abandonment around 5,500 BP, and the effects of climate change upon the populations (Kuper and Kro¨plin 2006).

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The ceremonial center of Nabta extends for two km along the western edge of the basin. The six alignments, which extend eastward into the basin contain a total of 26 megaliths. The average weight of the 19 megaliths in the alignments, for which we have good measurements, is 2.6 metric tons, ranging upward to the largest megalith in alignment B weighing as much as 12 metric tons. Placing these megaliths into the playa during a period of declining rainfall represented a significant investment in time and resources in an activity, which transcended survival. It also displays management skills and control over a group of people for extended periods of time, unexpected for Late Neolithic groups in the Sahara (Wendorf and Krolik 2001). The full meaning of the complex structures and the presence of the buried table rocks remains elusive. The table rock of Complex Structure A, coupled with the alignments radiating outward to the stars, may reveal an early belief in shamanic-like movement from the underworld to the heavens.

Cross-References ▶ Pre-Islamic Dry-Stone Monuments of the Central and Western Sahara

References Applegate A, Zeden˜o N (2001) Site E-92-9: a possible late Neolithic solar calendar. In: Wendorf F, Schild R (eds) Holocene settlement of the Egyptian Sahara: the archaeology of Nabta Playa. Kluwer, New York, pp 463–467 Bauval R, Brophy TG (2011) Black Genesis: the prehistoric origins of ancient Egypt. Bear and Company, Rochester Brophy TG (2002) The origin map: discovery of a prehistoric, megalithic astrophysical map and sculpture of the universe. Writers Club Press, New York Brophy TG, Rosen PA (2005) Satellite imagery measures of the astronomically aligned megaliths at Nabta Playa. Mediterranean Archaeology and Archaeometry 5:15–24 Irish JD, Schild R, Froment A, Wendorf F (2002) The role of Neolithic peoples in Northeast African Prehistory: a biocultural perspective from Nabta Playa, Egypt. Am J Phys Anthropol 34(Suppl):88–89 Iwaniszewski S (2010) Archaeoastronomical analysis of site E-92-9 from Nabta Playa: a reassesment. Paper presented at the SEAC conference at the library of Alexandria, Egypt Kobusiewicz M, Schild R (2005) Prehistoric herdsmen. Acad Mag Pol Acad Sci 7:20–23 Kuper R, Kro¨pelin S (2006) Climate controlled Holocene occupation in the Sahara: motor of Africa’s evolution. Science 313:803–807 Malville JM, Wendorf F, Mazar AA, Schild R (1998) Megaliths and Neolithic astronomy in Southern Egypt. Nature 392:488–490 Malville JM, Schild R, Wendorf F, Brenmer R (2007) Astronomy of Nabta Playa. Afr Skies/Cieux Afr 11:20–27 Malville JM, Schild R, Wendorf F, Brenmer R (2008) Astronomy of Nabta Playa. In: Holbrook J, Medupe R, Urama J (eds) African cultural astronomy: Current archaeoastronomy and ethnoastronomy research in Africa. Springer, New York, pp 131–143 Sagan C (1980) “Encyclopaedia Galactica”. Cosmos. Episode 12. December 24, PBS

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Schild R, Wendorf F (2004) The Megaliths of Nabta Playa. Acad Mag Pol Acad Sci 1:10–15 Wendorf F, Krolik H (2001) Site E-96-1: the complex structure or shrines. In: Wendorf F, Schild R, Associates The holocene settlement of the Egyptian Sahara: The archaeology of Nabta Playa, vol 1. Kluwer Academic, New York, pp 503–520 Wendorf F, Schild R (1998) Nabta Playa and its role in Northeastern African prehistory. J Anthropol Archaeol 17:97–123 Wendorf F, Schild R, Associates (2001) The holocene settlement of the Egyptian Sahara. The archaeology of Nabta Playa, vol 1. Kluwer Academic, New York Wendorf F, Close AE, Schild R (1992–1993) Megaliths in the Egyptian Sahara. Sahara 5:7–16

Pre-Islamic Religious Monuments in North Africa

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Ce´sar Esteban

Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Enduring Traditions: Religion and Astronomy in the Pre-Islamic Maghreb . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Abstract

I review data on the orientations of pre-Islamic religious monuments in North Africa dating from the 5th century BC to the 7th century AD and covering most of the present-day Maghreb, from Western Libya to Morocco. A sample of more than 100 Roman temples shows a rather random orientation pattern except for those dedicated to Saturn, which follow a clear relation to the rising sun or moon. This group of temples were built over previous sanctuaries dedicated to the Punic god Baal Hammon. In fact, a sample of genuine Punic sanctuaries presents a similar orientation pattern. I also discuss evidence of remarkable astronomical markers found in several of the temples. Christian churches of this area, among the earliest ones erected in the Mediterranean, also show a clear lunisolar orientation pattern.

Introduction The presence of astronomical orientations in the funerary monuments of North Africa is a widespread and enduring tradition. There are evident astronomical

C. Esteban Departamento de Astrofı´sica and Instituto de Astrofı´sica de Canarias, Universidad de La Laguna, La Laguna, Tenerife, Spain e-mail: [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_105, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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reasons for the clear orientation patterns of Saharan dry-stone funerary monuments, dating from the Neolithic up to the Arabic invasion (see ▶ Chap. 88, “Pre-Islamic Dry-Stone Monuments of the Central and Western Sahara”). Those patterns seem to be connected with the rising sun or moon. Perhaps the earliest known constructions that can be certainly considered sanctuaries or temples in this geographical area are of Punic origin, from about the 5th century BC. Most of the religious buildings discussed in this chapter are from Roman times, but many were erected over former Punic or Libyan sanctuaries. Before the Islamic conquest of the region, Christian churches were usually built re-utilizing previous Roman temples.

Enduring Traditions: Religion and Astronomy in the Pre-Islamic Maghreb Esteban et al. (2001, hereinafter E01) carried out the first extensive survey of the orientations of Roman and pre-Roman temples of Morocco, Tunisia, and Western Libya. Belmonte et al. (2006, hereinafter B06) measured additional temples and churches in Northern Tunisia. The complete sample of Roman sacred buildings investigated by those authors shows an apparent random distribution of orientations (see Fig. 90.1). However, there is a larger concentration at azimuths between approximately the rising points of the sun at the summer solstice (or the moon at the northern major standstill limit) and due south. B06 indicated the possibility of stellar orientations in the street plan of certain cities (see ▶ Chap. 147, “Roman City Planning and Spatial Organization”). For example, those authors propose that the rising position of Sirius could determine the orientation of the cardus of the important cities of Sbeitla (Tunisia) and Sabratha (Western Libya). E01 reported the lack of correlation between the dedication of the temples and their orientation, except for those dedicated to the god Saturn. In Fig. 90.1, we include the orientation diagram of the temples of Saturn measured by E01 and B06, incorporating data of other buildings from published maps (see Esteban 2003 and references therein). It is striking that the orientation pattern of this group of temples is consistent with the range of azimuths where the sun (or the moon) rises during the year. Saturn was the great god of the Roman provinces of Africa Proconsularis and Numidia (present-day Tunisia and Eastern Algeria), but its presence was rather limited in Mauretania (Western Algeria and Morocco, Briand-Ponsart and Hugoniot 2006). Its cult had strong pre-Roman roots and was the inheritor of the ancient cult of the Punic god Baal Hammon. Saturn was important for both the rural and urban Punicised Libyan population, probably because of the strong similarities of the Cartaghinian deity with a former ancient supreme Libyan god (Leglay 1966). Saturn had strong celestial attributes. His main symbols were the lunar crescent and the solar disk. Following Leglay (1966), the celestial character of Saturn was due to a mixture and convergence of Eastern Mediterranean and ancient African traditions. The importance of the orientation in the Punic ritual is documented in a stone inscription found in the zone of Salammbo in Carthage. This stone was an offering placed in a sanctuary dedicated to Baal Hammon. The text indicates explicitly that

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Fig. 90.1 Orientation diagrams. Top: whole sample of Roman temples. Bottom: temples dedicated to Saturn in Roman times. Continuous lines: measurements obtained by Esteban et al. (2001) and Belmonte et al. (2006). Dashed lines: data obtained from published plans (see Esteban 2003 and references therein). SS summer solstice, WS winter solstice, NMS northern major standstill limit of the moon, SMS southern major standstill limit of the moon

the stone was orientated with its front side to the sunset and its back side to the sunrise (Xella 1991). The cult to Saturn was almost absent in the deeply Punicised Tripolitania (Northwest Libya, Leglay 1966). In this region, the Roman Jupiter Hammon was an adaptation of the great god of the Eastern Libyans, the ram-headed Ammon (Mattingly 1994). The cult of Ammon is demonstrated by the numerous temples (mostly rural) dedicated to that deity in Tripolitania and among the Garamantes, the ancient proto-Berber population of the present-day Fezzan (Southwest Libya) that survived outside the Roman limes until the Islamic conquest. In Fig. 90.2, we show the orientations of a sample of rural Tripolitanian and

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Fig. 90.2 Orientation diagrams. Top: rural sanctuaries and temples of Tripolitania and the Garamantian kingdom. Bottom: Punic temples and sanctuaries. Continuous lines: measurements obtained by Esteban et al. (2001). Dashed lines: data obtained from published plans (see Esteban 2002, 2003 and references therein). Labels explained in Fig. 90.1

Garamantian temples. We can see that their orientations are concentrated toward the range of the rising or setting sun or due south. Also in Fig. 90.2, we include the orientation diagram of a sample of Punic temples. It is striking that the orientation pattern of this last group of buildings is very similar to that of the Roman temples dedicated to Saturn, but specially concentrated toward the rising points of the sun at equinoxes and winter solstice (see Esteban 2002 and references therein). In fact, this similarity is not unexpected, because most of the Roman temples dedicated to Saturn are built over ancient Punic sanctuaries or tofets.

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The astronomical motivation of the orientation patterns of North African temples dedicated to ancient Libyan or Punic deities is further supported by the finding of remarkable astronomical markers in some of them. E01 and Esteban (2003) reported that the sunrise at equinoxes (or the temporal mid-point between the solstices) is produced on conspicuous mountains or topographic features of the local horizon visible from temples dedicated to Saturn in Thugga (Tunisia, Fig. 90.3) and Volubilis (Morocco) and the sanctuary of Apollo in Mactar (Tunisia). In this last city, the Punic Baal Hammon was conflated with the Roman sun-god Apollo and not with Saturn as was the common rule in the rest of Africa Proconsularis. In the case of Volubilis and Thugga, the markers are produced on relevant sacred mountains. In addition, markers related to the sunrise at the summer solstice are found at Simithus (Tunisia, E01) and Zinchecra (capital of the Garamantes, Western Libya, Belmonte et al. 2002). These three equinoctial markers are seen from sacred areas (tofets) erected in the Punic period and in important cities of Libyan-Punic origin. All of them were re-utilized in Roman times and dedicated to Saturn or to the Roman sun-god Apollo. It is interesting to note that similar equinoctial markers have been found in sanctuaries belonging to the pre-Roman Iberian culture in Southeast Spain (see ▶ Chap. 98, “Iberian Sanctuaries”) which was also influenced by the Punic civilization in many aspects, and specially in the religion. Moreover, striking equinoctial markers in important preHispanic sanctuaries of the Canary Islands also suggest that this element was important in the ritual of the proto-Berber peoples that inhabited the archipelago (see ▶ Chap. 93, “Pre-Hispanic Sanctuaries in the Canary Islands” and Esteban and Delgado Cabrera 2005). It seems likely that the first settlers of the islands that came from the present-day Maghreb around the beginning of the Cristian Era imported this astronomical tradition among their religious background. The historical references available clearly point out that astral cults were of great importance for the pre-Roman people of North Africa. For example, Herodotus, in his books of history (IV, 37), tells that the sun and the moon were the only gods to whom most Libyans made sacrifices. Moreover, Roman authors remark that the Numidians and Mauretanians worshipped the sun. In particular, Cicero (De republica, IV, 3) tells that the Numidian king Masinissa invoked “the powerful Sun and all the divinities of Heaven” when defending Scipio the African. Diodorus Siculus (III.57.4,5) mentions the existence of a Libyan Helius god. Macrobius (Saturnalia, I.21) declares that under the name of Hammon, the Libyans worshipped the declining sun. Finally, the later Arabic author, Ibn Khaldu¯n, in his History of the Berbers mentions that the early Berbers were worshippers of the sun and the moon. A question still to be answered is the origin of the solar (or lunar) aspects of the pre-Roman North African religion. One possibility is the indubitable Punic influence, but one cannot forget the aforementioned overwhelming and enduring lunisolar custom in the orientation of the Saharan funerary monuments since the Neolithic. This fact proves that solar (or lunar) elements were important in the ritual of the ancient Libyan substrate before the Semitic colonization. In Fig. 90.4, we present the data collected by E01 and B06 for Christian churches. Most of the buildings were reused Roman temples or basilicae and date

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Fig. 90.3 Ruins of the Roman temple of Saturn of the city of Thugga. It was erected in 195 CE over a former Punic sanctuary dedicated to Baal Hammon

Fig. 90.4 Orientation diagrams of early Christian churches of North Africa. Measurements obtained by Esteban et al. (2001) and Belmonte et al. (2006). Labels explained in Fig. 90.1

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from the final Roman, Vandal, or Byzantine periods. As it can be seen, except in two cases (two churches at Sbeitla), all the buildings are orientated within the range of the solar (or lunar) rising and setting. This result is consistent with the well-known custom of orientation of early European Christian churches (see ▶ Chap. 154, “Orientation of Christian Churches”). The rather different orientation pattern shown by churches and the whole sample of Roman temples (Fig. 90.1) clearly indicates that the orientation was an essential factor in the selection of those Roman buildings to be reused as Christian churches. Therefore, solar aspects were very earlier incorporated in Christian liturgy.

Cross-References ▶ Iberian Sanctuaries ▶ Orientation of Christian Churches ▶ Pre-Hispanic Sanctuaries in the Canary Islands ▶ Pre-Islamic Dry-Stone Monuments of the Central and Western Sahara ▶ Roman City Planning and Spatial Organization

References Belmonte JA, Esteban C, Perera Betancort MA, Marrero R (2002) The sun in the north of Africa before Islam. A solstitial marker in the Sahara. In: Potyomkina T, Obridko V (eds) Astronomy and ancient civilizations. Nauka, Moscow Belmonte JA, Tejera Gaspar A, Perera Betancort MA, Marrero R (2006) On the orientation of preIslamic temples of North Africa: a re-appraisal (new data in Africa Proconsularis). Mediterranean Archaeology and Archaeometry 6(3):77–85 Briand-Ponsart C, Hugoniot C (2006) l’Afrique romaine de l’Atlantique a` la Tripolitaine 146 av. J.-C. – 533 ap. J.-C. Armand Colin, Paris Esteban C (2002) Temples and astronomy in Carthage. In: Blomberg M, Blomberg P, Henriksson G (eds) Calendars, symbols and orientations: legacies of astronomy in culture. Uppsala astronomical observatory report no 59. Uppsala, pp 135–142 Esteban C (2003) Equinoctial markers and orientations in pre-Roman religious and funerary monuments of the Western Mediterranean. In: Maravelia A-A (ed) Ad Astra per Aspera et per Ludum. European archaeoastronomy and the orientation of monuments in the mediterranean basin. Oxford BAR international series, Archaeo Press, Oxford pp 83–100 Esteban C, Delgado Cabrera M (2005) Sobre el ana´lisis arqueoastrono´mico de dos yacimientos tinerfen˜os y la importancia de los equinoccios en el ritual aborigen. Tabona 13:197–214 Esteban C, Belmonte JA, Perera Betancort MA, Marrero R, Jime´nez Gonza´lez JJ (2001) Orientations of pre-Islamic temples of Northwest Africa. Archaeoastronomy 26 (Supplement to the Journal for the History for Astronomy 32):S65–S84 Leglay M (1966) Saturne Africain. Historie. E´ditions E. de Boccard, Paris Mattingly DJ (1994) Tripolitania. The University of Michigan Press, Ann Arbor Xella P (1991) Baal Hammon. Recherches sur l’identite´ el l’histoire d’un dieu phe´nico-punique. Consiglio Nazionale delle Richerche, Roma

Astronomy as Practiced in the West African City of Timbuktu

91

Thebe Rodney Medupe

Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Timekeeping . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . A Model of the Solar System . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Conclusions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

1101 1103 1104 1105 1105 1106

Abstract

Islam was introduced to West Africa over a millennium ago as a result of trade with North Africa and other parts of the Middle East. Islamic scholarship thrived in the city of Timbuktu in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. During this time West African scholars studied and taught mathematics, Quranic studies, and astronomy among other subjects. Until recently, the detail of what astronomy was known and practiced was not known. As an example of the content of material taught in the madrassas in West Africa, I present an outline of the content of two manuscripts written in the seventeenth century by Timbuktu scholars Muhammad (or Ahmad) b. Muhammad Baghayu‛u b. Muhammad ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ Ku¯rdu and Abu¯ l-‛Abba¯s Ahmad b. al-Ha¯jj R-ma¯m-y-n al-Tuwa¯tı¯ al-Ghalla¯wı¯. ˙ ˙

Introduction The ancient city of Timbuktu is located in the North of Mali near the Niger River on the southern edge of the Sahara desert. Tuaregs founded it in about 1100 AD as a station to store grains and keep livestock during winter (bin. Yahya al-Wangari 2008).

T.R. Medupe Department of Physics, North West University, Mahikeng, South Africa e-mail: [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_104, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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About 600 years ago, Timbuktu was the major academic and trading center of the Songhay Empire, a prosperous empire that peaked in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. Timbuktu’s commercial success became a catalyst for development of centres of learning such as the Sankore and Sidi Yahya mosques, where scholarship in sciences, arts and religion thrived. This tradition of learning was further encouraged by the relative political stability brought by the Askiya rule of the Songhai empire at the time. Thousands of manuscripts were written by African academics. The topics covered subjects such as astronomy, mathematics, law, medicine, Arabic poetry and literature. In addition to writing original works, Timbuktu scribes also made copies of various manuscripts such as exclusive copies of the Quran for wealthy families. This resulted in a book trade that significantly benefited the merchants. The book trade was of such importance to the local commerce that a Spanish-born traveller and author, Leo Africanus, upon visiting Timbuktu in the early part of 16th century commented that “.... Many manuscript books coming from Barbary are sold. Such sales are more profitable than any other goods” (translation by Hunwick 1999). Timbuktu flourished from 1493 until the end of the Askiya dynasty in 1591 when the Songhai empire was invaded by Morocco. Many of the Timbuktu scholars were banished to North Africa, some of them (Ahmed Baba for example) continued to shine in their scholarship in exile. Fortunately, thousands of manuscripts from this era survived the persecution of scholars by the Moroccan invaders, many protected by the descendants of the ancient Timbuktu scholars. The manuscripts and are now found in many private and public collections in and around Timbuktu. Unfortunately many of the manuscripts suffer from the ravages of time and nature and are in need of preservation. The contents of many are still to be revealed. The two manuscripts discussed in this article prove that the Moroccan invasion did not completely extinguish the flames of scholarship; rather, the tradition continued until the 19th century. Two good sources on the history of Timbuktu and scholarship in the region are by Saad (1983), who gives a social history of Timbuktu, and Hunwick (1999), who translates a book on the history of Timbuktu and Jenne by Abd al Rahman al-Sadi (d. 1655). Medupe et al. (2008) report on their translations of 20 astronomy manuscripts from the Ahmed Baba Centre (IHERI-AB) library. This is a subset of the total number of astronomy manuscripts listed in the IHERI-AB catalogue. Based on this and translation of further 15 manuscripts, it is clear that the manuscripts of Abu¯ l-‛Abba¯s Ahmad b. al-Ha¯jj R-ma¯m-y-n al-Tuwa¯tı¯ al-Ghalla¯wı¯ and Muhammad (or ˙ ˙ ˙ Ahmad) b. Muhammad Baghayu‛u b. Muhammad Ku¯rdu are the only two locally ˙ ˙ ˙ written astronomy manuscripts and probably represent the type of astronomy that was prevalent in the Timbuktu Quranic schools in the eighteenth century and later. Other than a two-page astronomy/astrology manuscript by Ahmed Baba (a celebrated sixteenth-century scholar from Timbuktu) our research could not find earlier locally written astronomy manuscripts. Muhammed Kurdu was a Fulani scholar, whose grandfather moved to Timbuktu in 1597 and was a student of Ahmed Baba (Saad 1983). His manuscript is a commentary on the Muqaddima by Muhammed al Tajuri (a sixteenth-century Ottoman astronomer who lived in Tripoli). Muhammed Kurdu died between 1714 and 1720. Abul-Abbas was an imam from Arwan, a town to the North of Timbuktu; he also lived in the eighteenth century. His manuscript is

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an excellent commentary on an astronomy poem of Abu Muqri (a thirteenthcentury Maghribi imam and muwaqqit). See Ihsanoglu and Rosenfeld (2003) for more information on al Tajuri and Abu Muqri. The fact that Kurdu mentions that the teacher of Ahmed Baba, Muhammed Baghayogo met al Tajuri and studied under him in Cairo during a trip to Mecca suggests that Muhammed Baghayogo learnt astronomy from al Tajuri. However, this is speculative since we have not found any astronomy manuscript written by Muhammed Baghayogo yet. If such a manuscript exists, it would push back in time the earliest evidence of astronomy learning in Timbuktu. King (1996) identifies two categories of Islamic astronomy: folk astronomy and mathematical astronomy. Folk astronomy is very descriptive and is based on what one can see in the sky. It lacks the theory that forms the basis of mathematical astronomy. Varisco (2000) discusses aspects of Islamic folk astronomy. In the collection we have from the Ahmed Baba Centre, the majority of the manuscripts can be classified as folk astronomy. The main exception is an undated manuscript, which is under study. This disappointingly incomplete manuscript contains zı¯jes. It appears to be a collection of tables from two sources, the Hakimi Zı¯j by the tenth-century famous Egyptian astronomer named ibn Yunus and Jami al-mabadi by al-Marrakushi (see Ihsanoglu and Rosenfeld 2003 for biographies of these astronomers). The manuscript contains the following: • Table of proportion • Table of stellar latitudes • Lunar equation • Lunar equation of individual zodiacal constellations • Tables of tangent, cotangent, and versed sine • Equation of daylight • A previously unidentified table of true lunar motion If it is true that one of the tables in this manuscript is previously unidentified, this is a significant find as it shows how important the manuscript collections of Timbuktu are to the history of Islamic science as a whole. Books that are thought to have been lost to Western and Eastern libraries might be found in the Timbuktu libraries today. In the following sections, I present the two specific topics that formed part of Astronomy curriculum in the Timbuktu Quranic schools. (Abul-Abbas mentions that he wrote his commentary in response to a request by his students for astronomy manual.) Other topics such as determining direction to Mecca (qibla) using the Indian circle are also covered in the manuscripts but will not be discussed here.

Timekeeping The two manuscripts discussed are both 100 pages long and cover the issue of timekeeping extensively. In particular, methods of determining times of prayer during the day using the gnomon, and at night using lunar mansions are discussed. Figure 91.1 shows a sketch from Muhammed Kurdu’s manuscript of a drawing of one of the lunar mansions. While Al Jabha is well identified as z, g, Z, and a Leo

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Fig. 91.1 A section taken from part of a page of Kurdu’s manuscript showing sketches of Al Jabha (four dots at the top left) and Al Kharthaan (two dots at the bottom left)

(see Varisco 2000), Al Kharthaan, also called Az Zabra, comprises d Leo (Zubra) and another star in Leo that cannot be identified yet. Abul Abbas also discusses in detail the Islamic calendar and algorithms for determining a leap year and various aspects of the calendar. Comparisons of Islamic calendar with other calendars (Coptic and Julian calendars) are made as well. The length of seasons and a day in hours are discussed.

A Model of the Solar System For example, from studying the translations of manuscript 3670 of Abul Abbas, we know that in the 1700s, students in Timbuktu were learning a geocentric model of the universe similar to the one described by ancient Greeks (see, e.g., Plato’s Almagest) as shown by this translated quote from manuscript 3670: . . . He said that the orbits that God created in Heavens are nine orbits. Seven of them bear the planets. The eighth bears some other stars. The ninth is devoid of planets. The illustration of that is; the moon is in the orbit next to us. There is no other planet next to us if not the moon, except those stars that are said to be used to hurl the jinns with. The next one is bigger it contains Mercury. He hinted here that orbit is bigger than the one below it and smaller than the planet above it. The third orbit bears Venus. The fourth bears the Sun. the fifth bears Mars. The sixth bears Jupiter. The seventh bears Saturn. The eighth bears other planets rather than these ones. The ninth is empty of planets.

While the first eight orbits were described in Ptolemy’s Almagest, the ninth orbit was introduced by an Islamic astronomer called Ibn al Haytham in the eleventh century (King 1996). Ibn al Haytham did this in order to separate out the two apparent motions of stars, precession and the daily rotation. This is consistent with the known fact that Islamic scientists incorporated a lot of ancient Greek science, but also expanded on it and even corrected it (Saliba 1991). Examples of how

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Islamic astronomers improved and corrected the planetary models of the ancient Greeks are the lunar, solar, and planetary models of Ibn Shatir in the fourteenth century. These models have been shown to be mathematically identical to those of Copernicus 150 years later (Saliba 1991; King 1996). We also know that the astronomical content of Abul Abbas’s manuscript and that of Muhammed Baghayogo Kurdu is similar to what is found elsewhere in the Islamic world. Interestingly, Kurdu describes an orbit as “God said after having mentioned the sun and the moon: every one (of them) is swimming in an orbit. . . . It refers to everything round such as the globe of spindle, and the roundness of the serf girl’s breast; round and upright”. Apart from the distasteful comparison with serf girl’s breast, he was trying relate orbits to everyday objects. For a brief description of other interesting information we find in the Timbuktu manuscripts, see Medupe et al. (2008). Astronomy was studied in order to solve religious and practical problems faced by the African Muslims of Timbuktu, as was the case elsewhere in the Islamic world (King 1996). The religious problems involved determining times for prayer, direction to Mecca during prayer, and following an Islamic calendar. See King (1996, 2000) for a review of the history of Islamic astronomy.

Conclusions From a preliminary study of the two manuscripts written in the eighteenth century by West African scholars, it is clear that Islamic astronomy was studied in Quranic schools in the region. We do not yet know from which period this type of astronomy was being studied. There is a suggestion that it could have been studied as early as sixteenth century. I caution that this is a preliminary study; more needs to be done to address the following: • How old are the earliest writings on astronomy by local West African scholars? • Was mathematical astronomy also studied in West Africa? Although we find zı¯jes in some manuscripts, they are, on the whole, small in number and we do not find evidence that they were studied or used as a book collection. • The full scale of astronomy writing by African scholars has not been fully explored. More astronomy manuscripts need to be searched for. Although the number of catalogued astronomy manuscripts in the Ahmed Baba Centre is less than 100, many more manuscripts in their collection have not yet been digitized. There are more thousands of manuscripts in private libraries in Timbuktu; a search for astronomy manuscripts in private collections has not yet begun.

Cross-References ▶ Astronomy in the Service of Islam ▶ Islamic Mathematical Astronomy ▶ Islamic Folk Astronomy

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References bin Yahya al. Wangari M (2008) In: Jeppie S, Diagne SB (eds) The meanings of Timbuktu. HSRC Press, Cape Town, pp 277–285 Evans J (1998) The history and practice of ancient astronomy. Oxford University Press, New York Hunwick J (1999) Timbuktu and the Songhay Empire: Al-Sadi’s Tarickh Al-Sudan down to 1613 and other contemporary documents. Brill Academic, Leiden Ihsanoglu E, Rosenfeld BA (2003) Mathematicians, astronomers and other scholars of Islamic civilization and their works (7th–19th c.), Series of studies and sources on history of science 11. Research Centre for Islamic History, Art and Culture (IRCICA), Istanbul King DA (1996) Islamic astronomy. In: Walker C (ed) Astronomy before the telescope. British Museum Press, London, pp 143–174 King DA (2000) Mathematical astronomy in Islamic civilization. In: Selin (ed) Astronomy across cultures: the history of non-western astronomy. Kluwer, Dordrecht, pp 585–613 Medupe RT, Warner B, Jeppie S, Sanogo S, Maiga M, Maiga A, Dembele M, Diakite D, Tembely L, Kanoute M, Traore S, Sodio B, Hawkes S (2008) The Timbuktu science project. In: Holbrook J, Medupe RT, Urama J (eds) African cultural astronomy. Springer, New York, pp 179–188 Saad E (1983) Social history of Timbuktu: the role of Muslim scholars and notables 1400–1900. Cambridge University Press, New York Saliba G (1991) The astronomical tradition of Maragha- a historical survey and prospects for future research. Arabic Sci Philos 1:67–99 Varisco DM (2000) Islamic folk astronomy. In: Selin H (ed) Astronomy across cultures: the history of non-western astronomy. Kluwer, Dordrecht, pp 615–650

Calendar Pluralism and the Cultural Heritage of Domination and Resistance (Tuareg and Other Saharans)

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Contents Calendar Pluralism . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Simultaneous Use of Different Calendars . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Seasonal Month Names in Nonseasonal Calendars . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Sociopolitical Analysis of Calendars . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Domination and Resistance Seen Through Calendar Choices . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Future Directions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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This article is about Saharan calendars from precolonial times to the present. It shows that multiple calendar use has been a constant feature throughout the centuries, that the distinction between indigenous and imported has little meaning in this region of long-standing cultural exchange, and that many Saharan communities still simultaneously use differing official state, literate specialist, and local popular calendars. Social and political explanations of calendar pluralism are presented, contrasting the center view whereby calendars constitute a means of social control and the periphery view whereby communities may affirm their cultural autonomy through particular calendar choices.

C. Oxby Institute of Social Anthropology, University of Bern, Bern, Switzerland e-mail: [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_103, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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Calendar Pluralism Introduction The Saharan region has represented a cultural crossroads over the past centuries and indeed millennia, and this is reflected in the variety of astronomical knowledge in use there to this day. To what extent this knowledge is “indigenous” is a question of eternal debate, but the relevant point here is that, as in many other world regions, the particular knowledge systems in use have been developed by local people down the ages from the information available to them at the time. This article takes the example of calendar use in Saharan parts of N and W Africa, with particular reference to the Tuareg. By “calendar” is meant the cultural way of perceiving and organizing periods of time for a variety of purposes ranging from the social and religious to the economic and administrative: although often based on human observation of natural phenomena such as the division between day and night, the phases of the moon, and the appearance of certain stars, calendars are cultural phenomena subject to endless human choice and variation around the globe and going back in history, for example, different ways of calculating moon time or “months”, and variation in the choice of seasonal date to mark the new solar year, or time to mark the beginning of the new day. Many Saharan peoples simultaneously use different calendars for different purposes, and this “calendar pluralism” is so widespread even today and so well documented over the past decades and centuries that it is difficult to dismiss as “cultural survival”. The interpretation proposed here is a dynamic political one: choice of calendar can be seen on the one hand as part of a state’s strategy to control peripheral populations and on the other hand as part of peoples’ strategies to resist central control by affirming their own cultural heritage (Oxby 1998, 1999).

Simultaneous Use of Different Calendars Tekna Maures (SW Morocco) In the 1940s, the Tekna were using three calendars: a seasonal star calendar, an Islamic lunar calendar not linked with the seasons, and, in their dealings with the administration, the Gregorian solar calendar (Monteil 1949). Merazig (S Tunisia) In the 1960s, Merazig nomadic herders were using four calendars simultaneously: the Gregorian calendar was used in their relations with the national administration; the Islamic lunar calendar was used in the regulation of their religious ritual; in addition they had a regional reputation for being masters of astronomy, using a star calendar known to them through the study of Egyptian documents; finally, shepherds were using an adapted version of the latter, in which the appearance of certain

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constellations in the hottest and driest season marked out the periods of most arduous animal husbandry work (Paˆques 1964, p. 409).

Tuareg (Niger, NE Mali, and S Algeria) The Gregorian calendar is used for communications with the national administrations. The Julian solar calendar is used by farmers in the Ahaggar (Gast 1968, p. 47); it was most likely introduced in connection with Coptic Christianity rather than earlier Roman colonization of the region (Servier 1985, p. 370). Certain seasonal stars are known to all, such as Ghadat which announces gharat, the autumnal season (Claudot-Hawad 1993, p. 60), and there are specialists with detailed knowledge of the various seasonally visible constellations. The main calendar is the Islamic lunar calendar, gradually staggered throughout the seasons, as used all over the Saharan region and throughout the Islamic world especially for religious purposes. The coexistence of different types of calendars is something that is not often explored – it is rather downplayed as the product of a particular historical situation, such as the colonial system of government which resulted in parallel systems of timekeeping. In the Saharan region, it is common to find three or four different calendars in use within the same community, not only in historical contexts but also today.

Seasonal Month Names in Nonseasonal Calendars Moreover, as in other parts of the world, certain Saharan calendars include names that appear to belong to previous calendars, no longer in use. Unlike some other Saharan peoples, the Tuareg do not use the Arabic-language month names in their Islamic calendar: they have their own terms for these (Tuareg is a Berber language), with minor variations between the several regional Tuareg subgroups. Although some of these terms have a meaning similar to the Arabic equivalents, others have a completely unrelated meaning (Foucauld 1952, Vol. III, p. 982; Gast 1968, p. 108; Oxby unpublished fieldwork notes; personal communication Hawad 1998): several have seasonal associations out of place in a nonseasonal calendar, and it is suggested that they derive from previously used seasonal calendars. For example, in the Tuareg language of the Ayr region, Tamajaq, the 4th month is tafaske´: this term is derived from the Latin (pascha) for the Christian festival of Easter whose seasonal dating was fixed in the year 325 AD, and it is only relatively recently that this term has come to refer to the nonseasonal Islamic Festival of the Sacrifice, Aı¨d El Kebir. The 6th month is ti-n-aqqaten, “that of the counter-attacks”: these are military expeditions that are not carried out at any time of the year but according to a seasonal code which vetoes them, for example, when the men are absent on the winter trading caravans (Claudot-Hawad 1993, p. 17). The 7th month is named Gani after the Tuareg festival which traditionally occurred at the end of the rainy season, a time when large groups gathered before returning to their separate dry season locations (Claudot-Hawad 1993, p. 190).

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The names of the eighth and ninth moons are constant in all Tuareg communities: awhim wa yezzaren (gazelle, the first) and awhim wa ilkemen (gazelle, the next). They can be linked with the names given to certain seasonally visible constellations by the Ayr Tuareg’s southern neighbors, the Hausa: parts of Orion and Gemini are known in Hausa as barewa (gazelle) and kafar barewa (foot of the gazelle); such ancient nominations are thought to have been in use since before the adoption of Islam by the Hausa (Hiskett 1967, p. 172).

Sociopolitical Analysis of Calendars There are several ways of interpreting these data. One way would be to analyze the different internal systems of dividing up the year: how many seasons, months, or other time periods. Another way would be to look at historical origins, for example, the Assyrian and Hindu origins of zodiacal stellar calendars. Focusing on social and political aspects of calendar difference, we can distinguish three types.

State Calendars These are controlled by centralized legislation and media and form the basis of the internal administrative links between states and their populations and the external links with other states. In N and W Africa, as in other parts of the world, national calendars are Gregorian (although there are exceptions: Saudi Arabia uses the Islamic calendar for all purposes including administrative). Literate Specialist Calendars Such calendars are based on the astronomical knowledge and observation of literate specialists. In the Saharo-Sahelian region, there are two calendars of this type, both of which have been conveyed in the Arabic script by Arabizing elites. They and their associated astronomical knowledge radiated southward from the Maghreb from the early medieval era; by precolonial times, the influence of certain Moroccan savants had travelled along Saharan trading routes as far as Hausa and Yoruba country in present-day Nigeria (Hiskett 1967, p. 175). First is the zodiacal stellar calendar: this is regulated by the appearance and position in the sky of certain stars and constellations, many of which are known by the names of animals. Saharan versions are related to those of the ancient literate traditions of Rome, Greece, and Assyria. Second is the Islamic lunar calendar: this is independent of seasons and is regulated by the cycles of the moon as seen from particular urban centers of Islamic learning. It spread southward from the Maghreb in connection with the spread of Islam. Both calendars have coexisted over the centuries despite the condemnation by theologians of astrological divination associated with the stellar calendar (idem, p. 170). Such calendars are the product of stratified societies where, in a precolonial context, literate specialists assisted a militarily dominant minority to retain power

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over a largely illiterate majority; in a colonial then national context, certain Arabicliterate elites have continued to represent focal points of power, often in opposition to the government of the day.

Popular Calendars These are based on the personal observations of ordinary people and are part of their general knowledge about their particular part of the world. They regulate seasonal productive activities such as crop cultivation or herding. They make reference to easily visible changes in the natural world: not only the relative position of celestial bodies and seasonal changes in weather but also local phenomena such as seasonal river floods for Bambara farmers at Tombouctou (Paˆques 1964, p. 171), the onset of birdsong in the Ahaggar (Gast 1968, p. 50), and the date palm cropping cycle at Ouargla (Delheure 1992, p. 1719). Such calendars may consist of a popular version of one of the elite calendars: for example, the Merazig shepherds’ calendar is a local adaptation of the zodiacal stellar one, and the Tuareg use a popular version of the Islamic lunar calendar based on personal observation of the moon rather than official announcements originating in urban centers of Islamic learning, with some month nominations in their own language rather than Arabic. These popular calendars facilitate the coordination of community productive activities. To sum up in relation to the earlier examples, the Tekna, Merazig, and Tuareg all use the same state calendar, solar Gregorian, and a specialist lunar calendar, Islamic. The Tekna and Merazig use a specialist stellar calendar. All three use popular versions of this stellar calendar, and some month names in the nonseasonal Tuareg Islamic calendar most likely derive from local popular seasonal calendars. In addition, Tuareg farmers in the Ahaggar, in common with other Saharan farming communities, use a popular version of the Julian solar calendar.

Domination and Resistance Seen Through Calendar Choices Calendars are one of the ways in which the power relations within society are expressed, and in looking at them, there are two very different positions: one is the view from the center of power and the other is the view from the periphery.

Calendars as Tool to Rule A closer look at the various state calendars shows how they often incorporate features of local calendars, which, rather than being tolerated as survivals from a previous era, are often systematically woven into state calendars as a way of consolidating local support for the central administration. Just as the Roman calendar of Julius Caesar purposefully incorporated elements of a wide variety of localized and incongruent timekeeping systems, festivities, and religious rituals (Oxby 1998, p. 141), so do N and W African state Gregorian calendars accommodate dates taken from the Islamic lunar and other local calendars.

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A similar process may have occurred in Saharan historical contexts: the seasonal month names in the Tuareg Islamic calendar could be interpreted as evidence of attempts by Islamic educated elites to regulate their control over subjugated communities that used popular seasonal calendars.

Resistance Through Timekeeping Choices Viewing these same processes from the peripheries of a state’s or a powerful elite’s influence can give a different picture: in agricultural and livestock-keeping zones away from urban centers of power, the various popular seasonal calendars may be of greater relevance in organizing daily activities than the national calendars or the Arabizing elite ones. And “calendar pluralism” can be interpreted in terms of juggling the benefits of contact with the center versus the benefits of autonomy: cultural values deriving from centers of power may be complied with to a certain extent and resisted to a certain extent, and one way of resisting them is to promote alternative local cultural values. The continued use of stellar calendars by Saharan Muslims can be interpreted in this light. As to the Tuareg, their precolonial and early colonial role as dominating elites has gradually been eroded, and in certain parts of the Sahara, their resistance to local states has culminated in armed conflict and fierce military reprisals. The various calendars, and how they coincide, were a constant theme in the discussions between nomadic and settled Tuareg meeting in the villages of Adagh, NE Mali (personal communication Figueiredo 1998). Following the recent Tuareg separatist movement in NE Mali and its hijacking by Islamic fundamentalists linked with N Africa and beyond, no doubt the various local inhabitants will be simultaneously using a variety of timekeeping systems in accordance with their past educations, current occupations, and future aspirations.

Future Directions The coexistence of different calendars within the same community reflects the fact that society is not a bounded whole of persons all sharing the same culture and political allegiance but consists of different groups and factions, each striving to promote their own position and identity. Calendar pluralism is arguably not just a Saharan phenomenon. It may be especially evident in the Sahara, on account of several factors which make it more than usually difficult for states to extend and maintain a centralized system of control and a unifying culture there: the huge distances and low population densities involved; the extreme climate and difficult terrain, whether desert or mountain; and the necessarily mobile lifestyles such as nomadic pastoralism and long-distance trade. However, one might also expect multiple-calendar use in other regions, particularly those with geographical features that enable relatively self-sufficient communities to resist incorporation into states. The five calendars in use by Amazigh Berber speakers of Kabylia, a mountainous part of coastal N Algeria, are a case in point: (1) Gregorian administrative, (2) Islamic religious, and the following popular

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agricultural calendars— (3) Mediterranean lunar, (4) stellar with Arabic terms, and (5) Julian solar, with terms derived from Latin (Servier 1985, p. 369). The sociopolitical analysis of such timekeeping choices will add to our understanding of human social relations, both within Africa and beyond.

Cross-References ▶ Astronomy and Politics ▶ Astronomy and Power ▶ Calendars and Astronomy ▶ Indigenous Astronomy in Southern Africa ▶ Interactions Between “Indigenous” and “Colonial” Astronomies: Adaptation of Indigenous Astronomies in the Modern World ▶ Mursi and Borana Calendars

References Claudot-Hawad H (1993) Les Touaregs. Portrait en fragments. Edisud, Aix-en-Provence Delheure J (1992) Calendrier agraire de Ouargla (Mzab). In: Encyclope´die Berbe`re. Edisud, Aix-en-Provence, pp 1717–1718 De Foucauld Pe`re C (1952) Dictionnaire Touareg-Franc¸ais, Dialecte de l’Ahaggar. Imprimerie Nationale de France, Paris Gast M (1968) Alimentation des populations de l’Ahaggar. Etude ethnographique, Me´moires du CRAPE VIII. AMG, Paris Hiskett M (1967) The Arab star-calendar and planetary system in Hausa verse. Bull School Orient Afr Stud 30(1):158–176 Monteil V (1949) Notes sur la toponymie, l’astronomie et l’orientation chez les Maures, Hespe´ris. Archives Berbe`res et Bulletin de l’Institut des Hautes Etudes Marocaines, 36:189–219. Oxby C (1998) The manipulation of time: calendars and power in the Sahara. Nomad Peoples NS 2(1/2):137–149 Oxby C (1999) Star seasons versus moon seasons. A review of African ethno-astronomy with particular reference to Saharan livestock-keepers. La Ricerca Folklorica 40:55–64 Paˆques V (1964) L’arbre cosmique dans la pense´e populaire et dans la vie quotidienne du nordouest africain. Travaux et Me´moires de l’Institut d’Ethnologie LXX. Muse´e de l’Homme, Paris Servier J (1985) Tradition et civilisation berbe`res. Les portes de l’anne´e. Editions du Rocher, Monaco

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Pre-Hispanic Sanctuaries in the Canary Islands Juan Antonio Belmonte

Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Discussion . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Abstract

Cultural astronomy studies in the Canarian archipelago now have a tradition spanning two decades. The statistical relevance of astronomical implications for a certain number of sites and the spectacular character of some of the astronomical hierophanies discovered – with low probability of having been produced by chance in most cases – clearly points to an intentionality in the astronomical relationships discovered so far. All these arguments strongly suggest that tracking the movement of the celestial bodies was an important consideration in the erection and purpose of many pre-Hispanic sanctuaries. The alignment of footprint engravings at Montan˜a Tindaya, and the major lunistice moonrise at Roque Nublo and the summer solstice sunset at Teide, as observed from the sacred sites of Bentaiga and Gamona, respectively, may also be catalogued as outstanding examples of the strong relationship between astronomy and landscape in ancient Canary Islands culture. The recently discovered light-andshadow effects at Risco Caı´do will also be briefly discussed.

J.A. Belmonte Instituto de Astrofı´sica de Canarias, Universidad de La Laguna, La Laguna, Tenerife, Spain e-mail: [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_106, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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Introduction The Canaries were (re)discovered by the Western world, specifically by the Crown of Castile, around the fifteenth century. At that time, all the islands were inhabited by different cultural groups, each in almost total isolation. The islanders certainly came from the nearby African continent and were possibly related to proto-Berber (Libyan) groups, as their cultural remains and old ethnological sources seem to indicate. This pre-European population probably settled in the islands in an epoch close to the turn of the Christian era. Their cultural diversity, reflected by the material remains, economic activities, and social organization, may be explained by the occurrence of migrations from the continent at different but nearly contemporary moments or from different tribal stocks with a variable cultural level. Moreover, the remarkable ecological differences between the islands may have amplified this diversity by means of processes of adaption to particular environmental characteristics. The existence of sacred places in the pre-Hispanic Canary Islands is reported by many ancient historians and has been largely demonstrated by archaeological fieldwork. Their typology is variable from one island to another and even within the same island. For example, in Fuerteventura, ceremonies were performed in round buildings with stone walls called esequenes. A different custom was apparently used at La Palma, where some religious rituals took place around piles of loose stones, as high as the construction permitted (Abreu Galindo 1977). A large number of petroglyph stations, including alphabetic inscriptions, have been reported for all the islands. The examples of El Julan in El Hierro, with presumed astronomical symbolism, and of Tindaya in Fuerteventura, with the largest collection of footprint engravings (the so-called podomorphs) in the world, are among the most relevant. Gran Canaria presented the most evolved and richest pre-European culture of the archipelago. The social structure was complex and hierarchical, similar to a proto-state. The relatively high cultural level of the ancient Canarios is clearly illustrated by the existence of irrigated land agriculture, with products stocked in communal granaries. Burials are found not only in natural caves, as is typical on other islands, but also in tumular tombs, concentrated either in small groups or in huge necropolises. The presence of religious images is unmatched in the rest of the archipelago. Some general aspects of the religious world of the aboriginal population of the Canary Islands, especially Gran Canaria, and its connections to cultural astronomy can be inferred from ethnohistorical sources. These were written by Europeans, or Europeanized islanders, shortly before, during, and after the conquest. For example, they describe the importance of astral cults and divinities among the ancient Canarios and other island populations (see, e.g., Abreu Galindo 1977; Marı´n de Cubas 1993). The sun, the moon, and probably other celestial bodies (certain stars and planets) were their principal deities (Jime´nez 1990; Tejera Gaspar 1992). There are also numerous but, unfortunately, rather vague ethnohistorical references

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to the existence of a calendar, and the use of the position of the sun and the moon and, presumably, some stars – perhaps Sirius or the Pleiades – for time computing (Barrios Garcı´a 1997; Belmonte and Hoskin 2002). This may later be reflected in the traditions of the Canarian post-conquest peasants who used stars as timekeeping markers – notably Sirius and the Pleiades – and for weather prediction, especially the Evening Star (Belmonte and Sanz de Lara 2001). During the mid-1990s, extensive archaeoastronomical fieldwork was performed in all the islands (Fig. 93.1), but again Gran Canaria received the greatest interest. This island is characterized by the presence of sanctuaries at the top of significant mountains, the so-called almogarenes, where particular rituals took place at precise times of the year. From the archaeological point of view, several places have been suggested as the remains of pre-Hispanic almogarenes. Some of them are located in relatively low locations but, typically, they occupy high spots, often near a troglodyte village and/or burial caves. They consist of flat, sculpted platforms in the rocky ground with a number of carved basins or small cups, eventually connected by channels. Of these, the one at Roque Bentaiga is emblematic. Others can be found in cave-shrines, artificial caves located in outstanding places, having special features in their elements and often engraved, painted, and decorated; wellknown examples are Cueva Pintada at Galdar, Risco Caı´do, and the main cave of Cuatro Puertas. Interestingly, there is another typology of presumably sacred places in Gran Canaria according to their archaeological context. These special sites frequently include several truncated dry-stone conical structures called torretas, which are usually associated with horseshoe-shaped or ellipsoidal structures. Some places present large numbers of torretas, as, for example, Llanos de Gamona or Los Altos del Coronadero.

Discussion There was a complete lack of archaeoastronomical fieldwork studies in the Canaries when our research team began working on the islands in the early 1990s. Nobody suspected the extraordinary astronomical potential yielded by the pre-Hispanic remains of the islands. Solstitial and equinoctial “markers” were discovered or postulated in connection with the information about the calendar contained in the historical sources (Belmonte et al. 1994). One of our earliest discoveries in the islands was the probable astronomical connection of the footprint engravings of Montan˜a Tindaya (Perera Betancort et al. 1996, Fig. 93.2). The data showed that these petroglyphs, found by the hundreds, do not follow a random pattern but rather have a clear custom of orientation with a concentration in the W–SW sector of the horizon (Fig. 93.3). Different hypotheses have been offered for this pattern and the most suggestive is the one postulating a relationship with the period of maximum rainfall and the vision of Venus as Evening Star in combination with the winter solstice crescent (Belmonte and Hoskin 2002).

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CANARY ISLANDS N 1: Risco Caído 2: Bentaiga 3: Santidad 4: Gamona 5: Arteara

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Fig. 93.1 Map of the Canaries showing the sites with probable astronomical relevance discussed or mentioned in the text

Fig. 93.2 Montan˜a Tindaya, in Fuerteventura, as seen from the ancient esequen (stone circle) of Llano del Esquinzo. The southern peak is virtually full of footprint engravings (podomorphs) with a nonrandom orientation pattern (Photographs J.A. Belmonte (top) and adapted from Perera et al. (1996))

In Gran Canaria, dedicated fieldwork strongly suggested that most of the almogarenes could be related with solar observations and, probably, solar cults (see, e.g., Esteban et al. 1996/1997). Landscape also played a relevant role and, in fact, these sanctuaries are often located at high spots dominating a wide and sometimes impressive panorama. One of the best-studied sites has been Cuatro Puertas (Belmonte et al. 1994; Esteban et al. 1994). This is a huge archaeological

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Fig. 93.3 Orientation histogram of the podomorphs of Tindaya (a) in comparison with different models of astronomical objects. The best fit is obtained with the winter solstice crescent moon in combination with the visibility of Venus as Evening Star, when it behaves as the water carrier star (e) (Adapted from Belmonte and Hoskin (2002))

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Fig. 93.4 (a) Sunrise at the summer solstice in Cuatro Puertas. (b) Moonrise at the major southern lunistice touching Roque Nublo, as observed from the sanctuary of Roque Bentaiga. The circle represents the same phenomenon but as it would have been observable around 2,000 years ago when the island of Gran Canaria was presumably colonized. (c) Summer solstice sunset behind the peak of Inagua, aligned with one of the two ingresses of the sanctuary of Montan˜a Santidad. (d) Photograph taken by the author at equinoctial sunrise in the necropolis of Arteara when the first rays of the sun illuminate the so-called king’s tumulus. a, Adapted from Esteban et al. (1994). b and c, Adapted from Gil and Belmonte (2009))

site on a hill 319 m high. It contains two elements of possibly sacred character, the almogaren, located at the top of the hill, and an artificial cave-shrine with four entrances (hence the name, Cuatro Puertas). This cave-shrine is the only element of the settlement located at the northern slope of the mountain facing true north. A very nice hierophany (Fig. 93.4a) is observable from inside the cave-shrine. An observer located in its interior at the summer solstice sunrise would see a very thin patch of light penetrating the artificial cave through one of the entrances and illuminating the back wall for a few minutes. Considering the geometry of the cave, the summer solstice is the only moment when sunlight reaches its interior, possibly a deliberate element of the design. Interestingly, solstitial markers have also been identified in archaeological sites of other islands such as Yeje in Tenerife, Lomo de las Lajitas in La Palma, and perhaps Chipude in La Gomera and Cueva del Agua in El Hierro (Belmonte and Hoskin 2002, see Fig. 93.1). The almogaren at Roque Bentaiga was one of the first places to be investigated in Gran Canaria, and research continues to be conducted at the site today. Early results have suggested that Roque Bentaiga was a sort of solar and lunar “observatory”, presenting spectacular hierophanies related with the movements of both celestial bodies. For example, the geometrical analysis of different natural and artificial elements of the site suggested a very precise equinoctial marker (Esteban et al. 1996/1997). The relevance of the equinox was further emphasized

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Fig. 93.5 (a) The western horizon from the archaeological site of Los Llanos de Gamona with Teide Peak in the distant island of Tenerife. (b) Summer solstice sunset behind the majestic silhouette of Teide; this might have justified the selection of Gamona as a particularly important sacred place. (c) A few minutes after sunset, the shadow of Teide was reflected in the celestial vault in a symphony of colors and contrasts, reflecting the idea of Axis Mundi (Photographs by courtesy of M. Sanz de Lara, adapted from Gil and Belmonte (2009))

by the findings in other sites of Gran Canaria (e.g., the necropolis of Arteara and the nearby Fortaleza) and also in other islands (see Fig. 93.1), such as Zonzamas in Lanzarote or Tablero de los Majos in Fuerteventura (Belmonte and Hoskin 2002) and Dos Hermanos in Tenerife (Delgado and Esteban 2007).

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Fig. 93.6 In spring and summer months, sunlight after sunrise enters through a window in the most suggestive artificial cave-sanctuary of Risco Caı´do (left), producing impressive light-andshadow effects over a fine panel of rock-art dominated by engravings of pubic triangles. For instance, one month after the summer solstice, the light beam in the form of a phallus penetrates a pubic triangle (right) (Photographs by J.A. Belmonte, obtained by courtesy of archaeologist J. Cuenca, whose team is still analyzing the site)

However, the most suggestive astronomical phenomenon discovered at Bentaiga was the presumable connection between Roque Nublo and the major southern lunistice, discovered in the mid-1990s (Belmonte and Hoskin 2002). A decade later, a new set of appropriately scheduled observations was undertaken in order to further demonstrate or disprove the postulated relationships (Gil and Belmonte 2009). Figure 93.4b shows an example of the observations from the center of the almogaren. Moving back about 2,000 years to the period of colonization of the island, the phenomenon would have been still more impressive. In the last few years, it was decided to continue checking other important areas of Gran Canaria, notably the south and southwest where previous campaigns were incomplete. Gil and Belmonte (2009) have investigated a place called Montan˜a Santidad, where a large ellipsoidal structure was located. Its western access was open to sunset at the summer solstice over the top of Montan˜a de Inagua, a relevant peak in the western horizon, as shown in Fig. 93.4c. Actually, in the southwest of

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Gran Canaria there was a series of aboriginal sites with torretas, horseshoe-shaped structures and ellipsoidal enclosures, where this connection could be emphasized. This was already hypothesized by Aveni and Cuenca (1994) but never studied in detail or verified with direct on-site observations. The most peculiar of these sites is Los Llanos de Gamona, where no fewer than 20 torretas (mostly ruined) and several horseshoe-shaped structures have been catalogued (Fig. 93.5a). It is noteworthy that sunset at the summer solstice occurs on the top of the distant Teide volcano in the island of Tenerife. Figure 93.5b illustrates this phenomenon and shows that, in the period of colonization of the island, the alignment could have been nearly perfect (Gil and Belmonte 2009). This fact suggests that Gamona was perhaps selected as a special sacred place because of the solar hierophany produced on the western horizon. Teide Peak is the highest mountain of the Canary Islands and is visible from the rest of the archipelago, probably being present in the pre-Hispanic mythology of all the islands. This idea has been suggested by Tejera (1992), who even proposed a nexus between the formidable aspect of the mountain and the idea of Axis Mundi (Fig. 93.5c). Fieldwork in Gran Canaria is not finished. There are intriguing sites still being researched. A good example of this is the archaeological site of Risco Caı´do, where a couple of artificial caves possibly identified by ethnohistorical sources as almogarenes have been recently discovered, excavated, and restored by archaeologist Julio Cuenca and his team. The sanctuaries are decorated with pubic triangle engravings and several cup-marks. The sanctuary with the largest number of triangles is well excavated with a dome-like ceiling, including a window open to the skies (Fig. 93.6). The particular geometry of the cave permits the early rays of the sun to illuminate different decorative elements in successive periods of the year, suggesting an elaborated combination of light-and-shadow effects before and after the summer solstice (Cuenca 2012, see Fig. 93.6). The precise configuration of this phenomenology along a complete annual cycle was still being scrutinized at the time of writing. Acknowledgments The author is indebted to Ce´sar Esteban, Victor Febles, Jose´ Carlos Gil, Ma Antonia Perera, Margarita Sanz de Lara, Rosa Schlueter, and Antonio Tejera for many years of fascinating joint work in the Canaries and to Julio Cuenca for permitting the reference to Risco Caı´do before the publication of the material. This work is partially financed under the framework of the projects P310793 “Arqueoastronomı´a” of the IAC, and AYA2011-26759 “Orientatio ad Sidera III” of the Spanish MINECO.

Cross-References ▶ A Modern Myth - The “Pyramids” of G€u´ımar ▶ Pre-Islamic Religious Monuments in North Africa

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References Abreu Galindo FJ (1977) Historia de la conquista de las siete Islas de Canaria. Goya Ediciones, Santa Cruz de Tenerife Aveni A, Cuenca Sanabria J (1994) Archaeoastronomical fieldwork in the Canary Islands. El Museo Canario 49:29–41 Barrios Garcı´a J (1997) Sistemas de numeracio´n y calendarios de las poblaciones bereberes de Gran Canaria y Tenerife en los siglos XIV-XV. PhD thesis, Universidad de La Laguna Belmonte JA, Hoskin M (2002) Reflejo del Cosmos. Equipo Sirius, Madrid Belmonte JA, Sanz de Lara M (2001) El cielo de los magos. La Marea, La Laguna Belmonte JA, Esteban C, Aparicio A, Tejera Gaspar A, Gonza´lez O (1994) Canarian astronomy before the conquest: the pre-Hispanic calendar. Revista de la Academia Canaria de Ciencias VI 2(3 & 4):133–156 Cuenca J (2012) La arquitectura de lo sagrado de los antiguos Canarios. In: VIII Congreso de Patrimonio Histo´rico: Arquitectura indı´gena. Cabildo de Lanzarote, Arrecife (in press) Delgado M, Esteban C (2007) Application of standard astronomical software to the analysis of horizons around archaeological sites. In: Zedda MP, Belmonte JA (eds) Lights and shadows in cultural astronomy. AAS, Dolianova, pp 131–136 Esteban C, Belmonte JA, Aparicio A (1994) Astronomı´a y Prehistoria en las Islas Canarias. In: Belmonte JA (ed) Arqueoastronomı´a Hispana. Equipo Sirius, Madrid, pp 183–213 Esteban C, Schlueter R, Belmonte JA, Gonza´lez O (1996/1997) Equinoctial markers in Gran Canaria Island. Part I: Archaeoastronomy 21 (Supplement to the Journal for the History for Astronomy 27):S73-S79. Part II: Archaeoastronomy 22 (Supplement to the Journal for the History for Astronomy 28):S51-S56 Gil JC, Belmonte JA (2009) Gran Canaria revisited. In: Rubin˜o-Martı´n JA, Belmonte JA, Prada F, Alberdi A (eds) Cosmology across cultures. ASP Conference Series 409, Astronomical Society of the Pacific, San Francisco, pp 331–337 Jime´nez JJ (1990) Elementos astrales de la arqueologı´a prehisto´rica de las Islas Canarias. Investigaciones Arqueolo´gicas Canarias 2:93–112 Marı´n de Cubas TA (1993) Historia de las siete islas de Canaria. Canarias Cla´sica, La Laguna Perera Betancort MA, Belmonte JA, Esteban C, Tejera Gaspar A (1996) Tindaya: un acercamiento arqueoastrono´mico a la sociedad prehispa´nica de Fuerteventura. Tabona 9:163–193 Tejera Gaspar A (1992) La religio´n de los guanches: ritos, mitos y leyendas. Edicolor, Tenerife

A Modern Myth - The “Pyramids” of €´ımar Gu

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Antonio Aparicio and Ce´sar Esteban

Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The Myth Around the Majanos . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Reality: History, Archaeology, and Astronomy at the Majanos . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The Freemasonry: A Possible Link Closing the Chain . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Abstract

We discuss about the construction of a modern myth where archaeoastronomy has played an essential role: the Pyramids of G€u´ımar, located in the island of Tenerife (Canary Islands). We summarize the results of archaeoastronomical, archaeological, historical, and ethnographic studies devoted to them as well as our hypothesis for explaining the motivation of their astronomical alignments.

Introduction The Majanos of G€u´ımar, Majanos of Chacona, or Pyramids of G€u´ımar, refer to a group of pyramid-shaped, terraced structures arrayed in an area 120 m long and 25 m wide built from volcanic dry stone (see Figs. 94.1 and 94.2). They are located in the area of Chacona, in the town of G€u´ımar on the island of Tenerife (Canary Islands). They became very popular in the 1990s after a series of articles were published in local newspapers, the creation of an ethnographic park encompassing

A. Aparicio (*) • C. Esteban Departamento de Astrofı´sica and Instituto de Astrofı´sica de Canarias, Universidad de La Laguna, La Laguna, Tenerife, Spain e-mail: [email protected]; [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_107, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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Fig. 94.1 General view of the Pyramids or Majanos of G€ u´ımar seen from the south

Fig. 94.2 View of the easternmost majano (denoted as A in Fig. 94.3) seen from the northwest

them, and the publication of several research papers. According to all the evidence, the Majanos of G€ u´ımar were built in the nineteenth century, most likely between 1854 and 1881. Their main purpose was agricultural and related to the exploitation of cochineal (dactyloplus coccus) for carmine dye. The Spanish word majano is

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literally the structure resulting from the piling-up of stones extracted from land cleared for agricultural purposes. In general, we will use this name in this chapter, although it must be kept in mind that pira´mides (pyramids) is the name by which they are popularly known.

The Myth Around the Majanos As we will see, the case of the Majanos of G€u´ımar possesses a number of characteristics that contribute to the creation of a myth around them. From 1987 and especially in the 1990s, a number of articles about the Majanos appeared in local newspapers. Most of them insisted that the Majanos could have been built by the aboriginal pre-Hispanic settlers of Tenerife, the Guanches, or even that they could be connected with some extraterrestrial civilization. A recurrent characteristic of the story of the G€u´ımar myth was the importance given to intuition or subjective feelings in order to interpret what was observed there. But what definitely gave the Majanos their worldwide fame was the interest shown in them by the famous Norwegian adventurer and ethnographer Thor Heyerdahl. He is well known mainly for his sea expeditions in rafts (Kon-Tiki, Ra I, Ra II, and Tigris) aiming to show the possibility that ancient civilizations could have sailed long distances, even crossing oceans by this means. From the very beginning, Heyerdahl claimed that the Majanos of G€u´ımar were pre-Hispanic, based upon this hypothesis and their formal similarity to the ceremonial centers of the high civilizations of pre-Columbian Mesoamerica. The most far-reaching proposal of Heyerdahl regarding the Majanos of G€u´ımar was the so-called theory of hyperdiffusionism. He claimed that pyramids in Mesoamerica and other places of the world would have had their origin in ancient, transoceanic migrations of Egyptian people. In this context, the Canary Islands would have been a convenient temporal and geographical stopping-point in the long trip, since they lie on the natural sailing route between Europe and Central America.

Reality: History, Archaeology, and Astronomy at the Majanos In February 1991, J.A. Belmonte and ourselves made a first visit to the site of the Majanos. We were excited when we realized the possibility that the main majano (denoted as B in Fig. 94.3) could be oriented according to the sunset or sunrise at the solstices. A few days after, we accurately measured the orientations of all the structural elements and realized that the lateral longest wall of the main complex was aligned with the sunset at summer solstice, while a second most relevant symmetry axis pointed toward the sunrise at winter solstice. These axes are denoted as a and b in Fig. 94.3. It should be noted that, given a flat horizon, an axis pointing to summer solstice sunrise in one direction will point to winter solstice sunset in the other. But the horizon of G€u´ımar is strongly asymmetric; the eastern side faces the ocean while the western side is dominated by the heights of

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Fig. 94.3 General plan of the Majanos de G€ u´ımar complex. The axes denoted as a and b indicate the main directions to the points where sunset at summer solstice and sunrise at winter solstice take place. The three main majanos are denoted as A, B, and C. A large high terrace denoted as “Plaza” is between majanos A and B (Adapted from Fig. 94.1 of Belmonte et al. (1993))

the Caldera de Pedro Gil. The asymmetric horizon requires an asymmetry in a structure intended to point to both solstices and this is what we found at the Majanos. At the summer solstice of 1991, we observed the sunset in situ and discovered a striking phenomenon. That day, the sun set along the southern edge of the Caldera de Pedro Gil, disappearing behind a promontory, but appearing again below that promontory before finally setting at the bottom of the caldera. This effect of double sunset is illustrated in Fig. 94.4 and can be observed only from an area within a few hundred meters of one or other side of the Majanos site. These results were published in Belmonte et al. (1993) and Aparicio et al. (1994). Furthermore, 1 year later, we performed an analysis of the lengths of all the structural elements of the complex. This analysis showed that the unit of length used to build the Majanos was 82.6  0.5 cm. This value is consistent with the vara castellana, a unit of general use in Spain until the adoption of the metric system at the end of the nineteenth century (Esteban et al. 1994). Archaeological excavations on the site started in September 1991, funded by the businessman Fred Olsen, a friend of Heyerdahl’s, and the person who had purchased the land containing the Majanos some time before. Two professors from the University of La Laguna carried out the excavations with the participation of Heyerdahl himself and some of his collaborators. The main conclusion from the excavations was that nothing was found that could point to a pre-Hispanic origin (Jime´nez Go´mez and Navarro Mederos 1998). However, in the local newspapers, Heyerdahl was still defending their aboriginal origin— “they [the Majanos] are not the result of land cleaning for agricultural purposes”—based on the appreciation that the Majanos looked too perfect for that. A fundamental component of the scenario constructed around the Majanos is the creation of the Ethnographic Park of the Pyramids of G€u´ımar by Fred Olsen, sponsor also of FERCO (Foundation for the Exploration and Research of the Origin

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Fig. 94.4 Summer solstice sunset as seen from the Majanos. Left: After a tangential path down the southern slope of the Caldera de Pedro Gil, the sun disappears behind a promontory at the end of the slope. For few seconds, it appears again just at the bottom of the caldera before its definitive setting. This is what we call the double sunset. Right: Note that the main lateral wall of the whole complex (axis a in Fig. 94.3) is pointing to where the summer solstice sunset takes place

of Cultures), whose scientific head was Heyerdahl. The Ethnographic Park preserved and accurately restored the Majanos, which can be visited now as one of the many tourist attractions of Tenerife. In the park, it is strongly suggested that the Majanos from part of the intercontinental link between pyramidal structures in the context of Heyerdahl’s hyperdiffusionist theory and that they were built by the Guanches for ceremonial or religious purposes. The explanation given in the park is a myth. Besides the information provided by archaeologists, there is much additional historical and ethnographical information that helps us understand the true origin of the Majanos. Many local researchers have discussed the historical and socioeconomic context in which majanos were built in Tenerife and other Canarian islands (e.g., Molinero Polo 2002). According to these investigations, the origin of their construction was the onset of the exploitation of cochineal from about 1825 to 1871, which represented 90% of Canarian exports in that period. In fact, by the middle of the nineteenth century, the high profit from this trade together with an excess of labor power made the terracing and the building of majanos a very interesting investment. The presence of majanos in the Canarian countryside is mentioned in several books written by European travelers after 1840, but not in those written

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before that year. There are also two official documents regarding the estate of Chacona that help to set the construction epoch of the Majanos in the nineteenth century. The first, dated 1854, is the deed issued to Don Antonio Dı´az Flores. The Majanos are not mentioned in the description of the estate. The second is the document setting out the division of the property among Don Antonio’s heirs after his death, in 1881; here the Majanos are described. For this reason, the construction of the Majanos of G€u´ımar can be placed between 1854 and 1872 (the latter being the date of the testament of Don Antonio, unfortunately lost) or, more conservatively, between 1854 and 1881.

The Freemasonry: A Possible Link Closing the Chain As already mentioned, the Majanos have a striking astronomical significance. Thus, a major question remaining is to explain why rustic constructions made for agricultural purposes in the nineteenth century would have these astronomical connotations. It was in 2004 that we formulated a hypothesis to solve this puzzle (Aparicio and Esteban 2005). We also presented our arguments in a subsequent paper (Aparicio and Esteban 2009), answering another paper by Molinero Polo (2007) criticizing our conclusions. The keystone of our hypothesis is the fact that Don Antonio Dı´az Flores, the man who bought the property in 1854, was a freemason. This idea may be surprising, but it is well documented and does not require any bizarre assumption. The masonic record of Don Antonio can be found in the Freemasonry section of the Archivo General de la Guerra Civil Espan˜ola kept in Salamanca (Spain). According to this document, Don Antonio entered freemasonry on January 2, 1873. On the same day he received the three degrees of Entered Apprentice, Fellowcraft, and Master Mason. Freemasonry had been forbidden in Spain for most of the earlier years of the nineteenth century but after the revolution of 1868 several masonic lodges were created and many of the most relevant politicians, members of bourgeoisie, and learned people became freemasons. It is important to note that freemasonry is traditionally defined as “a system of morality veiled in allegory and illustrated by symbols”. Two of the most important symbols of freemasonry are the solstices, and the solstice dates are its main festivities (further information can be found in Aparicio and Esteban 2005). It should be clarified that the masonic hypothesis is not a fundamental one and, of course, that the Majanos of G€uimar are not a masonic construction. We only claim that the masonic fact may be the missing link in G€u´ımar, and we propose that the astronomical orientations are but an ornament of masonic origin on an agriculturally motivated construction. The masonic nickname chosen by Don Antonio, Chogo, which is another name by which the Majanos neighborhood was known in the nineteenth century, may further point to his interest in making some connection between his property and his membership to freemasonry and could support our hypothesis.

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References Aparicio A, Belmonte JA, Esteban C (1994) Archaeoastronomy in the canary islands: the pyramids of g€u´ımar. In: Iwaniszewski S, Lebeuf A, Wiercinski Q, Ziolkowski MS (eds) Time and astronomy in the meeting of the two worlds. University of Warsaw and CESLA, Warsaw, pp 361–379 Aparicio A, Esteban C (2005) Las Pira´mides de G€ u´ımar: mito y realidad. Centro de la Cultura Popular Canaria, Santa Cruz de Tenerife Aparicio A, Esteban C (2009) Sobre la influencia del simbolismo maso´nico en las orientaciones de las morras o ‘pira´mides’ de Chacona, en G€ u´ımar. Tabona 17:175–187 Belmonte JA, Aparicio A, Esteban C (1993) A solstitial marker in Tenerife: the ‘Majanos de Chacona’. Archaeoastronomy 18 (Supplement to the Journal for the History for Astronomy 24):S65–S68 Esteban C, Belmonte JA, Aparicio A (1994) A solstitial marker in Tenerife: addendum. Archaeoastronomy 18 (Supplement to the Journal for the History for Astronomy 24):S84–S86 Jime´nez Go´mez MC, Navarro Mederos JF (1998) El complejo de las morras de Chacona G€ u´ımar, Tenerife: resultados del proyecto de investigacio´n. In: Francisco Morales Padro´n (ed.) XII Coloquio de Historia Canario-Americana. Editorial Cabildo Insular de Gran Canaria, Gran Canaria, pp 523–537 Molinero Polo MA (2002) Les majanos canariens: des structures agricoles en pierre se`che devenues de ‘pyramids’. Trabajos de Egiptologı´a 1:69–90 Molinero Polo MA (2007) ‘Pira´mides de G€ u´ımar’, solsticios, masonerı´a y Egipto antiguo. Tabona 15:163–178

Part VII Prehistoric Europe [Western Part] Juan Antonio Belmonte

Patterns of Orientation in the Megalithic Tombs of the Western Mediterranean

95

Michael Hoskin

Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Tombs with Exceptional Orientations . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Tombs of Iberia and Western France . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Tombs of Southern France . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The Mediterranean Islands . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Abstract

Nearly all the Neolithic communal tombs of western Europe and the western Mediterranean have a well-defined orientation. In the west of Iberia, the great majority faced within the range of sunrise (and moonrise), while in Iberia as a whole and the west of France nearly all faced either sunrise or the sun when it had risen and was climbing in the sky. By contrast, at Fontvieille near Arles, tombs faced sunset, and along the French Mediterranean region to both east and west of Fontvieille, tombs faced either sunset or the sun when it was declining in the sky. In Sardinia, tombs faced southeasterly; by contrast, on Menorca, tombs faced southwesterly.

Introduction In western Europe and the islands of the western Mediterranean, it was usual in the Neolithic (and the Calcolithic) for the dead to be buried in passage graves, communal tombs of stone. These took many forms. Most were megalithic, made of

M. Hoskin Churchill College, Cambridge, UK e-mail: [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_108, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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Fig. 95.1 A typical megalithic tomb: Dolmen 22 at Montefrı´o, Granada, Spain

Fig. 95.2 A reconstructed tholos tomb at Los Millares, Almerı´a, Spain

a small number of large stones (Fig. 95.1), but some were of tholos construction and made of a large number of small stones arranged in a false cupola (Fig. 95.2). Many of the megalithic tombs were modest in size, sometimes no more than a backstone, two sidestones, a roof slab, and an entrance, but some were gigantic – the stones of the Dolmen de Menga at Antequera in southern Spain weigh up to 180 tonnes. Some of the passages were little more than token, while that of Matarrubilla at Valencina de la Concepcio´n to the west of Seville is 37 m in length. In most of the megalithic graves, the sidestones are vertical, true orthostats, but in the seven-stone antas of the Portugese Alentejo, each of the sidestones leans against another stone. There is therefore a great variety of tomb in the region; but almost all have a well-defined orientation, the line of sight of the bodies within as they are imagined

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to be “looking” out through the entrance (Hoskin 2001). At its simplest, this orientation is the direction from the midpoint of the backstone to the midpoint of the entrance, and this is customarily measured in azimuth, the angle clockwise from true north. We can abstract from the great variety of form of the tombs themselves and assemble data on their orientations. This done, we can look to see whether or not there is a pattern in the orientations, and if there is, what form it takes. Thus far, we are dealing in facts, but when we attempt to understand the motives in the minds of the builders that led to the patterns we find, we are moving from fact to the realm of hypothesis. We must in particular avoid making the assumption that the motivation was astronomical. This may be so, but such an assertion must be supported by argument, one possible argument being that the custom was spread over so wide an area that it could be expressed only by reference to the sky. There are examples elsewhere of groups of tombs whose pattern of orientation had nonastronomical motivation. In Mycenae in southern Greece in the third quarter of the second millennium BC, nine great tholos tombs were built to house royal burials, and these seem simply to face downhill, doubtless for ease of construction (Hoskin 2001). In County Sligo in Ireland, there is a huge cairn on the summit of Knocknarea and graves in the surrounding area often face this cairn. But in our region, as we shall see, the overwhelming majority of graves face easterly, between east-northeast and south, and such consistency over such a vast area can come only by reference to the sky.

Tombs with Exceptional Orientations There is one grave in Iberia that has a convincing terrestrial “target”. The Dolmen de Menga at Antequera has an orientation of about 45 , a direction in which sun, moon, and planets are never to be seen. From within the tomb, one finds oneself looking directly toward the extraordinary mountain of Pen˜a de Los Enamorados, which has the bizarre appearance of a sleeping giant (Fig. 95.3). The rules of logic notwithstanding, few doubt that this is the target of the tomb. If there is good reason to believe that a pattern of orientation has an astronomical motive, then this motive may be found in a specific direction, such as sunrise at the winter solstice, or in a range of directions, such as sunrise over the course of the year. If a planet was the target we shall never know, for the patterns of planetary movements are too complex to be detected with confidence in the orientations of imperfectly constructed and invariably damaged graves. The stars too must usually be discounted, but for a quite different reason. Because the earth is not a perfect sphere, the gravitational attraction of the sun and moon causes the axis of the earth to wobble with a period of some 26,000 years, and so the rising/setting points of any given star slowly change over the centuries. As there are innumerable stars, each with varying rising/setting points, with most tombs it is all too easy to find a star and a date of construction that will make the star a target. And a hypothesis that cannot be disproved is of no value.

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Fig. 95.3 The view from on top of the corridor of Dolmen de Menga, Antequera, Ma´laga, Spain, looking toward the mountain that resembles the face of a sleeping giant

But there is one remarkable exception. At Matarrubilla (Hoskin 2001), as already mentioned, the passage measures no less than 37 m. It is perfectly straight, and from the inner (tholos) chamber, one can glimpse only a tiny patch of sky. Given the exceptional form and length of the passage, it is difficult to believe that this tiny patch was without significance for the builders. The orientation of the passage is 17 48´, and for a tomb to face so close to north is almost without parallel. The only possible celestial target is a star, and the only bright star that could ever be seen from the chamber in Neolithic times is Arcturus, whose rising could be glimpsed in the decades immediately before 3100 BC. The archaeological evidence confirms that this was a very possible date of construction, but unfortunately, one cannot be more definite.

Tombs of Iberia and Western France These exceptions aside, the overwhelming majority of tombs of western Iberia faced easterly, within the range of sunrise – and therefore also within the range of moonrise, which extends a little beyond the range of sunrise at either end. The most striking example of this is found in the seven-stone antas of the Alentejo (Hoskin 2001).

Patterns of Orientation in the Megalithic Tombs of the Western Mediterranean

Fig. 95.4 Histogram of the orientations of 177 seven-stone antas of central Portugal and neighboring Spain. When the horizon altitude is taken into account, we find that every one faced within the range of sunrise (and moonrise)

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Fig. 95.5 (left) The orientations of 48 tholos tombs at Los Millares, Almerı´a, Spain. Overwhelmingly they faced within the range of sunrise (an SR pattern), although two anomalously faced southwest. (right) The orientations of 38 megalithic sepulchres at nearby Alhama de Almerı´a, a typical example of an SR/SC pattern: 21 out of the 38 faced south of the range of sunrise

Every single one of the 177 antas measured by the writer and colleagues faced within the range of sunrise (Fig. 95.4), the majority a little to the south of east, directions in which the sun rose in the autumn, after the harvest was complete. Many other groups of Iberian passage graves display a similar pattern, although usually, there are one or two exceptional orientations in any given group. At the principal tholos site of Los Millares in Almeria (Hoskin 2001), for example, the great majority of the tombs faced within the range of sunrise (Fig. 95.5, left), but there are just two tombs that are otherwise normal but had highly anomalous orientations, for they faced not far from southwest. It is convenient to denote such patterns as “sunrise” or “SR”, whether or not one believes that the builders actually had sunrise in mind. But there is a second custom that was widespread, whereby tombs faced roughly between east-northeast and south. Over this more extensive range, the sun was either to be seen rising, or else (having already risen) to be climbing in sky (Fig. 95.5, right), hence SR/SC. This could be understood as a relaxed variant of the stricter, SR custom. In western Iberia, of the 324 graves measured by the writer and colleagues (Hoskin 2001), almost all (99.4%) were SR/SC, and 96.9% were SR (Fig. 95.6). It was surely impossible for this near-complete uniformity to have been achieved without reference to the sky. The concentration within the SR/SC range of the orientations of tombs of the much larger region of Iberia and west-central France is extraordinary, as Fig. 95.7 shows.

Patterns of Orientation in the Megalithic Tombs of the Western Mediterranean

Fig. 95.6 Histogram showing the orientations of 324 tombs of west Iberia. The overwhelming majority faced within the range of sunrise (SR)

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Fig. 95.7 Histogram showing the orientations of 1,576 tombs of Iberia and western France. Again the overwhelming majority faced within the range of sunrise (SR)

This histogram of the orientations of 1,576 tombs shows that orientations to the north of midsummer sunrise, or to the west of due south (which is where the sun and moon culminate in the sky) – that is, orientations outside the SR/SC range – are very rare indeed.

Tombs of Southern France Similar patterns are to be found in northwest France (Hoskin 2001; Hoskin and Higginbottom 2002), and in the Channel Islands (Le Conte 2008), but along the French Mediterranean coast, we encounter a quite different custom. It seems to

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Fig. 95.8 (left) The steps leading down to the dolmenic hypogeum of La Source, Fontvieille, in Provence. The capstones are carefully shaped on their underside but are left in their natural state above ground. (right) The interior of the dolmenic hypogeum of Le Casteller, Fontvieille. The floor and the sidewalls are immaculately shaped out of the bedrock, but the roof is of slabs that fit together with precision

originate in Fontvielle, a small town not far from Arles (Sauzade 2000). There four communal tombs have been discovered that are utterly different to the tombs we have been considering. Whereas the megalithic and tholos tombs of Iberia are above ground and often prominent in the landscape, the Fontvieille tombs are subterranean and unobtrusive. They have long, rectangular chambers cut into the bedrock, and access is by discreetly cut steps from ground level (Fig. 95.8). Seen from the inside, the roof slabs are as carefully dressed as are the walls and the floor, but on the surface, these same slabs have the appearance of normal bedrock. As a result, one may be standing on the roof of one of the tombs and be wholly unaware of the fact. The contrast does not end here, for the pattern of orientations of the four Fontvieille tombs is the exact opposite of, say, the antas of the Alentejo: These four tombs face westerly, toward the setting sun (SS). The Fontvieille builders attempted to cut out of the bedrock a fifth such tomb, Dolmen de Coutignargues, but the stone proved to be of poor quality and could not be given the flat surface that was evidently a requirement. The builders therefore constructed, within the cavity they had created, a tomb with drystone sides and the usual flat slabs on top. This again faced close to west.

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To the east of Fontvieille, throughout Provence, the builders of tombs seem to have imitated the Fontvieille customs of structure and orientation – though with some flexibility: Tombs faced the sun either as it set or as it declined in the sky (Fig. 95.9), the rectangular chambers are less elongated, and the drystone walls sometimes have vertical slabs interspersed. However, as the contrasting SR/SC custom never reached Provence, the Fontvieille custom of westerly orientation was unchallenged in the region. In the Mediterranean regions to the west of Fontvieille (Hoskin 2001), however, both the easterly SR/SC and the westerly Fontvielle customs are present in the same territory, and all is confusion. Westerly facing tombs are found as far west as just across the border into Spain, and also in the Balearic Islands, where influence from southern France was already known from the archaeological evidence.

The Mediterranean Islands In Sicily, Corsica, and the Balearic Islands other than Menorca, megalithic tombs are few in number (Hoskin 2001). But, in Menorca and Sardinia, they are widespread. In both islands, the earliest tombs resemble those on the mainland, but the later tombs have a structure that is found nowhere else. On Menorca, six Neolithic tombs are known, all simple megalithic structures, and they faced westerly, between 220 and 278 in azimuth. Such orientations no doubt reflect influence from southern France. In the later Bronze Age talayotic culture, which takes its name from the numerous stone towers supposed to be watchtowers (atalayas), the dead were buried either in large-scale cemeteries located in caves in cliffs, or in massive stone structures that are reminiscent of upturned boats and so are known as navetas (Fig. 95.10). A naveta has an entrance and an axis of symmetry, and therefore a well-defined orientation, and is built on two floors. The orientations of eighteen navetas have been measured, and they faced the southwest quadrant or thereabouts. Interestingly, two of the navetas, at Rafal Rubı´, are in adjacent fields and are almost indistinguishable in appearance. Yet while their orientations conform to the overall pattern, one faces 192 and the other 245 . It seems that the difference between these orientations, so striking to us, was of no consequence to the builders. In the north of Sardinia (Hoskin 2001), there are some two dozen dolmens with a simple rectangular structure, and they faced predominantly in the southeast quadrant, as did the eight known dolmens in the southern tip of nearby Corsica. In Sardinia, the dolmens were succeeded by corridoi dolmenici, again rectangular but with far more extended sidewalls; these too faced the southeast quadrant. Sardinia then developed the sophisticated culture characterized by the thousands of towers or nuraghi that are still features of the landscape. In the nuraghic culture, the dead were buried in “tombs of giants”, tombe di giganti, typically with an entrance, a long and narrow rectangular chamber, and (to either side of the entrance) curving exedra that defined a sacred space in front of the tomb (Fig. 95.11).

Fig. 95.9 Histogram showing the orientations of 110 tombs of Provence and east Languedoc. Nearly all the tombs faced the setting sun (SS), or the sun when it was descending in the sky (SD)

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Fig. 95.10 The naveta of Es Tudons, Menorca

Fig. 95.11 The tomba de giganti Thomes, near Dorgali, Sardinia. The remains of the exedra are seen to either side of the central stele, and the roof of the extensive central chamber can be glimpsed on the right

In the northern half of the island, these tombs faced overwhelmingly in the southeast quadrant; but in the southern half, where mineral deposits attracted much interest from outside the island, it seems that the indigenous culture was attenuated and there is no clearly defined custom of orientation. The nuraghe of Sardinia bears a superficial resemblance to the talayots of Menorca, for both are conical towers made of large blocks of stone. And some have seen a similarity between the tombe de giganti of Sardinia and the navetas of Menorca. It has therefore been suggested that the talayotic culture of Menorca had its origins in Sardinians who arrived on the island and there built towers and tombs in imitation of the ones they had known back home in Sardinia. The claimed similarities do not bear scrutiny. A talayot is a crude structure, not much more than a pile of stones, whereas a nuraghe always has a central chamber of sophisticated false cupola construction, and it is not unknown for there to be three such chambers one above the other. On the other hand, a naveta is a massive

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building constructed on two floors, whereas the chamber of a tombe de giganti is narrow and rectangular and of modest size. But the study of orientations surely gives the coup de graˆce to the claim: for navetas face the southwest quadrant and tombe de giganti typically face the southeast quadrant. This gives the proof that the builders were observing quite different customs in the two islands.

Cross-References ▶ Megalithic Cromlechs of Iberia ▶ Seven-Stone Antas ▶ Taula Sanctuaries of Menorca

References Hoskin MA (2001) Tombs, temples and their orientations: a new perspective on Mediterranean prehistory. Ocarina Books, Bognor Regis Hoskin MA, Higginbottom G (2002) Orientations of dolmens of West-Central France. Archaeoastronomy 27 (Supplement to the Journal for the History for Astronomy 33):S51–S61 Le Conte D (2008) Orientations of channel islands megalithic tombs. Journal for the History of Astronomy 39:497–506 Sauzade G (2000) Orientations of the provenc¸al dolmens. Archaeoastronomy 25 (Supplement to the Journal for the History for Astronomy 31):S1–S10

Seven-Stone Antas

96

Michael Hoskin

Contents Introduction and Description . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Orientations of the Antas . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

1149 1150 1152 1152

Abstract

The seven-stone tombs of the Alentejo region of Portugal face within the range of sunrise (and moonrise) and may have been oriented on sunrise on the day construction began.

Introduction and Description In the Alentejo region of Portugal are to be found a large number of tombs of a remarkable construction (Hoskin 2001). Because the construction is so unusual, they are commonly referred to as antas, although more strictly anta in Portuguese is used of passage-graves in general. The builders began construction of an anta by inserting a lofty orthostat into the ground to serve as the backstone. They then positioned two further lofty slabs to lean against it, one to the left and the other to the right. These slabs are not true orthostats set vertically in the ground, but are supported by the backstone on which they lean. The builders next placed two further slabs, one to left and the other to right, to lean against the last two, and then two more, to lean against these. The result (Fig. 96.1) is an octagonal-shaped chamber formed of seven stones, the eighth side (that opposite the backstone)

M. Hoskin Churchill College, Cambridge, UK e-mail: [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_109, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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Fig. 96.1 (above) Anta de la Marquesa, near Valencia de Alca´ntara, a frontier town in the Spanish province of Ca´ceres. The backstone (centre right) of this anta is, or was, a true orthostat. In the left foreground, the first of the stones of the left side of the chamber leans on the backstone, while the second (seen edge-on) leans on this and the third (far left) on the second. At the extreme right, and supporting the capstone, the first stone of the right side of the chamber is just visible, and it similarly is leaning on the backstone. (below) The same anta viewed from the front. Instead of the usual entrance to the chamber opposite the backstone, this tomb has, exceptionally, an eighth stone (seen in the centre astride the corridor). It is leaning on the third of the stones to each side, which in turn lean on the second, and so on

opening to provide the entrance and often leading to a lengthy corridor. It is thought that construction of the antas with short corridors began as early as 4000 BC, while those with long corridors appeared around 3200. The builders rarely made any attempt to level off the tops of the lofty slabs. This, and the overlapping of the side-stones, makes these seven-stone (occasionally nine-stone) tombs instantly recognizable in the landscape. Some are of immense height: The stones of Anta Grande de Zambujeiro, south of Evora, are over 5 -m tall. The region in which antas are to be found is vast. There are outliers in Huelva, in southern Portugal, and near Lisbon itself, but the main concentration is across central Portugal and into the neighboring regions of Spain, especially around Valencia de Alca´ntara.

Orientations of the Antas The author and colleagues visited in all 177 antas, and it is little short of astonishing that – without a single exception – their orientations fall within an arc of little more than one-sixth of a circle (see Fig. 96.2). The area in which antas are found is vast: It

Seven-Stone Antas

Fig. 96.2 Histogram of the orientations of 177 antas of central Portugal and neighboring Spain. Despite the great number of tombs and the vast area over which they are spread, every single one of the antas faced sunrise (to within a couple of degrees), the majority in autumn/spring or in winter. Because the range of moonrise extends slightly in each direction beyond the range of sunrise, every anta can also be said to have faced moonrise

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measures some 200 km from east to west, and a similar distance from north to south. It is also very flat, so that there are no natural features such as mountains that might have been the “target” of orientations. The only explanation for such consistency is that the builders selected their orientations for reasons to be found in the sky, whose features were of course the same throughout the region. Indeed, we have here perhaps the best evidence to be found in prehistoric Europe of tombs with celestial rather than terrestrial orientations. What then were the celestial target or targets chosen by the builders? The tombs face easterly, with the greatest concentration a little to the south of due east. Indeed, all face within the range of sunrise, give or take a degree or two. Even the two outliers that oriented a little more southerly than the rest (La Tierra Caida 1 and 2, Cedillo, Ca´ceres) are not in fact exceptions, for they are located on platforms low in a river valley with steep sides, and when this is taken into account, we find that they too faced sunrise, late in the year. Because many of the antas are huge and their stones massive, construction must have involved a large workforce, and so could have been undertaken only when the workforce was free from the more urgent task of food cultivation: when the harvest was in. Given this, and if we suppose that an anta was oriented to face sunrise at the time when construction began, then we would expect the majority of the antas to face the autumn sunrise, that is, a little south of east. And this is just what we find in Fig. 96.2. Whereas the orientations themselves are facts, and the easterly concentration of the orientations is a fact, when we suggest possible motives underlying the choice of orientation, we move to the realm of hypothesis. That the tombs faced sunrise at the time when construction began seems plausible, but we must remember that a tomb that sometimes faces sunrise ipso facto sometimes faces moonrise, and that it may be that the builders chose their orientations for reasons connected with the moon. Be this as it may, we have in the antas indisputable proof of tomb orientations chosen for reasons relating to the sky.

Cross-References ▶ Boyne Valley Tombs ▶ Irish Neolithic Tombs in Their Landscape ▶ Megalithic Cromlechs of Iberia ▶ Patterns of Orientation in the Megalithic Tombs of the Western Mediterranean

References Hoskin MA (2001) Tombs, temples and their orientations: a new perspective on Mediterranean prehistory. Ocarina Books, Bognor Regis

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Megalithic Cromlechs of Iberia Fernando Pimenta and Luı´s Tirapicos

Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Orientations of Iberian Cromlechs . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Results . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Testing Models . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Conclusions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Abstract

A number of megalithic cromlechs have survived in Iberia, the most monumental cases being found in the present territory of Portugal. Some of these sites date back to the sixth or fifth millennium BCE and are among the oldest stone enclosures in Europe. The orientations in the landscape of 12 megalithic cromlechs in the Alentejo (south of Portugal) have been recently investigated, and the results of a survey conducted there show a pattern toward eastern rising orientations. A possible ritual interest in the Full Moon crossovers, particularly in the Autumn Full Moon crossover, was tested.

F. Pimenta (*) Associac¸a˜o Portuguesa de Investigac¸a˜o Arqueolo´gica (APIA), Lisbon, Portugal e-mail: [email protected] L. Tirapicos Centro Interuniversita´rio de Histo´ria das Cieˆncias e da Tecnologia, Universidade de Lisboa, Lisboa, Portugal e-mail: [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_110, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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Introduction A large number of cromlechs have survived in Iberia, especially in the Pyrenean zone, where 1,104 enclosures were indentified (Pen˜alver 2004). Most of these cromlechs are located in the highlands, clustering around 1,000 m elevation, presenting a circular structure with diameters ranging from 1–20 m, with an average of 5 m. Twenty cromlechs in this area have been excavated and dated by C-14 from the Late Bronze Age (1,300–700 BCE) and Iron Age (800 BCE to 50 CE). A 12 m circular structure in the Serra da Estrela, built with white quartz stones at 1,000 m elevation, was also recently identified in Portugal. These enclosures have been associated with herding activities, forming a part of pastoral sociocultural practices. Unfortunately, with the exception of the cromlech situated in Serra da Estrela, the authors are not aware of other archaeoastronomical surveys of circular enclosures in the area. More monumental and apparently much older are the megalithic cromlechs that survive in the Alentejo. This region extends, roughly, from south of the Tejo river to north of the Algarve, a province on the southern Portuguese coast. The majority of these megalithic monuments are scattered throughout the E´vora district, in central Alentejo, between the Tejo and Sado hydrological basins (Fig. 97.1). This territory is very flat, with modest elevations. Today archaeologists believe that Neolithic economies may have been established in central Alentejo as early as 5,600 BCE (Zilha˜o 2003) and that the megalithic cromlechs in that area were structures built during the period centered on the Middle Neolithic, that is, in the sixth to fifth millennium BCE, predating the cultures that built the communal megalithic seven- and nine-stone tombs in the same area (Calado 2004). The culture that built the cromlechs could have resulted from the sedentarization process of the Mesolithic populations that occupied the basins of the rivers Tejo and Sado (Calado 2004), or through the colonization by groups that migrated into this area (Zilha˜o 2001). There is no direct radiocarbon dating available from these sites, and the established chronology arises mainly from materials found in excavations. The chronology has also been set by association with nearby settlements or surface remains. According to the Portuguese archaeologist Manuel Calado (2004), the basic structure for these megalithic enclosures was a development of a horseshoe shape, opened to the east (Fig. 97.2a and b). The cromlechs are usually close to the top of a hill on a slight slope facing east. In most of the monuments, the largest menhir is located outside of the horseshoe line, at one “focus” of the cromlech. Several menhirs are decorated, the most common engraved motifs being crescents, circles, horseshoes, and crosiers. Some menhirs present what seems an anthropomorphized composition. Excluding cup marks, most of the engraved menhirs were found in the larger enclosures of Almendres, Portela de Mogos, and Vale Maria do Meio. The inner area of the enclosures could be used as a scenic ritual space, and in the largest enclosures like Almendres, an entire community could gather inside (Belmonte 1999). The 12 surveyed sites range from the smallest, Vale d’el Rei, with 12 menhirs in a perfect horseshoe shape of 8.3  6.4 m, to the monumental Almendres with 94

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Fig. 97.1 Location of the central Alentejo cromlechs: (1) Almendres, (2) Casas de Baixo, (3) Cuncos, (4) Fontaı´nhas, (5) Monte da Ribeira, (6) Perdigo˜es, (7) Portela de Mogos, (8) Sideral, (9) Tojal, (10) Vale d’El Rei, (11) Vale Maria do Meio, (12) Xarez

Fig. 97.2 The Alentejo megalithic cromlechs. (a) With 94 standing stones the complex enclosure of Almendres is the biggest in Iberia. The picture shows a detail with one engraved menhir (photograph by Luı´s Tirapicos) (b) Vale d’el Rei is a perfect horseshoe and is the only one on relatively level ground (photograph by Fernando Pimenta)

standing stones and a much more complex structure of 61  31 m. Also included in this group are the sites where the menhirs are completely dismantled, and no information remains concerning their original positions. Since the establishment of these monuments was probably linked with the earliest stages of sedentary life in the region, their builders were likely

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hunter-gatherer-farmers (Silva et al. 1993; Jorge 1999; Ammerman and Paolo 1998). It is possible that their settlements were occupied on a seasonal basis requiring a rough time reckoning in the form of a seasonal calendar. It is interesting to note that the long-distance winter transhumance – the regular movement of men and flocks – droving sheep for the winter from the central mountain areas of Portugal to the pastures in the Alentejo plains, practiced since the Middle Ages up to the twentieth century, would put the shepherds and sheep in the Alentejo between October and March. It is generally accepted that these transhumance movements, referred by Pliny the Elder (23–79 AD) and already regulated in the Roman period (Pasquinucci 1979), followed the natural routes and seasonality of wild animal migrations in search of better pastures. It is possible that the hunter-gatherers may have followed the same routes and seasonality pattern. There is evidence that some of these routes could have been used for transhumance since the Neolithic period (Logemann et al. 1995), but it is, of course, arguable whether large-scale transhumance existed in the Neolithic period, due to the limited stock of sheep and goats, that raised through the Neolithic, and the lack of complex political structures needed to traverse long-distance transhumant routes and urban settlements providing a market for agricultural and specialized pastoral products (Robb 2007).

Orientations of Iberian Cromlechs Different approaches have been followed concerning the orientations of Iberian cromlechs. Some researchers have investigated directions of possible astronomical significance, either along alignments of selected menhirs (Alvim 2009) or by analyzing the symmetry axis and horizon features seen from some of the enclosures (da Silva and Calado 2003a). Marciano da Silva (da Silva and Calado 2003a) mentioned as significant moonrise at the major lunar standstill limit over Evoramonte hill as seen from the Almendres cromlech, and sunrise at summer solstice over the same hill as seen from the cromlech at Portela de Mogos, in a line that runs for several kilometers over four megalithic sites with large menhirs. The same author mentions that the common large menhir near the top usually aligns with other menhirs in the enclosure or to the horizon in the approximate direction of the Spring Full Moon azimuth (da Silva and Calado 2003b). Belmonte (1999) showed that the skewed square construction of the Xarez enclosure (which has now been moved to a different location owing to the construction of a dam) that would fit the summer solstice sunrise and the winter solstice sunset directions defined between the central menhir (the only one for which implantation sockets were found) and two of the opposite corners (Gomes 2000). The preliminary survey of the circular enclosure in Serra da Estrela revealed a possible association with the summer solstice sunset or a lunar event around it (Pimenta and Smith 2012). The authors of this chapter tried to consider, in a comprehensive way, all the common features of the Alentejo group of enclosures (Pimenta and Tirapicos 2008;

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Fig. 97.3 Distance to horizon profile for the Alentejo cromlechs

Pimenta et al. 2009). A topographic analysis was undertaken at all of the sites, to extract the distributions in azimuth of the horizon distance and elevation profiles, the slope, and the azimuth of the maximum slope (aspect). The aim was to detect, in a consistent way, possible horizon features and their corresponding declinations. For all the measurable sites, the azimuth and declination of the symmetry axis were also calculated.

Results The sites have an open and distant horizon to the east and northeast (Fig. 97.3) and the aspect clusters between 54 and 132 (Fig. 97.4). There is no apparent pattern for the azimuth of the highest distant peak nor of horizon features commonly occurring at particular declinations (Fig. 97.5). The symmetry axis orientations cluster within a range of 35 of azimuth (Fig. 97.6), which has a very low probability of occurring by chance (Pimenta and Tirapicos 2008; Pimenta et al. 2009). The symmetry axis declinations are presented in Fig. 97.7, assuming an uncertainty of 3 m in both east–west and north–south directions for prostrate menhirs and of ½ m for menhirs standing in their original sockets. The apparent interest in declinations around the equinoctial ones seems to favor an interpretation based on a Full Moon crossover (Silva and Pimenta 2012; da Silva 2004).

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Fig. 97.4 Distribution of the azimuth of maximum slope for the Alentejo enclosures

Fig. 97.5 Distribution of the possible horizon marks in declination for the Alentejo cromlechs

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Fig. 97.6 Distribution of the symmetry axis azimuth for the Alentejo enclosures

Fig. 97.7 Declinations of the symmetry axis for the Alentejo cromlechs, with 2-sigma error bars

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Fig. 97.8 Histogram of the consolidated data and uncertainties for the Alentejo cromlechs. The declination distributions for the Spring Full Moon (SFM) and Autumn Full Moon (AFM) crossovers moonrise models are also represented

Testing Models The distribution of the symmetry axis in declination was statistically compared with the models that correspond to the Spring Full Moon crossover, to the Autumn Full Moon crossover, to an interest in both crossovers, and to an orientation following the azimuth of the maximum slope (Pimenta et al. 2009). Among the tested models, there seems to be some evidence for an interest in both crossovers and, particularly, in the Autumn Full Moon crossover (Fig. 97.8). Since the differences between the model comparison statistics are not very large and the sample is too small (including some incomplete and highly destroyed cromlechs), it is not possible to draw definitive conclusions.

Conclusions In Iberia, cromlechs seem to have been built in selected topographic landscapes. In the Alentejo, these sites also appear to be oriented to an astronomical range of declinations, probably the Full Moon crossovers, with a slight preference for the Autumn Full Moon; nevertheless, it cannot be proved whether events such as these were in fact the target.

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A possible lunar relation in the Alentejo cromlechs has been emphasized recently (Oliveira and Silva 2006; Viana 2007). Ana Viana, for example, used the recurrent crescents in engraved menhirs – from Almendres, Portela de Mogos, and Vale Maria do Meio – to support this idea. In addition, Strabo (58 BC–25 AD), referring to Iberia in his Geografica, describes a widespread custom of local people: “They, the “Gaelics”, have no cult images and are reverent to a nameless divinity which families feast in nights of Full Moon dancing until dawn, in the open, outside their homes”. Interestingly, Ana Viana in her work has noted that almost every one of the engraved surfaces on surviving anthropomorphic menhirs, especially in Portela de Mogos and Almendres, face the eastern horizon.

Cross-References ▶ Neolithic Circular Ditch Systems (“Rondels”) in Central Europe ▶ Patterns of Orientation in the Megalithic Tombs of the Western Mediterranean ▶ Recumbent Stone Circles ▶ Seven-Stone Antas

References Alvim P (2009) Recintos Megalı´ticos do Ocidente do Alentejo Central – Arquitectura e Paisagem na Transic¸a˜o Mesolı´tico/Neolı´tico, E´vora. Masters dissertation, University of E´vora, E´vora Ammerman J, Paolo B (1998) Looking back. Looking forward, Colloquia and Conference Papers 6. Archaeological Institute of America, Boston Belmonte JA (1999) Las leyes del cielo: Astronmı´a y civilizaciones antı´guas. Ed. Temas de Hoy, Madrid, pp 72–73 Calado M (2004) Menires do Alentejo Central. Ge´nese e Evoluc¸a˜o da Paisagem Megalı´tica Regional, Lisboa. PhD thesis, University of Lisbon, Lisbon da Silva CM (2004) The spring full moon. J Hist Astron 121:475–478 da Silva CM, Calado M (2003a) New astronomically significant directions of megalithic monumentos in the Central Alentejo. J Iberian Arch 5:67–88 da Silva CM, Calado M (2003b) Monumentos Megalı´ticos Lunares no Alentejo Central. In: Calado M (ed) Sinais da Pedra. Actas do 1 Colo´quio Internacional sobre Megalitismo e Arte Rupestre na Europa Atlaˆntica. Fundac¸a˜o Euge´nio de Almeida, E´vora (CD-ROM) Gomes MV (2000) Cromeleque do Xarez, a ordenac¸a˜o do caos. Memo´rias de Odiana, vol 2. EDIA, Beja, pp 119–137 Jorge SO (1999) Domesticar a terra. As Primeiras Comunidades Agra´rias em Territo´rio Portugueˆs. Gradiva, Lisboa Logemann E, Kalkbrenner G, Sch€ ule W, Kr€ utzfeldt B (1995) Contenido de mercurio en huesos de animales dome´sticos y trashumancia. Actas do 1 Congresso de Arqueologia Peninsular, (Porto 12–18 Outubro de 1993), vol 6. Sociedade Portuguesa de Antropologia e Etnologia, Porto, pp 457–465 Oliveira C, Silva CM (2006) Moon, spring and large stones, Landscape and ritual calendar perception and symbolization. UISPP, Lisbon (September 2006) Pasquinucci M (1979) In: Gabba E, Pasquinucci M (eds) La transumanza nell’Italia romana, Strutturia agrarie e allevantamento transumante nell’Italia romana (III-I sec. A.C.). Pisa, Giardini, pp 79–182

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Pen˜alver IX (2004) Mairubaratzak: Pirinioetako Harrespilak. http://www.euskomedia.org/ PDFAnlt/munibe/2004015271.pdf. Donostia: Aranzadi Pimenta F, Smith A (2012) Overview of some methodological issues in Archaeoastronomy. In: SEAC 2012 conference proceedings, special issue of Anthropological Notebooks, official journal of the Slovene Anthropological Society (in press) Pimenta F, Tirapicos L (2008) The orientations of central Alentejo megalithic enclosures. In: Vaisˇku¯nas J (ed) Astronomy and cosmology in folk traditions and cultural heritage. Archaeologia Baltica, vol 10. Klaipe˙da University Institute of Baltic Sea Region History and Archaeology, Klaipe˙da, pp 234–240 Pimenta F, Tirapicos L, Smith A (2009) A Bayesian approach to the orientations of central Alentejo megalithic enclosures. Archaeoastronomy: Journal of Astronomy in Culture 22:1–20 Robb J (2007) The early mediterranean village. Agency material culture and social change in neolithic Italy. Cambridge Studies in Archaeology. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge/ New York Silva F, Pimenta F (2012) The crossover of the sun and the moon. J Hist Astron 151:191–208 Silva ACF, Raposo L, Silva CT (1993) Pre´-Histo´ria de Portugal. Universidade Aberta, Lisboa Viana ALFS (2007) Dalles anthropomorphes de la re´gion d’E´vora – Portugal: approche me´thodologique d’un ensemble de monolithes de´core´s ne´olithiques. Me´moire de Master 2 “Arts et Culture de la Pre´histoire” Zilha˜o J (2001) Radiocarbon evidence for maritime pioneer colonization at the origins of farming in west Mediterranean Europe. Proc Natl Acad Sci USA 98(24):14180–14185 Zilha˜o J (2003) The Neolithic transition in Portugal and the role of demic diffusion in the spread of agriculture across west Mediterranean Europe. In: The Widening Harvest. The Neolithic Transition in Europe. AIA, Boston

Iberian Sanctuaries

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Ce´sar Esteban

Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Orientation Pattern of Iberian Temples . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Equinoctial Markers in Iberian Sanctuaries . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Other Astronomical Relations Found in Iberian Sanctuaries . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Abstract

This chapter reviews the results of archaeoastronomical fieldwork carried out in a sample of sanctuaries belonging to the protohistoric Iberian culture of ancient Spain. The orientation pattern of the sacred buildings seems non-random and follows a clear relation to the rising sun or moon. A significant fraction of the sanctuaries show possible astronomical relations, especially to the equinoxes or the temporal midpoint between the solstices.

Introduction The so-called Iberian culture developed in the south and the Mediterranean fac¸ade of the Iberian Peninsula from the sixth century BC up to the Roman conquest of the territory in 206 BC as a consequence of the Second Punic War. It was one of the most brilliant and original pre-Roman cultures of the Western Mediterranean. The Iberians were the product of the acculturation of Bronze Age indigenous populations due to the presence of Phoenician, Punic, and Greek colonies in their

C. Esteban Departamento de Astrofı´sica and Instituto de Astrofı´sica de Canarias, Universidad de La Laguna, La Laguna, Tenerife, Spain e-mail: [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_111, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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territory since the beginning of the first millennium BC (see Ruiz and Molinos 1993; Harrison 1988). Apparently, the main Iberian deity was a fertility goddess who also had a strong funereal character (Moneo 2003). Her iconography was strongly influenced by Eastern models actually due to the presence of Oriental colonists in the territory. In fact, the Iberian goddess is represented with attributes of Astarte, Tanit, Artemis, or Demeter, all of them fertility divinities in their respective mother country of cult. Iberian sanctuaries were usually located at places that favored the manifestation of the sacred – the tops of mountains, caves, or in the proximity of springs (see Moneo 2003). They mostly consist of open-air deposits or temples, but are sometimes monumental buildings, housing a statue of the divinity and large number of offerings, similar to the Greek thesauroi. The chronology of the known Iberian sanctuaries ranges from the sixth century BC up to the fourth century AD, when the emperor Theodosius prohibited the pagan cults in the Roman Empire.

Orientation Pattern of Iberian Temples Since the end of the 1990s, Esteban has surveyed several tens of sanctuaries across the territory once occupied by the Iberian culture. Analyses of the orientation pattern of the entrances of Iberian sacred buildings have been presented in Esteban (2002) and (2003). In Fig. 98.1, we show the compilation of all the data for temples with direct orientation measurements and where the position of the entrances has been well established. From the figure, it can be seen that Iberian temples are orientated in a nonrandom manner. In fact, most of them are facing the zone of the horizon where the sun (or moon) rises along the year. As it was discussed by Esteban (2002), the orientation pattern of the Iberian sanctuaries is different from that shown by Roman and Etruscan temples but similar to that of Greek ones of Magna Graecia and Sicily and of Punic sanctuaries (see ▶ Chap. 90, “Pre-Islamic Religious Monuments in North Africa”, this volume).

Equinoctial Markers in Iberian Sanctuaries The most remarkable result of the archaeoastronomical studies carried out in Iberian sanctuaries has been the discovery of equinoctial markers in a significant fraction of the surveyed sites. This result clearly indicates that equinoxes – or dates close to them – were important moments in Iberian ritual. The markers have been found in a very extended geographical area, in sites at the present-day provinces of Teruel, Valencia, Albacete, Alicante, and Jae´n. In most cases, these astronomical markers are produced on the horizon surrounding the sanctuaries, i.e., the sunrise at the equinoxes occurs over conspicuous topographical elements, usually mountain peaks (El Amarejo, La Serreta, La Carraposa, Sant Miquel de Llı´ria, Mazaleo´n). In others, like La Cueva de la Lobera, the marker consists of a light-and-shadow effect in the interior of a cave at the time of sunset.

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Fig. 98.1 Orientation diagram of a sample of Iberian temples with direct orientation measurements and where the position of the entrance has been well established. SS: summer solstice; WS: winter solstice; NMS: northern major standstill limit of the moon; SMS: southern major standstill limit of the moon

The equinoctial marker found at El Amarejo (Bonete, Albacete) is specially striking (Esteban 2002). The sanctuary is located just on the eastern edge of a flattopped hill. There is a ritual deposit in the form of a well about 4 m in depth. The contents of the deposit clearly indicate that the sanctuary was dedicated to a feminine deity who protected traditional women’s activities. The horizon visible from the deposit is completely open to the east. The highest and most conspicuous feature of the horizon is the mountain Chinar, at a distance of about 3 km and a height of about 200 m above the surrounding plain. Figure 98.2 shows the sunrise as seen from the ritual deposit at the autumnal equinox of 2004. We can see that the sun appears at the bottom of the northern slope of the peak and climbs over the slope as it rises in the sky. This striking “sun-climbing” phenomenon cannot be seen in the same way one day before or after the equinoxes. However, one day after the spring equinox or before the autumnal equinox – the so-called temporal midpoint between the solstices, where the center of the sun is at a declination of d
+ 0 300 – the sun rises about a solar diameter to the north, just touching the slope when going up in the sky. The archaeologist who excavated the sanctuary of El Amarejo found that the offerings of the ritual deposit were burned and distributed, apparently periodically, in layers inside the well. The most common vegetal offerings were acorns: their degree of growth indicates that they were collected, still unripe, at the beginning of autumn. Therefore, this independent clue suggests that the ritual was probably held at the autumnal equinox or a date very close to it. The impressiveness of this marker suggests that the ritual associated with this phenomenon must have had a public dimension. The sanctuary of Sant Miquel de Llı´ria (Llı´ria, Valencia) is a temple in an Iberian settlement situated on a hill. In contrast to the rest of the buildings of the

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Fig. 98.2 Sunrise seen from El Amarejo on September 21, 2004; autumnal equinox. The main photo shows the whole mountain Chinar just at the moment when the first rays of the sun appear. The three photos on the right show different moments in the path of the sun as it goes up in the sky, climbing over the northern slope of the mountain

village, the temple is orientated very close to the east–west direction, and its entrance faces east. The slope falls steeply in front of the entrance and the line of sight of the temple seems to be deliberately free of buildings, allowing one to see the eastern horizon from the sanctuary. Moreover, sunrise at the temporal midpoint between the solstices takes place over a distant and isolated hill on the horizon (Esteban and Moret 2006). At the exact dates of the equinoxes, the sun appears just to the south of the hill and the coincidence is much less striking. The high precision of the marker and its lack of impressiveness – in contrast to what happens in El Amarejo, for example – indicates that it was probably just used as a tool for calendrical purposes. Other Iberian sanctuaries with equinoctial markers on conspicuous features of the horizon also seem to show a better correspondence with the temporal midpoint between solstices than with the equinoxes; this is the case at La Serreta and La Carraposa (see Esteban 2003). All these sites were dedicated to a feminine fertility deity. Similar equinoctial markers have been found in North African Roman temples erected over previous Punic sanctuaries or tofets dedicated to Baal Hammon (Esteban 2003; see ▶ Chap. 90, “Pre-Islamic Religious Monuments in North Africa”, this volume). This may indicate that the importance of the equinoxes in Iberian religion had some connection with the Punic world. The sanctuary of Castellar (Jae´n) was a remarkable place of worship. As at the sites discussed above, it was dedicated to a feminine goddess. It consists of a rock shelter with a spring and a rubbish dump below it where several thousands of bronze figurines were found. The main feature of the site is a cave (Cueva de la Lobera) with an entrance facing south and several windows. Esteban, Rı´squez, Rueda, and Zafra (work in progress) have discovered that rays of sunlight briefly

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Fig. 98.3 The last rays of the sun at sunset at March 21, 2003 seen from the interior of the cave at the Iberian sanctuary of Castellar. Only for a few seconds each day and for few days around the equinoxes does the reddish light of the setting sun illuminate the innermost niche of the cave. The patch of light is about 1 m high

illuminate the innermost niche of the cave only at sunset around the equinoxes (see Fig. 98.3). The window through which the light of the equinoctial sunset passes was artificially retouched, perhaps deliberately producing the striking fitting of the shapes of the solar light patch and the niche. This hierophany could have been used in the ritual held at the cave, with a potential strong symbolism. The illumination of the innermost part of the cave by the setting sun at an important calendrical date would have powerful overtones for a fertility cult related to the seasonal cycles of nature. Very recently, Pe´rez-Gutie´rrez et al. (2013) have reported the discovery of an equinoctial alignment at one of the entrance doors of the defensive wall of the Iberian settlement of Puente Tablas (Jae´n), not far from Castellar. The discovery of a stone stele with a possible representation of a female goddess in the interior of the settlement, exactly facing equinox sunrise as seen through the door, reinforces the ceremonial aspect of this alignment.

Other Astronomical Relations Found in Iberian Sanctuaries Although it is clear that the equinoxes or the temporal midpoint between the solstices played an important role in Iberian ritual, there are sanctuaries that show different possible astronomical relations. For example, temple B of Illeta des

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Banyets (Campello, Alicante) is precisely orientated upon sunrise at the winter solstice and the temple of Ullastret (Girona, the only Iberian temple studied in Catalonia, with possible Celtic influences) is orientated upon the summer solstice. Another very promising site is the cave sanctuary of La Nariz (Moratalla, Murcia), a curiously shaped cave with two almost-12m-long parallel cavities containing springs. Preliminary results for this cave (Esteban and Ochara´n Ibarra, work in progress) indicate the extraordinarily rare fact that the cavities are precisely oriented toward sunset at the winter solstice and the setting moon at the southern major standstill limit. Finally, the Iberian sacred buildings of El Cigarralejo (Mula, Murcia) and El Oral (Guardamar, Alicante) have their long axis orientated to an azimuth of 55 . These sanctuaries could be connected with a group of older temples of the Guadalquivir Valley of possible Phoenician construction (El Carambolo, Saltillo, Coria in the province of Seville), which show exactly the same orientation and may be related to the setting of Venus at its southernmost position (see Esteban and Escacena 2013).

Cross-References ▶ Celtic Sites of Central Iberia ▶ Orientation of Phoenician Temples ▶ Pre-Islamic Religious Monuments in North Africa

References Esteban C (2002) Elementos astrono´micos en el mundo religioso y funerario ibe´rico. Trabajos de Prehistoria 59(2):81–100 Esteban C (2003) Equinoctial markers and orientations in pre-Roman religious and funerary monuments of the Western Mediterranean. In: Maravelia A-A (ed) Ad Astra per Aspera et per Ludum. European archaeoastronomy and the orientation of monuments in the Mediterranean Basin, BAR International Series. Archaeopress, Oxford, pp 83–100 Esteban C, Escacena JL (2013) Arqueologı´a del cielo. Orientaciones astrono´micas en edificios protohisto´ricos del sur de la Penı´nsula Ibe´rica. Trabajos de Prehistoria, in press Esteban C, Moret S (2006) Ciclos de tiempo en la cultura ibe´rica: La orientacio´n astrono´mica en el templo del Tossal de Sant Miquel de Llı´ria. Trabajos de Prehistoria 63(1):167–178 Harrison RJ (1988) Spain at the dawn of history: Iberians, Phoenicians, and Greeks. Thames and Hudson, New York Moneo T (2003) Religio Iberica. Santuarios, ritos y divinidades (siglos VII-I A.C.). Real Academia de la Historia, Madrid Pe´rez-Gutie´rrez M, Ruiz A, Molinos M (2013) Spring and fecundity in an Iberian opiddum of the Guadalquivir Valley. Anthropological Notebooks, in press Ruiz A, Molinos M (1993) Los Iberos. Ana´lisis arqueolo´gico de un proceso histo´rico. Crı´tica, Barcelona

Taula Sanctuaries of Menorca

99

Michael Hoskin

Contents Introduction and Description . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The Significance of Taula Orientations . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

1169 1172 1174 1174

Abstract

The Bronze Age “taula” sanctuaries of southern Menorca have well-defined orientations, and with one exception face southerly and are located with a perfect view of the southern horizon. It is likely that they were facing the Southern Cross and other stars of Centaurus, then visible from Menorca. Elsewhere in the Mediterranean, Centaurus was associated with healing, and this is a likely purpose of the taulas.

Introduction and Description On the mainland of Western Europe, Neolithic passage graves served not only as tombs but as centers of ritual: Structures dedicated solely to ritual are unknown. Island cultures however often display idiosyncratic developments not found on the mainland, and this is true of the Spanish Balearic island of Menorca. The tiny handful of megalithic passage graves on the island are not very different from their modest counterparts on the mainland, but with the development of the Bronze Age talayotic culture peculiar to Menorca and neighboring Mallorca, all changes.

M. Hoskin Churchill College, Cambridge, UK e-mail: [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_112, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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Fig. 99.1 The taula sanctuary of Sa Torreta. The taula itself is in situ, but the entrance (in the foreground) is now much reduced. The taula is located, as so often, on the southern slope of a talayot, which is glimpsed above and to the left

The talayotic culture takes its name from the many stone towers found on both islands, for these are the most prominent feature of the prehistoric landscape. Their purpose is a mystery, and modern peasants supposed they were watchtowers or atalayas, although to build such demanding structures for so simple a purpose would have been absurd. The talayots of Menorca are mostly solid masses of stone, with only a tiny chamber within, and it may well be that they were built in a form of friendly competition between villages. That such huge structures could safely be built when villages were often so close as to be within sight of each other shows that the island was at peace. In many villages, there was also a structure known as a taula or table (Lagarda Mata 2011–2012). A taula consisted of a walled enclosure in the form of a horseshoe, with a concave front in the center of which was a formal entrance with lintel. In the middle of the enclosure and directly facing the entrance was a vertical slab, roughly rectangular in shape, set into the bedrock. On top of the vertical slab, which was sometimes as much as 3 m in height, was a horizontal slab, so that the two elements together had the form of a letter T (Fig. 99.1); it has been speculated that this may symbolically represent the face and horns of a bull.

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Fig. 99.2 The orientations of 23 taulas in southern Menorca. The three broken lines indicate that the actual field of view from the central stones out through the entrance has been taken into account. Also shown is the rising and setting of the bright star a Cen in 1,000 BC

Elsewhere in the enclosure were pilastres and other structures reminiscent of the side-chapels in a church. There are still to be found innumerable fragments of animal bones, no doubt the remains of sacrifices. The monument as a whole has a rough symmetry, but the front side of the slab is always carefully dressed and faces directly out through the entrance, so that a taula has a well-defined orientation (Hoskin 2001). Geologically Menorca is divided roughly east–west, and it was the southern half that was hospitable to prehistoric settlement and where the taula orientations display a coherent pattern. Some 23 taulas with measurable orientations (Fig. 99.2) survive from this region, and with one exception – Torralba d’en Salort, to which we come shortly – they face southerly. Significantly, again with this one exception, every taula was located so as to give those within an uninterrupted view of the southern horizon. Several are on the southern slope of a talayot and look directly out to sea.

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The Significance of Taula Orientations Although Menorca as a whole is very flat, this choice of an uninterrupted view to the south cannot have occurred by accident and must relate to the purpose of the taula. But to the south, there is no land nearer than Africa, so the “target” of the taula orientations must have been celestial. What then was there to be seen in the sky, low to the south, around 1,000 BC when the talayotic culture was at its height? The Sun, Moon, and planets appear today much as they did in talayotic times, high in the sky, but because of the “precession” or wobble of the Earth’s axis, the stars we see today are quite different. Calculation shows that around 1,000 BC, the impressive constellation of the Southern Cross would have been seen by worshippers in a taula sanctuary, rising out of the sea in a southeasterly direction, and transiting the meridian, to set toward the southwest. The Cross (which to the Greeks was part of the constellation of the Centaur) would have been followed by the bright star we know as b Cen, and then by the very bright star a Cen. Today, in the southern hemisphere, these stars are impressive sights in the sky, striking enough to be represented on the national flags of Australia and New Zealand. Thus far the argument runs: 1. Taulas have a well-defined orientation. 2. With one exception their orientations are all southerly. 3. With this same exception all are located with an uninterrupted view to the southern horizon. 4. The only object of interest near the southern horizon was the Southern Cross and the other bright stars of Centaurus. (1), (2), and (3) are facts, while an alternative to (4) seems impossible to find. This theory offers an explanation for one of the mysteries of Balearic prehistory: the presence of taulas on Menorca and their absence from neighboring Mallorca. Menorca is largely flat and in almost every village it was possible to find a site with an uninterrupted view to the south. But Mallorca is mountainous, and the villages were sited in the valleys where there is fertile soil washed down from the surrounding mountains. These same mountains commonly obscured the southern horizon, and if so villagers could not see the Southern Cross and so could not construct taulas to face the Cross. When we ask why these stars were so significant, we of course move into the realm of speculation, as we know nothing of the role of constellations in the talayotic cosmovisio´n. But we do know that in Antiquity, constellations were common to various Mediterranean cultures, and in Greek mythology, the Centaur, Chiron, himself taught medicine to the god of medicine, Asclepius. This raises the possibility that taula sanctuaries were places of healing, much as Lourdes is at the present day. If so, this accounts for a most remarkable find made in the taula sanctuary of Torre d’en Gaumes: a small bronze statue from Egypt of a man sitting on a throne, with an inscription in hieroglyphics declaring the man to be Imhotep, the physician who after death was accorded divine status. How a bronze statue from Egypt came to be in a Menorcan taula sanctuary has been a mystery; but if the sanctuary was indeed dedicated to healing, what more natural than that a passing

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Fig. 99.3 The taula of Torralba, the masterpiece of talayotic architecture. The horizontal (upper) stone is not rectangular; instead, each side slopes upward and outward to create an aesthetically pleasing effect. The precinct wall survives to a height of some 1½ m, and many of the pilasters are present

Egyptian sailor who landed and visited the place should take out of his pocket his statue of his god of medicine and leave it as an offering? The exception is the most beautiful taula of all, Torralba d’en Salort (Fig. 99.3). In the central feature, the upper (horizontal) stone is not rectangular. Instead, each side slopes upward and outward to create an aesthetically pleasing effect. The lower stone is large and its front face is close to a perfect plane, so that the monument has an exceptionally precise orientation. Even the slot in the bedrock cut out to receive the lower stone is exposed and can be measured. As a result, we can say that the taula faced in azimuth (angle clockwise from north) between 110 and 111 . At the date of construction, Rigel (of the constellation of Orion, and the sixth brightest star in the Menorca sky) rose at azimuth 111 , and Sirius, the brightest star of all, at 112 . Among the Greeks of the third century BC, we find Sirius in association with Chiron: Heraclides Criticus tells us that on Mount Pelion, where Chiron had supposedly lived, a ritual took place at the time of the heliacal rising of Sirius. The heliacal rising of a star is the day when it is glimpsed in the dawn sky after an absence of some weeks lost in the glare of the sun, and that of Sirius took place a little after midsummer. If the heliacal rising of Sirius was indeed celebrated at Torralba, this would explain why the bones of sacrificed animals found there today are all of animals

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in the second half of the first year of life or the second half of the second year of life, a fact for which no other explanation has been found. Also found at Torralba was a pedestal with inset fragments of bronze, hooves from a statue long gone. As long as the hooves were supposed to be of a horse, they were difficult to explain, as no horse-gods are known from the region, but perhaps they were the hooves of Chiron, who as a centaur had the body of a horse but the trunk of a man. The taulas therefore were sanctuaries that (with one exception) faced southerly and out to sea, where the Southern Cross and the other bright stars of the Greek constellation of the Centaur could be seen rising out of the water to the southeast, transiting, and setting around the southwest. The hypothesis that they were places of healing explains a range of otherwise puzzling facts arising from excavations at the various sites.

Cross-References ▶ Sardinian Nuraghes ▶ Temples of Malta

References Hoskin MA (2001) Tombs, temples and their orientations: a new perspective on Mediterranean prehistory. Ocarina Books, Bognor Regis Lagarda Mata F (ed) (2011–2012) Las Enigma´ticas Taulas de Menorca. Ferran Lagarda Mata, Sobradiel

Celtic Sites of Central Iberia

100

Manuel Pe´rez Gutie´rrez

Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The Vettonia Region . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The Celtiberian Region . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Discussion . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

1175 1176 1181 1184 1185

Abstract

This chapter concerns the astronomy practiced by Celtic peoples in some parts of central Iberia, specifically the Vetton and Celtiberian peoples, inhabitants of the so-called Late Iron Age. The construction of some elements of religion or worship was perfectly determined by geometry, topography, and especially astronomy, because their spatial orientation occurs in locations of great interest for maintaining the local calendar. The maintenance of this calendar was probably the primary objective of some of the elements studied.

Introduction In the middle of the fifth century BC, there was a convergence of a series of causes which, in a brief period of time, brought about the collapse of the Hallstatt culture: a spectacular increase in the population, which brought about migrations; a relative decrease in production in Middle Europe; and a reorganization of the commerce which had been carried out until then, primarily caused by political changes in the

M. Pe´rez Gutie´rrez ´ vila, University of Salamanca, A ´ vila, Castilla y Leo´n, Spain Higher Polytechnical School of A e-mail: [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_113, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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´ lvarez-Sanchı´s 2003) Fig. 100.1 Pre-Roman peoples in Iberia (After A

Mediterranean and confrontation between the principalities of the hinterland and the warrior chiefs of the peripheral settlements. At this time, princely residences were replaced by farms and villages; tombs appeared with more egalitarian offerings and were simply dug into the ground, replacing the previous rich burials; and we can detect the appearance of new ideas and aesthetic tastes. In these circumstances, the so-called Late Iron Age began. It occurred at different speeds in different parts of central and Western Europe, but it is usually understood to comprise the period between 450 BC and the onset of Roman occupation. In this cultural scene, two cases, with astronomical interest, have been studied: Vetton and Celtiberian peoples (Fig. 100.1).

The Vettonia Region In the central western part of Iberian Peninsula, occupying the wild areas of the Gredos mountains, we find the Vetton people, who were mentioned for the first time by classical sources writing about the military conflicts in 220 BC associated with the activities before the Second Punic War. Vettonia, the territory occupied by the Vetton people, extends over 32,000 km2 across the basins of the Duero, Tajo, and Tormes rivers. This territory would have covered almost the entirety of what are now the ´ vila and Salamanca, west of Toledo and east of modern Spanish provinces of A ´ lvarez-Sanchı´s 2003). Ca´ceres, reaching as far as the Guadiana River in the south (A

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Fig. 100.2 Bull of Villanueva del Campillo

´ vila, in the vicinity of the Amble´s Valley, where It is precisely in the province of A there was the largest and most important accumulation of hill forts. The most important feature in Vettonia is the presence of zoomorphic sculptures, known by the name of verracos, sculpted in a granite single block together with a pedestal, which supports them as a base, and which reaches 2.5 m high, such as the one found at the entrance of the Amble´s Valley through the pass of Villatoro (Fig. 100.2). Among the Vetton hill forts are La Mesa de Miranda (Chamartı´n de ´ vila, large settlements dating back to la Sierra) and Ulaca (Solosancho), both in A the Late Iron Age, not Romanized, and in which we find that elements related to burial and religion have a location and orientation with important topographical, and especially astronomical, connotations. In La Mesa de Miranda we find La Osera necropolis, containing more than 2,230 graves of the Late Iron Age. Associated with the burials, although with no apparent link between them, are seven granite steles (of which six are currently conserved) all in their original position. These steles are almost all similar in size, although with different shapes. Nevertheless, there is one that is about 50 cm high, apparently broken, and which seems to be the central stele (stele IVb) of all of them. It is impossible to determine whether it was placed in its current state or if, on the other hand, the upper part has been broken and it separated from the rest. The precise

M. Pe´rez Gutie´rrez

1178

0

Guard Corps

50 metros

Astronomical north R1 R2

IVa

=

V − II IVc − II

= √2

VI

IVb IVc et

V

/

96

m

3 34

fe

et

3

4 /2

68

m

fe

I

II To Gorria hill

Fig. 100.3 Plan of steles in La Mesa de Miranda

representation of the grouping of steles has made it possible to verify that the spatial arrangement of these points does not seem to be random, but rather that, in addition to marking some directions on the horizon in obvious fashion, they constitute, with a very acceptable precision, a series of geometric figures whose meaning or purpose is currently unknown. It is clear, however, that the relative position between them is not purely coincidental (Pe´rez Gutie´rrez 2009). First, the main axis of symmetry seems to be determined by the direction of steles IVa–IVc, which are precisely aligned with Gorrı´a Hill, the highest point of ´ vila mountains and 1,727 m above sea level, visible from the entire hill fort. the A There is a very obvious equidistance from steles II, V, and VI to stele IVc, and also an equidistance between steles II, V, and VI, in such a way that these three steles are located on three of the four vertices of a square inscribed within the circumference defined by them (Fig. 100.3). They also verify a situation of symmetry among the steles I, II, IVc, and VI, which are arranged on the vertices of another square, so that one of its diagonals coincides with a side of the previous square defined by steles II, V, and VI. These steles also determine several astronomical alignments, which are coincident with the existent in Ulaca hill fort (Table 100.1 and Fig. 100.4), always from the central steles to the rest of them. The reason for the choice of these alignments is

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Table 100.1 Azimuths and astronomical events for the directions indicated in La Mesa de Miranda From stele IVb

IVc

To stele I II

Azimuth Altitude Declination Event 3.5
23.5
Sunrise 126
169
55
8.9
Aldebaran in the south

V VI I

145
75
118


3
3
3


15.7
13.5
18.5


II

161


48.5


V VI

251
68


3
3


3.7
15.7
23.5


ice

r nte

Wi

e ntar

IVb

WS

rise

oon

ll m dsti

n

r sta

o VI Min

IVa

III

1-V/23-V

Sunrise

IM ino r st and stil lm oon

0-X

sta

nd

rise

nri

l sti

se

SS

WS

ise

nr

oo

lm

ia h

or

Su

SS

ebara I/20-X n 10-I

I /1-X 7-II se 1 lgeu

Bete

To Go rr

aj

e of l ris

ill

II

of Ald

WS: Winter solstice SS: Summer solstice

su

iaca Hel

50 metros

t nse

al rise Heliac

0

Sunset Standstill moonrise

IV

II/2

0et 1

s

Sun

At sunrise February 17/November 1 February 20/November 1 Winter solstice

M

Heli

st sol

II 3-VI V

/2 s 1-V

of A

Sunset Sunrise Standstill moonrise Betelgeuse in the south

Guard Corps

Astronomical north

set acal

Date Winter solstice At sunset February 10/October 20 February 10/October 20 May 1/August 23 Summer solstice

Fig. 100.4 Presumed astronomical orientation of steles in La Mesa de Miranda

basically due to the central position of the steles IVc and IVb and the symmetry from stele IVc to the rest of them. To complete the study of all the elements in the area of the necropolis, the Cuerpo de Guardia (Guard Corps, as it was designated in 1930) has been included. The perpendicular axis presents an astronomical azimuth,

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Fig. 100.5 Altar of Ulaca and behind the Paramera mountains

which turns out to be 236
, coinciding with winter solstice sunset over the horizon observed from this element. The other important Vetton site is the hill fort of Ulaca, the greatest oppidum in the Iberian Peninsula. Into a walled enclosure, which occupies more than 60 ha, there is a sanctuary formed by a special structure called the Altar of Sacrifice and a carved vertical wall. Both the altar as the wall show an obvious topographical orientation to the Paramera mountains (Fig. 100.5), the highest of the surrounding mountains. The wall is orientated toward the second highest (Cancha Morena) and the altar to the third (Risco del Sol). None of the elements built into the sanctuary is oriented upon the first hill, Zapatero Peak. Nevertheless, there are built-in astronomical orientations in the sanctuary (Pe´rez Gutie´rrez 2010). The stairs in the altar have a slope equal to the Sun’s altitude when it is over Risco del Sol. This only happens on February 20 and November 1 (d ¼ 15.7
) in the left stair and winter solstice in the middle stair. This is supported by the information provided by the wall of the sanctuary. When the Sun is over Cancha Morena, 5
further along in azimuth and 20 minutes in time, the shadow thrown by the higher part of the wall impinges on various marks on the same dates as those provided by the altar. In addition to this, the topographic horizon is very important in the sanctuary. About 90 m to the west, there is a spherical rock approximately 3 m in diameter, which resembles a throne, and it has been placed artificially. The axis determined for the centers of the two (approximately) circular rock sections has a similar

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Fig. 100.6 Throne of Ulaca

azimuth to that of the winter solstice sunset (Pe´rez Gutie´rrez 2010). If somebody sits on it, they will see the point on the horizon at which the winter solstice sunset occurs (Fig. 100.6). However, this rock also functions as a marker on the horizon. From the altar, the boulder marks the place on the horizon where sunsets occur on May 10/August 13 (d ¼ þ13.5
). What is more, summer solstice sunset is also very important. While there is no natural marker on the horizon, there is an artificial one. At the relevant place, we encounter a petroglyph formed by a triangle with a small circle which is typical in representations of a mountain with the Sun above (Fig. 100.7). The base of the triangle aims at Risco del Sol as if it were indicating the relation of this mountain with the Sun. Finally, of all of the verracos encountered in Vettonia (more than 400), we emphasize two groups. The first are the Toros de Guisando (Bulls of Guisando) in their original place in the easternmost part of Vettonia. The four bulls (2.8  1.5 m and weighing more than six tonnes) face sunset at the equinoxes (Belmonte and Hoskin 2002), and besides this we can see the spectacular summer solstice sunset near the highest hill, Guisando and, more important still, moonset at the major standstill limit (Fig. 100.8). The second bull (1.7  1.6 m) was encountered ´ vila. It is located on the geological substratum in San Vicente gate, in the wall of A of the city, sculpted into the solid rock 3 m below the current ground level, and this also makes it possible to rethink about the origin of city. The bull faces sunrise at the equinoxes.

The Celtiberian Region Situated on the central eastern part of the Iberian Peninsula, Celtiberia was a territory spread along the Iberian mountains, from the Ebro River to Guadiana River. Occupied principally by the actual province of Soria and part of La Rioja,

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Fig. 100.7 Ulaca horizon petroglyph

Fig. 100.8 Bulls of Guisando

Zaragoza, Guadalajara, Teruel, and Cuenca, it was inhabited by the Belli, Tittis, Lusoni, and Beroni peoples (Burillo 2004). The first were the most relevant ones, and their cities were the most important, as Appian of Alexandria reports to us when he described the city of Segeda as “a great and powerful city of the Celtiberians called Belli”. The reason why Segeda was so important is justified by the declaration of war by Rome when they broke the pacts signed by Gracchus with the indigenous inhabitants of the middle Ebro Valley in 179 BC. Appian also states that Nobilior, commanding a Roman army of almost 30,000 men, attacked in 153 BC a coalition of 25,000 Celtiberians, recruited from the two most important Celtiberian towns of the central Iberian mountain range, Segeda and Numantia, and led by Caro of Segeda. The first encounter took place on August 23, the day of

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Fig. 100.9 Monumental platform of Segeda and its geometry

Vulcanus, and the defeat inflicted upon the Roman army caused that day to be declared ill-fated by Rome. According to Titus Livy, the first relation of Segeda with astronomy is referred to in the calendar that in those days was established in Rome (Burillo 2005). As the legend tells us, in the calendar invented by Romulus in 753 BC that later Numa Pompilius modified, in 450 BC, the year began in March 15 (Idus Martius). As result of Rome’s declaration of war on Segeda, this situation changed in 153 BC. The Roman Senate decided to appoint as leader of war a Consul (Nobilior) instead of a Praetor. This decision was made at the beginning of the year (Idus Martius), but the need to facilitate the war preparations and operations as soon as possible forced to senate to change it to Kalendas Januarius (January 1). Julius Caesar’s reform in 45 BC assimilated this change, as did the subsequent Gregorian reform. Segeda is in a small elevation of Perejiles valley, on the natural route from the Castilian Plateau to the Ebro Valley, with about 17 ha of walled enclosure. Eight hundred meters southward, outside the wall, there is a special architectonic structure called the monumental platform. It was built on the terrain with a foundation of more than a meter of calcareous rock topped with gypsum blocks, some weighing more than 500 kg. All of it was covered with adobe brick (Fig. 100.9). In all likelihood, the platform was open-air. Its area is 1,500 m2 and its dimensions are 70  22 m; it has a quadrilateral shape with one side oriented toward astronomical north. The two long sides, parallel to each other with azimuth 237.5
, are aligned upon moonset at the minor standstill limit (Pe´rez Gutie´rrez et al. 2009).

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Fig. 100.10 Westward monumental platform. Sunset at the equinoxes and summer solstice

The horizon is also very important here and, therefore, the place was chosen for the construction (Fig. 100.10). To the west, we can see three astronomical events of interest. First, as already mentioned, we see moonset at the minor standstill limit in the principal direction of the platform. Secondly, over Valdehornos hill occurs the sunset at the equinoxes, and thirdly, over Atalaya hill the summer solstice sunset can be seen. Eastward, the highest and most important point in the horizon is the Valdemadera hill. In 150 BC the Pleiades rose here and on the first days of May occurred the first sighting after the winter solstice (heliacal rise), announcing the return of good weather and, of course, coinciding with the Beltane festivity on May Day and middle August. This situation was supported by a small twist in the north of the platform, which points in the same direction.

Discussion To sum up, Vetton and Celtiberian peoples, although using different solutions, both had special places where they performed a specific number of rituals and cults. These rituals and cults were necessarily associated with agriculture and animal husbandry, the two pillars that held their society together, and they were represented on specific dates of the year. Therefore, there was a need to have a calendar adjusted to the conditions of each territory, and observation of the stars allowed them to determine these days while also performing the corresponding worship. Among these cults, they emphasized the Sun, which was essential for the inhabitants of the Iberian Peninsula – Celtic and Iberian people. In both cases, the solstices and equinoxes were both important, permitting the sequence of the astronomical season, and therefore the agricultural and livestock cycles, to be defined. Moreover, other dates appear in these places that are close to the classic Celtic midseason festivals. We refer to the festivities of Beltane and Lughnasa that take place during the first days of May and mid-August. In the Vetton hill forts, these dates are defined by means of solar alignments and the heliacal set of Antares, with a difference of a few days. In Segeda, these dates are defined by the

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heliacal rise of the Pleiades that occurs eastward over the highest hill. The other midseasonal festivals take place in the first days of February and November, Imbolc and Samhain, respectively, although the latter is a variable date that depends on the lunar age. These dates are also marked in Ulaca and La Mesa with solar alignments and by the heliacal rise of Aldebaran and Betelgeuse. The stars mentioned are also used habitually by other Celtic European peoples, and Burl (2005) has proposed that the four midseason dates were already widely used in earlier ages.

References ´ lvarez-Sanchı´s JR (2003) Los Vettones. Bibliotheca Archaeologica Hispana, 1. Real Academia A de la Historia e Institucio´n “Gran Duque de Alba”. Madrid. 2a edicio´n. Madrid Belmonte JA, Hoskin M (2002) Reflejo del cosmos: Atlas de arqueoastronomı´a del Mediterra´neo antiguo. Madrid Burillo Mozota F (2004) Segeda/Sekaiza. Celtas y Vettones: Torreo´n de los Guzmanes. Iglesia de ´ vila Santo Tome´ el Viejo, A Burillo Mozota F (2005) Segeda, la ciudad celtibe´rica que cambio´ el calendario. Fundacio´n Segeda, Zaragoza Burl A (2005) Prehistoric astronomy and ritual. Shire Archaeology, Princes Risborough Pe´rez Gutie´rrez M (2009) Astronomı´a y Geometrı´a en la Vettonia. Complutum 20(2):141–164 ´ vila. Institucio´n Pe´rez Gutie´rrez M (2010) Astronomı´a en los castros celtas de la provincia de A ´ vila, A ´ vila ´ ´ Gran Duque de Alba. Institucion Gran Duque de Alba. Diputacion provincial de A Pe´rez Gutie´rrez M, Burillo Mozota F, Lo´pez Romero R (2009) Estudio arqueoastrono´mico de la Plataforma Monumental de Segeda I. VIII Congreso Ibe´rico de Arqueometrı´a, Teruel

Basque Saroiak

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Luis Mari Zaldua Etxabe

Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Oral and Written References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Archaeological Excavations . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Saroiak and Megaliths . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Concluding Remarks and Future Directions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

1187 1190 1191 1192 1194 1195

Abstract

This chapter presents an investigation of the origin and possible archaeological and ethnoarchaeological significance of the saroiak used in the Basque Country to organize territory. The first references to them date from the Middle Ages, but there are other facts that suggest they are older, even prehistoric.

Introduction Many have explained what Basque saroiak are and in many ways, but if we pay attention to the name (Fr. cayolar). In English, the expression pastoral stone octagon has been used (Frank and Patrick 1993). For a long time, the saroiak (or korta[basoa]k) have been a basic organizational model for laying out landholdings in the Basque Country. Specifically, they always appear in groups, never in isolation, and viewed together, they form a kind of spiderweb. Briefly stated, the saroiak are connected to the ancient network of cattle herding (Zaldua 2010) (Fig. 101.1). They are often found on the slopes of mountains. Nevertheless, there are ones located on the top of mountains or hills, and they also are found in the lowlands of valleys, next to rivers, even on the coast. In fact, formerly, not like today, saroiak were not found exclusively in the zone of summer pastures, although with the passage of time and the appearance of farmsteads, there were fewer of them in these zones, too. Nonetheless, originally the saroiak were located inside the confines of common lands or townlands. Many saroiak, at least those dating from the late Middle Ages, have a geometric form, round, most of the time, and to create that shape, stones were placed in the ground at the center and around the perimeter of the figure. These types of saroiak appear in Bizkaia, Gipuzkoa, and Nafarroa, not however in Zuberoa and perhaps also not in Lapurdi. There are two sizes of demarcated saroiak: large and small. That distinction is clearly seen in Gipuzkoa as well as Bizkaia (fourteenth century), and, to cite only the best known of them, using the ancient unit of measure called the gorabila (13.72 m), the sizes can be shown (0.28 m [1 ft]  7  7). Concretely, it is worth noting that the radii of the saroiak show a geometric sequence: 6 gorabila (82.3 m)/ 12 gorabila (164.6 m), 9 gorabila (123.4 m)/18 gorabila (246.8 m), and 12 gorabila/24 gorabila (329.2 m). The 1.96 m gizabetea unit (Sp. brazada, Fr. toise) as well as the 3.92 m hamalauoina unit also have been used to lay out the saroiak (Frank and Patrick 1993). The length of the standard units of measure was often stored in the form of incisions at the entrance of villages, in churches, and in the exteriors of houses of the nobility (Fig. 101.2). The Basque saroiak often have a geometric form, but many others are undemarcated spaces (Ott 1981). Specifically, it remains to be seen whether the circular saroiak always had this form. In any case, the physical center of the saroiak has had a special importance. In the case of demarcated saroiak, two kinds of structures or hausterretza types can be found at the center of the figure: the ones that have a center stone consisting of a single major element and those with a center stone having a compound structure. The two types have many shapes: there are circular ones, those in the form of a cross, in the shape of a prism and, also, those without any recognizable shape. Incisions are another important characteristic of the center stones, and most especially, a certain type of incision: straight lines (four, six, eight, twelve, sixteen) drawn from a central point, like a cross or star (Fig. 101.3). The incised straight lines point out the location of the outer boundary stones, the baztermugarri, that is, they serve to indicate where these outer stones are located on the perimeter. Sometimes straight lines mark cardinal or intercardinal

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Fig. 101.1 Saroiak of Dima. Aerial view (Image: Basque Government. Creative Commons BY)

Fig. 101.2 Saroia of Akola, Hernani

points, and in these cases, the stones of the outer perimeter also are aligned with cardinal or intercardinal points. Other kinds of information found on the stones are symbols, dates, and names of the cardinal points. Finally, many center stones have complementary elements (witness stones, supports, loose worked stones).

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Fig. 101.3 Detail of the center stone of Mendabio, Urnieta

To refer to the center of the figure, the terms artamugarri (“center stone”), kortarri, and muinarri (“inner stone”) also have been utilized.

Oral and Written References We know of only one oral narrative that speaks of the origin of the saroiak. It was collected in Gipuzkoa in the town of On˜ate (Lasa 1964). Apparently, on the day of St. John (June 24), the owner of a breeding bull had the right to take possession of the location where the animal was. The bull would be tied to the kortarria (center stone) for all of the surrounding cows, and that way its owner was able to obtain the rights to the property. The bull should not be seen only as a type of cattle because it is well known that in Basque oral tradition, the subterranean spirits appear in that form. As a proof for what we say, in the material collected right in On˜ate, the goddess Mari appears in the form of a heifer. That she is a guardian of certain caves is also well known (Barandiaran 1972). This is a variant of a widespread tale found in many places, for there are similar examples in other locations of Europe. The first written mention of the saroiak (Lat. cubilare, bustale) dates from the eleventh century (1058, 1069, 1071), while citations with Basque names saro(h)(e) (> saroi), on the other hand, date from the thirteenth century (1284, 1288, 1296). Leaving the name aside, the oldest reference to their composition is from a sentence relating to a conflict over a bustaliza in Nafarroa (valley of Ebro): it is from earlier than 1330. According to what is contained in the text, from among nine cow herders, they chose one (in front of the cow herders’ master), and the chosen one, situated in the center of the bustaliza, took a hatchet for cutting kindling, with his other arm tied up, and had to throw the hatchet as hard and far as he could, 12 times in each of the four directions. No mention is made of the boundary stones and that information is important; in those days, in Gipuzkoa at least (1328), they laid out the saroiak based on dimensions set forth by law.

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Interesting information is given in the judgement concerning the model used to take care of the space comprised by the saroiak. No tree could be felled and no foreign livestock could enter. Nevertheless, it was legal to construct huts in any location and also to outfit an area for young bulls outside the bustaliza, so that they did not nurse from their mother. At night, the animals had to return to the saroia, and that was, precisely, the basis for the administration of the lands. There is a similar passage in the General Laws of Nafarroa (thirteenth to fourteenth centuries), and around 1660, following the same line of thought, when Jakue De Be´la was explaining how the Zuberoan ola-k (les cayolars) were laid out, he mentions the hatchet throwing (from the center to the four directions). The surface area of the ola was, therefore, specified by the four points where the ax fell. In other parts of Europe, there are examples of hatchet throwing in the early Middle Ages; in the eight century, at the beginning of the Carolingian era, hatchet throwing is documented in Bavaria, to lay out the boundaries of homesteads: “quantum jactus est de securi saiga valente”. In the same way, in Welsh law codes, hatchet throwing is mentioned with respect to the boundaries of the kingdom (Grimm 1828). Among other things, we have before us a ritual intended to protect one from lightning. Concretely, because both in Basque Country and the surrounding areas, oral evidence has been collected that shepherds would throw their ax to protect themselves from lightning or make it move away. That the cross-like lines found on some hausterretza center stones are symbolic expressions of the ax throwing cannot be excluded. The law codes of Gipuzkoa from 1457 state, as do the law codes from Nafarroa, that by nightfall, the livestock had to return to the saroia (Sp. sel); a century later, however, in the law code of 1583, an important detail is given that differentiates the code of that zone and the law code of Nafarroa: let the perimeter of the common saroia be 72 gorabila, each gorabila being of 7 gizabete, measured with a 12 gorabila rope, starting with the boundary stones, and from the center outward. It is striking that, even though the ways of laying out the saroiak were completely different, in the two locations, the number 12 appears to set the distance from the center to the perimeter, a number that since antiquity has been utilized in so many places to organize space and time. As for the Basque name (hausterretza) for the center location of the saroiak, the first documentations are from the fifteenth century. A lawsuit from 1433 (Legazpi, Gipuzkoa) reveals that at that time the term austerrec¸a expressed not only a “landmark” but also a su-tokia (“fireplace”) and, apparently, that serves to indicate the previous usage of the center locations: “places where ashes were”.

Archaeological Excavations Up to this point, we have results from eight archaeological excavations carried out on the hausterretza center stones of the Basque Country: Gorostarbe (1995), Mendabio (1996), Altzusta (1997), Antxistagaraikoa (1998), Pikuetaondarra (2009),

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Intzensaroi (2009), Antxistaazpikoa (2009), and Uzkue (2011). Five of them provided no results with respect to the temporal frame, but in three instances, meaningful dates were obtained. The first was the excavation carried out in 1995 by Agirre Mauleo´n in Gorostarbe (in the common lands along the Urumea river belonging to the jurisdiction of Urnieta) (Agirre Mauleo´n and Iba´n˜ez 1996). The base of the hausterretza, made up of a stone slab and next to it two other stones, embedded vertically, has the shape of a cross. The four arms of the figure coincide with the four cardinal points. The archaeological material was not removed, but some small pieces of charcoal were found under the principal stone. The carbon-14 dating of those pieces was to the second or third century AD. In 1996, the same team excavated the Mendabio center stone (not far from Gorostarbe). It was composed of a base with a circular shape and a slab of stone that had been embedded there. On top of the slab of stone, eight lines were carved, emanating from one center point, like a star, and which coincide with the cardinal directions. Archaeological remains were not found, but some small pieces of charcoal were found under the base (Agirre Mauleo´n et al. 1997). The carbon-14 dating result was fourth to sixth century AD. Whether the base and the slab of stone both date from the same period is not clear. Although it cannot be absolutely proven whether the pieces of charcoal from Urnieta are connected to the center stones themselves, the latter clearly made by humans, for now it demonstrates that we are in the presence of spaces utilized by people at that point in time (Arago´n 2009). In sum, now that these results have been published, investigations of the saroiak have acquired new meaning and importance. In 2009, an excavation was carried in Pikuetaondarra, Aralar, under the direction of a professor from the Basque University, J. A. Mujika (Agirre Garcı´a et al. 2010b). The hausterretza there consists of a slab of stone; its upper surface has been carved to give it a more pointed shape. A few centimeters from the slab a dark spot appeared in the ground which contained a large amount of charcoal. This dated to the ninth century BC, in other words from the end of the Bronze Age (Fig. 101.4).

Saroiak and Megaliths The hausterretza of Pikuetaondarra is surrounded by prehistoric and ancient remains. Nearby there is the dolmen of Argarbi (Chalcolithic), the huts of Argarbi (Roman Age), the scist of Ondarra (Bronze Age), the monolith of Jentillari (Bronze Age), and the open-air dwelling of Esnaurreta II (Bronze Age) (Agirre Garcı´a et al. 2010a). This is not surprising because in some other zones, in many places where there are megaliths, saroiak are found. In the area surrounding Urnieta, apart from in special cases, the average distance between the two structures is 400–550 m, and also in the zone of Legazpi, for example, the distance is between 400 and 600 m (Zaldua 2008). As further proof of this, there are many megaliths and saroiak that share the same names.

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Fig. 101.4 Center stone of Pikuetaondarra, Aralar

Many megaliths have saroiak near them, but megaliths are not found in all locations where there are the saroiak. On the other hand, ordinarily, there are no megaliths inside the saroiak, but they are often found right on the borders of them. Consequently, there are reasons to believe that when the saroiak were laid out, the megaliths were taken into consideration. There are boundaries between two municipalities or provinces that have dolmens, cromlechs, scists, and monoliths and with saroiak also located there. The megaliths located near Gorostarbe and Mendabio are cromlechs (at a distance of 575 and 850 m). Nevertheless, in that area, further away, there are other megaliths. Cromlechs and saroiak have the same shape: they are both circular. As for their size, on the other hand, there is more of a difference; cromlechs when compared to saroiak appear smaller (Barandiaran 1972). There are cromlechs of many dimensions, often with one situated on top of another. The same thing happens with the saroiak; small saroiak and large ones can be found next to each other. There are cromlechs that touch each other; in the case of the saroiak, the same feature repeats itself. It is obvious that the three hausterretzak which produced time frame results are not the same. Also, the three saroiak do not have the same dimensions (those of Aralar with 6 gorabila/those of Urnieta with 12), and the nearby surroundings are

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not the same. The valley of Pikuetaondarra has been inhabited by humans since the Chalcolithic; the saroiak of Gorostarbe and Mendabio are on the side slope and do not have any megaliths nearby. But in all three locations, there is a feature that is repeated: no archaeological remains were found, as in the case of prehistoric monoliths, and not like more modern boundary stones (which often have pieces of roof tile buried at their base). Together with a number of contemporary researchers, we do not reject the possibility that some hausterretza are offshoots of prehistoric monoliths (Zaldua 2006; Agirre Garcia et al. 2010a). The hausterretza of Pikuetaondarra seems to have the appearance of a small monolith, and it is not an exception (Rementeria and Quintana 2010). Of course, in addition to size, there are notable differences. Some megaliths might have been erected to emphasize the role of other megaliths as “boundary markers”, to confirm or represent them; that they are connected to each other, and that they are from the same era. The oldest hausterretza (and saroiak) of the common lands of Aralar and Urumea, on the other hand, are more recent than the megaliths of the same zone.

Concluding Remarks and Future Directions Even though there are only three carbon-14 dates from the hundreds of saroiak in existence, that is, the corpus of information is still terribly scanty, it is not impossible for hausterretza of Pikuetaondarra, Gorostarbe, and Mendabio to be viewed as forming links in a chain and therefore serve to explain their development over time. The Gorostarbe cross structure, for example, could be the forerunner of hausterretza that have on their top four lines emanating from the center. In this way, originally those with a fourfold figure could be older than those with six, eight, twelve, and sixteen lines. But there is the question of why the use of the stones with cross-like figures or incisions ever started. They might have had a symbolic function; they might have been related to the ritual of throwing the hatchet in four directions, but, unfortunately, we do not know whether this tradition existed in times past. In the same way, it is not known whether at some point the form and dimensions of saroiak became standardized, or, in the case of the hausterretza, it is not entirely clear whether over time the design of some of them and the type of incisions on many of them underwent processes of development that resulted in their gradual modification. In summary, whereas historical documents show the saroiak to be the remnants of a system for organizing communal grazing lands dating back at least to the early medieval times – a system that, in some cases, remained in use until the twentieth century – archaeological investigations have now demonstrated that some center stones were constructed long ago (Agirre Garcı´a et al. 2010b; Ruggles 2005, p. 373). As Ruggles has observed, the archaeological evidence reveals that the underlying design principles of saroiak have remained relatively constant for many centuries before the earliest documents relating to them were written. Furthermore, there is the remarkable fact that saroiak usually respected the megalithic

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tombs, cromlechs, and dolmens located nearby: that the latter normally were not encroached upon or enclosed by the space of the saroi itself, although such monuments are frequently found just outside the perimeter of the saroi itself. Some have interpreted this as evidence of an even longer continuity of tradition dating back to the Bronze Age. Support for this view has been sought from the fact that the Basque language is unique in western Europe in not belonging to the IndoEuropean linguistic family, suggesting that its roots are more localized and predate the spread of Indo-European languages across the continent (Ruggles 2005, p. 273). In conclusion, if such a long continuity of tradition does indeed exist in the Basque Country, then the Basque saroiak, when viewed in the longue dure´e, “could be relevant to interpretations of later prehistoric monuments all over western Europe, including the famous Neolithic and Bronze Age stone circles of Britain and Ireland” (Ruggles 2005, p. 373). For this reason, further research on them is highly recommended.

References Agirre Garcı´a J, Moraza A, Mujika JA (2010a) Los elementos fı´sicos como reivindicacio´n del territorio y de sus frutos en los espacios de montan˜a. Munibe gehigarria 32:286–313 Agirre Garcı´a J, Moraza A, Mujika J A, Zaldua L M (2010b) Aralar mendialdea – Sierra de Aralar. Arkeoikuska 2009: 404–407 Agirre Mauleo´n J, Iba´n˜ez A (1996) Gorostarbeko saroea (Urnieta). Arkeoikuska 211–214 Agirre Mauleo´n J, Flo´res M, San Jose´ S (1997) Mendabioko saroea (Urnieta). Arkeoikuska 142–144 Arago´n A (2009) La ganaderı´a guipuzcoana durante el antiguo re´gimen. Euskal Herriko Unibertsitatea, Leioa Barandiaran JM (1972) Diccionario Ilustrado de Mitologı´a Vasca. In: Obras Completas, La Gran Enciclopedia Vasca, Bilbo, I liburukia Frank R, Patrick JD (1993) The geometry of pastoral stone octagons: the Basque sarobe. In: Ruggles CLN (ed) Archaeoastronomy in the 1990s. Group D Publications, Loughborough, pp 77–91 Grimm J (1828) Deutsche Rechts Alterth€ umer. Dieterichschen Buchhandlug, Go¨ttingen, I liburukia Lasa JJ (1964) Las luchas en torno a los seles y caserı´os de Albitxuri. In: Homenaje a Don Jose´ M. Barandiara´n, Bizkaiko Foru Aldundia, Bilbo, I liburukia, pp 157–188 Ott S (1981) The circle of mountains: a Basque shepherding community. Clarendon, New York Rementeria D, Quintana R (2010) Los seles de Busturialdea-Urdaibai. Lorra Ruggles CLN (2005) Ancient astronomy: an encyclopedia of cosmologies and myth. ABC-CLIO, Santa Barbara Zaldua LM (2006) Saroiak eta kortak. Egileak berak argitaratua, Urnieta Zaldua LM (2008) Kortak Legazpin: antzinako lurralde antolamenduaz. Euskonews & Media 457 Zaldua LM (2010) Saroiak eta kortak: abeltzaintza-sareko lotuneak – Los seles: nodos de la red pastoril. In: Zenbaiten artean, Mendiz mendi, mendez mende, Gipuzkoako Parketxe Sarea Fundazioa, Donostia, pp 97–150

Possible Calendrical Inscriptions on Paleolithic Artifacts

102

€ck Michael A. Rappenglu

Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Paleolithic Almanacs . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Paleolithic Time Reckoning and Early Calendars . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Conclusion . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

1197 1199 1201 1203 1203 1204

Abstract

During the Upper Paleolithic (40–12 ka BP) people used observation-based and early kinds of rule-based astronomical systems of time reckoning. Paleolithic versions of almanacs and calendars based on lunar, solar, lunisolar, and sidereal time reckoning are recorded on mobile objects and cave walls. Typical are combinations and synchronizations of astronomical periods with biological cycles of certain animals and the human female.

Introduction As hunters, Paleolithic people were well aware of the life cycles of wild animals (mammals, birds, reptiles, and even insects). They carefully watched their diurnal and nocturnal activities, mating seasons, gestation periods and breeding times, their change of coat, the development and dropping of antlers, the fledging of the subadults, specific growth stages, and the annual migration of animal species (Rappengl€ uck 2008). As gatherers collected berries, nuts, mushrooms, and certain

M.A. Rappengl€uck Adult Education Centre and Observatory, Gilching, Germany e-mail: [email protected]; [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_115, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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plants, they were also familiar with the seasonal growth of wild flora, especially the particular time of blossom and fructification, a fact that is well known by studying both mobile and parietal depictions (Marshack 1991). Since the Aurignacian (40–31 ka BP), phenological depictions on mobile artifacts and fixed (parietal) on rocks in caves and at open-air sites are well proven (Rappengl€uck 2008). Already in the late Middle Paleolithic (300–40 ka BP), at least 71 ka BP, Neanderthals seasonally preyed upon certain faunal species and organized communal hunting (Pike-Tay et al. 1999; Daujeard et al. 2012; Niven et al. 2012; Rendu et al. 2012). After 34 ka BP, in the early Aurignacian, networking and logistically developed human groups controlled large areas up to 100,000 km2 (Djindjian 2012). During the Upper Paleolithic, people of the populated world of those days risked systematically seasonal long-standing hunts, starting from selected base camps and returning to them (Rivals and Deniaux 2005; Niven 2007; Ny´vltova´ Fisˇa´kova´ 2011; Schwendler 2012). There is some evidence for the existence of peculiar aggregation places such as the Coˆa Valley (Portugal), 31–12 ka BP (Aubry et al. 2012). Such areas were frequented at certain times of year by local and regional groups, which came together for holding social events including specific rituals. Communal hunting and the periodic assembly of human groups for common actions and social events, including in particular the meeting of sexes, required a specific perception and approach to spatiotemporal processes, which was based on a social organization of well-trained and specialized individuals, communicating and cooperating together (Rendu et al. 2012). People also visited cave sanctuaries in the rhythm of the seasons (Rappengl€uck 2008). The creation and renewal of some depictions was done at special periods with corresponding icons, myths, and rituals. Certain kinds of time reckoning were needed to determine hunting times and to start the local or even regional gathering of hunting specialists and support people, who took care of processing the kill. The periodic logistics of sourcing, storage, processing, and meetings resulted in cyclical concepts of time – a year-round pattern – which included observing and synchronizing astronomical with biological and sociological rhythms. Upper Paleolithic people illustrated the annual round or certain subdivisions on artifacts and in rock art (caves/open-air sites). They frequently combined phenophases of fauna and flora as well as women’s biological cycles (menstruation, pregnancy) with astronomically significant dates and periods related to the course of the moon, the sun, and some asterisms. This kind of representation can most appropriately be referred to as a paleo-almanac, which combines time reckoning and important information originating from different spheres of life (Rappengl€uck 2008). Such paleo-almanacs could be brilliantly illustrated (Marshack 1991), e.g., on a bone from the cave of La Vache (France), 13.77
0.14 to 13.55
0.21 ka BP (d’Errico et al. 2011), or on a piece of reindeer antler (Fig. 102.1a) from the cave of La Marche (France), 14.28
160 ka BP (d’Errico et al. 2011), with naturalistic depictions of mostly faunal, but partially also floral, elements and abstract counting aids (e.g., series of dots, notches, and certain geometric figures).

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Fig. 102.1 (a) Cave of La Vache (France): Engravings on a smoother tool show the head of a doe, associated signs of water, the crossed-out head of an ibex, and three fully developed blossoms. Time signal of the transition between winter (crossed out ibex) and spring (flowering) (Line drawing: Michael Rappengl€ uck) (b) Cave of Lortet (France): Reindeer antler showing the time of deer rut and the migration of salmon in late summer and early autumn (Adapted from Rappengl€ uck 2008) (c) A bone with positional, observational lunar time-reckoning from the rock shelter of Blanchard des Roches (France) (Photograph: Michael Rappengl€ uck)

Paleolithic Almanacs The fauna and flora that are depicted frequently signal the time of transition between the seasons or the duration of certain periods. Some examples follow (Rappengl€ uck 2008; Castelli 2010). 1. Because of their mating time between April and June, wild horses indicate the start of (early) summer. This species symbolized the cycle of 1 year, because its gestation period lasts 11–13 lunations or 12–14 sidereal months. Mating and foaling occur nearly at the same time. This is why horses indicate the transition from winter to summer; plants are often associated with the animals, and the depictions show a horse either in its summer or winter coat. Moreover, there is a seasonal tendency in horse fertility: around full moon at summer solstice, the animal could be impregnated most successfully. 2. The gestation period of bovine cows (bison, aurochs) lasts 9 lunations or 10 sidereal months, comparable to the pregnancy period of a woman. The calves are placed between March and July, at the same time when the horses are foaling.

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Most of the bovines in Paleolithic art testify to the season of midsummer and early autumn. Close to the autumnal equinox in August/September, the species rutting season takes place. 3. Deer indicate the beginning of autumn. The rut, lasting about 5–6 weeks, normally happens at the time of full moon during the weeks around the autumnal equinox. Male deer prefer to combat with each other at this time because their antlers look more prominent in the moonlight. The seasonal migration of deer takes place in the days around a full moon, because the higher illumination gives the animals a better chance of passing difficult areas quickly. The shedding of the antlers happens at full moon during the weeks around winter solstice, but they start to regrow on average every February/March, around the vernal equinox. After having been in fawn about 8½ lunar months, a doe preferably gives birth around summer solstice in May/June at around the time of new moon, because darkness protects the juveniles from nocturnal predators. Ethnoastronomical traditions provide evidence for deer seasons used in calendars (Rappengl€uck 2008). 4. Ibex indicate winter, because of their mating time around winter solstice. Their gestation period is around 6 lunations. Moreover, the animal’s winter horn rings illustrate the number of past solar years (Castelli 2010). 5. Series of depicted animals can be read as the return of the species’ special seasons (Castelli 2010). An engraved stick made of reindeer antlers, from the cave of Lortet (France), Upper Magdalenian, 12.3
0.2 ka BP (d’Errico et al. 2011), illustrates very well the types of Paleolithic almanacs (Rappengl€uck 2008). Two engraved rhombic signs and three deer, among them two crossing a river, as well as four salmon jumping in the water are depicted (Fig. 102.1b). One of the deer carries fully developed antlers, indicating the rutting season in September/October. In addition, the salmon (Salmo salar), while rising inland against the flow during their spawning time in summer, from May to August, or also in winter, from October to March (summer or winter salmon), are shown during a very important and eye-catching phase of their yearly migration. During bright moonlit nights, from the first to the last quarter of the moon, salmon stay hidden safely in the depths of the water. They only rise to the water surface at new moon, when nights are relatively dark. At this time, the salmon can be caught with promising success. The lunar rhythm of the fishing rate – maximum around new moon, minimum around full moon – and different semi-lunar rhythms can be chronobiologically verified for the species Salmonidae. The type of rhombic figure on the stick, which is well known in the inventory of Upper Paleolithic signs (Sauvet et al. 1977), is an abstract depiction of a vulva, denoting fertility. The Udeghe people in Russia hunt for deer and elk during or shortly after fishing the salmon. With this in mind, the Lortet engraving shows the beginning of autumn, which starts the rutting season of deer and the migration of salmon. The Yurok tribe in northern California caught salmon by setting up an enormous dam ca. 55 km from the mouth of the Klamath River. This event took place in July. The know-how for building the dam, salmon fishing, and the calendar was handed down by the shaman. The fishing started with the day of the waning moon and was continued up to the week of the

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waxing moon. The time with little moonlight was important since the salmon then swam at the water’s surface. The Yurok put their knowledge into a short phrase: “Hunt land by Full and fish water by New”. Their calendar was lunisolar. It started with the first new moon at winter solstice. The month of catching salmon, the New Year’s Day of the calendar, was 6 months later.

Paleolithic Time Reckoning and Early Calendars Paleo-almanacs set the framework for more elaborate time reckoning leading to calendars. From the records on bones, antlers, and stones (Fig. 102.1c), it can be deduced that people carefully watched the course of the moon, noting its position over the natural horizon and the change of its phases up to a period of some synodic or sidereal lunar years (Marshack 1991; Rappengl€uck 1999, 2008; Utrilla et al. 2012). Early research found the renditions only to be observation-based, mnemonic, narrative, and non-arithmetic (Marshack 1991). Further analysis (d’Errico 1989) however showed that on some artifacts, the markings had not been accumulated for days or months, but within a shorter time. From that result, researchers argued that the idea of Upper Paleolithic calendars was toppled. In fact, this is not conclusive. People keep calendars observation-based, geared to certain counted real-time periods. However, they also represent time cycles in their entirety. This is evidenced by depictions of periods combined with images of animals, plants, and abstract signs found in deep caves (Rappengl€ uck 2008), whose production was obviously not synchronized with the course of the sun, moon, and stars outside. In addition, further research done by the critics themselves notably weakened the argument against the existence of calendars in the Upper Paleolithic (d’Errico and Cacho 1994). Nevertheless, some of the following conclusions are still in discussion, because of the scarcity of the hitherto available finds and the continuing lack of a fully statistical approach. The synodic as well as the sidereal lunar month and year, with subsets and multiples, show up on Upper Paleolithic artifacts (Marshack 1991; Rappengl€uck 1999, 2008; Utrilla et al. 2012). The fortnight and the double synodic month can frequently be found. Partitions (½, ¼, 1/6, 1/8) of an approximated solar year of 360 days are recorded. The sum of days from autumn to spring equinox, or from autumn equinox to summer solstice and from spring equinox to autumn equinox is depicted. In addition, the women’s pregnancy period counted in multiples of sidereal or synodic months plays an important role in the Upper Paleolithic. There also exist some kinds of lunisolar time reckoning. Evidence exists for synchronizing and intercalating different biological and astronomical times. In particular, a clearly structured arithmetic notation of astronomically significant time units was used for noting longer periods. A piece of a bovine rib (87 mm  27 mm) from the cave of Thaї/Thaїs (France), 12.58
0.09 to 11.98
160 ka BP (d’Errico et al. 2011), shows a non-decorative notational system of engravings on both faces in Boustrophedon style (Rappengl€uck 2008, 2011). It can be read as a positional and topographic model of the observed moon’s course within 3½ years related to the solar year, in particular the winter and the summer solstice (Fig. 102.2).

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b

(1)

(c) 7

13 10 12 13

13

13

(b)

(d)

(2)

(a) 6

(V1, V2, V3, V4)

c d

Fig. 102.2 (a) Cave of Thaї/Thaїs (France): a bone showing a lunisolar time reckoning of 3½ years on a piece of bovine rib (Image adapted from Rappengl€ uck 2011) (b) Cave ruin of Geißenklo¨sterle: a plate illustrating a pregnancy calendar based on star phase and lunar time reckoning. (c) The anthropoid of the Geißenklo¨sterle plate can be identified with certain stars in Orion. (d) Part of an elephant tibia. Set of intentional parallel cuts (7 + 14) from Bilzingsleben (Germany) (Credit (b, c, d): Michael Rappengl€ uck)

A rectangular mammoth ivory plate (38  14.1  4.5 mm) from what is today the cave ruin of Geißenklo¨sterle (Germany), 31.87
1 to 29.8
0.24 ka BP, shows on one side the half-relief of an anthropoid figure, styled as a worshipper and having a long extension of the body axis between the legs. On the other side, four vertical series of notches (13, 9 [10], 12, and 13 ¼ 47 [48]) are recognizable. A total of 39 cuts in groups of 6, 13, 7, and 13 can be counted on all four edges. Detailed analysis (Rappengl€ uck 2008, 2011) makes evident that the anthropoid signifies an asterism equivalent to Orion at spring equinox about 33–32 ka ago (Fig. 102.2). It was related to a lunar and a pregnancy time reckoning. The latter relied on the heliacal setting of Betelgeuse (a Ori; magnitude 0.42) about 14 days before spring equinox and its heliacal rising ca. 19 days ahead of the summer solstice. With respect to visibility conditions, Betelgeuse remained hidden for 86 plus or minus some days recalling the total of notches on the artifact: 86 (87). Moreover, this value is close to the difference between a solar year (365/366 days) and the average duration of a woman’s pregnancy (280 days). A means of estimating the date of delivery of a baby, still used today, is a rule developed by the German obstetrician Franz Karl Naegele (1778–1851): starting with

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the first day of the last menstruation, three calendar months (about 92 days) are subtracted and 1 year and 7 days added. Naegele’s rule is based on the concept that human gestation is 10 menstrual cycles of 28 days (9 sidereal months plus 7 days) and works with 95 % probability (confidence interval
3 weeks). Stellar observations could have been useful as an archaic version of Naegele’s formula: if the last menstruation had begun before conception, just when Betelgeuse in the asterism of the celestial anthropoid heliacally rose, then the birth was to be expected at the time of its heliacal set. Thus it was assured that the birth took place in spring after the severe winter halfyear, allowing enough time for a sufficient nutrition of the baby before the next winter. Australian aboriginal woman used rods with menstrual calendars noted on them to determinate birth. Even today, the lunar year, the solar year, and the duration of pregnancy are related to each other with the help of an analogous arithmetical device, the obstetrics calculator. Ethnoastronomical comparisons suggest that the Aurignacian Geißenklo¨sterle culture probably referred their asterism of the celestial anthropoid to the cycles of cosmic power and human fecundity. The Geißenklo¨sterle plate gives evidence that Upper Paleolithic people applied certain stars and asterisms as starting points and for calibrating time reckonings. The Pleiades (M45) depicted in the caves of Lascaux (France), 18.6
0.19 to 15.5
0.9 ka BP (d’Errico et al. 2011), and La Teˆte du Lion (France), 21.65
0.8 ka BP (d’Errico et al. 2011), served a similar purpose (Rappengl€uck 2008, 2001).

Conclusion The earliest evidence of astronomy goes back to the Upper Paleolithic (40–12 ka BP). Since the early twentieth century, research, which is listed and discussed in Rappengl€ uck (1999, 2008, 2011) and Utrilla et al. (2012), has found evidence for almanacs and early calendars, based upon watching the sun, moon, stars and asterisms, and biological times. The existence of lunar counting in the Acheulean of Bilzingsleben (Germany), 0.35–0.41 Ma BP, is still discussed (Schmidt-Kaler 2012), but not confirmed (Fig. 102.2). In the future, we need more and better analysis of single objects by microscopy, the application of image processing, and the statistical evaluation of artifacts related to different Paleolithic cultures. We also need comparisons with similar depictions in cave art and ethnoastronomical examples, as well as semiotic studies.

Cross-References ▶ Astronomy and Rock Art in Mexico ▶ Boca de Potrerillos ▶ Calendars and Astronomy ▶ Possible Astronomical Depictions in Franco-Cantabrian Paleolithic Rock Art ▶ Wooden Calendar Sticks in Eastern Europe

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References Aubry T, Luı´s L, Mangado Llach J, Matias H (2012) We will be known by the tracks we leave behind: exotic lithic raw materials, mobility and social networking among the Coˆa Valley foragers (Portugal). J Anthropol Archaeol 31:528–550 Castelli A (2010) Ibex images from the Magdalenian culture. PaleoAnthropology 2010:123–157 d’Errico F (1989) Palaeolithic lunar calendars: a case of wishful thinking? Current Anthropology 30(1):117–118 d’Errico F, Banks WE, Vanhaeren M, Laroulandie V, Langlais M (2011) PACEA geo-referenced radiocarbon database. PaleoAnthropology, Suppl 1, 10.4207/PA.2010.ART40.dat1 d’Errico F, Cacho C (1994) Notation versus decoration in the upper palaeolithic: a case-study from Tossal de la Rocca, Alicante, Spain. J Archaeol Sci 21:185–200 Daujeard C, Fernandes P, Jean-Luc G, Moncel M-H, Santagata C, Raynal J-P (2012) Neanderthal subsistence strategies in Southeastern France between the plains of the Rhone Valley and the mid-mountains of the Massif Central (MIS 7 to MIS 3). Quatern Int 252:32–47 Djindjian F (2012) Is the MP-EUP transition also an economic and social revolution? Quatern Int 259:72–77 Marshack A (1991) The roots of civilization. Mount Kisco, New York Niven L (2007) From carcass to cave: large mammal exploitation during the Aurignacian at Vogelherd, Germany. J Hum Evol 53:362–382 Niven L, Steele TE, Rendu W, Mallye J-B, McPherron SP, Soressi M, Jaubert J, Hublin J-H (2012) Neandertal mobility and large-game hunting: the exploitation of reindeer during the Quina Mousterian at Chez-Pinaud Jonzac (Charente-Maritime, France). J Hum Evol 63:624–635 Ny´vltova´ Fisˇa´kova´ M (2011) Seasonality of Gravettian sites in the Middle Danube Region and adjoining areas of Central Europe. Quatern Int, http://dx.doi.org/10.1016/j.quaint.2011.08.017 Pike-Tay A, Valde´s VC, De Quiro´s FB (1999) Seasonal variations of the middle–upper paleolithic transition at El Castillo, Cueva Morı´n and El Pendo (Cantabria, Spain). J Hum Evol 36:283–317 Rappengl€uck MA (1999) Eine Himmelskarte aus der Eiszeit? Peter Lang, Frankfurt-am-Main Rappengl€uck MA (2008) Astronomische Ikonographie im J€ ungeren Pal€aolithikum (35.000-9.000 BP). Acta Praehistorica et Archaeologica 40:179–203 Rappengl€uck MA (2001) Palaeolithic timekeepers looking at the golden gate of the ecliptic; the lunar cycle and the Pleiades in the cave of La Teˆte du Lion (Arde`che, France) – 21,000 BP. Earth, Moon, and Planets 85–86:391–404 Rappengl€uck MA (2011) Earlier prehistory. In: Ruggles CLN, Cotte M (eds) Heritage sites of astronomy and archaeoastronomy. ICOMOS–IAU, Paris, pp 13–27 Rendu W, Costamagno S, Meignen L, Soulier M-C (2012) Monospecific faunal spectra in Mousterian contexts: implications for social behavior. Quatern Int 247:50–58 Rivals F, Deniaux B (2005) Investigation of human hunting seasonality through dental microwear analysis of two Caprinae in late Pleistocene localities in Southern France. J Archaeol Sci 32:1603–1612 Sauvet G, Sauvet S, Włodarczyk A (1977) Essai de se´miologie pre´historique: (Pour une the´orie des premiers signes graphiques de l’homme). Bulletin de la Socie´te´ Pre´historique Franc¸aise 74(2):545–558 Schmidt-Kaler T (2012) Ein Vorl€auferstadium des Z€ahlens und Abstrahierens bei “Homo Erectus”. Die Knochen-Artefakte von Bilzingsleben als der Menschheit fr€ uheste Aufzeichnungen von unste. Mondbeobachtungen. Nordrhein-Westf€alische Akademie der Wissenschaften und K€ Naturwissenschaften und Medizin, Vortr€age NM 479. Paderborn, Ferdinand Scho¨ningh Schwendler RH (2012) Diversity in social organization across Magdalenian Western Europe ca. 17–12,000 BP. Quatern Int 272–273:333–353 Utrilla P, Domingo R, Montes L, Mazo C, Rodane´s JM, Blasco F, Alday A (2012) The Ebro Basin in NE Spain: a crossroads during the Magdalenian. Quatern Int 272–273:88–104

Possible Astronomical Depictions in Franco-Cantabrian Paleolithic Rock Art

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€ck Michael A. Rappenglu

Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Phenological Almanacs . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Lunar Time Reckoning and Pregnancy . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Asterisms in Paleolithic Cave Art . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cosmography at Lascaux . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Conclusion . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Abstract

In some cases there is evidence for astronomical depictions among the rock art of the Franco-Cantabrian Upper Paleolithic (40–12 ka BP). Phenological almanacs, some kind of lunar time reckoning, certain asterisms, and manifestations of cosmovisions are probably present.

Introduction Astronomical depictions in Paleolithic rock art have been proposed since the beginnings of the twentieth century. Most of the approaches, as discussed in Rappengl€ uck (1999, 2008, 2013), are deficient in a rigorous interdisciplinary methodology that needs to combine archaeological data, astronomical exactitude, and ethnological semantics. There are, however, possible astronomical depictions in cave art (Rappengl€uck 1999, 2001, 2008).

M.A. Rappengl€uck Adult Education Centre and Observatory, Gilching, Germany e-mail: [email protected]; [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_116, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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Fig. 103.1 (a) Cave of Lascaux (France), Axial Gallery: pregnant wild horse accompanied by stylized branches. (b) Cave of Niaux (France), Black Hall: ibex showing winter horn rings. (c) Cave of Lascaux: two bovines displayed in different seasonal coats. (d) Cave of Lascaux, Axial Gallery: two ibex also visualizing seasonality by different coats. (a, c, d Credit: Michael A. Rappengl€uck, b credit The Wendel Collection, Neanderthal Museum, Mettmann, Germany)

Phenological Almanacs In a similar way to mobile artifacts, cave art occasionally illustrates almanacs (Rappengl€ uck 2008). Depicted animals frequently show seasonal features (Fig. 103.1): 1. Deer indicate their rutting season at the start of autumn. Horses mainly illustrate early spring to summer, at the time of their mating and foaling. Some show summer coats. Bovine mostly testify to midsummer and early autumn, the time of their rutting season during August and September. 2. Ibexes indicate late summer and autumn, when they meet in same-sex herds. They also display midwinter, the time of their combats during the rut around winter solstice. Their winter horn rings present sequences of solar years and the animals’ gatherings show the return of the species’ special seasons (Castelli 2010). 3. Seasonality is enhanced by stylized plants added to the beasts. 4. Occasionally a pair of congeneric animals, symmetrically opposed, illustrate the change of an old into a new season. This is evident in the case of the cave of Lascaux (France), 18.6
0.19 to 15.5
0.9 ka BP (d’Errico et al. 2011): the coats of the two “crossed” bison point to the transition of the late autumn and winter

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Fig. 103.2 Cave of Lascaux (France), Axial Gallery: (A) rutting stag, (B) 13 dots, (C) upright painted rectangle, (D) 26 dots, (E) pregnant horse, (F) jumping aurochs cow (Credit: Michael A. Rappengl€uck)

period to that of summer. A duo of combating ibexes indicate the rutting season around winter solstice and summer, a half year (or ibex’s gestation) later, about summer solstice. The additional grid sign, partitioned into six fields, embodies the time between winter and summer solstice. In Lascaux, a belling old stag in the Axial Gallery indicates the rutting season. On its left an ancient wild horse in its winter coat and before foaling signals the transition from winter to spring. Below the animals, a series of 39 points divided into 2 sets (13 [¼ 6 + 1 + 6] and 26 [¼ 7 + 5 + 14]) makes evident a count with the value 13. Further analysis shows that the row of points, each spot counting a sub-unit of 7 days, illustrates a sequence of 13 sub-units (91 days) from summer solstice to autumn equinox and 26 more sub-units (182 days) to the time of the spring equinox. The time from the rutting of the deer, around autumn equinox, to the foaling of the wild horse, from March to June, is depicted: 39 sub-units (10 sidereal or 9 synodic months). The sub-unit of 7 is frequently and significantly displayed in Upper Paleolithic artwork (Frolov 1977), probably derived from early pregnancy calendars (Naegele’s Rule) based on quadrisected sidereal months (28 ¼ 7  4 days), as is well known in later cultures (e.g., Zehren 1957; Stol 2000). The depiction in the cave of Lascaux is similar to the Komi (Russia) calendar with the elk signifying the autumnal equinox and the year divided into the hunting seasons of the elk and the bear, separated by 9 months (the gestation period of the elk cow) (Fig. 103.2).

Lunar Time Reckoning and Pregnancy Several ochre-covered boulders in the rock shelter of Laussel (France), ca. 25 ka BP, are astronomically relevant (Rappengl€uck 2008). They contain half reliefs of three stout women, one slim man in the position of a javelin thrower, and plates with depictions of animals. Two of the ladies hold up a curved object. One of them, the Venus of Laussel, a woman 4 months pregnant, holds up a bison’s horn

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Fig. 103.3 (a) Rock shelter of Laussel (France): Venus holding up bovine horn with engraved 13 marks (Credit: Michael A. Rappengl€ uck). (b) Cave of the Trois-Fre`res (France): pregnant horse with calendrical depiction (Adopted from Be´goue¨n and Breuil 1958, graphical additions by Michael A. Rappengl€ uck)

horizontally, with one hand, looking at it. Her other hand points to her belly above the navel, thus relating the pregnancy and the bison’s horn to each other. This is reminiscent of the fact that the gestation of bovine cows last on average as long as a woman’s pregnancy: ca. 10 sidereal or 9 synodic lunar months. On the horn 13 notches are clearly engraved: 3 + 4 + 5 + 1 (¼ 13), from the left to the right. The 12th mark is especially shaped as a hook, indicating a division of the set into 12 + 1. The notches (12; 12 + 1) illustrate the number of synodic and sidereal months in a solar year. The three women embody the principal phases of the moon, except new moon. From a gynecological point of view, the approximate time of delivery can be determined by the set of the notches. In the Cave of the Trois-Fre`res (France), 14.35
0.16 to 13.34
0.12 ka BP (d’Errico et al. 2011), a picture of a pregnant horse just before foaling is covered with 12 single (Fig. 103.3A) and one paired (Fig. 103.3 B, a and b) signs similar to the Latin letter “P” (Fig. 103.3). They refer to a mare’s gestation period of ca. 12–13 sidereal months in about 1 solar year.

Asterisms in Paleolithic Cave Art Since the first decades of the twentieth century, researchers (listed in Rappengl€uck 1999) have conjectured about possible asterisms depicted in the Paleolithic age, without succeeding in documenting their ideas in detail and convincingly. Researchers such as Eelsalu (1985), Luz Antequera Congregado (1991), and Edge (1997) concluded by pure analogy that in the Cave of Lascaux, Hall of Bulls, aurochs and dots are somehow related to the Pleiades. A detailed analysis and identification concerning the aurochs #18 makes it evident that the Pleiades and Hyades together with Aldebaran (a Tau) are probably depicted (Rappengl€uck 1997, 2001, 2008):

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above the beast a cluster of six spots is reminiscent of the Pleiades. The animal’s eye, a big spot, surrounded by a cluster of 12 dots invoke Aldebaran and the Hyades. The aurochs himself may be a forerunner asterism of the constellation Taurus. Within the archaeological dates and supported by astronomical considerations about the stars’ precession (see ▶ Chap. 31, “Long-term Changes in the Appearance of the Sky”), the Pleiades were close to the autumn equinox around 17.25 ka BP. Similar to the traditions of some North American peoples, a calendar may possibly have been synchronized with the bovine’s biological time: the year started with the aurochs’ rutting season and mating at the time of the Pleiades’ heliacal setting, about August 26. A sidereal month later, the autumn equinox occurred. The year ended around the time of the heliacal rising of the Pleiades (within a few days of October 11). About 319 days passed from the Pleiades’ first to their last visibility. The beginning of spring divided this period almost exactly (161/158 days). Depicted in the cave of La Teˆte du Lion (France), 21.65
0.8 ka BP (d’Errico et al. 2011), are one single dot, a group of seven dots on an aurochs’ body, and a wavy-line series of 21 dots above the animal (Fig. 103.4). These can be interpreted as Aldebaran and the Pleiades setting heliacally about 21 days before summer solstice (Rappengl€uck 2001).

Cosmography at Lascaux At Lascaux, in the Shaft of the Dead Man, two painted panels illustrate an archaic cosmovision (Rappengl€uck 1999, 2008). Forerunners of this thesis are listed in Rappengl€ uck 1999. Multiple viewpoints and levels of imagination are combined into a map of the cardinal parts of the sky. The display is based on the functionality of a gnomon and certain shamanistic and totemic concepts, including ideas about a cave of creation and a primeval hunting sacrifice. The northern wall shows in a sequence from east to west: a bison with a remarkable object hanging below his belly’s hindquarters, a spear-like and an arrow-like thing, an anthropoid bird and a stick crowned by a bird, a woolly rhino, and six spots with another two faded lines beneath. Almost exactly on the opposite side, a wild horse is depicted. A detailed case study, based on the scene’s geometry and on ethnoastronomical examples, reveals an astronomical content: it is a depiction of the sky panorama from the top of the Lascaux hill, around midnight, at summer solstice, ca. 16.45 ka BP, just at the lower limit of archaeological dating (15.5
0.9 ka BP). Referring to a common baseline the birdman is drawn upright (90.7 ) and signifies verticality (nadir-zenith), while the bird-stick is inclined (45.3 ) and points to the northern celestial pole at the latitude of Lascaux (j ¼ 45.1 N). At that time there was a bright star less than 3 from the pole and situated in the Milky Way: d Cyg (mag 2.84). Ethnological, and especially ethnoastronomical, analysis provide evidence for the birdman being a shaman in ecstasy, transforming himself into a migrating bird for his voyage across the Milky Way and through different

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Fig. 103.4 (a) Lascaux, Hall of Bulls: aurochs #18 with Pleiades and Hyades: (A1) Pleiades 17,300 BP; (A2) Taurus with Pleiades and Hyades, adopted from Bode 1782, copperplate #14; (A3) Pleiades today, limited to mag 5; (A4, A5, A6) Pleiades at a Hopi Kiva (USA), on a Navajo tent (USA), and on a Chukchi shaman’s drum (Siberia), adopted from Rappengl€ uck 2008. (b) Cave of La Teˆte du Lion (France): (B1) Pleiades, Aldebaran, and day-counting associated with an aurochs; (B2, B3) Pleiades depicted by Navajo (USA) and by the ancient Chinese (Adapted from Rappengl€ uck 2001)

worlds up to the highest realm of the celestial pole. The birdman is involved in creating and distributing cosmic fertility. The bird-stick, a kind of spirit-helper, embodies the world axis and serves as the shaman’s handy symbol of celestial empowerment. Another aspect refers the bird nesting on the top of the stick to the sun, culminating at summer solstice; this was also the approximate time of year at which the pictures were produced. The sun’s altitude above the cave of Lascaux at that moment was 69.3 , close to the angle of 68.6 between the arrow and the bird-stick. The latter, then, could have served as a gnomon; it was aligned to the north celestial pole at night, using striking circumpolar asterisms, so as to ensure that it worked well during the day. The arrow signifies the gnomon’s shadow at summer solstice. Figure-crowned shadow sticks are known from ethnoastronomical records. Moreover, ancient traditions of ritually shooting down the sun by an arrow deliver a symbolic illustration of the sun’s descent and declining daylight starting at the summer solstice.

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Fig. 103.5 Cave of Lascaux (France), Shaft of the dead man: (a) Rock art panels (A, B), plane and three-dimensional outlines of rock-picture positions (C, D); (b) 360 view of the sky at Lascaux in 14,500 with overlaid rock paintings; (c) northern sky in 14,500, ancient pole star d Cyg, Milky Way, circumpolar stars, Lascaux (Credit: Michael A. Rappengl€ uck using Starry Night Pro 6.43)

Finally, the six dots with another two faded lines beneath the tail of the woolly rhino indicate the bisection of the year at summer solstice into two periods of 6 months. In addition to this, ethnological studies confirm that summer solstice was an important time for the shaman’s activity. Upper Paleolithic people probably referred caves to cosmovisions (Rappengl€uck 2007). Caves made accessible the subterranean realm, regarded as a special place occupied by the celestial bodies and other beings during their latency period at the back of the ordinary world. In those sacred places, well-suited people such as shamans could make contact with cosmic power, thought to be present in the Great Mother’s womb (Fig. 103.5).

Conclusion There may be astronomical content in some Franco-Cantabrian Paleolithic cave art. However, it is necessary to strengthen the categorization of patterns concerning seasonality, biological times, and astronomical periods. Depending on this, statistical analysis of counting sets are needed. There exist patterns that resemble

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asterisms in some other caves, and these require case studies. The application of a fully interdisciplinary approach using all available analytical tools is important.

Cross-References ▶ Astronomy and Rock Art Studies ▶ Long-Term Changes in the Appearance of the Sky ▶ Possible Calendrical Inscriptions on Paleolithic Artifacts

References Antequera Congregado L (1991) Arte y Astronomia. Evolucion de los dibujos de las constellaciones. Tesis Doctoral, Universidad Complutense de Madrid, Madrid Be´goue¨n H, Breuil H (1958) Les cavernes du Volp: Trois Fre`res, Tuc d’Audoubert. Arts et me´tiers graphiques, Paris Bode JE (1782) Vorstellung der Gestirne auf XXXIV Kupfertafeln. Nach der Pariser Ausgabe des Flamsteedschen Himmelsatlas. Gottlieb August Lange, Berlin/Stralsund Castelli A (2010) Ibex images from the Magdalenian culture. Paleo Anthropol 2010:123–157 d’Errico F, Banks WE, Vanhaeren M, Laroulandie V, Langlais M (2011) PACEA geo-referenced radiocarbon database, supplement 1, PaleoAnthropology 2011:1–12 Edge F (1997) Taurus in Lascaux. Gr Obs 61:13–17 Eelsalu H (1985) Ajastult Ajastule. Valgus, Tallinn Frolov BA (1977–1979) Numbers in palaeolithic graphic art and the initial stages in the development of mathematics. Sov Anthropol Archaeol 16(4):142–166; 17(1):73–93; 17(3):41–74; 17(4):61–113 Rappengl€uck MA (1997) The pleiades in the “Salle des Taureaux”, grotte de Lascaux. Does a rock picture in the cave of Lascaux show the open star cluster of the Pleiades at the Magdale´nien era (ca 15.300 BC? In: Jaschek C, Barandela FA (ed) IVth SEAC meeting: astronomy and culture, Salamanca, pp 217–225 Rappengl€uck MA (1999) Eine Himmelskarte aus der Eiszeit? Peter Lang, Frankfurt-am-Main Rappengl€uck MA (2001) Palaeolithic timekeepers looking at the golden gate of the ecliptic: the lunar cycle and the pleiades in the cave of La Teˆte du Lion (Arde`che, France) – 21,000 BP. Earth Moon Planets 85–86:391–404 Rappengl€uck MA (2007) Copying the cosmos. The archaic concepts of the sacred cave across cultures. In: Jung H, Rappengl€ uck MA (eds) Symbolon, 16th edn. Peter Lang, Frankfurt-amMain, pp 63–84 Rappengl€uck MA (2008) Astronomische Ikonographie im J€ ungeren Pal€aolithikum (35,000–9,000 BP). Acta Praehist Archaeol 40:179–203 Rappengl€uck MA (2013) Palaeolithic stargazers and today’s astro maniacs - methodological concepts of cultural astronomy focused on case studies of earlier prehistory. In: Sˇprajc I, Pehani P (eds) Ancient cosmologies and modern prophets. Proceedings of the 20th conference of the European Society for Astronomy in Culture. Slovene Anthropological Society, Anthropological Notebooks 19, Supplement, Ljubljana, pp 83–100 Stol M (2000) Birth in Babylonia and the Bible: its Mediterranean setting. Brill Academic, Groningen Zehren E (1957) Das Testament der Sterne. F.A. Herbig, Berlin/Grunewald

Astronomical Symbolism in Bronze-Age and Iron-Age Rock Art

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Marco V. Garcı´a Quintela and Manuel Santos-Este´vez

Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Representations of Astral Motifs . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Visibility and Astronomic Symbolism . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Rock Art and Astronomical Alignments . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Future Directions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Abstract

The best-known rock art from Late Prehistory is found in Scandinavia, the Alps, and Galicia, North West Spain. In this chapter, we explore its association with astronomical symbolism from three perspectives: the representation of heavenly bodies, the visibility conditions of the carvings, and their position on astronomical alignments. We also consider temporal variables and the impact of aspects of Indo-European ideology on the construction of the representations in their astronomical relationships.

M.V. Garcı´a Quintela (*) University of Santiago de Compostela, Santiago de Compostela, Spain e-mail: [email protected] M. Santos-Este´vez (*) Centro de Ciencias Histo´ricas y Sociales (CSIC), Madrid, Spain e-mail: [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_117, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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Introduction The search for astronomical symbolism in Western European rock art dates back to the early twentieth century (Baudouin 1912), but the chronologies then in place have been overcome. In this case study, we explore the rock art from the third and second millennia BC At this period, styles became more regional (in comparison with the widespread previous styles); here we will focus on Scandinavia, the Italian and French Alps, and Galicia in North West Spain, due to their extensive diffusion in the literature. We consider three cases: (1) the direct representation of astral objects or astronomic events, whose interpretation is frequently the result of subjective perceptions; (2) the visibility of the carving with situations derived from the stations and light conditions, giving sense to the observation of the relationship between the carvings and the heavenly bodies on the horizon, and (3) the location of the carvings on astronomical alignments. These three situations can appear individually or jointly. It is necessary to consider the Indo-European question. Similar European languages in historic periods had ancestors dating back to the Bronze Age. Together with these linguistic similarities, there are other cultural and religious similarities. It is difficult to identify how they are expressed in material culture, although we find thematic parallels in rock art, such as the generalized representation of weapons and scenes of combat, deer hunting and representations of heavenly bodies, especially the sun in a wide range of formats.

Representations of Astral Motifs The importance of the sun in Bronze Age religions has been demonstrated (Briard 1987) in correspondence with the shared root, *seh2wo¯l, to refer to the sun in proto-Indo-European (Matasovic´ 2009) and with the importance of the sun in myths and rites. In Western Europe, the representations of weapons from the Bronze Age (in Galicia and the Alps) give way to scenes of hunting and warfare in Scandinavia, Valcamonica, and Galicia. With the exception of Mont Bego, the greatest development of rock art dates from the first millennium BC. In the Alps, the sun appears in scenes associated with praying figures, weapons, or herbivores (De Saulieu 2004), suggesting celebrations or hunts associated with different periods of the year. Some steles feature anthropomorphic figures with the sun instead of their heads, weapons on their trunk, and a belt that separates a lower section with animals. This iconography has been associated with the Indo-European myth of the creation of the world from a giant (the Vedic Purusha, or Scandinavian Ymir) where the head/sun represents the sky, the trunk/weapons represent the atmosphere or air between the sky and the earth, and the animals represent the earth inhabited by man (Dume´zil 1983). Also, some of the carvings from the Valle´e des Merveilles have been interpreted as representations of the Pleiades (Lumley et al. 2007).

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Fig. 104.1 Top: Anthropomorphic stelae from Valcamonica (North Italy) (Photos: Andrea Arca`). Bottom: Laxe das Rodas carving (Galicia, Spain)

Nothing similar to this has been identified in Galicia, although it has been suggested that there may be calendar on the petroglyph of Laxe das Rodas (Alonso 1983) (Fig. 104.1). In the Iron Age, the representation of the sun continued to be used. In Scandinavia, F. Kaul (1998) studied the iconography of bronze objects and rock art in order to reconstruct a complex representation of the solar cycle. Kaul based his ideas on the fact that in the northern hemisphere, the sunrise is seen from the left and the sunset from the right, and it is necessary to explain what happens to the sun during the night. This result in using a cosmological explanation for the direction of the ships shown on rocks accompanied by solar images such as cupmarks, circles, or circles with four or more radii, as if they were wheels or sunrays (also Kristiansen 2010) (Fig. 104.2). In the Alps, there is a specific solar image known as the “Rosa Camuna” with two varieties: one in the shape of a cross and another in the shape of a swastika. G. Brunod et al. (1999) have indicated the position of the motif in astronomical alignments.

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Fig. 104.2 Different sun representations in European prehistoric rock art. Top: Monte Gurita (Galicia, Spain); As Canles (Galicia, Spain); Bottom: variations of the Rosa Camuna motif (North Italy) (Design: Andrea Arca`); ship and weeled cross (Utby, Bohusl€an, Sweden; some runes were added later)

In Galicia, there have been solar representations associated with deer since the start of the Iron Age, and it has been suggested that the circular designs found in the petroglyphs have solar significance (Fredell 2010). The crosses carved inside circles are from a later date. On the slope of As Canles in Campo Lameiro, the rocky surfaces from the summit all the way down to the banks of the River Le´rez are carved with crosses inside circles. This could be a representation of the myths and rites associated with the solar wheel that connects the sky and water in several parts of Europe (Garcı´a and Santos 2008).

Visibility and Astronomic Symbolism On occasions the sun is not represented, although the position of the sun is essential in order to understand or see the carving. In Ho¨gsbyn (Sweden), the petroglyphs and Bronze Age necropolis are associated with the position of the sun during the summer. The sun seems to move from the earth toward the water, and then return (Bradley 2009). In Valcamonica (Italian Alps), the majority of the panels are located between two large mountains that stand out for their size and shape: Pizzo Badile and La

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Fig. 104.3 Praying figures from Naquane face La Concarena mountain at equinox sunset (North Italy) (Photos: Andrea Arca`)

Concarena, which are involved in a natural light phenomenon at the equinoxes. The sun rises over Pizzo Badile, whose shadow is projected onto the eastern slope of La Concarena. On the same day, the sun sets over La Concarena, and is projected through a large crack in the summit that focuses the light. This phenomenon could have drawn the attention of the people who made the carvings. Some carvings of praying figures (Arca` 2001) are facing toward La Concarena with their arms raised (Fig. 104.3). In Galicia, the petroglyph with weapons of Castrin˜o de Conxo is carved on a rock that slopes toward the southwest, and the sloping light of dawn around the winter solstice is the best for observing the carvings. At this time of the year at dawn, the sun appears over the eastern slopes of the Pico Sacro, a mountain that organizes the symbolic landscape of the zone at a distance of 11.6 km from the petroglyph. This means that the best time to see it corresponds with a solstitial alignment. For the Iron Age, another example is the Pedra Furada in Coiro´s (Galicia). This is a large group of rocks that have been roughly worked and which offer large views toward the west. The main rock features a female figure with an exaggerated vulva reminiscent of the Irish sheela-na-gigs (Alonso 2004). The figure is on a sloping panel facing in an east to west direction, meaning its visibility varies with the time of day and the season of the year. At the time of the equinoxes, the sunrise illuminates the figure from the head but it is no easy to see, toward midday the sun highlighting the relief; and then in the afternoon the figure is “erased” by the direct sunlight and again is difficult to see it. Close to the solstices, the lateral light also allows the figure to be seen at sun rise and sunset. The figure serves as a seasonal marker (Fig. 104.4).

Rock Art and Astronomical Alignments Finally, the rock carvings form a part of astronomical alignments regardless of the motifs they contain. In Scandinavia, studies have been carried out on the directions in which podomorphs face, discovering a significant relationship with the solstices. Although the orientation of such a small motif is doubtful, it would seem to be important in

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Fig. 104.4 Changing visibility through the day of Pedra Furada Iron Age carving at the equinox (Coiro´s, Galicia, Spain) (Photos: Sole Felloza)

relation to the sun, and suggests that the petroglyphs may have been places where rites were celebrated associated with the movement of participants in relation to solar cycles (Bradley 2009). In Valcamonica, Codebo` et al. (2004) have proposed an astronomical relationship between a representation of three circles in one of the steles from the Capitello de Due Pini and the sunset at equinoxes and solstices, with more examples in the area. In Galicia, we have two relevant cases.

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Fig. 104.5 Deer from Laxe dos Carballos (Campo Lameiro, Galicia, Spain) and horizon with alignments

The first is a series of three panels that are carved with large deer, whose antlers have an unusual number of points that may represent a calendar count with a threeyearly adjustment of the solar and lunar cycle – something that is speculative – although all of the carvings face an open horizon toward the south west, where the winter solstice and/or major southern lunistice occur at certain landmarks (Gonza´lez et al. 2008) (Fig. 104.5). A Ferradura is a place with three rocks carved with solar alignments associated with solstices and Celtic festivals. The rock known as “O Raposo” forms a natural shelter with a carving in its interior, illuminated through a natural opening at the winter solstice. The rock known as “A Ferradura” is covered in carvings and has a crack through which the sun sets at the start of February. Another rock, “A Zarra” has a carving that only receives direct sunlight at the summer solstice. The pertinence of these observations is supported by the fact that the Christian festival of the neighboring village, O Formigueiro, is dedicated to Candlemas, the festival that connects the birth of Jesus with the purification of the Virgin Mary on the 2nd of February (Garcı´a and Santos 2008) (Fig. 104.6).

Future Directions Future research should include seeking a balance between two complementary aspects in understanding rock carvings: (1) their relationship with the local

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Fig. 104.6 Three different rock carving solar alignments of A Ferradura (Galicia, Spain)

landscape, something that is usual in archeology (their visibility, possibilities of use, patterns of localization, routes, etc.) and (2) their relationship with the skyscape, taking into account the different approaches offered by astronomic symbolism. In the case of the Bronze Age, it is necessary to correctly link the local styles of the carvings with the general themes imposed by the cycle of the stars and IndoEuropean cultural structures. It is also necessary to generalize observations of the horizon in relation to the rock art stations in order to obtain comparable information on a regional and European scale. We are faced with four problems in relation to the Iron Age. (1) It is necessary to study monuments that are difficult to consider as “art” but which do have relevant

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astronomical alignments. In the North West Iberian Peninsula, these are described as “sanctuaries”. In France, similar structures have been dated to the Neolithic (Baudouin 1913); it would be necessary to review this dating and verify if they exist in other locations. (2) The previous issue is derived from the absence of a pan-European archeological fossil that could be used to make mass astronomical observations. (3) The Celtic, Germanic, or Italic religious contexts are unavoidable and it is necessary to consider the rock carvings and their astronomical relationships in these contexts. (4) The moon is present in the calendar of Coligny and in an incipient group of observations. It is necessary to identify its effect on rock art with greater precision.

Cross-References ▶ Analyzing Light-and-Shadow Interactions ▶ Astronomy and Rock Art in Mexico ▶ Astronomy and Rock Art Studies ▶ Celtic Sites of Central Iberia

References Alonso Romero F (1983) Nuevas consideraciones sobre el significado del petroglifo de Laxe das Rodas (Muros, Galicia). Zephyrus 36:79–91 Alonso Romero F (2004) La figura de mujer del petroglifo da Pena Furada (Figueiras, Santa Marin˜a de Lesa, Coiro´s, A Corun˜a). Anu Brigant 27:161–178 Arca` A (2001) Chronology and interpretation of the “praying figures” in Valcamonica rock art. In: Archeologia e arte rupestre: l’Europa – le Alpi – la Valcamonica, secondo convegno internazionale di archeologia rupestre. Darfo Boario, Milano, pp 185–198 Baudouin M (1912) Proce´de´s techniques pour l’E´tude de l’orientation des gravures sur rochers et de l’axe d’e´rection des me´galithes par rapport a` l’Astre solaire. Bulletin de la Socie´te´ pre´historique de France 9(11):711–716 Baudouin M (1913) Le rocher a` gravures principales du Temple du Soleil, aux Vaux, de Saint-Aubin-de-Baubigne´ (D.-S.). Bulletins et Me´moires de la Socie´te´ d’anthropologie de Paris VI/4: 53–79 Bradley R (2009) Image and audience. Oxford University Press, Oxford Briard J (1987) Mythes et symboles de l’Europe pre´celtique. Errance, Paris Brunod G, Ferreri W, Ragazzi G (1999) La rosa di Sellero e la svastica, cosmologia, astronomia, danze preistoriche. Capone, Lecce Codebo` M, De Santis H, Barale P, Castelli M, Fratti L, Gervasoni E (2004) Indagine archeoastronomica su un petroglifo della Valcamonica presso il Capitello dei due Pini. Bollettino Camuno di Studi Preistorici 34. http://www.archaeoastronomy.it/ indagine_archeoastronomica.htm De Saulieu G (2004) Art rupestre et statues-menhirs dans les Alpes. Errance, Paris Dume´zil G (1983) Les trois fonctions au Valcamonica. In: Dume´zil G (ed) La Courtisane et les seigneurs colore´s. Gallimard, Paris, pp 228–238 ˚ C (2010) A mo(ve)ment in time? A comparative study of a rock-picture theme in Galicia Fredell A ˚ C, Kristiansen K (eds) Representations and communiand Bohusl€an. In: Boado CF, Fredell A cations. Oxbow, Oxford/Oakville, pp 52–74

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Garcı´a Quintela MV, Santos Este´vez M (2008) Santuarios de la Galicia Ce´ltica. Abada, Madrid Gonza´lez Garcı´a AC, Garcı´a Quintela MV, Belmonte Avile´s JA, Santos Este´vez M (2008) Calendrical deer, time reckoning and landscape in Iron-Age North-West Spain. In: Vaisˇku¯nas J (ed) Astronomy and cosmology in folk traditions and cultural heritage. Archaeologia Baltica, vol 10. Klaipe˙da University Institute of Baltic Sea Region History and Archaeology, Klaipe˙da, pp 66–70 Kaul F (1998) Ships on bronzes. National Museum, Copenhagen Kristiansen K (2010) Rock art and religion: the sun journey in Indo-European mythology and ˚ C, Kristiansen K, Criado Boado F (eds) Representations and Bronze age rock art. In: Fredell A communications. Oxbow, Oxford/Oakville, pp 93–115 Lumley H, Echassoux A, Pecker JC, Romain O (2007) Figurations de l’amas stellaire des ple´iades dur deux roches grave´es de la re´gion du mont bego. Anthropologie 111:755–824 Matasovic´ R (2009) ‘Sun’ and ‘Moon’ in celtic and Indo-European. Celto-Slav 2:154–162

Stonehenge and its Landscape

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Clive L. N. Ruggles

Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Stonehenge and its Landscape: The Archaeological Evidence . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The Solstitial Orientation of Stonehenge and Nearby Monuments . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Possible Lunar Alignments at Stonehenge . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Preserving Stonehenge’s Astronomical Heritage . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Discussion . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Abstract

In the 1960s and 1970s, Stonehenge polarized academic opinion between those (mainly astronomers) who claimed it demonstrated great astronomical sophistication and those (mainly archaeologists) who denied it had anything to do with astronomy apart from the solstitial alignment of its main axis. Now, several decades later, links to the annual passage of the sun are generally recognized as an essential part of the function and meaning not only of Stonehenge but also of several other nearby monuments, giving us important insights into beliefs and actions relating to the seasonal cycle by the prehistoric communities who populated this chalkland landscape in the third millennium BC Links to the moon remain more debatable.

C.L.N. Ruggles School of Archaeology and Ancient History, University of Leicester, Leicester, UK e-mail: [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_118, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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Introduction Stonehenge in Wiltshire, United Kingdom (OSGB 41225 14219 = SU 1225 4219), remains iconic of the connection between ancient monuments and astronomy, to the extent that many parts of the world continue to claim to have their own “Stonehenge”, typically conceived as some sort of astronomical temple, ancient observatory (see ▶ Chap. 9, “Ancient “Observatories”: A Relevant Concept?”), or calendrical device. Over the years, this extraordinary monument has been the focus of a great variety of astronomical speculations, all too many of which have extrapolated wildly beyond, and in some cases clearly conflict with, the actual archaeological and archaeoastronomical evidence. In fact, the only strong direct evidence of a connection between Stonehenge and celestial bodies relates to the solstitial orientation of its main axis; other alignments of potential astronomical significance, including a number connected with the moon, are more debatable. Certainly, claims made in the 1960s that scores of solar and lunar alignments were deliberately incorporated in the architecture and that the site could have been used as an eclipse prediction device (Hawkins and White 1965; Hoyle 1966) have been long since refuted both on archaeological and statistical grounds (Atkinson 1966; Heggie 1981, pp. 145–151; Ruggles 1999, pp. 38–40, 43). Major archaeological excavations took place at Stonehenge in the early twentieth century and in the 1950s and 1960s, all of which were eventually published in detail in 1995 (Cleal et al. 1995). From the 1920s onward, a number of survey and excavation projects have also provided archaeological information concerning the surrounding landscape and nearby monuments (e.g., RCHME 1979; for a list, see Darvill 2005, pp. 138–144) culminating in the Stonehenge Riverside Project, running from 2003 to 2010 (Parker Pearson et al. 2007; Parker Pearson 2012). All this offers a considerably richer basis of archaeological facts than was available fifty years ago.

Stonehenge and its Landscape: The Archaeological Evidence The earliest evidence of human occupation in the vicinity of Stonehenge (Fig. 105.1) dates back to the Mesolithic period, in the eighth millennium BC. Under the car park built in the late 1960s and in use until 2013 is an alignment of three postholes where three enormous wooden posts are known to have stood (Allen 1995), interpreted by some as akin to modern totem poles (e.g., Souden 1997, p. 44). The earliest farmers had arrived in this area by 4000 BC and the first Neolithic monuments that remain visible in today’s landscape were constructed during the ensuing millennium: several long barrows and two enigmatic cursus monuments – linear ditch-andbank enclosures – of which the larger (the so-called Stonehenge Cursus) ran for some 3 km in a broadly east–west direction passing some 700 m to the north of the site of the future Stonehenge. The environmental evidence indicates that Stonehenge was constructed within a Neolithic landscape that was already largely open grassland and was carefully managed and maintained (French et al. 2012).

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Stonehenge and its Landscape

1225

N

Mesolithic pits 120m

Long barrows 146

120m

Circles of earth, timber and stone

100m

Post-hole squares

120m

140m

Round barrows

DW DSC

120m

DA

144

100m

100m

SC

1

42

100m 120m

CPP 120m

100m

WH D70 D68

100m

LC

SA

River Avon

SH WA 100m

100m

CH 120m

100m

1

40 100m

140m 4

08

4

10

4

12

100m 4

14

4

16

Fig. 105.1 The Stonehenge landscape and its monuments. CH, Coneybury henge; CPP, Car park postholes; DA, Durrington avenue; DW, Durrington Walls henge; DSC, Durrington Walls southern circle; D68, Durrington 68; D70, Durrington 70; LC, Lesser cursus; SA, Stonehenge avenue; SC, Stonehenge Cursus; SH, Stonehenge; WA, West Amesbury henge (“Bluestonehenge”), WH, Woodhenge (Composed by the author using drawings by Deborah Miles-Williams after Cleal et al. 1995, Figs. 33, 35, 57, 78)

Various chronological frameworks have been put forward to model the sequence of constructions at Stonehenge. A three-phase scheme initially proposed by Richard Atkinson in the 1950s (Atkinson 1956) was widely quoted for many years until the eventual publication and analysis of all the twentieth-century excavations, including a Bayesian statistical analysis of over 50 radiocarbon dates, which necessitated a revised structural sequence (Cleal et al. 1995). The most recent revision, following major new investigations at and around Stonehenge between 2005 and 2010, proposes a 5-stage model (Darvill et al. 2012). The earliest datable activity at Stonehenge itself (Fig. 105.2) was the construction around 2950 BC of a circular ditch and bank dug out from the chalk using antler picks. It had a main entrance to the NE and a smaller one to the south. The Aubrey Holes, a circle of 56 pits just inside the bank that may well initially have held timber posts, were likely dug at around the same time. Over the ensuing centuries, the ditch and postholes were used for offerings, including articulated animal bones and a mace-head, as well as human cremations (Pollard and Ruggles 2001).

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Fig. 105.2 Plan of Stonehenge. A chronological composite of some of the main features at Stonehenge mentioned in the text (Composed by the author using drawings by Deborah Miles-Williams after Cleal et al. 1995, Figs. 256, 257)

In the interior, various settings of timber posts or stakes were set up within the circle and around the NE entrance, although the evidence is much compromised by the later stone constructions (Cleal et al. 1995, pp. 140–152). The gigantic sarsen stones (Fig. 105.3a), the largest weighing around 35 t, were brought to the site in the Late Neolithic period, at some time between 2700 and 2400 BC. They were hauled more than 30 km from the Marlborough Downs to the north, carefully dressed, and then fitted together using joints reminiscent of woodworking, so as to form the iconic horseshoe-shaped setting of five huge trilithon arches surrounded by a circle of uprights connected by lintels. The trilithon horseshoe, open to the NE, defines a clear NE–SW axis of symmetry through the site, deviating significantly from the orientation of the ditch entrance. The smaller but still substantial “bluestones” – actually blocks of dolerite, rhyolite, and other igneous rocks weighing around 6 t each – were transported to the site all the way from the Preseli region of South Wales, a distance of more than 200 km, although how exactly this was done, and the route taken, remains unknown (Parker Pearson 2012, pp. 261–291). The time when they first appeared at the site is also debated – some argue that the Aubrey Holes actually contained bluestones – but current evidence indicates that between 50 and 80 of them were set up in a double circle between the trilithon horseshoe and the sarsen circle at around the time those were being constructed. Rearrangements of the bluestones took place during what is now recognized as a short Chalcolithic (Copper Age) period lasting until c. 2200 BC and into the early Bronze Age, up to c. 2000 BC. Around the time when the large sarsens were being erected, the four “station stones” (identified as stones 91–94 by archaeologists) were set up in a rectangular configuration within the circular ditch and bank. Two of them have now disappeared but their positions are known from the stone holes. The orientation

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of the station-stone rectangle (along its shorter sides) follows the NE–SW axis of the sarsen monument, and it just circumscribes the sarsen circle, so the view along each side was always unobstructed. Today the Heel Stone (stone 96) is conspicuous, standing in isolation some 30 m outside the ditch-and-bank circle beyond the NE entrance. However, a number of other stones once stood to the NE of the site. Just inside the entrance and aligned across it were three stones, D, E, and 95: the last of these, popularly known as the Slaughter Stone, still lies prostrate but the others have disappeared. Outside the entrance is a radial alignment of three stone holes, reasonably equally spaced: B, C, and 97. All the stones have disappeared. The consensus is that these were erected in the earliest stage (Darvill et al. 2012, p. 1026), marking out the axis before the sarsens were brought to the site, and later removed. Stone hole 97, discovered in 1980 (Pitts 1981), is no more than 5 m NW of the Heel Stone. It is possible that the Heel Stone was erected next to 97, and E and 95 put up (along with D), around the time of arrival of the sarsens so as to form two pairs framing the new axis. It is also possible that stone 97 was moved across to become the Heel Stone. Stonehenge did not exist in isolation, and throughout the third millennium BC, there was intensive activity in the surrounding landscape, including the construction of a number of broadly contemporary earthen enclosures (henges) and timber circles. Some of the main ones are summarized in Table 105.1; see also Figs. 105.3b, c. Their locations are marked in Fig. 105.1. Also prominent in the landscape at this time was an avenue some 2.5 km long that led circuitously up to Stonehenge from the River Avon, making its final 500 m approach directly up to the site from a hidden “elbow” where its direction changes suddenly. The recent excavations at Durrington Walls henge have revealed the existence of an avenue similar in many respects to the Stonehenge one but much shorter, running for c. 100 m at most down from the entrance of that henge to the same sinuous river. Stonehenge remained conspicuous in the landscape after its construction. It is surrounded by a number of low ridges between 1 and 2 km distant (Cleal et al. 1995, pp. 34–37), forming a “visibility bowl” whose edges were targeted during the Early to Middle Bronze Age (c. 2000–1600 BC) by powerful chieftains evidently seeking to be buried within sight of the great site: several dozen round barrows are arranged along these ridges, many containing rich grave goods. There is no evidence of extensive use or reuse of the monument during the ensuing Iron-Age and RomanoBritish periods – something that is ironic given that this was the time of the Druids, and “Druidic” ceremonies remain very much associated with Stonehenge in popular culture – and even the question of whether the site was deliberately damaged during this phase remains open (Cleal et al. 1995, p. 338). Stonehenge first appears in the historical record in the twelfth century and features a good deal in the writings of travelers and antiquarians in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries (Chippindale 1983, pp. 20–65). William Stukeley, who was largely responsible for propagating the myth that Stonehenge and other stone monuments were associated with Druids (Chippindale 1983, pp. 66–95), was the first to document the solstitial alignment in the 1720s (Ruggles 1999, p. 225).

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Fig. 105.3 (continued)

C.L.N. Ruggles

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Stonehenge and its Landscape

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Very broadly speaking, archaeological theories based on the available evidence focus upon Stonehenge’s likely significance as a place of pilgrimage and/or a place of power, whether spiritual/sacred, political, or both. The transportation of the bluestones from such an extraordinary distance has clear implications for social organization and spheres of influence. Two more specific, and rather different, theories have been put forward in recent years. One is that Stonehenge and its visibility bowl came to constitute a “domain of the dead”, a place seen to be inhabited by the spirits of the ancestors while living communities dwelt in the surrounding landscape (Parker Pearson and Ramilisonina 1998). The other is that it was a place of healing, the bluestones being conceived as the source of this power, visited by people seeking relief from serious disease or injury (Darvill and Wainwright 2009).

The Solstitial Orientation of Stonehenge and Nearby Monuments By far the strongest evidence linking Stonehenge to the sky is the orientation of the main axis of symmetry defined by the sarsen horseshoe, the station-stone rectangle (shorter sides), and the final section of the avenue leading up to the site from the northeast. This is famously aligned upon summer solstice sunrise to the NE (az 49.8
, alt +0.6
, dec +24.0
) and winter solstice sunset to the SW (az 229.8
, alt +0.5
, dec 23.9
) (Ruggles 2006, pp. 8) (Fig. 105.4). As each alignment could have arisen as a consequence of the other, this raises the question of which direction was the significant one to the builders. The likely existence of two pairs of upright stones placed symmetrically about the axis to the northeast of the sarsen monument – stones E and 95 by the entrance and the Heel Stone and stone 97 further out – seems to argue in favor of the northeasterly direction, since these pairs of stones would have formed a “corridor” along which the light of the rising June solstice sun would have shone spectacularly into the center of the monument (Burl 1994; Pa´sztor et al. 2000) (Fig. 105.5). On the other hand, the fact that the formal or ceremonial approach to Stonehenge along the avenue was from the northeast suggests that the focus of interest was straight ahead, that is, to the southwest (Parker Pearson 2005, p. 66) (Fig. 105.6). It is important to realize that spatial precision does not imply temporal precision. Since the rising and setting position of the sun only varies minutely from day to day close to the solstices, the Stonehenge axis aligns in practice just as well upon sunrise or sunset on any day for several days on either side of the relevant solstice. The solstitial orientation of Stonehenge does not indicate the existence of an

ä Fig. 105.3 Some major stone and timber constructions in the Stonehenge landscape. (a) The remains of the central sarsen and bluestone monument at Stonehenge viewed from the NW. (b) Woodhenge viewed from the SE (concrete markers mark the excavated postholes). (c) Full-scale reconstruction of the Durrington Walls southern circle built in 2005 for a “Time Team” TV program. The larger posts in the foreground mark the entrance (Photographs: Clive Ruggles)

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Table 105.1 Some contemporary monuments in the vicinity of Stonehenge Location (OSGB) Commentary 4 Large earthen enclosure, almost 150 1 437 500 m in diameter, built on a slope and enhancing a natural dip in the landscape. Entrance facing SE, on the downhill side, toward a bend in the River Avon. Contained various timber structures including the southern circle (see below) and recent excavations have revealed house sites both within and outside in the vicinity of the entrance Multiple timber circle (concentric Durrington 41514 1 4366 rings of timber posts), just under Walls 40 m in diameter, within southern Durrington Walls henge. Entrance circle marked by two wider, and presumably taller, posts, facing SE Multiple timber rings (oval rings of Woodhenge 41506 1 4338 timber posts), c. 40 m in diameter, major axis NE–SW, within earthen enclosure, entrance NNE Square setting of four large timber Durrington 41513 1 4325 postholes, too large to represent 68 a house, together with two postholes marking an entrance gap in a surrounding setting of stake holes, facing SE Square setting of four large timber Durrington 41511 1 4329 postholes together with two 70 postholes marking the entrance direction, as at Durrington 68, facing ESE 4 Arc of pits adjacent to the River 1423 West Avon. Also known as Amesbury 14141 “Bluestonehenge” on the henge assumption that the holes contained bluestones Earthen enclosure, now plowed out Coneybury 41344 1 4160 henge Monument Durrington Walls henge

References Wainwright and Longworth (1971), Parker Pearson et al. (2007), Parker Pearson (2012): 92–108

Wainwright and Longworth (1971): 23–38, Parker Pearson et al. (2006), Parker Pearson (2012): 80–92

Cunnington (1929), Parker Pearson (2012): 94–96

Pollard (1995), Pollard et al. (2007)

Pollard et al. (2007)

Parker Pearson et al. (2010), Parker Pearson (2012): 216–230

Richards (1991): 89–96

accurate solar calendar, merely of ceremonials that could equally well have taken place on any clear day within, say, a week or so of the solstice itself. The mere fact that Stonehenge and its avenue were solstitially aligned does not prove that this was intentional (see ▶ Chap. 27, “Analyzing Orientations”). However, there can be little doubt about this because the practice of solstitial alignment is repeated at a number of the broadly contemporary monuments in

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Stonehenge and its Landscape

Fig. 105.4 Principal alignments at Stonehenge, showing the indicated declinations (Composed by the author based on drawings by Deborah Miles-Williams as in Fig. 105.2)

1231 δ = +24·0⬚

δ = +28·4⬚

δ = −23·9⬚

δ = −28·9⬚

Fig. 105.5 An impression of the view along the axis to the NE from the center of the sarsen monument, showing the “solar corridor” formed by the gaps between stones in the bluestone and sarsen circles, between stones E and 95, and between stone 97 and the Heel Stone. This full-scale reconstruction was built in June 2005 for Channel 5 Television (UK) and the National Geographic Channel (Photograph: Clive Ruggles)

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Fig. 105.6 Winter solstice sunset at Stonehenge viewed along the axis from the NE side of the sarsen circle (Photograph: Clive Ruggles)

the vicinity (Fig. 105.7). Despite small uncertainties about how it should best be defined, the main axis of the set of concentric timber rings at Woodhenge is on the same solstitial alignment as Stonehenge (dec to NE ¼ +23.5
; to SW 23.7
). In addition, the axial orientation of Durrington Walls southern circle, defined by taking the line through the geometrical center and passing midway between the entrance posts, is also solstitial but on the other axis, namely, NW–SE. One important feature of this circle is that it is placed where the ground slopes upward quite steeply to the NW, resulting in a significantly higher horizon altitude in this direction; this means that a deliberate solstitial alignment accurate to about 0.5
in one direction will not automatically result in a similar solstitial alignment in the opposite direction, as is the case at Stonehenge and Woodhenge. In the outward-facing direction, to the SE, Durrington Walls southern circle is accurately aligned upon winter solstice sunrise (dec ¼ 23.8
), but it is not oriented upon summer solstice sunset in the other (dec ¼ +28.0
). The short avenue at Durrington Walls, to judge by the excavated segment, is aligned more closely to summer solstice sunset in the NW (dec ¼ +25.2
) than to winter solstice sunrise in the SE (dec ¼ 21.7
). Despite our uncertainty about the significant directions at Stonehenge and Woodhenge, the evidence from the Durrington Walls avenue and southern circle is sufficient to rule out any consistent explanation in terms of sunrise or sunset, the inward or outward direction, or winter or summer (Ruggles 2006). However, the solstitial alignments of three major timber and stone constructions together with the two avenues clearly indicate the importance of seasonal ceremonies and

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Stonehenge and its Landscape

Fig. 105.7 Principal alignments at Woodhenge and Durrington Walls, showing the indicated declinations (Composed by the author based on a drawing by Deborah Miles-Williams)

1233

N Durrington Walls

δ = +25·2⬚

δ = +23·5⬚ Avenue

Southern circle

River

Avon

Woodhenge δ = −23·8⬚ Ditch Bank 0

100

δ = −23·7⬚ 200m

“formal” movement in the landscape, tied particularly to the longest and shortest days of the year. In the context of the “domain of the dead” theory, Parker Pearson et al. (2005, p. 5) suggested that carefully timed processions took place between Stonehenge and Durrington Walls, via their avenues and the river, in order to pay homage to the ancestors and to harness their spiritual power in order to ensure fertility and seasonal renewal. This view is supported by the analysis of pig bones from Durrington Walls (Albarella and Serjeantson 2002), which shows that slaughtering and feasting formed part of seasonal festivities taking place around midwinter. To date, there is no compelling evidence that the practice of solstitial orientation extended to other contemporary structures in the vicinity. Despite earlier reports that the distinctive timber setting of Durrington 68, immediately south of Woodhenge, was solstitially oriented, it turns out to face an azimuth of 131.6
, corresponding to a declination of 26.5
, more than 4 solar diameters beyond the December solstice sunrise position. Furthermore Durrington 70, which is structurally similar and placed only c. 50 m away, faces 98.8
yielding a declination of 4.9
, of no particular significance within the solar range (Ruggles 2014b). House sites identified by the Stonehenge Riverside Project exhibit no clear patterns that confirm that cosmological factors influenced their orientation, and even the earthen enclosures surrounding Woodhenge and forming the outer perimeter of Durrington Walls henge – in common with the ditch-and-bank circle at Stonehenge – do not share the solstitial alignments of the monuments listed above, which were constructed inside them (Ruggles 2006). Finally, only the final segment of the Stonehenge avenue, on the approach up to the monument, has an obvious astronomical connection.

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It is possible that some of the earlier constructions in the Stonehenge area already had solar connections. In particular, Burl (1987, pp. 26–28) examined 65 long barrows on Salisbury Plain and found that they were all oriented between NNE and south, conforming broadly to the “sun-rising/sun-climbing” pattern that is observed among numerous other groups of later prehistoric monuments across western Europe (Hoskin 2001; see ▶ Chap. 95, “Patterns of Orientation in the Megalithic Tombs in the Western Mediterranean”). On the other hand, suggestions that some of the Early Neolithic monuments in the area related to specific solar events have generally proved unconvincing. For example, assertions that the Stonehenge Cursus is aligned upon equinoctial sunrise or sunset (see Ruggles 1999, p. 244) simply do not fit the data: its orientation deviates from true east to west by some 5
. In fact, there is no convincing evidence of any equinoctial alignments in the Stonehenge area, from any era, something that is perhaps not surprising given that there is no inherent reason to suppose that the equinoxes would have had innate significance for prehistoric communities (see ▶ Chap. 2, “Calendars and Astronomy”). A recent geophysical survey has discovered the existence of two large pits within the cursus that may have held posts marking the position of summer solstice sunrise and sunset as viewed from the Heel Stone (Gaffney et al. 2012). This would imply that there were solstitial rituals such as processions directly linking the cursus and Stonehenge itself, perhaps several centuries before the sarsen monument was built at Stonehenge, but it raises questions of data selection (see ▶ Chap. 25, “Best Practice for Evaluating the Astronomical Significance of Archaeological Sites”) that can only adequately be addressed by considering how many other similar pits and possible pits occur in the vicinity. Intriguing evidence has emerged recently that may help to answer the question of why Stonehenge was placed where it is. The final approach of the avenue up to Stonehenge, it emerges, was built to incorporate preexisting glacial striations that probably showed up in the landscape before any human intervention. What to us is a coincidence of nature – the existence of natural ruts in the landscape aligned upon midwinter sunset – could have served to identify the top of those ruts as a place of huge sacred power and cosmic significance, which was why this subsequently became the focus for so much ritual activity (Parker Pearson 2012, pp. 240–248; Ruggles 2014a). Although the avenue banks were constructed after the sarsens were brought to Stonehenge (Darvill et al. 2012), a recent stone-by-stone examination using 3D-laser scanning technology (Abbott and Anderson-Whymark 2012) has provided independent evidence demonstrating that the formal approach to the setting of huge sarsen stones was always intended to be from the northeast.

Possible Lunar Alignments at Stonehenge Two architectural alignments provide a plausible indication that the builders of Stonehenge may have had an interest in the rising position of the moon. The first is that of the NE entrance of the ditch-and-bank enclosure which, as viewed from the

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center, faces a range of directions to the left of the later axis and outside the annual excursion of the rising sun. This range coincides broadly with that part of the horizon where the moon may rise from time to time but not the sun. If, for example, the full moon was watched rising at around the time of winter solstice sunset, then it would sometimes be seen in this far northerly position. On the other hand, the “lunar” alignment of the earthen enclosure entrance is not repeated at Woodhenge or Durrington Walls. The much-quoted idea that an array of postholes found in the entrance represented attempts to fix sightings on moonrises over several generations in order to set up a precise alignment on the northern major standstill limit (see ▶ Chap. 33, “Lunar Alignments: Identification and Analysis”) is untenable technically (Ruggles 1997, pp. 214–217): the posts are more likely to have been erected to restrict access (Cleal et al. 1995, p. 145) or perhaps to support a platform bridging the entrance (Richards and Whitby 1997, pp. 252–253). The second alignment of possible lunar significance is that of the longer sides of the station-stone rectangle. The fact that these sightlines were not (quite) blocked by the stones of the sarsen circle (Fig. 105.4) suggests that the view along this axis in at least one direction was indeed important. The indication to the SE (az ¼ 139.8
, alt ¼ +0.2
, dec ¼ 28.9
) is well inside the most southerly rising position of the moon (southern major standstill limit, dec 30.0
) that can theoretically be reached if all the relevant cycles favorably coincide (see ▶ Chap. 33, “Lunar Alignments: Identification and Analysis”), which is as we would expect given that observations were not of huge precision. Nonetheless, a moonrise (e.g., a full moonrise close to the summer solstice sunset) this far south would have been a rare and spectacular event. The importance of the direction is affirmed by concentrations of formal offerings (in particular articulated animal bones) placed in the relevant segment of the ditch, and also of human cremations placed in the Aubrey Holes, during the centuries before the arrival of the sarsen stones (Pollard and Ruggles 2001). There was never any entrance on this side of the monument and there is no other obvious reason for this direction being so favored. But for intervening trees that currently obscure the view in this direction, Figsbury Ring – an Iron-Age earthwork at a site that was also occupied back in the Neolithic – would be prominent on the southeast horizon 10.5 km away from Stonehenge. The fact that it is in almost exactly the direction of the upper limb of the moon at the southern major standstill limit, the most southerly possible lunar rising position (az ¼ 141.8
, alt ¼ +0.2
, dec ¼ 29.8
), led Thom et al. (1975, pp. 22–23) to propose that it was a foresight for high-precision lunar observations made from Stonehenge. Furthermore, the station-stone rectangle alignment in the opposite direction (az ¼ 319.8
, alt ¼ +0.4
, dec ¼ +28.4
) corresponds almost exactly to the upper limb of the most northerly possible setting point of the moon. On the other hand, this alignment would have arisen as a simple consequence of the orientation of the shorter sides of the station-stone rectangle along the main solstitial axis, which would imply that the lunar alignments (in both directions) are fortuitous. The question of which if any lunar alignments were intentional, and what was their precision, remains very much open.

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Preserving Stonehenge’s Astronomical Heritage In recent years, Stonehenge has been a focus of broader efforts to identify and preserve astronomical heritage (see ▶ Chap. 20, “Archaeoastronomical Heritage and the World Heritage Convention”), both cultural and natural. Efforts to preserve as dark as possible a night sky in the vicinity of the site have run in parallel with recent efforts to restore Stonehenge to its landscape, in particular by removing the main road (A344) that passes within a few meters of the Heelstone and by moving visitor facilities to a greater distance. While there is no direct evidence to link Stonehenge to observations of the stars, the maintenance of the starry sky is seen as a way of helping to affirm the astronomical connections of this iconic monument and its landscape (Young et al. 2009, p. 106). While none of the astronomical sightlines mentioned above is obstructed by buildings, many are compromised – either permanently (as is the case for those at Durrington Walls, which are blocked by the A345 road embankment which runs across the henge) or temporarily (by tree plantations). Removing intrusive features in the landscape has been a priority for many years, and it is hoped that (in so far as it is consistent with woodland management and conservation strategies in the World Heritage Site) at least some of the sightlines will be opened up once more for visitors to view in the future.

Discussion The profusion of “Stonehenges” around Europe and further afield – which includes Goseck, dubbed the “German Stonehenge” (see ▶ Chap. 113, “Neolithic Circular Ditch Systems (‘Rondels’) in Central Europe”); Sarmizegetusa Regia, the “Romanian Stonehenge” (see ▶ Chap. 118, “Astronomical Orientation in the Ancient Dacian Sanctuaries of Romania”); Kokino, the “Macedonian Stonehenge” (see ▶ Chap. 24, “Nature and Analysis of Material Evidence Relevant to Archaeoastronomy”); and Carahunge, the “Armenian Stonehenge” (see ▶ Chap. 127, “Carahunge: A Critical Assessment”), to name but a few – is unfortunate not only because the sites concerned have no direct cultural connection with Stonehenge itself but also because the appellation is based on a false conception of the monument as demonstrating a level of prehistoric astronomical sophistication that is impressive on a global scale. Promoting a local “Stonehenge” is all too often motivated by modern political agendas that strive to identify sophistication in the past but are misconceived in assessing this in Western terms. On the basis of current evidence, what is most impressive about Stonehenge and its landscape in archaeoastronomical terms is that it provides the earliest evidence in Britain or Ireland of a consistent local practice of aligning monuments upon sunset and sunrise around the solstices, in contrast (for example) to the solstitially aligned passage tomb at Newgrange, a “one–off” alignment among the Boyne Valley tombs (see ▶ Chap. 108, “Boyne Valley Tombs”).

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Cross-References ▶ Analyzing Orientations ▶ Archaeoastronomical Heritage and the World Heritage Convention ▶ Astronomical Orientation in the Ancient Dacian Sanctuaries of Romania ▶ Ancient “Observatories” - a Relevant Concept? ▶ Best Practice for Evaluating the Astronomical Significance of Archaeological Sites ▶ Boyne Valley Tombs ▶ Calendars and Astronomy ▶ Carahunge - A Critical Assessment ▶ Lunar Alignments - Identification and Analysis ▶ Nature and Analysis of Material Evidence Relevant to Archaeoastronomy ▶ Neolithic Circular Ditch Systems (“Rondels”) in Central Europe ▶ Patterns of Orientation in the Megalithic Tombs of the Western Mediterranean

References Abbott M, Anderson-Whymark H, with Aspden D, Badcock A, Davies T, Felter M, Ixer R, Parker Pearson M, Richards C (2012) Stonehenge laser scan: archaeological analysis report. English Heritage, Swindon. http://services.english-heritage.org.uk/ResearchReportsPdfs/ 032_2012web.pdf. Accessed 10 Oct 2012 Albarella U, Serjeantson D (2002) A passion for pork: meat consumption at the British Late Neolithic site of Durrington Walls. In: Miracle P, Milner N (eds) Consuming passions and patterns of consumption. McDonald Institute for Archaeological Research, Cambridge, pp 33–49 Allen MJ (1995) Mesolithic features in the car park. In: Cleal RMJ, Walker KE, Montage R (eds) Stonehenge in its landscape: twentieth-century excavations. English Heritage, London, pp 43–47 Atkinson RJC (1956) Stonehenge. Hamish Hamilton, London Atkinson RJC (1966) Moonshine on Stonehenge. Antiquity 40:212–216 Burl HAW (1987) The Stonehenge people. Dent, London Burl HAW (1994) Stonehenge: slaughter, sacrifice and sunshine. Wilts Archaeol Nat Hist Mag 87:85–95 Chippindale C (1983) Stonehenge complete. Thames and Hudson, London Cleal RMJ, Walker KE, Montage R (1995) Stonehenge in its landscape: twentieth-century excavations. English Heritage, London Cunnington ME (1929) Woodhenge. George Simpson, Devizes Darvill T (2005) Stonehenge world heritage site: an archaeological research framework. English Heritage and Bournemouth University, London/Bournemouth Darvill T, Wainwright G (2009) Stonehenge excavations 2008. Antiq J 89:1–19 Darvill T, Marshall P, Parker Pearson M, Wainwright G (2012) Stonehenge remodelled. Antiquity 86:1021–1040 French C, Scaife R, Allen MJ (2012) Durrington walls to west Amesbury by way of Stonehenge: a major transformation of the Holocene landscape. Antiq J 92:1–36 Gaffney C, Gaffney V, Neubauer W, Baldwin E, Chapman H, Garwood P, Moulden H, Sparrow T, Bates R, Lo¨cker K, Hinterleitner A, Trinks I, Nau E, Zitz T, Floery S, Verhoeven G, Doneus M (2012) The Stonehenge hidden landscapes project. Archaeological Prospection 19(2):147–155 Hawkins GS, White JB (1965) Stonehenge decoded. Doubleday, New York Heggie DC (1981) Megalithic science: ancient mathematics and astronomy in northwest Europe. Thames and Hudson, London Hoskin MA (2001) Tombs, temples and their orientations. Ocarina Books, Bognor Regis

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Hoyle F (1966) Speculations on Stonehenge. Antiquity 40:262–276 Parker Pearson M (2005) English Heritage book of Bronze Age Britain, revised edn. Batsford/ English Heritage, London Parker Pearson M (2012) Stonehenge: exploring the greatest Stone Age mystery. Simon and Schuster, London Parker Pearson M, Ramilisonina (1998) Stonehenge for the ancestors: the stones pass on the message. Antiquity 72:308–326 Parker Pearson M, Pollard J, Tilley C, Thomas J, Richards C, Welham K (2005) The Stonehenge Riverside project: interim report. http://www.shef.ac.uk/content/1/c6/02/21/27/PDF-InterimReport-2005.pdf. Accessed 28 Jan 2013 Parker Pearson M, Pollard J, Richards C, Thomas J, Tilley C, Welham K, Albarella U (2006) Materializing Stonehenge: the Stonehenge Riverside Project and new discoveries. Journal of Material Culture 11:227–261 Parker Pearson M, Cleal RMJ, Marshall P, Needham S, Pollard J, Richards C, Ruggles CLN, Sheridan S, Thomas J, Tilley C, Welham K, Chamberlain A, Chenery C, Evans J, Kn€ usel C, Linford N, Martin L, Montgomery J, Payne A, Richards M (2007) The age of Stonehenge. Antiquity 81:617–639 Parker Pearson M, Pollard J, Thomas J, Welham K (2010) Newhenge. Br Archaeol 110. http:// www.archaeologyuk.org/ba/ba110/feat1.shtml. Accessed 2 Jan 2013 Pa´sztor E, Juha´sz A, Dombi M, Roslund C (2000) Computer Simulation of Stonehenge. In: Barcelo´ JA, Forte M, Sanders DH (eds) Virtual reality in archaeology. Archaeopress, Oxford, pp 111–113, BAR International Series 843 Pitts MW (1981) The discovery of a new stone at Stonehenge. Archaeoastronomy Bull Center Archaeoastronomy 4(2):16–21 Pollard J (1995) The Durrington 68 timber circle: a forgotten Late Neolithic monument. Wilts Archaeol Nat Hist Mag 88:122–125 Pollard J, Ruggles CLN (2001) Shifting perceptions: spatial order, cosmology, and patterns of deposition at Stonehenge. Camb Archaeol J 11(1):69–90 Pollard J, Robinson D, Wickstead H (2007) South of Woodhenge: an interim report on the 2007 excavations. Art Archaeol. http://www.artistsinarchaeology.org/assets/publications/ Pollard_et_al_2007.pdf. Accessed 2 Jan 2013 RCHME (1979) Stonehenge and its environs. Edinburgh University Press, Edinburgh Richards JC (1991) English Heritage book of Stonehenge. Batsford/English Heritage, London Richards JC, Whitby M (1997) The engineering of Stonehenge. In: Cunliffe BW, Renfrew AC (eds) Science and Stonehenge. Oxford University Press, Oxford, pp 231–256 Ruggles CLN (1997) Astronomy and Stonehenge. In: Cunliffe BW, Renfrew AC (eds) Science and Stonehenge. Oxford University Press, Oxford, pp 203–229 Ruggles CLN (1999) Astronomy in prehistoric Britain and Ireland. Yale University Press, New Haven Ruggles CLN (2006) Interpreting solstitial alignments in Late Neolithic Wessex. Archaeoastronomy J Astron Culture 20:1–27 Ruggles CLN (2014a) The orientation of the Stonehenge avenue and its implications. In: Parker Pearson M (ed) The Stonehenge Riverside Project, vol 1. Research papers series. Prehistoric Society, London (in press) Ruggles CLN (2014b) The orientation and astronomical potential of the timber monuments at Durrington Walls and south of Woodhenge. In: Parker Pearson M (ed) The Stonehenge Riverside Project, vol 2. Research papers series. Prehistoric Society, London (in press) Souden D (1997) Stonehenge: mysteries of the stones and landscape. English Heritage, London Thom A, Thom AS, Thom A (1975) Stonehenge as a possible lunar observatory. J Hist Astron 6:19–30 Wainwright GJ, Longworth IH (1971) Durrington Walls: excavations 1966–1968. Society of Antiquaries, London Young C, Chadburn A, Bedu I (2009) Stonehenge world heritage site management plan 2009. English Heritage, London

The Neolithic and Bronze Age Monument Complex of Thornborough, North Yorkshire, UK

106

Jan Harding

Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Archaeoastronomical Results . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Discussion . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Conclusion . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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The Neolithic and Bronze Age monument complex of Thornborough in North Yorkshire highlights the significance of heavenly bodies to religious belief and practice. Its investigation by a novel methodology employing virtual reality technology demonstrates alignments with Orion’s Belt and the midwinter sunrise. It is argued that these were deliberate, replicating the seasonal movement of those using the complex and thereby suggesting a close relationship between people’s skyscape and life cycles.

Introduction The impressive prehistoric monument complex of Thornborough in North Yorkshire (Fig. 106.1) possessed remarkable longevity (Harding, in press). The first monument, an early Neolithic round barrow used for the deposition of disarticulated human bone between 3800 and 3600 BC, was built on the edge of a plateau near the River Ure. It was superseded by a middle Neolithic cursus, a giant

J. Harding School of History, Classics and Archaeology, Newcastle University, Newcastle Upon Tyne, UK e-mail: [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_119, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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Fig. 106.1 Location and plan of Thornborough monument complex (J. Harding)

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rectilinear enclosure most likely constructed and used between 3600 and 3200 BC. While its enclosing ditch and bank is architecturally modest, it extends for 1.2 km across the entire width of the plateau and may have been a communal religious center serving widely dispersed groups. It too was superseded in the third millennium BC by three giant double-entranced henges, creating one of the largest interregional “sacred landscapes” of late Neolithic Britain. To build three neighboring enclosures on a shared northwest to southeast alignment is highly unusual, and they are some of the biggest earthen monuments of the era, each of their double ditch and bank circuits enclosing an area some 240 m across. The landscape saw renewed monument building during the Bronze Age with the addition of at least ten round barrows and the erection of two lines of large posts stretching for more than 350 m near the southern henge. These new monuments indicate that the plateau continued as a “sacred landscape” until late in the second millennium BC. Successive monument building was closely connected to long-distance communication and exchange (Harding in press, Chap. 6). Located on the River Ure or what would have been a natural routeway across the Pennine hills which dissect northern England, the complex was well placed as a “staging point” for the easterly circulation of polished stone axes originating in the Cumbrian Mountains and known to have been moved in large numbers to eastern Yorkshire and the westerly circulation of till flint originating from the coast of eastern Yorkshire but widely found to the west of the Pennines (Bradley and Edmonds 1993; Lynch 2005; Manby 1979, pp. 76–77). Thornborough was also well placed for communication and exchange in other directions. Located nearby are three further large double-entranced henges – Nunwick, Hutton Moor, and Cana Barn (Fig. 106.1) – whose distribution is seen to mark part of the “Great North Route” (Vyner 2007) connecting communities along the eastern side of the Pennines (Vyner 2007; Harding in press, Chap. 6). Sited at the confluence of these two vital routeways, Thornborough’s strategic role in interregional relations was closely allied with its development into a “cult center” or place of religious renown. Some of its beliefs, practices, and spiritual associations appear to have been embedded in the heavenly bodies (Harding et al. 2006). Through a novel methodology – employing virtual reality technology to reconstruct these now badly denuded monuments and the program SkyMap Pro v6 to represent the prehistoric sky – it was possible to demonstrate that the interregional movement of people, objects, and resources was symbolically represented and physically orchestrated through the dynamics of the Sun and the stars, each invested with the supernatural and taken to symbolize essential beliefs such as cyclical return and the renewal of the world. This may have been especially important to the builders of the late Neolithic henges, their encircling earthworks originally blocking all but the view above, lifting the worshippers assembled within them closer to this rotating supernatural domain. It seems people’s life cycles, the landscapes across which they moved, and their skyscape were being deliberately drawn together during supra-local festivals.

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Table 106.1 Azimuth and declination of the monuments Monument Northern henge (N) Northern henge (S) Central henge (N) Central henge (S) Southern henge (N) Southern henge (S) Cursus (E) Cursus (W) Double timber avenue (N) Double timber avenue (S) Large posts (SE) Large posts (NW)

Azimuth ( ) 304 to 335 130 to 158 311 to 337 127 to 150 315 to 337 140 to 163 54 to 62 229 to 237 16 196 122 302

Declination ( ) +21 to +34 18 to 30 +25 to +35 16 to 28 +27 to +35 22 to 31 +18 to +22 16 to 20 +37 32 15 +20

Archaeoastronomical Results Only stars with a magnitude of 2.5 or brighter were included in the study given this is a northern hemisphere sky. The Moon was also excluded because of the problems prehistoric peoples surely faced in recording lunar standstills. Nevertheless, there are a large number of correlations between the alignment of Thornborough’s monuments, as viewed from their centers (Table 106.1), and astronomical horizon events. The open eastern end of the middle Neolithic cursus was aligned on the rising of Mirfax and Pollux between 3500 and 3000 BC and its western terminal framed the setting of Alnitak, Alnilam, Mintaka, Shaula, a Lup, k Sco, and Kaus Australis during the same period. Arguably the most striking of these correlations is with the three stars of Orion’s Belt (Alnitak, Alnilam, and Mintaka), one of the most visible and historically significant of stellar constellations (Fig. 106.2). This could be coincidental and therefore meaningless, yet the rising of the same three stars correlates with the alignment formed by two unexcavated crop mark anomalies, or what are possibly large postholes, near the northern end of the double timber avenue, and the early Neolithic round barrow between 3000 and 2500 BC (Fig. 106.3). Hence, there may have been a deliberate association with the constellation, and if so, this could have been symbolically emphasized by the building of three aligned henges. The results for the henges were more complex given their wide entrances and lack of obvious foresights. No fewer than 14 stars rose (a Lup, Aludra, d CMa, e Cen, g Cen, k Sco, Kaus Australis, Mirzam, Nunki, Rigel, Saiph, Shaula, Sirius, and TYC-7892-8679-2) and 10 stars set (Castor, Capella, e Cyg, g Cas, Menkalinan, Mirfax, Pollux, Rasalhague, Sadr, and Schedar) behind the break of slope of the bank terminals themselves or in line with the view of one of the other henge entrances or the outer edge of their earthworks between 3000 and 2000 BC. Whether any of these correlations may have been deliberate depends on when

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Fig. 106.2 View from within cursus of setting of Orion’s Belt at 3500 BC (a) and 3000 BC (b). Copyright # 2008 by the University of Texas Press. All rights reserved (J. Harding)

Fig. 106.3 View along the two large posts of rising of Orion’s Belt at 3000 BC (a) and 2500 BC (b). The more distant early Neolithic round barrow is not shown. Copyright # 2008 by the University of Texas Press. All rights reserved (J. Harding)

exactly the henges were built – something about which there is currently no evidence – but only the risings of Sirius (c 3000 BC), the brightest star in the night sky (Fig. 106.4), and of k Sco/Kaus Australis (c 2500 BC) were framed by the southern entrances of all three henges and only the settings of Rasalhague/Sadr (c 3000 BC) and Schedar (c 2500 BC) framed by the northern entrances of all three

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Fig. 106.4 View at 3000 BC of Sirius and Orion’s Belt from within the northern henge (a), central henge (b), and southern henge (c). Copyright # 2008 by the University of Texas Press. All rights reserved (J. Harding)

henges. The southern entrances of at least the northern and central henges were also aligned upon the winter solstice sunrise during the late Neolithic (Fig. 106.5). The slight variation in the declination of the Sun between 3000 BC and 2000 BC makes little discernible difference. Over this 1000-year period, it first becomes visible on the eastern side of the southern entrance of the northern henge and to the east of center in the southern entrance of the central henge, fully rising at the center of the central henge’s causeway and on the eastern side of the northern henge’s causeway.

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Fig. 106.5 View from within central henge of winter solstice sunrise at 3000 BC (a) and 2000 BC (b). Copyright # 2008 by the University of Texas Press. All rights reserved (J. Harding)

Discussion There is a context for some of these archaeoastronomical associations. During the Neolithic, Orion’s Belt would have risen in the direction of the Yorkshire Wolds – the final destination for many of the Cumbrian polished stone axes beyond which is the source of the Yorkshire till flint – before moving westward and setting behind the central Pennines and the more distant Cumbrian Mountains from which the axes came. By replicating the east–west journey of people, objects, and goods, its movement through the night sky surely resonated with those travelling to and from the complex. Its symbolism could have been even more poignant. Orion’s Belt first became visible for much of the night in mid-September, at a time of year when the landscape was changing. Its appearance – used in historic mythology and folklore around the world to mark or time the social calendar (Aveni 1997; Nilsson 1920; Thorpe 1981) – could herald a new phase in the cosmos’s life-cycle as plants and animals became less plentiful. If this was one of the year’s two “great portals”, then the constellation’s total disappearance from the night sky in March marks the other as the landscape, and the life it supports, starts to rejuvenate. Neolithic communities hardly needed a time-reckoning scheme to keep track of these seasonal transitions or make decisions about when to travel, but by linking their movements, and the

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transportation of goods, to this celestial phenomenon, they were ensuring their lives, their landscapes, and their sky were in harmony with each other. This close relationship between skyscape and life cycles was anchored by the monuments. The striking association of the cursus with Orion’s Belt may have been reproduced by Thornborough’s rather distinctive and unusual development during the late Neolithic. It may be problematic to argue that the three marginally misaligned henges were a physical depiction of the three offset stars of Orion’s Belt, yet the central henge was very deliberately sited over the cursus, perhaps in an attempt to draw upon and manipulate the relationship between this earlier monument and the constellation’s setting. This suggests that a carefully planned and long-term vision – or religious imperative – has been acted out. That a single scheme of symbolic expression was adhered to during both the middle and late Neolithic raises many issues about the relationship between monument building and celestial phenomena and many others about the longevity of belief and memory here. All the same, Orion’s Belt could have been interwoven into the beliefs, practices, and spiritual associations which collectively enlivened the complex and transformed it into a place of special religious poignancy which attracted worshippers from afar. The potential link with the winter solstice in the late Neolithic may reflect a more widely celebrated religious festival (see ▶ Chap. 105, “Stonehenge and its Landscape”; ▶ Chap. 108, “Boyne Valley Tombs”) which had added resonance at Thornborough. Its significance can be understood both practically and symbolically. Despite the poorer weather of the winter season – which would have been especially perilous for east–west travel in Yorkshire given its upland landscapes and swollen waterways – it is likely that many long-distance journeys, such as those connected to the exchange of polished stone axes and flint, were undertaken then. The summer was a busy period as resources like plants required harvesting and animal herds were at their largest and most demanding. Given this, people congregating at Thornborough in the depth of winter is not as surprising as it first appears. There may have also been powerful religious reasons for doing so. If the annual appearance and disappearance of Orion’s Belt concurs with the year’s “great portals” – delineating a time when people travel – then the winter solstice is equidistant between both, offering a neat temporal framework for people’s life cycles. If autumn marks the beginning of the end, then winter is the time when the Sun rises and sets farthest to the south, with those congregating at Thornborough attempting to stop the world falling ever deeper into the grips of winter. By doing so they were ensuring the gradual rejuvenation of their cosmos during the time when Orion is no longer visible. The orientation of the henge’s southern entrances could reflect this keen interest.

Conclusion This interpretation is speculative and should not be treated differently until the archaeoastronomical alignments of the region’s other monuments – notably the henges of Nunwick, Hutton Moor, and Cana Barn – are explored. But by integrating

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archaeoastronomy into the study of the monument complex, it has been possible to move beyond generalized statements about Neolithic cosmology and start developing a more detailed interpretation of people’s “worldview”. Only by considering archaeoastronomy as a normal part of a prehistorian’s armory can we fully appreciate the extent to which the skyscape was an integral part of belief and practice.

Cross-References ▶ Boyne Valley Tombs ▶ Stonehenge and its Landscape

References Aveni AF (1997) Stairways to the stars: skywatching in three great ancient cultures. Cassell Publishers, London Bradley R, Edmonds M (1993) Interpreting the axe trade. Production and exchange in Neolithic Britain. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge Harding J (2013) Cult, religion, and pilgrimage: the neolithic and bronze age monument complex of Thornborough, North Yorkshire. CBA research report 174, Council for British Archaeology, London Harding J, Johnson B, Goodrick G (2006) Neolithic cosmology and the monument complex of Thornborough, North Yorkshire. Archaeoastronomy: Journal of Astronomy in Culture 20:28–53 Lynch H (2005) A study of cross Pennine exchange during the Neolithic. Unpublished PhD thesis, Newcastle University Manby TG (1979) Typology, materials, and distribution of flint and stone axes in Yorkshire. In: McK Clough TH, Cummins WA (eds) Stone axe studies. CBA research report 67, Council for British Archaeology, London, pp 65–81 Nilsson MP (1920) Primitive time-reckoning: a study in the origins and first development of the art of counting time among the primitive and early culture peoples. CWK Gleerup, Lund Thorpe IJ (1981) Ethnoastronomy: its patterns and archaeological implications. In: Ruggles CLN, Whittle AWR (eds) Astronomy and society in Britain during the period 4000–1500 BC, BAR British Series 88. British Archaeological Reports, Oxford, pp 275–288 Vyner B (2007) A great north route in Neolithic and Bronze Age Yorkshire: the evidence of landscape and monuments. Landscapes 1:69–84

Irish Neolithic Tombs in their Landscape

107

Frank Prendergast

Contents Introduction and Case Study Context . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Tomb Typology, Chronology, and Spatial Analysis . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Typology of the Tombs . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Chronological Evidence . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Distribution Evidence . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Clustering Evidence . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Orientation and Archaeoastronomy . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Future Work . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Abstract

This case study mainly encompasses the Neolithic tradition of megalithic tomb building in Ireland and outlines a template methodology and framework for a more “holistic” approach to the archaeoastronomical assessment of measured axial orientations and their possible interpretation. Various approaches and the use of relevant analytical tools are described and supported with examples and selected findings.

Introduction and Case Study Context When a landscape becomes settled, lived in, built upon, and ritualized, then, arguably, it is an amalgamation of what is already formed and encountered in a geological or natural sense with what it has become. In a social sense, landscape

F. Prendergast Spatial Information Sciences, College of Engineering and Built Environment, Dublin Institute of Technology, Dublin, Ireland e-mail: [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_120, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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Fig. 107.1 Landscape elements (After Prendergast 2011)

is therefore multidimensional and can have many layers of interrelated meaning (Fig. 107.1). Any attempt by modern humans to reexperience or interpret the prehistoric past based on these criteria is potentially fraught with constraints that are conditioned by temporal distance, environmental change, and cultural differences. Accordingly, scholars advisedly now approach any investigation of arcane societies from a range of interdisciplinary perspectives, including archaeoastronomy. Particularly during the 1990s, relevant archaeological discourses on the past were principally concerned with the physical relationships between monuments and their landscapes (e.g., Tilley 1994; Bradley 1998). A consideration of their phenomenological attributes (an understanding of the experience) also began to emerge at that time (e.g., Lewis-Williams and Dowson 1993; Thomas 1993). The impetus toward reaching a deeper understanding of how people lived in the prehistoric past, and with reference to criteria such as those shown in Fig. 107.1, continues (e.g., Cooney 2000; Lewis-Williams and Pearce 2005). It follows that where a study is based on archaeoastronomical evidence alone, this risks having a narrowness of perspective and should, ideally, be positioned within broader frameworks that address wider cultural contexts and relevancies (see ▶ Chap. 17, “Presentation of Archaeoastronomy in Introductions to Archaeology”). Thus, for example, in the study of Irish megalithic tombs undertaken by the writer, related themes of enquiry were pursued including: • Spatial attributes • Symbolism in location • Landscape setting and local horizons • Axial orientation and archaeoastronomy • Intervisibility and network structure A detailed exploration of these has arguably provided a holistic interpretation of the likely meaning and symbolic role of the tombs and contributed to the archaeological record and knowledge for the period (see ▶ Chap. 21, “Cultural

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Interpretation of Archaeological Evidence Relating to Astronomy”). At its inception, this project recognized the already known fact that during the Neolithic, four types of tomb coexisted on the island and exhibited affinities and differences as well as chronological and spatial overlap or separation. Accordingly, their morphology, distribution characteristics, and material culture had first to be considered before embarking upon a more forensic examination of one type – the passage tomb. Although outside of the tradition, aspects of the later Bronze Age wedge tombs were also included in the study for reasons of cultural continuity and to provide a more robust comparative geo-statistical analysis of the megalithic tomb building phenomenon in Ireland and beyond.

Tomb Typology, Chronology, and Spatial Analysis Ireland is geologically composed of a central lowland plain of limestone that is surrounded by a discontinuous fringe of predominantly coastal uplands and mountains formed during numerous geological eras and periods (see Fig. 107.5). The island differs from most others by having a natural saucer-shaped center (the central plain) that is often elevationally lower in comparison to the bordering or coastal regions. Thus, frequently, rivers and streams initially flow inland, and this would have helped to create extensive wetlands, especially in the past (Otte 2003, pp. 15–19). Therefore, geomorphology was considered as a relevant environmental factor by the writer in that it probably and, partially, dictated where prehistoric people chose to settle or not, and to build their monuments. Currently, a total of c. 1786 megalithic tombs and related structures are known in Ireland (many will have been destroyed over time by land clearances and farming). These are widely distributed across diverse landscape types. The heights of these monuments range from being at sea level to 857 m in the case of one passage tomb on the summit of Slieve Donard, Co. Down (the highest of its class in Europe). By type, and within each type, there is evidence of clustering as well as dispersed patterns of distribution. Advisedly then, and for reasons of monument selection for research study purposes, their classification, chronology, and distribution are/were a necessary pre- and corequisite to any related archaeoastronomical investigation.

Typology of the Tombs The following typology of the five main classes of tomb is drawn from extensive work already undertaken by others, for example (De Valera 1960, 1965; Herity ´ Rı´orda´in and De Valera 1979; Eogan 1986; O ´ Nualla´in 1989; Cooney and 1974; O Grogan 1999). Figure 107.2 shows the relative frequency of each type. A synthesis of their principal archaeological characteristics is provided below and in Fig. 107.3, for the benefit of the reader who may not be familiar with their form and character.

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Fig. 107.2 Classification and frequency of Irish megalithic tombs (Neolithic and Bronze Age)

Court Tomb While many variants occur, the typical court tomb consists of an elongated (long) trapezoidal cairn of stones that incorporates, at its broader end, an open area or court that is accessed by a short but narrow passage. The court area leads into a roofed burial chamber or gallery that is segmented into two or more (sometimes) corbelled chambers. Where used, corbelling is a building technique that achieves a domed roof. The whole structure is enclosed by a delimiting kerb or a retaining wall (revetment). The burial rite was predominantly cremation, and finds have included round-bottomed shouldered pottery, arrowheads, and scrapers. Portal Tomb The portal tomb consists of two entrance portal stones and a shorter back stone, all of which support an inclined massive capstone that covers the burial chamber. The whole may be enclosed by side stones. This class is related to the court tomb because of the occurrence of a court and/or segmentation of the chamber in some cases. The burial rite and finds are also similar to court tombs. Their original covering long cairns are, in most instances, now denuded. Passage Tomb The passage tomb is constructed within a round cairn surrounded by a delimiting kerb of contiguous stones. The tomb chamber may be circular, rectangular, or polygonal.

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Fig. 107.3 Types of Irish megalithic tombs (a) Portal tomb, Proleek, Co. Louth (image courtesy of Gabriel Cooney) (b) Passage tomb, Knowth 15, Co. Meath (c) Linkardstown Burial (single Neolithic Burial) Knockmaree, Co. Dublin (d) Wedge tomb, Proleek, Co. Louth (For an illustration of a court tomb, see Fig. 26.1 in ▶ Chap. 26, “Techniques of Field Survey”)

Recesses often occur to give the cruciform subtype. An emphasis in the architectural form and depositional finds of the right-hand recess of the main chamber is common. Corbelling is a feature, as is the widespread occurrence of passage tomb art incised or picked on many of the structural stones – internally and externally, hidden and visible. The chamber is accessed by a passage, and in cases where such differentiation is lacking, this defines the simple type. The burial rite was most commonly cremation, and diagnostic finds have included coarse pottery (Carrowkeel ware), bone and antler pins, pendants, beads, and stone balls. The additional use of quartz as a form of decoration was also common. In their landscape setting, they typically occupy locally elevated ground or ridges. Where overlap/mingling with other tomb types (court and/or portal) occurs, altitudinal domination over the others is evident in every case (Prendergast 2011).

Linkardstown Tomb This class of Neolithic monument (also known as a single Neolithic Burial) is associated with a single act of burial rather than the multiple burials that are characteristic of a tomb. Known examples are very few in number.

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Because Linkardstown burials belong to a different tradition, they are not treated ´ Rı´orda´in and here in any detail, but are well described in the literature (e.g., O De Valera 1979).

Wedge Tomb The design of a wedge tomb consists of a long narrow burial gallery that reduces in width from the front to the rear. The roof is formed from stone slabs that are laid transversely in lintel fashion across the gallery. An additional wall may occur outside the line of the chamber wall, and where it does, these are more wedged. An antechamber may occur and be separated from the internal chamber by a septal stone (a stone set on its edge to create a compartment within a chamber). Wedge tombs are chronologically later (Bronze Age) than the other tomb classes and have a claimed affinity with the French alle´es couvertes type tombs. It is unlikely that wedge tombs owe a direct contribution to any of the other Irish megalithic tombs (Brindley and Lanting 1991).

Chronological Evidence With relevance to archaeoastronomy, a definitive chronology to date for the Irish passage tombs is far from complete and is even is less so in the case of the other tomb types. Only a comparatively small number of radiocarbon determinations have been obtained from a restricted number of sites. Although the technique of radiocarbon dating was first developed in 1949 (Libby 1952), its early use on archaeological monuments was often hampered by a lack of suitable dateable material, poor calibration procedures, or rendered inconclusive due to uncertain stratigraphical relationships between samples used for dating and their contexts in a tomb or covering mound. As a result, some of the early dates are often now regarded with suspicion. Over time, however, the technique has become robust (especially where cremated bone is used), and it is now central and fundamental to the construction and interpretation of archaeological chronologies (Bayliss et al. 2004). More recently, Cooney et al. (2011) have statistically modeled all available radiocarbon dates for the Irish megalithic tombs in a Bayesian framework (a branch of statistics that uses subjective probability). Such a formal approach to chronological modeling overcomes the inherent weakness of empirical commentary on radiocarbon dates. That work has now provided limited but more secure estimates of date ranges for each of the tomb building traditions. In the simplified model of tomb construction dates shown in Fig. 107.4, a probable terminus post quem (date after which) and terminus ante quem (date before which) for each tomb tradition are shown horizontally ordered. The likely sequence of tomb building by type is shown vertically ordered. With the exception of wedge tombs, these data would underpin the prevailing archaeological view that all of the tomb types exhibit a degree of overlap in a temporal sense and that the passage tomb tradition survived into the early part of the third millennium BC. Chronological modeling is thus crucial to obtaining a more secure interpretation of construction and deposition practices in the past. For archaeoastronomy, it is

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Fig. 107.4 Chronology and building sequence of Irish megalithic tombs (Horizontal axis: probable chronological sequence for Irish Neolithic and Bronze Age tombs (Brindley 1995; Cooney and Grogan 1999; O’ Brien 1999; Cooney 2000; Cooney et al. 2011). Vertical axis: probable building sequence model (Brindley and Lanting 1991; Bergh 1995))

used in the interpretation of site-based astronomical declinations linked to structural axis orientation, in generating realistic sky scenes of date in a virtual planetarium environment, and for contextualizing any insights into the possible ritual, calendrical, or cosmological attributes of a site, monument, or a culture.

Distribution Evidence The spatial analysis of tomb distributions summarized here is drawn from a more comprehensive geo-statistical analysis of their attributes undertaken in a GIS (Geographical Information System). Previous studies by others have mostly approached the issue of spatial analysis at a local/regional level rather than on an island-wide scale for each class. Where broader studies have been undertaken, those have not considered/integrated tomb location (in 3D) with axial orientation, archaeoastronomical findings, monument intervisibility, and network structure. As an example, the distribution patterns of the four main types of Irish megalithic tombs are shown in Fig. 107.5. While previously known, it is clear from these that the Neolithic court tombs exhibit a strong northerly bias. Portal tombs are also concentrated in the northern half of the island as well as in the southeast region. The majority of passage tombs are seen to occur along, or north of, an axial line that trends northwest/southeast. Their highest concentration is encountered in counties Sligo and Meath and in the more dispersed clusters found in the Dublin and Wicklow mountains. The west and south of the island are largely devoid of this

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Fig. 107.5 Distribution maps of Irish megalithic tombs (a) Neolithic court tombs (n ¼ 414) (b) Neolithic portal tombs (n ¼ 191) (c) Neolithic passage tombs (n ¼ 220) (d) Bronze Age Wedge tombs (n ¼ 566) (The maps are based on the Shuttle Radar Topography Mission coverage of Ireland (available at http://www2.jpl.nasa.gov/srtm/ireland.html). The original image was georeferenced by the writer and then used to locate each tomb class using ESRI ® ArcMapTM 10. The Linkardstown type and the unclassified tombs/structures are not shown. The locations of all passage tombs were recorded during fieldwork while the locations of the other types were procured from existing inventory sources, especially at www.archaeology.ie)

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type, except for a few isolated cases. At a local scale, tombs of different classes are sometimes encountered in the same landscape. Bronze Age wedge tombs are largely absent from the midlands and eastern regions. Overall, areas of spatial overlap and exclusion between the different traditions can be seen and spatially analyzed. Topographies that are devoid of any evidence of tomb building are also apparent. In Fig. 107.5, there is a general correlation between the region lacking in tombs and the known extent of peatland cover in the prehistoric past. This type of wetland is an acid and inhospitable environment that is characterized by waterlogged ground, large expanses of lakes, a high prevalence of biting insects, soils of low nutrient value, fewer mature trees, and a paucity of wildlife and fruit-bearing trees that could sustain a community. It is also known that during the era of megalithic tomb building, the prevailing climate was significantly wetter. Human settlement and tomb building thus probably avoided such elevationally lower inland areas. However, any such conclusions regarding the increased likelihood of tomb building and habitation in the uplands, and of their absence from the lowlands, must be treated with caution. Exceptions to the rule exist as well as the evidence for tomb destruction in some lowland areas due to agricultural activities. Furthermore, the lack of evidence of tombs and especially timber houses at lower elevations could probably be due more to our inability to locate/detect them rather than to their lack of existence in the Neolithic.

Clustering Evidence Following the creation of spatial databases for each tomb class in a GIS, cluster analysis of these data in plan and in height was undertaken using a range of statistical tools and approaches. This allowed for a quantitative and qualitative comparative assessment of the degree and scale of this phenomenon. Spatial point pattern methods of analysis (Ripley’s K-coefficient and point density methods) proved particularly effective for these tasks. In Fig. 107.6, for example, the extent of horizontal clustering detected among the Irish passage tombs is shown. Where such methodologies are similarly applied to the other types of tomb, these have confirmed the existence of clusters already known to archaeologists and, significantly, have identified (and ranked in terms of scale) previously unknown occurrences of the phenomenon. For comparison, passage tombs in the Channel Islands and Orkney were similarly analyzed and found not to cluster in this manner. Overall, this has allowed important and continuing contributions on the archaeological narrative of the period to be made.

Orientation and Archaeoastronomy A full archaeoastronomical survey was undertaken by the writer at every known Irish passage tomb (▶ Chap. 26, “Techniques of Field Survey”). Although 220 such

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Fig. 107.6 Irish Passage tomb cluster analysis

sites are currently known, tombs with an extant passage account for only 134 of the total due to their destruction (partial or otherwise) in the past. The axial orientations of these are shown in Fig. 107.7. For comparison, the orientations of a subgroup of the court tomb type are also shown. Because of their apparently full radial spread on

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Fig. 107.7 Axial azimuths of Irish megalithic tombs (court and passage types) (a) Single-court type tombs (n ¼ 173) after De Valera 1960, Plate XXXV; (b) Passage tombs (n ¼ 134)

the compass in each case, these data aptly demonstrate the interpretative challenges that confront the archaeoastronomer, especially where no obvious pattern or interpretation may be initially obvious. At a national scale, any detailed analysis of the orientations and astronomical declinations of the court tombs or portal tombs has not been undertaken to date. Limited studies of wedge tomb orientations clearly show those to have a restricted ´ Nualla´in 1989, range between south-southwest and north-northwest (O pp. 105–109). In the case of passage tombs, however, a comprehensive study by the writer of their orientations and declinations has been undertaken. As previously stated, this was broadened to include landscape, ornament, architecture, and intervisibility as relevant factors in the study (▶ Chap. 27, “Analyzing orientations”). These approaches have yielded statistically significant findings that can, arguably, assist in the interpretation of the variability observed in their orientation. One of those outcomes is considered here. Twenty-four passage tombs were indentified from the total of 134 as having a potentially significant/interesting solar or lunar astronomical declination. Statistically, there is very significant evidence that, of these, an alignment toward sunrise/ sunset at the solstices may have been favored over moonrise or moonset at the (southern) major lunar standstill limit (chi-square test ¼ 10.667 with 1 degree of freedom, two-tailed P value ¼ 0.001). As a consequence, the insignificant number of detected lunar alignments (no cases of an alignment on the northern major lunar standstill limit were found) may have been fortuitous (Fig. 107.8). Furthermore, there is additional statistically significant evidence of tomb alignment toward the rising/setting positions of the sun at the solstices in comparison to the equivalent at the equinoxes (chi-square test ¼ 5.000 with 1 degrees of freedom, two-tailed P value ¼ 0.025). Such findings would suggest that among the Irish

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Fig. 107.8 Solar and lunar declinations of Irish passage tombs. SSSR summer solstice sunrise, EQSR equinox sunrise (vernal/autumnal), WSSR winter solstice sunrise, WSSS winter solstice sunset, EQSS equinox sunset, SSSS summer solstice sunset, S Maj MR Moonrise at the southern major standstill limit, S Maj MS Moonset at the southern major standstill limit

passage tombs at least, there is no significant evidence of any alignment on the equinoctial positions of sunrise or sunset (▶ Chap. 2, “Calendars and Astronomy”). When passage and court tomb orientations are compared with those of their megalithic counterparts in the western Mediterranean, the Irish orientations are in marked contrast to the perceived regional clustering and restricted azimuthal ranges encountered there (Hoskin 2001 and ▶ Chap. 95, “Patterns of Orientation in the Megalithic Tombs in the Western Mediterranean”). To this writer, such differences are evidence of local and regional expressions of specific and different cultural traditions and practices. These data will seed future comparative studies.

Future Work It has been shown here that the island of Ireland possesses a rich and typologically varied prehistoric tradition of megalithic tomb building and an extensive archaeological record of an associated material culture. Where these are considered alongside the landscape settings and, for example, the high concentration of elaborate

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ornament (symbolic art) in the case of the passage tombs, these data provide unique opportunities for scholars to continue to undertake research in this field. As interdisciplinary approaches and technologies are developed and applied, these can sustain future quests for innovative approaches and new knowledge – at a regional or a local level – and as exemplified elsewhere in this volume (▶ Chap. 108, “Boyne Valley Tombs”).

Cross-References ▶ Analyzing orientations ▶ Boyne Valley Tombs ▶ Calendars and Astronomy ▶ Cultural Interpretation of Archaeological Evidence Relating to Astronomy ▶ Patterns of Orientation in the Megalithic Tombs of the Western Mediterranean ▶ Presentation of Archaeoastronomy in Introductions to Archaeology ▶ Techniques of Field Survey

References Bayliss A, Mc Cormac G, Van Der Plicht H (2004) An illustrated guide to measuring radiocarbon from archaeological samples. Phys Educ 39(2):137–144 Bergh S (1995) Landscape of the monuments: a study of the passage tombs in the Cuil Irra region, Co. Sligo, Ireland. Risantikvarieambetet, Stockholm Bradley R (1998) The significance of monuments: on the shaping of human experience in Neolithic and Bronze Age Europe. Routledge, London Brindley AL (1995) Radiocarbon, chronology and the bronze age. In: Waddell J, Twohig ES et al (eds) Ireland in the bronze age: proceedings of the Dublin conference, April 1995. The Stationery Office, Dublin Brindley AL, Lanting JN (1991) Radiocarbon dates from wedge tombs. J Irish Archaeol 6:19–26 Cooney G (2000) Landscapes of neolithic Ireland. Routledge, London Cooney G, Grogan E (1999) Irish prehistory: a social perspective. Wordwell, Dublin Cooney G, Bayliss A, Healy F, Whittle AWR, Danaher E, Lydia C, Mallory J, Smyth J, Kador T, O’Sullivan M (2011) Ireland. In: Whittle AWR, Healy F et al (eds) Gathering time: dating the early neolithic enclosures of Southern Britain and Ireland. Oxbow Books, Oxford De Valera R (1960) The court cairns of Ireland. Proc R Irish Acad 60C(2):9–140 De Valera R (1965) Transeptal court cairns. J R Soc Antiq Irel 95(1/2):5–37 Eogan G (1986) Knowth and the passage-tombs of Ireland. Thames and Hudson, London Herity M (1974) Irish passage graves: neolithic tomb-builders in Ireland and Britain 2500 B.C. Irish University Press, Dublin Hoskin MA (2001) Tombs, temples and their orientations. Ocarina Books, Bognor Regis Lewis-Williams JD, Dowson TA (1993) On vision and power in the neolithic: evidence from the decorated monuments. Curr Anthropol 34(1):55–65 Lewis-Williams JD, Pearce DG (2005) Inside the Neolithic mind: consciousness, cosmos and the realm of the gods. Thames and Hudson, London Libby WF (1952) Radiocarbon dating. University of Chicago Press, Chicago ´ Nualla´in SN (1989) Survey of the megalithic tombs of Ireland, 5th edn. Stationery Office, O Dublin

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´ Rı´orda´in SP, De Valera R (1979) Antiquities of the Irish countryside. Routledge, London/ O New York O’ Brien W (1999) Sacred ground: megalithic tombs in coastal south-west Ireland. Department of Archaeology, National University of Ireland, Galway Otte ML (ed) (2003) Wetlands of Ireland: distribution, ecology, uses and economic value. University College Dublin Press, Dublin Prendergast F (2011) Linked landscapes: spatial, archaeoastronomical and social network analysis of the Irish passage Tomb tradition. Ph.D. thesis, University College Dublin Thomas J (1993) The politics of vision and the archaeologies of landscape. In: Bender B (ed) Landscape: politics and perspectives. Berg, Oxford/Providence RI Tilley C (1994) A phenomenology of landscape: places, paths, and monuments. Berg, Oxford/ Providence RI

Boyne Valley Tombs

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Frank Prendergast

Contents The Boyne Valley Landscape . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Natural and Cultural Landscapes . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Archaeological Description . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Archaeoastronomy . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Newgrange . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Abstract

The passage tombs of the Boyne Valley exhibit the greatest level of development of the megalithic tomb building tradition in Ireland in terms of their morphology, embellishment, burial tradition, grave goods, clustering, and landscape siting. This section examines these characteristics and gives a summary archaeoastronomical appraisal of their orientation and detected astronomical alignment.

The Boyne Valley Landscape Elsewhere in this volume (see ▶ Chap. 107, “Irish Neolithic Tombs in Their Landscape”), the typologies and distributions of Irish and European megalithic tombs have been described. In this case study of the Boyne Valley region in mideast Ireland, the characteristics of its passage tombs are examined in greater detail. Since 1993, UNESCO (United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization) has designated the “Archaeological Ensemble of the Bend of the Boyne”

F. Prendergast Spatial Information Sciences, College of Engineering and Built Environment, Dublin Institute of Technology, Dublin, Ireland e-mail: [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_121, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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as an inscribed property on the World Heritage List (http://whc.unesco.org/en/ list/659 and see http://www.worldheritageireland.ie/). Furthermore, it states “The passage tomb complex represents a spectacular survival of the embodiment of a set of ideas and beliefs of outstanding historical significance unequalled in its counterparts throughout the rest of Europe”. Additionally, it adds “Nowhere else in the world is found the continuity of settlement and activity associated with a megalithic cemetery such as that which exists at Bru´gh na Bo´inne”. In Section 6.2.4 of the Bru´ na Bo´inne World Heritage Site Management Plan (Department of Community, Rural and Gaeltacht Affairs 2002), a commitment to facilitate archaeoastronomical research is given, consistent with the broader aims of the UNESCO designation for the area. Support for continuing research is reaffirmed in the Bru´ na Bo´inne World Heritage Site Research Framework (Smyth 2009), and it cites relevant archaeoastronomical studies by Patrick (1974), Ray (1989), and Prendergast (1991). Figure 108.1 illustrates the spatial distribution of the Boyne Valley passage tombs, adjacent related mounds, UNESCO core and buffer zones, relevant bedrock geology, landforms, and extant field boundaries. The topographical data was acquired by LiDAR (Light Detection and Ranging) surveys flown in 2007. There is evidence of human settlement in the Boyne Valley in the later Mesolithic (Cooney 2000, p. 30), but the most striking cultural impact on this landscape arguably occurred during the Neolithic.

Natural and Cultural Landscapes Why this particular section of the River Boyne was selected as the preferred location for the building of the tombs is a complex question and one that requires detailed consideration and from a broad range of perspectives (e.g., see Mitchell 1997). The bedrock zones exhibit a striking south-northeast/north-southwest orientation. The terminal moraines (loose material carried by glaciers), which are a legacy of the most recent glaciation, have a similar orientation and reflect the direction of the edges of the retreating ice sheets in c. 13000 BP. Both have contributed to the formation of the elevated ridges lying to the north of the river valley (see Stout 1997, p. 8). The majority of the monuments were constructed on the summits of such ridges – a feature that is one of a number of defining characteristics of the passage tomb building tradition throughout Ireland. This tendency toward elevated siting is also evident at Townley Hall where a passage tomb is similarly situated on a low ridge. Curiously, none of the Boyne Valley tombs are located on the significantly higher and more conspicuous summits of Redmountain and Donore Hill lying to the south and east, respectively (see Fig. 108.1). The important question of why such elevationally higher landscapes were apparently avoided for building and burial purposes in favor of the comparatively hidden Boyne Valley might be partially explained by an assessment of the local geology, geomorphology and rivers in conjunction with relevant geospatial data (contours and locations). Greywacke (a type of coarse sandstone) was extensively used as the preferred lithic material in the making of the tombs. Although hard-wearing, the surfaces of

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Fig. 108.1 The Boyne Valley landscape and Neolithic monuments. The archaeological complex consists of 38 monuments, the largest of which are the great tombs of Newgrange, Knowth, and Dowth. The smaller tombs found in the same townlands are assigned an additional unique alpha or numeric code so as differentiate those from the three main cairns (see Table 108.1). The passage tomb at Ardmulchan which lies 8.1 km west-southwest of the core area (outside the limits of the map) is also included in this group. This tomb is argued as being part of the complex due to its very close proximity (120 m) to the River Boyne. The term “mound” is used to describe unexcavated cairns, but, given their form and siting, these probably contain a passage tomb. The grid units of the plan are in meters. The map was compiled in ESRI ® ArcMapTM 10 using a LiDAR image of the area (Courtesy of the Discovery Programme www.discoveryprogramme.ie/). The locations of the monuments as measured by the writer, and the LiDAR image, are shown projected onto the Irish ITM Coordinate Reference System. Tomb and mound symbols are not drawn to scale. The geological bedrock data was supplied by the Geological Survey of Ireland in ESRI shapefile format (www.gsi.ie). The inset map of Ireland shows the national distribution of the known 220 passage tombs and the area of the larger scale map

this stone could be embellished with megalithic art by the technique of picking and incising using the available technology of the time (see Fig. 108.2). In Fig. 108.1, greywacke is shown to only occur north of the river and in a north-eastward direction toward the coast at Clogherhead, some 20 km distant. The megaliths used in the making of the tombs were therefore locally quarried. The hewn blocks of stone were then transported to the Boyne Valley either by log-rolling or on simply constructed watercraft (a distance of 15 km up-river from the coast) toward their final destination. The task of moving the most massive blocks must have favored following a route with the least uphill gradient so as to minimize the human effort required. In support of this argument, sandstone has a mass of c. 2.5 t per m3

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Fig. 108.2 Art and architecture at Newgrange and Knowth. (a) The image shows the decorated entrance kerbstone K1 and the delimiting contiguous kerb (there are a total of 97 greywacke stones in the kerb), the entrance and door stone, and the roof-box structure bounded by an upper and a lower lintel stone (see Fig. 108.8). Quartz is extensively used on the restored facade. (b) The entrance area to the western tomb at Knowth (see Fig. 108.3). The elements include a sandstone standing pillar stone, quartz pavement, decorated entrance kerbstone (in the rectilinear style), and the kerb of contiguous greywacke stones. A modern protective concrete lintel is shown above the kerb. (c) The lavishly decorated kerbstone K15 on the eastern side of Knowth. Variations of this complex/compound motif occur elsewhere in the passage tomb repertoire, i.e., on some of the structural stones at Knowth, Knowth 15, Newgrange, and at the passage tomb X1 on the periphery of the Loughcrew complex which is 40 km to the west of Knowth (Image courtesy of the National Monuments Service Photographic Unit). (d) The carved basin stone located in the larger righthand recess of the eastern tomb at Knowth (Image courtesy of Ken Williams). The inner surface of the basin stone is also decorated

and the entrance kerbstone to Newgrange (see Fig. 108.2a) weighs c. 15 t. Furthermore, the height difference between the bed of the River Boyne and the summits of Redmountain and Donore Hill is more than 100 m in each case (see Fig. 108.1). This could explain the preferred siting on the tombs on the more modest prominences that occur on the same side of the river as the source of the stone. West of the location of the tombs, the course of the River Boyne is predominantly easterly but is deflected by higher topographical glacial landforms at Knowth into what has become known as the “Bend of the Boyne”. Interestingly, the tomb-bearing landscape here appears to be islandized by the River Mattock to the north. Lewis-Williams and Pearce (2005, p. 201) refers to this apparent enclosure by water as the symbolic containment of a “major ritual center”. Collectively, these

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data can provide insights into the site selection processes for tomb building at the Bend of the Boyne, and whose legacy is an archaeological complex of national and global uniqueness and importance.

Archaeological Description Following decades of intensive archaeological excavation that first began in the late 1960s (e.g., Eogan 1961, 1984, 1986; O’ Kelly 1982) and which have continued until recently (Eogan and Cleary forthcoming), the valley currently has 38 known monuments. At a site summary level, these are comprised of: • 20 full cairns • 11 partial cairns • 7 destroyed cairns The cairns are round or oval in plan. Here, a cairn is defined as a deliberately constructed pile of stones and earth, often forming a burial mound or barrow. Eight of the cairns are unopened and currently are classified as mounds. If ever excavated, the total number of passage tombs in the Boyne Valley will likely increase. By classification there are 32 passage tombs and the largest cairns at Knowth and Dowth each have two tombs (see Figs. 108.3 and 108.5). Cairns that cover known passage tombs are delimited by a full or partial kerb of contiguous stones – a defining characteristic of the class. The morphology of the burial chambers is described as: • 9 cruciform • 4 polygonal • 11 undifferentiated, i.e., showing no differentiation between passage and burial chamber (the passage leading to the Knowth western tomb is also angled) • 16 undetermined (from their poor condition or lack of excavation) In the case of seven of the nine cruciform chambers, the right-hand recess (as the tomb is entered) is discernibly larger than the left-hand recess, and this suggests a deliberate architectural emphasis in design terms. The use of quartz as a fac¸ade or pavement material is evident at nine of the tombs. Megalithic art occurs on the structural stones of 12 tombs, 4 have a corbelled roof, and there are 28 measurable axial orientations (because the angled passage of Knowth west was constructed in two phases, it has an unusual double orientation). Table 108.1 provides a summary of the corpus of tombs and their characteristics. Some of the archaeological attributes at the Newgrange and Knowth tombs are illustrated in Fig. 108.2. A plan of Knowth passage tomb and its satellites is shown in Fig. 108.3. The main tomb is delimited by 127 kerbstones, many of which are inscribed with megalithic art. Current archaeological thinking suggests that Knowth consists of an inner and outer core (Tomb 1C and 1B in Fig. 108.3). Furthermore, the smaller Tomb 1B (c. 38 m in diameter) is thought to predate the outer Tomb 1C (the diameter is c. 81 m east-west and c. 87 m north-south). The pronounced angle in the passage of the western tomb at Knowth coincides with the boundary of Tomb 1B/1C

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Table 108.1 Boyne Valley tombs and mounds Townland Ardmulchan Dowth Dowth Dowth Dowth Dowth Dowth Knowth Knowth Knowth Knowth Knowth Knowth Knowth Knowth Knowth Knowth Knowth Knowth Knowth Knowth Knowth Knowth Knowth Knowth Knowth Knowth Knowth Monknewtown Newgrange Newgrange Newgrange Newgrange Newgrange Newgrange Newgrange Newgrange Townley Hall

SMR No. ME025-006—— ME019-040—— ME019-042—— ME019-043—— ME020-017—— ME020-012—— ME020-013—— ME019-030001 ME019-030002– ME019-030003– ME019-030004– ME019-030005– ME019-030006– ME019-030007– ME019-030008– ME019-030009– ME019-030010– ME019-030011– ME019-030012– ME019-030013– ME019-030014– ME019-030015– ME019-030016– ME019-030017– ME019-030018– Not listed Not listed Not listed ME019-017—— ME019-045—— ME019-046003– ME019-046001– ME019-044004– ME019-044003– ME019-049001– ME019-051—— ME019-058001– LH024-008002–

Site No. – F H E – I J 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 – – L K Z Z1 A U B A

Classification Passage tomb4 Mound4 Mound4 Mound4 Passage tomb 1, 2 Mound4 Passage tomb2 Passage tomb 1, 3 Passage tomb1 Passage tomb3 Passage tomb3 Passage tomb4 Passage tomb1 Passage tomb3 Passage tomb3 Passage tomb1 Passage tomb3 Passage tomb4 Passage tomb3 Passage tomb3 Passage tomb3 Passage tomb3 Passage tomb3 Passage tomb1 Passage tomb1 Passage tomb4 Passage tomb4 Passage tomb4 Mound4 Passage tomb1 Passage tomb1 Passage tomb2 Passage tomb4 Passage tomb4 Mound4 Mound4 Mound4 Passage tomb2

Easting 691820 701953 702102 701353 702311 702909 702954 699607 699636 699619 699575 699558 699557 699453 699565 699546 699556 699563 699573 699609 699623 699646 699644 699662 699670 699679 699597 699715 700835 700675 700579 700546 700749 700799 701057 701324 701493 702216

Northing 771196 773285 773344 773019 773785 773990 773935 773456 773388 773394 773388 773411 773434 773408 773453 773466 773482 773493 773505 773502 773499 773498 773481 773471 773467 773423 773369 773498 775440 772749 772727 772725 772744 772750 772321 772772 772139 775724

Column 1: Name of townland; Column 2: National inventory number (SMR sites and monuments record); Column 3: Site excavation number; Column 4: Archaeological classification; Columns 5 and 6: Location in the Irish ITM Reference System (meters). The source of the data in cols. 1, 2, and 4 is http://webgis.archaeology.ie/NationalMonuments/ accessed 2012 November 14. The data in cols. 5 and 6 were measured by the writer. In column 4, the numerical suffix denotes the following tomb morphologies: 1, cruciform burial chamber; 2, polygonal burial chamber; 3, undifferentiated burial chamber; 4, chamber morphology undetermined

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Fig. 108.3 Plan of the Knowth passage tomb complex and axial orientations. The eastern and western tombs of Knowth 1 are not connected. The remains of a recently discovered tomb (21) occur c. 60 m to the northeast of Knowth 17 (the location is just outside the eastern limits of the plan but is given in Table 108.1). The base LiDAR image is courtesy of the Discovery Programme with additions and georeferencing undertaken by the writer. The grid units of the plan are in meters

(Eogan and Cleary forthcoming; Prendergast and Ray forthcoming), and this could explain such a deviation. Within the bone assemblage recovered at the tomb, the evidence for burial deposits prior to c. 3200 BC is ambiguous, but multiple other dating determinations indicate that most funerary activity at the site occurred from 3200 BC to 2900 BC (K. Cleary, 2012 Nov 14, personal communication). Archaeological assessment of the building sequence of the smaller satellite tombs by Eogan (1984) and Eogan and Cleary (forthcoming) suggests that, stratigraphically, Tombs 13, 16, and (possibly) Tomb 8 predated Tomb 1C, while Tomb 17 postdated it. In the opinion of the writer, the pattern of orientations and the siting and size of the tombs shown in Fig. 108.3 could also suggest that many of these smaller tombs were deliberately aligned toward the central Tomb 1B, and this could suggest a degree of contemporaneity. Equally, the alignment of the smaller tombs may have been toward a sacred central ritual space that predated the building of Tomb 1B. Interestingly, the ground occupying the center of the complex is marginally more elevated here. Both of these observations are consistent with the findings obtained at many of the other Irish passage tombs (Prendergast 2011) where a statistically significant number of their passages are locally directed at elevationally higher intervisible tombs. At Knowth, the pattern of directed alignment toward a probable ritual center is striking and without parallel in the Irish megalithic tradition, or possibly elsewhere. A significant proportion of all passage tomb orientations in Ireland can be explained by this phenomenon – but on a much lesser scale than occurs at Knowth. This could suggest that regionally different

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Fig. 108.4 Plan of the Newgrange passage tomb and cairn. The distance from the inside of the entrance roofbox structure (see Fig. 108.8) to the back-stone of the end recess is 20.6 m. Thus, the length of the passage and the chamber represents only 26% of the total diameter of the mound where measured in that direction. If treated as a truncated cone, the volume of the cairn is calculated to be c. 30,600 m3. As at Knowth and Dowth, the cairn is mainly comprised of small water-rolled stones capped with layers of turves and boulder clay (O’ Kelly 1982, 88). The grid units of the plan are in meters

cultural traditions and imperatives were in operation here and that are in marked contrast with the tomb building traditions observed by others in the Mediterranean area (see section “Archaeoastronomy”). Figure 108.4 illustrates the largest of five passage tombs in the townland of Newgrange. The covering cairn has a greatest diameter of 86m and a height of c. 10 m and replicates the gigantic proportions encountered at Knowth and Dowth. The cairn is oval in plan and has a dominant axis of symmetry that intersects the two most elaborately decorated stones in the kerb, i.e., K1 (the entrance stone) and K57. The passage and burial chamber coincide with this axis. The orientation of the passage is toward winter solstice sunrise behind Redmountain (see section “Archaeoastronomy”). The entrance passage leads to a cruciform chamber containing a basin stone in each of its three recesses. The largest recess occurs on the right-hand side, i.e., as the chamber is entered. Externally, adjacent archaeological features include an enclosing ring of Early Bronze Age standing stones, the largest of which (GC1, GC-1, GC-2) occur in front of the entrance kerbstone K1. Excavations have also discovered a nearby pit circle and a cursus (a type of ceremonial avenue). Collectively, these indicate prolonged but episodic human activity at the site. Figure 108.5 illustrates the two tombs and the cairn at Dowth which is of similar composition, diameter, and height to those at Newgrange and Knowth. Here, the 53 known kerbstones are shown. Archaeological finds recovered from the limited excavations undertaken at this site suggest episodic and multi-period occupation and use

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Plan West

East

Section

t

Eas

Souterrain Disturbed mound t Wes

Main chamber

Southernmost chamber N 15m

Fig. 108.5 Section and plan of Dowth passage tomb and cairn (Courtesy of G. Stout). Some of the cairn material was removed during the early twentieth century for local road building (the destruction is apparent in the cross-section). Dowth south chamber has a single recess on the righthand side of the burial chamber. Dowth north (main chamber) has a cruciform tomb with the larger recess on the right-hand side and an additional burial structure. The souterrain (an underground stone-built structure dating from the Iron Age and likely used for storage, refuge, or for cult purposes) is dated to the early Christian period; this structure destroyed part of the passage and entrance. The orientation of the southern tomb is such that it admits light from the setting sun at winter solstice although the phenomenon occurs for an extended period of time (several weeks) because of the wide aperture and short length of the passage (see section “Archaeoastronomy”)

(Stout 2002, pp. 54–57). Both burial chambers are located on the western side of the cairn, and it is conceivable that such a large structure may contain other tombs. In terms of scale, the three great cairns of Newgrange, Knowth, and Dowth significantly exceed all others in the Boyne Valley or beyond.

Archaeoastronomy Of the surviving 220 Irish passage tombs, 138 (63%) have an extant passage and a measurable axial orientation. Cluster and other forms of analysis of those have been undertaken as part of a broader and continuing investigation of Irish passage

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Fig. 108.6 Axial azimuths of the Boyne Valley tombs. The astronomical declinations were determined using measured locations, horizon altitudes, and azimuths. Knowth 15 may have been built before the enlargement of Knowth 1 (Tomb 1C). If so, then its alignment toward the setting sun at the winter solstice as proposed here may be valid

tombs (Prendergast 2011). The result of that work includes the finding that 24 (11% of all tombs or 17% of those with extant passages) can be argued as having an astronomically significant solar or lunar alignment with varying degrees of goodness-of-fit in terms of their declination (see Fig. 107.8, ▶ Chap. 107, “Irish Neolithic Tombs in their Landscape”). The ratio between solar and lunar alignments is 5:1, and there are only two instances where an equinoctial alignment can be identified or argued. However, statistical analysis suggests that the lunar and

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Fig. 108.7 Winter solstice at Newgrange. The deformation of the orthostats from their presumed original upright position is evident. This has the effect of cropping the amount of light that can now penetrate into the chamber floor through the roof-box structure. Although the door stone is now positioned to one side to allow public access (see Fig. 108.2), it may have been used to seal the tomb in the Neolithic (Image courtesy of Ken Williams)

equinoctial alignments are fortuitous and should be rejected (see ▶ Chap. 24, “Nature and Analysis of Material Evidence Relevant to Archaeoastronomy”; ▶ Chap. 25, “Best practice for evaluating the astronomical significance of archaeological sites”). Figure 108.6 illustrates the orientations of the Boyne Valley tombs and, where appropriate, their astronomical declination and interpretation. Such an evenly dispersed pattern of orientation is consistent with that encountered among the Irish passage tombs and court tombs (see Fig. 107.7, ▶ Chap. 107, “Irish Neolithic Tombs in Their Landscape”). This is in marked contrast to what has been found to prevail among the prehistoric tombs of the western Mediterranean (Hoskin 2001, 2002, and see ▶ Chap. 95, “Patterns of Orientation in the Megalithic Tombs in the Western Mediterranean”). There, the evidence is for regional clustering and within an arc that approximately extends from east to west. In the Boyne Valley, much of the variation in orientation can be accounted for by the spatial clustering and the directed orientation of the satellite tombs surrounding the Knowth cairn. At Knowth, the claimed equinoctial alignments of the eastern passage and the outer section of the western passage (Eogan 1986, p. 178) have now been discounted (Prendergast and Ray, forthcoming). We show that the use of approximate or erroneous north points and preliminary archaeological surveys and drawings are the likely cause of such claims.

Newgrange The number of passage tombs that exhibit an astronomical alignment is nationally small, but the case for Newgrange being deliberately “engineered” for this purpose is compelling. From the floor of the chamber, the apparent field of view of the horizon through the roof-box structure is estimated to have been c. 2 horizontally

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Fig. 108.8 (continued)

F. Prendergast

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in the Neolithic (see Fig. 108.8). Today, that view is horizontally cropped to c. 0 .5 due to the inward leaning of some of the passage orthostats (upright stone lining a passage). The apparent field of view in the vertical has not changed and is X minus 1 (Spalinger 2013; Berlev 1999). This explains most of the confusion associated with some festivities, and the same names applied to the Egyptian months: 1. The feast of Wep-renpet took place on the first day of lunar month I. With the transference of month names, Wep-renpet, the name of that lunar month, was applied to civil month XII. 2. The eponymous feast of Ka-her-ka took place in lunar month V, but with this transference civil month IV was named Ka-her-ka. 3. The festival of Ernouthis, Renenutet, still oc- curred in civil month IX; but the name of civil month VIII was Pharmuthi, derived from Renen- utet. 4. Civil month III, Hathor, has a name derived from the eponymous feast Hathor, which took place in the fourth civil month. 5. The feast of Rekeh-wer, “Great Heat”, is at least once located on day one of civil month VII, but the name of civil month VI was Rekeh-wer (Luft 1992, pp. 82–83). Although some portions of this new theory remain uncertain, it at least explains the importance of Wep-renpet day 9 in Egyptian history as the original New Year’s Day, the one “of the ancestors” (Parker 1950, p. 45; Sauneron 1962, pp. 11, 25, and 147; Depuydt 2003; Spalinger 2013). The festival calendar in Esna places the event of Wep-renpet in both civil month I (which was called Thoth as the time) and, in a second reference, in the month Re-Harachty. The latter seem at first to be confusing because this month should refer to civil month XII. Was not the development of the name of that last civil month as follows: Wep-renpet > Mesut-Re > Mesore? And Mesore means “the birst of (the sun god) Re”? (Gardiner 1906; Depuydt 1997); Parker attempted a rebuttal to Gardiner’s later attack, but it was not as conclusive as he wished (Parker 1955, 1957; Depuydt 1999). But the apparent anomaly is due to the factors surrounding the rise of the Civil Calendar wherein the 1-month de´calage must be considered. If so, then on day 9 of a first month, the heliacal rising of Sothis was used to determine the first ever civil day. P. Ebers, dated to regnal year nine of Amenhotep I, begins with the month Wep-renpet day nine and links the temporal setting with the heliacal rising of Sothis (Spalinger 2011). It seems to be lunar oriented because the names of the months are given, and not their expected civil abbreviations, and there are no overt epagomenals, unless they are hidden. The list of 12 months, with the reiteration of peret Sopdet (heliacal rising of Sothis) month by month, indicates the course of the dog star throughout its own year, the so-called Great Year, the Sothis Year, or Phoenix Year. Therefore, the Ebers calendar is nothing more than an Egyptian schematic chart of the star’s passage through time. The insert may very well indicate that in regnal year nine of Amenhotep I, Sothis returned to its place of beginning in the cycle. But this key point concerning Esna bears upon the Ebers

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data to such a degree that we are compelled, whether we like it or not, to accept our new interpretation of the astounding “second” Wep-renpet at Esna set on Thoth 9. Once this hypothesis is followed, the simplest offered so far, the difficulties inherent in more complex presuppositions disappear. On day nine of the first lunar month, then called Wep-renpet, the first civilly important peret Sopdet took place. This was the date of the inauguration of the Civil Calendar, and it was remembered over centuries, as Ebers and Esna prove.

Ecological and Cultic Bases The original ecological factors in naming the lunar months should be mentioned (Spalinger 1995). After a period of time, some of the key month names were replaced by cultic paraphernalia or the like, e.g., Tybi (¼ Ta-abet, with the offering term referred to) replaced Shef-bedet, “Swelling of the Grain”, Mechir (civil month VI), replaced Rekeh-wer, “Great Heat”. See also Epiphi and “Clothing”, Menchet. But in the center of the year was a “super month” called “Heat” (Rekeh), and some time it was subdivided. We do not know when. The following table will indicate the entire calendrical situation better. Month Lunar name I Wep-renpet (“The Year is Opened”) II Techy (“Drunkeness”) III IV V VI VII

VIII IX X

XI XII

Later civil equivalent Techy > Djeuty > Thoth (the moon god) Menchet > Pa-n-ipt (“The One of Opet”: the Opet Festival) > Paophi Menchet (“Clothing”) Hathor > Athyr Hathor (the goddess) Ka-her-ka > Choiak Ka-her-ka (“Ka upon/and Ka”) Shef-bedet > Ta-abet (“The Banquet Offering”) > Tybi Shef-bedet (“Swelling of the Grain”) Rekeh-wer (“Great Heat”) > Pa-n-mecher (“The One of the Basket” ?) > Mechir Perhaps only Rekeh indicating the “super Rekeh-nedjes (“Small Heat”) > month” of “Heat” ended the second Pa-n-Amenhotep (“The One of [the deified] season Amenhotep”) > Phamenoth ?; see above Renenutet > Pa-n-Renutet > Pharmuthi Renenutet (the harvest goddess) Chonsu > Pan-Chonsu > Pachons Chonsu (the lunar god) Chenty-khety > Pa-n-int (referring to the “Feast of the Valley”, on western Thebes > Payni) Chenty-khety Ipt-hemetes > Ipip > Epiphi Ipt-hemetes Wep-renpet > Mesut-Re-Harachty (“Birth of Re-Harachty”) > Mesore

Equally schematic was the reorganization of the seasons into three, each consisting of 4 months, the latter having 30 days apiece. One began with inundation (achet), thereby reflecting the ideal annual commencement at the heliacal rising of Sothis in mid-July. Next was “emergence” (peret), in which the two seasons of “Heat” were now removed from their original location and placed in the middle

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of winter. The final season was harvest (shemu), thereby rounding off the agricultural year. All was thus dependent upon an earlier subsistence agricultural ecology even if the newer Civil Calendar was highly schematic.

Cross-References ▶ Ancient Egyptian Calendars ▶ Astronomy and Chronology - Babylonia, Assyria, and Egypt ▶ Calendars and Astronomy ▶ Egyptian Cosmology and Cosmogony ▶ Egyptian “Star Clocks”

References Berlev OD (1999) Precisely two Sothic periods between year 18 of king Se´nw/Tosorthros and year 2 of Pharaoh Antoninus Pius. In: Pavlova OI (ed) Ancient Egypt: language, culture, consciousness. Priscel’s, Moscow, pp 42–62 Clagett M (1995) Ancient Egyptian science: calendars, clocks, and astronomy. American Philosophical Society, Philadelphia Depuydt L (1997) Civil calendar and lunar calendar in ancient Egypt. Peeters, Leuven Depuydt L (1999) The two problems of the month names. Revue d’E´gyptologie 50:107–133 Depuydt L (2003) Esna’s triple new year. J Am Res Cent Egypt 40:55–67 Devauchelle D (2005) E´crire le nom des jours e´pagome`nes et du premier jour de l’an [O. De´m Delm 4–1]. Studi di Egittologia e di Papirologia 2:75–81 Gardiner A (1906) Mesore as the first month of the Egyptian year. Zeitschrift f€ ur €agyptische Sprache 43:136–144 Harrison G (1994) The position of the day day gr n  nw m sß.f — “the night the child is in his nest” within the epagomenal period. Go¨ttinger Miszellen 143:77–79 Krauss R (1985) Sothis- und Monddaten: Studien zur astronomischen und technischen Chronologie Alt€agyptens. Gerstenberg Verlag, Hildesheim Krauss R (1993) Was w€are, wenn der alt€agyptische Kalendertag mit Sonnenaufgang begonnen h€atte? Bulletin de la Socie´te´ E´gyptologique du Gene`ve 17:63–71 Krauss R (2008/2009) Egyptian calendars. KBN 3:105–113 Krauss R (2009) Astronomical chronology. In: Belmonte JA, Shaltout M (eds) In search of cosmic order: selected essays on Egyptian archaeoastronomy. Supreme Council of Antiquities, Cairo, pp 135–154 ¨ gyptologie, vol VI. Loprieno A (1986) Zahlwort. In: Helck W, Otto E (eds) Lexikon der A Harrassowitz, Wiesbaden, pp 1306–1319 Luft U (1992) Die chronologische Fixierung des €agyptischen Mittleren Reiches nach dem ¨ sterreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, Vienna Tempelarchiv von Illahun. Verlag der O Neugebauer O (1939) Die Bedeutungslosigkeit des ‘Sothisperiode’ f€ ur die €alteste €agyptische Chronologie. Acta Orientalia 17:169–185 Neugebauer O (1942) The origin of the Egyptian calendar. J Near East Stud 1:396–403 Neugebauer O (1969) The exact sciences in antiquity, 2nd edn. Dover, New York Parker RA (1950) The calendars of ancient Egypt. University of Chicago Press, Chicago Parker RA (1955) The problem of the month-names. Revue d’E´gyptologie 10:9–31 Parker RA (1957) The problem of the month-names: a reply. Revue d’E´gyptologie 11:85–107 Sauneron S (1962) Les feˆtes religieuses d’Esna. Institut Franc¸ais d’Arche´ologie Orientale, Cairo

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Sloley RW (1948) The origin of the 365-day Egyptian calendar. Annales du Service des Antiquite´s de l’E´gypte 48:261–265 Spalinger AJ (1994) Some remarks on the epagomenal days in ancient Egypt. J Near East Stud 54:33–47 Spalinger AJ (1995) Notes on ancient Egyptian calendars. Orientalia 64:17–32 Spalinger A (2006) Land brightens, day begins. In: Spalinger A (ed) Five views on Egypt. Seminar ¨ gyptologie und Koptologie, Go¨ttingen, pp 51–85 f€ur A Spalinger AJ (2011) The beginning of the civil calendar. In: Ba´rta M, Coppens F, Krejci J (eds) Abusir and Saqqara in the year 2010/1. Czech Institute of Egyptology, Prague, pp 723–735 Spalinger AJ (2012) Time and the Egyptians: feasts and fights. Yale Egyptological Series, New Haven (in press)

Egyptian “Star Clocks”

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Sarah Symons

Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Types and Terminology . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cultural Context . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Archaeoastronomical Significance . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Issues Raised . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Future Directions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

1495 1496 1497 1497 1497 1499 1499 1499

Abstract

Diagonal, transit, and Ramesside star clocks are tables of astronomical information occasionally found in ancient Egyptian temples, tombs, and papyri. The tables represent the motions of selected stars (decans and hour stars) throughout the Egyptian civil year. Analysis of star clocks leads to greater understanding of ancient Egyptian constellations, ritual astronomical activities, observational practices, and pharaonic chronology.

Introduction “Star clock” is a name given to three types of ancient Egyptian tabular texts dealing with the motions of stars. The names “star calendar” (an older expression) or “star table” may also be used where a more neutral stance on the purpose of the texts is desired. The standard work on which most modern analyses are based is Egyptian Astronomical Texts vols. 1 and 2 (Neugebauer and Parker 1960, 1966), where the

S. Symons McMaster University, Hamilton, ON, Canada e-mail: [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_150, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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three types are called the diagonal star clock, the transit star clock, and the Ramesside star clock. The tables first appear around 2100 BC but may have been developed earlier. The concept of a group of stars possessing timekeeping or calendrical properties then survived throughout the ancient Egyptian civilization. The tables themselves and depictions of associated stars have only been found in religious, usually funerary, contexts, suggesting that their main function was related to religious ritual.

Types and Terminology The earliest type, the diagonal star clock, occurs on the inside of rectangular nonroyal coffin lids from the Middle Kingdom (Zitman 2010) (see ▶ Chap. 133, “Orientation of Egyptian Temples: An Overview”). Many of the 22 surviving examples are from Asyut (Symons in press). The tables consist of rectangular cells, each containing the name of a star or group of stars (“decans”), arranged in rows (usually 12, assumed to represent hours) and columns (up to 40, each representing a 10-day period in the Egyptian civil year (see ▶ Chap. 131, “Ancient Egyptian Calendars”)). Each table is unique and most are incomplete, but the tables can be grouped into two families based on the decans used (Symons 2007). The prevailing interpretation of these tables (Neugebauer and Parker 1960) is that they record or predict the rising of decans, one per hour, on dates throughout the year. One later version of the diagonal star clock has a different layout but explicitly links stars to hours of the night. This is the only version not on a coffin lid, but on a ceiling in the Osireion at Abydos (c. 1200 BC). This temple also houses an example of the second type of table, the “transit star clock”, which is part of a longer text known as the Book of Nut or the Fundamentals of the Course of the Stars (von Lieven 2007). Only two fairly complete examples of the table have survived (c. 1280 and 1150 BC) with several later versions (up to second century AD) of the associated text being known (von Bomhard 2008; von Lieven 2007). This type of star clock consists of 36 sets of three dates, each set originally associated with a decan star. The star names are mostly missing even in the earliest instance. The standard interpretation is that this table represents a way of telling time during the night using the transits of the decan stars across the meridian (see ▶ Chap. 30, “Basic Concepts of Positional Astronomy”) (Neugebauer and Parker 1960). The third type of table is slightly later and occurs only in a very narrow time period, around 1150–1100 BC, in three XXth Dynasty Ramesside tombs in the Valley of the Kings (Neugebauer and Parker 1966). The Ramesside star clock consists of 24 tables (one for each half-month), describing in words and depicting on a grid the position of stars around the face of a kneeling man. Each star can occur in any of seven positions: in the middle and at the left or right eye, ear, and shoulder. The stars used here are a new set of “hour stars” with a few names in common with the decans and circumpolar constellations. All four instances (including two within KV9, the tomb of Ramesses V and VI) are associated with astronomical diagrams (Neugebauer and Parker 1969).

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Cultural Context All three types of star clock are found in funerary locations: coffins, tombs, and the Osireion temple (often described as a “cenotaph” (Frankfort 1933)). No instructions for making or using any star clock survive, although the Book of Nut describes in some detail the daily and annual motion of the stars (see ▶ Chap. 129, “Egyptian Cosmogony and Cosmology”), knowledge which the transit star clock embodies (von Lieven 2007). Recent thinking on the purpose of the diagonal star clocks has tended to move away from interpreting them as “clocks” (instruments made with the intention of telling the time) to either records of sky configurations on certain dates or as complete descriptions of an “ideal” sky (Depuydt 2010). The most obvious funerary purpose of all types is a representation of the sky in the universe model of the tomb or coffin (Willems 1988). The same function is performed elsewhere by decorative elements such as repeating star patterns, depictions of celestial motifs, and astronomical ceilings (Neugebauer and Parker 1969).

Archaeoastronomical Significance The diagonal star clocks, developed before 2100 BC, are significant documents in the field of history of astronomy. The tables represent conceptualization of the movements of stars over the course of a 365-day year. They are based on the idea of a list of specific stars whose behavior conforms to a regular pattern of performing an action (assumed to be rising after sunset) at 10-day intervals through the year. Similarly, the decans as described in the transit star clock also perform actions, in this case three rather than just one, at 10-day intervals throughout the year. Both these types of table can be characterized as somewhat idealized due to the regularity of the actions. The Ramesside star clock, in contrast, is more obviously based on observation. The hour stars do not move across the tables regularly, and their position at the divisions of the hour is allowed to be ahead or behind the ideal placement. The tables are also useful chronologically (see ▶ Chap. 3, “Astronomy and Chronology - Babylonia, Assyria, and Egypt”), as Sirius (Egyptian: spdt) is used both as a decan and an hour star. The behavior of Sirius in the diagonal and Ramesside star clock tables can be compared with other records of its heliacal rise, and it has also been used to estimate the date of development of the tables themselves (Krauss 2006; Neugebauer and Parker 1960).

Issues Raised The lack of both contemporary documentation and evidence of application in everyday life of these methods means that the “standard theory” of use, which in each case is taken to be that proposed by Neugebauer and Parker (1960, 1966), is

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open to discussion. The diagonal star clocks, for example, may not solely be based on risings, but instead all or some may be referring to settings or culminations (Leitz 1995; Symons 2007). These hypotheses are alternative ways of coping with the difference in decan list composition between the two families of diagonal star clocks, which Neugebauer and Parker explained as being partially caused by keeping the table in step with the solar year. Neugebauer and Parker (1966) describe a method of observing for the Ramesside star clock which requires two priests, both kneeling. One, the “target”, is due south of the other, who is the observer. In this configuration, the central position “in the middle” of the target coincides with the celestial meridian. The key benefits of using the meridian are that the stars are in the optimal observing location (away from the horizon) and the successive transits (or near transits) of carefully selected stars can mark very even hours. This method is generally accepted but still presents a number of difficulties. The north–south alignment needs to be precise, yet it is an assumption (the sources themselves give no indication of direction). The precise meaning of the positions either side of the meridian is open to interpretation. The kneeling pose of the target figure places its face very near the horizon, which is awkward for judging the position of stars higher up in the sky. Finally, northern constellations could not be used in this scheme, meaning that the similarities in names between hour stars and circumpolar constellations must be explained by duplication of figures in the Egyptian sky. There are even greater problems with the interpretation of the transit star clock. The standard theory requires that the Egyptians created a list of 36 stars which all fulfilled (to an accuracy of a few days) the following conditions: (1) a 70-day period of invisibility between disappearance and heliacal rise, (2) 10-day separations between the heliacal rise of one star and the next, and (3) a 200-day separation between heliacal rise of a star and the same star’s last transit at the time marking the first hour of the night. Given the astronomical fact that date of transit at a certain time depends only on right ascension of a star, not on magnitude or declination, and that in contrast the date of heliacal rise (and disappearance) depends on all three properties plus other factors such as location of the observer and atmospheric viewing conditions, it becomes apparent that constructing the transit star clock table as it appears in the Book of Nut using real stars would have been a very difficult task (Symons 2002). Turning the table into a full star clock requires all these elements to be in place more precisely than demonstrated in the table in the Book of Nut (which implies an accuracy to the nearest 10 days) so that the transits occur at even intervals, in order, to an accuracy of the nearest “hour”. It also requires an intent to use this method to mark individual hours at any date during the year. The process of development of all three types of star clock is obscure. Modern analyses often begin with an assumption of a desire for “accuracy”, with a progression from uneven decanal hours in the diagonal star clocks to regular seasonal hours in the transit and Ramesside star clocks (Neugebauer and Parker 1960). However, methods of calibrating observations to achieve accuracy

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(e.g., using water clocks) and methods for fixing the starting and ending points of the night are still under discussion. One of the main reasons that these methodological issues are important is that any attempt to identify the stars used as decans and hour stars rests on the researchers’ interpretation of the observational system used. Identification schemes have been proposed by Leitz (1995), Gadre´ (2008), and Lull and Belmonte (2010), each of whom describes the assumptions they have made about observing conditions and methodologies (see ▶ Chap. 130, “Egyptian Constellations”).

Future Directions Recent excavations in Asyut have yielded new examples of diagonal star clocks (Zitman 2010, Kahl et al. 2011), with new finds so far fitting into the existing system of two families of diagonal star clocks. The work of von Lieven (2007) on the Book of Nut not only uncovered the original title of the work (Fundamentals of the Course of the Stars) but also helped to set this extraordinarily long-lived work in the broader context of “religious astronomy” in ancient Egypt. The later role of the decans and their developing relationship with weather phenomena is emerging from study of other astronomical texts in this category (von Bomhard 2008). The availability of computer models of the sky and improved algorithms for near-horizon observations also invites more systematic studies of observational hypotheses related to these star clocks than have previously been attempted.

Cross-References ▶ Ancient Egyptian Calendars ▶ Astronomy and Chronology - Babylonia, Assyria, and Egypt ▶ Basic Concepts of Positional Astronomy ▶ Egyptian Constellations ▶ Egyptian Cosmology and Cosmogony ▶ Orientation of Egyptian Temples: An Overview

References Depuydt L (2010) Ancient Egyptian star tables: a reinterpretation of their fundamental structure. In: Imhausen A, Pommerening T (eds) Writings of early scholars in the ancient Near East, Egypt, Rome, and Greece: translating ancient scientific texts, Beitra¨ge zur Altertumskunde. De Gruyter, Berlin/New York, pp 241–276 Frankfort H (1933) The cenotaph of Seti I at Abydos. Egypt Exploration Society, London Gadre´ K (2008) Conception d’un mode`le de visibilite´ d’e´toile a` l’oeil nu. Application a` l’identification des de´cans e´gyptiens. Universite´ Paul Sabatier – Toulouse III. http://tel.archivesouvertes.fr/tel-00361227. Accessed 30 Sept 2012

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Kahl J, El-Khadragy M, Verhoeven U, Abdelrahiem M, Ahmed HF, Kitagawa C, Malur J, Prell S, Rzeuska T (2011) The Asyut project: eighth season of fieldwork (2010). Studien zur Alt€agyptischen Kultur 40:181–209 Krauss R (2006) Egyptian Sirius/Sothic dates, and the question of the Sothis-based lunar calendar. In: Hornung E, Krauss R, Warburton DA (eds) Ancient Egyptian chronology, handbook of oriental studies. Brill Academic, Leiden, pp 439–457 Leitz C (1995) Altaegyptische Sternuhren. Peeters, Leuven Lull J, Belmonte JA (2010) The constellations of ancient Egypt. In: Belmonte JA, Shaltout M (eds) In search of cosmic order: selected essays on Egyptian archaeoastronomy. American University in Cairo Press, Cairo, pp 157–194 Neugebauer O, Parker RA (1960) Egyptian astronomical texts, vol 1. Brown University Press, Providence Neugebauer O, Parker RA (1966) Egyptian astronomical texts, vol 2. Brown University Press, Providence Neugebauer O, Parker RA (1969) Egyptian astronomical texts, vol 3. Brown University Press, Providence Symons SL (2002) The “transit star clock” in the book of nut. In: Steele JM, Imhausen A (eds) Under one sky: astronomy and mathematics in the ancient Near East. Ugarit-Verlag, M€ unster, pp 429–446 Symons SL (2007) A star’s year: the annual cycle in the ancient Egyptian sky. In: Steele JM (ed) Calendars and years: astronomy and time in the ancient world. Oxbow Books, Oxford, pp 429–446 Symons SL (in press) Contexts and elements of decanal star lists in ancient Egypt. In: Imhausen A, Bawanypeck D (eds) Traditions of written knowledge in ancient Egypt and Mesopotamia. Ugarit-Verlag, M€unster von Bomhard AS (2008) The naos of the decades. Oxford Centre of Maritime Archaeology, Oxford von Lieven A (2007) Grundriss Des Laufes Der Sterne. Das sogenannte Nutbuch, vol 8, The Carlsberg Papyri. Museum Tusculanum Press, Copenhagen Willems H (1988) Chests of life: a study of the typology and conceptual development of Middle Kingdom standard class coffins. Ex Oriente Lux, Leiden Zitman M (2010) The necropolis of assiut: a case study of local egyptian funerary culture from the old kingdom to the end of the Middle Kingdom. Peeters, Leuven

Orientation of Egyptian Temples: An Overview

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Juan Antonio Belmonte

Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Discussion . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Some Final Remarks . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Abstract

Archaeoastronomy has never been a favored discipline within Egyptology. As a consequence, important questions such as the orientation of Egyptian temples and the relevance of astronomy in this respect had not been treated with the requisite seriousness and depth. This situation is changing, however, and over the past decade, there have been several serious attempts to perform an extensive analysis of the orientation of Egyptian monuments. The orientations of approximately 400 temples have been measured in the Nile Valley, the Delta, the Oases, and the Sinai, with the aim of providing a clear answer to the question of whether the ancient Egyptian sacred constructions were astronomically aligned or not. This impressive set of data seems to answer this question in the affirmative.

Introduction Were the temples of the ancient Egyptian civilization astronomically orientated or not? Epigraphic sources clearly mention solar and stellar targets as the references for temple orientations (Fig. 133.1). However, scholars have generally assumed that the planning

J.A. Belmonte Instituto de Astrofı´sica de Canarias, Universidad de La Laguna, La Laguna, Tenerife, Spain e-mail: [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_146, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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of orientations according to the Nile and that inscriptions that mention solar or stellar orientations were merely the remembrance of long forgotten practices. For example, Wilkinson (2000) clearly stated that “most commonly temples built along the Nile were oriented on an east–west axis, according to local cardinal directions as determined by the river”, so local topography would be the determining reason for temple orientation. However, he also pointed out that “on occasions, orientation toward the sun or important stars was definitely the priority, and this principle may be more important than is often recognized”. Indeed, it is the main goal of this overview to show that the “most commonly” is certainly true (Fig. 133.2) but that “on occasions” is far too restrictive and that solar (Fig. 133.3) and stellar orientations were much more common in ancient Egypt than had previously been suspected. Egyptian religion, their calendar, and their constellations played a most relevant role in this accomplishment. The groundplan of a temple, including the orientation of its main axes, was normally established in a ceremony known as the “stretching of the cord”, records of which exist as early as the 1st Dynasty (see Fig. 133.1). The ceremony is represented on several occasions throughout Egyptian history but only in the Graeco-Roman period do the associated inscriptions clearly refer to the way in which the axis was placed (Zˇa´ba 1953; Leitz 1991; Belmonte et al. 2009a). The texts are unanimous; the King was looking at Meskhet(yu), the asterism of Ursa Major. So for the Egyptians, at least of later periods, the orientation procedure was astronomical. This fact has been well known since the nineteenth century when the inscriptions at Edfu were first studied and translated by Brugsch (1883), and one would have expected that a close collaboration between astronomers and Egyptologists would have been established. However, this potentially productive synergy never took place. We could perhaps blame Lockyer’s The Dawn of Astronomy. Throughout this book, Lockyer made extensive use of precession in dating temples in Egypt and basically supported the accepted long chronology of his time, which placed the 1st Dynasty around 5000 BC. The book also included a high degree of religious speculation which earned it the opprobrium of most Egyptologists of his time. When the long chronology lapsed at the beginning of the twentieth century, any possibility of archaeoastronomy as an auxiliary science of Egyptology died with it. For example, the magnificent Egyptian Astronomical Texts (Neugebauer and Parker 1960/1969) do not mention a single word on orientations, and Badawy (1968), in his study on Egyptian architecture, suggested in his analysis of the plans of some 40 temples that their orientation was probably random. It was not until the last quarter of the twentieth century that the works of Hawkins (1973), widely promulgated by Krupp (1988), who also carried out his own restricted fieldwork, reopened the question, but there was still a failure to rouse any sort of enthusiasm about ancient astronomical practices among the Egyptological community. Indeed, even today, it is hard to see these important works referenced in the literature of Egyptology (see, e.g., Spence 2000). On the contrary, it is only Lockyer’s out-ofdate work which is cited and then only in order to criticize it. This was the situation at the beginning of the twenty-first century when the author, in collaboration with Egyptian colleagues, and other specialists (see, e.g., Lull 2004) decided that this situation ought to be rectified. To achieve

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Fig. 133.1 Image of the ritual of the stretching of the cord (a): Hatshepsut (c. 1465 BC), dressed as king in male attire, in front of Seshat, performing the ceremony for the Red Chapel of the temple of Karnak. A related inscription (b) in the western outer wall of the temple of Edfu (c) reads in part: “following the movements of the stars, my eye being fixed upon Meskhet(yu)”, and “(in front of the) merkhet. I have established the four corners (angles) of your temple” (Photographs by J.A. Belmonte)

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Normalized Relative Frequency

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Fig. 133.2 Histogram representing the difference in orientation between the main axes of 170 temples of the Nile Valley and the average course of the river (or river branch in the case of the Delta) at their corresponding locations. Temple orientation with the main gate located in front of (axis perpendicular to) the Nile is the most common way of orientating the buildings. This demonstrates beyond any reasonable doubt that local topography (the course of the Nile) was very important at the moment of settling the foundations of the temples (Adapted from Belmonte et al. 2009b)

this, Belmonte et al. (2009b) joined efforts and inaugurated an Egyptian-Spanish Mission under the auspices of the Egyptian Supreme Council of Antiquities with the aim of measuring the orientation of the vast majority of ancient buildings, notably the temples, across Egypt, within a reasonable period of time. The purpose was to obtain sufficient fieldwork data that could prove, or disprove, through statistical studies, all the speculations concerning temple orientation from both the topographical and the astronomical point of view and the evident objective of putting the study of ancient Egyptian archaeoastronomy on the footing it deserves in the context of present-day Egyptology.

Discussion Due to restrictions of length, it is not possible in this overview to go into details about the many interesting discoveries made in the course of research in the last decade. For these details, I refer the reader to Belmonte et al. (2009b),

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Fig. 133.3 Today, as 3,350 years ago, the colossi of Mennon face sunrise at the winter solstice as did the million-year temple of King Amenhotep III behind them. According to Bryan (1997), this temple was a sort of celestial diagram (Photograph courtesy of M. A. Molinero and N. Delgado)

Belmonte (2012), and references therein. However, it is crucial to stress a few particular results that are real highlights of the investigations, which are changing the mind of specialists in respect of Egyptian archaeoastronomical studies. A most important outcome is that the temples of the Nile Valley and the Delta were orientated according to the Nile (see Fig. 133.2). It has been statistically proven that the temples in the Egyptian Nile Valley and the Delta were topographically orientated in such a way that most of the axes of the buildings were perpendicular to the course of the river, normally with their gates facing it and seldom in the opposite direction. Axes parallel to the river course were also common. This pattern of orientation presumably agreed with the Egyptian way of understanding the cosmos where the Nile plays a most significant role. However, temples were also astronomically orientated beyond any reasonable doubt (Fig. 133.4). This means that the ancient Egyptians had to deal with particular situations to accomplish both requirements. This problem was solved by the selection of appropriate orientations of one or the other class at different places so that they would be compatible with local topography or by the choice of selected places in Egypt where the constraints of the Nile and a conspicuous astronomical orientation were simultaneously achieved. In this sense, several temples of the solstitial family (see Fig. 133.4), including Karnak, are located in the area of ancient Thebes, where astronomy and topography combine to organize the universe, provided that those temples orientated to the winter solstice sunrise were, at the same time, perpendicular to the course of the Nile. Additional nice case studies of this

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Fig. 133.4 Declination histogram of 350 temples of ancient Egypt. Each peak is identified by a Roman numeral referring to each of the seven families of astronomical orientations. Longdashed lines stress the extreme and medium positions of the sun at the solstices and equinoxes, respectively. The lines for Sirius (dot-dashed) and Canopus (short-dashed) straddle the extreme declinations of these stars (Adapted from Belmonte et al. 2009b)

relationship are the pyramids of Giza and the city of Akhetaten (Fig. 133.5). The Kingdom of Kush also has shown paradigmatic examples of this phenomenology. Interestingly, among astronomical orientations, there were three, and only three, kinds of targets. One was probably related to different celestial configurations of the stars of Meskhetyu in order to get a near or accurate Meridian orientation (Fig. 133.6). This primary axis may have been rotated later by an eighth, a quarter, or half a circumference to obtain any possible cardinal or intercardinal direction (families I, VI, and VII in Fig. 133.4). The second had a markedly solar character and was fundamentally related to important time marks of the annual cycle and/or the civil calendar (families I, II, II⊥, and III). Finally, the third group of targets includes the two brightest stars of ancient Egyptian skies, Sirius and Canopus (families IV and V, respectively). These customs were present during most of Egyptian history and in different areas of the country, although some minor peculiarities have been discovered. Surprisingly, or perhaps not, the temples of solar deities have predominantly solar orientations while those belonging to goddesses are predominantly orientated to the brightest stars of the sky, notably Sirius (Fig. 133.7). In this respect, solar orientations were transformed at certain historical periods with a view to orientating

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Fig. 133.5 The axis of the small temple of the sun-disc god Aton at Tell el Amarna. It is orientated to a particular cleft at the horizon where the sun rises in late February, perhaps representing the ancient name of the city, Akhetaton, the Horizon of Aton (Adapted from Belmonte 2012)

buildings to the beginning of the seasons of the civil calendar, notably Wepet Renpet, the First Day of the first month of the season of the Inundation, I Akhet 1, or New Year’s Eve, but also I Peret 1 and I Shemu 1. On some occasions, the coincidence of these dates with important points of the tropical year, like summer or winter solstice and spring equinox, might have acted as a mutual reinforcement in the interest of ancient Egyptians for these special days of both the tropical and the civil year. Following this line of argument, the examples of 5th Dynasty sun temples at Abu Ghurob, a few temples in Thebes, presumably including the Amon complex at Karnak, the big temple of Abu Simbel, and perhaps the Amon complex at Tanis are paradigmatic (Belmonte et al. 2009b; Belmonte 2012). Two families (IV and V) may be related to the two brightest stars in ancient Egyptian skies, Sirius and Canopus. The case for the former is stronger because of the important and well documented, mythological, religious, and practical (calendric) connections of Sopdet in the course of Egyptian history. However, new data and my personal impression suggest that some temples that had been previously supposed to have Sothic orientations could be reinterpreted as belonging to the winter solstice family. These would be the temple of Horus at Djebel Thoth, erected by Mentuhotep III (Vo¨ro¨s 2002), and the temple of Satet at Elephantine, erected by Hatshepsut (Wells 1985). This does not necessarily imply that earlier constructions in the same places could not hide Sothic orientations within their walls. The same could be argued for the temple of Hathor at Denderah, erected

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Fig. 133.6 The ancient Egyptian Bull’s Foreleg constellation, Meskhetyu, at lower culmination in the year 2562 BC, when the line connecting the stars Phecda (gUMa) and Megrez (dUMa) was accurately marking north

by the late Ptolemaic rulers (Cauville et al. 1992), where, however, Belmonte et al. (2009a, b) fully confirm the inscriptions found on the walls of the main building, supporting an orientation toward the rising of Meskhetyu. There are three families (I, VI, and VII) which would integrate a superfamily of the so-called cardinal orientations. This would have basically consisted of the determination of a near Meridian (North–south) axis, for the general layout of a certain sacred structure, through the observation of some of the most conspicuous imperishable stars (Krauss 1997) near the celestial pole, notably Meskhetyu. The earliest examples of this phenomenology discovered so far would be structure KH29A in Hierakonpolis in the predynastic period and the serdab of Djoser at Saqqara in dynastic times (Belmonte et al. 2009b). Once the Meridian alignment was determined, the monument could have opened east or west (family I), north or south (family VI), or had its axis rotated through another 45 (family VII). The pyramid complexes of the Old and Middle Kingdom are the paradigmatic examples of families I (the temples) and VI (the pyramids themselves). However, it is interesting to note that during the 5th Dynasty (perhaps even in the 4th one) and in a process parallel to that of solarization of the royal person, eastern orientations to near “equinox” sunrise become independent of Meridian orientations. Hence, family I would actually be a mixture of solar and stellar practices.

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Fig. 133.7 Absolute declination histograms of two independent series of temples: (a) 34 temples of goddesses of all periods and (b) 42 temples of divinities with a solar character (Adapted from Belmonte et al. 2009b)

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Belmonte et al.’s (2009b) most challenging proposal is that a complicated combination of astronomy and landscape featured in the pyramid complexes of the Old Kingdom. According to this hypothesis, the location and orientation of several monuments were deliberately chosen in order to fit a general pattern of topographical and astronomical alignments (Fig. 133.8). The geographic apex of this network would have been the city of the sun-god Re, Heliopolis. The importance of the stations of the sun is once more emphasized. Especially dramatic, although based on circumstantial evidence, is the provocative hypothesis proposed for the general layout of the majority of the Giza complex, including the Sphinx and the two larger pyramids, as an original design from the reign of Khufu (Akhet Khufu conceived as a single gigantic plan, Fig. 133.9). According to this layout, we might astronomically date the beginning of the reign of Khufu c. 2550 BC, with a margin of plus or minus 9 years.

Some Final Remarks Now nearly 400 temples and shrines throughout the geography of Egypt belonging to all periods of her history have been measured. This represents approximately 98 % of all the temples in any state of preservation still existing in the country, a sample which is indeed statistically significant. One advantage of having such a great volume of data at disposal is that it becomes possible to perform comparative analyses with independent series. Two such experiments have been imagined: one with the data of temples separated by historical period (Fig. 133.10) and another by geographical location (Fig. 133.11). They show that the different families of astronomical orientation were common in all the country and for every epoch, despite of the fact that different regions and a variety of epochs certainly offered peculiar preferences. As a summary, we might reach the conclusion that actually only three conventions of orientation were present in ancient Egypt throughout her land and her history: cardinal, solar, and stellar. On the one hand, the cardinal convention would be incorporated by families I (in most occasions), VI, and VII and would be achieved by the observations of certain configurations of stars in the north (predominantly, if not exclusively, stars of Meskhetyu, see Figs. 133.1 and 133.6). This procedure would initially give a near Meridian axis that would later offer various alternatives: a gate opening north, a gate opening south, a gate opening east (or west), or a new axis by turning the original by 45 or 135 , with the gate opening near NE (or NW) or SE (or SW), respectively. On the other hand, the solar convention is formed by families I (on a few occasions), II, II⊥, and III and would basically be related to important points of the annual cycle or in some cases to special dates in the civil calendar such as Wepet Renpet or the eves of the other two seasons Peret and Shemu. Paradigmatic examples would be the 5th Dynasty solar temples at Abu Ghurob (I), Karnak (II and II⊥), and Abu Simbel (III). Finally, the stellar convention would be represented

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Fig. 133.8 Astronomy and landscape for the pyramid fields of the Old Kingdom in the area of Cairo. Some important astronomical and topographical alignments are represented. The importance of Heliopolis is emphasized (Adapted from Belmonte et al. 2009b)

by families IV and V. I have no doubts of the pertinence and the relevance of the alignments to Sopdet. However, I do have minor doubts as to whether many of the presumed alignments to Canopus ought to be interpreted in a different way or even if they are significant. In this case, it is problematic whether new field data can provide a final answer. Hence, new epigraphic information confirming the importance of this star would be highly desirable.

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Fig. 133.9 Schematic diagram showing the astronomical and topographical relationships between the different monuments erected in the Giza Plateau, notably the Sphinx and the pyramids, and certain elements of the sky or nearby geography. Astronomical connections of the Sphinx (Hor-em-akhet in the New Kingdom) with equinox sunrise and summer solstice sunset are emphasized (Adapted from Belmonte 2012)

It is worth noting that a most challenging outcome of the statistical study has been that evidence of the precession of the equinoxes and of the variation of the obliquity of the Ecliptic phenomena have been detected in the orienting data as collateral effects of the continuous use of stellar and solar orientations, respectively, during the course of Egyptian history (Belmonte et al. 2009b). However, this marginal detection should never be interpreted under any circumstance as representing a real recognition of any of these phenomena by the ancient Egyptians. A final point to discuss is how once an alignment was provided by astronomical observations in a certain direction (notably meridian using Meskhetyu, but also solstitial), the new axes at 45 , 90 , 135 (in both clockwise or anticlockwise directions), or 180 were obtained. Belmonte et al. (2009a) have speculated with the hypothesis, based on suggestive arguments, that the sign of Seshat (the divinity mostly involved in temple orientation ceremonies, notably the stretching of the cord), carried by the goddess upon her head in all representations (see Fig. 133.1),

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Fig. 133.10 Histogram of declinations of the temples on ancient Egypt versus historical period. (a) Total histogram presented for comparison. (b) Temples from the predynastic period to the end of the Middle Kingdom. (c) Temples of the New Kingdom and the Late Period until the Persian conquest. (d) Late temples with a dominance of buildings of the Graeco-Roman period. The three series of data plotted in panels (b), (c), and (d) are independent of each other (Adapted from Belmonte et al. 2009b)

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Fig. 133.11 Histogram of declination of the temples of ancient Egypt versus geography. (a) Total histogram. (b) Temples of Lower Egypt, from Meidum to the sea. (c) Temples of Upper Egypt and Lower Nubia, until Abu Simbel. (d) Temples of the oases and deserts of ancient Egypt. Once more, the series of data plotted in panels (b), (c), and (d) are independent of each other (Adapted from Belmonte et al. 2009b)

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Fig. 133.12 Sequence of images illustrating the hypothesis of the use of the sign of Seshat as a topographical instrument. Panel (a) shows a relief from the solar temple of Niuserre at Abu Ghurob, where the sign appears like a standard or portable object. Panel (b) stands for the nucleus of the idea with the sign transformed into a real object. The uppermost elements of the sign would define a sight device, or eyepiece, in the style of the merkhet, as shown in panel (c). Once the alignment had been obtained, the eight radii of the device would directly offer the four cardinal and four intercardinal directions as illustrated in panel (d) (Adapted from Belmonte et al. 2009a)

might perhaps have been a schematic and symbolic representation of an archaic transit instrument, similar to a Roman groma, that would have later become the emblem of the goddess (Fig. 133.12). This instrument would have had eight radii and a viewpoint and could have been used at the “stretching of the cord” ceremonies since the dawn of Egyptian history, directly offering the eight directions under discussion from a single astronomical or topographical observation. Acknowledgments This work is partially financed under the framework of the projects P310793 “Arqueoastronomı´a” of the IAC and AYA2011-26759 “Orientatio ad Sidera III” of the Spanish MINECO.

Cross-References ▶ Ancient Egyptian Calendars ▶ Egyptian Constellations

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▶ Karnak ▶ Kingdom of Kush ▶ Monuments of the Giza Plateau

References Badawy A (1968) A history of Egyptian architecture III, the empire or New Kingdom. BUP, Berkeley Belmonte JA (2012) Pira´mides, templos y estrellas: astronomı´a y arqueologı´a en el Egipto antiguo. Crı´tica, Barcelona Belmonte JA, Molinero Polo MA, Miranda N (2009a) Unveiling Seshat: new insights into the stretching of the cord ceremony. In: Belmonte JA, Shaltout M (eds) In search of cosmic order, selected essays on Egyptian archaeoastronomy. SCA Press, Cairo, pp 195–212 Belmonte JA, Shaltout M, Fekri M (2009b) Astronomy, landscape and symbolism: a study on the orientations of ancient Egyptian temples. In: Belmonte JA, Shaltout M (eds) In search of cosmic order, selected essays on Egyptian archaeoastronomy. SCA Press, Cairo, pp 213–284 Brugsch H (1883) Thesaurus Inscriptionum Aegyptiacarum. Astronomische und astrologische Inschriften altaegyptischer Denkm€aler, vol I. Hinrichs, Leipzig Bryan BM (1997) The statue program for the mortuary temple of Amenhotep III. In: Quirke S (ed) The temples in ancient Egypt, new discoveries and recent research. British Museum Press, London, pp 57–81 Cauville S, Aubourg E, Deleuze P, Lecler A (1992) Le temple d’Isis a` Dendera. Bulletin de la Socie´te´ Franc¸aise d’Egyptologie (123):31–48 Hawkins GS (1973) Beyond Stonehenge. Thames and Hudson, New York Krauss R (1997) Astronomische Konzepte und Jenseitsvorstellungen in den Pyramidentexten. ¨ gyptologische Abhandlung Band 59, Otto Harrassowitz, Wiesbaben A Krupp EC (1988) Light in the temples. In: Ruggles CLN (ed) Records in stone: papers in memory of Alexander Thom. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, pp 473–499 ¨ gyptischen Astronomie. Agyptologische Abhandlungen Band 49, Leitz C (1991) Studien zur A Otto Harrassowitz, Wiesbaden Lockyer JN (1993) The dawn of astronomy. New edition. Kessinger, New York Lull J (2004) La astronomı´a del antiguo Egipto. PUV, Valencia Neugebauer O, Parker RA (1960/1969) Ancient Egyptian astronomical texts, vol I to III. Brown University Press, Providence Spence K (2000) Ancient Egyptian chronology and the astronomical orientation of the pyramids. Nature 408:320–324 Vo¨ro¨s G (2002) The ancient nest of Horus above Thebes: Hungarian excavations on Thoth Hill at the temple of king Sankhkare Montuhotep III (1995–1998). In: Hawass Z (ed) Egyptology at the dawn of the twenty-first century. Archaeology, vol I. SCA Press, Cairo, pp 547–556 Wells RA (1985) Sothis and the Satet temple on Elephantine: a direct connection. SAK 12:255–302 Wilkinson RH (2000) The complete temples of ancient Egypt. Thames and Hudson, London Zˇa´ba Z (1953) Orientation astronomique dans l’ancienne Egypte, et la precession de l’axe du monde. Czech Academy of Sciences, Prague

Monuments of the Giza Plateau

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Clive L. N. Ruggles

Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The “Orion Mystery” . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The Orientations of the Giza Pyramids and Related Structures . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . “Ventilation Shafts” in Khufu’s Pyramid . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Sacred Geography of the Giza Plateau . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Abstract

The colossal pyramids of the pharaohs Khufu (Cheops), Khafre (Chephren), and Menkaure (Mycerinus) have attracted a huge amount of astronomical interest over the years, both scholarly and popular. Less attention is usually given to the broader context of structures on the Giza Plateau. One of the most notorious ideas connecting the Giza Plateau with astronomy is that the three large pyramids are laid out on the ground so as to reflect the appearance of the three stars of Orion’s Belt in the sky. This idea is unsupportable for several reasons but has succeeded in generating huge public interest. Of much greater serious interest is the fact that the three main pyramids were oriented cardinally to extraordinary precision, which raises the questions of why this was important and how it was achieved. Another idea that has attracted serious attention but

C.L.N. Ruggles School of Archaeology and Ancient History, University of Leicester, Leicester, UK e-mail: [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_151, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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also some confusion is that the orientations of some narrow shafts within Khufu’s pyramid might have been deliberately aligned upon particular stars. The overall layout of monuments on the plateau may certainly have been designed so as to emphasize certain solar phenomena, for symbolic and ideological reasons relating to a dominant sun cult. It is also possible that it formed part of a wider cosmological “master plan” extending to other pyramids and temples up to 20 km distant.

Introduction The famous pyramids of Giza in Egypt (Edwards 1947; Lehner 1997, pp. 106–139) (see Fig. 134.1) formed part of a great necropolis sited on the plateau of a limestone ridge overlooking the fertile plains of the Nile valley, now filled with the buildings of the city of Cairo (UTM Zone 36N, centered around 320 3318). Around the middle of the twenty-sixth century BC (there remains an uncertainty of a few decades in the precise dates; Shaw 2000, pp. 10–11:479–480), the fourth-dynasty pharaoh Khufu, known to the Greeks as Cheops, selected the plateau as his resting place and ordered the construction of a colossal pyramid. This “Great Pyramid”, an extraordinary feat of engineering and of labor organization, consisted of approximately 2,300,000

Fig. 134.1 The three “Pyramids of Giza” together with some of the other pyramids on the Giza Plateau, viewed from the east. The largest is Khufu’s pyramid, with Khafre’s to its left and Menkaure’s to the left beyond that. The small pyramid on the far left is the easternmost of Menkaure’s three queens’ pyramids. In the foreground are the remains of Khufu’s three queens’ pyramids (Photograph: Clive Ruggles)

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Fig. 134.2 The alignment of mastabas to the south of Khufu’s pyramid, viewed westward, with the base of Khufu’s pyramid to the right. The three pyramids in the distance are (from right to left) those of Khafre, Menkaure, and the easternmost of Menkaure’s queens (Photograph: Clive Ruggles)

stone blocks probably weighing on average more than 2 t. Its sides are some 230 m long and it originally rose to over 145 m. The pyramid of Khufu’s second son Khafre (Chephren) and that of his grandson Menkaure (Mycerinus) were also constructed on the plateau. Khafre’s is slightly smaller than Khufu’s, but Menkaure’s, with sides 105 m long and height c. 65 m, is modest by comparison. Each of the pyramids formed part of a funerary complex containing one or more (much smaller) satellite or queens’ pyramids, a mortuary temple, and a causeway leading up from a valley temple a few hundred meters to the east. Khufu’s pyramid is surrounded on three sides by arrays of mastabas (rectangular tombs) built for other royal family members and nobles (Fig. 134.2). Adjacent to Khafre’s valley temple is the famous Sphinx and its temple (Fig. 134.3). The last complex to be built on the plateau was that of Khentkawes, a queen at the time of transition from the 4th to the 5th dynasty, around the beginning of the twenty-fifth century. Uniquely, the Khentkawes complex included a settlement. The Giza Plateau was not only a place of burial: it also functioned as a place of continuing ritual. Some of the tombs include texts with lists of festivals. Cult practices continued to be performed for many generations – for example, in the Sphinx temple – although much later developments such as the conversion of a chapel abutting one of the Khufu queens’ pyramids into a temple of Isis, “Lady of the Pyramids”, in around 1000 BC represent attempts to revive and exploit aspects of what was, by then, a largely forgotten era (Lehner 1997, p. 38).

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Fig. 134.3 The Sphinx and the Sphinx temple, to its left, viewed from the north. Khafre’s valley temple is behind (Photograph: Clive Ruggles)

The “Orion Mystery” The Giza pyramids are strongly associated with archaeoastronomy in the public mind, due largely to the publication in the 1990s of various speculations following on from the observation that the layout of the three pyramids on the ground appears to mimic the formation of the three stars of Orion’s Belt in the sky (Bauval and Gilbert 1994; Hancock and Faiia 1998, pp. 94–99). According to these ideas, the representation of Orion’s Belt was part of a larger “sky map” laid out on the ground with the positions of stars being represented by monumental constructions while the Milky Way was represented by the River Nile itself. Unfortunately, this map was wrongly oriented in the third millennium BC and would only fit correctly in the middle of the eleventh millennium BC (see also ▶ Chap. 18, “Archaeoastronomical Concepts in Popular Culture”). Although these ideas generated huge popular interest, they drew immediate criticism from both Egyptologists and archaeoastronomers and have been thoroughly refuted (see, e.g., Belmonte 2012, pp. 210–214). Certainly, there is no archaeological evidence to support the extraordinary idea that the pyramids were constructed to mimic the skies as they had appeared eight millennia earlier. In any case, the practice of fitting star patterns to monument distributions is statistically highly questionable – it is surprisingly easy to spot star patterns among random data, especially given the temptation to miss out monuments and/or stars that do not fit the desired pattern – and there are virtually no anthropological precedents to

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support the idea (see ▶ Chap. 25, “Best Practice for Evaluating the Astronomical Significance of Archaeological Sites”). Thus, although the goodness of fit of the proposed Egyptian “sky map” may look impressive, many pyramids have been omitted and their arbitrary selection, as well as the arbitrary selection of bright stars, is quite evident; adding flexibility in orienting the map simply makes it easier to achieve an impressive-looking fit. In fact, the need to locate each pyramid on a relatively level site along the limestone ridge, overlooking the valley, together with a desire that each should have a clear view to the north, quite adequately explains why the three pyramids were positioned where they are.

The Orientations of the Giza Pyramids and Related Structures A number of factors, both topographic and astronomical, determined the orientations of the pyramids and temples of the Nile valley and delta during the history of ancient Egypt (Belmonte et al. 2009; see ▶ Chap. 133, “Orientation of Egyptian Temples: An Overview”). In Old Kingdom times, there was a strong practice of orientating royal pyramids cardinally, which became gradually more refined during the 3rd and early 4th dynasties. By the time of the reign of Khufu’s father, Snefru, around the turn of the twenty-sixth century BC, this was achieved with remarkable precision: three pyramids built during this era – one at Meidum, c. 65 km south of Giza, and two (the Bent Pyramid and Red Pyramid) at Dashur, some 20 km to the south – deviated from true cardinality by a mere 180 , 120 , and 50 , respectively, all in the counterclockwise sense (Belmonte 2001; Nell and Ruggles 2014). This extraordinary level of precision is also evident at Giza itself. Since Flinders Petrie first undertook a theodolite survey on the Giza Plateau in 1881, there have been four other major surveys yielding accurate estimates of the orientations of the Khufu pyramid and three of Khafre’s. The most recent in both cases, by Nell and Ruggles in 2006, measured sequences of points along multiple straight and relatively well-preserved structural segments, with best-fit techniques being used to provide the best estimate of their orientation. The results are summarized in Table 134.1. The best indicator of the intended orientation is likely to be that of the casing foundation rather than courses of stone in the pyramid itself. The variance between the various estimates of each given orientation illustrates the dangers of overprecision, strongly suggesting that it is meaningless to quote results to, say, the nearest second of arc, as did a number of earlier surveyors. It may also be due in part to different surveyors having made different determinations of corners, casing foundation edges, and so on (for a detailed analysis, see Nell and Ruggles 2014, also Dash 2013 for Khufu’s pyramid). From these data, it is clear that Khufu’s pyramid, the largest in the history of pyramid building, was also the most accurately cardinally aligned (cf. Lehner 1997, pp. 108–109): none of the four sides deviates by more than 4´ in the anticlockwise sense, and the mean deviation is around 3´ anticlockwise. Khafre’s pyramid deviates from cardinality by slightly more – about 5´ anticlockwise.

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Table 134.1 The orientations of the Khufu and Khafre pyramids – comparative data. The results are quoted as a “deviation from cardinality” – positive for a clockwise deviation and negative for a counterclockwise deviation Khufu’s pyramid Side Petrie (1883, p. 39) North 0 03.30 East 0 04.00 South 0 03.70 West 0 03.90 Mean 0 03.70 deviation from cardinality Khafre’s pyramid Side Petrie (1883, p. 97) North 0 05.50 East 0 06.20 South 0 05.70 West 0 04.40 Mean 0 05.40 deviation from cardinality

Cole (1925, p. 6)

Dorner (1981, p. 77)

0 0 0 0 0

0 0 0 0 0

02.50 05.50 02.00 02.50 03.10

02.50 03.40 02.50 02.80 02.80

Dorner (1981, pp. 80–81) 0 05.20 0 06.00 0 05.70 0 06.00 0 05.70

Lehner and Goodman 1984 (Dash 2013) 0 02.90 0 03.40 0 03.70 0 04.60 0 03.60

Nell and Ruggles (2014)

Mean deviation from cardinality (DFC)

0 0 0 0 0

0 0 0 0 0

03.60 03.40 00.50 03.70 02.80

Lehner (1986, Nell and p. 31) Ruggles (2014) 0 04.60 0 03.80  0 0 05.3 0 04.00  0 0 03.5 0 05.80  0 0 06.3 0 04.20  0 04.9 0 04.50

03.00 03.90 02.50 03.50 03.20

Mean deviation from cardinality (DFC) 0 04.80 0 05.40 0 05.20 0 05.20 0 05.10

Virtually no casing foundation edge is visible for Menkaure’s pyramid, so estimates of the intended orientation can only be obtained from the stone courses of the pyramid itself: Petrie (1883, p. 111) obtained clockwise deviations between 12´ and 17´ with a mean of 14´, while Nell and Ruggles (2014), generally measuring higher courses, obtained values between 7´ and 32´. This is clearly significantly different from Khufu’s and Khafre’s and, indeed, the earlier Snefru pyramids. How was such extraordinary precision achieved? Certainly, cords, posts, and astronomical observations were being used to align and measure buildings: various texts describe how the king would gaze at the stars before determining the “corners” of the temple, and depictions of the “stretching of the cord” foundation ceremony – which already existed at the time of construction of the Giza pyramids – show the use of posts and ropes (Belmonte 2001). It is also likely that the Egyptian surveyors used gnomons, cords and plumb bobs, and an instrument called a “bay” for sighting on stars or measuring the sun’s shadow (Zˇa´ba 1953; Isler 1989; Wells 1996). However, the particular method or methods that might have been used to align the Giza pyramids remain hotly debated (for overviews, see Belmonte 2001, pp. S1–S3; Lull 2004, pp. 287–302).

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The most likely astronomical targets were circumpolar stars close to the north celestial pole. If so, then the north–south axis was the primary one and the north and south sides were oriented by perpendicular offset (more accurately, as it would seem, in the case of Khafre’s pyramid than for Khufu’s). Various early suggestions involved determining the mean direction between those of greatest elongation (e.g., Petrie 1883, pp. 212–212) or those of the rising and setting points (e.g., Edwards 1947, pp. 209–211) of a given circumpolar star, but all are problematic in various ways. Spence (2000) proposed that two circumpolar stars on opposite sides of the celestial pole – Kochab (b UMi) and Mizar (z UMa) – were used, a plumb line being hung to determine when one was directly beneath the other. If this was taken as the direction of true north, Spence hypothesized, then precession could explain the gradual variation in the orientations both of the three Giza pyramids and of others built shortly before and after this. However, this method would imply a construction date for Khufu’s pyramid approximately a century later than the date accepted by most Egyptologists. Belmonte (2001) suggested instead the use of Phecda (g UMa) and Megrez (d UMa), two stars on the same side of the celestial pole and both forming part of the constellation Meskhetiu (see ▶ Chap. 130, “Egyptian Constellations”). Both of these explanations beg the question of how the particular pair of stars might have been identified as the “best” choice in the first place, given that the precise direction of true north was not already known. The only obvious way would be to find the midway direction between opposite configurations, “upside down” from each other, which raises similar difficulties as for the single-star methods. An alternative suggestion is that the north direction was determined using the sun, and different methods have been proposed using a gnomon and measuring cord (Neugebauer 1980; Isler 2001, p. 163), but again, these raise a number of difficulties. The idea that the easterly direction rather than the northerly one could have been the one determined astronomically, in particular using sunrise at the time of the equinox, is unviable because of difficulties and inherent inaccuracies in determining the equinox (Ruggles 1997; see also ▶ Chap. 25, “Best Practice for Evaluating the Astronomical Significance of Archaeological Sites”), although Nell and Ruggles (2014) have argued that some of the associated structures on the Giza Plateau might have been aligned using sunrise in the east (or sunset in the west) on a day when the sun was seen to rise (or set) in line with the north or south faces of the larger pyramids. An important question, especially in view of Spence’s proposal, is whether the orientations of Khufu’s and Khafre’s pyramids differ significantly from each other. Belmonte (2001) estimates that two arc minutes is the smallest angle that can be discerned or resolved by the human eye, so that differences in orientation smaller than this are highly unlikely to have been significant to the builders. While the “averaged” data for the two pyramids (Table 134.1) gives a difference of about this order, if only the north–south axes (east and west sides) are considered, given that this is likely to have been the primary axis, then the difference drops to 1.6´ (DFC 3.7´ for Khufu’s pyramid and 5.3´ for Khafre’s); Nell and Ruggles’s (2014) data gives an even smaller difference of only 0.5´ (DFC 3.6´ for Khufu’s pyramid and 4.1´ for Khafre’s). It certainly seems unsafe to assume that there was

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any meaningful difference in the orientations of the two pyramids, resulting either from a change in method or a change in the result due to the shifting of the reference stars over time. The broader Old Kingdom practice of cardinal orientation of tombs and temples almost certainly had to do with preserving the perceived cosmic order. Thus, the northerly direction, where the imperishable (circumpolar) stars resided, was the resting place of the immortal, while the westerly part of the horizon, where the sun set each night, was the entrance to the Duat, the otherworld, which had to be traversed on the path to immortality. But we can only speculate on the nature of the symbolic and ideological principles that called for such impressive precision.

“Ventilation Shafts” in Khufu’s Pyramid Celestial observations may well have had a greater part to play in the construction of Khufu’s pyramid than merely determining its orientation. In addition to the three main chambers (two – the King’s Chamber and the so-called Queen’s Chamber – deep within the pyramid together with a subterranean chamber beneath it) and the passages leading into them (Lehner 1997, p. 108), the Great Pyramid contains two long narrow shafts, only 22 cm  23 cm in cross section, running directly from opposite sides of the King’s Chamber up to openings high up on the north and south faces. Each shaft runs horizontally out of the chamber for a short distance and then runs straight upwards at a steep angle. The northern shaft is inclined at 32 36´ and the southern one at around 44 . Two similar shafts extended up from the Queen’s Chamber but have not been traced all the way to the surface (Stadelmann and Gantenbrink 1994). Of these, the northern one was inclined at 39 07´ and the southern at 39 36´. Each of the four shafts, like the pyramids themselves, was aligned horizontally within a few minutes of arc of true north or south. To archaeologists, the obvious explanation had been that these shafts were for ventilation, but in the 1960s it was discovered that, around the time of construction, the King’s Chamber northern shaft was aligned upon the upper culmination of the star Thuban (a Dra), the closest bright star to the celestial pole at the time, while the southern shaft was aligned upon Alnilam (e Ori), the central star of Orion’s Belt, as it crossed the meridian in the south (Trimble 1964). The shafts were clearly not used for observation, but there are good reasons not to put these stellar alignments down to chance. As is clear from the “Pyramid Texts” found in later Old Kingdom pyramids, Thuban was foremost among the “imperishable” (circumpolar) stars in the north, while the god Osiris, visible in the sky in the form of the constellation Sah, Orion (see ▶ Chap. 130, “Egyptian Constellations”), was associated with the afterlife (Wilkinson 2003, p. 105). It has been suggested that these alignments were quite deliberate and that the shafts’ purpose was to symbolize and perhaps to facilitate the passage of the pharaoh into the sky in the afterlife (e.g., Krupp 1997, pp. 285–290).

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On the other hand, the Queen’s Chamber shafts do not fit the stars quite so well. It has been suggested that the southern shaft was aligned upon Sirius (a CMa) and the northern one upon Kochab (b UMi), but the shaft alignments miss the culminating stars in the mid-twenty-sixth century BC by some 1 40´ in both cases (see Lull 2004, pp. 302–312 for a full discussion). This inevitably weakens the astronomical argument and the question remains open. A possibility is that the shafts had a dual function, both practical and symbolic (Belmonte 2012, p. 205).

Sacred Geography of the Giza Plateau There is no doubt that the layout of the various constructions on the Giza Plateau was meticulously planned. This is evident from various alignments between the monuments (see ▶ Fig. 133.9), most notably that: • All four sides of each main pyramid have an unobstructed view of the cardinal points. • The southeastern corners of the three main pyramids lie in a straight line (the so-called Giza diagonal). • The eastern sides of Khafre’s and Menkaure’s mortuary temples are aligned respectively with the western sides of Khufu’s and Khafre’s pyramids. It may be that the “Giza diagonal” arose because the surveyors laying out the Menkaure pyramid used the southeastern corners of the two existing pyramids and a natural feature – a small hillock to the southwest (Lehner 1997, p. 106) – to lay out the baseline upon which the southeastern corner of the new pyramid was set. Likewise, Khafre’s and Menkaure’s mortuary temples may well have been aligned by sighting upon the existing pyramids. There are also a number of alignments on the Giza Plateau that may deliberately have expressed symbolic connections with the sun. The principal ones mentioned in the literature are as follows: • As viewed from a certain distance to the southeast of the Sphinx Temple, the sun at the summer solstice sets behind the head of the Sphinx, midway between Khufu’s and Khafre’s pyramids. The visual effect is to form a natural version of the akhet (“horizon”) hieroglyph, which also had the meaning “a place of glorification where the sun sets” and was the name given to Khufu’s pyramid (Fig. 134.4; see also Wilkinson 1994, Fig. 120; Lehner 1997, p. 130; Dash 2011; Belmonte 2012, Fig. 8). • From a position in front of the Sphinx temple, the sun sets at the equinoxes at the southern foot of Khafre’s pyramid (Lehner 1997, p. 129). • The Sphinx itself faces the equinoctial rising sun (Lull 2004, p. 316). The first of these is speculative but credible, especially given that by New Kingdom times, the Sphinx had become known as Hor-em-akhet, “Horus at the horizon”, a form of the solar deity. This hierophany may have been noticed after the construction of the Sphinx and pyramids had been completed, but it is plausible that it formed an integral part of the original plan (Belmonte 2012, pp. 220–221). The equinoctial alignments, on the other hand, may simply be a consequence of the

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Fig. 134.4 June solstice sunset behind the Sphinx, between Khafre’s and Khufu’s pyramids. This visual effect bears a strong resemblance to the akhet (“horizon”) hieroglyph (Photograph: Juan Belmonte)

general pattern of cardinal alignment of the whole necropolis: there is no written evidence to support the supposition that the equinox as such was important to the ancient Egyptians. That said, the Sphinx was strongly associated with the sun (e.g., Lull 2004, pp. 312–313) and it may certainly have been significant that the Sphinx faced sunrise. Most commentators agree that such dramatic hierophanies and alignments such as these are likely to have represented real attempts to reflect ideological principles that helped to sustain the hierarchy of political power in a highly visible manner in the landscape. More controversially, it has been suggested that the monuments on the Giza Plateau formed part of an even wider “master plan”, a much broader scheme of sacred geography that connected pyramids constructed along a 20 km stretch of the west bank of the Nile – Abu Roash, Giza itself, Zawiyet el-Aryan, Abusir (including the sun temples at Abu Ghurob, just to the north), and Saqqara – with the city of Heliopolis some 20 km to the northeast (Jeffreys 1998; Magli 2010a; see ▶ Fig. 133.8). Heliopolis seems to have been the religious capital during Old Kingdom times (Malek 2000, p. 92) and thus the center of the sun cult. It is undeniable that the “Giza diagonal” is aligned to Heliopolis, and the suggestion is that this represented a deliberate attempt to establish a connection, both visual and symbolic, between the pyramids and the temple of the sun which once stood within the city, prominent across the Nile valley (Magli 2010a, p. 2235). Similarly, architectural “axes” existed at the other sites, all referencing Heliopolis, although it was not always visible: at Abusir, the view was obstructed (Magli 2010a, p. 2238). However, the “axes” at different sites are defined in different ways – for example, the putative alignment of pyramids at Saqqara (Lehner 1985; Magli 2010b, p. 3) involves the NW corners of two of them, the SE corners of two more, and a complete diagonal of the fifth – raising familiar issues of data selection (see ▶ Chap. 27, “Analyzing Orientations”).

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Cross-References ▶ Analyzing Orientations ▶ Ancient Egyptian Calendars ▶ Best Practice for Evaluating the Astronomical Significance of Archaeological Sites ▶ Egyptian Constellations ▶ Orientation of Egyptian Temples: An Overview

References Bauval R, Gilbert A (1994) The Orion mystery: unlocking the secrets of the pyramids. Heinemann, London Belmonte JA (2001) On the orientation of Old Kingdom Egyptian pyramids. Archaeoastronomy 26(supplement to the Journal for the History for Astronomy 32):S1–S20 Belmonte JA (2012) Pira´mides, templos y estrellas: astronomı´a y arqueologı´a en el Egipto antiguo. Crı´tica, Barcelona Belmonte JA, Shaltout M, Fekri M (2009) Astronomy, landscape and symbolism: a study of the orientation of ancient Egyptian temples. In: Belmonte JA, Shaltout M (eds) In search of cosmic order: selected essays on Egyptian archaeoastronomy. Supreme Council of Antiquities Press, Cairo, pp 215–283 Cole JH (1925) Determination of the exact size and orientation of the Great Pyramid of Giza. Survey of Egypt Paper No 39, Government Press, Cairo Dash G (2011) Solar alignments of Giza. AERAgram 12(2):3–8 Dash G (2013) New angles on the great pyramid. AERAgram 13(2):10–19 Dorner J (1981) Die Absteckung und astronomische Orientierung €agyptischer Pyramiden. Unpublished PhD thesis, University of Innsbruck Edwards IES (1947) The pyramids of Egypt. Penguin, London Hancock G, Faiia S (1998) Heaven’s mirror. Penguin, London Isler M (1989) An ancient method of finding and extending direction. J Am Res Cent Egypt 26:191–206 Isler M (2001) Sticks, stones and shadows: building the Egyptian pyramids. University of Oklahoma Press, Norman Jeffreys DG (1998) The topography of Heliopolis and Memphis: some cognitive aspects. In: ¨ gyptens Rainer Stadelmann Guksch H, Polz D (eds) Stationen: Beitr€age zur Kulturgeschichte A gewidmet. Philipp von Zabern, Mainz, pp 63–71 Krupp EC (1997) Skywatchers, shamans and kings. Wiley, New York Lehner M (1985) A contextual approach to the Giza pyramids. Arch Orientforsch 31:136–158 Lehner M (1986) The Giza Plateau Mapping Project: season 1986. Am Res Cent Egypt Newslett 135:29–54 Lehner M (1997) The complete pyramids: solving the ancient mysteries. Thames and Hudson, London Lull J (2004) La astronomı´a en el antiguo Egipto. Universitat de Vale`ncia, Valencia Magli G (2010a) The cosmic landscape in the age of the pyramids. J Cosmol 9:2232–2244 Magli G (2010b) Archaeoastronomy and archaeo-topography as tools in search for a missing Egyptian pyramid. PalArch’s J Archaeol Egypt/Egyptol 7(5):1–9, http://www.palarch.nl/category/egypt/. Accessed 15 Feb 2012 Malek J (2000) The Old Kingdom. In: Shaw I (ed) The Oxford history of Ancient Egypt. Oxford University Press, Oxford, pp 89–117 Nell E, Ruggles CLN (2014) The orientations of the Giza pyramids and associated structures. Journal for the History of Astronomy 45, in press. E-preprint http://arxiv.org/abs/1302.5622. Accessed 28 Feb 2013

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Neugebauer O (1980) On the orientation of pyramids. Centaurus 24:1–3 Petrie WMF (1883) The Pyramids and Temples of Gizeh. Field and Tuer, London Ruggles CLN (1997) Whose equinox? Archaeoastronomy 22(supplement to Journal for the History of Astronomy 28):S45–S50 Shaw I (ed) (2000) The Oxford history of Ancient Egypt. Oxford University Press, Oxford Spence K (2000) Ancient Egyptian chronology and the orientation of pyramids. Nature 408:320–324 Stadelmann R, Gantenbrink R (1994) Die sogenannten Luftkan€ale der Cheopspyamide: Modelkorridore f€ur den Aufsteig des Ko¨nigs zum Himmel. Mitteilungen des Deutschen Arch€aologischen Instituts Abteilung Kairo 50:285–294 Trimble V (1964) Astronomical investigations concerning the so-called air shafts of Cheops’ pyramid. Mitteilungen des Instituts f€ ur Orientforschung 10:183–187 Wells RA (1996) Astronomy in Egypt. In Walker C (ed.) Astronomy before the Telescope. British Museum Press, London, pp 28–41 Wilkinson RH (1994) Symbol and magic in Egyptian art. Thames and Hudson, London Wilkinson RH (2003) The complete gods and goddesses of ancient Egypt. Thames and Hudson, London Zˇa´ba Z (1953) L’orientation astronomique dans l’ancienne E´gypte, et la pre´cession de l’axe du monde. Acade´mie Tche´coslovaque des Sciences, Prague

Karnak

135

Juan Antonio Belmonte

Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Solstitial Temples . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Astronomy and Landscape . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Abstract

The Amon temple of Karnak shows an impressive axis of symmetry which can certainly be interpreted in a context where astronomy combines with religion, history, and landscape to produce one of the most sacred traditional spots on Earth. The combination of the local course of the Nile, a solstitial orientation, the wandering aspect of the civil calendar, and the nature of the deity worshipped in the temple can be considered a paradigm of testimonials to the correct interpretation of the complex.

Introduction The temple of Karnak, or Ipet Sut in the ancient Egyptian sources, can be considered one of the best examples of landscape astronomy. This magnificent religious complex located in ancient Thebes (modern Luxor) could have formed part of a relevant chapter in the history of archaeoastronomy. At the end of the nineteenth century, Norman Lockyer (1993) argued that the main structure of the complex, the temple of Amon, would have been orientated toward sunset at the summer solstice,

J.A. Belmonte Instituto de Astrofı´sica de Canarias, Universidad de La Laguna, La Laguna, Tenerife, Spain e-mail: [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_152, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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Fig. 135.1 The main axis of the temple of Karnak facing west. The hills of Thebes located at the horizon preclude the visibility of sunset at the summer solstice in the axis of the temple as might have been anticipated by studying the plan of the monument. This leads to the suggestion that the opposite direction (winter solstice sunrise) might be the most relevant one (Photograph by J. A. Belmonte)

as the alignment of the main axis suggested. However, when he asked for this hypothesis to be checked on site, he learned that the hills of Western Thebes precluded such an alignment (Fig. 135.1) and that the light of the setting sun would never actually have reached the interior chambers of the temple, unless the building had been constructed 55 centuries earlier, i.e., around 3600 BC. At his time, this date did sound problematic but still reasonable for the working chronology of the epoch. However, when the old chronology failed and a new one was proposed with a reduction of a complete Sothic cycle at the turn of the twentieth century, his hypothesis was severely questioned. Apparently, although Lockyer was still alive (now in his seventies), he never made the necessary effort to accommodate his proposals to the new chronology. Consequently, the potential solstitial alignment of Ipet Sut was forgotten for three quarters of a century. Six decades later, Barguet (1962) argued that the inscriptions on the walls of the complex supported the idea that, although the main temple entrance was opened to the west and to the river, the temple was somehow connected to the east and especially to sunrise. These ideas were later explored by Hawkins (1973, 1975), who firstly reported on the winter solstice alignment of the nineteenth dynasty

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Fig. 135.2 The so-called high room of the sun, accessible from the Festival Hall of Thutmosis III. From this holy place, it was possible to observe the rising of the sun at the winter solstice through a window located in the appropriate direction close to an altar of the sun (Photographs by J. A. Belmonte)

temple of Re-Horakhty, but particularly called attention to the so-called “high room” of the sun (Fig. 135.2). This had probably been built by Thutmosis III as an “observing” site connected to his “Hall of Festivals” (the Akh-menu), although the inscriptions on the walls, which honored sunrise, date from the reign of Ramses III. We shall not go into the details of the astronomical significance of this structure since it has been extensively discussed by Hawkins and later by Krupp (1984, 1988), who made a reasoned analysis of the site. Instead, we concentrate here on other interesting possibilities, reinforcing the astronomical importance of the complex’s axis and relating this to local topography. In recent work by Carlotti (2005), it was demonstrated that the complex of the Amon temple at Karnak was surrounded during the Middle Kingdom by a village organized through a hyppodamian network whose main axis was that of the dromos connecting the temples of Mut and Amon. This was also the orientation of the axis of Mut temple. However, the E–W axis of this network diverged by more than 7 from the main axis of the Amon-Re temple (109¼ vs. 116¾ , respectively). This fact suggests that the orientation of this temple was deliberately chosen and not at all restricted by local urban necessities. This is related to a couple of additional important facts.

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Fig. 135.3 Another significant structure of the Amon complex at Karnak related to sunrise at the winter solstice is the temple of Amon-Re-who-hears-the-prayers, erected by Hatshepsut, and orientated originally toward the open horizon to the place where “her father” rises (Photograph by J.A. Belmonte)

Solstitial Temples In the first half of the fifteenth century BC, something extraordinary happened in Egypt. A woman, the royal wife Hatshepsut, proclaimed herself dual king of Egypt. To do so, she had to proclaim that her father had been none other than the god Amon-Re himself, who had elected her for royalty. At this time, the great temple of Ipet Sut had been standing for at least half a millennium since the time of the early Middle Kingdom when, according to Gabolde (1998), it had been precisely orientated toward sunrise at the winter solstice. However, the Middle Kingdom temple, and later enlargements by Amenhotep I and the two first Thutmosis, had faced west, toward the hill of Thebes. “King” Hatshepsut built a new temple to Amon-Re-who-hears-the-prayers exactly on the same axis but opening to the east, thus being the first structure at Karnak actually orientated toward sunrise at the winter solstice (Fig. 135.3). Apart from the mere cult necessities, why was this temple erected? The objective was probably both religious and political. A passage of the Petrie stela concerning two obelisks erected before one of the temples of the Karnak complex reports on the erection of these obelisks “one on each way between which my father rises” (Traunecker 1991), indicating that Amon is clearly identified with Re and that we

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Fig. 135.4 The imposing temple of million years of Queen Hatshepsut at Deir el Bahari illuminated by the early rays of the winter solstice sun, a phenomenon toward which the building was probably orientated (Photograph by J.A. Belmonte)

are dealing with some sort of solar alignment. Belmonte et al. (2009) have suggested that the temple mentioned in the stela is that of Amon-Re-who-hearsthe-prayers, in front of which it is known that a couple of gigantic rose-granite obelisks were erected. At dawn on the winter solstice, a beautiful hierophany must have been produced. The morning sun would have risen between the two obelisks and illuminated the embraced statues of Amon-Re and Hatshepsut (see Fig. 135.3). Since this temple was in a court open to the public, we can only imagine the political revenues that such a divine manifestation of support would have accrued for her interests. Moreover, while this took place on the east bank of the Nile, just in front of Karnak, on the west bank, the “temple of million years” of the Queen, the Djeserdjeseru, better known as Deir el Bahari, was also perpendicularly illuminated by the rays of the rising sun (Fig. 135.4). Sunrise at the winter solstice may have had important mythological and/or calendrical implications. Because of the wandering of the civil calendar across the seasons, there were two occasions after the creation of the calendar when New Year’s Eve or I Akhet 1 fell at the moment of the winter solstice: the first was in a 4-year period centered on 2004 BC. This was a very interesting moment in Egyptian history. Mentuhotep II from Thebes had just reunified the country, and new buildings, on a large monumental scale, were constructed for the first time in the very south of the country, including Karnak, where the most ancient register a polygonal column possibly of a door jamb is

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Fig. 135.5 Mentuhotep III’s Horus temple at the summit of Djebel Thoth. It is built above the foundations of an archaic period temple with a slightly different orientation. This is an early example of a winter solstice rising temple in the area of Thebes (Photograph by J.A. Belmonte)

dated from the reign of his father Antef III (c. 2050 BC). The most significant of all was Mentuhotep II’s mortuary temple at Deir el Bahari and the temple of Horus at the summit of Djebel Thoth, the highest of the Theban Hills, built by his son Mentuhotep III (Fig. 135.5). A few years later, the temple of Amon, a new aspect of the solar god, was reerected by Senuseret I in Karnak, also on a larger monumental scale. Not surprisingly, all these monuments were orientated to the rising of the sun at the winter solstice and thus, for a few years, to the rising of the sun on the first day of the civil year, I Akhet 1 or Wepet Renpet (Shaltout and Belmonte 2005). This fact can hardly be ascribed to chance. On the death of Hatshepsut, the actual legitimate sovereign, her nephew Thutmosis III, started his reign alone. Although it is not yet clear when the damnatio memoriae of Hatshepsut was performed, it is obvious that many monuments of the female “king” were either usurped by the new King or somehow lost prominence. This was the case of the temple of Amon-Re-who-hears-the-prayers. Thutmosis erected a new structure in front of it, thus preventing the illumination by the sun’s rays of the statue of the Queen. The main focus of this new structure was a single huge obelisk, the highest ever to be erected in Egypt but only by his grandson Thutmosis IV and which today adorns the Roman square of Saint John of Letran. This granite monolith was located exactly on the main axis of Ipet Sut.

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Fig. 135.6 Sunrise at the winter solstice at the main axis of the temple of Karnak as seen from the quay. The phenomenon would have been more accurate 4,000 years ago when the temple was first aligned perhaps to Wepet Renpet as well since at that precise period, the disk of the sun would have been a complete solar diameter to its right (dotted circle) (Photograph by J. A. Belmonte)

We can speculate that, at the same time, the two Thutmosis gained credit for this new impressive work of engineering because, thanks to its height, the top of the obelisk could be seen from the opposite extreme of the complex, so that anybody located at the main entrance (e.g., on the quay) could have seen the rising sun of the winter solstice appearing behind it (Fig. 135.6). Afterward, during the reign of Ramses II, the obelisk was surrounded by the structures of the new temple of ReHorakhty, and the temple of Amon-Re-who-hear-the-prayers became sandwiched between two larger structures, the same situation in which we can see it today (without obelisks), making it difficult to imagine how it would have been when it was the first temple in the Ipet Sut complex facing the winter rising of “her father Amon”.

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Fig. 135.7 Astronomy and landscape in ancient Egypt. The location of two important sacred sites in Upper Egypt may have been determined by the presence of a double astronomical-topographical alignment, combining astronomy and landscape. Karnak would have been located at a particular place in the valley where the winter solstice sunrise was perpendicular to the course of the Nile. Another example, Denderah, would have been located at a place where the river flow came from the direction where Sirius, harbinger of the flooding, rose. In the Graeco-Roman period, the perpendicular to this line signaled the rising of Meskhetyu. The temples erected at these places had their orientations selected accordingly (Adapted from Belmonte 2012)

Astronomy and Landscape Ipet Sut, and most of Thebes, is located at the only site in the Nile Valley, above the first cataract, where the river flows and has flowed for most of the last few millennia, as records demonstrate in such a way that the average perpendicular direction to the water course is the solstitial line connecting winter solstice sunrise and summer solstice sunset. It is possible that this natural circumstance was discovered by the Egyptians and may have helped to establish the sanctity of Thebes, and above all, the area of Karnak (Belmonte 2012; the idea was previously outlined by Krupp 1984). We would then be facing an extraordinary case of a combination of topography and astronomy, an outstanding example of what has been called the archaeology of landscape, understanding by “landscape” not only the earthly one but also that of the sky. This could be further tested at other temples in the vicinity of Karnak and other places in Egypt (Fig. 135.7).

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In conclusion, the temple of Karnak was built at a very singular place in Upper Egypt where the axis of the temple is at the same time perpendicular to the Nile and also orientated to winter solstice sunrise. The date, apart from its intrinsic value, was extremely close to Wepet Renpet during the reign of Senuseret I, founder of the first monumental temple at the site. The coincidence between winter solstice and Wepet Renpet happened c. 2004 BC when one of the Mentuhotep kings was on the throne and solstitial temples were already being erected in Thebes.

Cross-References ▶ Ancient Egyptian Calendars ▶ Orientation of Egyptian Temples: An Overview

References Barguet P (1962) Le temple d’Amon-Re a` Karnak. IFAO, Cairo Belmonte JA (2012) Pira´mides, templos y estrellas: astronomı´a y arqueologı´a en el Egipto antiguo. Crı´tica, Barcelona Belmonte JA, Shaltout M, Fekri M (2009) Astronomy, landscape and symbolism: a study on the orientations of ancient Egyptian temples. In: Belmonte JA, Shaltout M (eds) In search of cosmic order, selected essays on Egyptian archaeoastronomy. SCA Press, Cairo, pp 213–284 Carlotti JF (2005) Conside´rations architecturales sur l’orientation, la composition et les proportions des structures du temple d’Amon-Reˆ a´ Karnak. In: Ja´nosi P (ed) Structure and signifi¨ sterreichischen Akademie der cance: thoughts on ancient Egyptian architecture. Verlag der O Wissenschaften, Wien, pp 169–191 Gabolde L (1998) La date de fondation du temple de Se´sotris Ier et l’orientation e l’axe, In: Le Grand Chaˆteau d’Amon de Se´sostris Ier a` Karnak. Paris Hawkins GS (1973) Beyond stonehenge. Thames and Hudson, New York Hawkins GS (1975) Astroarchaeology: the unwritten evidence. In: Aveni AF (ed) Archaeoastronomy in Pre-Columbian America. Texas University Press, Austin, pp 131–162 Krupp EC (1984) Egyptian astronomy: temples, traditions, tombs. In: Archaeo-astronomy and the roots of science. AAAS Symposium 71, Westview. pp 289–320 Krupp EC (1988) Light in the temples. In: Ruggles CLN (ed) Records in stone: papers in memory of Alexander Thom. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, pp 473–499 Lockyer JN (1993) The dawn of astronomy. New edition. Kessinger, New York Shaltout M, Belmonte JA (2005) On the orientation of ancient Egyptian temples: (1) upper Egypt and lower Nubia. J Hist Astron 36:273–298 Traunecker C (1991) Observations sur les cultes a` ciel ouvert en E´gipte ancienne. La sale solaire de l’Akmmenou a` Karnak. In: L’Space Sacrificiel dans les Civilizations Me´diterrane´ens de l’Antiquite´. Paris, pp 252–254

Kingdom of Kush

136

Juan Antonio Belmonte

Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Testing Families of Astronomical Orientations . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Astronomy and Landscape . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

1541 1543 1546 1547 1547

Abstract

This chapter describes an analysis of temples in Sudan undertaken in order to test the results obtained from the monuments of ancient Egypt. Data were obtained from high-resolution Google Earth images, covering a vast area of the country (although not all of it), and, in those sectors where such images were not available, from good quality maps yielded by the specialized literature. The idea was to carry out a significant test of existing theories with a completely independent set of temples not only from the geographical point of view but also because most of them belong to an independent culture, the Kingdom of Kush, heavily influenced by Egyptian schemes and traditions. The Sudanese data are variegated and must be treated with caution.

Introduction The Kingdom of Kush covers a long historical period from c. seventh century BC to the fourth century AD in the north of present-day Sudan and the extreme south of Egypt, extending from historical Nubia
between the first and the third cataracts

J.A. Belmonte Instituto de Astrofı´sica de Canarias, Universidad de La Laguna, La Laguna, Tenerife, Spain e-mail: [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_153, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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of the Nile
to the area of modern Khartoum (Welsby 1996). There have been a few essays dealing with the topic of cultural astronomy and astronomical observations in the ancient Kingdom of Kush, but none was explicitly devoted to archaeoastronomy prior to the work of Belmonte et al. (2010) on Sudanese temples. From the early works, we learn about the presence of graffiti at the capital city of Meroe suggesting the presence of astronomical instruments, presumably astronomical observations, and even the possibility of an observatory in the precinct of the ancient city (Depuydt 1998; Logan and Williams 2000). The encyclopedic work of Laszlo To¨ro¨k (1997) even informs us of the possible existence of an astronomer, or rather a skywatcher, among the high-ranking officers of the Kingdom of Kush. His name was Wayekiye, who was “hont-priest of Sothis”, ancient Egyptian Sopdet, the brightest star in the sky, and one of the celestial aspects of the goddess Isis. However, Wenig (2001), when dealing with the temple complex at Mussawarat es-Sufra, has written that “the excavations revealed that several times in its history the complex had been razed to the ground to be reerected and expanded on the same spot, yet each time with a slight change of orientation ranging between 4 and 5 200    The orientation of the temples must have been determined by certain stars, whose position in the sky changed over time, and this orientation was so quintessential that the temples of the earlier complexes had to be re-erected several times. It was not dilapidation that motivated the repeated construction work, but a religious necessity to follow the stars in the orientation of the temples”. This paragraph lays out a series of very interesting statements
the stellar orientation of Kushite monuments, reconstructions of buildings according to astronomical patterns, and a close relationship with religion
that obviously needed to be tested and verified (Belmonte et al. 2010). Following the Egyptian experience (see ▶ Chap. 133, “Orientation of Egyptian Temples: An Overview”) and given the presence in the region of celestial diagrams (Berenguer Soto and M. Diaz de Cerio 2001), we can make the hypothesis that the movements of the sun, perhaps the moon, and other important stars and asterisms were followed and studied by the Kushites. The idea was to test whether this knowledge could be traced in the archaeological record and, if so, how it related to what has been learnt further to the north in the land of the pharaohs. The double kings of Kush considered themselves as heirs and alter ego of the kings of Egypt, and for a century or so, during the 25th Dynasty, they actually dominated the complete valley of the Nile from Khartoum to the Mediterranean. Afterward, following the Assyrian invasion, they retreated to behind the first or the second cataract (depending the period) but still ruling a huge extent of land, first from the capital city of Napata, at the foot of the “Pure Mountain”, the Djebel Barkal, and later from the city of Meroe in the Butana region, further inland in the African continent (To¨ro¨k 1997; Edwards 2004). However, the area of Napata preserved a strong religious importance, and even the royal burial place with its fascinating pyramids was not transferred to the area of Meroe until the reign of King Arqamani(qo), at the beginning of the third century

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Equinox

ss 55 SUDANESE TEMPLES

Normalized relative frequency

4 II IV 3

VI+

VI− VII−

2

I

1

0

−60

−40

−20

0

20

40

60

DECLINATION

Fig. 136.1 Declination histogram of Sudanese temples. Six peaks are clearly significant. Interestingly, all these peaks can easily find equivalences in the set of orientation families previously discovered for Egyptian temples

BC (Lehner 1997). This transfer has been taken as the reference point that normally splits the history of Kush between a Napatan and a Meroitic period.

Testing Families of Astronomical Orientations For ancient Egypt, the existence of a series of families of astronomical alignments has been suggested, reflecting tendencies in the orientation of sacred spaces: (1) eastern or “equinoctial”, (2) winter
solstitial, (3) seasonal, (4) of Sirius (Sothic), (5) of Canopus, (6) meridian, and (7) intercardinal. These were often combined with Nile orientation in a relationship between astronomy and topography (Belmonte et al. 2009; see also ▶ Chap. 135, “Karnak”). Figure 136.1 shows the declination histogram of 55 alignments in Sudanese temples. Data were obtained from high-resolution Google Earth images and, in a few cases, from high-quality archaeological plans and should be treated with more caution than the Egyptian data (see Belmonte et al. 2010 for more details). However, they are still very useful for a comprehensive comparative statistical analysis. Analysis of the histogram has been very suggestive, revealing several clear significant peaks. Interestingly, all these peaks can be related to the previously established families of orientations in Egypt. The most significant is a double peak with maxima located at
23 and
17½ , most probably related to the winter solstice sun and to Sirius (Sopdet). The fascinating aspect of this plot is that all the significant peaks have a parallel in the northern tradition, suggesting that the strong

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Fig. 136.2 Plan of the temple of Amon at Dongeil, built by Queen Amanitore and King Natakamani with an orientation to sunrise at Wepet Renpet (Adapted from Belmonte (2012) from a map, courtesy of the Berber-Abidiya Archaeological Project)

Egyptian influence perceived in many other aspects of Kushite civilization, especially in religion, was extended to orientation practices. The exercise in Sudan, as in the case of Egypt, actually demonstrates that only three customs of astronomical orientations were present in the region of the ancient Kushite Kingdom throughout its land and in the course of its history: cardinal, solar, and stellar. The cardinal custom is represented by families VI, marginally I, and perhaps VII (see Fig. 136.1) and would have been achieved by the observations of certain configurations of stars in the north (predominantly, if not exclusively, the stars of Meskhetyu). As in Egypt, this procedure would initially give a nearmeridian axis that would later offer various alternatives: a gate opening north, a gate opening south, a gate opening east (or west), or a new axis by turning the original by 45 or 135 . The solar custom is demonstrated by families II and I (just in a few instances). This would basically have been related to important points of the solar seasonal cycle such as the winter solstice and, perhaps, the spring equinox, or in a few special cases to such an important date in the civil calendar as Wepet Renpet. Paradigmatic examples are the Kushite Amun temples, notably those with a dais room
a special cult hall (Fig. 136.2)
studied by Rocheleau (2008). The study of these Kushite temples has been especially suggestive. For example, it has been shown that pilgrimage temples with a dais room have standard solar orientations either to significant milestones in the annual cycle — such as the winter solstice and, possibly, the spring equinox — or to the important date of New Year’s Eve in the civil calendar, I Akhet 1, or Wepet Renpet (Belmonte 2003). This would suggest a continuation of Egyptian traditions not only during the reign of the

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128 PYRAMIDS FROM NAPATA & MEROE

Normalized relative frequency

4

3

2

1

0 0

50

100

150

AZIMUTH

Fig. 136.3 Orientation histogram of royal pyramids of the Kushite necropolises obtained with data from the literature and Google Earth images. This serves as a first approximation
pending on-site accurate measurements
for the analysis of the orientation pattern of these monuments. Dashed vertical lines indicate the extreme azimuths of Sirius for the region and the corresponding period of interest

double kings of the 25th Dynasty, notably Taharqa, but also during the Meroitic period, during the reign of the royal couple of Natakamani and Amanitore (see Fig. 136.2). Moreover, this solar aspect is combined on a few occasions with local topography to create a real astronomical landscape, as in the fascinating cases of Kawa and Meroe. Thus, the Amun temples in Sudan provide a strong clue to the relationship between astronomical practices, associated with temple orientations, and diverse cultural aspects of Kushite civilization during both the Napatan and the Meroitic periods, and confirm that Egyptian cultural influence had deep roots in the land of Kush. Finally, the stellar custom is represented by family IV, important for both Kushite temples and pyramids. Once again, there can be no doubt concerning the pertinence and relevance of the alignments to Sopdet, although it would be highly desirable to have new epigraphic information further confirming the importance of Sothis in the history of Kush. For example, Fig. 136.3 shows an orientation histogram of 128 royal pyramids in the cemeteries of the Kushite Kingdom at El Kurru, Djebel Barkal, Nuri, and Meroe (Google Earth images have been combined with data obtained from general plans and azimuths published in To¨ro¨k 1997; Lehner 1997; Edwards 2004; and Lockyer 1993; however, on-site, statistically significant data would be highly desirable). Although preliminary, the figure clearly shows that the Kushite pyramid orientations are concentrated in two preferred azimuth ranges, one centered at 107½ and the other at 130¾ . We can tentatively assign the first to a practice of

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Fig. 136.4 Area of the region of Napata, in northern Sudan, showing the location of the pyramid cemetery of Nuri and of the sacred mountain of Djebel Barkal, on opposite sides of the course of the Nile. The diagram also shows the view of Djebel Barkal from the base of Taharqa’s pyramid (top left) and a close-up satellite image of the Nuri pyramid field (bottom right). The dashed line indicates the orientation of the Taharqa pyramid (T). Diagram from J.A. Belmonte (2012) with images courtesy of Google Earth

orientation toward the rising of Sirius and the second to orientations most probably imitating the original one of the pyramid of Taharqa at Nuri.

Astronomy and Landscape It has been established in addition that local topography could also determine the orientation or even the location of sacred structures in the Kingdom of Kush. Several temples were orientated nearly perpendicular (or parallel) to the course of the Nile. For example, the great temple of Amun at Napata, originally built (and orientated) in the 18th Dynasty, suffered the addition of a dais room during the reign of Peye (c. 750–712 BC) and of two large courts during the 25th Dynasty with slightly different orientations. The curvature of the temple axis, from an original building orientated to the southeast, might obey ongoing attempts to accommodate the temple orientation to the local course of the Nile at 211 . In a few cases, the selection of the site may even have resulted in a double topographic and astronomical alignment (e.g., the Amun temples at Kawa and Meroe). In other cases, the selection of a site may have been determined by a solar or stellar relationship in the landscape (Belmonte et al. 2010).

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The paradigm of an astronomical landscape can more clearly be seen in the area of Napata. Nowhere in Nubia is the relationship between archaeology and landscape more substantiated than in the area of ancient Napata, where the Nile, flowing southwest, and the Pure Mountain of Djebel Barkal, the site of God Amun, on the right bank of the river produce a suggestive image evocative of another peculiar landscape hundreds of kilometers to the north, in ancient Thebes (To¨ro¨k 1997; Kendall 1997). The precise location of the pyramid field of Nuri with respect to the “Pure Mountain” may have been deliberately selected by King Taharqa by performing a celestial link between his burial place and the hill where the god Amun resided (Fig. 136.4). This link was double, with a Sothic relationship on the one hand, but extraordinarily reinforced on the other by the New Year connection which happened to begin during his reign. It is possible, then, that the Nuri necropolis was abandoned at the end of the fourth century BC when this celestial phenomenology relating to the site ceased to exist (Belmonte et al. 2010). The results of the Sudanese experiment are prolific, suggestive, very positive, and confirm what has previously been established for ancient Egyptian civilization. Acknowledgments This work is partially financed under the framework of the projects P310793 “Arqueoastronomı´a” of the IAC and AYA2011-26759 “Orientatio ad Sidera III” of the Spanish MINECO.

Cross-References ▶ Karnak ▶ Orientation of Egyptian Temples: An Overview

References Belmonte JA (2003) Some open questions on the Egyptian calendar: an astronomer’s view. Trabajos de Egiptologı´a (Papers on Ancient Egypt) 2:7–56 Belmonte JA (2012) Pira´mides, templos y estrellas: astronomı´a y arqueologı´a en el Egipto antiguo. Crı´tica, Barcelona Belmonte JA, Fekri M, Abdel-Hadi Y, Gonza´lez-Garcı´a AC, Shaltout M (2010) On the orientation of ancient Egyptian temples: (5) testing the theory in middle Egypt and Sudan. J Hist Astron 41:66–93 Belmonte JA, Shaltout M, Fekri M (2009) Astronomy, landscape and symbolism: a study on the orientations of ancient Egyptian temples. In: Belmonte JA, Shaltout M (eds) In search of cosmic order, selected essays on Egyptian archaeoastronomy. SCA Press, Cairo, pp 213–284 Berenguer Soto F, Dı´az de Cerio M (2001) En busca de los faraones negros. Museu Egı´pci, Barcelona Depuydt L (1998) Gnomons at Meroe¨ and early trigonometry. J Egypt Archaeol 84:171–180 Edwards DN (2004) The Nubian past: an archaeology of the Sudan. Routledge, London Kendall TH (1997) Les souverains de la montagne sacre´e, Napata et la dynastie des Koushites. In: Wildung D (ed) Soudan, royaumes sur le Nil. Institut du Monde arabe, Paris, pp 161–171

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Lehner M (1997) The complete pyramids. Thames and Hudson, London Lockyer JN (1993) The dawn of astronomy. New edition. Kessinger, New York Logan TJ, Williams B (2000) On the Meroe observatory. Beitrage zur Sudanforschung 7:59–84 Rocheleau CM (2008) Amon temples in Nubia: a typological study of New Kingdom, Napatan and Meroitic temples. BAR International Series 1850, Oxford To¨ro¨k L (1997) The kingdom of kush. Handbook of the Napatan-Meroitic civilization. Brill, Leiden Welsby DA (1996) The kingdom of Kush: the Napatan and Meroitic empires. Markus Wiener, Princeton Wenig S (2001) Musawwarat es-Sufra, interpreting the great enclosure. Sudan Nubia 5:71–86

Greek Cosmology and Cosmogony

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Alexander Jones

Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Presocratics and Plato . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Aristotle . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Epicurean and Stoic Cosmology . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Ptolemy . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Christian Cosmologies: Philoponos and Kosmas Indikopleustes . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Abstract

The structure, composition, and long-term history of the cosmos were prominent topics in many ancient Greek philosophical systems. Philosophers and philosophically informed astronomers differed over whether the cosmos was finite or infinite, eternal or transient, and composed of discrete particles or continuous, homogeneous elements. The Aristotelian cosmology preferred by astronomers following Ptolemy assumed a finite, spherical shell of eternally unalterable matter enclosing a terrestrial globe composed of earth, water, air, and fire.

Introduction A distinct discipline did not exist in Greek thought devoted to the structure, composition, and long-term history of the universe; cosmology was a component of philosophy as well as an underpinning of astronomy. The profusion of philosophers and philosophical sects from the sixth century BC on prevented any account

A. Jones Institute for the Study of the Ancient World, New York University, NY, USA e-mail: [email protected]; [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_154, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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of the cosmos from becoming a standard view in antiquity (Sorabji 1988). This chapter surveys cosmologies associated with some of the major authors and schools.

Presocratics and Plato The period of Greek philosophy from its beginnings around 600 BC to the late fifth century, known as the Presocratic period, is a field rife with speculative historical reconstruction and controversy because no complete writings survive from this period; we are dependent on reports and quotations of often doubtful reliability (Graham 2006). It is clear, at least, that early Greek philosophers were occupied with problems of continuity and change of physical bodies as well as offering physical explanations of meteorological and astronomical phenomena such as the Moon’s phases and eclipses. The fifth-century philosophers Demokritos, Anaxagoras, and Empedokles are noteworthy for offering coherent theories to explain differentiation and change in matter. Demokritos, elaborating the ideas of his predecessor Leukippos, was a proponent of atomism, according to which the fundamental and unalterable components of matter are atoms, minuscule bodies of being that cannot be subdivided, fused, or otherwise altered, differentiated from one another only by size and shape, and moving about in a limitless void. Anaxagoras, by contrast, presupposed an unlimited number of distinct kinds of elementary material, with every body comprising all these elements intermixed in varying proportions. Of all Presocratic cosmologies, we have the fullest knowledge of that of Empedokles, since substantial passages from his philosophical poem as well as detailed and fairly reliable reports have come down to us (Inwood 2001). As in Anaxagoras’s system, material bodies are composed of mixtures of elemental materials in characteristic proportions, but the elements are limited to four, each one associated with two binary qualities: earth (cold, dry), water (cold, wet), air (hot, wet), and fire (hot, dry). This four-element theory was deeply influential in later physical thought, though as it was adopted by some later figures such as Aristotle, the presumption was that the four basic materials are mutually transmutable. Empedokles posited two contrary cosmic forces, Love and Strife, that work respectively to intermix and to separate the elements. In the resulting cyclic cosmogony, the present state of the cosmos is a transitional state between the alternating extremes of uniformity and differentiation of matter. In Plato’s philosophy (early fourth century BC), ethics and metaphysics took primacy over physical thought, and the cosmological passages in his dialogues have a metaphorical character that invites divergent interpretations while raising doubts about how definite a cosmology the author wished to promote. The “Myth of Er” that closes the Republic likens the planetary system to a nesting of whorls surrounding a spindle (standing for the central Earth). The later, more overtly cosmological dialogue Timaeus describes a spherical, animated cosmos that was fashioned by a Demiurge or “craftsman” – though it is disputable whether this

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was meant to signify a temporal creation – out of the Empedoclean four elements, each of which is associated with one of the five regular polyhedra (leaving out the dodecahedron, which is associated with the cosmos as a whole).

Aristotle Aristotle’s cosmology (mid-fourth century BC) introduced the principle of a radical discontinuity between our terrestrial environment, where irregular processes of generation, change, and decay are the norm, and the heavens, where the Sun, Moon, planets, and stars exhibit patterns of motion with apparently unalterable mathematical regularity (Barnes 1995). The cosmos is a finite sphere divided into an outer shell composed of a special kind of “ethereal” matter that is eternal, unalterable, and naturally inclined to revolve around the center of the cosmos, and an inner globe composed of perpetually transmuting fire, air, water, and earth whose natural tendency is to move toward the center. The celestial part of this system was essentially a physical interpretation of Eudoxos’s astronomical models for the heavenly bodies, which were combinations of revolving concentric spheres. Within the cosmic sphere, matter is continuous, and void is an impossibility; outside the sphere, there is nothing, not even vacant space. The cosmos’s existence is eternal and unchanging in its general structure and activity. The cause of all processes of motion and change in Aristotle’s cosmos is a disembodied intellect, the “prime mover”, which inspires the ethereal spherical bodies composing the heavens to revolve in emulation of its eternal self-contemplation. In their turn, the complex motions of the heavenly spheres, and in particular the daily and annual cycles of the Sun’s movement, impart motion and change to the four elements below, keeping them from settling into static strata and making life possible on the Earth.

Epicurean and Stoic Cosmology Epicurus (c. 300 BC) argued that the universe has infinite extent and has no temporal beginning or end; its constituents are an infinity of minute atoms, unalterable and differentiated only in shape, moving in void, as was previously supposed in Demokritos’s atomism. Atoms can cluster temporarily into larger bodies; the cosmos that we can perceive is such an agglomeration, which came into being in the past and will someday disintegrate. There are, and always have been and will be, an infinite number of such cosmoses. Astronomical phenomena, such as eclipses, are susceptible of multiple explanations within the larger framework of atomism, and, given the infinite extent of space and time, any explanation consistent with Epicurus’s fundamental principles ought to be true in some cosmos if not in fact in our own. Stoic cosmology, which originated about the same time as Epicureanism, was closer to the Platonic-Aristotelian tradition in holding that the cosmos was unitary, finite, and spherical, but, rejecting Aristotle’s ethereal fifth element, regarded the

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entirety of the heavens and Earth as a living being consisting of mixtures of the four transmutable elements earth, water, air, and fire held together and organized by a cosmic soul (Inwood 2003). Over eternity, this organism undergoes long cycles of existence punctuated by intervals of conflagration.

Ptolemy The cosmology of Ptolemy (second century AD) is of particular historical importance because it stood as the standard framework for astronomy in the later Greek, Islamic, and medieval European traditions. In its basic assumptions, it is Aristotelian but modified to accommodate the eccentric and epicyclic models of planetary motion that were adopted in Greek astronomy after about 200 BC. The cosmos is a sphere consisting of a terrestrial globe of mutable matter subject to irregular processes of change, enclosed in a concentric spherical shell – or rather, a series of nested shells, each of which is composed of distinct bodies of eternal, unalterable ethereal material. The visible heavenly bodies are spheres embedded in these shells. All the ethereal bodies have spherical surfaces and, not being subject to impediment or friction, can revolve freely relative to each other and to the whole system. A soul belonging to each heavenly body imparts appropriate uniform rates of revolution to the various components, making up a (mostly invisible) organism that is the physical counterpart of the geometrical model deduced in Ptolemy’s Almagest. In the Almagest, Ptolemy demonstrated the ratio between the nearest and furthest possible distance from the Earth for each of the Sun, Moon, and planets, that is, between the radii of the inner and outer boundaries of each body’s ethereal shell. He also determined the absolute radii in terms of the Earth’s radius for the lunar and solar model, but not for the planets and fixed stars, merely pointing out that they must be further than the Moon and that the weight of tradition favors placing Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, and the fixed stars (in that order) outward from the Sun. His later Planetary Hypotheses proposed that the shells were nested without overlaps or gaps, in the outward order Moon, Mercury, Venus, Sun, Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, fixed stars. Ptolemy’s Tetrabiblos accounts for the astrological influences of the heavenly bodies upon the terrestrial environment and living things through emanations having the fundamental qualities of hot, cold, wet, and dry. Since these compete with other physical processes of change acting on the Earth and the creatures born upon it, the cause-and-effect relationships are not deterministic, so that astrological prediction inherently lacks certainty, though it is more reliable when operating on a large scale than as applied to an individual.

Christian Cosmologies: Philoponos and Kosmas Indikopleustes The Neoplatonists of later antiquity, appropriating Aristotle’s works as a more immediately comprehensible introduction to Platonic truth, tended to assume the Aristotelian five-element cosmology (Gerson 2010). Two sixth-century authors

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show contrasting responses to the evident incompatibilities between the Aristotelian universe and Christian teaching. John Philoponos, a formidable intellect trained in the Alexandrian Neoplatonist school, employed the apparatus of “pagan” philosophy to combat the notions that either an eternal cosmos or an eternally unalterable fifth element could subsist, while retaining a large part of the Aristotelian-Platonist view of the structure of the cosmos (Sorabji 2010). Kosmas Indikopleustes, a traveler and geographer, rejected the spherical and geocentric cosmology outright in favor of one in which the Earth is the flat floor of a cosmos shaped like a great chest with a barrel roof.

Cross-References ▶ Greek Mathematical Astronomy

References Barnes J (ed) (1995) The Cambridge companion to Aristotle. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge Gerson L (ed) (2010) The Cambridge history of philosophy in late antiquity. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge Graham D (2006) Explaining the cosmos: the Ionian tradition of scientific philosophy. Princeton University Press, Princeton Inwood B (2001) The poem of Empedocles. University of Toronto Press, Toronto Inwood B (ed) (2003) The Cambridge companion to the Stoics. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge Sorabji R (1988) Matter, space and motion: theories in antiquity and their sequel. Duckworth, London Sorabji R (ed) (2010) Philoponus and the rejection of Aristotelian science. Institute of Classical Studies, University of London, London

Greek Constellations

138

Stamatina Mastorakou

Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Pre-Aratean Tradition . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Aratos on Constellations . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Eudoxos on Constellations in Comparison to Aratos’ Work . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Hipparchos’ Commentaries . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Final Remarks . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Abstract

This chapter aims to provide an overview of the development of the constellations in the Greek tradition through a concise presentation of the main extant sources – Eudoxos, Aratos, and Hipparchos – and their relationship to one another.

Introduction Early Greek astronomy mainly served religious, navigational, and agricultural purposes. It began as the organization of the stars into constellations with the purpose of reconstructing a calendar by correlating dates and weather phenomena with the rising and setting of the stars or constellations. With these calendars, found either on papyri or inscribed on stone, ancient Greeks were able to tell

S. Mastorakou Institute for Research in Classical Philosophy and Science, Princeton, NJ, USA e-mail: [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_158, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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the time of the year and foretell seasonal changes and shifts in the weather. Our main literary sources on Greek constellations are Eudoxos’ and Aratos’ Phaenomena and Hipparchos’ Commentaries on the Phaenomena of Aratus and Eudoxus. There is also material culture from antiquity that can help us on Greek constellations (see ▶ Chap. 142, “Material Culture of Greek and Roman Astronomy”).

Pre-Aratean Tradition Even since Homer’s age the importance of telling the time of the year must have been the main impetus toward the study of the heavens. Actually in Homer’s Iliad and Odyssey (eighth century BC), we already find the names of the most familiar constellations and stars, such as the Pleiades, the Hyades, Orion, and the Bear (S 485-9), also Bootes (e 272-5), the Dog (Χ 26-9), and Hesperus (Χ 317-8); the origin of these constellations of course predates the Greek epic poet. After Homer, Hesiod in his poem Works and Days (late eighth century BC) names almost the same constellations as Homer, but he connects them more closely with everyday life activities, giving practical advice on farming, sailing, and religious festivals. Also, Hesiod talks about the two solstices and is more interested in using the constellations and weather signs, while Homer’s attention in the Iliad and the Odyssey is more directed mainly to individual stars.

Aratos on Constellations The oldest surviving systematic account of all the 48 constellations described in Greek is found in Aratos’ poem (270 BC) Phaenomena; for that reason Aratos’ work will be the focal point of this case study. (Another source is the Catasterisms (“Constellations”) of Eratosthenes. It is a supplement and commentary to Aratos’ Phaenomena. This work is basically a list of constellations with a story or legend for each). In the first part of his Phaenomena, Aratos gives the positions of the earth, the fixed stars, the four celestial circles (the two tropics, the ecliptic, the equator), and the Milky Way. He also describes the 48 constellations and their positions in the sky, referring by name to some of the stars that make up these constellations. In order to organize his description of the constellations, he starts off by dividing the sky in two, north and south, which are held together by an axis with the earth at the center. He first deals with the constellations in the region between the North Pole and the ecliptic and follows with the stars that “rise below this, between the south and the track of the sun” (Phaenomena 319–321). As it is the ecliptic instead of the equator that divides the two hemispheres, Aratos presents an asymmetrical arrangement by describing the northern sky in about 295 lines (Phaenomena 25–319) and the south in 129 (Phaenomena 322–450). As Aratos’ description moves across the sky, it uses each constellation as the reference for the identification of the next one.

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Aratos starts with the northern area, which includes the Zodiac. He first talks about the Bears (26–44) and Dragon (45–62); then he moves on describing the Dragon’s head group: the kneeling figure, Crown, Serpent-holder, Serpent, and Claws (63–90); after that he starts from Great Bear’s tail group to describe Bootes, Maiden, and some nameless stars (91–146); from Great Bear’s body group, he talks about the Twins, Crab, Lion, Charioteer, and Bull (147–178). The Cynosura group comes next with Cepheus, Cassiopeia, Andromeda, Horse, Ram, Triangle, Fishes, Perseus, and Pleiades (179–267), and with the kneeling figure he starts describing the last northern constellations: Lyre, Bird, Water-pourer, Capricorn, Archer, Arrow, Eagle, and Dolphin (268–318). After a short transitional passage (319–321), Aratos moves to the southern area that lacks not only the zodiacal constellations, but also the stars nearer to the South Pole, invisible to observers in Greece. The first group in this area is the Orion group: Orion, Dog, Hare, and Argo (322–352); for the second group Aratos starts with the Sea-monster to describe the River, the Southern Fish, and the Water stars (353–401); and finally he talks about the Altar group: Altar, Centaur and Beast, Hydra, Bowl, Raven, and Procyon (402–450). The celestial system that Aratos describes can only work with the notion of the year as a regular cycle in relation to which the four seasons take turns. In this process the risings and the settings of the key stars in the sky play an important role. That is also true for the second part of the Phaenomena (758–1141) where Aratos talks about celestial and local phenomena as signs to forecast the weather. The second part of his poem is based on a work on signs for meteorological phenomena De Signis (Hort 1916) allegedly written by Theophrastus (370 BC–286 BC) – but an analysis of this part is beyond the scope of this case study.

Eudoxos on Constellations in Comparison to Aratos’ Work Although Aratos’ work is the earliest extant work with a complete description of the 48 constellations in Greek, it was not the first one to be written. One of Aratos’ sources is the now lost prose work by Eudoxos of Cnidos (408 BC–355 BC) Phaenomena. This work includes a description of the constellations in the sky, as we know it through Hipparchos’ ( fl. third quarter of the second century BC) Commentaries on the Phaenomena of Aratus and Eudoxus Manitius 1894). (From here onward I will refer to that work as Commentaries. The translations from Hipparchos’ Commentaries are mine.) This is the only extant work by Hipparchos, where among other things he compares passages by Eudoxos and Aratos. Since we do not have Eudoxos’ text at our disposal, we cannot tell the particular order in which Eudoxos described the constellations, how detailed his descriptions might have been, and what the exact structure of his work was. We do not even know what else Eudoxos may have included in his treatise that Hipparchos does not cite. What we do know though is that Eudoxos discusses the solstices (Commentaries 1.2.18, 1.2.20, 2.1.20), the equinoxes (Commentaries

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2.1.20), the Arctic Circle (Commentaries 1.11.1, 1.11.5), the colures (Commentaries 1.11.17, 1.11.19, 2.1.21), and the Zodiac (Commentaries 1.11.5). (Aratos, on the other hand, mentions as we saw the solstices (Phaenomena 480–510), the equinoctial circle (Phaenomena 511–524), the Zodiac (Phaenomena 525–558), and the Milky Way (Phaenomena 462–479). Aratos then does not deal with the colures, while he mentions the Milky Way, a circle perhaps not very interesting for the astronomers, but interesting definitely for the observers of the night sky.) Eudoxos’ and Aratos’ descriptions of the constellations that rise and set with each of the zodiacal signs contain many differences in content. Eudoxos either places the constellations in the sky differently than Aratos, or he mentions different parts of them as rising or setting with particular zodiac signs. For example, when it comes to which constellations set when Aquarius rise Aratos says: the head and the feet of the Horse, the back of the Centaur, Hydra’s head until her first coil (Hydra’s neck coil and all its head stars). According to Eudoxos, on the other hand, the constellations that set when Aquarius rises are Horse, Centaur, Hydra, Cassiopeia, and Dolphin (Commentaries 2.3.4–2.3.10). Hipparchos seems to agree with Aratos in this instance though without explicitly admitting it. Another similar example is when talking about the constellations and stars in the north hemisphere, Aratos omits the star that Eudoxos places at the North Pole; for that Hipparchos finds Eudoxos in error and observes that this is wrong as this place is empty, while three stars are close to it and they form a square with the tip of the pole (Commentaries 1.4.1–8). Another interesting difference is that sometimes Aratos and Eudoxos use different names for the same constellations; Eudoxos, for example, calls one of the Bears “ἌrktoB Mikrά” (Little Bear), while Aratos calls it “Kʋno´soʋra” (Cynosura), which means dog’s tail. Aratos, probably for the first time, calls the Great Bear “‛ElίkZ” (Helice), which is presumably derived from the wheeling movement of that constellation around the pole, the twister. (Aratos implicitly refers to this differentiation concerning the names when he says “one of the Bears men call Cynosura by name, the other Helice” (Phaenomena 36–37). These are the names that according to Aratos people give to these two constellations, because they are identifiable on the basis of their nature. These were also the names of the nymphs who tended Zeus in Crete: Hyginus, Astronomica 2.1 & 2.2.). There are even further differences in the vocabulary used. For example, Eudoxos calls a constellation “ὁ diά tῶn Ἄrkton ὌfiB” or just “ὁ ὌfiB” (Snake), while Aratos calls it “Drάkon” (Dragon). The latter name first appears in Aratos (Kidd 1997, p. 192) and there is, I think, the possibility that he changed the name from “ὌfiB’’to ’’Drάkon” to “Drάkon” to avoid the confusion with the other ὌfiB, “’ὁ ὌfiB ὅn ε῎ wei ’OfioῦwoB” (the Serpent). Another very obvious difference between Aratos’ and Eudoxos’ descriptions of the constellations is that Eudoxos’ concern is to locate the constellations in relation to one another spatially using flat descriptions, while Aratos talks about the constellations as live anthropomorphic figures exhibiting as much interest in their appearance and brightness as well as in legends associated with them. That goes together with Aratos’ extent use of mythology (which he uses throughout the first part of his poem, for instance: Phaenomena 30–35, 64–66, 71–73, 163–164,

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268–271, 360, 408–412, 637–646, 653–658). For example, when he talks about the Cepheus’ group, Aratos introduces his subject as “the suffering family of Cepheus” (Phaenomena 179), which cannot “be just left unmentioned: their name also has reached the sky, for they were akin to Zeus” (Phaenomena 180–181). This group of constellations is interesting because all the figures are part of one myth; this is actually the only myth to be represented fully among the constellations. Aratos then anthropomorphizes the constellations, making it clear that he is going to talk about a group whose elements are related to one another as the members of a family. There are many more examples of Aratos linking well-known myths to astronomical lore, keeping a picture of a sky full of life and motion throughout the first part of the Phaenomena. Also, compared to Eudoxos, Aratos talks more about the shape and brightness both of the constellations and the stars and he devotes more space to the stars that accompany each constellation. (See, for instance, stars in Dragon, Phaenomena 55–57; star in Arctophylax, Phaenomena 94–95; stars in maiden and the Great Bear, Phaenomena 136–146; stars in Bull, Phaenomena 170–176; stars in Cassiopeia, Phaenomena 190–195; stars in Horse, Phaenomena 206–214; star in Fishes, Phaenomena 244–245; Dog’s star, Phaenomena 329–337, 339–341; and unnamed stars, Phaenomena 367–385, 389–401. It seems that there is ’ stέreB. Aratos uses ’astra when he talks a distinction between ’astra and a ’ ’ stέreB about constellations and astέreB when he talks about constellations and a when he deals with individual stars.) In general, he pays attention to how the constellations and the stars appear to the observer, how well defined they are, how easily one can find them in the sky, as well as which part of the constellation is brighter and which one faint (see, for instance, Phaenomena 76–81). He tries, this way, to guide us in our exploration of the sky: “let Andromeda’s left shoulder be your guide” (Phaenomena 246–247) and “near the feet of the Charioteer look for the horned Bull” (Phaenomena 167). Not all the stars though are part of a constellation; there are stars, as the ones below the Hare, which “are not cast in any resemblance to the body of a well-defined figure” (Phaenomena 370–371). The Greek astronomical writers did not assign proper names to many individual stars. Most stars were identified simply by description of their places within the constellations. For example, instead of giving names they were saying “the star on the right shoulder of Andromeda”. Most of the stars with real names were deemed to be significant either as weather signs or as indicators of the season or because of their brightness. For the Greeks, the most important named stars were Arcturus, Sirius, the Pleiades, etc (in the star catalogue of Ptolemy’s Almagest, more than 1,000 stars are listed together with their coordinates and magnitudes, but no more than a dozen are given proper names).

Hipparchos’ Commentaries The last source on constellations, which is going to be briefly discussed in this study, is Hipparchos’ only extant work Commentaries. Hipparchos, after comparing

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what Aratos and Eudoxos said about the rising and setting of the constellations along with each of the zodiacal signs, gives his own very specific data. He talks about the first and last stars to rise and set in each of the constellations, along with the degree of the ecliptic on the horizon and on the meridian at the moment when each of those stars is rising or setting. He also discusses the stars on the Arctic and Antarctic circles and those on the colures. Hipparchos’ main goal is to show how both Aratos and Eudoxos are wrong and how his description is the only accurate one. So sometimes he disagrees with both Aratos and Eudoxos, sometimes not only with them but with “all the mathematicians” (Commentaries 2.2.19), and other times only with either Aratos or Eudoxos. Despite their differences, it seems that both Hipparchos and Aratos describe the constellations for pretty much the same reasons: in order to show how to estimate time, days of the month, and time of the year and how to find the signs in order to forecast the weather. Another practical application of observing the constellations was to tell the hours of night: “if you are watching for day-break, to observe when each twelfth of the Zodiac rises, for the sun itself always rises with one of them” (Phaenomena 559–561). If you know which degree of which sign the sun is in at setting, then you know that the diametrically opposite degree of sign is rising at the beginning of night; and since six signs set during each night, you can calculate at any time how much of the night has passed and how much is left. The length of any night then is equal to the time it takes for six successive Zodiac constellations to rise (Phaenomena 541–543). That means that the zodiac consisted of 12 signs, which are all of the same size and that is why Aratos deal with which stars rise and set simultaneously with the risings of the 12 signs. Hipparchos though criticizes Aratos for that; he states that Aratos is wrong, because different signs take different lengths of time to rise, and the constellations are of different signs and do not correspond to the respective signs – some constellations are only partly on the ecliptic and partly north or south of it (Commentaries 2.1.2–2.1.3). For Aratos’ purposes, though, “it does not matter that their sizes and rising times are unequal, since the sole concern of the observer is to estimate when dawn will come” (Kidd 1997, p. 377) and not the specific hour.

Final Remarks After Eudoxos’ and Aratos’ time, there were a few new constellations added by Greek astronomers, some of which did not win acceptance, while a couple made it to the sky such as Coma Berenices, introduced by Conon, and Equuleus, introduced by Hipparchos. There always have been differences among individual writers over the number of stars of each constellation and their position within the constellations. After Ptolemy’s (first half of the second century AD) Syntaxis (Toomer 1984, books VII and VIII) though, the names and figures of the 48 constellations took their standardized form (Evans 1998, pp. 41–42).

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Cross-References ▶ Ancient Greek Calendars ▶ Greek Cosmology and Cosmogony ▶ Greek Temples and Rituals ▶ Material Culture of Greek and Roman Astronomy

References Evans J (1998) The history and practice of ancient astronomy. Oxford University Press, New York Hort A (1916) Theophrastus’ enquiry into plants and minor works on odours and weather signs. Loeb, London/New York, pp 390–433 Kidd D (1997) Aratus’ phaenomena. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge Manitius C (1894) Hipparchi in Arati et Eudoxi Phaenomena Commentariorum. Teubner, Leipsig Toomer GJ (1984) Ptolemy’s almagest. Springer, London/Duckworth/New York

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Contents Prehistoric Greece . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Protohistorical Greece . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The Historical Period . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Intercalary Cycles . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . New Year’s Day . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The Greek Calendar Outside Greece . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The Impact of the Julian Calendar . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Abstract

Greek festival calendars were in origin lunar, eventually being aligned with the sun through various lunisolar intercalary cycles. Each city-state had its own calendar, whose month names have some, little, or no similarity with those of other city-states. These names often reflect gods or festivals held in their honor in a given month, so there is an explicitly sacred character to the calendar. New Year’s Day could also differ from one state to another, but generally began with the sighting of the first new moon after one of the four tropical points. Even the introduction of the Roman Julian calendar brought little uniformity to the eastern Greek calendars. The calendar is one of the elements which can assist in understanding the siting of Greek sacred structures.

R. Hannah University of Otago, Dunedin, New Zealand e-mail: [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_156, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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Prehistoric Greece In the prehistoric period, the Mycenaean Greeks based their calendars on the moon. The Linear B tablets from Knossos on Crete, when that palace was under Mycenaean influence or control (c. 1370 BCE), and from the Mycenaean palace at Pylos in southern Greece (c. 1200 BCE) include fragments of ritual calendars, in which the offerings to be made to the gods were listed month by month. The word for “month” is me-no, which linguistically suggests a relationship with the moon and therefore basically with a lunar calendar. How this might have been correlated with the seasonal, solar year is unknown, since the tablets represent a snapshot of perhaps only a season before their fortuitous baking in the destruction of the respective palaces. From Knossos, eight month names are preserved, and from Pylos three, but the two sites share none in common. There were probably regional differences, as in the later historical period in Greece. All the names are either theophoric or toponymic, deriving from gods or localities. Four names resemble later historical months – di-wi-jo (Dios), ra-pa-to (Lapatos), di-pi-si-jo (Dipsios), and ka-ra-e-ri-jo (Klareon) – thus offering some evidence for continuity across the so-called Dark Age (Tr€umpy 1997). Further evidence of continuity may be provided by the “Bulwer Tablet” from fifth century BCE. Akanthos in Cyprus. If correctly interpreted, it provides 11 month names. Two of these (ti-wi-o-ne and la-pa-to-ne) correspond with 2 month names in the calendar of Arcadia in Greece (again, Dios and Lapatos, respectively). Arcadia is known to be connected with Cyprus both archaeologically and linguistically from the Late Bronze Age, so there may be remains in this Cypriot calendar of an earlier Mycenaean system. The tablet may present the 11 surviving months in the order in which they occur through the year, beginning with the month la-pa-to-ne in winter, followed later on by a-po-roti-si-jo (“of Aphrodisios”) and ti-wo-nu-si-o (“of Diwonusios”) in spring, while ti-wi-o-ne (“of Zeus”) occupies late spring/early summer (Tr€umpy 1997). Although this list may be specific only to Akanthos, Aphrodite and Dionysos are associated with springtime elsewhere in the Greek world. The myth and cult of Aphrodite were dominant in Cyprus, so it would not be surprising if the festival calendars across Greek Cyprus honored her.

Protohistorical Greece No calendar as such appears in the poems of Homer and Hesiod (c. 750–700 BCE). Indeed, only one month name, Lenaion, is attested, and that in a passage in Hesiod’s Works and Days (line 504), which is sometimes held to be a later interpolation. The phases of the moon provide a means for timing Odysseus’ return to Ithaka (Odyssey 19.307), and whole months are used to count the length of a pregnancy (Iliad 19.117, compare the Homeric Hymn to Hermes line 11), but overall the year in these sources was a seasonal and agricultural one, and therefore solar rather than lunar. Stars and seasons are linked in Homer’s poems (e.g., Sirius with the “dog days” of summer at Iliad 22.26–31), but the star-based mechanism is better

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developed in Hesiod’s Works and Days, which is partly an account of the agricultural year. The poet provides ten observations of just five stars or constellations, which help to distinguish four seasons. The moon too is occasionally used to signal the proper time for farming activities. A relationship between religion and the starbased calendar is hinted at by Hesiod in his warning “to thresh the sacred grain of Demeter, when the strength of Orion first appears


” (Works and Days lines 597–598) (Hannah 2005).

The Historical Period There is abundant, but often lacunose, evidence for the calendars of the Classical Greek city-states (put to one side in this discussion are secular, political calendars, such as those governing the timing of civic committees). The best-known calendar is inevitably that of Athens, as the evidence is fullest for that most communicative of cities, while that of its laconic rival, Sparta, remains frustratingly incomplete and poorly documented. But the calendars of other cities are well documented as a result of controlled or chance archaeological discoveries, for example, those of Delphi (as a result of records of slave manumissions lodged with the sanctuary of Apollo), or of Locri Epizephyrii in South Italy (from bronze tablets recording loans made by the treasurers of the Temple of Zeus to the city) (Tr€umpy 1997). A full list of months has been discerned through CT scans of the Antikythera Mechanism, but which city they belong to remains elusive, save that it must be Doric Greek (Freeth et al. 2008). These calendars were all lunar, standardly with 12 months to the ordinary year. The lunar character is indicated, for instance, by the Athenian comic playwright Aristophanes referring to the moon bringing on the “twenties” of the month as a sign of the period when interest on loans had to be repaid (Aristophanes, Clouds lines 16–18). Each month started from the evening appearance of the new moon’s crescent in the western sky (Aratos, Phainomena lines 733–735: “Whenever a small moon appears with horns in the west, she indicates a waxing month beginning”.) (Hannah 2005). The fundamental problem the Greeks faced in adopting the moon as the measure of public time was that its cycle does not align well with that of the sun. Various cycles were constructed to indicate when an extra whole month should be inserted into the calendar in order to bring calendar and season back into alignment: most crudely every second year, and then more effectively three times every 8 years (the octaeteris), and ultimately seven times every 19 years in the so-called “Metonic” cycle (▶ Chap. 141, “Greek Mathematical Astronomy”).

Intercalary Cycles The quadrennial games at Delphi and Olympia were governed by eight-year cycles (Hannah 2005, 2012a). Literary and epigraphic sources testify that the games were celebrated on the seventh day of the month Boukatios, which was

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Table 139.1 The Pythian Games in the Delphic calendar Month Apellaios Boukatios Boathoos Heraios Daidaphorios Poitropios Amalios Bysios Theoxenios Endyspoitropios Herakleios Ilaios Intercalary Sum of months

Y1 30 29 30 29 30 29 30 29 30 29 30 29

Y2 30 29 30 29 30 29 30 29 30 29 30 29

Y3 30 29 30 29 30 29 30 29 30 29 30 29 30

Y4 30 29 30 29 30 29 30 29 30 29 30 29

Y5 30 29 30 29 30 29 30 29 30 29 30 29 30 49

Y6 30 29 30 29 30 29 30 29 30 29 30 29

Y7 30 29 30 29 30 29 30 29 30 29 30 29

Y8 30 29 30 29 30 29 30 29 30 29 30 29 30

Y9 30 29 30 29 30 29 30 29 30 29 30 29 50

the second month of the Delphic lunar year, with the first falling after the summer solstice. In order to celebrate the Pythian Games in the same lunar month, Boukatios, every 4 years, an alternating interval of 49 and 50 months between successive celebrations had to occur. The table above illustrates how an octaeteris could run at Delphi in support of the Pythian Games. The intercalary month is here added at the end of the relevant years, but it was most likely inserted midway through the year (Table 139.1). An octaeteris in Athens was hypothesized by Dinsmoor to help fix the date of the particular summer solstice sunrise toward which he believed the Older Parthenon on the Acropolis was oriented (Dinsmoor 1939). Dinsmoor expressed his methodology in pseudo-algebraic form: X ¼ Ar þ R þ C þ As where X was the usually unknown date of foundation, Ar the archaeological evidence with regard to the date, R the religious evidence concerning the temple’s cult, C the artificial astronomy underpinning the local festival calendar, and As the natural astronomical observations. Dinsmoor posited a date of foundation for the Older Parthenon of 31 August 488 BCE. The year is within the range – between 490 and 480 BCE, and nearer the earlier than the later year – where modern archaeology now places the foundation of the unfinished temple, but the fixation on the sunrise, which Dinsmoor inherited from earlier scholarship, is generally dismissed as misguided. Nonetheless, his methodology deserves respect, combining as it does both scientific and cultural elements, and there is no doubting his mastery of the intricate calendrical details which underpinned his choice of year (Hannah 2012b).

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The 19-year cycle is commonly called the Metonic after its Athenian inventor, Meton, who devised it in the 430s BCE, although the cycle was in use in Mesopotamia at least from the second half of the sixth century BCE, and systematically governed intercalations from 485 BCE (Britton 2007; ▶ Chap. 173, “Babylonian Mathematical Astronomy”). In the Metonic cycle, an extra month was added in 7 out of the 19 years, but different systems appear to have been used to decide which 7 years should gain the month. Dinsmoor, for example, deduced that the intercalary months should have been inserted in years 2, 5, 8, 10, 13, 16, and 18 (Dinsmoor 1931). It is probable that the cycle was used by the Athenians to regulate their political calendar through the Hellenistic period (Osborne 2003), and perhaps into the Imperial Roman period as well (M€uller 1991). It may even be that the well-known complaint in Aristophanes’ Clouds (lines 615–26) about missed festivals is a commentary not on haphazard intercalation in the calendar, as is commonly supposed, but rather on the difficulties encountered in instituting the Metonic cycle as a regulator for the local calendar (Hannah 2005). Striking new evidence from the Antikythera Mechanism demonstrates the use of the Metonic cycle in conjunction with a Doric civil calendar well outside the sphere of Athenian political influence in the late Hellenistic period. It has been deduced that the Metonic cycle inserted the intercalary month probably in years 1, 3, 6, 9, 11, 14, and 17, and it has further been presumed that its use with a regional calendar not otherwise attested in scientific literature indicates that the cycle may have been regularly used in ordinary civil calendars by 100 BCE (Freeth et al. 2008).

New Year’s Day New Year’s Day could differ from city to city in the Greek world, because each city began its year with the first new moon after or around the time of one of the four tropical points of the solar year – the summer and winter solstices and the spring and autumn equinoxes. How these tropical points were discovered is unknown, although Hesiod (Works and Days lines 479, 564, 663) displays early awareness of the solstices. It may be that empirical observation provided a marker – this would be relatively easier for the apparent stop-start movements of the sun along the horizon at the solstices than for its highly mobile, ephemeral movements at the equinoxes. Early sundials marking local noon were probably too imprecise to demarcate these points (Hannah 2009). The mountainous topography of Greece lends itself to such observations. A case has been made for the use of Mt. Lykabettos in Athens, when viewed from the political meeting space of the Pnyx, as a marker for the summer solstice sunrise and hence as a forewarning of the first new moon thereafter, which signaled New Year’s Day (Fig. 139.1; Hannah 2009). It may also be that an equivalent date was provided by Babylonian records, which then had to be translated into local Greek terms. It is possible that artificial schemata of this kind governed the placement of the remaining points once one point had been fixed. The varying lengths of the four astronomical seasons were the subject of debate among the Greek astronomers from the fifth century BCE (Bowen and Goldstein 1988).

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Fig. 139.1 Sunrise at the summer solstice (21 June 2011) over Mt. Lykabettos in Athens, as seen from the Pnyx (Photograph R. Hannah)

Table 139.2 The lunar calendars of Athens, Delphi, Delos, and Phokis Athens Hekatombaion Metageitnion Boedromion Pyanepsion Maimakterion Poseideon Gamelion Anthesterion Elaphebolion Mounichion Thargelion Skirophorion

Delphi Apellaios Boukatios Boathoos Heraios Daidaphorios Poitropios Amalios Bysios Theoxenios Endyspoitropios Herakleios Ilaios

Delos Hekatombaion Metageitnion Bouphonion Apatourion Aresion Posideon Lenaion Hieros Galaxion Artemision Thargelion Panemos

Phokis Tenth Eleventh Twelfth First Second Third Fourth Fifth Sixth Seventh Eighth Ninth

The table above of four Greek calendars illustrates both the first month of the year (in bold) and, incidentally, the variance in month names even among citystates bound ethnically and politically as Athens and Delos were (Table 139.2). In Athens and Delphi, the new year began after the summer solstice, whereas in Delos, it started after the winter solstice, and in Phokis after the autumn equinox.

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The entirely secular, numerically named months of Phokis are notable, and may reflect a need to place under one common calendar the non-urbanized, rural communities of the region.

The Greek Calendar Outside Greece The Macedonian calendar, whose new year also began after the autumn equinox, became the most utilized Greek calendar throughout the Hellenized world in the wake of the conquests of Alexander the Great (356–323 BCE). The months were the following: Dios, Apellaios, Audnaios, Peritios, Dystros, Xanthikos, Artemisios, Daisios, Panemos, Loios, Gorpiaios, and Hyperberetaios. In the conquered Persian Empire, the Macedonian calendar slotted into the much older native lunisolar calendar without any loss (▶ Chap. 179, “Ancient Persian Skywatching and Calendars”). In Egypt, however, where the calendar of 365 days was used, the Macedonian calendar was absorbed but lost its lunar character entirely as the Macedonian months were made to fit the regular Egyptian ones. The lack of a mechanism to take account of the roughly one-quarter day by which the solar year exceeds 365 days caused the Egyptian year to wander slowly but regularly ahead of the true solar year (▶ Chap. 131, “Ancient Egyptian Calendars”). The Egyptians accepted this drift, consciously wanting the festivals of the gods to wander through all the seasons of the year in the course of the 1,461 Egyptian years in which it took their year to realign with the sun. But it seems their Greek rulers were less satisfied with the slow drift, and a decree was passed in 238 BCE under the King Ptolemy III Euergetes to introduce a leap day every fourth year. Evidence suggests it briefly governed the Alexandrian calendar, but it did not take hold outside the metropolis, and even in Alexandria, it soon failed (Bennett 2012). It was an Alexandrian Greek, Sosigenes, who later formulated for Julius Caesar the Roman solar calendar in 46 B.C.E. (Pliny, Natural History 18. 211–212), which eventually enforced the 4 year leap day on the Roman world, including Egypt, and with which we still live.

The Impact of the Julian Calendar While it appears that the Athenian calendar retained its lunar character well into the Imperial Roman period, other parts of the Greek world adopted the solar, Julian calendar in different ways. The Roman governor of Asia, Paullus Fabius Maximus, enacted a decree to take effect in 8 or 5 BC, requiring the Greek cities of the Roman province of Asia to adopt the Julian calendar, and with it Augustus’s birthday, 23 September, as New Year’s Day. This was no great shift, however, as a number of these states already used the autumn equinox as the solar tropic from which their lunisolar calendars began, and some were also familiar with parapegmata organized by 12 zodiacal months (Lehoux 2007; ▶ Chap. 144, “Greco-Roman Astrometeorology”), and so already utilized a solar method of reckoning time. The old Macedonian lunar months were retained in name (except that Dios is

1570 Table 139.3 The new Asian Julian calendar instituted by Paullus Fabius Maximus

R. Hannah Greek month Kaisar Apellaios Audnaios Peritios Dystros Xandikos Artemision Daisios Panemos Loos Gorpiaios Hyperberetaios

Julian date of first day of month 23 September 24 October 23 November 24 December 24 January 21 February 24 March 23 April 24 May 23 June 24 July 24 August

renamed Kaisar, i.e., Caesar), but they are shifted in length to suit the new Julian equivalents, each starting on the ninth day, by Roman inclusive reckoning, before the kalends (first day) of the following month, as Table 139.3 illustrates (Buxton and Hannah 2005): Cities in Hellenized Palestine followed either the Egyptian model or the Asian, but the transition to the Julian calendar was not always smooth (Hannah 2005). Later hemerologia collate the Julian calendars of various eastern provinces and cities, including Ephesos and Asia Pamphylia (Samuel 1972). The months are the old Macedonian ones by name, but they are now of fixed lengths which allow the year to correspond with the Roman Julian year of 365 days, rather than having lengths based on the moon and adding up to 354 days.

Cross-References ▶ Ancient Egyptian Calendars ▶ Ancient Persian Skywatching and Calendars ▶ Babylonian Mathematical Astronomy ▶ Calendars and Astronomy ▶ Greco-Roman Astrometeorology ▶ Greek Mathematical Astronomy

References Bennett C (2012) Alexandria and the moon: an investigation into the lunar Macedonian calendar of Ptolemaic Egypt. Peeters, Leuven Bowen AC, Goldstein BR (1988) Meton of Athens and astronomy in the late fifth century BC. In Leichty E, Ellis M de J, Gerardi P (eds) A scientific humanist: studies in memory of Abraham Sachs, The University Museum, Philadelphia, pp 39–81

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Britton JP (2007) Calendars, intercalations and year-lengths in Mesopotamian astronomy. In: Steele JM (ed) Calendars and years: astronomy and time in the ancient Near East. Oxbow Books, Oxford, pp 115–132 Buxton B, Hannah R (2005) OGIS 458, the Augustan calendar, and the succession. In: Deroux C (ed) Studies in Latin literature and Roman history, vol XII. Collection Latomus 287. Latomus, Brussels, pp 290–306 Dinsmoor WB (1931) The archons of Athens in the Hellenistic age. Harvard University Press, Cambridge MA Dinsmoor WB (1939) Archaeology and astronomy. Proc Am Philos Soc 80:95–173 Freeth T, Jones A, Steele JM, Bitsakis Y (2008) Calendars with Olympiad display and eclipse prediction on the Antikythera mechanism. Nature 454:614–617 Hannah R (2005) Greek and Roman calendars: constructions of time in the classical world. Duckworth, London Hannah R (2009) Time in antiquity. Routledge, London Hannah R (2012a) Early Greek lunisolar cycles: the Pythian and Olympic games. In: Ben-Dov J, Horowitz W, Steele JM (eds) Living the lunar calendar. Oxbow Books, Oxford, pp 79–93 Hannah R (2012b) Greek temple orientation: the case of the Older Parthenon in Athens. Nexus Network Journal (forthcoming) Lehoux DR (2007) Astronomy, weather, and calendars in the ancient world: parapegmata and related texts in classical and Near Eastern societies. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge M€ uller JW (1991) Intercalary months in the Athenian dark-age period. Schweizer M€ unzbl€atter 41(164):85–89 Osborne MJ (2003) The Athenian archon Diomedon and his successors. Zeitschrift f€ ur Papyrologie und Epigraphik 143:95–100 Samuel AE (1972) Greek and Roman chronology; calendars and years in classical antiquity. Beck, Munich Tr€umpy C (1997) Untersuchungen zu den altgriechischen Monatsnamen und Monatsfolgen. Universit€atsverlag C. Winter, Heidelberg

Greek Temples and Rituals

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Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Astronomy in Ancient Greek Cult Practice . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The General Orientation of Greek Temples . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The Astronomy of Certain Festivals of Apollo . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Conclusion . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Abstract

Whether the positioning of ancient Greek temples was deliberate and facilitated astronomical observations has been a concern for scholars since the nineteenth century. Twenty-first-century research on Greek archaeoastronomy has identified the shortcomings of earlier approaches and has built on a new methodology which integrates archaeological, epigraphical, and literary evidence on the astronomical observations, in order to create interpretations that improve our narrative, understanding, and reconstruction of the role of astronomy in ancient Greek cult practice.

Introduction Work carried out in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries focused on the precise orientation of temples (calculated with an accuracy of a few minutes of arc) with the aim to identify direct alignments with celestial bodies (stars and sun) seen to rise in front of the temple. Studies linking the alignment of a star or the sun with the

E. Boutsikas University of Kent, Canterbury, UK e-mail: [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_155, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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temple’s axis concluded that Greek temples were aligned to sunrise on the day of the god’s major festival (Dinsmoor 1939, pp. 122, 133; Nissen 1873, pp. 527–528; Penrose 1893, p. 380). Using these alignments and taking into account the precession of the equinoxes and/or changing obliquity of the ecliptic (see ▶ Chap. 31, “Long-Term Changes in the Appearance of the Sky”), the argument was taken further to produce a date for the temple’s construction to the exact day and year (Penrose 1892, 1893). The absence of contextual evidence to support these interpretations resulted in arguments that were far from convincing. For example, the Hekatompedon temple in the Athenian Acropolis was dated to 1150 BC, the temple of Athena in Sounio to 1125 BC, and the Argive Heraion to 1760 BC. A study of the role of astronomy in ancient Greek religious practice must involve more than the direct orientation of religious structures; it must consider other available evidence, archaeological and/or literary, and must incorporate the religious structures in their surroundings; both immediate (i.e., the spatial layout of a sanctuary) and wider (i.e., landscape and skyscape). This results to a better understanding of the ancient Greek experience and of the ways in which ancient cosmological ideas were imbedded in religious practice. The layout and positioning of Greek temples and altars is considered, but in conjunction with the timing, nature, and associated mythology of the rituals taking place in these specific locations.

Astronomy in Ancient Greek Cult Practice Astronomical knowledge and practice in ancient Greece was not restricted to specific classes or groups. The widespread use of astronomical observations in navigation and agricultural activities is well attested from at least as early as the seventh-century BC (e.g., Homer, Odyssey, 5. 269–81, Hesiod, Works and Days, 383). From the sixth-century BC onward, astronomy contributes to the development of Greek cosmological ideas and beliefs (e.g., the Milesians), down to the composition of fifth- and fourth-century BC cosmologies and philosophies (e.g., those of Dimokritos and Plato) (see ▶ Chap. 137, “Greek Cosmology and Cosmogony”). Despite these developments, archaeological and literary evidence attest that the practical uses of astronomical observations continued to be part of daily life. The use of mythology as a memory device for the constellations populating the ancient Greek sky meant that constellations were linked with ancient Greek religion through catasterism myths. The extent of this is witnessed in myths associated with cults, some of which included catasterism myths, while others had astronomical references (e.g., the Hyades and Athenian cults (Euripides, Erechtheus, fr. 370.71–74; Boutsikas and Hannah 2012)). Beyond myth, astronomy was also linked to cult practice in terms of religious timekeeping. This is well attested in epigraphical and literary sources and in archaeological finds (see ▶ Chap. 139, “Ancient Greek Calendars”). Artifacts such as parapegmata, calendars, and sundials recovered in religious sites would have assisted in timekeeping (see ▶ Chap. 142, “Material Culture of Greek and

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Roman Astronomy”). An example of this are the Hibeh papyri (third-century BC), which recorded astronomical movements associated with religious festivals to Athena, Prometheus, and Hera (Grenfell and Hunt 1906), while direct references to the role of astronomy in Greek religious practice are also present in literature: the inhabitants of Keos watched the sky for the arrival of Sirius and offered sacrifices to the Dog Star and Zeus (Ap. Rhod. Argon. 2.516–27; Diod. Sic. 4.82.1–3; Theophr. De ventis 14). The rite dates to at least the fourth-century BC (Davidson 2007, p. 207). In later periods, the role of stars in Greek cosmology is explicit: there are references to the divinity of stars (e.g., Plato, Timaeus, 41d–e, 42b; Chrysippus, Stoicorum Veterum Fragmenta, 810–11, 813–15, 1076–7), although direct star worship was not practiced in Greece. These beliefs would have influenced the way the Greeks viewed themselves in the cosmos, and the role they believed their rituals had in maintaining cosmic order. This latter concern was predominant in the performance of rituals, which were aimed at linking the world of men with the cosmos (the divine realm). The performance of Greek religious rituals was the manifestation and expression of these beliefs, and the location where the rituals took place was the space where these beliefs were enacted. Because rituals were open air, performed around the altar, in front of the temple, the orientation of Greek temples has attracted much interest. In terms of ritual though, the space in front of the temples, marked by the altar, where all cult activity would have been directed and performed was of greater significance. This activity took place usually during the night, when the skyscape would have been directly visible and linkable to these performances. The timing of these performances aimed at linking the cosmos to the sanctuary through the rituals performed there. So the picture comprises of several elements: the exact location chosen and orientation of the temple-altar group, which would have directed the participants to viewing specific parts of the visible night sky; the time of the day/night the rituals took place; the month in the year; the myths associated with the cults and the specific rituals performed. All these elements are of equal significance in recreating the ritual experience, which reaffirms religious and cosmological beliefs, and helps us reconstruct ancient Greek cosmological cognition.

The General Orientation of Greek Temples Common perception of the predominant eastern orientation of Greek temples oversimplifies a much more complex pattern. Approximately 58% of Greek temples face toward the east (Boutsikas 2009), a much smaller percentage than that previously thought (Dinsmoor 1939, pp. 115–116). In addition, no correlation seems to exist between the orientation of temples and sunrise at the equinoxes (Boutsikas 2009, p. 10), an unexpected occurrence if interpreting the orientation of Greek temples in relation to the sun. A much larger variation is present that cannot be simply explained in terms of the orientation of Greek temples to the rising sun (e.g., ca. 26% of temples have a southern orientation). As a result,

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all-encompassing interpretations do not apply to Greek temples. More contextual evidence is needed that considers local variations, traditions, and landscapes in Greek cult, in order for archaeoastronomical analyses to make sense and improve our narrative.

The Astronomy of Certain Festivals of Apollo Archaeoastronomy of the current era has moved beyond direct decontextualized alignment studies. It has in recent years become a subdiscipline that can contribute to our understanding of ancient cognition. The site of Delphi and rituals in ancient Greece that were associated with the Delphic oracle are distinct examples of this. Earlier research associated the temple of Apollo in Delphi with the rising sun and the heliacal setting of stars of b Lup and k Cen (Penrose 1896, pp. 384–385), later corrected to be associated with the heliacal setting of e CMa (Penrose 1900, pp. 612–613). These links were based solely on the alignment of the temple and considered no contextual evidence for the festival time or associated myths. The timing of the operation of the Delphic oracle, the Pythian Games in Delphi and Apollo’s birthday and his return to Delphi at the end of his stay in the land of the Hyperboreans overlapped with the timing of the major astronomical phases of the celestial dolphin, the constellation of Delphinus (ancient Greek for dolphin) (Table 140.1). According to the Delphic foundation myth, Apollo transformed into a dolphin and then to a shooting star to guide the Cretan sailors to his oracle (Homeric Hymn to Apollo, 399–401, 440–443). The temple of Apollo in Delphi faces an unusually high horizon of 25–27 , resulting to the delay in observing the rising of celestial bodies from this location by ca. 2 weeks (Fig. 140.1). The annual operation of the Delphic oracle, on Apollo’s birthday, on the seventh of Bysios (our February), was the first full month in which Delphinus was visible in the Delphic sky after its heliacal rising. Observing Delphinus’ heliacal rising and setting across Greece could act as the signifier of the period of the oracle’s consultation (Salt and Boutsikas 2005). The delayed viewing of the heliacal rising of the constellation in Delphi by 2 weeks compared to a lower horizon would offer advance warning for visitors travelling from across the Greek world to consult the oracle, in order to arrive at the oracle on time for the annual consultation. Likewise, the Delphic Pythia festival held in Boukatios (C.I.A. 2.545) was timed on the first month after Delphinus’ cosmical setting (Table 140.1). For the Athenian delegation to depart for the annual consultation of the Delphic oracle from Athens, the Pythaistai group spent 3 days and nights in each of 3 months watching the sky in anticipation of a divine sign (a lightning) (Strabo, IX.2.11). The watch lasted from late Boedromion (our October) to Poseideon (December–January) (Lambert 2002, p. 392) and can be associated with the movement of Delphinus; the end of this period overlaps with Delphinus’ heliacal rising and setting as visible in lower horizons, as is that of Athens (Boutsikas 2013). This is the only time in the year when Delphinus is seen to set in the west toward the direction that the Pythaistai were observing (Strabo, 9.2.11). A second occurrence is

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Table 140.1 The timing of relevant festivals and sacrifices against the movement of Delphinus Delphic Attic months months Hekatombaion Apellaios

Relevant Delian months festivals Hekatombaion

Metageitnion

Boukatios

Metageitnion

Boedromion

Boathoos

Bouphonion

Pyanepsion

Heraios

Apatourion

Maimakterion Daidaphoros

Aresion

Poseideon

Poitropios

Poseideon

Gamelion

Amalios

Gamelion

Anthesterion

Bysios

Hieros

Elaphebolion Mounychion Thargelion

Theoxenios Galaxion Edyspoitropios Artemision Herakleios Thargelion

Skirophorion

Ilaios

Panimos

Movement Gregorian of Delphinus months Cosmical July–August setting (6–8 August) Pythia, Delphi August– (7th) September Beginning of September– Pythaistai watch October (end of month) October– November November– December End of Pythaistai Helical December– watch (end of rising January month) (1–3 January) Helical setting (3–5 January) Sacrifices to Helical January– Apollo rising in February Delphinios in Delphi Erchia (7th–8th) (17–19 January) Cities start preparing choruses for the Delia Delphic oracle February– operation/ Delia March or Apollonia in Delos (7th) March–April April–May Sacrifice to Acronychal May–June Apollo in Erchia rising (4th) (1–3 June) Thargelia, Athens (7th) (to Apollo) Birthday of Apollo, Delos (7th) Daphnephoria, Thebes Daphnephoria, Acronychal June–July Delphi rising in Delphi (15–17 June)

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Fig. 140.1 The horizon of the temple of Apollo in Delphi

that of Erchia, another Greek city, which offered sacrifices to Apollo Delphinios annually on the seventh of Gamelion (January–February), before a procession departed for Delphi to consult the oracle. This timing overlaps also with the observation of Delphinus’ heliacal rising from the lower horizon of Erchia. The Athenian delegation and the Erchian procession would have departed for Delphi as soon as the heliacal rising of Delphinus became visible from these horizons. The same event would become visible in Delphi approximately 2 weeks later, and the oracle would offer consultation on the first month after this, allowing enough time for oracle seekers to arrive in Delphi on time for the consultation. Of equal interest is the festival of the Daphnephoria celebrated in Delphi and Thebes and focusing on Apollo’s cosmological attributes. The festival included a procession that carried symbols of the sun, moon, and planets (Proclos, Christomatheia). The timing of the Delphic Daphnephoria was a month later to that of Thebes. Both festivals occurred at the time of Delphinus’ acronychal rising, as visible from each location (i.e., delayed in Delphi). The other major Greek sanctuary of Apollo was in Delos and had close associations with Delphi. The most important festival of Apollo in Delos was called Delia (or Apollonia). The temples of Apollo in Delos are oriented SW, to the opposite direction of that in Delphi, toward the setting point of Delphinus (Fig. 140.2).

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Fig. 140.2 Horizon of Delian temples

Starry symbolism is also present in the foundation myth of Delos: Asteria (Shestar), trying to avoid Zeus’ advances, leapt from heaven in the shape of a star, turning into Delos upon her arrival on earth. Asteria was the deity of the altar of Apollo’s temples in Delos (Kallimachos, Hymn to Delos, 312). The temples of Delphi and Delos then are orientated toward altars dedicated to gods who in myth changed temporarily to a star, before landing on the sacred spot. Apollo’s birthday in Delos was different to that in Delphi, on the seventh of Thargelion (May–June) (Diogenes Laertios, 3.2), but here too, it was timed during a significant phase of the constellation of Delphinus (Table 140.1). The choruses the Greek cities sent to Delos for the Delia needed to depart well in advance of the festival. The cities had to start preparing for the departure of the choruses in early spring, and based on ancient references (Theognis, 775; Dionysios Periegetes, 527), the beginning of this preparation is calculated to sometime between February and March (Farnell 1907, p. 289–290), i.e., approximately in the first month after Delphinus’ heliacal rising and heliacal setting (Table 140.1). The sacrificial calendar of Athens agrees with this timing, as it records the departure of the theoˆria for Delos in early Anthesterion (Fragment 8.2; Lambert 2002, p. 393), approximately a month after the constellation’s heliacal rising and setting in the Attic horizon. The end of the Pythaistai watch, the timing of the Erchian sacrifices to Apollo, the Thargelia in Athens, the timing of Daphnephoria (in Thebes and Delphi), the beginning of the preparations for the Delia in Delos, and the Pythia in Delphi overlap with all four phases of Delphinus (Table 140.1) Epigraphical evidence confirms that Delphinus was recognized and used as a calendrical marker in ancient Greece, but also that these phases were known to and watched for by the ancient Greeks. The first three phases were recorded in the parapegma of Geminos (first-century BC) (Evans and Berggren 2006). Delphinus is also mentioned in the two earlier parapegmata of Demokritos and Euktemon, which date to the fifth-century BC, testifying that the constellation was known to the Greeks and was used for calendric purposes from at least as early as the Classical period.

Conclusion Past approaches and methodologies were viewed with suspicion by scholars, because they contained no contextual evidence for the proposed astronomical

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links (Boutsikas and Ruggles 2011, pp. 56–60). By enriching archaeoastronomical data with literary and archaeological evidence, we are in a position to explain the importance and reasons why such a practice may have been used by the Greeks. Such considerations improve our understanding of the culture and our reconstructions of Greek religious practice and cosmological beliefs. Archaeoastronomy in Greek religion has greater potential when targeting specific cults as opposed to analyses of data in terms of general trends. Although this latter type of analysis is valuable for preliterate cultures, in Greece, where there is an abundance of literary and epigraphical evidence, archaeoastronomy can achieve contextual interpretations. This type of analysis is significant also because it manages to blend our knowledge of the development of Greek astronomy with the application of this knowledge in Greek daily life. More work in this field will improve our knowledge of the extent of the practices discussed here. Investigations that consider spatial movement within the sanctuary during the time the festivals were held will offer a better understanding of the experience of the ancients who participated in these rituals, while investigations dealing with sites where the Greeks worshipped their gods in the same space as nonGreeks will enlighten on interactions and influences between cultures.

Cross-References ▶ Analyzing Orientations ▶ Ancient Greek Calendars ▶ Calendars and Astronomy ▶ Concepts of space, time, and the cosmos ▶ Greek Constellations ▶ Greek Cosmology and Cosmogony ▶ Orientation of Egyptian Temples: An Overview

References Boutsikas E (2009) Placing Greek temples: an archaeoastronomical study of the orientation of ancient Greek religious structures. Archaeoastronomy: the Journal of Astronomy in Culture 21:4–19 Boutsikas E (2013) Landscape and the Cosmos in the Apolline rites of Delphi, Delos and Dreros. In: Pothou V and K€appel L (eds) Human Development in Sacred Landscapes. De Gruyter Verlag, Berlin (in press). Boutsikas E, Hannah R (2012) Aitia, astronomy and the timing of the Arrhe¯phoria. The Annual of the British School at Athens (in press). Boutsikas E, Ruggles CLN (2011) Temples, stars, and ritual landscapes: the potential for archaeoastronomy in ancient Greece. Am J Archaeol 115(1):55–68 Davidson J (2007) Time and Greek religion. In: Ogden D (ed) A companion to Greek religion. Wiley-Blackwell, Oxford, pp 204–218 Dinsmoor WB (1939) Archaeology and astronomy. Proceedings of the American Philosophical Society 80:95–173

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Evans J, Berggren JL (2006) Geminos’s introduction to the phenomena. A translation and study of a hellenistic survey of astronomy. Princeton University Press, Princeton Farnell LR (1907) The cults of the Greek states, vol IV. Clarendon, Oxford Grenfell BP, Hunt AS (1906) The Hibeh Papyri. Pt. 1. Horace Hart, Oxford Lambert S (2002) The sacrificial calendar of Athens. The Annual of the British School at Athens 97:353–399 € Nissen H (1873) Uber Tempel-Orientierung: Erster Artikel. Rheinisches Museum 28:513–557 Penrose FC (1892) A preliminary statement of an investigation of the dates of some of the Greek temples as derived from their orientation. Nature 45:395–397 Penrose FC (1893) On the orientation of Greek temples. P Roy Soc Lond 53:379–384 Penrose FC (1896) Note sur l’orientation du temple de Delphes. Bulletin de Correspondance Helle´nique 20:383–385 Penrose FC (1900) Orientation des temples grecs. Delphes. Te´ge´e. De´los. Bulletin de Correspondance Helle´nique 24:611–614 Salt A, Boutsikas E (2005) Knowing when to consult the oracle at Delphi. Antiquity 79:564–572

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Alexander Jones

Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Spherics . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Shapes, Sizes, and Distances . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Kinematic Models . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Quantitative Models and Tables . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Mathematical Astronomy and Instrumentation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Abstract

Mathematics was employed in Greek astronomy as the basis of modeling the heavens and the apparent paths of the heavenly bodies, employing spheres and circles as the elements of the models. Although fundamentally geometrical in conception, Greek mathematical astronomy became increasingly quantitative and numerical, partly in response to Babylonian astronomy.

Introduction Mathematics underlay much of Greek astronomy (Neugebauer 1975; Evans 1998). The visible heavenly bodies and the invisible components of their presumed paths were treated as geometrical objects, chiefly spheres and circles, so that the geometrical deduction and analysis familiar from such works as Euclid’s Elements could

A. Jones Institute for the Study of the Ancient World, New York University, NY, USA e-mail: [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_159, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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be applied to astronomical phenomena. Numerical methods, usually in combination with geometry, enabled theoretical models to be fitted to observations and predictions to be derived from the models.

Spherics From the early fourth century BC on, Greek astronomers mostly agreed that the heavens could be modeled as a revolving spherical shell, containing and concentric with a stationary spherical Earth. For many purposes, it was considered satisfactory to reduce the heavens to a spherical surface with no thickness, on which the stars had fixed positions relative to each other and to the poles of the daily revolution, while the Sun makes an annual circuit of a great circle on it, the ecliptic. The ecliptic was hypothesized to have a fixed position relative to the stars and an inclination with respect to the poles of the daily revolution. Since the Earth was supposed to be negligibly small relative to the celestial sphere, a terrestrial observer was treated as being situated at its exact center, and his horizon was a great circle on the celestial sphere, in this case fixed relative to the observer’s frame of reference rather than to the stars. This model made it possible to express problems concerning the observable risings and settings of the Sun and stars as well as conditions of stellar visibility in terms of the geometry of circles on a spherical surface. Treatises belonging to this field of “spherics” began being composed at least as early as the late fourth century BC; the last significant contribution to the genre was written by Menelaos of Alexandria in the late first century AD. The subject matter was sometimes overtly astronomical, but sometimes presented as abstract geometrical configurations whose correspondence to entities in the heavens was left to the reader to recognize. The imagery of a celestial globe, often marked with circles on its surface representing, for example, the equator and ecliptic, is encountered frequently in Greco-Roman art, the context determining whether the object is meant to be seen as an instructional model – say as the focus of a colloquy of wise men – or as the cosmos itself (Arnaud 1984).

Shapes, Sizes, and Distances The Greek tradition of geometrical optics, according to which sight and illumination are modeled as straight lines emanating respectively from the eye and the illuminating body, provided the framework within which such phenomena as the Moon’s phases and eclipses were modeled. The visible outline of the waxing and waning Moon in relation to its changing elongation from the Sun corresponded exactly to the predicted appearance of a spherical body illuminated by another spherical body, thus establishing the three-dimensional shapes of the Sun and Moon and, by analogical extension, the planets and stars. The obscuration of the Moon in lunar eclipses, interpreted as the Earth’s shadow, confirmed the Earth’s spherical

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shape and indicated roughly its size relative to the Moon. Solar eclipses implied not only that the Moon is nearer to the Earth than the Sun but also that the distances of the Sun and Moon from the Earth are approximately proportional to their diameters. Aristarchos’s On the Sizes and Distances of Sun and Moon (first half of third century BC) applied more advanced geometrical arguments to obtain quantitative relationships of the Earth-Moon-Sun system, though his ostensibly empirical assumptions are idealized and in critical instances extreme unless interpreted as bounding values (Heath 1913). Thus, the fact that half-moon phase occurs when the Moon is at close to 90 elongation from the Sun rather than, say, close to 60 leads to the fundamental result that the Moon’s distance from the Earth is a small fraction of the Sun’s distance, but Aristarchos endows this argument with a fictitious quantitative specificity by assuming that the half-moon elongation is 87 . The line of investigation initiated by Aristarchos was continued by Hipparchos (second century BC) and Ptolemy (second century BC), exploiting a relationship between the solar and lunar distances that was established by consideration of eclipses but that was exceedingly sensitive to imprecisions in observation and calculation. The “consensus” estimate of the lunar distance, in the neighborhood of 60 Earth radii, was reasonably accurate, but the solar distance was consistently assigned values more than an order of magnitude too low.

Kinematic Models The mathematical models proposed by Greek astronomers to explain the apparent motions of the Sun, Moon, and planets relative to the fixed stars were all based on combinations of circular revolutions. Eudoxos (early fourth century BC) proposed models comprising so-called homocentric spheres, that is, spherical shells nested one inside another and each revolving uniformly around poles that are fixed on the next shell outward. The visible heavenly body, being fixed to the innermost sphere of its system, periodically traverses an irregular apparent path while never varying in distance from the center of the cosmos. These models sought in the first instance to account for the daily risings and settings of the heavenly bodies and their slower motion through the zodiacal belt straddling the ecliptic circle. The outermost sphere belonging to a heavenly body was supposed to have the same poles and rate of revolution as that of the fixed stars around the Earth; the next sphere inward revolved around the poles of the ecliptic. One or more additional spheres with inclined poles produced a periodic latitudinal deviation from the ecliptic and, for the planets, a periodic longitudinal anomaly which could include retrogradations. Later in the fourth century, Kallippos suggested more complicated versions of Eudoxos’s models, and the basic principle may have still been accepted well into the third century BC. There is no evidence that homocentric sphere models were calibrated against observational data beyond some very crude periodicities and perhaps angles of inclination nor that they were adapted to the prediction of apparent positions and phenomena. In fact, the models allow too few degrees

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of freedom for precise fitting to apparent paths of planetary motion, and they also fail to account for variation in apparent brightness or, in the Moon’s case, variation in apparent diameter since they presuppose that the visible body’s distance from the Earth is constant. The models of Greek astronomy from at least as early as the second century BC on were based on combinations of uniform circular motions that were eccentric and, in most cases, not in a single plane. Uniform motion could be defined by equal arcs traveled in equal times or (in later theories) by motion subtending equal angles as seen from a fixed point that need not be the geometrical center of the circle. One of the two fundamental types of model, the epicyclic, had the visible body revolve around a circular path called the epicycle, whose center in turn revolves around the Earth. The other fundamental model, the eccentric, had the visible body revolve along a circular path enclosing the Earth but with a different point as its center; the center might have a fixed position relative to the Earth or might itself revolve on a circular path centered on the Earth. Either model would account for a single periodic anomaly correlated with a variation in distance from the Earth; combining them – or hypothesizing an epicycle riding on an epicycle or an eccenter on an eccenter – would account for a twofold anomaly. Relatively inclined planes of rotation would generate a latitudinal motion. The models were always imagined as subsisting in the frame of reference of the daily rotation of the heavens. A theorem preserved by Ptolemy and associated with the early second century BC geometer Apollonios of Perge shows that these models were being subjected to mathematical analysis already in Apollonios’s time. Given a simple epicyclic or eccentric model for a planet with known radii and rates of revolution, the theorem determines the points on the epicycle or eccenter where a planet will appear to be stationary to a terrestrial observer. It was probably also known at this time that the two types of model are interchangeable, that is, with suitable choice of parameters they generate identical paths in space for a heavenly body.

Quantitative Models and Tables During the last two centuries BC, there was considerable growth in Greek knowledge of Babylonian mathematical astronomy, which, in contrast to the primarily descriptive and explanatory character of Greek modeling up to this time, was directed toward quantitative prediction of the positions and phenomena of the heavenly bodies. From Babylonian sources, Greek astronomers got access to a repertoire of arithmetical algorithms that incorporated accurate periodicities and patterns of planetary behavior, as well as a corpus of observations that extended, in the case of eclipses, as far back as the eighth century. Around the third quarter of the second century BC, Hipparchos developed methods of measuring or verifying periodicities and other parameters of epicyclic and eccentric models through a mathematical analysis of dated observation reports. This methodology was continued by later astronomers, most notably Ptolemy in his

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Mathematical Composition (or Almagest), the only advanced treatise on this kind of research that has come down to us (Toomer 1984). The Almagest is a systematic and comprehensive treatment of the mathematical modeling of the heavens along deductive lines. Ptolemy starts out from the cosmological assumption that the bodies composing the heavens are eternal and performing eternally uniform circular revolutions. The particular model structures (epicycles or eccenters or both combined) appropriate for each of the Sun, Moon, and planets are deduced from a general consideration of their observable behavior. The specific spatial dimensions of each model are obtained by an analysis of a selection of observations made over a brief interval of time, while comparison of observations separated by very long intervals yield the periodicities. In contrast to the approach of Aristarchos, which sought to establish upper and lower bounds for parameters, Ptolemy calculates approximate values without much consideration of tolerances or error ranges; his most important mathematical tools are a base-60 notation for fractions, adapted from Babylonian astronomy, and a table of computed lengths of chords subtended by given angles (in degrees) in a standard circle. From his quantified models, Ptolemy calculates numerical tables, sometimes of great complexity, that enable the user to determine the apparent position of any of the heavenly bodies on a given date and to predict the circumstances of phenomena such as eclipses and first and last visibilities of planets. In this way, the Almagest is a continuation of the agenda of Greek astronomy in the Eudoxos-Aristarchos tradition as well as that of the Babylonian predictive tradition, which had wide application in contemporary astrology.

Mathematical Astronomy and Instrumentation The quantitative approach to astronomical modeling in the work of Hipparchos and Ptolemy was reflected in observational and computational instruments used by researching astronomers as well as in instruments employed in daily life and education. Our knowledge of observational instruments is unfortunately limited to written descriptions, since the objects themselves have not survived. Little is known about the equipment astronomers used to establish the times of their observations, especially at night; water clocks may be presumed, though meridian transits of stars were also available. The mechanician Heron of Alexandria (first century BC) describes in his Dioptra a theodolite-like surveying instrument in which the plane as well as the direction of the sight can be controlled by gearwork, thus in principle allowing one to measure azimuth and altitude of a heavenly body (Lewis 2001). Since the most useful frame of reference for analyzing observations was based on the ecliptic, not the horizon, one would have to perform coordinate conversions using trigonometry or graphical approximations. Ptolemy describes a complicated armillary instrument (called an astrolabos) that allowed the observer to set rings representing the ecliptic and equatorial frames of reference relative to the horizon and thus to observe a heavenly body’s position in longitude and latitude directly.

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The principle of stereographic projection, by which circles on the celestial sphere could be represented by circles in a plane, was developed by Ptolemy in his Planisphaerium. By late antiquity, it had been adapted in mechanical form in the plane astrolabe, a calculating instrument for solving problems in spherical astronomy such as determining the astrologically significant rising and culminating points of the ecliptic for a given date and time (Neugebauer 1949). The Antikythera Mechanism (second or first century BC), fragments of which were discovered in a late Hellenistic shipwreck, represents an earlier kind of astronomical analogue computer that applied sophisticated gearwork to simulate the passage of time according to disparate chronological cycles along with the motions of the heavenly bodies; the gears serve both as devices to multiply or divide rates of revolution and as physical counterparts of the circular revolutions in the assumed astronomical models (Freeth et al. 2006). Little is known about the history of such mechanisms, but there is good reason to believe that Archimedes was a pioneer of the technology if not its inventor and the primary application was probably education, not practical computation. A much more commonly encountered manifestation of mathematical astronomy, however, was the sundial (Gibbs 1976). Greco-Roman sundials used the projection of a gnomon’s shadow or a ray of sunlight to display both the time of day and the current stage of the year. The surface on which the shadow or ray was cast could be planar (in various orientations), spherical, or conical, and thus, the grid of lines representing hours and seasons was a mathematical transformation of circles on the celestial sphere into straight lines, circular arcs, conic sections, or more complex curves, a powerful visual emblem of the Greek geometrical conception of the heavens.

Cross-References ▶ Greek Cosmology and Cosmogony ▶ Material Culture of Greek and Roman Astronomy ▶ Reconstructing the Antikythera Mechanism ▶ Transmission of Babylonian Astronomy to Other Cultures

References Arnaud P (1984) L’Image du globe dans le monde romain. Me´langes de l’e´cole franc¸aise de Rome. Antiquite´ 96:53–116 Evans J (1998) The history and practice of ancient astronomy. Oxford University Press, Oxford Freeth T et al (2006) Decoding the ancient Greek astronomical calculator known as the Antikythera Mechanism. Nature 444:587–591 Gibbs S (1976) Greek and Roman sundials. Yale University Press, New Haven Heath TL (1913) Aristarchus of Samos, the ancient Copernicus. Clarendon, Oxford Lewis MJT (2001) Surveying instruments of Greece and Rome. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge Neugebauer O (1949) The early history of the astrolabe. Isis 40:240–256 Neugebauer O (1975) A history of ancient mathematical astronomy. Springer, Berlin Toomer GJ (1984) Ptolemy’s Almagest. Springer, New York

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Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Timekeeping Displays . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Sphere-Making . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Technical Apparatus . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Astrological Apparatus . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Astronomical and Astrological Symbolism . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Legacy . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Abstract

In the Greek and Roman worlds, astronomy had a rich material culture. Many objects had practical applications to timekeeping or liberal education or astrological prediction, but many others were meant to express philosophical, religious, or political values.

Introduction The material culture of Greek and Roman astronomy is represented by an impressively large number of surviving objects. But in some cases, e.g., instruments of observation, our understanding must be based entirely on texts, as the objects themselves have not survived. It is a commonplace that technology is less well documented than pure science (mathematics, anatomy, astronomy), and this was

J. Evans University of Puget Sound, Tacoma, WA, USA e-mail: [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_161, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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certainly true of ancient Greek and Roman times. Moreover, the preservation of the technical literature is very spotty. Thus, a reconstruction of the material culture of Greek and Roman astronomy presents considerable challenges. In the best situations, however, a conversation between texts and artifacts is possible. Then the objects tell us things that the texts do not, and vice versa. We shall begin with objects associated with time-telling that often were publically displayed: sundials and parapegmata. We turn next to the art of “sphere-making”, which involved celestial globes and armillary spheres but also more elaborate devices such as astronomical water clocks and astronomical computing machines based on gear trains. Next we take up the technical apparatus of the serious astronomer, including instruments of observation and astronomical tables. Astrology was the most important practical application of Greek astronomy, from the first century BCE. onward, and it has left fascinating material traces that afford insights into astrological practice. Finally, we touch briefly on the symbolic uses of astronomical and astrological imagery and their import for philosophy, religion, and politics.

Timekeeping Displays Sundials provide the most extensive material evidence of the astronomical activity of the Greeks and Romans – over 400 have survived. Vitruvius (On Architecture ix, 8) gives a list of dial types and their inventors, so there must have been an abundant literature of short, specialized treatises on gnomonics. In such a work the inventor of a new dial type might explain its design. None of this literature has survived, but we do have a general work by Ptolemy, On the Analemma, that presents a geometrical construction that could be useful in dialing, as well as Vitruvius’s earlier description (not original with him) of a simpler approach that probably was widely used. The oldest approximately datable Greek conical dial is of the early third century BCE. (Gibbs No. 3049), but it is likely that the theory was worked out somewhat earlier. Vitruvius says that one type of dial, the arachne (spider’s web), was attributed by some to Eudoxos, which does not seem impossible. Schaldach (2004) has plausibly identified the arachne with a plane, equinoctial dial, of a unique type found near Oropos, north of Athens. Schaldach dates the Oropos dial itself to 350–320 BCE, but Hannah (2009, pp. 166–167 n32) argues that the first half of the third century is also possible. It is likely, then, that the first sundials based on geometrical methods were made in the fourth century, as a consequence of the elaboration of the theory of the celestial sphere. In the Hellenistic and Roman periods, they proliferated in number as well as type. “Greek and Roman” dials have been found from Afghanistan to Morocco and from Sudan to Belgium. Delos and Pompeii have yielded them in large numbers. One of the commonest kinds is the spherical dial, in which a hemispherical cavity is cut into a block of stone and the tip of the shadow-casting gnomon lies at the center of the sphere. The placement of the circles representing the equator, the tropics of Cancer and Capricorn, as well as the lines for the hours, is very simple.

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Fig. 142.1 A miniature, conical sundial from Greek Egypt. Ivory, originally about 6 cm wide. Early first century BCE (British Museum, EA 68475. # The Trustees of the British Museum)

Fig. 142. 2 A modern cast replica of a roofed spherical dial from Roman Carthage. The original is in the Louvre (Ma 5074) and is from the first or second century CE (Photograph # Denis Savoie)

Simpler in terms of stone-working, but more complex mathematically, is the conical dial, in which the shadow-receiving surface is the interior of a cone. The dial in Fig. 142.1 comes from Tanis in Greek Egypt and dates probably from early first century BCE. The hour lines are radial. The parallels are the day curves for the beginnings of the zodiac signs. The lost gnomon would have stood out horizontally from the broken-away portion at the upper center. On a spherical or conical dial, the shadow tip can fall only in the 48
- belt between the tropics, so considerable portions of the block could be cut away. Typically, the front (southern) face is cut away, often with the cut parallel to the equator. On the dial of Fig. 142.1, sunlight can fall on the undercut south face only between fall equinox and spring equinox; thus, the beginning of fall is indicated when the undercut south face is first illuminated. The Greek inscription (Ise¯meria ¼ “equinox”) on the undercut front face calls attention to this fact (Evans and Mare´e 2008). An impressive roofed spherical dial from Roman Carthage, a cast of which is shown in Fig. 142. 2, is vastly larger– 73 cm across (Savoie and Lehoucq 2001). It is in the form of a skyphos (a drinking cup) and its exterior is decorated with oak leaves and acorns. The “tip of the gnomon” is a small hole in the top, which allows a spot of sunlight to fall on the lines engraved in the interior. The original hole

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Fig. 142. 3 The Tower of the Winds at the edge of the Roman Agora of Athens (Photo J. Evans)

would have been relatively small, in a metal plate (now lost, but restored for the photograph) that fits over the larger hole in the stone. Plane sundials, both horizontal and vertical, were also common. And portable sundials were designed to include an adjustment for latitude (Price 1969). The ancients divided the day into 12 equal hours, today called seasonal hours, so the hour was longer in summer and shorter in winter. The modern equinoctial hour (one 24th of the day and night together) was also known and used by ancient astronomers, but all (or virtually all) extant sundials are divided in seasonal hours. Shaldach (2006, p. 196–198) has argued that the Oropos dial may have displayed equinoctial hours, but not enough of the dial is preserved to make this certain. However, several dials do call attention to the variation in the length of daylight (Gibbs 1976, p. 10, 77, 80–84). The most spectacular example of ancient gnomonics is the Tower of the Winds (Fig. 142.3), built in Athens by Andronicus of Kyrros (in Macedonia). The designer’s name is given by Vitruvius (i, 6.4), but this name is also known from an inscription on a complex dial found on Tenos (Gibbs 1976, p. 373). Traditionally the Tower of the Winds has been dated to around 50 BCE but a recent study of its architectural details places it around 150–125 BCE. (von Freeden 1983; Kienast 1997).

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Fig. 142.4 One of the eight vertical plane dials on the Tower of the Winds (Photo J. Evans)

Each face of the octagonal tower carries the relief of the wind god that blows from that direction. Below each relief is an individually designed sundial. Vertical dials that do not face directly north, east, south, or west are today called “inclining” and are more challenging to design. Fig. 142.4 shows the sundial on the southeast face, the direction from which Euros blows. According to Vitruvius, the tower was topped by a weather vane in the form of a Triton, which turned to show which wind was blowing. The prominence of monuments such as the Tower of the Winds, as well as some of the other objects discussed below, points to their public use and to the social character of timekeeping in ancient Greek and Roman cultures. Of course, there was a considerable range of practice. While a number of sundials of Pompeii were found in public places, others were found in the courtyards and gardens of private houses. And the miniature ivory sundial of Fig. 142.1 was found in a private house that stood inside the walled precincts of a major Egyptian temple. Its owner may well have been a priest or administrator. We can imagine him checking his little dial at home to see when rituals were due to be performed at the adjacent temple. Simple water clocks were used by the Greeks for timing court speeches and theatrical presentations. The far more sophisticated anaphoric clock involved a disk, figured with the constellations, that was turned around once in a day and night by a water clock. The constellations were placed on the disk by means of stereographic projection, so the ecliptic appeared as an off-center circle. These clocks are described by Vitruvius (ix, 8) and fragments of two of them have been found, one near Salzburg and the other at Grand in Lorraine (King 1978, pp. 10–12). Fig. 142.5 depicts the preserved portion of the Salzburg sky disk, which, when intact, would have been over a meter in diameter. Across the top are the constellations Triangulum, Andromeda, Perseus, and Auriga. The zodiac was represented by a circle with holes drilled into it at regular intervals. The disk has broken away along this line of holes, producing the serrated lower edge. We can perceive the northern portions of Pisces, Aries, and Taurus. A peg, representing the sun, was inserted in the hole for the particular day. As the disk turned, the sun was

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Fig. 142.5 Fragment of the sky disk of an anaphoric clock. Bronze, first or second century CE (Drawing by Norbert Heger, courtesy of the Salzburg Museum (inv. no. ARCH 3985))

carried past a series of wires representing the horizon and the hours of the day and night. Channels in the pavement in the interior of the Tower of the Winds have been interpreted as conduits for water pipes for driving an anaphoric clock (Noble and Price 1968). Stereographic projection is also the underlying principle of the astrolabe. While the oldest extant astrolabes are Islamic, stereographic projection was described by Ptolemy in his planisphere and may go back to the time of Hipparchos. A treatise on the astrolabe in the modern sense was written by Theon of Alexandria (fourth century CE). This does not survive but a table of its contents, in Arabic, is preserved, which shows considerable overlap with a treatise on the astrolabe in Greek by John Philoponus (c. 530 CE) and another in Syriac by Severus Sebokht (written before 660 CE) (Neugebauer 1949). So the astrolabe, the emblematic instrument of the Middle Ages, was also a part of the material culture of later Greek astronomy. Another common feature of public places was the parapegma– a sort of star calendar. A parapegma listed the heliacal risings and settings of prominent stars and constellations in the order of their occurrence during the year. Often, but not always, these were accompanied by notices of seasonal changes (beginning and end of the season for Zephyros, the west wind, or for the Etesian winds). And many parapegmata also predicted individual rainstorms. A parapegma could be a text written on papyrus, but in its original form it was a public document, engraved in stone. A small hole near each line of writing allowed the insertion of a wooden peg that could be moved along from one day to the next. In Fig. 142.6, we see a portion of a parapegma found in Miletus. The hole-and-peg technology of the parapegma was also applied to simpler displays for keeping count of the days of the lunar month or, later, of the days of the week (Lehoux 2007).

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Fig. 142.6 Fragment of a stone parapegma from Miletus. c. 100 BCE. Now in the Antikensammlung, Berlin (inv. no. SK 1606) (Photo from Diels and Rehm (1904))

Sphere-Making Astronomy was a normal part of the curriculum in the Peripatetic, Platonist, and Stoic schools. That celestial globes were common teaching tools is clear from some remarks by Strabo (Geography i, 1.21–22). Strabo asks what preparation readers need before studying geography and answers that they should not be so ignorant as never to have seen a globe, with its parallel and nonparallel circles. But, says Strabo, if the reader has taken the usual courses offered for freemen and students of philosophy, he will be well enough prepared. Three well-preserved ancient celestial globes survive (Dekker 2013, pp. 15–115). The most spectacular is the large (65 cm in diameter) marble Farnese globe, a Roman copy from the early empire, based on a Hellenistic original, see Fig. 142.7. The iconography of the constellations reflects Aratos’s didactic poem, the Phenomena (e.g., the constellation Hercules is represented simply as Engonasin, the kneeling man, and does not display the later association with the hero). A Roman addition on the Farnese globe shows a rectangular constellation north of Cancer, perhaps the “Throne of Caesar” mentioned by Pliny (Natural History ii, 178; K€unzl 2005, p. 66). A small bronze globe at Mainz, figured with the constellations as well as the Milky Way, may have served as the tip of a gnomon for a garden-sized sundial (K€unzl 2000). A small ancient globe of silver was recently traded on the Paris art market (Cuvigny 2004). Similar to the celestial globe but easier to construct was the ringed or armillary sphere. Here the sky is represented not by a solid ball but by a sphere made of rings representing the celestial equator, the tropics, arctic and antarctic circles, ecliptic, and so on. While no armillary sphere has survived from antiquity, they do figure in ancient art, as on a mosaic at Solunto in Sicily (Von Boeslager 1983, pp. 56–60 and Tafel XV) and a ceiling painting from Stabiae, near Pompeii (Guzzo 2004, plate 1). Traditionally the celestial globe was ascribed to Thales. But we may be sure they existed by the time of Plato, as he uses the construction of armillary sphere as a metaphor for the creation of the universe in his Timaeus (34B–36E).

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Fig. 142.7 The Farnese globe (From Passeri (1750). Photograph courtesy of Houghton Library, Harvard University)

The construction of globes and armillary spheres forms a part of the mechanical art that the Greeks called sphairopoiı¨a, “sphere-making” (Evans and Berggren 2006, pp. 43–53, 243–249). But this art also included the construction of more elaborate devices activated by water power or by gears, such as the anaphoric clock and the geared calculating machines admirably represented by the Antikythera mechanism.

Technical Apparatus The vertical gnomon, in use by the fifth century BCE, could indicate the approximate day of solstice (when the noon shadow was shortest or longest) and the day of equinox (when the shadow track was a straight line). Specialized instruments of observation were used by trained astronomers, but they were fragile and rare and none have survived. The equatorial ring, mentioned by Ptolemy (Almagest iii, 1) but used considerably earlier, consisted of a metal ring, perhaps one or two cubits in diameter, placed in the plane of the celestial equator. At the moment of equinox (if this happened to occur in the daytime), the shadow of the upper part of the ring would fall on the lower part (Dicks 1954; Evans 1999). A meridian quadrant (Ptolemy, Almagest, 12), which could be used to take noon altitudes of the sun, was the best available instrument for measuring the arc between the tropics (equal to twice the obliquity of the ecliptic). A specialized dioptra (Archimedes,

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Sand-Reckoner; Ptolemy, Almagest v, 14) was used to measure the angular size of the moon (or sun), by placing the eye at one end of a rod and sliding a cylinder along the rod until the cylinder just appeared to cover the moon. The most sophisticated observing instrument was the meteoroscope, or armillary sphere equipped with sights (Ptolemy, Almagest v, 1; Rome 1927). It could be used to directly measure celestial longitudes and latitudes of stars or planets. An important astronomical accoutrement was a set of astronomical tables, permitting calculation, from theory, of the zodiacal positions of the sun, moon, and planets. Simpler tables, which were also in circulation, gave the dates on which these bodies passed from one zodiac sign to another. In the early period of Greek astrology, many such tables were based on methods of Babylonian planetary theory, but tables based on those in Ptolemy’s Handy Tables began to carry the day after the second century CE (Jones 1999).

Astrological Apparatus Personal astrology was Babylonian in origin, but it was Hellenized and systematized by Greeks in Egypt starting in the second century BCE. Several astrologers’ boards have been found that conform well to a description of them in the Alexander Romance (an ancient adventure novel). Most impressive are the astrological tablets of Grand, a Gallo-Roman town in Lorraine (Abry 1993). Discovered in the 1960s, the tablets were made of ivory in the form of a foldable diptych with protective covers. Within the zodiac circle are inscribed decorative busts of Helios and Selene. Just outside the zodiac is a ring of “terms” (Greek horia), one of several alternative subdivisions of the zodiac signs. The system of terms employed on the astrological tablets of Grand corresponds to what Ptolemy (Tetrabiblos i, 20) calls the “Egyptian” system. Each zodiac sign is divided into five parts, which can range from 2
to 12
in length (the five terms for each sign must total 30
), each ruled by one of the planets. Outside the circle of terms are figures of the 36 decans (another variety of microzodiac) and, beyond those, the Egyptian names of the decans transliterated into Greek. The marble Bianchini tablet, found on the Aventine Hill in Rome in the eighteenth century, and now in the Louvre, carries a double zodiac, which would be useful in prognosticating for a prospective marriage or in any predictions touching on friends or enemies (Evans 2004, p. 8). The practicing astrologer would place engraved stone markers, one for each planet and one for the horoscopic point (the point of the zodiac that was on the eastern horizon), around the zodiac at the correct locations for the moment of birth. Both the Alexander Romance and a Greek magical papyrus inform us that the marker for Aphrodite should be made of lapis lazuli. A number of Aphrodite stones of lapis lazuli are known among the magical gems, so it is easy to imagine planet markers drawn from this class of engraved gemstones (Evans 2004).

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Fig. 142.8 Bronze coin from the Roman mint of Alexandria, year 8 of Antoninus Pius (From Dattari (1901))

Work orders, or “tickets”, for horoscopes are found on scraps of papyrus as well as ostraca. Usually these contain only the most basic information: the date and hour of birth, the zodiac positions of the planets at that moment, and sometimes the name of the client. Usually there are neither diagrams nor prognostications, since the client would have consulted face-to-face with the practitioner, who would have looked up the planet positions in tables and displayed them on a board, and then given an oral interpretation. However, a number of “deluxe” horoscopes on papyrus are also known, which give extensive interpretation in written form (Neugebauer and Hoesen 1959; Jones 1999). Astrological doctrine is reflected in coinage. In year 8 of Antoninus Pius (144/145 CE), the Roman mint at Alexandria issued a large variety of coins with astrological motifs. A sequence of 12 bronze coins, one for each zodiac sign, displayed the solar house associated with each zodiac sign (Fig. 142.8). Another coin of the same series features a double zodiac, a common feature of astrologers’ boards. An ancient trade in astronomical and astrological artifacts is suggested by a number of lines of evidence. A mold, found at Trier, was likely used for mass-producing clay plaques for keeping track of the days of the week and of the moon (Lehoux 2007, pp. 175–176). So many roofed spherical dials have been found at Aquileia that this may have been a manufacturing center for this sort of dial (Gibbs 1976, p. 71). And the astrological tablets of Grand, found in northeastern Gaul, were probably made in Egypt.

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Fig. 142.9 Augustus’s imperial gnomon in Rome (Photo J. Evans)

Astronomical and Astrological Symbolism An object as impressive as the Tower of the Winds– with eight sundials and an anaphoric clock– was about far more than simple time-telling. Rather, such objects made symbolic statements about the designer’s ability to comprehend the cosmos. Sometimes religious feeling could be involved in the ostensible motivation of a display. In the second century BCE, someone wrote an “astronomy of Eudoxos” on whitened boards and contributed it to the temple of Good Fortune on Delos. These no longer exist, but are known through an inscribed inventory of the temple’s treasury (D€urrbachF and Roussel 1935, no. 1442B, lines 41–42). From a little later, we have the fragmentary Keskintos inscription, found near Lindos on Rhodes (Jones 2006). This consists of a list of planetary parameters accompanied by a thanksgiving to the gods. And Ptolemy’s Canobic Inscription (second century CE), which was engraved on a stele in Canopus near Alexandria, is another example of a grand summarizing astronomical statement. This no longer survives, but the text is preserved in medieval manuscripts. Here Ptolemy lays out the numerical parameters of his planetary models– radii

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Fig. 142.10 A sketch of the excavated portion of the metal and stone meridian associated with Augustus’s monumental gnomon (From Claridge 1998, reproduced by permission of Oxford University Press)

of the epicycles, periods of revolution, and so on– and dedicates them to “the savior god”, which in his time and place probably meant Sarapis (Hamilton et al. 1987). Zodiac imagery appears on a wide range of objects (Gundel 1992), which may carry religious, magical, or political meanings. Political astronomical symbolism became especially blatant after Augustus adopted the Capricorn as his imperial symbol (Barton 1995). In a number of coin series from Augustus’s reign, a Capricorn directs the world, holding a globe and a rudder between its legs. Around 10 BCE Augustus constructed on the Field of Mars in Rome a monumental meridian line (less likely a plane sundial) with a gnomon 100 Roman feet high (Pliny, Natural History xxxvi, 70–73). The gnomon was an obelisk of pink granite that had been taken from Heliopolis in Egypt and stands now in the Piazzi di Montecitorio, 200 m southeast of its original location (Fig. 142.9). In the Latin inscription on the base of the gnomon, Augustus dedicated it to the sun, in commemoration of his annexation of Egypt some 12 years before. In the 1970s, archaeologists found a portion of the inscribed meridian, made of travertine with inset bronze lettering and markings (Buchner 1982). Individual degrees of the zodiac are marked, and the names of the signs are engraved in Greek

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(the ancient language of science), along with notices of when the Etesian winds cease and when summer begins. The recovered part of the meridian includes portions of the signs of Aries, Taurus, Virgo, and Leo (Fig. 142.10). The pavement lies about a meter and a half higher than would be expected for the Augustan period and so may represent a Domitian restoration of the original (Heslin 2007).

Legacy The rich material culture of Greek and Roman astronomy had lasting influences on the astronomies of neighboring and succeeding cultures. In Islamic lands, celestial globes continued to be used as teaching tools, and the tradition of gnomonics was pursued with considerable flair. The astrolabe and its variants were developed into instruments of great beauty as well as utility. Most of the observational instruments of serious astronomy had roots in the ancient tradition, though some, including the quadrant, were subject to ingenious development and improvement.

Cross-References ▶ Astronomical Instruments in India ▶ Greco-Roman Astrology ▶ Greco-Roman Astrometeorology ▶ Islamic Astronomical Instruments and Observatories ▶ Reconstructing the Antikythera Mechanism

References Abry JH (1993) Les tablettes astrologiques de Grand (Vosges). De Boccard, Paris Arnaud P (1984) L’image du globe dans le monde romain: science, iconographie, symbolique. Me´langes de l’E´cole Franc¸aise de Rome 96:55–116 Barton T (1995) Augustus and Capricorn: astrological polyvalency and imperial rhetoric. J Roman Studies 85:33–51 Buchner E (1982) Die Sonnenuhr des Augustus. Philipp von Zabern, Mainz am Rhein Claridge A (1998) Rome: an Oxford archaeological guide. Oxford University Press, Oxford Cuvigny H (2004) Une sphe`re ce´leste antique en argent cisele´. In: Horak P (ed) Gedenkschrift Ulrike Horak. Edizioni Gonnelli, Firenze Dattari G (1901) Monete imperiali greche. Numi Augg. Alexandrini. Catalogo della collezione G. Dattair. Tipografia dell’Instituto francese d’archeologia orientale, Cairo de Solla Price DJ (1969) Portable sundials in antiquity. Centaurus 14:242–266 Dekker E (2013) Illustrating the phaenomena: celestial cartography in antiquity and the middle ages. Oxford University Press, Oxford Dicks DR (1954) Ancient astronomical instruments. J Br Astron Assoc 64:77–85 Diels H, Rehm A (1904) Parapegmenfragmente aus Milet. Sitzungsberichte der ko¨niglich Preussischen Akademie der Wissenschaften. Jahrgang 1904:92–111

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D€urrbach F, Roussel P (1935) Inscriptions de De´los, iii, Actes des fonctionnaires Athe´niens pre´pose´s a` l’administration des sanctuaires apre`s 166 av. J.-C. (nos. 1400–1479). Paris Evans J (1999) The material culture of Greek astronomy. J Hist Astron 30:237–307 Evans J (2004) The astrologer’s apparatus: a picture of professional practice in Greco-Roman Egypt. J Hist Astron 35:1–44 Evans J, Berggren JL (2006) Geminos’s introduction to the phenomena: a translation and study of a hellenistic survey of astronomy. Princeton University Press, Princeton Evans J, Mare´e M (2008) A miniature ivory sundial with equinox indicator from Ptolemaic Tanis, Egypt. J Hist Astron 29:1–17 Gibbs S (1976) Greek and Roman Sundials. Yale University Press, New Haven/London Gundel HG (1992) Zodiakos: Tierkreisbilder im Altertum. Verlag P. von Zabern, Mainz am Rhein Guzzo PG (2004) In Stabiano: exploring the ancient seaside Villas of the Roman Elite. Nicola Longobardi, Castellammare di Stabia Hamilton NT, Swerdlow NM, Toomer GJ (1987) The canobic inscription: Ptolemy’s earliest work. In: Berggren JL, Goldstein BR (eds) From ancient omens to statistical mechanics: essays on the exact sciences presented to Asger Aaboe. University Library, Copenhagen, pp 55–77 Hannah R (2009) Time in antiquity. Routledge, London/New York Heslin P (2007) Augustus, Domitian and the so-called horologium Augusti. J Rom Stud 97:1–20 Jones A (1999) Astronomical Papyri from Oxyrhynchus. Memoirs of the American Philosophical Society 233. American Philosophical Society, Philadelphia Jones A (2006) The Keskintos astronomical inscription: text and interpretations. SCIAMVS 7:3–41 Kienast HJ (1997) The tower of the winds in Athens: Hellenistic or Roman? In: Hoff MC, Rotroff SI (eds) The romanization of Athens. Oxbow Books, Oxford King HC (1978) Geared to the stars: the evolution of planetariums, orreries and astronomical clocks. University of Toronto Press, Toronto K€unzl E (2000) Ein ro¨mischer Himmelsglobus der mittleren Kaiserzeit. Jahrbuch des Ro¨mischGermanischen Zentralmuseums Mainz, No 47 K€ unzl E (2005) Himmelsgloben und Sternkarten: Astronomie und Astrologie in Vorzeit und Altertum. Theiss, Stuttgart Lehoux D (2007) Astronomy, weather and calendars in the ancient word: Parapegmata and related texts in classical and near-Eastern societies. Cambridge University Press, New York Neugebauer O (1949) The early history of the astrolabe. Isis 40:240–256 Neugebauer O, Van Hoesen HB (1959) Greek horoscopes, vol 48. Memoirs of the American Philosophical Society, Philadelphia Noble JV, de Solla Price DJ (1968) The water clock in the tower of the winds. Am J Archaeol 72:345–355 Passeri GB (1750) Atlas Farnesianus. . . In Gori AF (ed) (1750) Thesaurus gemmarum antiquarum astriferarum, vol 3. Ex. officina typogr Albiziniana, Florence Rome A (1927) L’astrolabe et le me´te´oroscope d’apre`s le Commentaire de Pappus sur le 5e livre de l’Almagest. Ann Soc Sci Brux (se´r A) 47:77–102 Savoie D, Lehoucq R (2001) E´tude gnomonique d’un cadran solaire de´couvert a` Catharge. Rev Arche´om 25:25–34 Schaldach K (2004) The arachne of the Amphiareion and the origin of gnomonics in Greece. J Hist Astron 35:435–445 Schaldach K (2006) Die antiken Sonnenuhren Giechenlands. Festland und Peloponnes. Verlag Harri Deutsch, Frankfurt am Main Von Boeslager D (1983) Antike Mosaiken in Sizilien. Giorgio Bretschneider, Rome von Freeden J (1983) Oikia Kyrre¯stou: Studien zum sogenannten Turm der Winde in Athen. G. Bretschneider, Roma

Reconstructing the Antikythera Mechanism

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Contents The Discovery . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Reconstructions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Dating the Mechanism . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Astronomy . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Investigating the Evidence . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Latest Model . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Mechanizing the Planets . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Probing the Evidence . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Abstract

The Antikythera Mechanism is a geared astronomical calculating machine from ancient Greece. The extraordinary nature of this device has become even more apparent in recent years as a result of research under the aegis of the Antikythera Mechanism Research Project (AMRP) – an international collaboration of scientists, historians, museum staff, engineers, and imaging specialists. Though many questions still remain, we may now be close to reconstructing the complete machine. As a technological artifact, it is unique in the ancient world. Its brilliant design conception means that it is a landmark in the history of science and technology.

T. Freeth Antikythera Mechanism Research Project, South Ealing, London, UK e-mail: [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_162, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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The Discovery Around Easter 1900, Greek sponge divers found an ancient wreck near the small Greek island of Antikythera (Price 1974). By the autumn of 1900, the Greek authorities had mounted full-scale underwater archaeology – with a warship standing by to deter looters! The divers brought up an impressive array of ancient Greek treasure: sculptures, fine glassware, jewelry, amphorae, pottery, and domestic items. On recovery, the Mechanism itself – then a single calcified lump of bronze – was not recognized as anything important. Along with the rest of the cargo, it was taken to the National Archaeological Museum in Athens, where it has remained ever since. Some months later, it split apart to reveal tiny gearwheels, scientific scales, and ancient Greek inscriptions. This was a shock discovery: for more than a century, it has been an object of fascination, mystery, and dispute. The history of the Antikythera Mechanism in the years after its discovery is not clear. In 2005, a senior archaeologist at the Museum in Athens, Mary Zapheiropoulou, rediscovered some boxes of pieces in the basement store of the Museum, labeled “Antikythera” (Freeth 2006; Zapheiropoulou 2012). Her discovery dramatically increased the number of known fragments from a couple of dozen to 82, now named Fragments A-G and Fragments 1–75 (Fig. 143.1). All the fragments in this complex 3D jigsaw puzzle are heavily corroded and calcified and only a few of the gears and none of the plates, dials, or inscriptions are complete (Fig. 143.1).

Reconstructions Archaeological reconstruction is particularly difficult without similar objects for comparison. There are no other known devices from the ancient world like the Antikythera Mechanism and sparse references to similar machines in the classical literature (Price 1974). Many previous reconstructions have been confidently presented, only to founder in the face of better evidence and better ideas. The Antikythera Mechanism Research Project (AMRP), an international collaboration of scientists, historians, museum staff, engineers, and imaging specialists instigated in 2000 by Mike Edmunds (Freeth et al. 2006, 2008), has attempted a new reconstruction. In parallel with our growing understanding of the mechanics, there has been very significant progress on the inscriptions. These will only be dealt with here when they are part of the mechanical story. Initial readings of the inscriptions can be found in Price (1974) and more extensively in Freeth et al. (2006, Supplementary Notes). A series of new papers on the inscriptions is forthcoming.

Dating the Mechanism Since the Mechanism is known to have been recovered from the wreck, the general view is that it was part of the original cargo. The wreck is dated to 70–60 BC

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Fig. 143.1 The 82 surviving fragments of the Antikythera Mechanism. Fragments A–G are at the top and fragments 1–75 at the bottom (#2005 Antikythera Mechanism Research Project/National Archaeological Museum in Athens)

(Weinberg et al. 1965; Kaltsas et al. 2012), so this defines the latest possible date for the Antikythera Mechanism. The many inscriptions covering the plates of the Mechanism give us other clues (Figs. 143.7, 143.8, 143.14, 143.15, and 143.17). With the uncertainty of stylistic dating based on letter forms, a cautious estimate would be probably second century BC, but possibly late third or early first century BC (Price 1974; Freeth et al. 2006; Freeth and Jones 2012). As yet we have found no way to find a more precise date.

Astronomy The astronomy built into the gearing and dials of the machine gives further evidence of its epoch. The astronomers of first millennium BC Mesopotamia were the predecessors of the Greek astronomy of the era of the Antikythera Mechanism (Neugebauer 1957, 1975). Evidence for their extraordinary astronomy comes from several thousands of cuneiform tablets, discovered in Babylon and Uruk in the nineteenth century. Repeating cycles of the astronomical bodies were a key element. They developed highly accurate “period relations”, such as the

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Fig. 143.2 Two pages form Albert Rehm’s research notebook (Rehm 1906). On the left is his exploration of epicyclic gears. On the right, one version of his model, which has multiple coaxial outputs with notable similarities to a proposed model from a 100 years later (Wright 2003) (Courtesy Dr H. Dannheimer, Albert Rehm Archive, Bayerische Staatsbibliothek M€ unchen)

Moon’s Metonic cycle (19 years ¼ 235 lunar months ¼ 254 sidereal months) and the Saros eclipse cycle (223 lunar months ¼ 239 anomalistic months ¼ 242 draconic months), and similar cycles for the synodic phases of the planets. These were exactly what were needed for a machine to predict the future behavior of the astronomical bodes, with gearwheels for mechanizing these repeating cycles. The ancient Greeks added another layer of “geometric” astronomy to the “arithmetic” astronomy of Mesopotamia (Neugebauer 1957, 1975). By the second century BC, the prevailing theories that explained the variable motions of the Sun, Moon, and planets were epicyclic theories, based on the addition of two constant circular motions. These were simple and beautiful (albeit inaccurate) explanations of the anomalistic motions. They appear to date to the late third or early second century BC (Neugebauer 1957, 1975). In the case of the Moon, an exact representation of the epicyclic theory is now known to have been embodied in the Mechanism in a brilliant way (Freeth et al. 2006) – so the instrument cannot precede the development of the epicyclic theory of the lunar anomaly.

Investigating the Evidence The first person to understand the true nature of the Antikythera Mechanism as a geared astronomical calculating machine was the German philologist, Albert Rehm – as can be seen from his unpublished research (Rehm 1905, 1906) (Fig. 143.2). Lacking good data, his reconstructions were muddled and have not stood the test of time. However, he understood the essence of the Mechanism and many of his ideas have proved to be highly prescient. Remarkably, he proposed epicyclic gears to follow the anomaly of the Moon and a Planetarium with all five planets known in ancient times – ideas that would resurface a 100 years later (Fig. 143.2).

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Fig. 143.3 An exploded diagram of Price’s reconstruction from his Scientific American article of 1959 (reproduced from Scientific American June 1959, # Estate of Bunji Tagawa)

The next really significant researcher was Derek de Solla Price. He started to rethink the Antikythera Mechanism in the 1950s and made good progress on its place in history and the basic layout of its dials (Price 1959), but detailed work on its structure needed new scientific evidence (Fig. 143.3). Many of the advances in Antikythera research have come out of new X-ray studies. The first such study was carried out in 1970 by Charalambos Karakalos in collaboration with Price. The result was Price’s great monograph, Gears from the Greeks (Price 1974). Though much of Price’s work has now been superseded, he made some seminal discoveries. For the first time, the overall architecture of the instrument was understood, with its front Zodiac and Calendar dials and its Upper Back and Lower Back dial systems with concentric rings and subsidiary dials. The clues as to which cycles are built into the Mechanism are found in the tooth counts of the gears. With the X-ray data, Price and Karakalos could make good estimates of the tooth counts. They discovered a gear with 38 teeth, with large prime factor 19. This meant that they had uncovered in the gearing what Rehm had found in the inscriptions (Rehm 1906): the 19-year cycle of the Moon, the Metonic cycle. Price found a gear with 127 teeth, which he realized was part of a gear train that calculated the sidereal version of the Metonic cycle: 19 years ¼ 254 (2  127) orbits of the Moon. He also proposed that the Upper Back dial had a scale with 235 lunar months: the synodic version of the 19-year Metonic cycle (Price 1974). (Surprisingly he discarded this important insight and did not adopt it for his model.) Price’s establishment of the fundamental role of the Metonic cycle in the Antikythera Mechanism was a major advance. From the X-ray data, Price proposed a structure for the whole gearing system (Figs. 143.4 and 143.5).

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Fig. 143.4 Diagram of Price’s complete gearing system. Much of Price’s overall structure has survived, but the gearing at the back of the Mechanism is now superseded by a very different scheme. The input is at A (now called a1), which was probably turned by hand. This drives the large gearwheel B1 (now called b1), which then powers the whole system through a 64-tooth gear, B2 (b2). One gear driven by B2 is C1 (c1), which they counted as having 38 ¼ 2  19 teeth, generating the fundamental 19-year cycle of the Moon, the Metonic cycle. In Price’s model, the 127-tooth gear D2 (d2) turns B4 (e2), which powers a mean lunar position pointer on the Zodiac dial, as well as inputting the lunar orbit to his Differential. All of the gears in this model are concerned with the Sun-Earth-Moon system (#1974 The American Philosophical Society)

In epicyclic gearing, the axes of gears are mounted on the faces of other gears. Price was not the first to suggest epicyclic gearing for the Antikythera Mechanism: that honor goes to Rehm (1906). However, Price was the first to identify a particular system of gears at the back of the Mechanism as being epicyclic (Price 1974). To discover this very advanced and subtle form of gearing in ancient Greece was a profound shock. Price’s epicyclic system was carried by one of the largest gears, which Price and Karakalos estimated to have 222 or 223 teeth. Price concluded that this system calculated the phase cycle of the Moon by differencing the ecliptic positions of the Sun and Moon, using a Differential (Fig. 143.5) – though the large

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Fig. 143.5 On the left, Price’s general plan of all gearing, seen from the front of the Mechanism. This shows the complexity of the gearing and the difficulties of elucidating it from 2D X-rays. On the right, Price’s gearing on back of main plate, seen from the back of the Mechanism. The gears K1 and K2 are epicyclic. They are carried by the large gear E4 (now called e3) and form part of Price’s Differential, which calculated the phase cycle of the Moon from the Sun input at E5 and the Moon input at E2ii. Price’s conjectural gear J (linking E2 and K1) is not shown here, though it is necessary to make the Differential work. It is now known not to have existed (#1974 The American Philosophical Society)

gear had no useful role in this scheme, except to carry the small gears. The Differential was an attractive and persuasive idea and became his most celebrated discovery. Unfortunately it was wrong and this set back further research progress (Fig. 143.5). The first challenge to Price’s Differential came out of the second major X-ray study. In the late 1980s and early 1990s Allan Bromley and Michael Wright used an old 3D X-ray technique called linear tomography to separate data in different layers of the surviving fragments of the Mechanism (Wright et al. 1991). Though their data was hard to interpret, they showed from their X-rays that Price’s Differential could not be correct: it added rather than subtracted the rotations (Bromley 1993). Price’s Differential was later challenged (Freeth 2002a) with an analysis that used Occam’s razor – arguing that it was too complex a device for making such a very simple calculation. It could be done far more easily with fixed-axis gearing. So the puzzle of the epicyclic gearing remained. Bromley and Wright’s collaboration foundered and Bromley died in 2002. Wright persisted with the data and in 2005 published a new model of the

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Fig. 143.6 Still photograph of the back of Fragment C. The Moon phase mechanism runs from the center of the circular feature in the direction of the 10 o’clock position. The small circular feature at the end was a semisilvered ball that displayed the Moon’s phase (#2005 Antikythera Mechanism Research Project/National Archaeological Museum in Athens)

Mechanism that attempted to resolve the epicyclic system (Wright 2005b). He had modified Price’s Differential so that one of the input gears was fixed and the other small gears in the epicyclic system had subtly different tooth counts to calculate four draconic months (the month from one node of the Moon back the same node) on a scale with 218 half-day divisions. It did not seem to me at the time that this modification of Price’s model was plausible and it has since proved to be wrong. Again, the large gear at the back of the Mechanism played no useful role in Wright’s model. In other areas, Wright made better progress. He revived Price’s discarded Metonic calendar for the Upper Back dial and proposed suitable gearing for it (Wright 2005a). He also identified an evident feature on the surface of Fragment C as a Moon phase display: everyone else had missed its function for a 100 years (Wright 2006) (Fig. 143.6). This really was a differential device that calculated the phase cycle of the Moon from the positions of Sun and Moon in the ecliptic: in his Differential, Price had put the right idea in completely the wrong place. Wright also discovered a 53-tooth gear (Wright 2005a), which he did not regard as important; and he found an intriguing pin-and-slot mechanism, which was part of the epicyclic system (Wright 2005b). However, he could not understand the purpose of these features and he discarded the pin-and-slot as being irrelevant for the Antikythera Mechanism. The latest X-ray study was carried out in 2005 by X-Tek Systems for the AMRP in collaboration with the Museum in Athens (Freeth et al. 2006). The technique was Microfocus X-ray Computed Tomography (X-ray CT) by X-Tek Systems, which gave rise to a wealth of new data (Figs. 143.7, 143.10, 143.12, 143.13, 143.17, and 143.18). Data was also gathered on the surfaces of the fragments, using an innovative technique by Hewlett-Packard, Polynomial Texture Mapping (PTM). The first major result came from a close analysis of Fragment F (Fig. 143.7), one of those

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Fig. 143.7 On the left, X-ray CT of Fragment F, faintly showing scale divisions and “glyphs” between some of the divisions. These are the predictions of eclipse possibilities. On the right, a selection of glyphs traced from the X-ray CT of Fragments E and F. S refers to Selene, the Greek goddess of the Moon and indicates a lunar eclipse; H refers to Helios, the god of the Sun, meaning a solar eclipse. The anchor-like symbol refers to the time of the eclipse, with the Greek letter after it indicating the time. H\M indicates a lunar eclipse during the day and N\Y a solar eclipse at night – neither of which would be visible. The Greek letter at the bottom of each glyph is an index letter (Freeth et al. 2008, Supplementary Notes) (#2005 Antikythera Mechanism Research Project)

rediscovered by Zapheiropoulou in 2005. It showed that the Mechanism predicted eclipse possibilities according to the 223-lunar month Saros cycle (Freeth et al. 2006) (Fig. 143.7). The large gear at the back made sense for the first time: it had 223 teeth and it calculated the Saros cycle. From the new data, a reconstruction of the whole Saros dial could be made, though still with some uncertainty (Freeth et al. 2008) (Fig. 143.8). This left a huge problem: what was the epicyclic system mounted on the large gear e3? The solution was very difficult and took many months. Price’s scheme had to be fundamentally challenged and this involved many issues. Could Wright’s discarded pin-and-slot be key to following the variable motion of the Moon? With the pin-and-slot in place, might equal tooth counts make sense for the small gears rather than the different counts of Wright’s model? The solution finally emerged and it was astonishing (Freeth et al. 2006) (Figs. 143.10 and 143.11). The system modeled the ancient Greek epicyclic theory of the Moon in a totally unexpected way. It was a radical departure from all previous models (Fig. 143.9).

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Fig. 143.8 Reconstruction of the Saros eclipse prediction dial on the back of the Mechanism, showing a conjectural distribution of glyphs round the whole dial (Freeth et al. 2008) (#2008 Tony Freeth, Images First Ltd)

The pin-and-slot generated the variable motion of the Moon and its epicyclic mounting meant that the period of variability was the anomalistic month (27.55 days), not the sidereal month (27.32 days) of Price’s Metonic input. The 53-tooth gear (Fig. 143.12), identified by Wright, now took on great significance: it ensured that the large 223-tooth gear e3 turned at exactly the right rate to make this work. Gear e3 (Figs. 143.9 and 143.11), which previously had no known function, now performed two critical roles in the Antikythera Mechanism: it turned the 223-month Saros dial and it regulated the period of variation of the pin-and-slot device (Fig. 143.10). We now understood all the tooth counts in the gears (Fig. 143.11) (except for one 63-tooth gear in Fragment D). The surviving gearing was based on the Metonic and Saros cycles from ancient Babylon, to which the Greeks had added an elegant

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Fig. 143.9 Detail of the back of Fragment A, using Polynomial Texture Mapping with specular enhancement. The large gear e3 has 223 teeth and is difficult to see. Attached to this is a ring gear e4 with 188 teeth that is part of the output gear train to the Saros dial. The small gear in the center is e6, which is the output of the lunar anomaly mechanism to the front Zodiac dial. e6 covers the same-size gear, e5. The small gear beneath this is k2. The slot in this gear can just be seen at the bottom of the gear. The same-size gear k1 is concealed behind k2 and the pin on k1 that engages with the slot is not visible (#2005 Antikythera Mechanism Research Project)

epicyclic theory to explain the Moon’s anomaly. It was a stunning technological achievement – one of the true wonders of the ancient world (Fig. 143.11). How can we be confident that this model of the Mechanism is correct? The most compelling evidence comes from two 53-tooth gears, l2 and f1 (Fig. 143.12). From the X-ray CT data and Edmunds’ ingenious tooth-count analysis (Freeth et al. 2006, Supplementary Notes), we are confident that they both had 53 teeth. (The second gear cancels out the effect of the first further down the gear train where the factor 53 is not wanted.) It is very difficult to imagine other functions for these two 53-tooth gears (Fig. 143.12). Edmunds also proposed that the output of the epicyclic system was on the front Zodiac dial, rather than at the back of the Mechanism, which everyone had assumed. This meant that the output of the system must be carried via a shaft through the Metonic input, which therefore must be a tube, revolving inside the hub of the large 223-tooth gear. We can see all of these coaxial elements clearly in the X-ray CT (Fig. 143.13 - left). Crucially also, the X-ray CT shows the eccentric axes of gears k1 and k2 (Fig. 143.13 - right), which are separated by just over a millimeter. So the physical evidence as well as the compelling logic of the gear structure gives us overwhelming confidence that the solution is correct (Fig. 143.13).

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Fig. 143.10 False-color X-ray CT of the epicyclic system that calculates the variable motion of the Moon, with kinematic geometry superimposed. The pin on gear k1 engages with the slot on gear k2 and the gears turn on eccentric axes, separated by just over a millimeter. Both gears are epicyclic and carried on gear e3 that turns at the difference in the rates of rotation of the sidereal and anomalistic months (Freeth et al. 2006) (#2005 Antikythera Mechanism Research Project/Tony Freeth, Images First Ltd)

By 2008, Wright had restored Price’s discarded Metonic calendar dial (Wright 2005a); Alexander Jones had discovered the Olympiad dial; and John Steele had identified the purpose of the Exeligmos dial (Freeth et al. 2008). So we had a complete reconstruction of the Back dials of the Mechanism (Fig. 143.14). One feature was conjectural. Wright had suggested a 76-year Kallippic dial (Wright 2005a), but Jones’ discovery meant that this was in fact a 4-year Olympiad dial. However, the mention of “76 years” in the Back Cover inscription (Fig. 143.15) and the fact that such a dial was easy to mechanize in this position meant that it found a place in our model on the other side of the Back Plate, where the plate is missing. All of the rest of the dials were solidly backed up by the X-ray CT data of the gears, scales, and inscriptions (Fig. 143.15).

Latest Model The next challenge was the front of the Antikythera Mechanism. Just how much confidence can we place in our latest model (Freeth and Jones 2012) when so much evidence is lost? The starting point must be the evidence that survives. The main feature of the front of Fragment A is the large four-spoked drive wheel, b1.

Fig. 143.11 Gear diagram of the new model, which also shows features that were added in later research. The planetary gearing of the latest model is not shown (#2005 Tony Freeth, Images First Ltd)

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Fig. 143.12 False-color X-ray CT of the two gears with 53 teeth. On the left is l2 and on the right f1. The centers of the gears and the teeth tips have been marked in order to count the teeth (#2005 Antikythera Mechanism Research Project)

Fig. 143.13 Left: False-color X-ray CT, showing a close-up of axis e. The output shaft of the lunar anomaly mechanism can be seen as a bright circle at the center. The coaxial input tube from the Metonic gear train is the ring around this. The gear surrounding this is e3, with the tube acting as a bearing. Right: False-color X-ray CT, showing axis k. The eccentric axes of k1 and k2 can be faintly seen at the center of the gear (#2005 Antikythera Mechanism Research Project)

This complex structure has the remains of bearings on its spokes and pillars on its circumference (Fig. 143.16). In the center of b1, there is a squared boss attached to the Main Plate, which suggests the attachment of fixed gears. As Wright proposed, b1 surely carried an extensive epicyclic system (Wright 2003), but for what purpose? We know that the Sun and

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Fig. 143.14 Computer reconstruction of the back of the Antikythera Mechanism. The main upper back dial is a 19-year Metonic calendar with 235 lunar months. The subsidiary dial on the upper right is an Olympiad dial and on the upper left a 76-year Kallippic dial. The main lower back dial is a Saros eclipse prediction dial with 223 lunar months. The subsidiary dial is a 669 lunar month Exeligmos (triple Saros) dial, whose function is to adjust the predicted eclipse times in the glyphs (#2012 Tony Freeth, Images First Ltd)

Fig. 143.15 Fragment 19, part of the back cover, using Hewlett-Packard’s Polynomial Texture Mapping with specular enhancement. The highlighted text reads “76 years, 19 years and 223 months”, referring to the Kallippic cycle, the Metonic cycle, and the Saros cycle (#2005 Antikythera Mechanism Research Project)

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Fig. 143.16 On the left, a close-up of the Mean Sun Wheel, b1, using Hewlett-Packard’s Polynomial Texture Mapping with specular enhancement. On the right a still photo, showing the surviving pillars on b1. The long pillar at the top has fused with the back of the input crown gear a1 (#2005 Antikythera Mechanism Research Project/National Archaeological Museum in Athens)

Moon were represented on the front Zodiac dial and there was a star calendar (Parapegma) on the Front Plate. The obvious omissions are the planets. There is overwhelming collateral evidence that the planets were included in the Mechanism – particularly since classical literature describes apparently similar mechanisms from the ancient world that included all five planets. For example, in De re publica (54–51 BC) by Cicero (Price 1974), there is a remarkable description of a machine made by Archimedes: “. . .on which were delineated the motions of the sun and moon and of those five stars which are called wanderers. . . (the five planets). . . Archimedes. . . had thought out a way to represent accurately by a single device for turning the globe those various and divergent movements with their different rates of speed. . .” Another similar quote by Cicero (Price 1974) describes a machine built by the philosopher and scientist Posidonios in the first century BC – again including all five planets.

Mechanizing the Planets How would the movements of the planets have been mechanized in the Antikythera Mechanism, with their characteristic retrograde motions? The pin-and-slot device for the lunar anomaly strongly indicates the type of mechanisms that might have been used to model the prevailing epicyclic theories of the planets. The inclusion of the variable motion of the Moon also suggests that the variable motion of the Sun was part of the Mechanism – again with a pin-and-slot device (Wright 2003).

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Fig. 143.17 A composite image of several X-ray CT slices through Fragment B, showing the back cover inscription. Planetary names (some incomplete) for all five planets and the word “Cosmos” are highlighted in red (#2011 Antikythera Mechanism Research Project/ Alexander Jones)

Since 2000 there has been an on-going debate about the planets in the Mechanism (Edmunds and Morgan 2000; Freeth 2002b; Wright 2003.) Wright’s work was the most advanced. In a mechanical tour-de-force, he had managed to devise a scheme for the planets and the solar anomaly in a coaxial system at the front, carrying eight different outputs to the Zodiac and Calendar dials – Sun, Moon, Date, and all five planets. It was a bold claim that this was mechanically feasible in ancient Greece, but Wright has made a persuasive case. Despite its ingenuity, I have deep reservations about Wright’s model: it is far too complex and lacks the elegance and mathematical beauty of the lunar mechanism; it does not properly use or explain the pillars at the front of b1; it includes an awkward auxiliary axle to drive the superior planets; and it is contained in a large box, which protrudes at the front – meaning that the inscriptions of the star calendar (the Parapegma) can find no place on the Front Plate, where they must surely belong. In 2011 a renewed study of the Back Cover inscriptions by Jones revealed a description of the ancient Greek geocentric Cosmos (Freeth and Jones 2012). Though fragmentary, this inscription mentions all five planets and leaves little doubt that the Cosmos must have been represented on the front of the Mechanism. In addition, the Front Cover inscription is a list of the synodic periods of the planets. In general, the astronomy in the inscriptions is embodied in the gearing and dials: so we believe that the planets must have been displayed on the Antikythera Mechanism. Was there a way of doing this in harmony with the genius of the rest of the instrument?

Probing the Evidence The X-ray CT data reveals the internal structure of what remains of the complex large gear, b1 (Fig. 143.18). The pillars have always been a mysterious feature. Under close scrutiny with the CT they reveal shoulders and the ends are pierced for

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Fig. 143.18 Two views of the X-ray CT data of Fragment A, showing the pillars on b1. The pillars have shoulders and their ends are pierced for fitting plates (#2005 Antikythera Mechanism Research Project)

pins: the pillars must have carried plates, attached to the circumference of b1. From this and other evidence, we reconstruct eight pillars – four short and four long – carrying two different plates: one rectangular on the short pillars and the other annular on the long pillars (Fig. 143.18). For a long time it had been clear that the inferior planets could be modeled with simple two-gear systems with pins and slotted followers (Edmunds and Morgan 2000; Freeth 2002b; Wright 2003). These sit naturally on the spokes of b1 (though Wright chooses not to do this in his Planetarium) (Figs. 143.19 and 143.21). Wright had shown that it was possible to model the superior planets, though at the expense of great complexity. The new reading of the Back Cover inscription by Jones (Fig. 143.17) motivated a new attack on the problem. A totally unexpected idea soon emerged that the superior planets could be mechanized in a way that exactly mirrored the four-gear epicyclic lunar mechanism (Freeth and Jones 2012) (Figs. 143.20 and 143.21). These mechanisms are strikingly simple but they are by no means the obvious and direct way to model the epicyclic theories. They were independently discovered by Christia´n Carlos Carman (Carman, Thorndike, Evans 2012) (Fig. 143.20). The new superior planet mechanisms were so simple that they could now be mounted in a very natural way on the annular plate carried by the previously mysterious pillars on b1. In this model, there is a nice symmetry: the bodies that “go with the Sun” – the inner planets and the Sun itself – are mounted on the spokes of b1, with epicyclic pin-and-slot devices and fixed gears attached to the Main Plate; the outer planets are mounted symmetrically on the back of the annular plate carried by b1, with epicyclic pin-and-slot devices and fixed gears on a plate just behind the Front dials. The Date output, which follows the mean Sun, is attached to the rectangular plate on the short pillars between these two assemblies. It is a design that would have appealed to an ancient Greek sense of mathematical simplicity, elegance, and beauty. William of Occam would certainly have approved! (Fig. 143.21).

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Fig. 143.19 The Mean Sun Wheel b1, with the Venus mechanism at 1 o’clock, the Mercury mechanism at 4 o’clock, and the solar mechanism at 7 o’clock (#2012 Tony Freeth, Images First Ltd)

Fig. 143.20 Diagrams of the new superior planet mechanisms with the lunar anomaly mechanism for comparison. Top row: Mars, Jupiter. Bottom row: Saturn, Moon. All the planetary mechanisms work on the same principle, with tooth counts exactly reflecting the period relations from Babylonian astronomy. For Mars, with 37 synodic periods in 79 years: there is a 37-tooth fixed gear on axis b; this meshes with a 79-tooth pin gear, with a pin on its face and carried epicyclically on b1; the pin engages with a slot on a 69-tooth slot gear, also epicyclic on b1 but on a different axis; the slot gear engages with another 69-tooth output gear on axis b, which carries the output to the Zodiac dial. The similarities between the lunar anomaly and the Saturn mechanisms are striking (#2012 Tony Freeth, Images First Ltd)

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Fig. 143.21 On the left, a computer reconstruction of the planet module. The annular plate is detached from the long pillars on b1, with their shoulders and pierced ends, in order to show the mechanisms. The planet mechanisms for Mars, Jupiter, and Saturn are attached to the plate, whereas the mechanisms for Mercury, Venus, and the solar anomaly are attached to the spokes of b1. On the right, the module has been put back together. All the mechanisms are arranged symmetrically between the annular plate and b1. The pointers for the Sun and planets are distinguished by beads in gold and semi-precious stones at different distances along the pointers to reflect the schematic order of the bodies in the ancient Greek cosmology (#2012 Tony Freeth, Images First Ltd)

It has been suggested that our latest model (Freeth and Jones 2012) may be an attractive solution to the reconstruction of planetary mechanisms, but it might be just one of many equally valid schemes. I believe that this underestimates the difficulties. Despite intense research over many years, to date we only have two essentially different architectures: Wright’s scheme and our scheme, which explains many previously unsolved features and mirrors the exquisite economy of the lunar mechanism. I believe that this is the essential way that the epicyclic gearing at the front was constructed to display the Cosmos in the Antikythera Mechanism: it is close to the complete machine (Fig. 143.22). Since the planetary mechanisms are conjectural, it cannot be said for certain that this is a unique solution and there may well be refinements, improvements, and extensions – for example, to explain the unsolved 63-tooth gear. However, the constraints defined by the physical evidence make it extremely hard to construct alternative models for the planets. How much confidence can we put in this reconstruction? People with doubts should seriously explore alternatives before reaching a dogmatic answer: only by struggling with the problem can the difficulties be understood. This really is a very compelling model. It is the first model in a 100 years that matches all the surviving evidence (Fig. 143.22).

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Fig. 143.22 Exploded diagram of the whole Mechanism, except for the front and back plates, which are not shown. The front dials, with their pointers for Sun, Moon, Date, and planets are on the left. The back dials with the Metonic calendar, Saros eclipse prediction dial, and subsidiary dials are on the right (#2012 Tony Freeth, Images First Ltd)

The genius of the Antikythera Mechanism leaves us in awe. As Price wrote (Price 1959): “It is a bit frightening to know that the ancient Greeks had come so close to our age, not only in their thought, but also in their scientific technology”. Acknowledgments With many thanks for the great contributions of the National Archaeological Museum in Athens, N. Kaltsas (director), the Antikythera Mechanism Research Project, M. Edmunds (academic lead), T. Freeth, J. Seiradakis, X. Moussas, Y. Bitsakis, A. Tselikas, M. Anastasiou, A. Jones, J.M. Steele, the team from X-Tek Systems led by R. Hadland, and the team from Hewlett-Packard led by T. Malzbender. This chapter is partly based on data processed, with permission, from the archive of experimental investigations by the Antikythera Mechanism Research Project (Freeth et al. 2006) in collaboration with the National Archaeological Museum of Athens.

Cross-References ▶ Ancient Greek Calendars ▶ Greek Cosmology and Cosmogony ▶ Greek Mathematical Astronomy ▶ Material Culture of Greek and Roman Astronomy

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References Bromley A (1993) Antikythera: an Australian made Greek icon, vol 2(3). Basser Department of Computer Science, University of Sydney, Bassernet Carman CC, Thorndike A, Evans J (2012) A new kinematic proposal for the planetary display in the Antikythera Mechanism. J Hist Astron 43:93–116 Edmunds MG, Morgan P (2000) The Antikythera Mechanism: still a mystery of Greek astronomy? Astron Geophys 41(6):6.10–6.17 Freeth T (2002a) The Antikythera Mechanism: 1. Challenging the classic research. Mediterr Archaeol Archaeom 2(1):21–35 Freeth T (2002b) The Antikythera Mechanism: 2. Is it Posidonius’ Orrery? Mediterr Archaeol Archaeom 2(2):45–58 Freeth T, Bitsakis Y, Moussas X, Seiradakis JH, Tselikas A, Mangou H, Zafeiropoulou M, Hadland R, Bate D, Ramsey A, Allen M, Crawley A, Hockley P, Malzbender T, Gelb D, Ambrisco W, Edmunds MG (2006) Decoding the ancient Greek astronomical calculator known as the Antikythera Mechanism. Nature 444:587–591. Supplementary Notes http:// www.nature.com/nature/journal/v444/n7119/extref/nature05357-s1.pdf Freeth T, Jones A, Steele JM, Bitsakis Y (2008) Calendars with Olympiad display and eclipse prediction on the Antikythera Mechanism. Nature 454:614–617. Supplementary Notes http:// www.nature.com/nature/journal/v454/n7204/extref/nature07130-s1.pdf. Amended 2 June 2011 Freeth T, Jones A (2012) The Cosmos in the Antikythera Mechanism, ISAW Papers, 2012. http:// dlib.nyu.edu/awdl/isaw/isaw-papers/4/ Kaltsas N, Vlachogianni E, Bouyia P (eds) (2012) The Antikythera shipwreck: the ship, the treasures, the mechanism. Exhibition catalogue, Athens Neugebauer O (1957) The exact sciences in antiquity, 2nd edn. Brown University Press, Dover Neugebauer O (1975) A history of ancient mathematical astronomy, vol 3. Springer, Berlin Price D (1959) An ancient Greek computer. Sci Am 60–67 Price D (1974) Gears from the Greeks. Transactions of the American Philosophical Society, Philadelphia, N.S. 64.7 Rehm A (1905) Meteorologische Instrumente der Alten (unpublished manuscript). Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, Rehmiana III/7 Rehm A (1906) Notizbuch (unpublished notebook). Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, Rehmiana III/7. Athener Vortrag (unpublished paper). Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, Rehmiana III/9 Weinberg G et al (1965) The Antikythera shipwreck reconsidered. Transactions of the American Philosophical Society, Philadelphia, N.S. 55.3 Wright MT (2003) A planetarium display for the Antikythera Mechanism. Horol J 144:169–173 and 193 Wright MT (2005a) Counting months and years: the upper back dial of the Antikythera Mechanism. Bull Sci Instrum Soc 87:8–13 Wright MT (2005b) Epicyclic gearing and the Antikythera Mechanism, Part II. Antiqu Horol 29(1):51–63 Wright MT (2006) The Antikythera Mechanism and the early history of the moon-phase display. Antiqu Horol 29:319–329 Wright MT, Bromley AG, Magkou E (1991) Simple X-ray tomography and the Antikythera Mechanism, PACT 45, 1995. In: Proceedings of the conference on Archaeometry in SouthEastern Europe, Delphi, April 1991, pp 531–543 Zapheiropoulou M (2012) Old and new fragments of the Antikythera Mechanism and inscriptions. In: Kaltsas N, Vlachogianni E, Bouyia P (eds) The Antikythera shipwreck: the ship, the treasures, the mechanism. Exhibition catalogue, Athens, pp 241–248

Greco-Roman Astrometeorology

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Daryn Lehoux

Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Parapegmata . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Abstract

The chapter offers a history of Greco-Roman astrometeorology including fixedstar, lunar, and planetary traditions.

Introduction We have evidence for astrometeorology in Greece as early as the first appearance of Greek literature (although not, to our knowledge, as early as Linear B). A concern with constellations is readily apparent in some passages of Homer, but it is with Hesiod’s Works and Days that the subject more clearly comes to prominence – Hesiod famously measures the distances between his “days” using astronomical seasonal indicators including the risings and settings of the fixed stars and correlates these with changes in the weather: Fifty days after the solstice, at the arrival of the end of the season of weary heat, that is the time for mortals to sail.... Then are the winds orderly and the sea propitious. (Hesiod, Op., 663 f.)

D. Lehoux Queen’s University, Kingston, ON, Canada e-mail: [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_157, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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Correlations such as these would eventually come to be enshrined in a type of ancient text called a parapegma.

Parapegmata The word parapegma comes from the Greek for “to place a peg beside [something]”, which in turn comes from the fact that this kind of text was sometimes inscribed in stone with holes drilled beside each astrometeorological or astronomical datum and a moveable peg (generally moved daily) used to indicate where in the cycle the current day was (Rehm 1941; Evans and Berggren 2006; Lehoux 2007). Because of the implications of the Greek word parapegma, scholars have traditionally believed that early parapegmata must have been all (or at least predominantly) inscribed in stone, although there is also evidence of other, nonastrometeorological, types of parapegma from an early date and astrometeorological parapegmata may have been borrowing the idea of an inscribed pegboard from other cultural practices of numbering and sequencing events or offices (see Lehoux 2007, esp. parapegma D.i). By the early third century BC, we find stellar phases being clearly linked with weather phenomena as well as with calendar dates (the latter for the first time) in a Greek papyrus from Egypt (P. Hibeh 27) that uses the Egyptian calendar. Instead of peg holes (not physically possible in papyrus) to indicate the current day’s place in the cycle, this text simply gives the calendar dates of a combination of stellar phases, weather, and Egyptian religious festivals. Many scholars suspect that the idea of tracking the combination of stellar phases and weather with a calendar must have predated P. Hibeh 27 (and may go back as far as the astronomers Meton and Euctemon working in Athens in the fifth century), although the evidence for this claim remains circumstantial (see Bowen and Goldstein 1988; Hannah 2005, 2009; Rehm 1941. Contrast Lehoux 2007). The use of calendars subsequently becomes a common (indeed, the standard) way of tracking astrometeorological cycles in non-inscriptional astrometeorological texts: “On such and such a date, such and such a stellar phase, and such and such weather” is the common format (although in at least one instance, the Geminus parapegma, we see the sun’s progress through the zodiac replacing a calendar proper – see Evans and Berggren 2006). Variants include the notuncommon use of attributions for specifying the source of either the stellar phases, the weather predictions, or both (as in “rain, according to Euctemon”). These latter attributions make it clear that astrometeorology was widely practiced by virtually all the most important early Greek astronomers, including Meton, Euctemon, Eudoxus, Callippus, Hipparchus, and others. The question of how these authors framed their astrometeorology remains disputed, however. The traditional consensus has been that they were composing actual parapegmata in something like the forms we see later (i.e., inscribed for at least Meton and Euctemon and possibly literary for others). Certainly the material contained in parapegmata, including the timing of stellar phases, solstices, and

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equinoxes, was of interest to these early astronomers, as was, in many cases, an interest in luni-solar cycles which is closely related to the question of calendar reform. Albert Rehm, the first extensive modern investigator of Greco-Roman astrometeorology, argued that there was a close connection between parapegmata and calendar reform and that the earliest Greek astronomers were the authors of actual parapegmata (Rehm 1941, 1949). This idea has had considerable traction in the history of early astronomy. Thus, brief reports in later authors about (a) Meton and Euctemon observing the summer solstice in 432 BC, (b) Meton’s inauguration of a 19-year luni-solar cycle on Skirophorion 13 in 432, and (c) their erecting of a public stele with the “turnings of the sun” are often taken as implying that Meton and Euctemon erected an inscriptional parapegma, using a 19-year Metonic cycle on the date of the solstice in 432 (Hannah 2002). Skeptics of this position have pointed out that the evidence for the “observation” of the solstice is ambiguous enough that we may in fact be looking at a simple calculation following a Babylonian-style solstice and equinox scheme and/or that there is insufficient evidence to posit an actual parapegma, although the inauguration of a calendar cycle remains likely (Bowen and Goldstein 1988; Lehoux 2007, Chap. 4). In any case, by the first century BC, it is abundantly clear that astrometeorological cycles were being widely disseminated in both literary and (likely) inscriptional forms, although we have only three instances of the latter, two from Miletus and one from Puteoli (Lehoux 2007, parapegmata A.ii, A.iv, and C.ii). Literary parapegmata often turn up in astronomical and agricultural contexts. So Geminus’ Introduction to the Phenomena ends with a parapegma, and Ptolemy wrote a standalone treatise on stellar phases that is, in the main, comprised of an exceptionally detailed parapegma. Columella and Pliny the Elder embed parapegmata within the larger context of when it is appropriate to perform a range of farming duties including sowing, reaping, pruning, manuring, storage, and winnowing. Here the moon often makes an appearance as well, in prescriptions such as that garlic should be put into storage when the moon is below the earth or that certain operations are best carried out under a waning or a waxing moon and so on. These may be a later addition to the main astrometeorological traditions, or (more likely) they may reflect the simple addition to the literary record of older folk practices. We should note, though, that the addition of lunar material, as well as the literary practice of interspersing parapegma-style astrometeorological material into larger agricultural texts, is uniquely Roman. While the majority of (but by no means all) fixed-star astrometeorological citations in Roman parapegma are still Greek, the literary use and context has changed how those citations are deployed, and new traditions such as the lunar pre- and proscriptions have been added. Simultaneous with this shift is an apparent shift in the use of inscribed pegboards, with a move away from tracking full, annual, astrometeorological cycles (which could now more conveniently and economically be relegated to papyrus or parchment) toward other kinds of astrological cycles, most prominently lunar days and phases, as well as the astrological seven-day week (Lehoux 2007, Chap. 2). This introduction of the astrological week, rooted as it is in the idea that each day is presided over by a different planet (Saturn-day, Sun-day, Moon-day, Mar-di,

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Mercre-di, Jeu-di, Vendre-di), raises the question of the importance of the planets for astrometeorological prediction. While not nearly as widespread as fixed-star astrometeorology, we do still find evidence that planetary positions could determine weather. Ptolemy, for example, gives us some rules and characters for calculating weather from planets and planetary positions in the zodiac. He begins by telling us that Aries is characterized by thunder and hail, for example, and goes on to give us actual rules for calculating (though not always interpreting) the significant planetary configurations indicative of weather. One method (Tetrabiblos II.13) involves looking at the full or new moon closest to an equinox and taking the planetary oikodespotai (“place-rulers”) of the position of the moon in the zodiac (cf. Tetrabiblos I.19) as well as its position relative to the nearest horizon, midheaven, or zenith “behind” it to determine the various factors influencing the weather. Ptolemy then complicates these methods considerably by looking at new or full moons (whichever was chosen for the initial assessment) a quarter of a year away, lunar latitudes, and finally the position of the sun relative to the new or full moon as well as its nearest half moon, their planetary aspects, and more, to offer precise (even hourly), if apparently only probable, prediction.

Cross-References ▶ Ancient Greek Calendars ▶ Greco-Roman Astrology ▶ Greco-Roman Astrometeorology

References Bowen A, Goldstein BR (1988) Meton of Athens and astronomy in the Fifth Century BC. In: Leichty E et al (eds) A scientific humanist: studies in memory of Abraham Sachs. University Museum, Philadelphia, pp 39–82 Evans J, Berggren JL (2006) Geminos’s introduction to the Phenomena. Princeton University Press, Princeton Hannah R (2002) Euctemon’s Parapegma. In: TE Rihll and CJ Tuplin (eds) Science and Mathematics in Ancient Greek Culture. Oxford University Press, Oxford Hannah R (2005) Greek and Roman calendars. Duckworth, London Hannah R (2009) Time in antiquity. Routledge, New York Lehoux D (2007) Astronomy, weather, and calendars in the Ancient World. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge Rehm A (1941) Parapegmastudien. Bayerischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, Munich Rehm A (1949) Parapegma. In: AF von Pauly et al (eds) Paulys Realencyclop€adie der classischen Altertumswissenschaft, vol XVIII.4. JB Metzler, Stuttgart

Greco-Roman Astrology

145

Roger Beck

Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The Base of Ancient Astrology in Contemporary Astronomy: The Plausibility of Astrology in its Cosmological Context . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The Horoscope . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The Sources, Documents, and Material Remains of Greco-Roman Astrology . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Astrology in Greco-Roman Society . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Abstract

Astrology was entrenched in the culture of the Roman Empire. The system and its influence is described as well as its relationship to mathematical astronomy at the time. The material remains are of two sorts: papyrus horoscopes and coins with astrological motifs.

Introduction Astrology is the art of ascribing terrestrial significance and outcomes to celestial configurations. The art was systematized by the Greeks in late Hellenistic and Roman times, building on Babylonian foundations. It was popular and influential throughout the Roman Empire, though Egypt was its base. From the empire, it was transmitted to India, thence westward again to Persia and other (by then) Islamic countries, and finally back to the Byzantine world and Europe beyond.

R. Beck University of Toronto, Toronto, ON, Canada e-mail: [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_160, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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The Base of Ancient Astrology in Contemporary Astronomy: The Plausibility of Astrology in its Cosmological Context Astrology drew – and still does draw – its celestial data from positional astronomy. Although the difference between actual celestial configurations and earthly “outcomes” based on them was well appreciated by the ancients and arguments concerning the validity of astrology were exchanged then as now, the modern distinction between astronomy and astrology, with its crisp terminological antithesis, was not then in place. The celestial bodies in their configurations were considered either causative or indicative, either bring about a certain outcome or indicating its likelihood or certainty. Several factors gave astrology a plausibility which it has now lost. According to the standard cosmological model of the times, an unmoving earth at the center was surrounded by multiple celestial spheres on which the seven planets (from nearest to farthest: Moon, Mercury, Venus, Sun, Mars, Jupiter, Saturn) revolved in orbits which, though apparently erratic, were in fact the product of uniform circular motion. (To better fit the “appearances” while maintaining the postulates of uniformity and circularity, the mature Hellenistic/Ptolemaic system allowed for both eccentric circles and epicycles, i.e., smaller circles whose centers were carried round on the circumferences of larger circles.) Bounding and containing the universe was the sphere of the fixed stars, revolving in a 24 h period and transmitting that motion inward to all the other celestial spheres. Circular motion was considered uniquely a property of celestial bodies, which were thus utterly different physically from terrestrial things. Finally, the celestial bodies, as the names of the planets indicate, were considered gods or manifestations of gods or their instruments. With these preconceptions, it was not hard to accept the idea of astral “influence” beamed in from the celestial bodies to earth and affecting human souls, themselves endowed – quite literally, it was thought – with the spark of heavenly reason.

The Horoscope At the heart of Greco-Roman astrology was the horoscope or “nativity” (Greek genesis, thema; Latin genitura), essentially a description of the positions of the celestial bodies relative to a given terrestrial location at the given time. Horoscopes were usually cast for individuals (“natives”) based on their times and places of birth, but institutions such as cities could also be the subjects of foundational horoscopes. “Katarchic” astrology, in contrast, examined future celestial configurations to determine auspicious times for undertakings such as sea voyages. At its most basic, a horoscope listed the signs occupied by each of the seven planets as well as the “ascendant” (Greek horoscopos), the sign of the zodiac (more precisely, the point on the ecliptic) then rising in the east. The ascendant is crucial, for it anchors, as it were, the celestial configurations to a particular terrestrial location and tells one where in the sky overhead or beneath the earth the signs and planets then were.

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Direction of universal (daily) revolution Saturn

Virgo

Direction of planetary revolutions (direct) Moon Leo

Libra

Cancer

Scorpio

ASC

Sagittarius

West

Horizon

East

Gemini

Taurus

Capricorn Jupiter

Aquarius

DESC Mars Sun Mercury

Aries Pisces Venus IMC

Fig. 145.1 Diagram illustrating an ancient horoscope (P. Oxy. 4243). The data from the document are shown in bold

Here, as a rudimentary example, is an ancient horoscope preserved on a scrap of papyrus (P. Oxy. 4243 ¼ Jones 1999, pp. 1.257, 2.381): “Mars, Mercury, Sun in Taurus. Venus in Pisces. Ascendant in Sagittarius. Jupiter in Capricorn. Saturn in Libra. Moon in Leo”. The native’s name is not given nor is the place or date of birth, but the former can be assumed to be Oxyrhynchus (or thereabouts) in Egypt where the papyrus was found, and the latter can be deduced from the stated planetary positions. The native was born in 217 CE on the night of May 1st/2nd (or the night before or the night after). The horoscopes’ data are displayed here diagrammatically in Fig. 145.1, but note that diagrams of any sort are actually very rare in original ancient horoscopes. The diagram also shows how the configurations change over time, (1) quite rapidly as the zodiac and the planets revolve in lockstep and at a uniform speed once every (24 h) day and (2) more slowly as the planets revolve individually around the zodiac in their different periods (from the Moon’s month to Saturn’s almost 30 years). The diagram represents a south-facing view from a stance in the northern hemisphere (the location, of course, for all ancient horoscopes). (1) The apparent revolution of the universe is westward, thus clockwise in the diagram. Each sign of the zodiac with whatever planet(s) it then contains rises in

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MC

Saturn

X

Virgo Moon

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Leo

Libra Sextle

VIII

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Cancer

Scorpio Quartile

XII ASC

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Trine

Sagittarius Gemini

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Place I Opposition

Capricorn

Taurus

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Jupiter

Mars Sun Mercury

Aries

Aquarius III

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Pisces Venus IMC Fig. 145.2 Diagram illustrating the “aspects” and “places” (names and numbers in bold)

the east at the ascendant, culminates on the local meridian at the “midheaven” (MC), sets in the west at the “descendant”, and reaches a nadir at the “lower midheaven” (IMC). (2) The apparent revolutions of the seven planets are generally eastward, thus counterclockwise. This is always the case for the Sun and the Moon although their speed in orbit varies. The other five planets, however, sometimes appear to slow down, stop, and for a limited time reverse direction (“retrograde” motion). In a second diagram (Fig. 145.2), two important elements of the horoscope are shown: (1) the “aspects” and (2) the “places”. (1) The aspects are geometrical relationships around and across the zodiac. Thus, in the horoscope shown, the Moon in Virgo is (a) in opposition to Venus in Pisces, (b) in quartile aspect to the ascendant in Sagittarius, (c) in trine aspect to Mars, the Sun, and Mercury in Taurus, and (d) not, as it happens, in sextile aspect to any planet, since no planet occupies either Cancer or Scorpio. (2) The places (topoi, loci) are what modern astrology calls the “houses”. They are the 12 divisions of the circle defined by the ascendant, midheaven, descendant, and lower midheaven. The places (indicated by Roman numerals in the diagram) are numbered counterclockwise from the ascendant. The circle of the places being fixed, the apparent revolution of the celestial

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sphere daily carries all the signs and all the planets through all the places in succession. (A complication arises from the fact that although the angular distance between opposite “centers” is always 180 , the angular distance between successive centers actually fluctuates, depending on time of day and geographic latitude. In practice astrologers generally ignored this complication and treated the places as equal arcs of 30 .) On to the celestial players and the ever-changing spatial relationships generated by their motions, meaning and significance were projected. The planets had their own personalities and spheres of influence in human affairs. Some were “benefic”, for example, Venus, personifying love and beauty, and others “malefic”, for example, Mars personifying enmity and war. Likewise the 12 signs, Leo, for example, signified fearlessness and ferocity. Trine and sextile aspects were favorable and quartile and opposition unfavorable. Each place was concerned with an element of human life: the first with life (in its entirety), the second with gain, the third with siblings, the fourth with parents (and patrimony), the fifth with children, the sixth with illness, the seventh with marriage, the eighth with death, the ninth with travel, the tenth with honors, the eleventh with friends, and the twelfth with enemies. These are but a part, though the most important, of the celestial configurations and terrestrial significances at the astrologer’s disposal. What should be clear is that the art’s complexity affords a fail-safe: if the outcome is not as predicted, well, clearly some relevant factor has been overlooked. It is a tribute of sorts to the complexity of ancient astrology that a work of 1899 (Bouche´-Leclercq) still remains the standard modern explication of the art in all its technicalities. Surveys more modest in scope are Barton 1994 and Beck 2007.

The Sources, Documents, and Material Remains of Greco-Roman Astrology Ancient horoscopes have been preserved in two forms: (1) as original documents, mostly on scraps of papyrus, and (2) as illustrative examples in contemporary handbooks of astrology which were then transmitted by copying from manuscript to manuscript down the ages. The fundamental collection of both forms of ancient horoscopes is Neugebauer and Van Hoesen (1959). Jones (1999) has published the considerable collection of original papyrus horoscopes from Oxyrhynchus. (1) Original horoscopes are usually very spare documents, essentially just lists of the basic celestial data as in the example given above. Very rarely do they commit to outcomes and then only in the vaguest terms. (2) The horoscopes from the handbooks usually work backward from actual outcomes to the configurations which, the astrologer argues, indicated or caused them. By far the largest set of these so-called “literary” horoscopes is found in the Anthologies of Vettius Valens (2nd cent. AD: ed. Pingree 1986). Several of the ancient handbooks are still extant. In addition to Vettius Valens’s are those of Ptolemy (the Tetrabiblos, complementing the Almagest but with a shift

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from celestial certainties to terrestrial contingencies), Dorotheus of Sidon (extant in Arabic translation), and Hephaestion of Thebes. The language of these is Greek. There is also a huge mass of material in the multivolume Catalogus Codicum Astrologorum Graecorum (CCAG). Written in Latin are the Mathesis of Firmicus Maternus and the Astronomica of Manilius. The latter was composed in verse and is rightly valued for the quality of its poetry. The ancient handbooks were works of showmanship and promotion for both the art and the authors. They were not intended as practical manuals and could not be used as such. As tools of their trade, astrologers required only astronomical tables, principally for calculating the celestial longitudes, past, present, and future, of the seven planets. Examples of this and other sorts of “astronomical” material have been recovered from Oxyrhynchus alongside the horoscopes, and it is accepted that they were all “part of the equipment of practical astrology” (Jones 1999, p. 1.5). Clients, however, appreciate something both more comprehensible and more impressive than back-of-the-envelope calculations. For this there existed boards on which, to demonstrate changing configurations, astrologers could move counters representing the planets from point to point around the zodiac. Evans (2004) has fully explicated the surviving exemplars, which are quite elaborate, and literary descriptions.

Astrology in Greco-Roman Society Belief in astrology’s power to predict the future was widespread in the Roman Empire reaching its acme in the first and early second centuries AD. Astrologers themselves reached positions of prominence and influence at court, for example, Tiberius Claudius Thrasyllus and his son Tiberius Claudius Balbillus under the Julio-Claudians (Cramer 1954, pp. 92–142). On the downside, their very credibility made them suspect. Measures, such as expulsion from the city of Rome, were frequently taken against them (Cramer 1954, pp. 232–281). Consultations in private were forbidden; so, understandably, was the casting of imperial horoscopes – not just the reigning emperor’s but also those of potential contenders. Nevertheless, astrology’s place in the culture was sufficiently entrenched that coinage with astrological themes could be issued (Cramer 1954, p. 12 [illustrations], 29–44, 181–2). The advent and triumph of Christianity throughout the Roman Empire did not so much diminish astrology’s credibility as reverse its valence. Trafficking with former celestial deities was now trafficking with demons. Arguably, too, it infringed both on God’s omnipotence and on human free will. Not surprisingly, its practice dwindled in late imperial times – later to be revived, like other arts and sciences, from the Islamic East.

Cross-References ▶ Greek Constellations ▶ Greek Cosmology and Cosmogony

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▶ Greek Mathematical Astronomy ▶ Late Babylonian Astrology ▶ Transmission of Babylonian Astronomy to Other Cultures

References Barton T (1994) Ancient astrology. Routledge, London/New York Beck R (2007) A brief history of ancient astrology. Blackwell, Oxford/Malden Bouche´-Leclercq A (1899) L’astrologie grecque. Reprint (1963) Culture et Civilisation, Brussels CCAG ¼ Various editors (1898/1953) Catalogus codicum astrologorum graecorum. 12 vols in 20 parts. Lamertin, Brussels Cramer FH (1954) Astrology in Roman law and politics. The American Philosophical Society, Philadelphia Evans J (2004) The astrologer’s apparatus: a picture of professional practice in Greco-Roman Egypt. J Hist Astron 35:1–44 Jones A (1999) Astronomical papyri from Oxyrhynchus (p. Oxy. 4133–4300a). The American Philosophical Society, Philadelphia Neugebauer O, Van Hoesen HB (1959) Greek horoscopes. The American Philosophical Society, Philadelphia Pingree D (1986) Vetti Valentis Antiocheni Anthologiarum libri novem. Teubner, Leipzig

Etruscan Divination and Architecture

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Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Divination, Orientation, and the Auguracula . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Etruscan Temples . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Discussion . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Abstract

The Etruscan religion was characterized by divination methods, aimed at interpreting the will of the gods. These methods were revealed by the gods themselves and written in the books of the Etrusca Disciplina. The books are lost, but parts of them are preserved in the accounts of later Latin sources. According to such traditions divination was tightly connected with the Etruscan cosmovision of a Pantheon distributed in equally spaced, specific sectors of the celestial realm. We explore here the possible reflections of such issues in the Etruscan architectural remains.

Introduction The Etruscan civilization flourished roughly between the ninth- and the firstcentury BC (the origins or formation of the Etruscan civilization are one of the most famous and debated problem of classical Archaeology and will not be addressed here). The Etruscan heartland was the area of central Italy which today corresponds to Tuscany, western Umbria, and part of Lazio. However, the influence

G. Magli Politecnico di Milano, Milan, Italy e-mail: [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_163, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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of the Etruscans is perceivable far beyond such limits (Pallottino 1997). The end of their civilization occurred with the Romanization of the cities and the “merging” of the Etruscan culture with that of the Roman Republica; however, of course, the Romans had already been profoundly influenced by the Etruscans since the period of the kings of Rome. Our knowledge of Etruscan language is still very incomplete, mostly because we have an enormous amount of inscriptions but a restricted span of short formulae that are insufficient to interpret longer texts. Therefore, the majority of historical sources on the Etruscans is indirect, as much of their culture has been passed on by Latin writers. In particular, what is of special interest here is the structure of the Etruscan system of beliefs. The relationship with the gods and the way in which the Gods’ will had to be interpreted was codified in books specifically “revealed” to the Etruscan people, the so-called sacred books of the Etrusca Disciplina. The legend of this revelation nests the roots of the Etruscan civilization at Tarquinia (Bagnasco Gianni 2011, 2012). According to the tradition passed on, for instance, by Cicero, it is in the Tarquinia fields that a divine, wise child called Tages sprung out from a fresh furrow and dictated the books of the Disciplina. Alas, these texts are today lost, but glimpses of their content can be found scattered in Latin authors, in particular, in those of the Agrimensores (land surveyors). Parallels between the Etruscan Pantheon and the Greek occur later on – from the eighth-century BC onward – when contacts became stable.

Divination, Orientation, and the Auguracula The sacred books comprised the libri Haruspicini, dealing with divination of the God’s will from the livers of sacrificed animals (a practice probably borrowed from Mesopotamia) and the flight of the birds; the libri Fulgurales, on the interpretation of thunderbolts, and finally the libri Rituales, dedicated to regulate various official rituals – such as the consecration of temples and the foundation of towns – and aspects of social life, such as the division of people into tribes. As passed on by Censorinus, these books also dealt with the Etruscan perception of time: they believed that the existence of their civilization was scheduled to last along a fixed time scale of ten “centuries” (saecula). The length of each century was variable, being coincident with the life of special individuals. The beginning of a new century was announced by a special “portent”. Curiously, it was a quite accurate estimate if, as reported by Plutarch (Life of Sulla, 7) the ninth century was announced by the loud voice of a trumpet in 88 BC. The town foundation ritual consisted in observing the flight of the birds and in tracing the contour of the town by a plow, steps which everybody will recognize in the worldwide famous legend of the foundation of Rome. A fundamental part of this and all other rituals involving the interpretation of the will of the gods was the construction of the auguraculum, a terrestrial image mirroring that of the heavens in which supernatural signs could be read according to the gods’ position in the cosmos. Key documents about this complex symbolic structure, which was

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managed by the Etruscan ministries of cult (aruspexes), are a text by a late Latin author, a unique archaeological find in the form of a life-sized bronze liver, and a certain number of archaeological remains. The fundamental text is De nuptiis by Martianus Capella, an early fifth-century writer (Weinstock 1946). Martianus describes the Etruscan Cosmos as divided in sectors, in which the deities are ordered (we would say clockwise) beginning from the most benign and favorable, located north and north-east, to those of the earth and nature, located south and west, to the most unfavorable connected with the underworld, located north-west. A very similar description of the Etruscan cosmos is the one which can be inferred from the so-called Piacenza Liver. It is a first-century BC bronze model of the liver of a sheep, in real scale. It was found in a field near Piacenza in the nineteenth century. The external perimeter of the upper surface is divided into 16 sectors, while the interior shows 6 sectors disposed in a circle, and 18 further regions; each sector or region contains the name of an Etruscan deity, with some of them repeated. The lower surface is divided into two regions, having the name of the Sun and of the Moon, respectively. This object was probably used to teach divination and/or as a help to the memory when inspecting the livers of sacrificed animals. It is an extremely important find because – notwithstanding many problems of interpretation – it is the unique original Etruscan document testifying the above described “cosmovision” (the main problem of interpretation arises from the way in which the liver had to be oriented and, consequently, the ambiguity in identifying the northernmost sector; see Pallottino 1956; Maggiani 1984; Van der Meer 1987; Stevens 2009). Once oriented, the liver was to become an image of the cosmos reported on the earth, and, by analogy, so was the temple, or the city, that the aruspex was ritually founding. We have archaeological evidence of such foundation rituals in the Etruscan cities of Marzabotto (Mansuelli 1965) and Tarquinia (Bonghi-Jovino 2000), where there is a specific “center” around which the community and the city gathered. Tarquinia has a natural cavity and Marzabotto a rounded stone which bears inscribed a decussis (a crux). The stone was found under the street level by the third main crossroad, and it is therefore difficult to negate its ritual, rather than functional, meaning. This “center” can be compared with the “mundus” of the Romans who considered it an icon of the center of the world, according to a process common to many cultures (see Krupp 1997; Magli 2009 for an overview). The “mundus” contained votive season offerings or deposits of foundation. The archaeological documentation about auguracula includes few examples from the Italic world: Meggiaro (dated at the end of the sixth century) Lavello and Cosa; an altar on the acropolis of Marzabotto (one of the very few Etruscan towns whose original planning is known) is also likely to be identified with the town’s auguraculum (for a complete discussion see Magli 2010). Being connected with “cosmization”, all such buildings tend to be orientated to the cardinal points. The excavations of Marzabotto have shown that the town itself was planned according to a cardinal orthogonal grid, although skewed 2.5 west of north.

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Fig. 146.1 A reproduction of the Piacenza Liver (Original in Piacenza, Museo di palazzo Farnese; picture in the public domain)

The best preserved example of auguraculum comes however from the late Republican Roman period, although it can certainly be considered very close to the Etruscan examples. It has been found in the city of Bantia (Torelli 1966). It is composed by nine stone cylinders which were disposed in 3x3 rows on a north– south grid identifying the eight main divisions of the cosmos (a simplified version of the 16 Etruscan divisions) and the center. The center itself was dedicated to the sun, the east to Jupiter [IOVI] and the west to Flusa [FLUS], a local chthonic deity. The other cylinders carry inscriptions which recall the role of the birds which come from the corresponding direction; for instance, the north-east one says BIVAV that is B[ENE] IU[VANTE] A[VE] (bird bringing a good omen), while the north-west cippus has the inscription CAVAP that probably means C[ONTRARIA] AV[E] A[UGURIUM] P[ESTIFERUM] (bird who comes from a bad place, bringing a pestiferous omen).

Etruscan Temples A complete database of the orientations of Etruscan temples does not exist at the moment of writing. However, a good deal of data (26 temples, a high percentage of all the temples archaeologically known) is present in the literature (see Aveni and Romano 1994 and references therein). Orientations are clearly not random, as all the azimuths fall in the second and the third quadrant (Fig. 146.2). Further, among 26 temples only 5 fall between due east and the winter solstice sunrise and only two between the winter solstice sunset and due west. This means that the sun does never penetrate all the other temples in full along their axes but does always illuminate fully their facade at one moment every day. Thus, the Etruscan temples differ, for instance, from the contemporary Greek temples of Sicily, which are orientated to the rising sun (Aveni and Romano 2000). The Etruscan pattern of orientation is more similar to that of the Osco-Samnites temples of south Italy which is, however, more restricted as all of them fall in the second quadrant (Pagano and Ruggieri 2011).

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Fig. 146.2 Orientation of 26 Etruscan temples. Azimuths of solstices are only indicative due to the slight differences in latitudes (Diagram courtesy C. Gonza´lez Garcı´a; based on data by Aveni and Romano)

Among temple orientations, the case of the Ara della Regina in Tarquinia must be singled out, both because it is one of the most important Etruscan temples passed on to us and because its orientation is clearly solar, being 95 (the horizon is nearly flat). The temple was a memorial sanctuary associated with foundational issues and contains an archaic chest (later enclosed in a specially constructed altar) which likely was the cenotaph of the founder of the Etruscan league, Tarchon (Bagnasco Gianni 2012). The anomalous orientation of this temple and of the two altars included in its terrace might perhaps be explained in connection with local traditions focused on ancestral gods and heroes (Bagnasco Gianni et al. 2012).

Discussion We are still quite far from a complete understanding of the relationship between Etruscan art and architecture and what has been passed on about their cosmovision by later writers. In particular, a somewhat natural idea comes to mind, namely, that of comparing the temple orientation with the sectors of the Etruscan cosmos. Several authors in the past have tried to make this correlation (see Prayon 1997, Aveni and Romano 1994) which, however, proves rather inconclusive, due both to the uncertainty in assigning definitively specific sectors to specific Gods and to the too many exceptions that have to be admitted. The problem is made worse by our almost absolute ignorance about the Etruscan views of the sky – for instance, about their constellations. Another open problem is related to the Etruscan feeling of their time. A dramatization of the people’s feelings and omens can in fact be perceived in

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Etruscan funerary paintings of the late period, but the problem if a similar process is visible also in the architecture – and especially in tomb’s orientations – is still open. The Etruscan civilization remains one of the most fascinating albeit elusive ones also with regard to our understanding of their astronomy and sky lore. Acknowledgments Many discussions with and comments by Giovanna Bagnasco Gianni are gratefully acknowledged.

References Aveni AF, Romano G (1994) Orientation and Etruscan ritual. Antiquity 68:545–563 Aveni AF, Romano G (2000) Temple orientation in magna grecia and Sicily. J Hist Astron 31:52–57 Bagnasco Gianni G (2011) Tarquinia: excavations by the University of Milano at the Ara della Regina Sanctuary. In: Edlund-Berry IEM, de Grummond NT (eds) The Archaeology of sanctuaries and ritual in Etruria, Journal of Roman Archaeology, Supplement 81. Portsmouth, pp 45–54 Bagnasco Gianni G (2012) Invisible religious practices in Tarquinia sanctuaries: an archaeological approach. To appear in Materiality and visibility of rituals in the ancient world. (ed), I, Mylonopoulos, Stuttgart Bagnasco Gianni G, Bortolotto S, Magli G (2012) Astronomy and Etruscan Ritual: the case of the Ara della Regina in Tarquinia. To appear In Nexus Network Journal Bonghi-Jovino M (2000) Il complesso sacro-istituzionale di Tarquinia. In: Carandini A, Cappelli R (eds) Roma, Romolo, Remo e la fondazione della citta`. Electa, Rome, pp 265–270 Krupp EC (1997) Skywatchers, shamans, and kings. Wiley, New York Maggiani A (1984) Qualche osservazione sul fegato di Piacenza. Studi Etruschi 50:53–88 Magli G (2009) Mysteries and discoveries of archaeoastronomy. Springer, New York Magli G (2010) On the origin of the Roman idea of town: geometrical and astronomical references In: Vaisˇku¯nas J (ed) Astronomy and cosmology in folk traditions and cultural heritage. Archaeologia Baltica, vol 10. Klaipe˙da University Institute of Baltic Sea Region History and Archaeology, Klaipe˙da, pp. 149–154 Mansuelli GA (1965) Contributo allo studio dell’urbanistica di Marzabotto. Parola del passato: Rivista di studi antichi 20:314 Pagano M, Ruggieri R (2011) Ricerche preliminari di archeoastronomia sui templi dell’area sannitico-molisana. In: Antonello E (ed) Astronomia culturale in Italia, 8th edn. SIA, Milano, pp 99–104 Pallottino M (1956) Deorum sedes. in Studi in onore di A. Calderini e R. Paribeni, vol III. Ceschina, Milano, pp 223–234 Pallottino M (1997) Etruscologia. Hoepli, Milano Prayon F (1997) Sur l’orientation des edifices cultuels. Les plus religieux de l’hommes, Paris, pp 357–371 Stevens NLC (2009) A new reconstruction of the Etruscan heaven. Am J Archaeol 113:153–164 Torelli M (1966) Un templum augurale d’eta` repubblicana a Bantia. Rendiconti dell’Accademia nazionale dei Lincei – Classe Sc morali storiche filologiche XXI:293–315 Van Der Meer LB (1987) The bronze liver of Piacenza: analysis of a polytheistic structure. J.C. Gieben, Amsterdam Weinstock S (1946) Martianus Capella and the cosmic system of the etruscans. J Roman Stud 36(1–2):101–129

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A. Ce´sar Gonza´lez-Garcı´a and Giulio Magli

Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Roman Planning and Astronomy . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Orientation of Roman Towns . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Roman Towns in Italy . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Roman Towns in Africa Proconsularis and Hispania . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Discussion . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Abstract

The towns founded by the Romans over the course of some eight centuries of history were always inspired by rigid principles of spatial organization, followed by the Roman military camps as well. The symbolism embodied in such rules was tightly and undubitably connected with the power of Rome. According to a variety of ancient sources, city planning involved ritual procedures inherited from the Etruscans and closely connected with the equipartition of the Cosmos according to cardinal directions. As a consequence, a role for astronomy has to be expected in Roman city planning. However, attempts at establishing a common rule have been doomed to failure up to now due both to methodological issues

A.C. Gonza´lez-Garcı´a (*) Instituto de Ciencias del Patrimonio, Incipit, Santiago de Compostela, Spain e-mail: [email protected]; [email protected] G. Magli Politecnico di Milano, Milan, Italy e-mail: [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_164, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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and to the practical mentality of the Romans, which in many cases appears to have overruled symbolic principles. We discuss these issues and present recent results obtained on the towns of Italy and of the Iberian Peninsula, which help to clarify the matter.

Introduction The foundation (or re-foundation, with the establishment of a colony) of towns was a key element of the Roman expansion and state control. Hundreds of towns were created from the very beginning of the Roman conquest (e.g., the port of Rome, Ostia, founded in the fourth century BC) up to the imperial foundations of the second century AD. Town foundations not only had a practical, functional meaning in terms of control of the lands and exploitation of the local resources, but also a symbolic meaning, as they represented the presence and the power of Rome. As such, a series of symbolic acts were undertaken and a certain symbolism was certainly embodied in the projects, although the practical mentality of the Romans must never be forgotten in analyzing these issues. We shall focus here on the relationship of the standard spatial organization of Roman towns to astronomy, as described in the sources and visible on the ground, warning the reader that knowledge in this field is far from being complete.

Roman Planning and Astronomy The urban plan of Roman towns was always very similar (Castagnoli 1971). It is customary to call this layout a castrum, i.e., military camp, although it was probably the form of the cities that inspired that of the camps, and not vice versa. The exterior walls of the castrum formed a rectangle, with the internal streets organized in a regular, orthogonal grid of inhabited quarters. In addition to this orthogonal layout, which was also typical for the Greeks, two main orthogonal roads existed, called cardo and decumanus (maximus). The cardo was, at least ideally, related to the axis mundi and therefore north–south oriented. The decumanus, again at least in principle, was connected with the path of the sun and therefore oriented east–west. Thus, in Roman towns, the orthogonal layout was quadripartite: four main gates were usually located at the end of the four main roads, while the center of social and religious life, the forum, was preferably placed at (or near) the intersection of the main roads (see, e.g., Fig. 147.1). The foundation of a new town was also a way of symbolizing the power of Rome and followed a ritual, allegedly inherited from the Etruscans, which has been described by many Roman writers. In the ritual the seers had to identify a sort of terrestrial image of the heavens (templum) in which the gods were “ordered” and “oriented” starting from the north in a clockwise direction: the auguraculum

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Fig. 147.1 An example of a Roman town: Timgad, Algeria, founded by Traian around 100 AD. The rigorous squared plan based on two main roads is clearly visible. The orientation of the grid is skewed about 5 west of north (Image courtesy of Google Earth)

(see ▶ Chap. 146, “Etruscan Divination and Architecture”). The procedure thus required astronomical orientation to the cardinal points (Aveni and Romano 1994); at the corresponding “center” (mundus) a foundation deposit was buried, containing the first fruits of the fields and/or samples of soil from the founder’s place of origin. Archaeological evidence of such foundation rituals has never been found in Rome, where several subsequent rearrangements probably cancelled out all traces of the original town; however, clear traces of the foundation ritual have been found in Etruscan Marzabotto (Mansuelli 1965) and Tarquinia (Bonghi-Jovino 2000), as well as in Italic-Roman towns such as Cosa (Brown 1951) and Alatri (Aveni and Capone 1985; Magli 2006) and in the provinces of Hispania, such as Tarraco (Salom i Garreta 2006) or Termes (Martı´nez Caballero 2010). It is interesting to note that the auguraculum is often identified as cardinally oriented, although the

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actual orientation of the cities is far from such (see below), indicating a more complex situation, perhaps reflecting local differences. Explicit references to ritual and astronomy are also present in the so-called Corpus Agrimensorum, the collection of technical treatises on the procedures of landscape planning and division. For instance, Frontinus (De AgriMensura, 27) states,“Limitum prima origo, sicut Varro descripsit, ad disciplinam Etruscam; quod aruspices orbem terrarum in duas partes diviserunt. . . altera[m] linea[m] a septentrione ad meridianum diviserunt terram”. This means (literal translation by the authors): “The first origin of the art of tracing limits, as stated by Varron, comes from the Etruscan Disciplina, where the aruspexes divide the earth into two parts. . .and [in two other parts] with another line from the north along the meridian”, while Hyginius (Constitutio, 1) states,“constituti enim limites non sine mundi ratione, quoniam decumani secundum solis decursum diriguntur”, or “To establish the limits correctly, the decumanus must be directed in accordance with the course of the Sun”. However, Vitruvius in DeArchitectura (I, 6) – while stating that the architect must manage astronomy – reminds us also the practical actidudes of the Roman planners, mentioning that the primary aim in the positioning of the city streets must be to avoid the principal winds. According to many sources, therefore, the foundation and planning procedures were explicitly related to the sky. Actually, many examples of centuriations oriented to the cardinal points do exist: for instance, the centuriation of Augusta Raurica (Swiss), dated to the first decades of our era, and those of Capua (second-century BC) and Nola (beginning first-century BC) in southern Italy. Further to this, orientation of the decumanus of the centuriation along the solstitial axis is documented as well, for instance at Cartago (the Roman colony at the site of Carthage). However, a complete database of Roman centuriations does not exist, and scattered orientations are actually found in researches on ancient topography. These are clearly due to local, topographical reasons. For instance, a grid having one main axis disposed along a prominent landscape feature was sometimes needed. A good example is the centuriation of Luni, near the coast in Liguria, Italy. Here the available land was comprised in a strip between the sea and the mountains; thus, one of the main axes had to be parallel to the average direction of the coast, otherwise an exceeding number of incomplete lots would have come out.

Orientation of Roman Towns The above-mentioned clues hint at the existence of astronomical references in the planning of Roman towns. However, until a few years ago the only analysis available was that of Le Gall (1975), who discounted the relevance of astronomy based on very few (14) data points scattered from York, Great Britain (latitude 54 ), to Cuicul, Algeria (36 ). Clearly, data having a wide spread in latitude makes it difficult to extract significant information on solar orientations. Actually, and contrary to what Le Gall stated, the situation is much more complicated and a role for astronomy emerges at least in the two cases that have been studied so far in some detail, namely, that of Roman towns in Italy and in the Iberian Peninsula.

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Fig. 147.2 Norba, Italy, summer solstice 2009. The sun setting in alignment with the main axis of the town as seen from the acropolis (Photograph by D. Baldassarre, under kind permission)

Roman Towns in Italy A sample of 38 Roman towns in Italy has been studied — almost all those whose original orthogonal grid can be discerned. The sample is too small to apply refined statistical techniques, but it does allow us to identify two predominant groups of orientations. The first is composed of 11 towns where the decumanus is oriented close to the direction of the sun at a solstice. It is actually somewhat difficult to discern if the intended orientation was to rising or setting, owing to uncertainties about the ancient horizon — with one exception, Norba (Magli 2007, 2008). Norba was destroyed by Silla and never reconstructed and lies in an untouched surrounding landscape. Here there is no doubt that the main axis of the town, whose eastern end leads to a huge monumental ramp ascending to the Acropolis, was orientated to the setting sun at the summer solstice, an alignment that is still quite spectacular today (Fig. 147.2). The second group comprises 14 towns whose axes are aligned close to the cardinal directions, the decumanus lying within a sector around 10 in extent on both sides of due east. The possibility of further deliberate orientations, for instance to the sun rising on certain days of the Roman festive calendar, has also been proposed but should be investigated more closely. The same holds for the possibility of an explicit reference to the date of birth of the town’s founder.

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Roman Towns in Africa Proconsularis and Hispania Esteban et al. (2001) and Belmonte et al. (2006) measured a number of temples in the Roman province of Africa Proconsularis. In total the orientation of the city grid was reconstructed for 11 cities, but it is difficult to ascertain if any rule was systematically followed in laying out these cities. Convincing results are obtained if we consider smaller areas or even individual cities. Esteban (2003) did this for Carthage, which shows a solstitial orientation, although in this case the orientation might have been dictated by local topography, as this line is nearly perpendicular to the coast. Gonza´lez-Garcı´a and Costa-Ferrer (2011) studied the orientation of three very close Roman colonies in the province of Lusitania. Metellinum (present-day Medellı´n, Spain, founded by Quinto Cecilio Metelo on 79 BC, Salas Martı´n 2001) shows the decumanus oriented on the solstitial line; however, it is difficult to ascertain if this is toward sunrise at winter solstice or sunset at summer solstice, without further historical information. Liberalitas Iulia (present-day E´vora in Portugal, founded around 31 to 27 BC, Marques de Faria 2001) presents a similar case, on the other solstitial alignment (sunrise at summer solstice or sunset at winter solstice). Finally, Emerita Augusta (present-day Me´rida, Spain, founded in 25 BC according to Dio Cassio (53, 25,8) after the Cantabrian wars) presents a particular case, as the axis of the decumanus appears to deviate by a few degrees from the solstitial line and aligns with the lunar extremes. However, there seems to be a link with sunset on winter solstice when the local horizon is considered. Gonza´lez-Garcı´a and Costa-Ferrer (2011) point out that such orientations would be in agreement with those found in the region for the previous protohistoric times, and thus the orientation of these cities, while being in agreement with Roman prescriptions, were at the same time compliant with local customs. Recently, a sample of 30 Roman towns, distributed mostly in the Hispania Tarraconensis, has been measured using a precision compass-clinometer (Gonza´lez-Garcı´a, in preparation). The azimuth and horizon altitude in all four directions marked by the Cardus and decumanus were measured where possible. If these elements were not clearly identified, the orientations were measured from the Forum or the city gates in the Roman walls. Figure 147.3 summarizes the results for the declinations of the 30 cities in Hispania measured so far, considering only the orientations toward east of the decumanus or the corresponding direction in the Forum or entrances. Similar diagrams could be produced toward west and for the other two possible directions of the Cardus. It is interesting to note that, although the sample is not complete, a clear pattern arises with particular interest in the solstices, both winter and summer, and in other directions possibly related to particularly important Roman festivities.

Discussion In his authoritative study, Joseph Rykwert (1999) wrote that “the remains of Roman towns are still visible, are still part of everyday experience in Western Europe and round the Mediterranean: and the more closely they are examined, the more puzzling

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Fig. 147.3 Declination histogram for the eastern end of the decumanus or the Forum for 30 Roman cities in Hispania. Vertical solid lines stand for the solar extremes, dashed for the lunar extremes, while dotted lines indicate the declinations corresponding to 45 and 135 of azimuth at 40 of latitude. See text for further details

they appear”. And indeed, we are far from a complete understanding of all the symbolic aspects implied in the foundation rituals, as well as of their implementation on the ground. This holds, in particular, for the aspects related to astronomy, in spite of the fact that astronomical issues connected to orientation are repeatedly and explicitly recalled by Roman writers, who attribute them to the Etruscan tradition. The solution might, however, be very simple: local criteria of convenience – due, e.g., to geographical features or preexisting main roads or settlements or the advantage to follow local orientation rules – influenced the topographical choices so many times that any global statistical analysis is anyhow doomed to failure, while special cases – specific towns or small group of towns – can yet reveal interesting clues about the symbolic world and way of thinking of the Romans. Acknowledgments This work is partially financed under the framework of the projectAYA201126759 “Orientatio ad Sidera III” of the Spanish MINECO. ACGG is a Ramo´n y Cajal Fellow of the Spanish MINECO.

Cross-References ▶ Etruscan Divination and Architecture

References Aveni AF, Romano G (1994) Orientation and Etruscan ritual. Antiquity 68:545–563 Belmonte JA, Tejera Gaspar A, Perera Betancort A, Marrero R (2006) On the orientation of preislamic temples in north Africa: a re-appraisal (new data in Africa Proconsularis). Mediterr Archaeol Archaeometr, Special issue 6(3):77–85 Bonghi Jovino M (2000) Il complesso ’sacro-istituzionale’ di Tarquinia. In: Carandini A and Cappelli R (eds) Romolo, Remo e la fondazione della citta`. Electra, Milano, pp 265–267 Brown F (1951) Cosa I. History and Topography. MAAR 20

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Castagnoli F (1971) Orthogonal town planning in antiquity. MIT Press, Cambridge Esteban C (2003) Temples and astronomy in Carthage. Upps Astron Obs Rep 59:135–142 Esteban C, Belmonte JA, Perera Betancourt MA, Marrero R, Jime´nez Gonza´lez JJ (2001) Orientations of pre-islamic temples of Northwest Africa. J Hist Astron 32:65–84 Gonza´lez-Garcı´a AC, Costa-Ferrer L (2011) The diachronic study of orientations: Merida, a case study. In: Ruggles CLN (ed) Archaeoastronomy and ethnoastronomy: building bridges between cultures. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, pp 374–383 Le Gall J (1975) Les romains et l’orientationsolaire. MEFRA 87(1):287–320 Magli G (2006) The Acropolis of Alatri: astronomy and architecture. Nexus Netw J Archit Math 8:5–16 Magli G (2007) Non-orthogonal features in the planning of four ancient towns of Central Italy. Nexus Netw J Archit Math 9:71–92 Magli G (2008) On the orientation of Roman towns in Italy. Oxford J Archaeol 27(1):63–71 Mansuelli GA (1965) Contributoallo studio dell’urbanistica di Marzabotto. Parol Passato XX:314 Marques de Faria A (2001) Pax Iulia, Felicitas Iulia, Liberalitas Iulia. Rev Port Arqueol 4(2):351–362 Martı´nez Caballero S (2010) The Roman forum of Termes (Hispania Citerior). Historical, archaeological and topographic summary. 1st century B.C. – 2nd century A.D. Arch Espan˜ Arqueol 83:221–266 Rykwert J (1999) The idea of a town: the anthropology of urban form in Rome, Italy, and the ancient world. MIT Press, Cambridge Salas Martı´n J (2001) Fuentes antiguas para el estudio de la Colonia Metellinensis. Norba 15:101–116 Salom i Garreta C (2006) El Auguraculum de la Colonia Tarraco: Sedes inaugurationis Tarraco. Arch Espan˜ Arqueol 79:69–87

Light at the Pantheon

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Robert Hannah and Giulio Magli

Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The Sun in the Pantheon . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Discussion . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Abstract

The Pantheon is the best preserved ancient monument in Rome. Originally built under Augustus, its present form is due to Hadrian. In the almost complete absence of written sources, the design and the meaning of the Pantheon remain obscure. However, there is no doubt about the fundamental role of the sun in the project of the building, as well as about its connection with the apotheosized emperor in Roman thought. This issue is explored here also on the basis of existing instruments of time in the form of the roofed spherical sundial and other Imperial monuments, notably Nero’s Domus Aurea and Augustus’s structures on the Campus Martius. The Pantheon turns out to have been designed as a “cosmological signpost” marking the divinization of the emperor – associated with the spring equinox – and making explicit reference to the power of Rome on the traditional day of its foundation.

R. Hannah (*) University of Otago, Dunedin, New Zealand e-mail: [email protected] G. Magli Politecnico di Milano, Milan, Italy e-mail: [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_165, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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Introduction The Pantheon, built by Agrippa around 27 BC, was destroyed by fire under Domitian, then rebuilt, and finally completed in its present form during Hadrian’s reign, in ca. 128 AD (Hetland 2007) (Fig. 148.1). It is composed of a rectangular pronaos (portico) with three lines of granite columns fronting a circular building designed as a huge hemispherical dome (43.3 m in diameter), built over a cylinder of the same diameter and as high as the radius. Therefore, the ideal completion of the upper hemisphere by a hypothetical lower one touches the central point of the floor, directly under the so-called oculus, a circular opening 8.3 m wide on the top of the cupola. It is the only source of direct light since no direct sunlight can enter from the door through the whole year, owing to the northward orientation of the entrance. Of the original embellishments the building should have had, the coffered ceiling, part of the marble interiors, the bronze grille over the entrance, and the great bronze doors have survived. The interior wall, circular in plan, is organized into 16 regularly spaced sectors: the northernmost one contains the entrance door, and then pedimented niches and columned recesses alternate with each other. It is likely that they were meant for statues, which, however, have not survived.

The Sun in the Pantheon In spite of its prominent role in the history of architecture, only two Roman sources mention the Pantheon: Pliny, who writes however before Hadrian’s reconstruction, and the historian Cassius Dio, writing some 70 years after Hadrian, who, although noting that Hadrian used the building sometimes as an audience hall, also makes the following statement: “Perhaps it has this name because, among the statues which embellished it, there were those of many gods, including Mars and Venus; but my own opinion on the origin of the name is that, because of its vaulted roof, it actually resembles the heavens” (Cassius Dio 53.27.2). However these words may be interpreted, we are “naturally” led to define the Pantheon as a temple. Nonetheless, as a temple, the orientation of the Pantheon is unusual, both with respect to Italic and Roman temples (▶ Chap. 146, “Etruscan Divination and Architecture”) and with respect to Greek temples (▶ Chap. 140, “Greek Temples and Rituals”). The monument is unusually oriented to the north (it is actually skewed 5.5 with respect to true north). One explanation is that the project of the building was to some extent inspired by a particular type of sundial, which captured the sunlight within a shadowy interior (Hannah 2009a, pp. 145–54; Hannah 2009b). The type, known from both literature (Vitruvius and Faventinus) and from material remains, was called the hemicyclium (Gibbs 1976, pp. 23–27) (Fig. 148.2). It consisted of a stone block carved out into a hollow hemisphere, with a hole let into its upper surface, through which the sunlight filtered on to the surface inside, where a series of reference lines was incised as in standard sundials. For this type of sundial to work correctly, the hemisphere had to face due south. In being a sort of giant

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Fig. 148.1 Rome, the Pantheon: the north entrance (photograph N. Hannah)

symbolic replica of the device, the Pantheon must not be confused with a precision instrument but rather considered as a building in which there is a strong symbolic connection with the path of the sun in the course of the year and, in particular, with a specific period of the year, that leading from the spring equinox to April 21 (Del Monte and Lanciano 1990; Thomas 1997; Magli 2009; Hannah 2009a, pp. 145–56). To see this, we fix time at (local) noon in the course of the whole year and study the position of the sunbeam day after day at that specific time (for a complete discussion see Hannah and Magli 2011). Since the door opens toward the north, the sunlight beam at noon is always located on a “meridian” line which starts from the center of the roof, passing over the entrance and on the wall above it or the floor in front of it. At the autumn equinox, the spot of sunlight at noon touches the interior springing of the upper hemisphere (Fig. 148.3). This is because the sun’s altitude coincides with the angle formed by a line connecting the springing with the rim of the oculus. Then at the winter solstice, the spot of sunlight moves up to a maximum height in the roof over the entrance. Thereafter, it moves down, touching again the base of the dome at the spring equinox. Immediately after, the beam at noon starts to be visible from the outside looking through the grille which is mounted over the doors. The beam then moves toward the base of the entrance.

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Fig. 148.2 Plaster cast of a roofed spherical sundial, Baelo Claudia, Spain (Photograph R. Hannah)

The entrance is fully illuminated around 21 April (Gregorian, but in Hadrian’s times the delay of the Julian calendar was still minimal) (Fig. 148.4). After this date, the midday spot “enters” the floor toward the center of the building (which of course is never reached since the sun does not cross the zenith at the latitude of Rome). From the summer solstice, the beam “turns back”, recrossing the entrance between the end of August and the autumn equinox.

Discussion The project of the Pantheon was thus influenced by astronomy. Notably, when the sun was midway through its annual cycle between the two solstices at the equinoxes and when it was midway through the day at noon, its beams struck the midpoint of the height of the building at the springing of the dome. It is clear that the builders were interested in obtaining a sort of long hierophany, which first “announces itself” at the spring equinox and then proceeds up to the apogee one month later. But why? Roman religion underwent a reassessment aimed to accommodate the divine nature of the emperor exactly in the years of the first building of the Pantheon. Thus, since we know that the building was not dedicated to a single

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Fig. 148.3 Sunlight falling above the north entrance of the Pantheon at local noon on the autumn equinox, September 23, 2005 (Photograph R. Hannah)

god, understanding the Pantheon “as a temple” also means trying to understand the way in which the divinization of the emperor was perceived and actualized in Roman religion. The divinization of the deceased ruler was established at Caesar’s death with the help of the appearance of a comet. Caesar’s catasterism becomes explicit in Ovid’s Metamorphoses (ca. 8 AD), where Caesar’s soul “shines as a star” (Ovid, Metamorphoses 15.850). Other passages suggest that a particular point of cosmic balance was understood to be assigned to the emperor in the heavens. For instance, Vergil (Georgics 1. 24–35; ca. 30 BC), assigns a Caesar to a place in the heavens between Virgo and Scorpius; Manilius (Astronomica 4. 546–551, 773–777), writing early in Tiberius’s reign, explicitly places Caesar in Libra (Lewis 2008). Libra, the Balance, at that time at the autumn equinoctial point, is meant as a point of balance between the ecliptic and the equator. Finally, Lucan (1.45–59), writing in Nero’s time ca. 60 AD, has the apotheosized emperor joining the heavens and finding his proper seat on the celestial equator, where he will ensure balance and stability. A connection with the equinoxes is actually visible “in action” in Nero’s Domus Aurea (Oudet 1992; Voisin 1987; for a complete discussion see Hannah et al. forthcoming), built some 60 years before Hadrian’s Pantheon. Here in the octagonal

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Fig. 148.4 Sunlight falling on the north entrance of the Pantheon at local noon, April 21, 2007 (Photograph F. Agostino)

hall, surmounted by a dome with a central oculus, the equinoctial sun at noon fully illuminates the nympheum located beyond the north doorway’s threshold. Nero’s octagonal room is therefore a convincing case in which architectural elements in a Roman building were symbolically tied to the sun’s passages at the equinoxes. It is extremely likely that the same occurred in the Pantheon: the springing of the hemispherical dome was thus conceived as an image of the celestial equator. But what about the hierophany that occurred on April 21? In the days on which the entrance (assumed to be open) is illuminated from the inside, the huge monument seems to invite the visitors to enter, first with the light filtering through the grille, and then with the full sunlight hitting the entrance area. The month of April was devoted to Venus, the Goddess from whom the Gens Julia claimed direct descent (the movement of the sun inside the Pantheon on the 21st of April has been documented by CNN in a video available on line at http://backstory.blogs.cnn. com/2011/12/09/the-revealer-the-pantheon/). April 21 is the traditional date of the foundation of Rome (see, e.g., Ovid, Fasti 4: 721–862). Therefore, the symbolic action of the sun on this day is “to put Rome among the Gods”. The “foundational” role of the Pantheon was perhaps strengthened by the fact that the internal arrangement is analogous to the 16-part structure of the Etruscan-Roman templum. The most favorable gods were those of the northern part of the sky, and the northern part of the interior of the Pantheon is the only area which can be illuminated by the sun. In particular, Rome by itself – and, by transposition, the emperor – is “added” to the gods by means of the hierophany occurring at the date

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Fig. 148.5 Satellite image (north at top) showing the relationships between the Pantheon (P), the Mausoleum of Augustus (M), the Mausoleum of Hadrian (C), and the Ara Pacis (approximate original location A). The line P–M bears an azimuth of 354.5 and shows the axis of the Pantheon’s entrance oriented toward Augustus’s Mausoleum; the line P–C bears an azimuth of 300 and corresponds to the summer solstice sun setting behind Castel Sant’Angelo as viewed from the Pantheon; the line C–A should have had an azimuth very close to 270 (Drawing G. Magli, after image from Google Earth digital archive)

of foundation of the town. The “southern” part of the templum was devoted to “chthonic” gods, and the southern part of the Pantheon actually remains in the dark during the whole year. As a whole, the Pantheon has to be considered as Hadrian’s summa of the relationship of Roman religion with power. The building was nestled in the sacred space of the Campus Martius, devised by Augustus as a place where the divine rights of the ruler and his achievements were actualized as tangible monuments (Rehak and Younger 2006). The main addition of Hadrian was the reconstruction of the Pantheon but, across the Tiber, he also built his Mausoleum. As far as the Pantheon is concerned, there is no doubt that its facade points to the Mausoleum of Augustus, establishing a direct visual link between the two. This explains the deviation from true north of the entrance to the monument. Interestingly, the position of Hadrian’s Mausoleum was also chosen to create a symbolic link to the Pantheon. We have in fact recently shown (Hannah and Magli 2011) that it was located on the opposite bank of the Tiber (a quite unusual choice, requiring, among other technical difficulties, the construction of a new bridge), in order that the sun at the summer solstice could be seen to set over it from the area in front of the Pantheon; further, the position of the building on the solstitial axis was chosen in such a way as to align on the same parallel as the Ara Pacis (Fig. 148.5).

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In the magnificent projects of the emperor within the Campus Martius, then, sun and time were explicitly and architecturally linked into cosmological signposts for all those Romans who could read such things.

References Del Monte C, Lanciano, N (1990) L’occhio di luce: il Pantheon. Il Manifesto, 22 July Gibbs SL (1976) Greek and Roman sundials. Yale University Press, New Haven/London Hannah R (2009a) Time in antiquity. Routledge, London Hannah R (2009b) The Pantheon as a timekeeper. Br Sund Soc Bull 21(4):2–5 Hannah R, Magli G (2011) The role of the sun in the Pantheon design and meaning. Numen 58:486–513 Hannah R, Magli G, Palmieri A (forthcoming) Nero’s ‘solar’ kingship and the architecture of the Domus Aurea Hetland LM (2007) Dating the Pantheon. J Rom Archaeol 20:95–112 Lewis A-M (2008) Augustus and his horoscope reconsidered. Phoenix 62:308–337 Magli G (2009) From Giza to the Pantheon: astronomy as a key to the architectural projects of the ancient past. In: Valls-Gabaud D, Boksenberg A (eds) The roˆle of astronomy in society and culture. UNESCO, Paris, pp 274–281 Oudet J-F (1992) Le Panthe´on de Rome a` la lumie`re de l’equinoxe. In readings in archaeoastronomy. Paper presented at the international conference on current problems and future of archaeoastronomy, State Archaeological Museum, Warsaw, 15–16 November 1990, pp 25–52 Rehak P, Younger JC (2006) Imperium and cosmos: Augustus and the northern Campus Martius. University of Wisconsin Press, Madison Thomas E (1997) The architectural history of the Pantheon in Rome from Agrippa to Septimius Severus via Hadrian. Hephaistos 15:163–186 Voisin J-L (1987) Exoriente Sole (Sue´tone, Ner. 6). D’Alexandrie a` la Domus Aurea. In L’Urbs: espace urbain et histoire (1er sie`cle av. J.-C. – IIIe sie`cle ap. J.-C.). E´cole franc¸aise de Rome, Rome, pp 509–41

Nemrud Dag

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Juan Antonio Belmonte and A. Ce´sar Gonza´lez-Garcı´a

Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Traditional Interpretation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . A New Interpretation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Conclusions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Abstract

The World Heritage Site of the hierothesion of Antiochos I, King of Commagene, at Mount Nemrud (Turkey) certainly constitutes one of the most fascinating historical enigmas in human culture. The monument includes the famous lion “horoscope” which has often been used in various attempts to interpret and date the ruins with controversial results. According to recent analyses, Antiochos’ monument reflects the situation of the skies at exclusive moments of the year 49 BC, when the monument would have been started. This alternative explanation considers the lion slab together with the orientation of the eastern and western terraces of the hierothesion and the inscriptions on the monument.

J.A. Belmonte (*) Instituto de Astrofı´sica de Canarias, Universidad de La Laguna, La Laguna, Tenerife, Spain e-mail: [email protected] A.C. Gonza´lez-Garcı´a Instituto de Ciencias del Patrimonio, Incipit, Santiago de Compostela, Spain e-mail: [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_166, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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Introduction The small Kingdom of Commagene was nested between the upper course of the river Euphrates and the mountains of Anti-Taurus in the southeast of Anatolia. Despite its tiny size, Commagene played a relevant role in the history of the Middle East during the late Hellenistic and early Roman periods as a buffer state between the powerful Seleucid (later Roman) and Parthian Empires (Sullivan 1977). Antiochos I Theos (c. 69–36 BC) was arguably the most important of its kings, ruling for more than 30 years in one of the most challenging periods in the history of the region. Antiochos was the son of Mithridates I Callinicus, an Orontid, and of Laodice VII Thea Philadelphos, a Seleucid princess. Consequently, Antiochos was able to claim both an Iranian and a Hellenistic ancestry, which was reflected in his political behavior, always balancing between East and West and, most importantly, in the new cult he established in his kingdom (Boyce 1991). The most outstanding example of this new cult was Antiochos’ burial monument (referred to as a hierothesion in the associated inscriptions or nomos) on the summit of the highest peak of Commagene, Nemrud Dag (Fig. 149.1).

Traditional Interpretation The hierothesion basically consisted of a huge tumulus (Fig. 149.2), still standing to a height of 50 m, which would have covered the burial chamber (not yet found), and three terraces eastern, western, and northern (Fig. 149.3). The northern terrace was possibly a transitional element and was never ended. However, the eastern and western terraces included an astonishing group of five limestone cyclopean statues, nearly identical in both terraces, representing the composite images of the divinities of Antiochos’ new cult, escorted by a lion and an eagle on both sides. These were complemented on both terraces by a group of sandstone slabs representing handshaking (dexiosis) scenes of the king with the different deities and the wellknown lion “horoscope”. Unfortunately, only those of the western terrace have survived to our days in an acceptable state of preservation (Fig. 149.4). The monument was completed by two series of portraits of Antiochos’ Iranian and Hellenic ancestors represented in a couple of walls with appropriate sockets (see Fig. 149.3). Apparently, these series were not complete at the time of Antiochos’ death and the monument was left unfinished (Sanders 1996). An altar was added to the eastern terrace, suggesting that an important part of the ritual may have taken place there. On the back of the seats of the statues, Antiochos ordered the inscription of a long text with laws, or nomos, in Greek. This includes historical and legal aspects regarding the hierothesion and the establishment of the new cult. Thanks to the inscription, we know that the hierothesion was settled when Antiochos had already enjoyed “a life of many years”. Most important, however, the nomos teaches us about the foundation of the new cult to be celebrated throughout the kingdom but especially at Mount Nemrud. There we read: “also new festivals for the worship of the gods and our honours will be celebrated (by) all the inhabitants of my kingdom.

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Fig. 149.1 The Nemrud Dag range as seen from the Karakush monument across the fertile valleys of Commagene. The peak itself is marked by an arrow. Nemrud Dag dominates the landscapes for dozens of kilometers (Photograph by A. C. Gonza´lez Garcı´a)

Fig. 149.2 The better-preserved statues of the colossi at the eastern terrace of Nemrud Dag (Photograph by J.A. Belmonte)

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Fig. 149.3 Schematic diagrams and orientation data (azimuth, angular height, and declination) of the most important directions at the eastern (including northern, right) and western (left) terraces of Antiochos’ monument at Nemrud Dag (Authors’ graphics adapted from a plan of the site from the American School of Oriental Research (1956))

Fig. 149.4 Image of the relatively well-preserved freeze of sandstone slabs at the western terrace of the hierothesion, including the famous lion “horoscope” slab (with a representation of Mars, Mercury, Jupiter, and the crescent moon) and the four dexiosis (handshaking) scenes (Photograph by courtesy of A. Dyer, adapted from Belmonte and Gonza´lez-Garcı´a (2010))

For my body’s birthday, Audnayos the 16th, and for my coronation, Loios the 10th, these days have I dedicated to the great daimones’ manifestations who guided me during my fortunate reign . . . I have additionally consecrated two days annually for each festival” (Cimak 1995). These daimones were the divinities represented in the cyclopean statues, including, from left to right (see Fig. 149.2), a portrait of Antiochos himself, accompanied by the all-sustaining goddess Commagene, Zeus-Orosmasdes, Apollo-MithrasHelios-Hermes, and Artagnes-Heracles-Ares. Three of these gods were composites

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of Iranian, Zoroastrian, and Hellenistic divinities. Zeus is the Hellenistic interpretation of the Sky God, Orosmasdes (Ahura Mazda) being the Iranian interpretation of the same god. Both Ares and Heracles are also frequently identified with the war god-hero of the Iranian people, Artagnes or Bahram. Mithras, the Iranian god of light (and the sun), was simultaneously identified with Helios and Hermes. Finally, the goddess Commagene, representing the fertility of Antiochos’ land, is the most difficult to interpret correctly. Sometimes erroneously identified with Hellenistic Tyche, the authors support the idea that she should be identified with a form of the Dea Syria, Atargatis, converted into Juno Dolichena under Roman influence. Interestingly, texts from Arsameia on the Nymphaios and Arsameia on the Euphrates substitute Commagene for Hera Teleia, and Hera was the name for the planet Venus in the alternative nomenclature that called the planet Mercury Apollo and the planet Mars Heracles (Beck 2006). Since the earliest archaeological studies in Nemrud Dag, the lion slab has drawn most of the specialist attention. The possibility that the scene depicts a real or schematic astronomical scene or an astrological image (a sort of horoscope) introduced the possibility of dating the monument. On it, a lion with stars on his body, probably the constellation Leo, is represented together with a crescent moon on his chest. Three stars above the back of the lion are identified in Greek as Pyroeis of Heracles, Stilbon of Apollon, and Phaeton of Zeus (see Fig. 149.4), standing for the planets Mars, Mercury, and Jupiter, respectively. Neugebauer and Van Hoessen (1959) argued that the scene might represent a sort of horoscope for the date July 7(6), 62 BC, (Fig. 149.5b) at the beginning of the reign of Antiochos I. Other dates, such as July 15, 109 BC, (Fig. 149.5a) have also been supported (Kelley and Milone 2003). Interestingly, the dexiosis scenes associated with the lion slab have been interpreted as planetary conjunctions of the planets Mars, Jupiter, and Mercury and the Moon supposedly standing for goddess Commagene with the star Regulus, in the constellation Leo, standing for King Antiochos himself. This interpretation seems plausible. However, every attempt to relate the previous dates to Audnayos 16 and Loios 10, the most relevant yearly dates as established in the nomos inscription, within the period of Antiochos’ reign, have been doomed to failure.

A New Interpretation The authors visited Mount Nemrud in June 2009 at the precise epoch of the summer solstice (Fig. 149.6) in an attempt to check possible astronomical alignments and to obtain direct observations that would permit the correction of the orientation data (Belmonte and Gonza´lez-Garcı´a 2010), provided that the eastern and western terraces had been constructed on an axis that closely followed the solstitial line linking summer solstice sunrise with winter solstice sunset. The new data (Fig. 149.3) clearly indicate that this was the case, since both terraces showed solstitial alignments; however, there was an important nuance. One of the main structures on the site, the huge plinths holding the divine colossi in the eastern

J.A. Belmonte and A.C. Gonza´lez-Garcı´a

1664 Fig. 149.5 Three possibilities for the astronomical diagram as represented in the lion slab, corresponding to Leo’s setting after sunset for three dates in the Gregorian proleptic calendar: (a) July 15, 109 BC; (b) July 6, 62 BC, the date widely accepted by the scientific community so far; and (c) July 12, 49 BC, the date most recently proposed by the authors. None of the three precisely represents the position and the order of the planets represented in the lion slab — Mars, Mercury, Jupiter, and the Crescent Moon. However, the last one has suggestive connections with the dates yielded by the presumably astronomical orientation of the main architectural elements of the hierothesion in 49 BC (Adapted from Belmonte and Gonza´lez-Garcı´a 2010)

a July 15, 109 BC JD1681807.2

Mars Mercury

Leo

Jupiter

The Moon

Regulus

Horizon Line

Sun

b

July 6,62 BC JD169864.2

Leo Mars Mercury The Moon

Regulus

Jupiter Horizon Line

Sun

c July 12,49 BC JD1703719.2

Jupiter Leo Mercury The Moon

Regulus Horizon Line

Mars Venus Sun

terrace, deviated by nearly 6  from the solstitial line. This orientation signaled sunrise on July 23 or May 22 Gregorian or the rising of Regulus during the reign of Antiochos. The second possibility was fascinating, considering the possible links between Regulus in Leo and the king, but it was the possibility of sunrise on July 23 that gave the most unexpected result. The Commagenian calendar was probably inspired by the Mesopotamian calendar, most likely based on the Babylonian lunisolar calendar, making use of the Macedonian name equivalents of the months in the Greek inscriptions such as the

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Fig. 149.6 Sunrise at the summer solstice as observed from the eastern terrace of Antiochos’ hierothesion at the summit of Nemrud Dag. The southern socket wall, which is not perpendicular to the basement of the colossal statues, is certainly orientated in that direction, permitting a finetuned determination of the orientation of other relevant elements of the monument (Photograph by courtesy of M. Sanz de Lara)

Fig. 149.7 Heads on the western terrace (Photograph by Juan A. Belmonte)

nomos. Lunar months were usually counted from the observation of the first crescent after conjunction. With these simple assumptions in mind, the date of July 23 converted into Loios 11 (the second day of the feast mentioned in the nomos) in the year 49 BC, late in the reign of Antiochos. Also, Audnayos 16, 49 BC would have fallen on December 23. Consequently, the winter-solsticesunset aligned colossi of the western terrace would have been facing sunset on Antiochos’ birthday in that particular year (Fig. 149.7). Hence, the eastern terrace colossi were facing sunrise (and Regulus’ rising) on the celebration of Antiochos’

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1666 Fig. 149.8 (a) Sunrise on Loios 11, 49 BC, from the eastern terrace, several days after the new moon. The azimuth of sunrise (and, incidentally, of Regulus rising) on that date, the second day of the ascent to the throne festival, is in agreement with the orientation of the colossi of the eastern terrace. (b) Moonrise at Audnayos 15, 49 BC, as seen from the eastern terrace of Nemrud Dag. On the following day, the full moon would be in conjunction with Regulus, a very suggestive astronomical event for the celebration of the birthday of Antiochos. (c) At sunset on Audnayos 16, the sun would have set along the alignment of the colossi of the western terrace, while the constellation of Aquila, with its brightest star Altair, dominated the western horizon. These special configurations might explain the presence of several eagles, paired with lions, at Antiochos’ hierothesion

a July 23, 49 BC 11 Loios

Sun Leo

Horizon Line

Regulus Mars Venus

Mercury Jupiter

b

December 22, 49 BC 15 Audnayos

Leo

Regulus

The Moon

Horizon Line

•Neptune

c

December 22, 49 BC 16 Audnayos Altair

Aquila

ws Sun

ascent to the throne and the western terrace colossi sunset on the day of Antiochos’ birthday, both events in the year 49 BC. On the new moon of Loios in that year, on July 12 (see Fig. 149.5c), another planetary conjunction including Jupiter, Mercury, Mars, and indeed the crescent moon had taken place in the constellation of Leo, complementing our results. This date had already been discussed by Neugebauer and Van Hoessen (1959) but was discarded given the possibility that the planet Venus might also have been visible under exceptional atmospheric conditions.

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For us, however, this is a crucial point. We have already stated that the goddess Commagene would stand within the daimones for the local goddess of fertility, a form of the Hellenistic Hera Teleia. Consequently, the conjunction of the planet Venus and Regulus on the following days may offer an alternative and suggestive explanation for the dexiosis scene between the king and the goddess Commagene. However, it is worth noting that, according to Roger Beck’s private communication, “the identification of the person of ‘my fatherland all-nurturing Commagene’ with Venus rather than, as traditionally, with the Moon poses an unnecessary choice. Why not both, just as ‘Apollo-Mithras-Helios-Hermes’ refers to both Mercury and the Sun?” Thus, Commagene might stand for both celestial bodies, Venus and the Moon. To summarize: on the one hand, the five cyclopean statues of the eastern terrace faced sunrise followed by the rising (obscured by the solar glare) of their celestial manifestations in the constellation Leo on July 23, 49 BC (Fig. 149.8), commemorating Antiochos’ ascent to the throne as explicitly mentioned in the nomos inscription. On the other hand, a few months later, their equivalents on the western terrace would have been facing sunset on December 23, 49 BC, in commemoration of the king’s birthday. The sky configuration on that particular day may additionally explain the presence of eagles in the hierothesion, given that the constellation Aquila was dominating the western horizon at dusk, as an alternative manifestation of the power of the king (Fig. 149.8).

Conclusions The year 49 BC therefore appears as the most likely date for the beginning of the construction of Antiochos’ hierothesion at Nemrud Dag. Apart from the unmistakable astronomical evidence, 49 BC has a couple of additional historical advantages over 62 BC, the commonly accepted date in the literature and in public outreach. The hierothesion was not complete when Antiochos I died. Thus, a period of 13 years between the beginning of work on the site in 49 BC and the king’s death in 36 BC seems more reasonable than a period of 26 years, as implied by 62 BC. Besides, in 62 BC, Antiochos I was a young petty king of a tiny country, but in 49 BC, the king was in his 40s and was acting as a necessary balance between Rome and the Parthians, his Iranian cognates, governed by his son-in-law Orodes II, who had just destroyed Crassus’ army at Carrhae a few years earlier (53 BC). Antiochos was at the zenith of his power and political influence and could have decided to build the monument his glory deserved. Consequently, Antiochos’ hierothesion at Nemrud Dag reflects the situation of the skies on precise dates in the year 49 BC: Loios new moon with the third occurrence in 60 years of a singular planetary conjunction (Fig. 149.5); Loios 10/11 in commemoration of Antiochos’ ascent to the throne; and Audnayos 16, celebrating the king’s birthday. This has been confirmed by local archaeology, the nomos inscription and astronomy, suggesting that the construction of the monument began in this particular year, reflecting the religious tradition of the country and the new cult established by Antiochos.

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Acknowledgements This work is partially financed under the framework of the projects P310793 “Arqueoastronomı´a” of the IAC and AYA2011-26759 “Orientatio ad Sidera III” of the Spanish MINECO.

Cross-References ▶ Mesopotamian Calendars

References Beck R (2006) The religion of the Mithras cult in the Roman Empire. Oxford University Press, Oxford Belmonte JA, Gonza´lez-Garcı´a AC (2010) Antiochos’s hierothesion at Nemrud Dag re-visited: adjusting the date at the light of astronomical evidence. J Hist Astron 61:469–481 Boyce M (1991) In Commagene, Syria and Egypt. In: A history of Zoriastranism, vol 3. Brill, Leiden, pp 309–360, Ch. 10 Cimak F (1995) Commagene, Nemrut. Istanbul Kelley DH, Milone EF (2003) Exploring ancient skies: an encyclopedic survey of archaeoastronomy. Springer, New York Neugebauer O, Van Hoessen HB (1959) Greek horoscopes. Am Philos Soc Mem 48:14–16 Sanders DH (1996) The hierothesion of Antiochos I of Commagene: results of the American excavations directed by Theresa B. Goell, vol 1: Text, vol 2: Illustrations. Winona Lake, Eisenbrauns Sullivan RD (1977) The Dynasty of Commagene. In: Temporini H, Haase W (eds) Aufstieg und Niedergang der ro¨mischen Welt, Walter de Gruyter, Berlin, pp 732–98

Mithraism

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Roger Beck

Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The Mithraeum as “Model of the Cosmos” . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The Mithraic “Tauroctony” as Star Chart . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Abstract

The Roman cult of the sun god Mithras made extensive symbolic use of contemporary astronomy and cosmology. The cult’s main icon (the “tauroctony”) was designed as a star chart of sorts and its standard shrine (the “mithraeum”) as a “model of the universe”.

Introduction Mithraism was a religion active in the Roman Empire from the early second to the late fourth centuries CE. It was one of the so-called mystery cults, a term applied to nonofficial religions of initiation (the term “cult”, meaning “worship”, did not then carry its modern pejorative connotations). Each mystery cult was focused on a particular god or set of gods. Thus, the initiates of Mithras worshipped “Mithras, the Unconquered Sun God”, as he was named. It is well known that the cult was popular among soldiers, a fact borne out by the numerous shrines and cult objects that archaeology has unearthed along the empire’s European frontier from Northern England all the way to the Black Sea Coast. The city of Rome and its port, Ostia,

R. Beck University of Toronto, Toronto, ON, Canada e-mail: [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_167, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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was another great center of the cult. But Mithraism was never a religion of the masses, urban or rural. Its attraction was rather to the minor functionaries of empire, military and civilian. The cult’s rich material remains (shrines, statues and sculptures in relief, altars, frescos, pottery, metal artifacts, etc.) are often embellished with astral symbols, in particular of the planets and the signs of the zodiac. This, together with the fact that the cult’s god, the Sun, happens to be one of the “seven planets” of Greco-Roman astronomy and astrology, has led interested historians of religion to ask whether there was more to the deployment of astral symbols on the monuments than mere decoration meant to impart a sense of the celestial and the cosmic. Although the god, but not the cult, was imported from Persia, Mithraism’s astral symbolism, however one interprets it, belongs to the world of GrecoRoman astronomy and astrology and thus to the culture of a vast multiethnic empire. Consequently, in this context, it would be a mistake to speak of “ethnoastrology” in the sense of folk astronomy or the astronomy of a particular ethnic group. Furthermore, if archaeoastronomy is narrowly limited to matters of celestial alignments and the original use of archaeological sites as observatories, then Mithraism has nothing serious to offer. Rather, it is in the meaningful arrangement of symbols pertaining to Hellenistic astronomy and astrology in the design of its sacred structures that Mithraism excelled. By “sacred structures” one means (1) the mithraeum, as the cult’s distinctive shrine and meeting place is now termed, and (2) the tauroctony, a neologism likewise for the principal cult image which portrayed Mithras slaying a bull and which was always located at the head of the mithraeum’s aisle, whether as sculpture (relief or freestanding) or fresco.

The Mithraeum as “Model of the Cosmos” In cult ideology, mithraea were considered “caves”. They were called “caves”, as inscriptions attest. Where possible, they were situated in natural caves and, where not, in interior rooms which resemble caves in having no discernible exterior. Purpose-built, freestanding buildings were very much the exception. The opportunity for making meaningful alignments was therefore seldom present. The reason why mithraea were “caves” is given in one of the very few contemporary literary sources about the cult. In an essay on the allegorical meanings of caves, the philosopher Porphyry (1983, p. 6) states that a cave symbolizes the universe. Accordingly, the natural or artificial “cave” of the Mithraists is “an image of the cosmos which Mithras had created, and the things inside, by their proportionate arrangement, . . . [serve as] . . . symbols of the elements and klimata of the cosmos”. The mithraeum was designed as a cosmic model to serve a religious purpose. This too is stated by Porphyry (ibid.): the Mithraists “perfect their initiate by inducting him into a mystery of the descent of souls and their exit back out again”. The information is germane because the Mithraists shared the widespread belief that the human soul descended into earthly mortality from a gate at the

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summer solstice in Cancer and ascended back into immortality through a diametrically opposite gate at the winter solstice in Capricorn Porphyry (1983, pp. 21–26). The mithraeum, then, was a microcosm with a function: to enact, in ritual and imagination, a cosmic soul journey. How did the mithraeum’s design realize a functionally adequate correspondence between microcosm and macrocosm? (On what follows, see Beck 2006, pp. 102–52.) Fortunately, that question is answerable from Porphyry’s essay and the archaeology of actual mithraea. The two sources bear each other out. Porphyry (1983, p. 24) says that the cultists “enthroned Mithras at the equinoxes .... As creator and master of genesis he has been placed on the equinoctial circle [i.e., the celestial equator] with the northern signs to his right and the southern to his left”. In mithraea this microcosmic setting is realized as shown in Fig. 150.1, the plan of the Ostian Mithraeum of the Seven Spheres (so-called after the seven arcs of black-andwhite mosaic, representing the spheres of the seven planets, on the floor of the aisle). Seven Spheres is the most explicit extant mithraeum in that, besides the planetary arcs on the floor, the signs of the zodiac are represented iconically on the front of the “side benches” on which initiates reclined for their cult feast. Six of the seven planetary gods are also represented there. The seventh is the Sun, but he too is present and represented – as Mithras, the “Unconquered Sun” – in the image of the tauroctony at the head of the aisle. A glance at the ordering of the zodiac reveals that Mithras is indeed “set at the equinoxes . . . on the equator”, specifically at the spring equinox looking down the length of the aisle to the autumn equinox at the entrance. The northern signs (Aries to Virgo) are indeed to his right and the winter signs Libra to Pisces to his left. At the midpoint in the daises are niches: these are the solstices, the summer solstice through which souls descend to Mithras’s right and the winter solstice through which they leave to his left. Lastly, on Mithras’ right at the end of the “northern” bench is an image of the uniquely Mithraic deity Cautopates, and on the opposite side at the end of the “southern” bench his twin Cautes. The two deities are clones of Mithras. Cautes carries a raised torch and Cautopates a lowered torch. They represent cosmic and terrestrial opposites of all sorts (e.g., sunrise and sunset). Here they represent, and are the functionaries of, the soul’s descent into mortality (Cautopates) and its ascent back into immortality. Whenever their images have been found apart from the tauroctony, they always occupy the same sides as here at Seven Spheres (though not necessarily near the entrance). Again, this location relative to the solstices is confirmed by Porphyry (On the Cave 24). The “elements . . . of the cosmos”, to the symbols of which Porphyry alludes, are obviously the signs of the zodiac and the planets. The “klimata of the cosmos” are more recherche´. In Hellenistic astronomy, the term klimata is regularly used of zones of terrestrial latitude. The “klimata of the cosmos” would therefore be projections of terrestrial klimata outward on to the celestial sphere. In other words, they are zones parallel to the celestial equator. They are instantiated in the mithraeum as shown in Fig. 150.2. Thus, Aries and Virgo at the ends of the “northern” bench together represent a first klima north of the equator (N1), while

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Fig. 150.1 Plan of the ideal mithraeum as realized at the “Mithraeum of the Seven Spheres”, Ostia

SPRING EQUINOX Tauroctonous MITHRAS

E SATURN

JUPITER

D

Aries

m

Taurus

l

e Aquarius

MERCURY

C

F VENUS

k

d

f Pisces

Gemini

EAST

Mid-bench niche = SUMMER SOLSTICE Cancer

Leo

Capricorn Mid-bench niche = WINTER SOLSTICE

c Sagittarius

i

b Scorpio

h WEST

Virgo

g

MOON B

A

a Libra G MARS H CAUTES

N

CAUTOPATES AUTUMN EQUINOX

Fig. 150.2 The “proportionate arrangement” of “symbols of the klimata of the cosmos” in the mithraeum

Mithras at Spring Equinox S1 Pisces Aries N1 E S2 Aquarius TaurusN2 Q Gemini N3 S3 Capricon U A Summer Solst. Winter Solst T S3 Sagittarius Cancer N3 O S2 Scorpio Leo N2 R S1 Libra Virgo N1 Autumn Equinox

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Fig. 150.3 The mithraeum at Vulci in Etruria, northwest of Rome. Note the unusually high side benches, carried on arcades with six arches and a central niche each side. The arches represent the signs of the zodiac and the niches the solstices. It is likely that images of the planets could be placed in the arches to replicate actual or ideal configurations

Pisces and Libra at the ends of the “southern” bench together represent a first klima south of the equator (S1), and so on. The ideal mithraeum, then, by “proportionate arrangement of the things inside” proves to be an authentic microcosm. “Ideal” must be emphasized. Although all mithraea exhibit the same basic design (benches facing each other across a central aisle, tauroctony in the “cult niche” at the head of the aisle), few have planetary or zodiacal symbols still extant – but how much was portable? (See Fig. 150.3) – and none is as explicit as Seven Spheres. Nevertheless, in Rome and its environs at least for a period in the mid- to late third century, one can say with some confidence that what was explicit at Seven Spheres was understood as implicitly present in other mithraea. The mithraeum as microcosm has implications for orientation. The cosmos, on the ancient model, is a sphere rotating westward, containing planets which revolve, all or most of the time, eastward. Since the cosmos has no east end or west end, neither has a true microcosm. As shown in Fig. 150.1, “east” and “west” are directions around the mithraeum. As for “north” and “south”, they lie respectively above and below the level of the floor/benches. A mithraeum’s actual physical orientation, which in any case was usually beyond the community’s control, is ideologically irrelevant.

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The Mithraic “Tauroctony” as Star Chart The tauroctony is the principal cult icon, analogous both in mythic importance and in placement within the mithraeum to the representation of the crucifixion in Christian churches. The icon, which follows a standard composition, shows Mithras slaying a bull at the mouth of a cave (see Fig. 150.4). On the left and right at the bull’s head and tail stand the torchbearers, Cautes and Cautopates. Their positions are interchangeable (the only permitted major variant in the composition). A snake and a dog dart up at the wound in the bull’s flank. A scorpion seizes on the bull’s testicles. A raven perches on Mithras’ cloak. Miraculously, the tip of the bull’s tail has metamorphosed into an ear or ears of wheat. In the upper left corner is the bust of Sol the Sun (here obviously differentiated from Mithras), in the upper right the bust of Luna the Moon. Sometimes the two luminaries are represented driving their vehicles, Luna her oxcart and Sol his four-horse chariot. A ray of light extends from Sol to Mithras. In a number of reliefs from the northern provinces, the snake is joined by a large two-handled cup (crater) and a small lion to form a trio (see Fig. 150.5). The scene is sometimes surmounted or surrounded by a zodiac, as in Fig. 150.6. Allusion is sometimes made to the seven planets by rows of seven symbols, for example, altars. It has long been noted that the elements in the composition correspond symbolically to a group of constellations in and below the zodiac from Taurus eastward to Scorpio (see Fig. 150.7). The extreme improbability of this set of correspondences resulting from random coincidences has been demonstrated statistically by the author of the present article (Beck 2004), who has also presented them in detail

Fig. 150.4 A tauroctony with the elements of the composition indicated

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Fig. 150.5 A tauroctony with the optional crater and lion indicated

Fig. 150.6 A tauroctony with zodiac in the Museum of London (inv. no. 61349). Note the juxtaposition of the bull’s head, the sign of Taurus, and Luna’s oxen and also of Leo and Sol. Taurus is the Moon’s astrological “exaltation” and Leo the Sun’s astrological “house”

(2006, pp. 194–215), emphasizing the factor of polysemy in the composition. For example, the torchbearing twins signify, in addition to the constellation and sign of Gemini, all celestial bodies rising in the east and setting in the west, also, particularly when in reversed position, Scorpius/Antares and Taurus/Aldebaran. What or whom does the figure of Mithras the bull slayer represent? Various identities have been suggested, notably the constellation Perseus by David Ulansey (1989). Ulansey also proposed that the icon has to do with the precession of the

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Fig. 150.7 Constellations and signs represented in the tauroctony

equinoxes and Mithras-Perseus as the cosmic power controlling this fundamental astronomical process. The present author identified the bull-killing Mithras not with a particular sign/constellation but with the Sun in a particular sign, namely, Leo (Beck 1994).

Cross-References ▶ Greco-Roman Astrology ▶ Greek Constellations ▶ Greek Cosmology and Cosmogony ▶ Greek Mathematical Astronomy

References Beck R (1994) In the place of the lion: Mithras in the tauroctony. In: Hinnells JR (ed) Studies in Mithraism. Bretschneider, Rome, pp 29–50 Beck R (2004) Beck on Mithraism: collected works with new essays. Ashgate, Aldershot Beck R (2006) The religion of the Mithras cult in the Roman empire: mysteries of the unconquered sun. Oxford University Press, Oxford Porphyry (1983) On the cave of the nymphs, translated with introduction by R Lamberton. Station Hill Press, Barrytown Ulansey D (1989) The origins of the Mithraic mysteries: cosmology and salvation in the ancient world. Oxford University Press, New York/Oxford

Part X Traditional Astronomies in Medieval and Early Modern Europe Stephen C. McCluskey

Skylore of the Indigenous Peoples of Northern Eurasia

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Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Commonalities and Differences . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Looking to the Future . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Abstract

This chapter examines the skylore of the indigenous peoples of northern Eurasia, paying particular attention to the commonalities found among them as well as the differences. Special attention is placed on the motif of the Cosmic Hunt and its diverse manifestations across the study area as well as on the oral nature of the celestial beliefs of these groups. The stars of a variety of “Western” constellation figures are implicated in the narratives and in some cases are clearly utilized in social practice for celestial navigation. The role played by the underlying huntergatherer mode of subsistence in shaping their cultural conceptualizations, their skyscapes, and the overarching cosmology of these peoples is also addressed.

Introduction This chapter encompasses the skylore of a vast territory encompassing 12 time zones from the northern reaches of Europe on the west to the Bering Sea and the Pacific Ocean on the east, a zone stretching some 5,000 miles (8,000 km) from one extreme to the other while embracing a wide variety of indigenous peoples and

R.M. Frank University of Iowa, Iowa City, IA, USA e-mail: [email protected]; [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_168, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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languages, many of which are on the brink of extinction. Most groups represent small populations of a few thousand speakers that are highly vulnerable to absorption by surrounding peoples. Processes of gradual cultural assimilation and language shift have contributed to the present-day situation in which indigenous frames of reference are increasingly in jeopardy. Although a considerable number of indigenous groups still maintain their identity, in the case of Siberia, for example, they account for less than 10 % of the total population. Hence, many of the individual groups are close to extinction, or in the process of assimilation, often in the form of “Russification”. And as this occurs, their skylore, the group’s socially distributed collective remembering and use of these sky resources, is affected. The skylore of these ethnicities has not remained static across time. It has not developed in cultural and physical isolation. Indeed, when ethnographic data first started to be collected, primarily in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, many of these hunter-gatherer groups had already been in contact with each other for many centuries if not millennia. Similarly, their contacts and exchanges included ethnic groups from further south whose modes of subsistence were more dependent on herding and the presence of horses and cattle. These contacts brought in different modes of thought and entire belief systems, e.g., Christianity, that over time resulted in local creation stories with borrowed elements and motifs, and therefore, the creation of mixed or hybrid narratives, although the non-indigenous element was often adjusted to conform with the preexisting cosmological model. As a result, even though all the resulting threads woven into the cosmology in question can be legitimately called “indigenous” to that ethnic group, that is, elaborated by it, when dealing with ethnographically informed celestial lore, one of the tasks is to unravel the older threads of belief from more recent overlays and transformations. Therefore, this process of gradual accretions must be taken into account when examining and reconstructing the skylore of these indigenous peoples (Balzer 1999, pp. 54–98; Vasilevich 1963, pp. 66–68). Moreover, because of the oral nature of these cultures, there is no single authorized version of their skylore. Rather what one tends to find are complex narratives, discussions with overlapping and frequently contradictory features, even when the languages spoken by the populations in question are related to each other. Nonetheless, as will be shown, there are a few characteristics of their skylore that are similar across large swaths of Eurasia. The geographical distribution of these commonalities is best explained by keeping in mind several intersecting and mutually reinforcing factors: that we are talking about indigenous celestial beliefs of populations that have shared a similar environment and mode of subsistence which had them moving back and forth between boreal forest zones and the open, relatively featureless tundra. Today the majority of the indigenous populations of northern Eurasia inhabit the taiga biome year-round or migrate annually between the taiga margins and the tundra. Moreover, their skylore is not viewed as a separate conceptual sphere, but rather one that is intimately connected to their overall belief system: their lived cosmovision.

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Fig. 151.1 Motif of the Cosmic Hunt (Adapted from Berezkin (2005, p. 82))

1681 Ursa Major

Alcor

Mizar

Elk Hunters

Commonalities and Differences In the case of western Siberia, we encounter evidence of a particular motif (F59.2) (Fig. 151.1) classified as the Cosmic Hunt, according to Thompson (1955–1958), and defined as a celestial narrative in which certain stars and constellations are portrayed as hunters, their dogs, and game animals that are pursued or killed. In this instance, the story, projected onto the stars of Ursa Major, tells of several hunters who are in pursuit of an elk, the primary and most formidable game animal in this region. Often three hunters are associated with the stars of the handle while the animal itself is projected onto the four stars of the bowl. In some instances, the tales speak of a single “Bear-hunter”, a hunter who is also in some fashion a bear, a topic that will be treated separately. The areal nature of these variants of the Cosmic Hunt is underscored by a narrative detail of the myth, a detail encountered among the Khanty, the Selkup, the Ket, the Khakas and among the western (but not among the southeastern) Evenk, namely, that Alcor, a weak star near Mizar (the second star of the handle), is interpreted as a cooking pot carried by one of the three hunters.1 In some cases, rather than a cooking pot, it is the dog of one of the hunters, an interpretation typical of the Orochon Evenk, the Udeghe, and the Oroch of far eastern Siberia (Berezkin 2005, p. 81, 83) (For a more detailed map showing the location of all of these ethnicities, cf. http://ansipra.npolar.no/image/Arctic04E.jpg). In these versions, while the hunters are represented as human beings, there is evidence that this was not always so, that there has been a modern anthropomorphic overlay on a much more archaic narrative: “Among the Siberian and Altaic peoples

1

As an example of the slight differences found in the narratives, among the Kets, Ursa Major was referred to as more than seven stars. While they also perceived this constellation as reflecting a hunt for the elk that ascended to the heaven, they explained the stars as follows: the four stars of the bowl stand for the elk’s legs; the three stars ahead are the Elk’s nose and ears; the stars of the handle are the hunters, a Selkup, a Ket, and an Evenk; Alcor is a Ket’s pot; and six more stars singled out by the Kets stand for the arrows of a Ket and a Selkup, while three of these stars are beyond the limits of Ursa Major (Lushnikova 2002, p. 256)).

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there is widely spread legend about a cosmic hunt for the Elk as a symbol of Ursa Major that in autumn at about the autumnal equinox steals the Sun. The cosmic Bear-hunter [a hunter with bear-like characteristics] pursues the heavenly Elk, kills it and returns the Sun. Symbolic murder of the Elk and its subsequent miraculous reanimation as a sign of Nature reawakening happen at about the vernal equinox” (Lushnikova 2002, p. 255). According to Anisimov, in the oldest version of this myth, found among the Evenk, the role of the hunter of the sun-elk is played by the cosmic bear called Mangi.2 In this variant of the myth, the scene of the cosmic hunt is explained as follows: the bear Mangi pursues the sun-elk across the horizon from east to west, overtakes him, and kills him. The Milky Way is explained here as the tracks of Mangi’s skis, the constellation of the Great Bear as the legs of the elk not yet eaten by the bear, and the constellation Orion as the elk’s thigh joint abandoned by the bear. Having gorged himself with elk meat, the bear, toward the end of the journey, becomes so heavy that he is barely able to drag his feet along, as a result of which not one but two tracks remain in the west of the horizon. Among the Evenks this cosmic bear-hunter is identified with the constellations Boo¨tes and Arcturus (Anisimov 1963, p. 164). Lushnikova (2002, p. 255) suggests that earlier the identification of the cosmic hunter with Arcturus might have been more widespread. Speaking broadly of the role of the bear in the traditional belief systems of the peoples of northern Eurasia and more particularly of the Ob-Ugrians of western Siberia, Schmidt has observed that through the institution of the bear oath along with the sacred narrative told about the bear cub, firstborn son (or daughter) of the sky god Numi-Torum, and its descent to Earth, it is clear that bears formed, “as it were, a controlling super society, sent down from the divine sphere, over human society” (1989, p. 199). Moreover, bears were also viewed as relatives or ancestors (Wiget and Balalaeva 2011, pp. 133–140). In other words, the landscape that these animals originally inhabited was celestial and hence the “sending home” ceremonies conducted for earthly bears after they were slain formed part of this overarching cosmovision. Similar, although far less elaborate, were the rituals that accompanied the sacrificing of other large game animals such as the elk (Jordan 2003, pp. 97–134). In this respect Zvelebil’s comments are relevant. Based on the ethnographies of Eurasian hunter-gatherers, elk and bears along with water birds play clearly defined roles as guardians of other animals and as “messenger animals”: they afford channels of communication with other, non-terrestrial worlds. For example, the “Heavenly Elk” is seen as being a symbol of wealth and general prosperity among the Khanty, as well as being linked to, and protected by upper-world spirits. Among other groups, as noted, “the elk plays a central role in the myths of revival

2

According to Vasilevich et al. (1934, p. 128), in the Yerbogachen and Nepa dialects of the Evenks, the word mangi means “bear”; in the Katanga dialect, “spirit of the ancestors”; and in the Sym dialect it refers to “the constellation of Boo¨tes and to Arcturus”.

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and regeneration, as well as a role in the mediation between the world of spirits and of humans. The bear plays an analogous but somewhat different role as the chief guardian of wild animals and a mediator between animal beings and human beings” (Zvelebil 2008, p. 44). Consequently, shamans are able to identify themselves with these “messenger animals” by wearing clothing, ornaments, and types of headgear that pertain to each of them. Among other ethnic groups, the stars of Orion and the Pleiades become the major players in the motif of the Cosmic Hunt. For example, in eastern Siberia the skylore of the Chukchi and the Koryak has Orion (i.e., the hunter) pursuing the reindeer associated with the Pleiades or Cassiopeia. The nearest parallel is found in a version much further to the west among the Sami, in which the hunter is again Orion and the animal being pursued is an elk or reindeer in Cassiopeia. The association of hunters with Orion or with the Pleiades is a feature shared by Yakut, Nganasan, Evenk, and the Chukchi–Inuit versions. In contrast, among the Evenk the animal pursued is a mountain sheep, while the three hunters are associated with the Pleiades. Similarly, in one of the Nganasan versions, the Pleiades are hunters who catch the reindeer with a net (Berezkin 2005, pp. 87–88; Billson 1918, p. 180). To conclude this overview, we will briefly examine the complex ethnoastronomical data emanating from the Chukchi people, an ethnic group made up today of roughly 15,000 speakers who inhabit the extreme far northeastern reaches of Eurasia. They are divided into two groups, the Coastal Chukchi who are a seafaring people and the Reindeer Chukchi who move the year round across the wide spaces of the tundra, monotonous as the sea. The practical demands of their daily life required them to be able to navigate across featureless terrains which, in turn, made them develop the ability to orient themselves in such open spaces. This ability is reflected in the accumulated practical knowledge of their surroundings as well as their remarkable ability to calculate their location through observations of the sky. It is said that the Chukchi knew the particulars of the sky so well that they were able to distinguish the special movement of the planets, calling them the stars that go “crosswise”. The constellation of Auriga represents a scene of traveling by reindeer. The constellation of Castor and Pollux represents elk, fleeing from two hunters, each of whom is guiding a team of reindeer. The constellation of Delphinus is a seal. The Milky Way is called the Pebbly River. It flows westward, and there are many islands in it. The five bright stars in the constellation Cassiopeia are five bull reindeers, standing in the middle of the river. In the “midst of mother heaven” is an immobile star secured with a stake, i.e., Polaris, around which the other stars move about, nomadically, a common feature in Eurasian cosmological understandings. This location is said to be the residence of the Supreme Being (Anisimov 1963, p. 212). The constellations Arcturus and Vega are called in Chukchi “the heads” (Arcturus is “Front head”, and Vega is “Rear head”). While traveling at night across the open tundra, the Chukchis determine their direction by the position of the two “heads” in relation to each other and to the North Star. The stars Altair and Tarazed of the constellation Aquila are singled out by the Chukchis as a special constellation, Pegittyn. This constellation is

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considered to bring the light of the new year, since it appears on the horizon just at the time of the winter solstice (Anisimov 1963, p. 212).

Once again aspects of the daily lives of these hunter-gatherer people are projected narratively onto the sky screen.

Looking to the Future As we have seen, the indigenous groups under discussion tend to be greatly outnumbered by immigrant populations, including Russians and other exogenous ethnic groups in Siberia. The increasing contacts between these groups have resulted in an inevitable admixture of indigenous and immigrant populations and therefore the progressive erosion of the indigenous celestial narratives and beliefs. In addition, they have been subjected other pressures such as the massive ecological destruction brought about by the extractive exploitation of Siberia’s vast mineral reserves. Nonetheless, beginning in the 1990s, due to a revival of ethnic identity among the indigenous groups themselves, and also to the benevolence of local authorities, a growing number of academic institutions, often operating at the local level, have come into existence, for instance, in the Ob region (Csepregi 2009). Also, there has been an increased interest in the zone on the part of ethnographers particularly those concerned with landscape anthropology. Unfortunately, while these researchers have focused on the social and material culture of these remote Siberian hunter-gatherers, documenting in new ways the enculturation of the landscape in which they live, the conceptual and symbolic features of the landscape that are treated by them tend to be understood narrowly and therefore do not reflect the complex role played by the skylore and hence the skyscapes of the people under study (Jordan 2003; Wiget and Balalaeva 2011). In short, sky resources and their role in the enculturation of sky-space and hence the overarching cosmology of the group still have not been brought into sharp focus. At this point it is clear that unless efforts are taken to carefully document and therefore protect the traditional skylore of these groups, this aspect of their intangible celestial heritage will be lost forever. Moreover, as noted, these are beliefs that, because they emanate from primarily oral cultures, have been transmitted in fragmented form and often through folk narratives. Only rarely have they been written down with the goal of codifying or formalizing them into a coherent body of belief (Edsman 1965), while the data collection that has been carried out in the past has not been systematic. As a result, the information, although often remarkable in nature, is often difficult to access. It is widely dispersed, usually treated only tangentially and therefore scattered about in dozens of books and articles dealing primarily with other topics, e.g., shamanism. Moreover, these studies were often written in languages that many European scholars were not able to access. Nevertheless, in the past decade more fine-tuned ethnoastronomically oriented studies dealing specifically with northern Eurasian

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materials have started to appear in English (e.g., Berezkin 2005, 2010; Frank 2002; Lushnikova 2002; Siimets 2006). While it is obvious that the ethnoastronomical heritage of the peoples of northern Eurasia deserves to be studied in its own right, there is another reason that Western scholars should be concerned with the conservation and protection of these cosmological understandings and the task of systematically collecting, documenting, and carefully analyzing these nonmaterial artifacts, namely, because these understandings can serve as a cognitive template for interpreting the celestial component of the much earlier belief system(s) of the Mesolithic hunter-gatherer peoples of Europe. As Zvelebil (2008, p. 42) has argued, the prehistoric and ethnohistorical hunter-gatherer communities in the northern Eurasian zone shared broadly similar temporal, practical, and cosmological structures. Consequently, it follows that the hunter-gatherer and reindeer-herding communities in northern Europe and western Siberia could serve as a source of analogy for earlier belief systems found among prehistoric communities in Europe. The use of such an ethnoastronomical analogy is validated because we are dealing with a kind of direct historical analogy: the societies operated in similar ecological and economic conditions. Additionally, the advisability of constructing such analogies is considerably strengthened if we keep in mind the historical continuity and slow rate of change in the hunter-gatherer societies of northern Eurasia, a characteristic patently manifested in the commonalties of their skylore. In short, the hunter-gatherer communities in the tundra and boreal zones of Eurasia organized their lives according to basic elements of a structured framework that promoted cultural and ideological continuity. Hence, they were the societies of la longue dure´e (Braudel 1958). “Such structures included environmental variables, seasonal food procurement regimes, and cosmological beliefs” (Zvelebil 2008, p. 42). Hopefully, in the future other ethnographers, linguists, and anthropologists studying these populations as well as members of organizations composed of members of the indigenous communities themselves, such as the Arctic Council of Indigenous Peoples, will recognize the importance of this material and its value as a cognitive template for interpreting the skylore of prehistoric Europe and therefore begin to prioritize the need for documenting the celestial narratives and resulting skyscapes of these northern Eurasian indigenous peoples.

Cross-References ▶ Concepts of Space, Time, and the Cosmos ▶ Cultural Interpretation of Archaeological Evidence Relating to Astronomy ▶ Cultural Interpretation of Ethnographic Evidence Relating to Astronomy ▶ Cultural Interpretation of Historical Evidence Relating to Astronomy ▶ Inuit Astronomy ▶ Nature and Analysis of Material Evidence Relevant to Archaeoastronomy ▶ Origins of the “Western” Constellations

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References Anisimov AF (1963) Cosmological concepts of the peoples of the north. In: Michael E (ed) Studies in Siberian shamanism. University of Toronto Press, Toronto, pp 157–229 Balzer MM (1999) The tenacity of ethnicity: a Siberian saga in global perspective. Princeton University, Princeton Berezkin Y (2005) The cosmic hunt. Folklore 31:79–100, http://www.folklore.ee/folklore/vol31/ berezkin.pdf Berezkin Y (2010) The Pleiades as openings, the milky way as the path of the birds and the girl on the moon: cultural links across Northern Eurasia. Folklore 44:7–34, http://www.folklore.ee/ folklore/vol44/berezkin.pdf Billson CJ (1918) Some mythical tales of the Lapps. Folk-Lore 29(3):178–192 Braudel F (1958) Histoire et sciences sociales, la longue dure´e. Ann E´con Soc Civilis 13(4):725–753 Csepregi M (2009) The very highly connected nodes in the Ob-Ugrian networks. The Quasquicentennial of the Finno-Ugrian Society. Sumalais-Ugrilalsen Seuran Toimituksia ¼ Me´moires de las Socie´te´ Finno-Ougrienne 258. Helsinki, pp 9–32. http:// www.sgr.fi/sust/sust258/sust258_csepregi.pdf Edsman C-M (1965) The hunter, the games and the unseen powers: Lappish and Finnish bear rites. In: Hvarfiner H (ed) Hunting and fishing. Norrbottens Museum, Sweden, pp 159–188 Frank RM (2002) Hunting the European sky bears: evidence for a celestial mapping system in Slavic and Finno-Ugric folk traditions. In: Potomkina T, Obridko VN (eds) Astronomy of ancient societies. Nauka, Moscow, pp 237–253 Jordan P (2003) Material culture and sacred landscape: the anthropology of the Siberian Khanty. Rowman & Littlefield Publishers, Walnut Creek/Latham/New York/Oxford Lushnikova A (2002) Early notions of Ursa Major in Eurasia. In: Potomkina T, Obridko VN (eds) Astronomy of ancient societies. Nauka, Moscow, pp 254–261 Schmidt E´ (1989) Bear cult and mythology of the northern Ob-Ugrians. In: Hoppa´l M, Pentik€ainen J (eds) Uralic mythology and folklore. Ethnographic Institute –Finnish Literary Society, Budapest/Helsinki, pp 187–232 € (2006) The Sun, the Moon and firmament in Chukchi mythology and on the relations Siimets US of celestial bodies and sacrifices. Folklore 32:130–156. http://www.folklore.ee/folklore/vol32/ siimets.pdf Thompson S (1955–1958) Motif-Index of folk-literature. Indiana University Press, Bloomington Vasilevich GM (1963) Early concepts about the universe among the Evenks. In: Michael HN (ed) Studies in Siberian shamanism. University of Toronto Press, Toronto, pp 46–83 Vasilevich GM, Tsintsyus VI, Ivanova T (1934) Evenkiysko-russkiy Dialetktologicheskiy Slovar (Evenk-Russian Dialectal Dictionary). Government Educational and Pedagogical Publishing, Leningrad Wiget A, Balalaeva O (2011) Khanty: people of the Taiga. University of Alaska Press, Fairbanks Zvelebil M (2008) Innovating hunter-gatherers: the mesolithic in the Baltic. In: Bailey G, Spikins P (eds) Megalithic Europe. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, pp 18–59

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Mo`nica Rius-Pinie´s

Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The Beginnings . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Astronomers versus Jurists . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Geography versus Political Power . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The Qibla in Western Islam . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Conclusion . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

1688 1688 1689 1690 1692 1693 1693 1694

Abstract

Orientation toward Mecca has been compulsory for Muslims in all time periods and in all places. In fact, mosques were built in such a way as to help believers to pray toward the right direction. Nevertheless, the alignment of the sacred buildings was not always exact, and many did not actually face the Kaaba. There are many reasons for this “mistake”, the main one being that at the time of the construction of the most important mosques, the astronomical and geographical knowledge needed to make accurate calculations was lacking. In the Mediterranean area, the scholars who were most involved in this task were the fuqaha¯’ (experts in Islamic jurisprudence) who were sometimes well versed in astronomical knowledge or, at least, were skilled in the practice of popular astronomy. The combination of astronomy and religion, mixed with the political and topographical conditions, produces a unique area of study which remains controversial today.

M. Rius-Pinie´s Arabic Studies, Universitat de Barcelona, Barcelona, Spain e-mail: [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_171, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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Introduction In most cultures, orientation is an important element in the construction of cities and buildings. This may be due to the economic and ecological advantages of a rational alignment. Alternatively, it may be for reasons of worship, to enable believers to pray in the direction of the main stars such as Antares, Aldebaran, Sirius, or the Sun (Belmonte et al. 2006). In the case of Islamic civilization, the qibla, that is, the orientation toward the Kaaba, is a central issue in everyday Muslim life. It affects not just buildings, but people as well. Muslims must know the sacred direction in order to pray (five times a day), to slaughter animals, and to relieve themselves, among other things. Obviously this question was not circumscribed to the elite of the astronomers but affected the entire society, and it was studied, analyzed, and experienced by scholars of all kinds. Even more importantly, as a religious issue, it came under the jurisdiction of the head of the community – the emir or the caliph himself.

The Beginnings The Koran is the first source for information about the qibla. Some ayahs (for instance, 2:144 and 2:150) show that praying toward the Kaaba is compulsory, but others (like 2:115) simply affirm that “And to Allah belongs the east and the west. So wherever you [might] turn, there is the Face of Allah. Indeed, Allah is all-Encompassing and Knowing”. Some scholars held that the meaning of this ayah was that the important question was to pray, no matter where. The second source is the Sunna which includes the facts and sayings of the Prophet Muhammad. In this case, one hadith advises, “What is between the east and the west is qibla”. Muhammad said this when he was at Medina and had to face Mecca. The problem arose when this indication was used in all the Muslim empire. In fact, this hadith was specific to people in Medina and did not apply to the entire world unless the region was, like Medina, due north of Mecca. To be accurate, the qibla had to be determined by using spherical trigonometry (King 1993) (Fig. 152.1). The main difficulty was that when the first and most important mosques were built, the Muslims had no way to solve the problem using mathematics. The technique used by the Companions of the Prophet was folk astronomy. The Bedouins had a profound knowledge of the sky, and they oriented themselves in the desert, thanks to their ability to recognize the largest stars such as Suhayl (Canopus), Polaris, or Rigel. In fact, the Kaaba itself was aligned following astronomical methods, as its minor axis points toward the rise of Canopus, the brightest star in the southern hemisphere (King 1999). The Muslims first built their mosques following these traditional methods, which were then imitated for centuries. The alignment of the mosques built using folk astronomy was not 100% accurate, but the calculations were precise enough to be well regarded. Astronomers did their best to offer the community exact solutions and wrote essays on the subject, designed instruments, and calculated tables.

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Fig. 152.1 Trigonometric representation of the qibla

P

X

M

A

B

Even though some astronomical methods achieved a high level of accuracy (for instance, the ones used in the Salon de Comares in the Alhambra), they remained too scholarly for most people and, more importantly, contradicted the Salaf (the venerable ancestors).

Astronomers versus Jurists As we have said, the primary sources are the Koran and the Sunna, but Islamic jurists were also especially interested in the qibla. They carried out extraordinarily detailed studies in which it was classified according to given parameters (i.e., to the different types of determination, or to different Muslim communities according to their geographical situation). In addition, the jurists followed the Muslim academic tradition: Each book began with a detailed abstract of all preceding works. But who made up their readership? It seems that in most cases, their works were exercises for students or for other jurists with a clearly educational goal. In fact, taking into account the result (i.e., many poorly oriented mosques), it is hard to believe that so many books remained unread by emirs and caliphs. Not only was Islamic law an area of special interest, but the writers used to live near the seats of power (Rius 2009). The problem was that the authors belonged to different law schools and had different opinions regarding the degree of exactitude required. In addition, although many of them were only jurists, some (like Ibn al-Banna¯’) were also good astronomers and tried to obtain accurate calculations with the limited methods at their disposal (Rius 2000). In any case, a major obstacle was the lack of precise geographic coordinates, in particular, the lack of accurate longitudes. To calculate the qibla, it is necessary to determine the difference between the longitudes and latitudes between Mecca and a given city. This problem can only be solved by spherical trigonometry. From the ninth century onward, al-Khwarizmi and al-Battani offered approximate formula which were used by later western authors like Ibn al-Samh and Ibn al-Saffa¯r, whose

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Fig. 152.2 Qibla map by al-Safaqusi, Ms. Oxford BL Marsh. 294 fol. 2v

works contained indications to obtain the qibla with the aid of astronomical instruments (particularly the astrolabe) (King 2005).

Geography versus Political Power Mathematical methods coexisted with sacred geography, which had no interest in accuracy; the diagrams of sacred geography are great artworks but they are symbolic representations of the umma, the community of all the Muslims. These maps laid emphasis on the representation of the Kaaba, which was understood as the center of the world (King 1986). The rules of the sacred geography may have been applied to determine the qibla, though they do not seem to have been used to build mosques (Fig. 152.2). During the Middle Ages, geographers, astronomers, jurists, and also politicians were involved in the determination of the qibla. The ja¯mi‘mosque is the most important building in any Islamic city, and so, there was often a temptation to use it for political ends. Indeed, there is evidence that Almohads (who ruled in North Africa and the Iberian Peninsula during the twelfth and thirteenth centuries) used the symbolism of the qibla of their new mosques to declare their authority as the main regional power. But if many essays written by jurists have survived, very few texts explaining the criteria used by the caliphs are available to us. Sometimes it seems that the rulers

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Fig. 152.3 Medina Azahara, Cordova

Fig. 152.4 Salon of Comares, Alhambra

asked astronomers for advice, but the chronicles do not give any clue about the astronomers involved or the methods used. This is the case of the main mosques in al-Andalus, like the mosque at Medina Azahara (Fig. 152.3) and the mihra¯b in the Salon of Comares of the Alhambra (Fig. 152.4), although their accuracy suggests that astronomers played an important role (Comes and Rius 2004).

M. Rius-Pinie´s

1692 Fig. 152.5 Orientations of mosques in al-Andalus. S1 South, S2 West of South, E East, SE Southeast, C Cordova

S1 18%

S2 10%

E 16%

C 31%

SE 25%

Table 152.1 The most important mosques in the Mediterranean and their orientations Mosque Kaaba ‘Amr Mosque, Al-Fustat ‘Uqba b. Nafi Mosque, Kairouan ‘Ali b. Yusuf Mosque, Marrakech Kutubiyya, Marrakech Al-Qarawiyyin Mosque, Fes Cordova Medina Azahara Salon de Comares

Orientationa 150o 117o/127o 145o 88o 154o/159o 163o 152o 109o 101o

Modern qiblaa – 136o 111o 91o 91o 96o 100o 100o 100o

Method ?? Winter solstice? Revelation Astronomers ?? ?? ?? Astronomers? Astronomers?

a

Clockwise from North

The Qibla in Western Islam As the Muslims expanded around the Mediterranean, they founded cities such as al-Fustat and Kairouan. In those places, the Companions of the Prophet were the people in charge of determining the qibla, but on some occasions, as in the foundation of Kairouan, the Muslims could not reach an agreement and God revealed the precise direction of the qibla. However, problems arose at the time of building and the mosque was wrongly oriented. As already mentioned, these buildings were supposed to face the Kaaba, but this was not always the case. In this regard, Cordova, the capital of al-Andalus, is of particular interest. The mosque of Cordova deviates more than 50 from the correct direction. Some accounts suggest that the building was a Christian church, but even if we give credence to this

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dubious theory, the mysteries are too numerous and the true explanation is still unknown. In any case, it is certainly possible that both the lie of the land and the reuse of existing places of worship would have had a strong influence on the buildings (Bonine 1990). Archeological studies show that mosques pointed many different directions. In al-Andalus, for instance, there are five main tendencies. South (or West of South) was the direction followed by scholars specialized in tradition (hadith); East was the direction followed by the astronomers; SE was a compromise between the two previous options; and, finally, the ja¯mi‘ mosque in Cordova marked a tendency followed by the majority of mosques. In Cairo, the first mosques faced the rising Sun in the winter solstice (117o), but later, the astronomer Ibn Yunus determined that the qibla was 127o (Fig. 152.5, Table 152.1).

Conclusion The question we should ask about mosques is not whether they were built correctly but what were the criteria that their architects applied. The chronicles seem to ignore the matter and provide no important data on the mosques in Medina Azahara or the Alhambra at Granada, to quote two examples from different periods but both with an important role up until the present day. This silence is striking, bearing in mind the large number of legal texts that provide a theoretical background to the question. Astronomers tried to improve the methods used to determine the qibla, but their solutions appeared too late – that is, when the most important mosques had already been built – and they came into conflict with more conservative views. Many studies are needed in order to a better understanding of the kiblah in the Mediterranean. For instance, it is necessary to carry out a deep comparison with the orientation of churches or other sacred buildings reused by Muslims. But not only it is necessary an archeological analysis, but also written sources have to be took into consideration. Indeed, it implies collaboration between different scholars and a real interdisciplinary work. The difference with regard to other case studies in archaeoastronomy is the fact that finding the sacred direction remains a necessity for Muslims today. Now, however, a huge number of websites are available which provide accurate solutions to the problem.

Cross-References ▶ Astronomy and Navigation ▶ Astronomy and Politics ▶ Astronomy in the Service of Islam ▶ Islamic Astronomical Instruments and Observatories ▶ Islamic Folk Astronomy ▶ Islamic Mathematical Astronomy

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References Belmonte JA, Tejera Gaspar A, Perera Betancort A, Marrero R (2006) On the orientation of Preislamic temples of North Africa: a re-appraisal (new data in Africa proconsularis). Mediterr Archaeol Archaeom 6–3:73–81 Bonine M (1990) The sacred direction and city structure: a preliminary analysis of the Islamic cities of Morocco. Muqqarnas 7:50–72 Comes M, Rius M (2004) Finding Qibla in the Islamic Mediterranean Milieu, 8e`me Colloque Maghre´bin sur l’histoire des mathe´matiques a´rabes, Tunis King DA (1986) Some Ottoman schemes of sacred geography. In: Proceedings of the II international symposium on the history of Turkish and Islamic science and technology, Istanbul Technical University, Istanbul, pp 45–57 King DA (1993) Astronomy in the service of Islam. Variorum, Aldershot King DA (1999) World-maps for finding the direction and distance to Mecca: nnovation and tradition in Islamic science. E. J. Brill, Leiden King DA (2005) The sacred geography of Islam. In: Koetsier T, Bergmans L (eds) Mathematics and the divine – a historical study. Elsevier, Dordrecht, pp 161–178 Rius M (2000) La qibla en al-Andalus y el Magrib al-Aqsa`, Universitat de Barcelona Rius M (2009) Science in Western Islam. Circulation of knowledge in the Mediterranean. Contrib Sci 5–2:141–146

Interactions Between Islamic and Christian Traditions in the Iberian Peninsula

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A. Ce´sar Gonza´lez-Garcı´a and Juan Antonio Belmonte

Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The Asturian Kingdom . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Mozarabic Period . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Data Collection . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Discussion and Conclusion . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

1696 1697 1697 1699 1701 1702 1702

Abstract

Pre-Romanesque churches in the Iberian Peninsula include a number of constructions from the fourth-fifth to the eleventh century when the first Romanesque churches appeared in the north of Spain. This period of time coincided with the Muslim invasion of the Peninsula. An important number of churches and mosques were built with prescriptions for the orientation, which possibly included astronomical observations. Investigations show that both groups of monuments reacted by avoiding the areas of theoretical influence of the other religion while trying to obey their own orientation rules.

A.C. Gonza´lez-Garcı´a (*) Instituto de Ciencias del Patrimonio, Incipit, Santiago de Compostela, Spain e-mail: [email protected]; [email protected] J.A. Belmonte Instituto de Astrofı´sica de Canarias, Universidad de La Laguna, La Laguna, Tenerife, Spain e-mail: [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_172, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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Introduction The Iberian Peninsula was home for nearly eight centuries to both Christian and Muslim kingdoms, which endured a fight for political, cultural, and religious supremacy. The first centuries of that fight, from the eighth to the twelfth centuries, were of particular interest as regards the orientation of the monuments built by both religions: churches and mosques. On the one hand, churches should be built with the apse, and the altar, facing east. Origen, Clement of Alexandria, and Tertullianus, in early Christian times, recognized the relevance of turning toward east during prayer. The works of Isidore of Seville (seventh century) were of particular importance for the later medieval Christian kingdoms in Spain. In his Etymologiae (XV, 4; see, e.g., McCluskey 1998), Isidore prescribes that temples, and churches among them, must be oriented toward equinoctial east. The eastern orientation had a highly symbolic meaning. East was the place where the sun rises and thus, as Christ was the Sun of Righteousness, it would be the place where Christ will rise on the eve of time. Added to this, it was the area toward which the Christians in the west would be facing Jerusalem (McCluskey 1998). Previous studies on the orientation of churches in Europe highlight the importance of solar orientations in particular toward east (McCluskey 1998, 2007; see ▶ Chap. 154, “Orientation of Christian Churches”). The orientation of churches has been explored in a number of European countries to understand the process of Christianization (▶ Chap. 155, “Orientation of English Medieval Parish Churches”; ▶ Chap. 156, “Church Orientations in Slovenia”; ▶ Chap. 157 “Church Orientations in Central and Eastern Europe”; see also Gonza´lez-Garcı´a 2013 for a recent review). On the other hand, Muslim mosques must be built to the Quranic prescription with the qibla and the mihrab facing toward the Ka’aba in Mecca and, while this is not an astronomical but rather a topographic orientation, some astronomical methods could be followed to achieve such a goal. However, the determination of the qibla was not an easy task in the medieval world due to the problem of fixing the geographical longitude of a certain place. As many as ten different ways of determining the qibla were accepted by Muslim scholars (see ▶ Chap. 12, “Astronomy in the service of Islam”). The most frequent were waha, the qibla of Medina (due south); ichma, established by the consensus of the ulema; jabar, by revelation; ichtihad, determined by science (including the astronomomers’ qibla); and finally taqlid, by imitation of a previously built mosque with a long-standing tradition and credibility. This last possibility was frequently used and, as David King (1995) has demonstrated, it imposed one of the most common procedures of establishing a qibla: by imitation of the orientation of the Ka’aba itself. Hence, if you cannot orientate a building toward Ka’aba, you can always align it as Ka’aba. This building was used as a pre-Islamic temple of a religion with a long-standing astral tradition and their walls were orientated accordingly. The main axis was orientated toward the rising of Suhail (Arabic for Canopus) and the setting of the handle of Ursa Major. The minor axis was solstitially orientated according to tradition, although it has been proven that it would better suit a lunar alignment (Hawkins and King 1982). Mosques throughout the Islamic world often followed this pattern and,

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consequently, astronomy was a discipline at the service of Islam. The qibla in the Mediterranean, and indeed in Al-Andalus, was no exception.

The Asturian Kingdom In 711, Muslim armies from North Africa invaded the Visigoth Kingdom. By 713, most of the Iberian Peninsula was under the control of the Umayyad caliphs from Damascus and the rule of the new faith. A few isolated regions in the mountainous north kept a moderate independence and particularly, after a few decades, could claim political sovereignty from the Islamic south. However, the Catholic metropolitan seat was in Toledo, still in the Muslim-controlled areas. The tiny but historically important Kingdom of Asturias, in the mountains of the north of the Peninsula, appears to have been the first structured area to oppose the Muslim power. A way to re-affirm the Christian nature of the kingdom and to proclaim themselves as heirs of the Visigoth kingdom was to build a fairly large number of small but conspicuous royal churches (Arias 1999). Thirteen of these edifices were built over a period of nearly 200 years and can still be found in present-day Asturias (Garcı´a de Castro Valde´s 2007; Fig. 153.1). Notably, the rites and internal structure of these churches very much resemble the Visigoth tradition, which was different from the Roman rites. Although the architecture of the buildings is closer to the posterior Romanesque style, these churches include to a lesser scale the use of the horseshoe arch (see Fig. 153.1), typical of Visigothic buildings that would identify the Islamic art in the Peninsula in the years to come. Stucco engravings and plaster frescoes compose the internal decoration, which also includes elements with a clear Muslim influence. A notable figure in the early Asturian kingdom is that of Beatus (c. AD 780), a monk at the monastery in the mountainous area of Liebana. Beatus wrote several books, among which the Commentaries to St. John’s Apocalypse became especially famous in Western Europe. He was possibly the author of O dei Verbum, a hymn where St. James is proclaimed as patron Saint of Spain for the first time (Arias 1999). A few years later, under Alfonso II (c. 813 AD), the alleged tomb of Saint James was “re”-discovered at what is today Compostela and a first basilica was built there. This was later replaced by a Mozarabic building, destroyed by Almansur, and still later by the present Romanesque cathedral (Guerra Campos 1982).

Mozarabic Period By the beginning of the tenth century, the Asturian kingdom had expanded throughout most of the northwest of the Peninsula and the capital was moved to Leo´n. A number of Christian monks from Muslim-controlled areas, who were not allowed to build new, or reconstruct extant, churches and monasteries, started to migrate toward the north, building new churches in a new style later called Mozarabic (i.e., in Arabic fashion). The new style incorporated several influences

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Fig. 153.1 San Juan de Valdedios (left), one of the best-preserved Asturian churches. Right: Santa Cristina de Lena, the interior is profusely decorated following motifs from Visigoth and Muslim influences (Photographs by J.A. Belmonte and A.C. Gonza´lez-Garcı´a)

Fig. 153.2 Left, entrance to the Mozarabic church of Santiago de Pen˜alba. Right, the Mozarabic arched portico of San Miguel de Escalada, note the horseshoe arcs (Photographs by A.C. Gonza´lez-Garcı´a)

from the Islamic south, although the rite was still the Visigothic one (later wrongly termed Mozarabic, see Fig. 153.2). This rite and style was common to all the Christian kingdoms of early medieval Iberia and thus Mozarabic churches are (mainly) to be found in the northern half of the Peninsula. By the mid-eleventh century, Pope Gregory VII demanded that Christian kings should follow the Roman rite (Bango Torviso 1995). The last kingdom to introduce the Roman rite was Castile under Alfonso VI at the time of the conquest of

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Toledo in 1086. Interestingly, the change of rite coincided with the introduction of the Romanesque style, with the new monastic rules mainly following the Saint James’ Road.

Data Collection About a hundred pre-Romanesque churches have been measured so far in Spain. This includes all the extant churches from the Asturian period (13 churches, see Gonza´lez-Garcı´a 2013) and 49 from the latter Mozarabic style. Figure 153.3

a

N

b

N

SS

SS

SS

W

W

E

WS

S

W

SS

E

W

S

S

W

S

S

c

N

SS

SS

W

E

WS

S

W

S

Fig. 153.3 Orientation of all existent Asturian churches (top-left). Orientation of 49 Mozarabic churches measured so far (top-right), including the churches of Serrablo (dashed lines). Notice the different orientation patterns relative to that of the Asturian churches, much more restrictive. Bottom: Orientation of 97 mosques of the Iberian Peninsula

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A.C. Gonza´lez-Garcı´a and J.A. Belmonte

Fig. 153.4 Three shots of the great mosque in Cordova. The impressive hall of columns on Almansur’s enlargement (a), the mihrab of Alhakem II facing as Ka’aba (b), and the contrast between the old mosque and the new Christian cathedral built inside and within the Islamic building but with a perpendicular axis (c) (Photographs by J.A. Belmonte)

presents the corresponding orientation diagrams. All churches from the Asturian period comply with the canonical orientation; that is, the apse of the church or the altar faces within the solar arc toward the eastern part of the horizon. It is also remarkable that all churches seem to avoid the southern part of the solar arc – no Asturian church presents a negative declination. A concentration toward azimuth 70 is notable. Most of these churches were built during the reign of King Alfonso II. The orientation of the later Mozarabic churches is given also in Fig. 153.3 (top-right). Thirty-four churches have been measured so far, plus 15 of the so-called serrables, a particular Mozarabic style peculiar from the central Pyrenees. The orientation of this group is compatible with the canonical and there are churches with negative declination, mostly from the “serrables” area, although there seems to be a clear preference for positive declinations. The data from the churches can be compared with those of the mosques obtained from the literature (Rius 2000; Belmonte and Hoskin 2002). Many mosques in AlAndalus were built upon previous churches that were mostly destroyed and the building material reused in the new construction. The great mosque of Cordova (Fig. 153.4) is no exception. Built upon the foundations of the late Roman cathedral of Saint Vincent, and recycling the materials of this early building, it was aligned in a way totally different from the earlier building. There has been much discussion about the qibla of the great mosque, but there is a general consensus today that it was solstitially

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orientated, as the tradition dictated for the minor axis of Ka’aba. However, owing to the difference in latitude and the actual lunar orientation of the latter monument, the walls of the great mosque in Cordova are nearly parallel to the ones of the building in Mecca. When Muslim scholars in Al-Andalus had to decide how to orientate their cult buildings, they basically decided to follow two methods (Fig. 153.5). On the one hand, many mosques were orientated with an azimuth of 150 , in parallel to the reference mosque in the capital, Cordova, following taqlid. On the other hand, a similar number of buildings were aligned in the southeast direction (145 ) following ichma. A minor but still significant number followed waha. Surprisingly, very few mosques, and mostly those built during the Nasrid period in Granada, followed the astronomers’ qibla directly toward Mecca (c. 110 ).

Discussion and Conclusion The churches built during the period of the Asturian kingdom present a definitive orientation pattern, in principle within the canonical orientation of Christian churches, but certainly different from the previous Visigothic and later Mozarabic periods. The main peak of orientations to the north of the equinoctial azimuth (Fig. 153.5) could be consistent with an orientation of the churches toward Paschal Sunday, a lunar-related event. Besides this, the Asturian kingdom had to fight the southern powers for political as well as religious independence. This fight was reflected in the Adoptionist controversy between Beatus and the Metropolitan bishop from Toledo Elipandus. It could therefore be interesting to compare the orientation of the Asturian churches with the mosques built in the south of the Peninsula (see Fig. 153.5). It is worth noting that given the latitude and longitude of Al-Andalus, Muslim mosques should have been built with orientations compatible with a solar orientation (qibla of c. 110 ) with negative declination. However, they present a completely different pattern of orientations. All in all, both groups of monuments, Asturian churches and Andalusian mosques, seem to comply with the accepted rules for orientation of each of them but, Asturias VS. AI–Andalus 4

3

Fig. 153.5 Azimuth histogram showing the orientations of Asturian churches (solid line) in comparison to the mosques of Al-Andalus (dashed). Vertical solid lines indicate the solar rising extremes. See the text for further discussion

2

1

0 0

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100 AZIMUTH

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at the same time, they seem to avoid each other in a remarkable way. We suggest that this could have been a way of re-affirming the religious and political independency of two rival powers by highlighting the differences in orientation of their ritual buildings. The Asturian kingdom fighting the Islamic power in the south could have used the churches to re-affirm their sovereignty and independence by making, among many other aspects, a clear distinction from the Muslim south in the orientation of the churches, something that was not necessary in the Visigothic period but was still important in later times. Equally, the Muslim power in Al-Andalus may have deliberately avoided the astronomers’ qibla because it was within the potential range of orientation of the buildings of their enemies. They could perhaps pray to the same god, but they must do it in strictly different directions. Acknowledgments This work is partially financed under the framework of the projects P310793 “Arqueoastronomı´a” of the IAC and AYA2011-26759 “Orientatio ad Sidera III” of the Spanish MINECO.

Cross-References ▶ Astronomy in the Service of Christianity ▶ Astronomy in the Service of Islam ▶ Orientation of Christian Churches ▶ Qibla in the Mediterranean

References Arias L (1999) Prerromanico Asturiano: El Arte de la Monarquı´a Asturiana. Trea, Oviedo Bango Torviso I (1995) Edificios e Ima´genes Medievales. Historia y Significado de las Formas. Historia 16 Temas de Hoy, Madrid Belmonte JA, Hoskin MAH (2002) Reflejo del Cosmos. Equipo Sirius, Madrid Garcı´a de Castro Valde´s C (2007) Arte Prerroma´nico en Asturias. Ediciones Nobel, Oviedo Gonza´lez-Garcı´a AC (2013) A voyage of Christian medieval astronomy: symbolic, ritual and political orientation of churches. In: Pimenta F, Ribeiro N (eds) Stars and Stones: Voyages in archaeoastronomy and cultural astronomy. British Archaeology Reports (BAR), in press Gonza´lez-Garcı´a AC, Belmonte JA, Costa-Ferrer L (2013) The orientation of pre-Romanesque churches in Spain, a case of power re-afirmation. In: Rappengl€ uck M, Rappengl€ uck B (eds) Astronomy and Power: how worlds are structured. British Archaeology Reports (BAR), in press Guerra Campos J (1982) Exploraciones Arqueolo´gicas en Torno al Sepulcro del Apostol Santiago. Ediciones del Cabildo de Santiago, Santiago de Compostela Hawkins GS, King DA (1982) On the orientation of the Ka’ba. J Hist Astr 13:102–109 King DA (1995) The orientation of medieval Islamic religious architecture and cities. J Hist Astr 26:253–274 McCluskey SC (1998) Astronomies and cultures in early medieval Europe. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge McCluskey SC (2007) Calendrical cycles, the eighth day of the world, and the orientation of English churches. In: Ruggles CLN, Urton G (eds) Skywatching in the ancient world. New perspectives in cultural astronomy. University Press of Colorado, Boulder, pp 331–353 Rius M (2000) La alquibla en al-Andalus y al-Magrib al Aqsa. Anuari de Filologı´a, Universitat de Barcelona xxi, B-3

Orientation of Christian Churches

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Stephen C. McCluskey

Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Orientation and Prayer . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Architectural and Liturgical Principles of Orientation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Deviations from Equinoctial East . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Significance for Future Surveys . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Abstract

The orientation of Christian churches reflects the historically documented concepts that one should turn eastward to pray and the architectural and liturgical principle that temples and churches should be constructed facing east (often specified as equinoctial east). Since many churches do not face equinoctial east, various attempts have been made to explain this deviation. Among them are the idea that those churches were incorrectly built or that they were oriented toward sunrise on the date their foundation was laid or on the feast or the saint to whom the church was dedicated.

Introduction The orientation of Christian churches represents a unique archaeoastronomical problem. On the one hand, unlike most cases in archaeoastronomy, measurements of the orientation of churches can be complemented by investigation of an extensive body of written texts describing how churches should be oriented.

S.C. McCluskey Department of History, West Virginia University, Morgantown, WV, USA e-mail: [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_173, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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Secondly, churches were built in almost every village throughout Christendom and so many of them remain standing that they represent one of the most ubiquitous objects for archaeoastronomical (and archaeological) investigation. These two facts have important consequences for archaeoastronomical investigations of the orientation of Christian churches. The existence of texts provides us with unparalleled insights into medieval conceptions of how a church should be oriented and the meanings which those orientations had to the people who built and used them (McCluskey 2004a; Johnson 1912, pp. 205–242). The abundance of surviving churches allows us to do statistically meaningful studies of well-defined groups of churches (McCluskey 2006). This entry will focus on that medieval conceptual background and on the criteria used in surveying selected groups of churches as background to more specific case studies of the churches of particular regions. At present, there are two principal models for the orientation of Christian churches. A commonly held one has been described by the astronomer (and early pioneer of archaeoastronomy), J. Norman Lockyer ([1896] 1964, pp. 95–96): “Any church that is properly built to-day will have its axis pointing to the rising of the sun on the Saint’s Day, i.e., a church dedicated to St. John ought not to be parallel to a church dedicated to St. Peter”. Lockyer’s earliest research in archaeoastronomy ([1896] 1964, p. x) had been inspired by “the familiar statement that in England the eastern windows of churches face generally – if they are properly constructed – to the place of sunrising on the festival of the patron saint; this is why, for instance, the churches of St. John the Baptist face very nearly northeast”. The other model for the orientation of churches was described by the fourteenthcentury French astronomer, William of St. Cloud (Harper 1966, p. 108, 210): William noted that “churches should be founded along [an east-west] line, since the true East signifies our Lord Jesus Christ”. Furthermore, since only true east is the same everywhere on earth, churches which signify Christ the true East by their orientation, must have the same orientation throughout the world. These two models present one of the central issues in the study of church orientations. Are churches generally parallel, facing equinoctial east, are there diverse orientations in which churches dedicated to the same saint face the same direction, or is there a wider diversity of orientations? There is an extensive range of texts that are related in various ways to the orientation of churches (McCluskey 2007). Those that concern this analysis include: 1. Discussions of the importance of praying to the East. 2. Explicit statements of the proper way to orient churches. Our consideration of these texts will focus on what they reveal about medieval understandings of the proper way to orient churches and of the reasons for that orientation.

Orientation and Prayer The question of the orientation of churches was related to the general principle that the worshipper should face toward the eastern quarter of the sky to pray.

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St. Augustine, considering the opening of the Lord’s Prayer, “Our Father, Who art in heaven” (Matt. 6:9), maintained that worshippers should always face east at prayer. Augustine pointed out that this passage does not designate a particular location for God, for unlike the heavenly bodies, He cannot be contained within any space. Nonetheless, in a different sense, he is in heaven with the saints and the just. Yet at prayer we turn to the east, from whence heaven springs forth, not because God is physically there, but to symbolize that the just differ spiritually from sinners, as heaven differs materially from the earth. This tradition of turning toward the east to pray took firm hold, and for some even became mandatory. The monastic rule that Columbanus developed late in the sixth century for his Irish monasteries on the continent excused monks who crossed themselves without turning east when they were walking or hurrying from the house. That this had to be mentioned points out the importance normally attached to turning to the east at prayer. In his twelfth-century Gemma animae (cap. 95), Honorius of Autun gave three reasons for turning eastward to pray. First, he noted that Paradise, from which humankind had been expelled, is in the east and we pray to return there. Second, he presented a version of the argument seen in Augustine, that the light of day rises in the east and we pray in that direction to adore Christ, who is the East and the True Light. Thirdly, the Sun rising in the east portrays the rising of Christ, the Sun of Justice. Besides these texts which deal explicitly with the orientation of churches and the directions to pray, medieval sources provide insights into the symbolic connotations of the directions. An illustration in the eighth-century Calendar of St. Willibrord (Paris, BNF, MS Lat. 10837, fol. 42r; Obrist 2000, pp. 75–78) describes their significance this way: “East (oriens) is so named from the rising (ortu) of the Sun. It signifies the birth of a human. Then the Sun runs by the straight path over paradise”. and “West (occidens) is so named since it causes day to fall (occidere). It hides the light of the world. It signifies the death of a man”.

Architectural and Liturgical Principles of Orientation The concept that temples should be oriented to face sunrise was discussed by preChristian Roman writers and influenced their medieval readers. In his authoritative architectural handbook, the De architectura (1st. c. BC), Vitruvius discussed the factors that go into selecting the proper sites for a city and its buildings, and into determining their proper orientation. For religious structures, the principal factor in orientation was the view from the building. If not otherwise restricted, the temples of the gods should be so oriented that the image of the deity faces the west and the supplicant looks toward the eastern sky. In this way, the rising heaven and the image of the god seem to look back upon the worshiper (4. 5. 1-2). Vitruvius notes that if the nature of the site interferes, a temple located within a town should face the walls of the city, while a temple situated along the banks of a river should face the river. Vitruvius’s standard of orientation is east in the general sense of

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the eastern quarter of the horizon; he does not use the more precise term “equinoctial east” here, which he does use when discussing how to lay out a city using the places of sunrise and sunset at the solstices and equinoxes (1. 6. 4). Hyginus Gromaticus in his second-century treatise on surveying, the Constitutio limitum (1971, p. 134), provided a similar justification of the practice of orienting temples toward the east – toward “that part of heaven from which the earth is illuminated”. Sidonius Apollinaris’s fifth-century letter to Hesperius gave one of the earliest Christian allusions to the eastward orientation of churches, describing the orientation of the cemeterial church of St. Justus, recently built on a bluff overlooking the river Saoˆne in Lyons. Sidonius is more precise than Vitruvius and Hyginus, describing the church as not just facing east, but equinoctial east. This orientation toward sunrise draws light – that beautiful and potent symbol of the illumination of the darkened soul of a wayfarer on the journey to heaven – into the darkened church. He described “the curve of the front” of the church as facing equinoctial sunrise. Archaeological excavations make it clear that Sidonius is referring to the curved apse in the eastern end of the church (Reynaud 1986). Although he described the church as looking out on “the place of equinoctial sunrise”, in fact the church’s surviving footings are oriented about 35 south of east. This faces the river and is approximately the direction of winter solstice sunrise, which raises questions about the relation of Sidonius’s idealized description to actual practice. In the section of his seventh-century encyclopedia, the Etymologies (15. 4. 7) dealing with the major structures of in a typical Roman city, Bishop Isidore of Seville revealed a pagan antecedent of Christian traditions of eastward orientation. The general term for a sacred building, among which Isidore explicitly included Christian churches, is “temple”, for which he gave the fanciful etymology of locus designatus ad orientem a contemplatione, a place disposed to the east for contemplation. In this way, the front looks to the east, the back to the west, the left to the north, and the right to the south. He maintained that temples should be constructed facing equinoctial east, so that the line from sunrise to sunset would equally divide the left and right parts of the sky. In his short ninth-century treatise on churches and their fittings (cap. 4), Walahfrid Strabo observed that pagans built their temples in many different ways. He also noted that the altars of St. Peter’s and the Pantheon in Rome and of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem faced different directions, either by choice or necessity. Despite these differences, he considered that the more reasonable, wholesome, and common practice would orient the church so that we pray facing “Him of Whom it was written, ‘Behold a man, the Orient is his name’” (quoting Zachar. 6, 12). The idea that churches should be oriented toward equinoctial east is emphasized in Eadmer of Canterbury’s Life of St. Dunstan, written sometime between 1093 and 1109. Eadmer recounts that when Dunstan was archbishop of Canterbury (ca. 960–988), he arrived to dedicate a wooden church built on one of his estates. As he walked around the church during the dedication ritual, he noticed that it was

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not facing the equinoctial rising of the Sun. According to Eadmer, Dunstan then pushed gently against the church with his shoulder, and it was miraculously turned to face due east. This account indicates that the equinoctial orientation of churches was taken as the norm in England in the late tenth or late eleventh centuries. The twelfth century saw the emergence of Gothic architecture, a revitalized scholarly tradition, and the composition of a number of major treatises on religious rituals, which included discussions of the orientation of churches. Bishop John Beleth’s Summa de ecclesiasticis officiis (cap. 2g) and Bishop Sicard of Cremona’s Mitralis de officiis (cap. I.2) both maintained that churches should be oriented toward equinoctial east, not toward the place of summer solstice sunrise as some would have it. Sicard went on to describe the ritual for laying the foundation of a church. The bishop, or in his absence a priest, should bless the place where the church is to be built and the foundation stone. Then, turning to the equinoctial east, he should set up a table and celebrate mass. Sicard explains that the church building should be directed toward equinoctial east as a sign that the church should govern itself with equanimity in both prosperity and adversity. In his authoritative thirteenth-century discussion of the symbolism of Christian ritual, the Rationale divinorum officiorum (cap. I. 1. 8), Bishop William Durant employs the same argument used by Sicard as to why churches should face the equinoctial rising of the sun. He further justified this by presenting an extensive discussion of the importance and symbolism of praying toward the east (cap. V. 2. 57). The fourteenth-century French astronomer, William of St. Cloud (Harper 1966, pp. 145–147, 241–243), provided further arguments for the equinoctial orientation of churches. Since the church has one faith and one head, Jesus Christ, churches should be oriented in that eastward direction that is the same throughout the world. This direction falls midway between winter and summer sunrise. He also noted that when churches face due east, light shining through the windows can be used to determine the time for divine offices. Summarizing these ancient and medieval discussions of church and temple orientations, there is general agreement that churches should face the east, with many authorities from the fifth to the fourteenth centuries specifying equinoctial or true east. Nonetheless, it was apparent that many existing churches were not oriented directly to the east.

Deviations from Equinoctial East Walahfrid Strabo had attributed the variety of directions which altars faced as being due to either choice or necessity. William of St. Cloud (Harper 1966, p. 147, 243) had attributed it either to the limits of the site (e.g., the island on which the Cathedral of Notre Dame was located) or to the ignorance or lack of skill of the builders. But later investigators have asked whether something other than lack of skill – some other principle – underlay this diversity of orientations.

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The earliest attempts to find a pattern underlying the deviation of the orientation of churches from true east that I have found appear in the writings of English antiquaries. A common explanation of this deviation is that churches were built to face sunrise on the feast of the church’s patron saint. Francis Grose and Thomas Astle (1807-9 Vol. 1, 72) quoted this concept from John Aubrey’s 1678 manuscript on “The Customs and Manners of the English”. Aubrey, in turn, had based his discussion on Silas Taylor’s (1624–1678) examinations of churches. A related hypothesis was advanced by Robert Plot (1640–1696), who traced the diversity of church orientations to the varying positions of sunrise on the date that the church’s foundation was laid down, without connecting that event to the feast of the church’s patron saint (Grose and Astle 1807–9, Vol. 2, pp. 423–428). Henry Chauncy ([1700] 1975, pp. 43–46) also connected a church’s orientation with the date of its foundation, intimating that this event may be related to the feast of the Church’s patron saint, since after this ceremony “the singing Men say a kind of Collect for the Saint to whose Name the Church is to be dedicated”. The idea that churches were oriented to face sunrise on the feast of the church’s patron saint gained further definition and wider currency through William Wordsworth’s two poems on the foundation of Rydal Chapel (McCluskey 2004b). The second of these poems described how the founders of Rydal Chapel’s mother church had performed a nocturnal vigil before the feast of the church’s patron saint, waiting for the Sun to rise. Wordsworth asserted (1958, Vol. 4, pp. 165–169) that this orientation toward sunrise on the patron saint’s feast day was the reason that churches sometimes deviated from true east. However, recent systematic surveys of British churches (McCluskey 2006, 2007; Hinton 2010) have indicated that churches are not systematically oriented to face sunrise on the feast of the churches’ patron saints.

Significance for Future Surveys The documentary evidence for equinoctial orientation is a thousand years older than the oldest known texts for patronal orientation or for orientation based on the date of foundation. Lacking further evidence, an archaeoastronomical research program cannot assume a priori that churches were oriented by any of these principles. If evidence for equinoctial, patronal, or foundation-date orientation is to be found, they must be sought in systematic measurements of the orientations of standing churches or their remains. Two of these hypotheses, equinoctial orientation and orientation to sunrise on the feast of the church’s patron saint, provide clear, simple, culturally defined models that can be directly applied in archaeoastronomical investigations. Equinoctial sunrise is an ambiguous concept. It can represent sunrise at the geometric equinoxes, at a place on the horizon midway between the places of sunrise at the solstices, at a day midway between the days of the two solstices, or on a date given for the solstices in some source the builders considered authoritative (Ruggles 1999, pp. 150–151; McCluskey 2006, pp. 412–414). When considering

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calendar dates of the equinoxes, or of a patron’s feast, care must be taken to compute sunrise on those dates for the era when the church was constructed. From a methodological standpoint, orientations are only accepted as meaningful when there is a pattern of orientations that is not what we would expect by chance. The great number of medieval churches – some six to seven thousand existed in Britain by 1100 (Morris 1997, p. 166, Fig. 37) – makes it possible to obtain statistically meaningful samples of churches since most of these early medieval churches are still extant. With these numbers, we can establish in advance clear criteria of those sites to be included in an investigation, and divide them into groups for later analysis, thereby avoiding the hazard of selecting sites that are favorable to our hypothesis (Ruggles 1999, pp. 69–70; McCluskey 2006). It has been said that “all history is local history”, and so, we should expect the patterns of church orientation to vary with local circumstances. We cannot assume that churches in Greece share orientation practices with churches in England, or even that churches in the English midlands employ the same practices as churches in the west country. Investigations of groups of churches from these regions may find that they do, but this is to be demonstrated, not assumed a priori. Thus, the first criterion of any survey will define it in terms of specific geographic regions rather than mixing data from many culturally diverse regions. The second major criterion is chronological. Religious practices and building techniques are known to have changed with time, so it is not reasonable to assume that orientation practices remained constant over many centuries. Surveys should define a historical period to study – optimally one from which a large number of churches survive – and consciously exclude data from churches whose foundations were set down outside that chosen period. To the extent that a survey intends to test the hypothesis of patronal orientation, it is useful to select statistically meaningful subsamples of churches for each dedication, chosen from those that meet the stated geographic and chronological criteria. Here care should be taken to insure that the dedication under consideration dates to the time of the church’s original construction and is not a later change. More fine grained investigation may be undertaken when adequate documentary evidence is available to identify statistically meaningful numbers of churches within other well-defined categories. Categories could be defined by characteristics of the churches, whether large cathedrals or monastic churches, churches in large towns or small village churches, or by who founded them, whether nobles of various ranks, major ecclesiastical figures, religious orders, or village gentry. Investigations of such carefully defined samples may provide insights into the interaction of the orientations of churches with medieval religious culture.

Cross-References ▶ Astronomy in the Service of Christianity ▶ Church Orientations in Central and Eastern Europe ▶ Church Orientations in Slovenia

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▶ Interactions Between Islamic and Christian Traditions in the Iberian Peninsula ▶ Orientation of English Medieval Parish Churches

References Chauncy, H [1700] (1975) The historical antiquities of Hertfordshire. Kohler and Coombes, Dorking. Grose F, Astle T (1807–09) The antiquarian repertory. Edward Jeffrey, London. Harper RI (1966) The Kalendarium Regine of Guillaume de St.-Cloud. PhD dissertation, Emory University Hinton ID (2010) Aspects of the alignment and location of medieval rural Churches. PhD dissertation, University of East Anglia Hyginus G (1971) Constitutio limitum. In: Thulin C (ed) Corpus agrimensorum romanorum. B. G. Teubner, Suttgart Johnson W (1912) Byways in British archaeology. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge Lockyer JN [1894] (1964) The Dawn of astronomy: a study of the temple-worship and mythology of the ancient Egyptians. MIT Press, Cambridge McCluskey SC (2004a) Astronomy, time, and Churches in the early middle ages. In: Zenner M-T (ed) Villard’s legacy: studies in medieval technology, science and art in memory of Jean Gimpel. Ashgate, Aldershot, pp 197–210 McCluskey SC (2004b) Wordsworth’s Rydal Chapel’ and the orientation of Churches. In: Campion N (ed) The inspiration of astronomical phenomena, special double issue of Culture and Cosmos, vol 8, pp 211–224 McCluskey SC (2006) The orientations of medieval Churches: a methodological case study. In: Bostwick T, Bates B (eds) Viewing the sky through past and present cultures: proceedings of the Oxford VII international conference on archaeoastronomy. Pueblo Grande Museum Anthropological Papers No. 15, City of Phoenix Parks and Recreation Department, Phoenix, pp 409–420 McCluskey SC (2007) Calendrical cycles, the eighth day of the World, and the orientation of English Churches. In: Ruggles CLN, Urton G (eds) Skywatching in the Ancient World: new perspectives in cultural astronomy. University Press of Colorado, Boulder, pp 331–354 Morris R (1997) Churches in the landscape. Phoenix Giant, London Obrist B (2000) Saint Willibrord’s calendar and its astronomical sundial. Arch d’Histoire Doctrinale et Litte´raire du Moyen Age 67:71–118 Reynaud J-F (1986) Lyon (Rhoˆne) aux Premiers Temps Chre´tiens: Basiliques et Ne´cropoles, Guides arche´ologiques de la France, 10. Ministe`re de la Culture et de la Communication, Paris Ruggles CLN (1999) Astronomy in Prehistoric Britain and Ireland. Yale University Press, New Haven Wordsworth W (1958) The poetical works of William Wordsworth (de Selincourt E, Darbishire H: Ed). Clarendon Press, Oxford

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Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Determining Orientation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Accounting for the Orientation of English Medieval Parish Churches . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The Influence of Earlier Structures . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Restricted Sites . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Use of a Magnetic Compass . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Due-East Orientation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Solar-Based Orientations . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Festival or Patronal Orientation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Festival Orientation: True or False? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Conclusions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Abstract

Our understanding of the alignment of English medieval parish churches, after more than three centuries of research, is far from complete. The arrangement of relatively few structures has been explained beyond reasonable doubt, and tests of the overwhelmingly popular festival orientation theory are often insufficiently rigorous to provide convincing answers. Much work remains to be done, including verifying and analyzing some of the existing raw data, determining whether the present church was dedicated at the time of construction, examining wills for evidence of early dedications, measuring the effect of

P.G. Hoare Ely, Cambridgeshire, UK e-mail: [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_174, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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eastern horizons on sunrise azimuths, and consulting excavation reports to assess whether earlier buildings may have influenced the arrangement of those churches that replaced them.

Introduction A church’s footprint may be regarded as the outward expression of its sacred geometry. McCluskey (▶ Chap. 154, “Orientation of Christian Churches”, in this volume) reviewed the texts that define how medieval churches should be aligned, and he explained the significance of orientation for clergy and congregation. From this it might be assumed that these buildings face true east (Rodwell’s (1984, p. 5) “liturgically correct alignment”) or sunrise on the feast day of their patron saint, but it cannot be taken for granted that England shared practices with other parts of Christendom or that the same customs were followed throughout the country or, indeed, that instructions were always put into effect. In the absence of written directions for orienting individual churches, antiquarians, historians, clergy, physical scientists, and others have labored for at least 330 years to account for their alignment. Several thousand structures have been measured, and the results are discussed in numerous papers, theses, and books, most recently in Hinton’s (2010) exhaustive study. A number of controlling influences are clearly at play, and the more significant of these are explored below; an attempt is also made to explain why these protracted investigations have met with only limited success.

Determining Orientation The orientation of a church, or any part of its fabric, may be measured by sighting with a theodolite, prismatic or fluxgate compass or by holding a magnetic compass against the structure. A novel procedure using the web mapping service Google Maps and spherical geometry software is both accurate and rapid (Hoare and Ketel 2013). Orientations determined directly from British Ordnance Survey plans may be unreliable (Hoare, unpublished data). Compass cards and needles may be deflected by magnetic objects (Cave 1950, p. 47; Benson 1956, p. 213), and results obtained on magnetically stormy days should be regarded with caution. Magnetic orientations must be corrected for declination. Early publications, in particular, do not always include raw data, and in others the results may be unreliable. Hinton (2010, p. 33) remeasured 18 churches in Shore’s (1886) survey and found discrepancies as large as 17
. Ali and Cunich (2001, p. 156) doubted Cave’s (1950) “. . . relatively simplistic analysis of the dataset”. Moreover, the accuracy with which the orientation of a church reproduces the intentions of those who planned it cannot be assessed as setting-out and other errors are unknown.

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Accounting for the Orientation of English Medieval Parish Churches The Influence of Earlier Structures Churches may occupy sites of pagan or other pre-Christian worship or former public spaces; early wooden churches were rebuilt in stone; others have been replaced or greatly modified. Rodwell (1984, p. 1) suggested that “[t]here is no reason to doubt that the vast majority of these buildings [ca. 400 Anglo-Saxon churches that are recorded or are believed to have existed in Suffolk] lie beneath their medieval successors . . .” In each case, those who erected the newer structures may have adopted, or deliberately avoided, the earlier ground plan. Archaeological excavation reports may be helpful in this regard.

Restricted Sites Rodwell (1984, p. 15) believed that as a general rule pre-Romanesque (pre-late eleventh century) churches were accommodated within the existing natural and built landscape (see also Cave 1950, p. 50 and Hoare and Sweet 2000, pp. 168–169).

Use of a Magnetic Compass Magnetic declination in England increased from 8
E to 28
E between AD 800 and 1000 but had declined to 20
E by AD 1100 (Clark et al. 1988, Fig. 6). Since this phenomenon was not understood in medieval times, use of a (declination uncorrected) magnetic compass to orient the foundations of a church would give rise to a south-of-true-east alignment, the discrepancy being that of the contemporary declination value (in the absence of other errors). Ali and Cunich (2005, p. 56) and Hinton (2010, pp. 179–184) found no evidence for the use of a magnetic compass in the medieval period. Ali and Cunich (2005, p. 70) concluded that “. . . the first buildings in Western Europe, and probably the world, to have been . . . positioned . . . using declination-corrected compasses” were certain eighteenthcentury Queen Anne churches in London.

Due-East Orientation A relatively small proportion of medieval parish churches faces due east (see, e.g., Hinton 2010, Fig. 4.2); these might be seen simply as one component of a range of orientations which often displays a north-of-east mode (see under Solar-Based Orientations). It is difficult to account for many of these due-east buildings;

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a liturgically correct arrangement may not be the only explanation. Rodwell (1984, p. 4), however, believed some churches record “. . . a substantial shift of orientation . . . in the late Saxon or Norman period, to correct the liturgical axis”.

Solar-Based Orientations Nearly all English medieval parish churches are oriented within the “solar sunrise arc”, that is, between the solstice sunrise azimuths (see Hoare and Sweet 2000, pp. 168–169 and Hinton 2010, p. 48 for some rare exceptions). For sites in central England with an eastern horizon at sea level, the limits are ca. 48
T and ca. 129
T. Various sunrise-based explanations of church alignments have been proposed. Some buildings appear to be oriented with sunrise on Easter Sunday (Ali and Cunich 2005, p. 56; Hinton 2001, p. 11) or on or about May Day (Shore 1886, 1891, p. 17; but see Cave 1950, p. 50). A north-of-east mode evident in several large datasets (see, e.g., Shore 1886, pp. 106–107, 1891, p. 17, Cave 1950, p. 47, Hoare and Sweet 2000, p. 165, McCluskey 2004, p. 214, and Hinton 2010, Tables 1.3, 4.1) coincides with (among other parameters) sunrise azimuths at the beginning of spring. At this time, days may be frost-free and church foundations safely prepared (Chauncy 1700, pp. 43–44; Cave 1950, pp. 49–50; but see Airy 1856, p. 27). But this peak is also coincident with sunrise at the vernal equinox as stipulated in liturgical calendars (McCluskey 2004, p. 214). That certain churches might be oriented with sunset, where darkness reigns (see, e.g., Psalm 103: 12), may seem unlikely, but see, for example, Ali and Cunich (2001, pp. 173–174).

Festival or Patronal Orientation This extremely popular theory proposes that churches are aligned with the rising Sun on the feast day of the saint to whom the building was dedicated. The earliest known English work to promote this idea (now lost) is by Taylor (ca. 1678 in Brand 1813, p. 427); two poems on this subject by Wordsworth (1827 in Knight 1896) are frequently quoted (Hoare and Ketel 2013). Hoare and Sweet’s (2000) dataset appears to contain evidence to the contrary: 89 % of the 183 churches are oriented between 71
T and 109
T; since dedications to St. Peter (feast date 29 June, sunrise azimuth ca. 49
T) and to St. Andrew (30 November, ca. 126
T) were common in early medieval times (Orme 1996, Table 1), this range is unexpectedly narrow. Buildings that are currently dedicated to these saints show a considerable breadth of orientations: St. Peter, 60–106
T (n ¼ 20) and St. Andrew, 65–107
T (n ¼ 11) (but see under Patronal Dedications and The Influence of the Eastern Horizon). Any attempt to prove that a medieval church displays festival orientation is beset with problems and pitfalls, some of which are outlined below.

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Patronal Dedications By the late fourth century AD, churches were adopting a patron (saint) or patrons, and this was probably a general practice in England from the Conversion (AD 597) onward (Orme 1996, pp. 3–10; Cooper 2011, pp. 4–10). Some scholars have suggested that early buildings were not dedicated at the time of construction and that many remained so in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries (see, e.g., Addison 1966, pp. 37–38 and Orme 1996, p. 5). Cooper (2011, pp. 4–5), however, believed that “. . . almost all medieval churches . . . had their patron saint” but their names were documented only when required to identify separate parishes. Late-medieval wills are the best source of dedications (Cooper 2011, p. 5); they are also recorded occasionally in Domesday Book (1086–1087) (Williams and Martin 2002). Many of these early churches, however, have been heavily modified or replaced. Orme (1996, p. xi) noted that “. . . while other aspects of the building . . . are treated historically, the dedication is not”. As a result, festival orientation cannot be tested unreservedly against dedications in use today. Benson (1956, p. 211), an advocate of festival orientation, believed that the sunrise day (whose date he determined from the building’s alignment) “. . . preserves the original dedication of the first church on the site”, an approach somewhat lacking in rigor. Dedications were frequently forgotten at the Reformation (AD 1517), and those that survived probably died out during the Commonwealth (AD 1649–1660) (Benson 1956, p. 211; Cooper 2011, p. 4, 7). Interest in dedications was revived at the start of the eighteenth century but was accompanied by numerous guesses and unintentional changes (Orme 1996, p. 10; Cooper 2011, p. 4–5). Devotion to the Blessed Virgin Mary was especially common in the middle ages and again during the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. Many saints have major and minor festivals (see, e.g., Cheney and Jones 2000, pp. 63–93), but some churches have not maintained the link with a particular feast day. There are famous saints with the same name (e.g., Thomas the Apostle (AD ?–72) and Thomas of Canterbury (AD 1118–1170)). Every time the fabric of a church was substantially modified, it had to be reconsecrated and, perhaps, freshly dedicated. These potential pitfalls have not always been taken into account (see, e.g., Cave 1950, pp. 48–49). Butler (1986), Clark (1992), Orme (1996), and Cooper (2011) provide helpful summaries of the problems associated with establishing early church dedications. The Influence of the Eastern Horizon Compared with sunrise azimuth at sea level, hilly landscapes cause a southward shift of 20
or more in extreme cases. This important effect has almost invariably been ignored, made light of, or misunderstood by researchers (but see McCluskey 2004; Hinton 2010, pp. 109–110, and Hoare and Ketel 2013). The angular elevation of a church’s eastern horizon may be determined in various ways, most easily by the use of programs such as TrackLogs Digital Mapping (http://www.outdoorsmagic. com/product-reviews/tracklogs-digital-mapping-software-first-look/2415.html) (Hoare and Ketel 2013, Fig. 3).

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Fig. 155.1 The midfourteenth century St. Catherine’s chapel, Houghton St. Giles, Norfolk, looking northwest. The building faces sunrise on the feast of St. Catherine of Alexandria (November 25), the patron saint of pilgrims (Photograph: P.G. Hoare)

Festival Orientation: True or False? While several thousand English medieval parish churches have been examined for festival orientation, sufficient attention has seldom been paid to establishing their original dedication and the influence of the eastern horizon. It is difficult, therefore, in very many cases to judge the published findings. However, the mid-fourteenth century St. Catherine’s chapel at Houghton St. Giles, Norfolk (TF 920352; 52.88113
N, 0.85328
E) (Fig. 155.1), is directed exactly toward the rising Sun on the feast of St. Catherine of Alexandria1 (Hoare and Ketel 2013). This former chapel of ease was constructed for the well-being of pilgrims en route to nearby 1

St. Catherine’s feast day is 25 November. By the mid-fourteenth century, the accumulated discrepancy of dates between the Julian calendar and solar years amounted to eight days; the date of her festival at this time was therefore equivalent to 3 December according to the Gregorian calendar which was introduced in 1582 (but not adopted in Britain until 1752) (Cheney and Jones 2000, 1, 17–18).

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Walsingham. The chapel’s dedication to the patron saint of pilgrims is unsurprising, but the earliest reference to it in the patchy records that survive dates from 1509 (Taylor 1821, p. 65). It is only by conducting similarly detailed studies of medieval churches that the significance, or otherwise, of festival orientation will become clear.

Conclusions Even after 330 years of investigation, medieval church orientation studies in England are arguably still in their infancy. The alignment of relatively few buildings has been explained beyond doubt, and the much-favored festival orientation theory has rarely been tested with sufficient rigor. Much fresh work remains to be done, including verifying and reworking existing orientation data. It is imperative that the original dedication of the existing building is established, and here medieval wills or Domesday Book may be of value. Excavation reports may reveal the existence of an earlier structure on the site. The eastern horizon (or that to the west where a link with sunset might be suspected) may be readily determined using TrackLogs Digital Mapping or similar software, enabling published orientation data to be re-examined. While Google Maps and spherical geometry software allow the orientation of buildings to be determined accurately, conveniently, and rapidly, there is no substitute for visiting these often remarkable buildings to verify the results. Acknowledgements Grateful thanks are extended to Anne Milton, Caroline Sweet, Hans Ketel, and John McCullough.

Cross-References ▶ Church Orientations in Central and Eastern Europe ▶ Church Orientations in Slovenia ▶ Orientation of Christian Churches

References Addison W (1966) Parish church dedications in Essex. Trans Essex Archaeol Soc, 3rd Series 2:34–46 Airy W (1856) On festival orientation. Beds Archit Archaeol Assoc Rep Pap 3:19–27 Ali JR, Cunich P (2001) The orientation of churches: some new evidence. Antiqu J 81:155–193 Ali JR, Cunich P (2005) The church east and west: orienting the Queen Anne churches, 1711–34. J Soc Arch Hist 64:56–73 Benson HG (1956) Church orientations and patronal festivals. Antiqu J 36:205–213 Brand J (1813) Observations on popular antiquities: chiefly illustrating the origin of our vulgar customs, ceremonies, and superstitions. (Arranged and revised, with additions, by Henry Ellis.), vol 1. Printed for F.C. and D. Rivington, London

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Butler LAS (1986) Church dedications and the cults of Anglo-Saxon saints in England. In: Butler LAS, Morris RK (eds) The Anglo-Saxon church: papers on history, architecture, and archaeology in honour of Dr H. M. Taylor, The Council for British Archaeology Research Report 60. Council for British Archaeology, London, pp 44–50 Cave CJP (1950) The orientation of churches. Antiqu J 30:47–51 Chauncy H (1700) The historical antiquities of Hertfordshire. Printed for Ben. Griffin in the Great Old Baily, Sam. Keble at the Turks-head in Fleet-street, Dan. Browne at the Black Swan and Bible without Temple-Bar, Dan. Midwinter and Tho. Leigh at the Rose and Crown in St. Pauls Church-yard, London Cheney CR, Jones M (2000) A handbook of dates for students of British history, 2nd edn. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge Clark R (1992) The dedications of medieval churches in Derbyshire: their survival and change from the reformation to the present day. Derbys Archaeol J 112:48–61 Clark AJ, Tarling DH, Noe¨l M (1988) Developments in archaeomagnetic dating in Britain. J Archaeol Sci 15:645–667 Cooper J (2011) The church dedications and saints’ cults of medieval Essex. Scotforth, Lancaster Hinton ID (2001) The alignment of medieval churches. Annu Bull Norfolk Archaeol Hist Res Group 10:3–15 Hinton ID (2010) Aspects of the alignment and location of medieval rural churches. Unpublished D.Phil thesis, University of East Anglia Hoare PG, Ketel H (2013) English medieval churches, ‘festival orientation’ and William Wordsworth. Stars and stones: voyages in archaeoastronomy and cultural astronomy — a meeting of different worlds. British Archaeological Report. Archaeopress, Oxford (in press) Hoare PG, Sweet CS (2000) The orientation of early medieval churches in England. J Hist Geogr 26:162–173 Knight W (ed) (1896) The poetical works of William Wordsworth, vol 7. Macmillan, London McCluskey SC (2004) Wordsworth’s “Rydal Chapel” and the orientation of churches. Cult Cosm 8(1 and 2):209–224 Orme NI (1996) English church dedications with a survey of Cornwall and Devon. University of Exeter Press, Exeter Rodwell WJ (1984) Churches in the landscape: aspects of topography and planning. In: Faull ML (ed) Studies in late Anglo-Saxon settlement. Oxford University Department for External Studies, Oxford, pp 1–23 Shore TW (1886) Orientation of churches in Hampshire. Walford’s Antiqu 10:105–108 Shore TW (1891) Characteristic survivals of the Celts in Hampshire. J Anthropol Inst GB Irel 20:3–20 Taylor RC (1821) Index monasticus. R and A Taylor, London Williams A, Martin GH (eds) (2002) Domesday book a complete translation. Penguin, London

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Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cultural Context . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Methodology . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Archaeoastronomical Significance . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Methodological Considerations for Future Work . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Concluding Comments . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Abstract

The high number of churches built during the Romanesque period in Slovenia provides a unique dataset from which to study church orientation using archaeoastronomical methods. An innovative methodology revealed a specific pattern of motivation for church alignment, ultimately revealing a greater depth of thought, process, and intentionality than has previously been recognized relative to this subject.

Introduction Churches are ubiquitous throughout the landscape of Slovenia, their sheer number (estimated at around 3,000; 2,358 churches currently fall under the jurisdiction of the Institute for the Protection of National Heritage of Slovenia, according to the

S. Cˇaval Institute of Anthropological and Spatial Studies, Scientific Research Centre of the Slovenian Academy of Sciences and Arts, Ljubljana, Slovenia Department of Anthropology, Stanford University, Stanford, CA, USA e-mail: [email protected]; [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_175, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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Register of Real-estate Cultural Heritage, # Ministry of Culture, August 2012) pays testament to the cultural significance of this type of ecclesiastic architecture. Thus, this region offers a unique dataset from which to study the significance of church orientation, as an architectural expression of religious ideology and the role within the cultural landscape (Cˇaval 2010). This chapter focuses on the Romanesque period, which spans the early eleventh to the late thirteenth centuries in this part of Europe. Over three centuries, the underlying network of parishes established during Christianization (sixth to ninth centuries) was widely extended and subdivided. One highly visible indicator by which it is possible to gauge the overall importance and prosperity of this religion in the Romanesque period is the high number of new parochial churches and minor chapels. Written sources report on the early Christian and medieval regulation of church orientation; however, the question remains as to the extent to which this held true in Slovenia.

Cultural Context During the course of history, this region was influenced from two directions: from the south and southeast elements of Mediterranean culture arrived, and from the north and northwest, continental cultural elements. During the medieval period, the country was divided into two ecclesiastic entities, the Salzburg archbishopric and the Aquileia patriarchate, the division between them being formed by the river Drava. The first, having its seat north of Slovenia, distributed a “Germanic” mode of religion, while the second promoted Mediterranean Christianity, originating in Adriatic Italy. The difference between the two lay not only in the structural design of the churches they built, such as architectural elements and ground plans, but also in the patron saints they worshiped and in the way the missionaries propagated the religion in “pagan countries” with some indirectly allowing old beliefs to survive (Zadnikar 1982; Ho¨fler 1986).

Methodology The study reported here combined both traditional (Dinsmoor 1939; Benson 1956) and contemporary methodological approaches (Sˇprajc 1991; Ruggles 1999; Schaefer 1998). Orientations were measured with a theodolite along both longitudinal walls of the nave with the Sun acting as an astronomical reference. Magnetic compass readings were used as a control measure. Corresponding horizon altitudes were taken where possible; elsewhere, they were calculated using the digital terrain model of Slovenia (DTM 12,5; # The Surveying and Mapping Authority of the Republic of Slovenia, 2005). Declination calculations included atmospheric refraction. Astronomical orientation computations were undertaken using well-known calculations (Aveni 1991, 2001; Sˇprajc 1991; Ruggles 1999; Schaefer 1993). As a result, the Julian dates corresponding to the indicated declinations were determined for both eastern and western horizons.

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These calculations were performed using the JPL Ephemeris software available online and took into account the date of construction. The exact year of either consecration or construction was known only for a few churches. Others, sourced from published works, were dated on the basis of stylistic design, although this effectively meant that the church in question could have been built at any point during the Romanesque period; in the latter cases, Julian dates were determined for the year AD 1180, a mathematical mean of the Romanesque period in Slovenia.

Archaeoastronomical Significance The study was able to reject some and confirm other hypotheses that had hitherto been used to explain the orientation policies of Medieval sacral architecture (Guszik 1978; Firneis and Ko¨berl 1989; Abrahamsen 1992; Ali and Cunich 2001; McCluskey 2006; Hinton 2006 and others). The recorded data were evaluated and interpreted following two different modi operandi. For the first, completely statistical approach, level-bar and cumulative histograms were produced in order to create graphical distribution charts of values. As a result, groups of orientations that appear frequently and in a higher number of churches became evident. The second approach was based on an individual evaluation of orientation and included contextual information about the church and its location. The final interpretation of a specific alignment was often altered from the primary, statistical, and obvious assessment. During individual interpretations, the complexity of issues and the difficulty of a decision about the intended orientation of each individual church became clear. There are four possible dates and two declinations for each church, which in many cases offer several interpretative options. The initial data analysis showed a nonuniform distribution of orientations. The churches’ longitudinal axes are usually oriented in a generally east-west direction with their altars toward the east, which corroborates the textual sources. The azimuths are distributed unevenly with most of them not aligned toward the true east. They are evidently concentrated around a few different values. The hypothesis about aligning medieval churches to magnetic east cannot be confirmed. The majority of declinations fall within the range of those attained by the Sun, suggesting that the orientations refer mostly to solar positions on the horizon, corroborating early Christian sources. The greater degree of clustering of eastern declinations suggests that east was the more important direction for orienting churches, which is reinforced by early Christian and medieval written sources. However, a degree of clustering does occur around certain declinations marked on the western horizon as well. It is thus highly likely that some churches were oriented to sunsets on certain dates. With the aim of assessing the validity of various orientation hypotheses, the declinations themselves as well as their conversions to Julian calendar dates were gauged, taking into account when the churches were constructed. In order to identify the possible motives for the orientations noted and to ascertain whether

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Table 156.1 A list of dates and feasts, toward sunrise or sunset, to which a large number of medieval churches from Slovenia were oriented February 22nd March 12th March 25th

Eastern horizon Feast of the Chair of Peter at Antioch; the beginning of agricultural springa Feast of St. Gregory; the beginning of astronomical springa Feast of the Annunciation of Mary; a traditional Roman vernal equinox day Feast of St. Agape, Chionia, and Irene Feast of St. Augustine

March 12th

Western horizon Feast of St. Gregory; the beginning of astronomical springa

March 21st Ecclesiastic equinox

March 25th

Feast of the Annunciation of Mary; a traditional Roman vernal equinox day April 1st September Feast of Nativity of Mary 8th August September The transition of the Sun in Libra 28th 17th August Feast of Beheading of St. John, September Feast of St. Rupert; conception of 29th the Baptist 24th St. John, the Baptist; a traditional Roman autumn equinox day September The transition of the Sun in 17th Libra September Feast of St. Matthew; 21st a traditional Greek autumn equinox day

a

In Slovenian medieval folk calendar (Trubar 1986; Makarovicˇ 1995).

the churches were intended to record particular sunrise or sunset dates, independent, contextual evidence was examined. The graphic presentation of the declinations exhibited the declination groups, which clustered around certain dates of the year (Table 156.1), suggesting that most churches’ orientations correspond to those dates (Cˇaval 2009; 2010). The feasts listed in Table 156.1 ordinarily originate in the pre-Christian period; some of them are pagan festivals from Roman times, others a meaningful date in medieval folk calendars, based mainly upon agricultural cycles (the medieval economy being agrarian, the civil calendar divided the solar year into parts corresponding to the growth of crops). As the Church could not erase the feasts from the peoples’ traditional celebrations and calendars, they were adopted and subsequently overlaid by Christian celebratory events. For example, February 22nd, indicated already in early liturgical calendars, originates from an important Roman festival named caristia, celebrated in “honor of ancestors”. It was adopted as an important liturgical festival (Metford 1991; Pietri 2002), and also had a significant meaning in the agricultural folk calendar: in the territory of present Slovenia, it represented a day when agricultural spring begun (Trubar 1986; Makarovicˇ 1995). The role of a feast in a local society is also an important element. A key medieval manuscript from Slovenia, a pocket centenary calendar from 1415 (Calendarium portatile ad annum 1415, National and University Library, Ljubljana, Slovenia,

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Manuscript Collection RR 358899), based on an older version from 1055, has been very effective in deciphering the significance of these dates. It shows the most important feasts for each month in the year individually highlighted by the color of ink used. For example, red ink marked feasts of greater significance, with special liturgical content (indicating a double obligation for followers: to rest from work and to attend Mass) as opposed to a simple feast day, which was marked in black. In this calendar, February 22nd is written in red (Dolar 1986). While the study established that most churches registered important Christian festivals, several actually corresponded to astronomically significant declinations: for example, declinations aligned to the true equinox (8.6 %). Interestingly, 75 % of churches with such orientation register equinoctial alignment toward the western horizon – according to textual sources, the west was of a significantly less importance. Yet, the concept of astronomical equinox was clearly acknowledged in the medieval period; thus, these orientations could be intentional. However, this principle did not predominate in the area. Analogously, there are a number of declinations very close to solstitial orientations (13.8%), although this phenomenon can be readily explained since the two solstitial calendar dates were also two important Christian feasts: June 24th, the birth of St. John the Baptist, and December 25th, the birth of Jesus Christ, Christmas. It is not impossible that some churches were built to intentionally register the position of the Sun on the horizon on these two festivals. Furthermore, some churches that show this orientation could have been built on pre-Christian temples and sanctuaries and when rebuilt, they preserved the original objects’ orientation; solstitial orientations were common in prehistoric Europe (Ruggles 2005). Only 7.5% of churches are oriented toward their patron saint’s feast. It cannot be mere coincidence that half of these were dedicated to St. Mary with an orientation toward either 25th March or 15th August. The feast of a patron expressed in the orientation of a church does not necessarily represent one of the major saints’ festivals. The hypothesis about orientation of churches toward their patron saint can in some cases be confirmed, although the rule is not to be generalized. Some declinations are close to those reached by the Moon at its minor and major standstill limits (15%). The significance of the Moon in Christianity is well acknowledged, which readily explains why the Moon might be used for church alignments. Yet there is no data in medieval written sources regarding such protocols, so it seems more likely that they were oriented as a consequence of being built on top of pre-Christian temples and inadvertently maintained the earlier buildings’ direction: lunar orientation in prehistoric western Europe was frequent (Thom 1971; Morrison 1980; Ruggles 1999; Belmonte and Hoskin 2002).

Methodological Considerations for Future Work The study outlined herein raises a number of key issues. First, we know very little regarding the methods of observation used in the past. Second, the calculated

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Fig. 156.1 A month of February in the pocket calendar from 1415, with feasts clearly marked in red or black ink. February 2nd (Candlemass), 22nd (Feast of the Chair of Peter at Antioch), and 24th (feast of Saint Matthias) are noted as important liturgical festivals (Dolar 1986)

declinations were applied for the center of the Solar disk on the horizon, which is a speculative point of reference as we cannot know for certain the standard used in the past. The original observations, for the purpose of orientation, could have been defined at the moment when the first – or the last – ray of Sun was visible on the horizon. Finally, the level of precision with which churches were aligned still cannot be determined. Therefore, some churches were apparently oriented accurately to a specific point, while others demonstrated a degree of deviation from the direction that seems more significant.

Concluding Comments The orientation of sacral architecture and the spatial distribution of various archeological structures is significant as it contributes much to our knowledge of past cultures, their associated technologies, and modes of cultural expression. Therefore, accurate orientation measurements should be an integral part of archeological survey and excavation. If, for example, an excavation undertaken at the site of a church reveals the foundations of previous building, e.g., a temple, then it is essential that accurate survey of its orientation be under taken as this could clarify the reason for the orientation of the church itself. Despite the issues that currently remain, the results described here provide a basis for further, more in-depth studies.

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Cross-References ▶ Church Orientations in Central and Eastern Europe ▶ Orientation of Christian Churches ▶ Orientation of English Medieval Parish Churches

References Abrahamsen N (1992) Evidence for church orientation by magnetic compass in twelfth-century Denmark. Archaeometry 34(2):293–303 Ali JR, Cunich P (2001) The orientation of churches: some new evidence. Antiq J 81:155–193, London Aveni AF (1991) Archaeoastronomy, vol 4. Tucson, Arizona, pp 1–77 Aveni AF (2001) Skywatchers: A revised and updated version of skywatchers of ancient Mexico. University of Texas Press, Austin Belmonte JA, Hoskin M (2002) Reflejo del Cosmos: Atlas de Arqueoastronomı´a del Mediterraneo Antiguo. Equipo Sirius, Madrid Benson H (1956) Church orientations and patronal festivals. Antiq J 36(3–4):205–213 Cˇaval S (2009) Astronomical orientations of sacred architecture during the medieval period in Slovenia. In: Rubin˜o-Martı´n JA, Belmonte JA, Prada F, Alberdi A (eds) Cosmology across cultures. ASP conference series, vol 409. Cˇaval S (2010) Astronomska usmeritev romanskih cerkva v Sloveniji [Astronomical Orientations of Romanesque churches in Slovenia]. Unpublished doctoral thesis, University of Ljubljana Dinsmoor BW (1939) Archaeology and astronomy. Proc Am Philos Soc 80(1):95–173 Dolar J (1986) Koledarcˇek iz leta 1415. Pocket calendar for the year 1415. Cankarjeva zalozˇba, Ljubljana Firneis MG, Ko¨berl C (1989) Further studies on the astronomical orientation of Medieval churches in Austria. In: Aveni AF (ed) World archaeoastronomy. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, pp 430–435 ˚ quinoktialen Ostung im Mittelalter. Guszik T (1978) Sol Aequinoctialis – Zur Frage der A Periodica Polytechnica Architecture 22(3–4):191–213, Technical University of Budapest, Budapest Hinton I (2006) Church alignment and patronal saint’s days. Antiq J 86:206–226, London Ho¨fler J (1986) O prvih cerkvah in prazˇupnijah na Slovenskem. Prolegomena k historicˇni topografiji predjozˇefinskih zˇupnij. Razprave Filozofske fakultete, Ljubljana Makarovicˇ G (1995) Slovenci in cˇas: odnos do cˇasa kot okvir in sestavina vsakdanjega zˇivljenja, Knjizˇna zbirka Krt 94. Krtina, Ljubljana McCluskey SC (2006) The medieval liturgical calendar, sacred space, and the orientation of churches. In: Sołtysiak A (ed) Proceedings of the conference “Time and Astronomy in Past Cultures”. Institute of Archaeology, University of Warsaw, Torun´/Warsaw, pp 139–148 Metford JCJ (1991) The Christian year. Crossroad, New York Morrison LV (1980) On the analysis of megalithic lunar sightlines in Scotland. Archaeoastronomy 2. (Supplement to the Journal for the History for Astronomy 11), S65–S77 Pietri C (2002) Peter (St. Peter the Apostole). In: Levillain P, O’Malley JW (eds) The papacy: an encyclopedia 2. Routledge, New York/London, pp 1156–1161 Ruggles C (1999) Astronomy in prehistoric Britain and Ireland. Yale University Press, New Haven Ruggles C (2005) Ancient archaeoastronomy: an encyclopedia of cosmologies and Myth. ABC-CLIO, Santa Barbara Schaefer BE (1993) Astronomy and the limits of vision. Archaeoastronomy: The Journal of the center for Archaeoastronomy 11:78–90

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Schaefer BE (1998) Celestial visibility for astronomy history. Bull Am Astron Soc 30:1283–1284 Sˇprajc I (1991) Arheoastronomija. Posebna sˇtevilka Arhea, Ljubljana Thom A (1971) Megalithic lunar observatories. Oxford University Press, Oxford Trubar P (1986) Ta slovenski kolendar kir vselei terpi. Delo, Ljubljana Zadnikar M (1982) Romanika v Sloveniji. Tipologija in morfologija sakralne arhitekture. Drzˇavna zalozˇba Slovenije, Ljubljana

Church Orientations in Central and Eastern Europe

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Rimvydas Lauzˇikas

Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Location of Central and Eastern Europe . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cultural Context . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Scientific Evidence . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Church Orientation Traditions and their Significance . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Future Directions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Abstract

The objective of this case study is to discuss church orientation in Central and Eastern Europe. Due to its geographical situation, this region is a specific part of European cultural space: it is remote from the main cultural centers, it was the last to adopt Christianity, and it experienced intensive interactions with Byzantine culture. Therefore, we can assess church orientation in Central and Eastern Europe as a tradition affected by multicultural interactions and in which there is an interlacement of Catholicism from Western Europe, Byzantinism, local pagan faiths and, in part, the ideas of conception of geographical space of the Jews, Karaites, and Muslims.

Introduction The perception of space determined by mentality, religion, and paleo-science has always been among the most important factors defining culture (geographical space was a basis for material and cultural space was one of the major worldview

R. Lauzˇikas Faculty of Communication, Vilnius University, Vilnius, Lithuania e-mail: [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_176, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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structures). When discussing the perception of cultural spaces in past societies, we should differentiate between macro- and micro-spaces. Macro-space is the more cosmological category (Hakanen 2011); it is dependent on and expressible through religion, myths, or rituals. Church orientations reflect a common perception of the main directions – east, west, south, and north – in Christian culture. Here, the west– east direction as a symbolic way to salvation; waiting for the second coming of Christ in the east is of exceptional importance (Goff 1991). Micro-space is a space where an individual and community accumulate their empirically validated experience. Environmentally, it is an ecological niche, the resources of which are not sufficient for the survival of a specific community (Korpela 2011). Culturally, it is a structured space divided into sacred and daily parts, where there are different spatial discourses. In Christianity, sacred space encompasses not only cult buildings but also churchyards fenced off from worldly uproar and memorial places (Hamilton and Spicer 2005). In the investigation of church orientations, we should also pay attention to the third important aspect of cultural space, which is ideologically between macro-space and micro-space; it is a perception and geographical localization of the Holy Jerusalem. Being an integral part of cosmological macro-space, Jerusalem is still a true geographical object. Although it is perceived to be in the center of the world on the medieval Imago Mundi, geographically it is located eastward from Western Europe. These ideas of cultural space were interpreted differently in different regions. The objective of this case study is to examine the geographical orientation of church buildings so as to reveal how Christian ideas determined by astronomical knowledge were interpreted in Central and Eastern Europe.

Location of Central and Eastern Europe Central and Eastern Europe is a historically formed region of Europe located northward from the former boundary of the Roman Empire (area of impact of Antique culture) and eastward from the eastern boundary of Charlemagne’s Empire (area of impact of early Medieval culture), bordering the Baltic Sea in the north and in the west. In terms of contemporary political geography, they are the territories of the Czech Republic, Slovakia, Poland, Lithuania, Latvia, Belarus, Ukraine, Moldova, and the European part of Russia. The boundary between Central and Eastern Europe could be traced along the boundary of distribution of Roman Catholicism and Byzantine Christianity in the late Middle Ages. On this understanding, the present Czech Republic, Slovakia, Poland, Lithuania, Latvia, and Estonia would be attributed to Central Europe, and Belarus, Ukraine, Moldova, and the European part of Russia to Eastern Europe. According to some authors, the whole of present Germany, Austria, and even Switzerland could be attributed to Central Europe (Jordan 2005). However, this point of view is more based on the geopolitical situation of the nineteenth century and is not applicable in the case of the spread of Christian culture in the Middle Ages.

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Cultural Context The processes that were going on in Central and Eastern Europe in the Middle Ages determined the specificity of this region, which is important in analyzing church orientations in the region. The most important specific features of the region are the following: 1. It is geographically far away from the main centers of Christian culture — Rome, Paris, and Constantinople. Therefore, the tradition of Christianity was mostly taken over indirectly, through intercessors that enculturated Christian traditions into local contexts. 2. From a religious point of view, it is a twofold region where Catholic and Byzantine Christian traditions interact. The boundary of the natural distribution of these religious traditions settled and intense exchange of ideas was taking place along this boundary. For instance, in the territory of the Grand Duchy of Lithuania (GDL), most masonry Byzantine churches were built in Catholic architectural styles (Gothic, Baroque), and, in 1596, the Church Union of Brest was one of the most successful attempts to reunite the Eastern and Western churches. 3. Christianity was spreading more slowly in this region than in Western Europe. The late spread of Christianity meant that paganism was still a prevailing religious tradition in many regions until the thirteenth to fifteenth centuries, and its marginalized elements (in the form of folk superstitions) survived until the eighteenth to nineteenth centuries. 4. One of the largest and most influential medieval states in the region of Central and Eastern Europe, the GDL, was established on pagan ideological foundations, which became the basis for tolerance of the governing elites of Lithuania in the Middle Ages. This tolerance created favorable conditions for intercultural exchange of ideas in the large region.

Scientific Evidence The scientific evidence supporting this case study is based on three key sources: analysis of theoretical literature about church orientation in the Middle Ages (Goff 1991; Dietz 2005; Hinton 2010; Sparavigna 2012); analysis of literature about church orientation in the different countries of Central and Eastern Europe (Erdmanis and Jansons 1984; Koberl 1984; Barlai 1986; Ministr 1997; Heilbron 1999; Pantazis et al. 2004); and studies of church orientation in Lithuania (Lauzˇikas 2008). The investigation of church orientation in Central and Eastern Europe is impeded by the prevailing tradition of wooden architecture. Wooden churches were less durable buildings than masonry ones. Under such conditions, it is much more difficult to ensure the continuity of tradition of church building orientation, because we cannot measure the orientation of many buildings of the thirteenth to fifteenth centuries in situ. Therefore, in order to enrich the study, it is necessary to use additional sources, such as archaeological investigations, written sources, iconography, and cartography.

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Church Orientation Traditions and their Significance Archaeoastronomical traditions of church building orientation and perception of cultural space in the region were based on the traditions of Eastern and Western Christianity, the intercultural interaction of Christianity with the pagan tradition, and intercultural interactions of Christianity and other religions. The main Christian eschatological tradition of space perception is based on the statement of the sacrality of the eastern direction (Dietz 2005; Gordon 1971), the east being considered to be the point of sunrise at the equinoxes. All Byzantine churches are oriented according to this tradition (Кеслеp 2003; Pantazis et al. 2004), as are a majority of Catholic churches of the pre-Gothic period and especially the early pre-Gothic period (Koberl 1984; Sparavigna 2012). In Lithuania, 42.63% of Catholic churches are canonically oriented; it should be noted that among the earlier (fourteenth- to sixteenth-century) buildings, 88.1% of such churches are thus oriented. During the late Antique and early Medieval periods, it was not difficult to understand that the geographical direction of east was directly linked to the direction of sunrise. After all, the Latin etymology of the word orientation means “to direct toward the sunrise”. From the pagan cult of the Sun and Christian mythology, the second idea of church orientation was formed – to orient the building toward a specific symbolic point linked to the sunrise on the day of its patron saint. Two kinds of such Catholic church orientation are known. In one of them, earlier and more canonical, the apse of a church is oriented toward the sunrise point. The other is the converse (contravening the canon): in this case the main entrance of a church is turned to the east in order that the rays of the sunrise will light up the great altar, and the saint’s relic within it, on the patron’s day. A few churches with this type of orientation are recorded in Western Europe (Hinton 2010; Sparavigna 2012); examples in Central and Eastern Europe include St. Vitus Cathedral of the fourteenth century in Prague, Czech Republic (Koberl 1984) and St. George’s Church of the sixteenth century in Tauragnai (Utena region), Lithuania (Lauzˇikas 2008). When Christianity crossed the borders of the Roman Empire, and Germanic and Slavic tribes and the early states underwent Christianization in the seventh to tenth centuries, more fragments of Indo-European paganism had to be enculturated into the Christian tradition. This induced the occurrence of modifications of the latter tradition whereby the sacral sunrise point was replaced with a local sacral object deriving from the relationship of local people baptized within Pagan micro-space. One of the ways to integrate sacral objects of pagan micro-space was to ascribe Christian content to such objects. When analyzing the spread of Christianity in the region, we can assert that parts of pagan cult sites remained excluded from Christian micro-space by giving them demonic meanings, linking them to myths about ghosts or devils, while other sites were resacralized in a Christian manner by linking them to visitations of the Blessed Virgin Mary (Дучыц and Клімковіч 2011). Such Christianized micro-space sites became the objects of church orientation. The Catholic churches of the seventeenth century in Skudutisˇkis village

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(Mole˙tai region) and Sˇiluva (Raseiniai region), Lithuania, have been investigated. Their main entrances are precisely oriented toward the holy places located approximately 600 m away from the churches. Intercultural interaction that was taking place in the tolerant space of the GDL in the thirteenth to eighteenth centuries determined the formation of another regional tradition of church orientation. The aforementioned Christian canonical tradition is linked to the geographical direction of the holy city, Jerusalem, that is eastward in respect of Western Europe. But in respect to Central and Eastern Europe, Jerusalem is in an absolutely different direction, to the South. The perception of the changed direction could emerge through intercultural interaction in the environment of other religions related with Christianity – Judaism and Islam. The most sacred place in a synagogue, the bimah, must be oriented in the direction of the true Jerusalem (Dietz 2005), just as an analogical place in a mosque, the mihrab, must be oriented in the direction of Mecca. Moreover, Muslims had to turn toward Mecca in their daily prayer by means of a special compass, the qibla. If we make presumptions about the perception of the changed direction in the Christian community, we should look for churches that are oriented in a north–south direction rather than in an east–west direction. From this point of view, Gothic Catholic and Orthodox churches built in the former territory of the Grand Duchy of Lithuania are very interesting. Most of them, although oriented in a canonical east–west direction, have separate entrances in the middle of the nave in the southern wall. In such a way, the canonical orientation is maintained and the direction of Jerusalem far to the South is honored. Such entrances are found in St. Nicholas’ and St. John’s Churches of the fourteenth century in Vilnius, Lithuania, and in St. Trinity Cathedral of the fifteenth century in Ishkold, Belarus. In Lithuania, 38.03 % of churches are oriented in such a way.

Future Directions The traditions and their intercultural interaction presented in the case study are an interesting subject for further investigations. On the one hand, it is necessary to accumulate as much empirical material validating the existence of aforementioned traditions of church orientation as possible; on the other hand, the development of the chosen methodological view of intercultural communication could permit the identification of more points of interaction between Eastern and Western Christianity, Christianity and paganism, and Christianity and other religions in different European regions as well as the identification of more traditions of a regional nature.

Cross-References ▶ Astronomy in the Service of Christianity ▶ Church Orientations in Slovenia ▶ Disciplinary Perspectives on Archaeoastronomy

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▶ Orientation of Christian Churches ▶ Orientation of English Medieval Parish Churches ▶ Role of Light–Shadow Hierophanies in Early Medieval Art

References Barlai K (1986) Some archeoastronomical problems in East-Central Europe. In: Oxford Conference of Archaeoastronomy. Merida, Mexico Dietz H (2005) The eschatological dimension of church architecture: the Biblical roots of church orientation. Sacred Architecture 10:12–14 Дучыц Л, Клімковіч І (2011) Сакральная геаграфія Беларусі. Літаратура і Мастацтва, Мінск Erdmanis G, Jansons A (1984) Seno celtnu orientacija. J Zvaigzˇnota debess II:15–26 Gordon BL (1971) Sacred directions, orientation, and the top of the map. J Hist Religions 10–3:211–227 Hakanen M (2011) The reach of power. In: Lamberg M, Hakanen M, Haikari J (eds) Physical and cultural space in pre-industrial Europe. Nordic Academic Press, Lund, pp 199–216 Hamilton S, Spicer A (2005) Defining the holy: sacred space in medieval and early modern Europe. Ashgate Publishing Limited, Fanham Heilbron JL (1999) The sun in the church: cathedrals as solar observatories. Harvard University Press, Cambridge MA Hinton ID (2010) Aspects of the alignment and location of medieval rural churches. PhD thesis. University of East Anglia, Norwich Jordan P (2005) Großgliederung Europas nach kulturr€aumlichen Kriterien. J Eur Reg 13–4:162–173 Кеслер МЮ (2003) Принцип канонической традиции в православном храмостроительстве. In: Православные храмы и комплексы: Пособие по проектированию и строительству. Арххрам, Москва Koberl L (1984) On the astronomical orientation of St.Vitus cathedral. In: Bulletin of Astronomical Institute of Czechoslovakia. Astronomical Institute of Czechoslovakia, Praha, pp 24–39 Korpela J (2011) In deep, distant forests. In: Lamberg M, Hakanen M, Haikari J (eds) Physical and cultural space ir pre-industrial Europe. Nordic Academic Press, Lund, pp 95–123 Lauzˇikas R (2008) Some cosmological aspects of Catholic churches in Lithuania. J Archaeol Balt 10:200–206 le Goff J (1991) Medieval civilization 400–1500. Blackwell Publishing, Malden Ministr Z (1997) Christian rotundas in Bohemia with Pagan orientation to the Sun. In: Jaschek C, Atrio F (eds) Actas del IV congreso de la SEAC “Astronomia en la cultura”. SEAC, Salamanca, pp 14–22 Pantazis G, Sinachopoulos D, Lambrou E, Korakitis R (2004) Astrogeodetic study of the orientation of ancient and Byzantine monuments: methodology and first results. J Astron Hist Heri 7–2:74–80 Sparavigna AC (2012) Ad Orientem: the Orientation of Gothic Cathedrals of France. [interactive] Access by internet: http://arxiv.org/ftp/arxiv/papers/1209/1209.2338.pdf

Role of Light–Shadow Hierophanies in Early Medieval Art

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Kirsten Ataoguz

Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Dramatic Lighting Effects . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Windows and Light Symbolism . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Spotlighting . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Conclusion . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Abstract

In the early Middle Ages, solar observance shaped the art and architecture of Christian churches in primarily three ways. First, medieval writers from across the Mediterranean often related dramatic lighting effects to alignment with the rising sun on astronomically and liturgically significant days. Second, in still-surviving pictorial compositions, light coming in through strategically placed windows aligned with the east–west axis stands in for Christ in a variety of recognizable compositions. Third, archaeoastronomers have hypothesized that select medieval pictorial programs were coordinated with fenestration to spotlight-specific scenes and figures on specific days and at specific hours.

K. Ataoguz Indiana University-Purdue University Fort Wayne, Fort Wayne, IN, USA e-mail: [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_177, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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Introduction Solar observance and Christian practice intersected at least as early as the fourth century, by which time the birth dates of Christ and John the Baptist were aligned with the winter and summer solstices, and early medieval church decoration, both Western and Byzantine, attests to a critical and ongoing role played by the sun in Christian practice and belief. First, early medieval writers related meaningful lighting effects in religious buildings to alignment with the rising sun. Second, early medieval pictorial compositions included natural light as a symbol of Christ. Third, early medieval pictorial programs may have even been coordinated with fenestration to spotlight scenes and figures, in certain instances, on specific days and at precise hours.

Dramatic Lighting Effects The creation of dramatic lighting effects through east–west alignment had both pagan and Jewish precedent. Although not widely applied, Vitruvius (ca. 15 BCE) instructed that the cult statue in a temple should face west so that the sun rises behind it (On Architecture 4.5). The Temple of Solomon in Jerusalem had the opposite orientation with the result that the sun competed with the altar for worshippers’ devotion, as attested to by Ezekiel’s vision of 25 men facing away from the temple to pray toward the rising sun (Ezekiel 8.16). According to a medieval tradition deriving from Josephus, the doors of the temple complex in Jerusalem aligned so that the rising equinoctial sun passed through them to illuminate the Ark of the Covenant (Josephus, Antiquities of the Jews 3.6.3, 93–94 CE; Bede, Thirty Questions on the Book of Kings 12, ca. 725 CE). Bede, an English monk, interpreted the passage of light through the portico and then into the temple typologically, as a representation of the relationship between the Old and New Testaments (Bede, On the Temple 1.6.2, ca. 729–731). The Frankish monk Walahfrid Strabo, on the other hand, interpreted the passage of light devotionally, as conveying the prayers of those who could not enter (Libellus de exordiis et incrementis quarundam in observationibus ecclesiasticis rerum Chapter 4, ca. 840–842). Descriptions of late antique churches attest to the legacy of the temple as a model for Christian architecture. At the time of Constantine, Eusebius described similar lighting effects in the Cathedral of Tyre but highlighted their power to stimulate an emotional response (Church History 10.4, ca. 325 CE). Eusebius also described three beams of light within the church as signifying the Trinity, an image that repeats in seventh-century Syriac verses celebrating the Cathedral of Edessa (Mango 1986). The eastward orientation of the entrance of Old St. Peter’s, like that of the temple in Jerusalem, resulted in worshippers likewise praying toward the rising sun and away from the altar (Leo the Great, Sermon 27.4, 451 CE). In fifth-century Gaul, Sidonius Apollinaris connected the sunlight shining on the

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gilded ceiling of a newly built church in Lyon to alignment with the sun on the equinox (Letter 2.10). Light and the temple in Jerusalem as a model for church architecture intersect in another feature of early medieval churches – windows whose sills and jambs widen on the inside. While early medieval authors interpreted the slanting of windows in the temple in Jerusalem (1 Kings 6.4; Ezekiel 40.16) as the expanding hearts of those who see hidden mysteries (Gregory the Great, Homilies on Ezekiel Homily 5.16-20, Bede, On the Temple 7.1), slanting windows appear in a variety of forms in early medieval churches, surely to evoke the temple in Jerusalem but also to extend the reach of the sun and direct its reflection (Boeckelmann 1957). Windows in domes created special lighting effects. In the 530s, while noticing the alignment of two arches with the rising and setting sun and the first light of day entering the church, Procopius claimed that sunlight so filled Hagia Sophia in Constantinople that its brilliance appeared generated from within (Buildings 1.1.28-31). In 563, Paul the Silentiary described variation in light according to orientation and especially appreciated the channeling of early morning light (Description of Hagia Sophia). In the second half of the sixth century, in verses on the Cathedral of Paris, Venantius Fortunatus, like Procopius, observed how the diffuse light of dawn created the impression of independence from the sun (Poem 2.10), and in verses on the dome of the Cathedral of Nantes, he described how sunlight animated figures and created a sense of movement (Poem 3.7). Independent of orientation, but connected to natural lighting, Roman mosaic inscriptions abound with references to dramatic lighting effects. Even if commonplace, these inscriptions reflect an empirical truth, namely, that to achieve their full visual effect, mosaics require a well-orchestrated relationship between fenestration and decoration (James 2000). In fact, the disappearance of references to the lightreflecting quality of mosaics in Roman inscriptions coincided with abandonment of the technique of tilting tesserae to vary the reflection of light, suggesting consciousness and intentionality (Borsook 2000).

Windows and Light Symbolism In addition to architects creating dazzling visual effects through the alignment and fenestration of churches, designers of early medieval compositions incorporated natural light as a symbol of Christ (John 1.4-10, 8.12, Luke 2.32, James 1.17, and Revelation 21.23-24; L’Orange 1974/1975; Reutersw€ard 1984). In the fifth-century Mausoleum of Galla Placidia in Ravenna, in each of the four large lunettes beneath the crossing dome, two apostles flank a window. In three of the four lunettes, both apostles in the pair gesture to the left and direct their gaze to some point in the distance. Only the two apostles above the east arm, clearly identifiable as Peter and Paul, raise their arms to the center and direct their gazes upward to form a pyramidal compositional with the window (Fig. 158.1). Peter and Paul conventionally appear in this formation in Traditio-compositions in which Christ hands

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Fig. 158.1 Mausoleum of Galla Placidia, Ravenna, Italy (Photograph by Gunther Hissler)

over the law and/or the keys; the fifth-century beholder could have easily equated the window and its light with the absent Christ. The window aligns with the cross in the center of the dome above and with the Chi-Rho at the apex of the soffit below, two other signs of Christ. Furthermore, windows punctuate the smaller lunettes at the end of each arm, except for the north lunette above the door, which displays the Good Shepherd. Here, Christ displaces the window, his gleaming nimbus and robe supplanting natural light and the door below, when open, allowing in light. On the west wall of the eighth-century Tempietto di Cividale, two veiled females with hands in a turned orant position lead four crowned female figures wearing elegantly embroidered dresses and holding crowns and crosses to converge on a central window (Fig. 158.2). Figures often process toward Christ; to any early medieval viewer familiar with such compositions, the window and its light symbolize Christ (L’Orange and Torp 1979). Windows at the corners of the adjoining lateral walls would have combined with the central window to signify the Trinity. Furthermore, the central window aligns with a painted Christ in a lunette directly below. The composition crops Christ at his waist, so that the door below completes his form to express Christ’s likening of himself to a door (John 10.9), another metaphor for Christ.

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Fig. 158.2 Tempietto di Cividale, Italy (Photograph by Welleschik)

On the east wall of the Chapel of San Zeno (817–824) in Church of Santa Prassede in Rome, Mary and John the Baptist stand in Deesis formation, but flank a window rather than Christ (Fig. 158.3). This composition, even if at this moment a novelty, mirrors that on the opposite wall of Peter and Paul flanking an empty throne, another symbol of Christ. The window aligns vertically with Christ in the brilliance of his Transfiguration in the lunette directly below, so that, as at the Mausoleum of Galla Placidia and in the Tempietto di Cividale, alignment with other manifestations of Christ confirms the meaning of the light passing through this window as a symbol of Christ. The Crypt of Epiphanius (824–842) at the Monastery of San Vincenzo al Volturno features two windows coordinated with the pictorial program. In the north arm, the Hand of God reaches out, as if from the window below, to launch a ray of light through a cloud (Fig. 158.4). Above the tomb in the east arm, a window into the nave separates the archangel Gabriel from the Virgin at the Annunciation, the empty space not a void, but an implied presence. Finally, in the westwork of the church of the Monastery of Corvey, two female figures in stucco (873–885) once flanked an enlarged opening onto the west wall gallery, across which light from a window shines (Poeschke 2002; Claussen 2007). The uncertainty of the identity of the stucco figures and of the meaning of the

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Fig. 158.3 Chapel of San Zeno, Church of Santa Prassede, Rome, Italy (Photograph by Alejandro Juarez)

Fig. 158.4 Crypt of Epiphanius, Monastery of San Vincenzo al Volturno, Italy (Photograph by Giovanni Lattanzi)

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program to which they belong, as well the question of who once stood in the gallery, and on whom the light would have shone, complicate interpretation of the light as a symbol of Christ. At the least, architecture, decoration, and fenestration were coordinated to highlight the person or people who stood there. In each instance, the window comes at an iconographically significant place and often aligns with other manifestations of Christ, as well as with either the rising or the setting sun. The relatively wide spread of examples would argue for the window charged with meaning as a commonplace in the early medieval West. The suggestive reconstructions of two early medieval figurative windows as Christ – at Jarrow and at San Vincenzo al Volturno – strengthen the association between windows and Christ (Dell’Aqua 2010).

Spotlighting For select early medieval monuments, scholars have hypothesized that designers laid out pictorial programs, perhaps even the fenestration of buildings, in order to direct rays of the sun to spotlight significant compositions and even parts of compositions. Light falls strategically into a gold void at the center of the squinch between the Virgin and Gabriel at the Annunciation at Daphni (ca. 1100), and similarly falling light competes with the represented star of Bethlehem in the Nativity at Hosios Loukas (before 1048). In a conch at Nea Moni (1042–1055), light strikes the figure of the descending Christ in the Anastasis (James 1996). It has also been proposed that the sills of windows at the base of domes were polished and angled so as to redirect the sun to the Pantokrators in domes (Potamianos 2000). In Byzantium, at least, pervasiveness would seem to preclude coincidence. At the opposite end of Christendom, it has been hypothesized that the designers of sculptural programs on Irish high crosses from the eighth through the tenth centuries ordered and placed scenes to receive light and emphasis at specific times ´ Carraga´in 2011). The sundial on the eighth-century Anglo-Saxon of the day (O cross at Bewcastle certainly attests to the consciousness of the sun in the mind of its insular designer as he planned the layout of its pictorial program. Finally, the harnessing of natural light to spotlight parts of a pictorial program on particular days that has been hypothesized for the Arena Chapel around the year 1300 (Romano and Thomas 1992) may have far earlier precedent in the main church at the Monastery of Saint John in M€ustair, Switzerland, whose construction began ca. 775 CE (Coray-Lauer 1999, 2007). Churches in the region were commonly aligned with either still-standing prehistoric markers delineating astronomical lines or the rising sun on a patron’s feast day (Jerris 2002). Contemporary texts from the region describe in detail persistent pagan practices, and the feast days of the saints highlighted in the three apses cluster around the summer solstice (Ataoguz 2007). Furthermore, the windows slant variously and deliberately (Coray-Lauer 2007). All these factors make more likely the light show hypothesized on the feast day of the patron saint, John the Baptist.

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Conclusion Proving intentionality is not the only challenge to theories about the role of light in churches and church programs. First, the original material and frame of windows seldom survive to the present; stained glass, other opaque materials, and screens would have blocked as much light as they would have transmitted (Triantaphyllide¯s 1964; Dell’Aqua 2004, 2005, 2006). Changes both to the exterior landscape and to the interior structure add other non-original factors to the archaeoastronomical equation. Furthermore, artificial lighting was an important aspect of the authentic experience and itself bore manifold symbolic meaning. Finally, describing effects on the viewer ventures into the realm of the subjective and unquantifiable. Nevertheless, the potential for 3D models (Happa et al. 2010) to visualize astronomical data may move archaeoastronomy from periphery to center in the study of medieval art and architecture. Visualization gives observable form to abstract phenomena, and since many lighting effects, because of changes to the structure and the landscape, cannot be experienced in situ, their simulation in a virtual environment may make assessments of intentionality easier to make.

Cross-References ▶ Analyzing Light-and-Shadow Interactions ▶ Astronomy in the Service of Christianity ▶ Church Orientations in Central and Eastern Europe ▶ Light–Shadow Interactions in Italian Medieval Churches ▶ Orientation of Christian Churches ▶ Orientation of English Medieval Parish Churches ▶ Visualization Tools and Techniques

References Ataoguz JK (2007) The apostolic commissioning of the monks of Saint John in M€ ustair, Switzerland: Painting and preaching in a Churraetian monastery. Harvard University, Cambridge, MA Boeckelmann W (1957) Zur Konstruktion der Fensterbank und Leibungsschr€agen in der Einhartsbasilika zu Steinbach im Odenwald. In: Karolingische und Ottonische Kunst: Werden, Wesen, Wirkung. F. Steiner, Wiesbaden Borsook E (2000) Rhetoric or reality: mosaics as expressions of a metaphysical idea. Mitt Kunsthis I Flo 44(1):2–18 ´ (2011) High crosses, the sun’s course, and local theologies at Kells and Carraga´in E´ O Monasterboice. In: Hourihane C (ed) Insular & Anglo-Saxon art and thought in the early medieval period. Index of Christian Art, Princeton, NJ Claussen H (2007) Einf€ uhrung zu Sinopien und Stuck. In: Claussen H, Skriver A (eds) Die Klosterkirche Corvey. Philipp von Zabern, Mainz Coray-Lauer GG (1999) Das Licht von St. Johann . . .. In: Bodini G (ed) Reitia: Arch€aologie, Forschung, Projeckte, Spurensuche. Arunda, Schlanders

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Coray-Lauer GG (2007) Beobachtungen des Lichteinfalls in karolingischen Kirchen Graub€undens. In: M€ ustair KSJ (ed) Naturwissenschaftliche und technische Beitr€age, vol 4. vdf Hochschulverlag, Zurich, pp 273–315 Dell’Aqua F (2004) Lux et vitrum: the evolution of stained glass from the late Roman Empire to the Gothic Age. In: Beretta M (ed) When glass matters: studies in the history of science and art from Graeco-Roman Antiquity to the Early Modern Era. Leo S. Olschki, Florence Dell’Aqua F (2005) Enhancing luxury through stained glass, from Asia Minor to Italy. Dumbart Oaks Pap 59:193–211 Dell’Aqua F (2006) Glass and natural light in the shaping of sacred space in the Latin West and in the Byzantine East. In: Lidov AM (ed) Ierotopiia: sozdanie sakral´nykh prostranstv v Vizantii i drevneı˘. Rusi Indrik, Moscow Dell’Aqua F (2010) The Christ from San Vincenzo al Volturno: another instance of ’Christ’s dazzling face’. In: Vitrocentre R (ed) Les panneaux de vitrail isole´s/Die Einzelscheibe/The single stained-glass panel: Actes du XXIVe Colloque International du Corpus Vitrearum Zurich 2008. Peter Lang, Bern Happa J, Mudge M, Debattista K, Artusi A, Gonc¸alves A, Chalmers A (2010) Illuminating the past: state of the art. Virtual Real 14:155–182 James L (1996) Light and colour in Byzantine art. Clarendon, Oxford James L (2000) What colours were Byzantine mosaics? In: Borsook E, Superbi FG, Pagliarulo G (eds) Medieval mosaics: light, color, materials. Silvana Editoriale, Cinisello Balsamo Jerris R (2002) Cult lines and Hellish mountains: The development of sacred landscape in the early medieval Alps. Mediev Early Mod Stud 32:85–108 L’Orange HP (1974/1975) Lux Aeterna: l’adorazione della luce nell’arte tardo-antica ed altomedioevale. Atti della Pontificia Accademia romana di archeologia. Rendiconti 47:191–202 L’Orange HP, Torp H (1977–1979) Il Tempietto longobardo di Cividale. G. Bretschneider, Rome Mango C (1986) The art of the Byzantine empire, 312–1453: sources and documents. University of Toronto Press, Toronto Poeschke J (ed) (2002) Sinopien und stuck im Westwerk der karolingischen Klosterkirche von Corvey. Rhema, M€ unster Potamianos I (2000) To pho¯s ste¯ vyzantine¯ ekkle¯sia. University Studio Press, Thessalonike¯ Reutersw€ard P (1984) Windows of divine light. In: Rosand D (ed) Interpretazioni veneziane: studi di storia dell’arte in onore di Michelangelo Muraro. Arsenale editrice, Venice Romano G, Thomas HM (1992) Sul significato di alcuni fenomeni solari che si manifestano nella cappella di Giotto a Padova. Ateneo Veneto 29(178):213–256 Triantaphyllide¯s G (1964) Stoicheia physikou pho¯tismou to¯n vyzantino¯n ekkle¯sio¯n. Hype¯resia Archaiote¯to¯n kai Anaste¯loseo¯s, Athens

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Contents Lighting and Openings: Building Survey Methods . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Movement of the Sun: Tools and Analysis Procedures . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Two-Dimensional Models . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Three-Dimensional Models . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Lights and Openings . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Chiaravalle della Colomba (Alseno, Parma, 1135) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The Baptistery of Parma (1196) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Light, Images, and Sculptures . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Conclusions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Abstract

In the relationship between architecture and the sky, it is possible to identify three different design issues. The first regards the alignment of buildings with visible points on the horizon that coincide with the rising or setting of a celestial body (sun, planets, stars, or moon) on particular dates during the astronomical year (or liturgical year for sacred buildings). The second is the relationship between planimetric design and the design of the elevations. We are all familiar today with several “light effects”, which sometimes have almost hierophanic characteristics that, on certain days of the year, were used to engross, captivate, and amaze the spectator. Contrary to the first two issues, the third comes after the design and building stages and concerns the question of decorative elements. It is reasonable to believe that many years after the

M. Incerti Department of Architecture, University of Ferrara, Ferrara, Italy e-mail: [email protected]; [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_178, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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works were terminated, certain wall finishings were chosen over others, such as painted frescoes or statues. Whoever did this was fully aware, thanks to direct observation, that such decoration would be struck by a single ray of light on a specific day. This chapter examines light-shadow interactions in some Italian medieval churches.

Lighting and Openings: Building Survey Methods Surveying aimed at analyzing the relationship between designs in which the plan and the elevations have astronomical implications must dedicate particular attention to the identification of both morphological and dimensional aspects of windows and rose windows (open or plugged) as well as the characteristics of horizontal and vertical surfaces. Over time, traditional surveying methods (e.g., trilateration and theodolite or total station) have been backed up by the use of three-dimensional (3D) scanners integrated with the use of topographic data (Fig. 159.1) (Incerti 2006). The total station and the 3D laser scanner provide the coordinates of points that may be used either to produce a threedimensional geometrical model (Incerti 2009) or two-dimensional diagrams (layouts, sections, and views) (Incerti 2006). The choice of instruments and procedures for analyzing inner light will depend on the type of available diagram (Fig. 159.2).

Movement of the Sun: Tools and Analysis Procedures For ancient architects, it was possible to determine the azimuth at sunrise on any date and also the celestial coordinates upon the passing of the canonical hours thanks to the astrolabe, the analemma of Vitruvius, or that of Ptolemy. By using these instruments, and with the assistance of scale models or, much more simply, of very basic and simplified graphs, a good architect was able to choose the exact position of those openings that, placed at topologically significant points, would guarantee surprising luminous effects. To identify the presence of particular luminous events that coincide with important dates in the liturgical and astronomical calendar, the following requirements must be met: (1) the true (astronomical) orientation of the building must be known, and (2) different test procedures must be used depending on the type of available diagram (two-dimensional or three-dimensional).

Two-Dimensional Models To map the path of a spot of light on a surface (floor or ceiling), a thorough survey of the windows is extremely important, as their geometrical inclination allows sunrays in, in selective ways. Today, there are useful programs for calculating the

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Fig. 159.1 (Left) In the case of the Abbey of Pomposa (Ferrara, dedicated in 1026), the interior and exterior were surveyed with a series of 25 station points and a total of 42 scans (37 million points). (Right) Screenshot of the points cloud and scansion of window (south side). Each scan was carried out with a 5 cm grid to organize and recognize targets, a 2 cm grid for the survey itself, frequently becoming 1 cm on all the openings, for a total of approx 37 million points. Note how the scan gets deeper at the windows on the main fac¸ade (differently coloured area)

Fig. 159.2 Schifanoia, the Hall of the Months (Ferrara 1469–1470): a three-dimensional model for an archeoastronomical study based on a topographic survey by total station (528 points)

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calendars and ephemerides as well as specific software for the tracing of sundials (horizontal, vertical, inclined planes, and curved surfaces). One sundial per window can be taken (as if it were a sort of gnomonic hole), then it can be made to overlap the diagrams of the building, and the path of the “spots of light” on the floor and ceilings can be mapped, for any day of the year, throughout daylight (Fig. 159.3). Even though such a procedure can be quite time-consuming when there are many openings, this method may still be used to find out whether one architectural feature (e.g., the threshold of the entrance door, the altar, or the axis of the church) is lit up by a unique sunray on one day only through one opening only, or on several days through several windows. Thus, this would emphasize the unique and exceptional character of a light event in connection with the astronomical or liturgical calendar, as well as any occasional occurrence of such an event. At any rate, any visual observation of a light phenomenon must always be based on the assumptions drawn from the diagrams and documented by photographs.

Three-Dimensional Models Any standard rendering software can calculate the lighting of an area from its geographical coordinates, date, and time. The resulting image refers to one instant or to short time intervals if videos are produced. Because of the rigidity and accuracy of inputs and outputs, this method is particularly helpful for communicating the results of an archaeoastronomical survey (Incerti 2009) rather than for looking for unique, rare light effects (Fig. 159.4). In addition, three-dimensional models are particularly effective if some windows have been walled up or if obstacles have been built (such as new buildings) that ceased to let light in, as was originally the case.

Lights and Openings Chiaravalle della Colomba (Alseno, Parma, 1135) In 1135, possibly after a meeting with St. Bernard, the institution of a new Cistercian abbey dedicated to the Virgin Mary, named Chiaravalle della Colomba, was promoted in the vicinity of Firenzuola (Parma). Some light effects take place in this church. On June 24, the feast day of St. John the Baptist, very close to the summer solstice, the light coming from the two small oculi placed on the vertical wall that joins the transept and the apse reach the entrance door of the church (Figs. 159.5 and 159.6). These are two northeast windows located at an ortive amplitude very close to the limit established by the summer solstice. The azimuth at sunrise on June 21 (Julian calendar) is in fact 56.1 ; this kind of opening can capture the sun’s rays for only a few days of the year and, plainly, only in the very early morning when the sun is very low on the horizon. Given the size and angular values of the triangle that is created (the base of the rectangular triangle is equivalent to 52 m approx),

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Fig. 159.3 The Abbey of Pomposa (Ferrara, dedicated in 1026) faces in an equinoctial direction. The layout is made to overlap the sundial calculated for the (currently plugged) oculus on the fac¸ade at ground level

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Fig. 159.4 Schifanoia, the Hall of the Months (Ferrara 1469–70). 3D modeling for the day October 1st in the 15th century. The research investigated the paths of the “spots of light” projected from the windows on the painted surfaces, analyzing which instances of certain days of the year become highlighted particular figures or scenes. This procedure was computed for all the starting dates of the zodiac signs in the century when Borso (the client) had lived and on the most significant dates of the duke’s life (August 24th or August 15th, October 1st and May 18th), generating a total of 16 animations

if the oculi had been moved by a mere 20 cm, this would have horizontally shifted the patch of light by approximately 80 cm. Therefore, it is clear that the unknown architect of the Chiaravalle Abbey was obliged to calculate the position of the small windows on the vertical wall to create this unique light effect. It is well known that the figure of St. John the Baptist is traditionally associated with the symbol of the door, in other words, the opening through which the catechumens enter for the first time into the Christian congregation thanks to the sacrament of Baptism. The Regula Benedicti, adopted faithfully by the Cistercians, documents for us the presence in the church of monks at this moment of the day for the celebration of the “first hour”, the Prime. In the chapterhouse of the Abbey of Chiaravalle, there are two oculi that might play a gnomonic role. After having celebrated the office of Prime, the monks moved to the chapter for their spiritual formation; at the beginning of the second hour, the room was vacated for the time dedicated to work and reading (Fig. 159.7). At such times, the sun’s rays coming from the two eyes seemed to coincide with some of the most significant geometric points of the chapter room. Furthermore, similar light phenomena were especially evident on some important dates of the astronomical and liturgical year: the summer solstice and the equinoxes (Incerti 2001).

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Fig. 159.5 Abbey of Chiaravalle della Colomba (1135). (a) Notice the two small oculi placed on the vertical wall which joins the transept and the apse. (b)–(d) The sequence of the ray of light that strikes the door of the Abbey of Chiaravalle della Colomba on St. John the Baptist’s Day during the “first hour” (Prime) (Photographs # Manuela Incerti)

Fig. 159.6 Abbey of Chiaravalle della Colomba (1135): longitudinal section of the church

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Fig. 159.7 Abbey of Chiaravalle della Colomba (1135): the spot of light on the day of summer solstice (“first hour” and “second hour”) (Photographs # Manuela Incerti)

The Baptistery of Parma (1196) The Baptistery of Parma was begun in 1196, with Benedetto Antelami named as a sculptor, designer, and master builder. The solemn consecration of the Baptistery took place on May 25. The Baptistery of Parma also plays host to some unique light effects (analytically and geometrically calculated). On St. John the Baptist’s Day, the main baptismal font is struck by a ray of sunlight (Fig. 159.8) (Incerti 2010).

Light, Images, and Sculptures Numerous episodes testify to the attempts to find symbolic implications in the design and position of images and sculptural elements. These images could be placed in such a way as to be lit up on their feast days by simply looking at the movement of light over the years. No calculation was needed: all it took was simple observation of the movement of the spots of light on the chosen day. This is most likely a procedure that did not involve any astronomical skills, but it may be evidence of a deliberate search for symbolical connections between holy images and sunlight.

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Fig. 159.8 The Baptistery of Parma (1196): feast day of St. John the Baptist. The main baptismal font is struck by a ray of sunlight. Other events involve the smaller baptismal font and the altar (Photographs # Manuela Incerti)

In the Abbey at Chiaravalle della Colomba, the fresco of the Virgin Mary on one of the main pillars of the church is illuminated at the sexta hora on September 8 (Nativity of Mary). Such phenomena were useful both for calendar-related functions and for marking the advent of a particular date during the year or the accounting of time: in other words, for indicating a precise moment during the day (Fig. 159.9). Several episodes occurring in the Baptistery of Parma involve the main protagonists of the decorative elements. The most important, for its accuracy and incredible scenic effect, is the fresco of the Baptism of Jesus, an excerpt from the cycle of St. John the Baptist (the fifth register of the cupola). A ray of light coming from the window of the last order (ninth sector) encounters perfectly the figure of the Messiah. This phenomenon used to begin on March 25 and ended around April 10; it lasted roughly two weeks and took place in the middle of the Easter period (Figs. 159.10 and 159.11).

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Fig. 159.9 Abbey of Chiaravalle della Colomba (1135): the fresco of the Virgin Mary on one of the main pillars of the Abbey is illuminated at the sexta hora on September 8th (Nativity of Virgin Mary) (Photographs # Manuela Incerti)

Fig. 159.10 The photo sequence shows the moment a ray of light strikes the painting of the Baptism of Jesus in the Jordan during the Easter period, beginning on 25 March and ending around 10 April. April 2nd (in the 12th century) was the day the scene was perfectly centered. The ray of light perfectly frames the figure of Jesus and fades precisely off it (Photographs # Giorgio Schianchi)

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Fig. 159.11 Detail of the previous picture (Photograph # Giorgio Schianchi)

Conclusions The present work reports the results of the archaeoastronomical examination of two sacred buildings in Italy, of monumental nature, dating from the Medieval period. These buildings were mainly constructed by workmen who were clearly expert and cultured. This leads to the problem of understanding the training of the architects in the Middle Ages, and, in particular, their knowledge of astronomy. Before attributing an astronomical intentionality to the alignments established by the ancient architects, it is important to assess carefully the structure of the knowledge they possessed. Unfortunately, over such a long time, no drawing or document has survived to prove that the authors of such monuments did have such knowledge. However, the existence of a significant number of extant manuscripts (Vitruvius, Marcus Cetio Faventinus, Hyginus Gromaticus) and of indirect sources allows one to hypothesize that the diffusion of astronomy and of its teachings also took place within the processes of professional training of architects during the later Middle Ages (Incerti 2013), at least in the case of the most important and established professionals. Even if there is no written evidence of such unquestionable intentions, it is nonetheless obvious that the exceptionality of some light phenomena may be documentary evidence enough of the astronomical and geometrical notions that

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the architects must have possessed. A case in point is the extraordinary path of light in Ve´zelay Abbey (France, 1104–32). On June 24, St. John the Baptist’s Day, the notches of light coming in from nine windows fall exactly on the crossings between the central axis and the pillar-to-pillar cross-alignment. Because of the geometry and layout of the building, such effect cannot happen any other day of the year. In conclusion, the archeoastronomical qualities of a building should be deciphered exclusively through a severe and rigorous metrical observation of its orientation, forms, and geometrical aspects. The primary nature of architecture is that of being a three-dimensional space that cannot be reduced to the simple horizontal level. For this reason, the archeoastronomical survey cannot be considered complete and thorough if it is limited to the mere measurement of planimetric orientation.

Cross-References ▶ Analyzing Light-and-Shadow Interactions ▶ Astronomy in the Service of Christianity ▶ Church Orientations in Central and Eastern Europe ▶ Orientation of Christian Churches ▶ Role of Light–Shadow Hierophanies in Early Medieval Art ▶ Visualization Tools and Techniques

References Incerti M (2001) Solar geometry in Italian Cistercian architecture. Archeoastronomy: Journal of Astronomy in Culture 16:3–23 Incerti M (2006) Architecture and the Universe. Representation as a study tool. Disegnare Idas Images 32:82–91 Incerti M (2009) The room of the months of the Palace Schifanoia (Ferrara 1469–70). In: Rubin˜oMartı´n JA, Belmonte JA, Prada F, Alberdi A (eds) Cosmology across cultures. ASP conference series 409, Astronomical Society of the Pacific, San Francisco, pp 220–227 Incerti M (2010) The Baptistery of Parma, Italy. In: Ruggles CLN, Cotte M (eds) Heritage sites of astronomy and archaeoastronomy in the context of the UNESCO World Heritage Convention. ICOMOS–IAU, Paris, pp 180–184 Incerti M (2013) Astronomical knowledge in the sacred architecture of the Middle Ages in Italy. Nexus Network Journal 15:503–526

Lost Skies of Italian Folk Astronomy

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Piero Barale

Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Luminaries (Sun and Moon) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Guiding Stars . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Wandering Stars (Planets) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Fixed Stars . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Asterisms, Constellations, and Star Clusters . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Hay-Making Stars . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The Sky and its Signs . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Abstract

The limited archival material and the scarcity of evidence from the oldest living representatives of various communities effectively restrict research on archaic astronomical knowledge within Italy to the Alpine area and the most northerly part of the Appenines. These are territories where, fortunately, the folk culture is historically recognized as being very conservative. The sky provided a series of “astral instruments” used for planning religious festivals, fairs, and work in the fields through an empirical-symbolic approach and ancient sidereal calendars with which the valley dwellers were able to arrange daily life.

Introduction Elements of archaic knowledge of the skies, capable of governing ancient habits, beliefs, and daily rituals within a centuries-old farming tradition, are still preserved

P. Barale Societa` Astronomica Italiana, Rome, Italy e-mail: [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_179, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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Fig. 160.1 Northern hemisphere (Celestial map by A. D€ urer 1515, modified)

in cultural beliefs and practices in parts of northern Italy. Ethnoastronomy is rediscovering lost skies, memories and mutations of the Ptolemaic universe, a common place where stars were given simple names and, most importantly, showed the way to pilgrims, marked the time of night, or set the rhythms to sow seeds or harvest crops and fruits. The celestial vault, perceived as an immense pasture populated by an infinite herd of weak points of light, waited to be observed and interpreted, often in remarkable detail (Fig. 160.1).

Luminaries (Sun and Moon) The valley dwellers of the north called the sun Beato Ste´lo (blessed star). It is also, jokingly, defined as lou paire di patanu` (father of the naked). Particular solar calendars were connected to the articulated Italian geography, which, through the

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Fig. 160.2 From an ancient print, the “race” of the fiery horse ridden by the devil

rising and setting of the luminary, marked the passing of the days and the changing of the seasons. They were called Cours del Cava`l (horse race). In addition to the toponymy (Barale 2003), ancient legends also recall the horse race, and often confuse the race of a fiery horse ridden by the devil (Fig. 160.2; Felolo 1994) with the miraculous leap of St. Maurice’s warhorse. Regarding the L€ una (moon), the nocturnal luminary, it is well known that its phases — ve´ya (old), no¨va (new), au prim cu€ art (first quarter), and a l’€ ultim cu€ art (last quarter) — were thought to influence farming and forestry as well as animal and vegetable physiology, a belief that is still partly followed today. By observing certain lunations, empirical forecasts were made concerning atmospheric conditions in the following months. The planning of mobile festivals and agricultural work was formulated through the Epa`tta and the Planetta. This was ancient knowledge that, in the case of farmers, was renewed every year through the “Weather Almanac of Chiaravalle” (Fig. 160.3).

Guiding Stars For the sedentary tribes who lived in the mountainous areas, already rich with reference points, knowledge of the cardinal points was not a priority. To find their way, people could simply observe the rising and setting of the sun, from which the Levont (east) and Coujont (west) were determined. In any case, if they wanted to distinguish the north, they could simply look for the Este`la Marina (sea star), or the Ligurians’ Ste´ra Pulare or Be´la Sˇte´ra (beautiful star), the modern-day Polaris (a UMi) (Fig. 160.4). When they needed to travel for fairs or pilgrimages, they would observe the Milky Way, the so-called Camin de¨ San Giacum or Via ‘d Se´n Giacu ‘d l’Argalisia (Way of St. James of Galicia). It was called this because of its approximate orientation over Santiago de Compostela.

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Fig. 160.3 Cover of the 1884 edition of the “Weather Almanac of Chiaravalle”

Wandering Stars (Planets) Among the heavenly bodies, the most observed was Venus, the famed morning star or “shepherds’ star”. It is a planet, but one that has always been confused with the Sˇte´ra di Pasˇtu`u or Ste´lo dei Pastour. Since its rising was associated with the morning, in the Ligurian area it was also known, with a certain humor, as Sˇte´ra da Panissa (star of the farinata – a chickpea pancake). The heavenly body told shepherds when to get up in the morning to reach the flock and to cook panissa for breakfast (Massajoli 2007).

Fixed Stars There probably were not many regularly named stars. Often, rural populations named only the heavenly bodies that could have a practical use; the rest, with the exception of the Milky Way and some constellations, completely escaped their attention and were seen simply as a vast swathe of ste´les (stars). The search for mushrooms, for example, was based on the appearance of a particular star. The heliacal rising of Sirius (a CMa), the Este`la Bulera

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Fig. 160.4 The “Be´la Sˇte´ra” (Uranography by J. Hevelius 1690, modified)

Fig. 160.5 The “Este`la Bulera” (bottom of picture) (Photo by G. Veneziano)

(star of the mushrooms) (Fig. 160.5), after about 70 days of being invisible, coincides roughly with the period of the search for bo¨le` (mushrooms) in the summertime. The Este`la du Vache´ or Sˇte´ra di Vache´e (cowboys’ star) was used to mark the work days of a vache´ (cowboy) in the wintertime. This was Vega (a Lyr), very

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Fig. 160.6 La Sˇte´ra di Vache´e (Photo by G. Veneziano)

bright and visible in the winter sky until the end of February (Fig. 160.6). In this period, when the days are still very short, the cowboys got up in the morning with the rising of the star and went to bed in the evening when the star went down (Giuliano and Delpiano 1993).

Asterisms, Constellations, and Star Clusters Orion’s Belt, the tres ste´les acoubies (three paired stars), a figure that has always struck the imagination of the people, represents one of the most spectacular and suggestive asterisms in the equatorial sky. The three stars, Alnitak, Alnilam, and Mintaka (z, e and d Ori), besides being of similar brightness, appear in almost a straight line and spaced out equally (Fig. 160.7). This unique formation, which in January shines southeast of the Pleiades, is generally identified in Italian regions as the Three Kings (Barale 2007). Specifically, as in the Piedmont Alps, it is recognized in the Sete¨u or i Tre Sete`y (the seated three). These are figures that reminded the people of Assisi of people seated on celestial thrones, or more genuinely, i Sezi, watchers seated on simple chairs. This asterism was fundamental for measuring nocturnal time. In the wintertime, a period when the stars of the Belt are most visible, they marked the time of the evening watches. Also, the disappearance of the three stars from the spring sky signaled the end of the winter watches. In addition to Orion’s Belt, reminders of other constellations survive that the authors of the classics had already associated with the legend of the northern skies of the Hyperboreans. The seven stars – Dubhe, Merak, Phecda, Alioth, Mizar, Benetnasch, and Megrez – that form the Great Bear (Ursa Major) (Fig. 160.8), together with Castor and Pollux (a and b Gem), form part of enduring cosmic traditions.

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Fig. 160.7 The “Tre Sete`y” (top of picture) (Photo by G. Veneziano)

Among the Piedmont and Ligurian Alps, the constellation of the Great Bear was named lu Tc¸arri Gros (the great plow) or more simply r Car (cart). The expression u Car Gars was unique, referring to a crooked cart, perhaps the rudder of a sleigh, now confusedly remembered as u Mantenay. Castor and Pollux were recognized as lu Rik (the rich) and lu Paure (the poor). They were associated with an ancient agricultural tradition. In the southwestern Alps these two stars were seen as forecasting a good or poor harvest. The Parc (the fence) corresponded to the Great Square of Pegasus: this was a sort of sheep fence, a mystical place where it was believed that the souls of the dead resided. On the other hand, the constellation associated with birth was the Cygnus, the so-called Crusiero (cross). In Italy the Pleiades (Fig. 160.9) are often identified with a common name that can be translated as “young hens” or “brood-hen with chicks”. In the Alpine area, the Pleiades corresponded to the Pouizina` (brood of chicks) or l’Espurzinia`ra (brood-hen with chick). This characteristic star formation that appears in the southwest in the month of January is in a shape similar to a nest of chicks wrapped in a yellowish-colored glow. In some cases, it was also identified as gnoch or bucc ’d este`le (group of stars). As recently as the 1950s, the valley dwellers, looking at

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Fig. 160.8 “r Car” (Uranography by J. Hevelius 1690, modified)

the position of the cluster with respect to the skyline, would use it as a nocturnal clock. In fact, in the Ligurian interior, r Se´ss (the six) are remembered, a unique denomination of the Pleiades that may be reminiscent of the measurement of time (Massajoli and Moriani 1991).

Hay-Making Stars Orion’s Belt, perceived as most beautiful asterism of the winter sky, was chosen as the center of the universe. According to stories of the fenoour (hay makers), it was placed at the center of a giant constellation, which from the Belt extended beyond Orion, until reaching some of the stars in Canis Major and Taurus. A romantic vision of bitter life was projected into the sky: rural scenes associated with hay-making activities (Fig. 160.10). Thus, it is not surprising that the particular arrangement of the Belt is further identified as a group of mowers lined up to cut the hay, the so-called Seitour or Li Seytu`r. Representing the Rastliris (rakers) were Betelgeuse and Rigel (a and b Ori), which, together with Bellatrix and Saiph (g and k Ori), delineated the particular hourglass figure of Orion. It is possible that this represented se´ita or siteita (mowing

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Fig. 160.9 The “Pouizina`” (By A. Jamieson, Celestial Atlas 1822, modified)

area), a celestial hayfield that could be measured in Seteur (a unit of measurement from the Val d’Aosta, the area that a mower could cut in one day). Particular attention was given to the Pleiades, which represented the brood-hen that took the chicks out to feed in the freshly mowed fields. After the work was completed, a banquet was offered to the laborers with bread, water, and maybe even a bit of wine. In charge of the feasting were the three stars of the Sword, the socalled Portopan (haversack), and Sirius, which in this case was seen as the Tupiniero or Blot, the merchant who held the water pitcher (Fig. 160.11).

The Sky and its Signs In folk traditions, reference is also made to the Se`l (sky) and its “special effects”, indecipherable signs, often considered to be supernatural manifestations. These were received with great uneasiness. l’Este`lee ’d la cu`a or Ste´les dei penas (comets) were considered to be bearers of bad luck. In the eighteenth century, a Piedmont parish priest remembered that the French-Spanish armadas had arrived after the appearance, in January and February 1744, of the large Cheseaux comet (Bernard 1989), which had six tails (Fig. 160.12). The Sclipsse (eclipse), a total solar eclipse, was not only cause for curiosity, but in most cases it fed an unconscious superstitious restlessness. The total solar eclipse that occurred in the early morning of 15 February 1961, besides causing the frightened animals to assemble in the stalls, made the country folk recite the Rosary. The Se`l que se due`rp (the sky that opens), a term that refers to ball

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Fig. 160.10 Hay making (The Farmer from Cuneo file photo)

Fig. 160.11 The “hay-making” stars (Uranography by J. Hevelius 1690, modified)

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Fig. 160.12 The “Ste´les dei penas” (By A. Guillemin, Les come`tes, 1875)

Fig. 160.13 The “Ste´les que cheioun” (By C. Flammarion, Astronomie Populaire, 1881)

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lightning, a phenomenon that is produced in clear skies when the weather is particularly dry, remained an undecipherable sign, since the origin was unknown. The Se`l rous (the red sky) is a phenomenon that is extremely rare at Italian latitudes: the Aurora Borealis. Its appearance, besides causing dismay, was considered to be an omen of bad luck; the night of 25–26 January 1939 is well known for such an occurrence. On other occasions, the appearance of particular stars could be considered a good omen. These were Ste´les que cheioun (meteorites and falling stars), celestial bodies that were particularly visible on hot August nights (Fig. 160.13).

References Barale P (2003) Il Cielo del Popolo del Faggio. Sole Luna e Stelle dei Ligures Bagienni. Editore Associazione Turistica Pro Loco “La Torre”, Pollenzo Barale P (2007) La conoscenza della costellazione di Orione nella tradizione popolare delle Alpi Marittime. Marittime, 28, Borgo S. Dalmazzo Bernard G (1989) Uomo e Ambiente a Bellino, vol II. Edizioni Valados Usitanos, Torino Felolo L (1994) La Bercho, lou diau e lou soule`i. Coumboscuro, no. 273 (sett.-ott.) Giuliano F, Delpiano F (1993) Boves: la conoscenza del firmamento. Valados Usitanos 17:73 ´ ig€ Massajoli P (2007) Il cielo brigasco. Rˇ nıˆ d’A ura 47:48–49 Massajoli P, Moriani R (1991) Dizionario della cultura brigasca, vol I. Edizioni dell’Orso, Alessandria

Folk Calendars in the Balkan Region

161

Dimiter Kolev

Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The Calendar and its Astronomical Roots . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The Folk Calendars of the Balkan Peoples . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Conclusions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Abstract

Folk calendars are a good source for studying the knowledge and rituals of peoples from distant epochs. The turbulent history of the cultures in the Balkan Peninsula leads to a mixture of calendar traditions – different calendar types and naming systems of the calendar units (months and weekdays). Despite the differences, they share a common astronomical basis and the seasonal structure is of fundamental importance (i.e., dividing the year into two economic seasons – warm and cold). The Old Bulgarian 12-year calendar is also mentioned briefly.

Introduction The Balkan Peninsula (Balkans) occupies the southeastern part of Europe. Currently, 12 countries lie entirely or partially there: Albania, Bosnia and Herzegovina, Bulgaria, Croatia, Greece, Kosovo, Macedonia (FYROM), Montenegro, Serbia, Slovenia, Romania, and Turkey.

D. Kolev Institute of Astronomy and National Astronomical Observatory, Bulgarian Academy of Sciences, Sofia, Bulgaria e-mail: [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_180, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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The peninsula has been inhabited since the Lower Paleolithic. In later times, remarkable old cultures left marks as well as evidence of observational skills and calendar knowledge. The Greek culture also flourished here and influenced the development of the European civilization. In the fifth century BC in Classical Greece, the lunisolar calendar in use at that time was improved by Meton of Athens, and later the Christian church based its Paschal calculations on it. In the Balkan countries, part of the Eastern Roman Empire (Byzantium), the solar Julian calendar was introduced gradually and mainly by means of Christianization of the local population. Adopting the new religion was also necessary in order to achieve political stability and religious unification. In the first millennium AD, different tribes migrated and transformed the Balkan population into a medley of cultures: aboriginal remnants (Thracians, Illyrians), Roman war veterans, and numerous new steppe tribes – Avars, Slavs, Proto-Bulgarians, Celts, Cumans, and Turks. At different times, parts of the Balkans were annexed to giant empires – the Persian, Roman, Byzantine, Ottoman, and Austro-Hungarian ones. As a result, the Balkans turned into a conglomerate of ethnic groups, languages, and cultures (see, e.g., Gavazzi 1958). Nowadays, three main religions – Eastern Orthodoxy, Roman Catholicism, and Sunni Islam – are professed in the region. Studies of the traditional cultures in the Balkans show that the old pre-Christian and pre-Islamic traditions were preserved to a large degree up until the last century.

The Calendar and its Astronomical Roots Every calendar system reflects natural cycles. A natural time unit is the day – the alternation of daylight and darkness caused by the Earth’s rotation around its axis. The organization of the sequence of days is a subject of the calendar. The seasonal changes during the Earth’s revolution around the Sun define the main calendar unit – the year (
365.25 days). The lunar cycle determines the smaller unit – the month (the word for “month” in numerous languages originates from the word for “Moon”). An artificial unit introduced with the Christian calendar is the 7-day week, which is roughly a quarter of 1 lunar month (
29.5 days). Because of the need for each time unit to be an integer and the incommensurability of the astronomical periods, the concordance between the different calendar units is a complicated task. The choice of the main unit determines the type of calendar – usually solar, lunar, or lunisolar (see ▶ Chap. 2, “Calendars and astronomy”). According to its main function, the calendar can be official (organizing the activities of the authorities), liturgical (serving the religious cult through a system of feasts and rituals), or folk (connected with events in everyday life and the economic activities). The beginning of the year for each type of calendar can be different and depends on the calendar traditions and some canonic rules. In zones with seasonal changes, such as the Balkans, people commonly divide the year into two big seasons: summer (warm, active, dominated by agricultural and farming activities) and winter

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(cold, inactive, getting ready for the summer). In accordance with these changes, Balkan star lore subdivides the significant stars into summer and winter constellations (Cenev 2008; Jankovic 1951; Kale 1995; Kolev and Koleva 1997; Maticetov 1972). At the same time, all ethnic and religious groups used a well-developed system of the liturgical calendar to divide the year by holy-day markers. The markers could be religious feasts as well as significant astronomical moments such as the equinoxes and solstices.

The Folk Calendars of the Balkan Peoples The information we now have concerning the folk calendars is in medieval manuscripts and dictionaries, printed almanacs, and wooden calendars, as well as from ethnographic records from the last two centuries. These calendar notions were, however, formed much earlier in distant pre-Christian and pre-Islamic times. Thus St. George’s Day (23 April) and St. Demetrius’s Day (26 October) for the Christians or Hı´dralez (6 May) and Ka´sim (7 November) for the Muslims note the beginning of the summer and the winter respectively (in Arabic, Ka´sim means “something that divides”). Pairs of saint-days mark not only the two big seasons but also the “quarters” of the year and other characteristic seasonal events (Popov 1991). The heliacal setting and rising of the Pleiades were also used as markers for organizing economic activities (see Popov 2008 and references therein). We judge the folk calendar traditions mainly from the name-system of the time units as well as from the feast-system of a given ethnic group. As a whole, the official calendar enforced by the religion had a great impact. Thus, the folk monthnames in Bulgarian were replaced with Greek-Roman ones probably by Old Bulgarian writers from the tenth century (Slavova 1992). The folk names continue to be used as supplementary names along with the official ones in one and the same texts (Kolev and Koleva 2007). The Serbs accepted the same month-names directly from Latin. As a result, the folk month-names can be found among the South and Southwest Slavs only as dialectal forms and in the ethnographic records, while other Slavic people still use them. The year is divided into 12 months in all folk calendars. But the calendar type and the month-names can tell more about the old time-keeping traditions. The preserved month-names of the Christian Balkan peoples provide evidence for mutual influences and pre-Christian lunisolar traditions (Zaimov 1954). The principles in the folk month-naming convention can be classified into several groups: Climatic and natural events – January: ‘frost’ (Slovenia); ‘(big) cutter’ (Bulgaria, Croatia), zemheri (‘extremely cold time in “solar” January’ – Turkey); February: ‘(little) cutter’ (Bulgaria, Macedonia, Turkey); March: ‘dry’ (Bulgaria, Serbia); April: ‘grass’ (Bulgaria, Slovenia, Serbia); May: ‘flourish’ (Bulgaria, Romania); July: ‘hot’, ‘ember’ (Bulgaria); August, September: ‘draining river’ (Bulgaria); October: ‘fall of the leafs’ (Bulgaria, Macedonia, Croatia); November: grouden, ‘hoarfrost’ (Bulgaria, Croatia, Romania); December: ‘cold’, ‘winter’ (Bulgaria, Macedonia);

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Rituals and feasts – February: St. Todor’s month; April: St. George’s; May: St. Kostadin’s, St. Elena’s, St. Irina’s, St. Spass’; June: St. Peter’s, Todor’s, Enyo’s; July: St. Ilia’s, St. Marina’s; August: Virgin Mary’s, Big Church; September: St. Simeon’s, Little Virgin Mary’s, Holy Cross, Little Church; October: St. Demetrius’s, Petka’s, St. Justin’s; November: Archangel’s, Martin’s, Winter St. George’s; December: St. Andrea’s (Romania), St. Nicolas’s, Christmas, Kolada, Bozhich; the Muslim sacred month Ramadan (Ramazan) is a special case – being a lunar month, it is movable in respect to the seasons (by 11 days earlier every solar year). Economic activities – January: prosinets (from proso ‘millet’); kolozheg (’burn wood’); May: ‘cherry’ (Bulgaria, Turkey); June: ‘cherry’ (Albania, Romania); predoy (from doya ‘to milk’ (Bulgaria); July: ‘reaper’, ‘sickle’, ‘threshing’, ‘cropper’ (Albania, Bulgaria, Croatia, Serbia); August: kolovoz (‘wheel-track’, Bulgaria); rouen (from the name of the plant Rhus cotinus); September: ‘grape harvest’, ‘sower’; October: ‘maize sowing’ (Turkey); Quantitative characteristics or numerals – January: ‘big’, ‘great’ and February: ‘little’ (Albania, Bulgaria, Turkey); and the same in northern Greece: MegάloB mZ
naB and Mikro´B mZ
naB; in Albania several month are named in the Roman manner by numbers, but shifted by two: from September to December they are named from ‘the seventh’ to ‘the tenth’.

The duplicates in the names of two consecutive months in some Slavic calendars are considered to be evidence for month intercalations in older lunisolar calendars. The calendar Hijri Qamari (lunar) of the Balkan Muslims is a purely lunar calendar with 354 or 355 days in the year structured in alternating months of 29 and 30 days. Only once in 33 years does it coincide with the seasons. The names of some months, however, reveal a pre-Islamic tradition – solar or lunisolar: Rabı¯ al-Awwal means ‘the first spring’ and Rabı¯ ath-Tha¯nı¯ or Rabı¯ al-A¯khir ‘the second/last spring’. Juma¯da¯ al-U¯la¯ ‘the first month of parched land’ and Juma¯da¯ ath-Tha¯niya or Juma¯da¯ al-A¯khira ‘the second/last month of parched land’ are considered the summer months.

The names of the weekdays in the Balkan folk traditions follow a twofold principle by ordinals and by names of planets-gods, as in the Greco-Roman week. The usual structure of the weekday names is: Sunday: ‘a day with no activities’ (Slavic languages), ‘day of the God’ (modern Greek); Monday: ‘the day after Sunday’ (Slavic), ‘second’, i.e., after Sunday (Greek); Tuesday: ‘the second’ (Slavic), ‘the third’ (Greek); Wednesday: ’middle day’ (Slavic), ‘the fourth’ (Greek); Thursday: ‘the fourth’ (Slavic), ‘the fifth’ (Greek); Friday: ‘the fifth’, ‘St. Petka’s day’ (Slavic), ‘St. Paraskevi’s (¼St. Petka’s) day’ (Greek); Saturday: sabota (Slavic); Savato (Greek), both from Jewish Shabbat ‘rest day’. The naming after planets is still used in Albania.

An unusual calendar year was used by the Rhodopean shepherds (Dechov 1968; Koleva 2003). The “shepherd year” consists of two parts divided by the dates 26 October and 23 April, when the old labor contracts expire and the new ones are concluded. The day counting begins on 27 October from 1 to 120 without a break and the rest of the days up to the end of each period are counted backward. Months and weeks are not mentioned. The important periods in sheep breading such as insemination, forming the new herds with pregnant sheep, and the start of the lambing are expressed in numbers of days (in the Turkish language) from, or

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prior to, the two dates. Thus, the first half of the year has 179 ¼ 120 + 59 days (or 180 in a leap year), and the second half has 186 ¼ 120 + (65 + 1). The “shepherd year” with its time-periods divisible by 30 plus 5 remaining days resembles the ancient Egyptian and Old Persian calendars. Among the known Balkan calendar systems, there is another unusual one – the so-called Proto-Bulgarian calendar. It is known from the famous Nominalia of the Bulgarian khans (the last ones ruled in the eighth century AD) through three later (fifteenth and sixteenth century) transcripts in Old Bulgarian. The original itself was probably engraved on stone in Greek with Proto-Bulgarian words for the years and months of the ruler’s ascension. Several different attempts to decode the year names in the Nominalia have been made (e.g., Rogev 1974; Moskov 1988) but none of them is generally accepted. The calendar was based on 12-year cycles and is possibly akin to the zodiacal circles of the Old Chinese and other Asian peoples. The years in the 12-year cycle are named after animals (at present 9 out of the 12 names are known), while the month-names are ordinals (only 7 are considered to be known). Dating using this Proto-Bulgarian calendar was popular up to the end of the nineteenth century.

Conclusions Features of Balkan folk calendars developed as a result of the ethnic and cultural diversity in the region, even in an aggressive and hostile environment. The folk tradition is so solid and long-lasting because it is based on age-old experience that has preserved knowledge about the natural cycles, animal breeding and agriculture, and health and life protection. The Balkan calendar traditions show both local features and numerous similarities with the calendars of distant peoples, which suggests possible mutual influences.

Cross-References ▶ Ancient Persian Skywatching and Calendars ▶ Calendars and Astronomy ▶ Chinese Calendar and Mathematical Astronomy ▶ Folk Calendars in the Balkan Region ▶ Wooden Calendar Sticks in Eastern Europe

References Cenev G (2008) Macedonian Folk Constellations. Publ Astron Obs Belgrade 85:97–109 Dechov V (1968) Sheep breeding in the central rhodopes. In: Dimitrov V, Sivriev S and Haytov N (eds) Izbrani proizvedenia. Plovdiv, pp 197–341 (in Bulgarian)

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D. Kolev

Gavazzi M (1958) Die kulturgeographische Gliederung S€ udosteuropas (Ein Entwurf). S€udostforschungen 15:5–21 Jankovic N (1951) Astronomija u predanjima, obicajima i umotvorinama Srba (Astronomy in the lore, customs, and the folk wisdom of the Serbs). Belgrade Kale J (1995) Izvori za etnoastronomiju (Sources for ethnoastronomy). In: Beric´ M, Lakic´ V (eds) Kucˇerin zbornik, Sˇibenik, pp 103–120 Kolev D, Koleva S (2007) Month names and astronyms in Bulgarian folk and literary heritage. In: Pa´sztor E (ed) Proceedings of the SEAC 2004 on archaeoastronomy in archaeology and ethnography. BAR International Series 1647, Archaeopress, Oxford, pp 87–94 Koleva V (2003) Measuring time in the central Rhodopes. In: Blomberg M, Blomberg PE, Henriksson G (eds) Calendars, symbols and orientations: legacies of astronomy in culture. Uppsala Astronomical Observatory, Report No. 59, Uppsala, pp 41–44 Kolev D, Koleva V (1997) The stellar sky in Bulgarian folk tradition. In: Jaschek C, Barandela FA (eds) Proceedings of the SEAC 1996 on astronomy and culture, Universidad de Salamanca, Salamanca, pp 69–80 Maticetov M (1972) Slovenska ljudska imena zvezd in predstave o njih (Slovenian folk-names of the stars and their perception). In: Eismann W, Trost K (eds) Anzeiger f€ ur Slavische Philologie, Wiesbaden 6, Wolfgang Eismann and Klaus Trost (eds.) pp 60–103 Moskov M (1988) List of the Bulgarian Khans (a new reading). Petar Beron Publ, Sofia (in Bulgarian) Popov R (1991) Gemini-saints in the Bulgarian folk calendar. BAS Publ, Sofia (in Bulgarian) Popov R (2008) Saints and Demons in the Balkans. Letera, Plovdiv (in Bulgarian) Rogev B (1974) Astronomical grounds of the Proto-Bulgarian chronology. Sofia (in Bulgarian) Slavova T (1992) About a lunisolar old Bulgarian calendar. Palaeobulgarica 16(3):23–36 (in Bulgarian) Zaimov J (1954) Bulgarian folk names of months. Izvestia na Instituta za balgarski ezik 3:101–147 (in Bulgarian)

Wooden Calendar Sticks in Eastern Europe

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Vesselina Koleva and Svetlana Koleva

Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Wooden Calendar Sticks . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Distribution . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Name . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Calendar Record . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Astronomical and Calendrical Significance . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Conclusions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

1774 1774 1774 1775 1775 1778 1779 1780 1780

Abstract

Wooden calendar sticks have preserved an archaic time-keeping tradition, which, during the Middle Ages, was one of the tools for establishing and disseminating Christian chronology and the liturgical calendars of the Western and Eastern Churches. The calendars vary in size and shape, type of signs, and structure of the record. Christian symbols interwoven with signs and pictograms mark days of importance in the ritual and economic year cycle. The wooden calendars are considered one of the proofs of the syncretism between the pagan tradition and Christian rites in folk cultures.

V. Koleva (*) Institute of Astronomy and National Astronomical Observatory, Bulgarian Academy of Sciences, Sofia, Bulgaria e-mail: [email protected] S. Koleva Faculty of Classical and Modern Philology, Sofia University, Sofia, Bulgaria e-mail: [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_181, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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Introduction Different historical factors have formed the cultural diversity in the European countries. Their official and folk calendars have preserved the traces of old lunisolar and solar calendar traditions. The solar Julian calendar became the common basis of Christian rites after the calculation of the date of Easter or Paschal was set up at the First Council of Nicaea in AD 325. Even so, with time the discrepancies between Eastern and Western Christianity deepened, leading to distinctions in the rites and the liturgical calendars. This differentiation is especially noticeable in the countries lying in the border areas of influence of the two Churches, from southeastern to northeastern Europe. For the Orthodox, Roman Catholic, and later Protestant missionaries, besides the handwritten and printed calendars, the ones engraved on different objects (sticks, wooden plates, boxes) are convenient tools for establishing the canonic rules. The wooden sticks are the most widespread and elaborate type. They are practical and eternal, i.e., can be reused every year. Although they contain specific calendrical and astronomical knowledge, these devices are intuitive and easy to use and easily convey the religious ideas. They develop computing skills, sometimes through the entertaining counting game known as St. Peter’s game. The wooden sticks are found among both clergy and laity.

Wooden Calendar Sticks Distribution Most of the known calendar sticks in the northern part of Eastern Europe are from the sixteenth to nineteenth century. Over 150 objects are preserved in the Finnish, Estonian, and Finno-Ugric collections of the National Museum of Finland and other museums in the country (Sreznevskiy 1876; Hallonquist 2003; Koleva and Koleva 2006). The majority are calendars of the Western Church. The oldest known calendar stick is from 1566 and the latest known is from 1868. Some Orthodox calendars originate from Karjala (Karelia). Wooden calendars are also kept in the Estonian National Museum, and a few finds are known from Lithuania (Sreznevskiy 1876; Klimka 1986) and Poland (Stipa 1966; Lange 2010). In two Saint Petersburg museums, there are objects from Scandinavia, Russian Karelia and the Komi Republic, Siberia, and the Far East (Sreznevskiy 1876; Orlova 1966). Some Zyryan calendars are kept in the National Museums of the Komi Republic and Hungary (Stipa 1966; Lipin 2006; Sebestye´n 2002). On the Balkan Peninsula, calendar sticks were in use in Bulgaria, Bosnia and Herzegovina, Croatia, Slovenia, Serbia, and Albania until the early decades of the twentieth century (Gavazzi 1930, 1938; Stipa 1966; Zˇidov 2010). A calendar in the Slovene Ethnographic Museum is dated to 1756. In Bulgaria over 30 calendar sticks have been studied so far. The oldest dated calendar is from 1783 and the latest

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is from 1901. The majority of them are kept in museums and only a few are privately owned (Koleva and Georgiev 2006; Koleva 2010).

Name The names of the calendars usually originate from the material used, shape, make, and type of signs. Finns call them puukalenteri (“wooden calendar”), kalenteri-, or riimusauva (“calendar or runic stick”). Estonians use the names puuor ruunikalender; Lithuanians use mediena runu˛ kalendorius. The Gothic root run- can be found in numerous languages with the meaning “secret”, “speech”, or “song”. In Lithuanian it also has as a second meaning: “to cut (with a knife)”. The Swedish name primstav (“prime staff”) is connected with the Golden Numbers that indicate the ecclesiastical new moons, the first days of the lunar months in a 19-year Lunar (Metonic) cycle. The Golden Numbers are represented by 19 runes on the calendars. The Karelian calendars in Finland are called paalikka from the Russian palka (“stick”). Komi-Zyryans call the calendars pu svyatsi (“wooden Saints”), or pas (“sign, tamga”); Slovenians - lesen koledar (“wooden calendar”); Croatians - drveni calendar – rovasˇ or ragosˇ; and Serbs - rabosˇ-kalendar. In the Slavic languages rabosh is considered to derive from Slavic ryti (“burrow”) or from old Slavic **rabъ (ръб (“edge”)). Bulgarians use the words dyrven kalendar – rabosh (“wooden calendar – rabosh”), toyaga (“stick”), prychka (“staff”), pateritsa (“crutch”) and even pop (“priest”).

Calendar Record The shape of the wooden sticks, the signs, and the structure of the record characterize well enough the different types of Christian Church calendars. The Western-European wooden calendars have the shape of an ordinary stick or lath or of a sword, saber, walking stick, and staff with a handle or a knob at one end (Fig. 162.1). The cross section is 4-, 6-, 8-sided, or round, and the length varies from about 0.5 to almost 2 m. The 365 days of the Julian calendar year are divided into two periods of six months or into three or four groups of months on the sides of the sticks. Different day-marks are used: notches on the edges and streaks, letters, and runes on the sides. The 364 days are grouped in sevens by longer lines or by seven alternating Latin letters or Scandinavian runes, thus forming 52 weeks. The last day of the year is marked by repeating the last rune or by a line or is simply omitted. The months are sometimes marked by short notches and the month names on the stick edges or sides (Fig. 162.1a). The immovable feast days fixed through the canonical rules are marked next to the respective dates by Christian symbols, schematic figures, or pictograms.

1776

V. Koleva and S. Koleva

Fig. 162.1 Wooden calendar sticks from Finland with runes (a, c, d), streaks and X signs (b), symbols, and pictograms on the sides, as well as the St. Peter’s game (b) (Photos: V. Koleva)

For the more complicated computations of the Paschal date and the movable feasts, another type of calendar sticks is used. The signs are written in three rows along each side (Fig. 162.1d). Тhe middle row contains the weekdays; above are the Golden numbers and below are the holy days. The so-called Swedish type (numerous sticks in Finland, Estonia, Lithuania, and Poland) uses the 16 Younger Futhark runes and three additional runes to number the 19 years of the Lunar (Metonic) cycle and the 7 weekdays (Fig. 162.2a). The Norwegian type (one such calendar is kept in Saint Petersburg) and the Staffordshire clogs use simple day notches and sets of 19 symbols widespread in the medieval handwritten almanacs as a vertical variant of the Roman numbers (Fig. 162.2d). The Orthodox wooden calendars are mainly sticks with a rectangular or hexagonal cross-section. Only two Karelian calendars have triangular ones. The length varies from 0.4 to 1.5 m. Some sticks have short and straight handles which occasionally have signs numbering the sides (Fig. 162.3). Many have holes to hang the stick by a thread. The days are marked by notches on the edges or by streaks on the sides. The months are always separated from each other by furrows, free spaces, or monthname inscriptions. On some Bulgarian wooden calendars, the weeks are separated by a small triangle or longer line (Koleva 2010), probably to facilitate Paschal calculations. Four Komi-Zyryan sticks also mark the weeks by the alteration of six straight day-streaks and one inclined or X-like sign (Sreznevskiy 1876; Sebestye´n 2002). The so-called hunters’ Komi-Zyryan wooden calendars have a more peculiar shape (Fig. 162.4) (Savvaitov 1871). The short piece of wood is shaped into a sixsided bipyramidal frustum with a maximum width of 3 cm in the middle and a length of 20 cm. The day-notches are engraved on the edges; the feast-marks

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Wooden Calendar Sticks in Еastern Europe

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Fig. 162.2 Scandinavian runic signs for the 7 weekdays (a), for Sunday’s letter in the 28-year Solar cycle (b), and for the 19-year Lunar (Metonic) cycle (c) (Hallonquist 2003); variants of Roman numbers used as Golden Numbers (d) (Sreznevskiy 1876)

Fig. 162.3 Karelian calendar stick from Eastern Finland and its signs for immovable feasts (Photos: V. Koleva)

Fig. 162.4 Komi-Zyryan hunter calendar and its signs for immovable feasts (Drawings: Savvaitov (1871); Sreznevskiy (1876))

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V. Koleva and S. Koleva

Fig. 162.5 Bulgarian wooden calendar stick (Photo and sketch: V. Koleva (Koleva and Georgiev 2006))

are on the sides, and a longer guiding streak at the end shows the direction of reading. Next to the respective dates are signs marking the feast days. Basically, the main feast signs are variants of a cross and circle on the Karelian sticks (Fig. 162.3), geometric and tamga-like on the Komi-Zyryan (Fig. 162.4), and a straight line, bident, and trident on the Bulgarian sticks (Fig. 162.5). A very special feature of most Orthodox calendars and of some Norwegian ones is the boustrophedon (“as the ox plows” in Greek) reading of the day signs, i.e., from right to left on one edge and then backward on the next edge without interruption. The boustrophedon stone engravings were particularly popular in Ancient Greece. Numerous ancient Scandinavian runic inscriptions on stones are written this way too. But as a rule on the calendar sticks of the Western Church, the reading follows one and the same direction – from the handle to the other end of the stick.

Astronomical and Calendrical Significance The beginning date of the calendar record varies through the ages and in the different countries and shows a wide variety of traditions: 1 January or 25 December as the beginning of the year in the Julian calendar; the last days of November as the earliest start of Advent, the beginning season of the Western Church; 1 March, the old Roman new year; 1 September, the beginning of the Orthodox Church year; and 26 October/23 April, start dates of the economic year in the Bulgarian folk tradition. A widespread practice was for the dates to be referred to in relation to the feast days, e.g., “five days before Martin’s day” instead of “the 6th of November” (St. Martin’s Day ¼ 11 November).

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The 26th of October (St. Demetrius’s Day) and the 23rd of April (St. George’s Day) divide the year into winter and summer halves. The middle of the winter and the summer are 18 January (St. Athanasius’s Day) and 20 July (St. Ilia’s Day) (Koleva 2010). The respective dates in the Western Church calendar are 14 October (St. Callixtus) and 14 April (St. Tiburtius) and, respectively, 13 January (St. Knud) and 13 July (St. Margaret) (Koleva and Koleva 2006). The actual dates of the spring equinox and the solstices are often shifted because of the inaccuracy of the Julian calendar. The date 12 June is marked on the Karelian (Fig. 162.3) and Zyryan (Fig. 162.4) calendars as the sun’s reversal day, after which the days start growing shorter (Savvaitov 1871; Koleva 2010). In the Bulgarian folk calendar, this date is 12 June too (St. Bartolomeus’s day). The season change toward summer takes place on 12 December (St. Spyridon’s day). The 10-day difference compared to the dates of the astronomical events corresponds to the calendar error in the sixteenth century before the Gregorian reform. There is also a mark on the Julian date of the spring equinox which in the nineteenth century was 9 March instead of 21 March (Fig. 162.5). There are some “keys” to assist the calculations on the runic calendars: the engraved year(s) of usage (Fig. 162.1c), a table (most often on the stick handle) with the 19 runes marking the Golden Numbers (Fig. 162.1d), and the respective Sunday rune in a common or leap year of the 28-year Solar cycle (Fig. 162.2b). It is known that corrections in the tables were made because of the accumulated discrepancies in the course of time. Just like handwritten or printed almanacs, some wooden calendars contain information about the zodiacal signs, the length of the day and night, and the unfavorable days. Some of the calendars have notches cut so evenly that they can be used as a ruler to measure length.

Conclusions In Eastern European countries, both the sophisticated runic calendars of the Western Church and the simpler-shaped wooden sticks of the Eastern Church have been preserved. They were made in compliance with strict canonical rules established during the early Middle Ages. The similarities and differences reflect the specifics of the Western and Eastern Menologies – their major feasts, as well as their regional calendrical traditions. The wooden calendar sticks were handy substitutes for printed calendars. They testify to the astronomical basis of the calendar which is interwoven into both the Church’s liturgical system and the folk tradition. They also show how developed and upgraded was the calendar used in a given epoch. Acknowledgments The research was carried out within the framework of a joint research project with the National Board of Antiquities, Finland, granted by the Bulgarian and Finnish Academy of Sciences.

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V. Koleva and S. Koleva

Cross-References ▶ Astrology as Cultural Astronomy ▶ Astronomy and Chronology - Babylonia, Assyria, and Egypt ▶ Astronomy in the Service of Christianity ▶ Calendars and Astronomy ▶ Folk Calendars in the Balkan Region

References Gavazzi M (1930) Drveni kalendar – rovasˇ sa Jadrana. Narodna Starina 9(23):331–333 Gavazzi M (1938) Drevni kalendari. In: Kalendar sv. Ante za prostu godinu 1939, Sarajevo, god. XIV: 15–18 Hallonquist S-G (2003) Swedish calendar staffs. In: Blomberg M, Blomberg PE, Henriksson G (eds) Calendars, symbols and orientations: legacies of astronomy in culture. Uppsala Astronomical Observatory, Report No. 59, Uppsala, pp 11–14 Klimka LA (1986) Runicheskie kalendari v Litve. In: Gurstein AA (ed) Istoriko-astronomicheskie issledovaniya, vol XVIII. Nauka, Moskva, pp 339–344 Koleva V (2010) Bulgarian wooden calendars. Folklore 44:77–96 Koleva V, Georgiev I (2006) A wooden calendar from southeastern Bulgaria. Aerosp Res Bulg 20:341–346 Koleva S, Koleva V (2006) The Finnish wooden calendars and some aspects of folk knowledge in the Middle Ages. In: Soltysiak A (ed) Proceedings of the conference on time and astronomy in the past cultures, held in Torun´ 2005. Warszawa & Torun´, pp 149–166 Lange TW (2010) The Scandinavian clog calendar at the Jagiellonian University Museum. Opuscula Musealia 18:91–99 Lipin V (2006) Derevyannie reznie kalendari-svyatsi v sobranii Nacionalnogo muzeya Respubliki Komi. Аrt 3:120–128 Orlova EP (1966) Kalendari narodov Severa i Dalnego Vostoka. Sibirskiy Arheologicheskiy Sbornik 2:297–321 Savvaitov PI (1871) O zyryanskih derevyannyh kalendaryah i o permskoj azbuke, izobretennoy Sv. Stefanom. Trudy pervogo arheologicheskogo syezda v Moskve 1869 g., vol II, Moskva, pp 408–416 Sebestye´n G (2002) Rova´s e´s rova´sı´ra´s. Tinta Ko¨nyvkiado´, Budapest Sreznevskiy VI (1876) Severniy reznoy calendar. Trudy vtorogo arheologicheskogo syezda v Sankt Peterburge, vol 1–2, Sankt Peterburg Stipa GJ (1966) Zum Kulturbereich der syrj€anischen Kerbkalender. Finnisch-Ugrische Forschungen, Band XXXVI, Heft 1–2: 181–207 Zˇidov N (2010) Rovasˇi: zbirka Slovenskega etnografskega muzeja - tally sticks: the collection of the Slovene Ethnographic Museum. Slovenski etnografski muzej, Ljubljana

Part XI Ancient Near East John M. Steele

Orientation of Hittite Monuments

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A. Ce´sar Gonza´lez-Garcı´a and Juan Antonio Belmonte

Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Sacred Spaces and Time . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Astronomy and Landscape: The Hattusha Paradigm . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

1783 1786 1788 1791

Abstract

The possible astronomical or topographical orientations of the Hittite monuments of the Bronze Age has remained unexplored until recently. This would provide an important insight into how temporality was imprinted by this culture in sacred spaces and in the landscape. The authors’ analysis of a statistically significant sample of Hittite temples
and a few monumental gates
has demonstrated that ancient Hittite monuments were not randomly orientated as previously thought. On the contrary, there were well-defined patterns of orientation that can be interpreted within the context of Hittite culture and religion.

Introduction The Hittite Empire controlled Anatolia and the Levant from nearly the sixteenth to the thirteenth centuries BC (Bryce 2002). Hittite religion has been considered a syncretistic system as it included different traditions from a mixed population:

A.C. Gonza´lez-Garcı´a (*) Instituto de Ciencias del Patrimonio, Incipit, Santiago de Compostela, Spain e-mail: [email protected]; [email protected] J.A. Belmonte Instituto de Astrofı´sica de Canarias, Universidad de La Laguna, La Laguna, Tenerife, Spain e-mail: [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_182, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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A.C. Gonza´lez-Garcı´a and J.A. Belmonte

Fig. 163.1 Solar symbolism in Hittite art and writing. (a) A golden statuette of a sitting goddess, possibly the Sun Goddess of Arinna from Hattusha. (b) The seal of Mursili II found in excavations at Hattusha. (c) The Luwian hieroglyph aedicula of Tudhaliya IV in Chamber B at Yazilikaya. Notice the winged disk of the sun in the last two images (Photographs: Margarita Sanz de Lara (a, b) and A. Ce´sar Gonza´lez Garcı´a (c))

Hittite and Luwian creeds, with Assyrian influences, imposed over an original substrate of more ancient Hattian beliefs (Haas 1994; Taracha 2009) and a notable influence of Hurrian religion. Several gods had astral manifestations, notably the sun. In the ancient Hattic language, the sun, Eshtan, had a female character personified in the Sun Goddess of Arinna, Lady of the Land of Hatti (Fig. 163.1). She formed the supreme couple

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Fig. 163.2 Sections of the procession of male deities with an astral character in Hall A from Yazilikaya, the important out-wall religious enclosure to the NE of Hattusha showing (left) the winged Moon God and the Sun God of Heaven and (right) the God/Goddess Shausga (Photographs: A. Ce´sar Gonza´lez-Garcı´a)

of Hittite religion with the Storm God of Hatti (G€uterbock 1958; Taracha 2009). One of her avatars, the Sun Goddess of the Earth, represented the sun’s course during the night (Collins 2007). There was a male aspect of the deity: the Sun God of Heaven, called Ishtanu by the Hittites and Tiwad in Luwian. Hittite kings referred to themselves as “My Sun”, while a winged solar disk was used to crown the royal names in monumental inscriptions and royal seals (Fig. 163.1). The Hittites paid attention to uneven solar phenomena. In this respect, a prayer of Mursili II (c. 1321–1295 BC) reports a solar omen that occurred while he was on campaign in the land of Azzi in his 9th or 10th regnal year that has been often identified as a solar eclipse (Collins 2007). The moon, called Arma in Luwian and Kushuh in Hurrian, was represented winged and with a tiara crowned by a crescent (Fig. 163.2). He was the patron of the month festival
possibly celebrated at full moon. That the moon was indeed observed is indicated by existing manuals dealing with lunar omens where it is stated that a lunar eclipse could have announced the death of the king (Taracha 2009). The Goddess Shausga enjoyed a dual nature that equated her to the Assyrian Ishtar and the Sumerian Inanna (Burney 2004), a personification of the planet Venus. Shausga is represented in this double (male
female) nature in the reliefs of the open-air sanctuary of Yazilikaya, to the northeast of Hattusha (Fig. 163.2). There are quite a few texts containing astronomical/astrological omens, possibly of Mesopotamian origin (Kock-Westenholz 1993). However, there is hardly any other evidence of stellar cults although there is a brief mention to the Pleiades

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Fig. 163.3 The monumental gate of the sphinxes in Alaca H€ uy€ uk, certainly a most important cultic place of the Land of Hatti. The sacred character of the gate can be envisaged from the images of divine adoration to the Sun Goddess of Arinna (right) by a procession of servants and to a bull, standing for the Storm God of Hatti, by the king himself (left). The ruins have alternatively been identified with the sacred cities of Arinna or Zippalanda (Photograph: A. Ce´sar Gonza´lez-Garcı´a)

within the context of the rituals of the purulli festival, which might suggest an interest in this asterism (Kellerman 1981).

Sacred Spaces and Time Hittite temples were normally planned around a central courtyard onto which the adyton and several other chambers opened. Actually, the holy of holies in most of the temples was off-center, deliberately so designed to ensure that there was no direct view into it from the entry portal (Bryce 2002; Burney 2004). Most Hittite cities had monumental gates that certainly served other objectives than a mere defensive purpose. Some were profusely decorated with ritual scenes (see, e.g., Fig. 163.3) while others, such as the monumental gates of Hattusha’s Upper City, followed a symmetrical layout that has been interpreted within a ceremonial and ritualistic context (Fig. 163.4; Gonza´lez-Garcı´a and Belmonte 2013). No Hittite royal tomb has yet been recognized (Bryce 2002), although it has been shown that several Kings had a (divine) “stone-house”, a sort of tomb where their ashes were deposited beside what the sources call a hegur (eternal) peak, a commemorative structure normally associated with a rocky outcrop (van den Hout 2002). The Hittites probably counted their time by lunar months (the existence of the “festival of the month” is a trace of this) but little is known about the precise organization of this calendar and how the Hittites accommodated the lunar year within the cycle of the seasons. The celebration of special festivals to specific deities at their proper time was essential for maintaining the order of the universe. Some priests were responsible for the celebration of festivals at the due time. The so-called SANGA-priest of the Sun Goddess of the Earth slept “under the stars” at the temple courtyard regularly, and it is possible that one of his duties was astronomical observations for the appropriate timing of festivals

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Yazilikaya

N

1 Lower City

w w

Büyükkale 31

Upper City

k 7

N

k

8-29 L

30

K

6 4

5 3

2

HATTUSHA Fig. 163.4 Plan of Hattusha, the Hittite capital, showing the location of the monuments described and discussed in the text. Temples are listed from 1 to 30. K, Y, and L stand for King, Sphinx (Yerkapi), and Lion gates, respectively. W and W0 stand for the western ill-preserved monumental gates. N stands for Nisantas monument and inscription, while k0 and k00 stand for Chambers 1 and 2, in the S€udburg area. Notice the sector of Yazilikaya far to the northeast of the city walls (Adapted from Gonza´lez-Garcı´a and Belmonte 2011)

(Taggar-Cohen 2006). Such festivals (Taracha 2009; Taggar-Cohen 2006) have been identified in several inscriptions where it is clear that the sacred time was governed by a yearly cycle certainly connected to agricultural activities, with crucial times at the moments of the reaping and the sowing. These were the moment of two of the most important Hittite feasts, the AN.TAH.SUM and the nuntarriyashas, respectively (Bryce 2002). The AN.TAH.SUM was a major festival that lasted some 38 days (G€uterbock 1960; Houwink ten Cate 1986). The precise timing of the festival within the year is unknown. It was dedicated to the Sun Goddess of Arinna and the Storm God of Hatti. Texts describe how during the 11th day of the feast, the “old year” was carried out symbolically to the hesˇta-house
a sacred precinct connected with the

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ancestor cult
in Hattusha (G€uterbock 1960; Taracha 2009). The other great festival, the nuntarriyashas, lasted at least 40 days and was celebrated “when the king returns from the battlefield”, possibly at the end of summer (Houwink ten Cate 1988; Taggar-Cohen 2006). One of the most important festivals was the purulli, originally celebrated in the sacred city of Nerik and possibly in fall or early winter. It was moved to Hattusha and celebrated close to, or even within, the AN.TAH.SUM festival “when the land prospers and thrives” (Hoffner 1998). Other festivals include the “festival of the year”, or EZEN witassiya, celebrated in winter and apparently it was the moment selected for the enthronement of the king (Taggar-Cohen 2006). It is also difficult to establish if this was the same as or different from the “winter festival” celebrated for the Sun Goddess of Arinna in Hattusha (Taracha 2009). We may speculate if these were somehow connected to winter solstice. The sources also speak of a hahratar feast, the festival of the harvest (Taggar-Cohen 2006), a feast that ought to be celebrated in summer, possibly in relation to the summer solstice. There is evidence of a cycle of 13 regular festivals on the cult of the divine couple. These festivals were celebrated in Hattusha on a monthly cycle basis, with a 13th festival only when an additional 13th intercalary lunar month was needed to accomplish the lunar and seasonal cycles (Taracha 2009; Houwink ten Cate 1986). Local festivals celebrated every 3 years have been proposed. Besides, there is evidence that some large festivals
or parts of them, such as the ceremonies of the 11th day of the AN.TAH.SUM festival
could have been celebrated on a 6-yearly basis. Finally, there is evidence that the festival of the God Telepinu in the city of Hanhana was celebrated every 9 years (Taracha 2009). Three years is the minimum period necessary for operating a working simple lunisolar cycle
for example, a cycle calibrated through independent solar or stellar observations
and six and nine are multiples of this. Detailed evidence for Hittite intercalation practices is lacking, however.

Astronomy and Landscape: The Hattusha Paradigm There are data on the orientation of more than 60 religious structures from the Hittite lands, the vast majority of them from the area of the capital, Hattusha (Gonza´lez-Garcı´a and Belmonte 2011; M€uller-Karpe et al. 2009). Figure 163.5 presents a declination histogram versus normalized frequency. Four main peaks have a degree of confidence higher than 99%. The highest is at a declination of
24 , which could be correlated with the winter solstice sun. The second highest is centered at þ¼ and could be catalogued as “equinoctial”. A third peak is at a declination of
48 ; considering that the latitude of most Hittite centers is around 40 N, this is certainly a peak of accumulation associated with meridian alignments. The last peak is at a declination of þ27 , and is located nearly halfway between the extreme northern declinations of the sun at the summer solstice, c. þ24 (see Fig. 163.6), and the moon at major lunistice, c. þ28½ . The planet Venus’ extreme

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Orientation of Hittite Monuments

LMS WS

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Equinox

SS LMN

15

Normalized Frequency

Hittite Monuments 10

5

0

−5 DECLINATION Fig. 163.5 Declination histogram of Hittite monuments. There are several statistically significant peaks above the 3s level with a marked astronomical meaning, either meridian, equinoctial, or solstitial

northern declination is another possibility. Finally, there is a satellite peak at
17¾ , surprisingly matching the declination of Sirius, the brightest star in Anatolian skies in the thirteenth century BC. The most significant peaks of the declination histogram certainly represent solar alignments, in agreement with the importance of Hittite solar cults and solar rituals. The winter solstice seems overwhelmingly dominant. An explanation for such importance could be the winter festival of the Sun Goddess of Arinna. Secondary orientations of temples could also be related to this main peak. On dates close to the winter solstice and from the central courtyard of Hattusha’s Temple 1
or from the temple ceiling
and along the temple’s minor axis to the east, the sun’s disk would have been seen climbing at dawn the northern rim of Hattusha acropolis, where a small temple of the goddess was located (Fig. 163.7). It is interesting to note the relation of this temple to the Sun Goddess of Arinna – linked with the winter festival – and the Storm God of Hatti, connected with sacred mountains. The “equinoctial” peak could indicate an interest in sunrise or sunset on dates close to the autumn and spring equinoxes, perhaps heralding the main festivals. Hence, the archaeoastronomical data confirm the textual evidence and have shown the relevance of solstitial and “equinoctial” orientations that can be explained within the context of ancient Hittite cult necessities. The upper city of Hattusha’s splendid fortifications had at least three decorated monumental gates, perhaps with a ritual function (Burney 2004). The Sphinx gate

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Fig. 163.6 Summer solstice sunset alignment of the monumental gate of the sacred precinct of Yazilikaya (Photograph: Juan Antonio Belmonte)

is accurately orientated in the meridian direction, while the Lion and King gates were orientated in such a way (declination c. þ14½ when looking in) that at the end of April or the beginning of May, sunrise could have been observed over the eastern hills from the outside of the Lion gate (Fig. 163.7) and sunset over a distant horizon from the outside of the King gate. There is a period of around 40 days between the spring equinox (20–22 of March) and May 1st, which closely resembles the duration of the AN.TAH.SUM festival. Consequently, this major festival could have lasted from the spring equinox to dates close to the present May 1st, whatever significance these two important timemarks might have had in the Hittite mentality. However, another possibility involves the stars. During the height of the Hittite Empire (fourteenth to thirteenth century BC), the Pleiades heliacally set in central Anatolia on dates close to March 20th, while their heliacal rise occurred around May 3rd; so the asterism was invisible for a period close to 6 weeks (nearly 40 days). We have already discussed the relation of the Pleiades to the purulli festival,

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Fig. 163.7 (Left) The acropolis of B€ uy€ ukkale as seen from Temple 1, showing the orientation of the temple’s minor axis to the northern rim of the fortified hill. (Right) The Lions’ gate, the best preserved of Hattusha’s upper city monumental gates (Photographs: A. Ce´sar Gonza´lez-Garcı´a)

presumably celebrated within the AN.TAH.SUM or a short time after it. Hence, the period of Pleiades invisibility could also be connected to the length of the AN.TAH. SUM festival. The relationship of relevant orientations to certain key moments of the annual solar cycle, such as the solstices, the equinoxes, or perhaps the quarterseason days, should be accommodated within the framework of Hittite culture.

References Bryce T (2002) Life and society in the Hittite world. Oxford University Press, King’s Lynn Burney C (2004) Historical dictionary of the Hittites. Scarecrow Press, Lanham Collins BJ (2007) The Hittites and their world. Society of Biblical Literature, Atlanta Gonza´lez-Garcı´a AC, Belmonte JA (2011) Thinking Hattusha: astronomy and landscape in the Hittite lands. J Hist Astron 42:461–494 Gonza´lez-Garcı´a AC, Belmonte JA (2013) Astronomy and landscape in central late Bronze Age Anatolia. In: Taracha P, Kapelus M (eds) Proceedings of the eighth international congress of hittitology, Warsaw (in press) G€uterbock HG (1958) The composition of Hittite prayers to the sun. J Am Orient Soc 78:237–245 G€uterbock HG (1960) An outline of the Hittite AN.TAH.SUM festival. J Near East Stud 19:80–89 Haas V (1994) Geschichte der hethitischen religion. Brill, Leiden Hoffner HA Jr (1998) Hittite myths. Society of Biblical Literature, Atlanta

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Houwink ten Cate PHJ (1986) Brief comments on the Hittite cult calendar: the outline of the AN. TUH.SUM festival. Assyriol Stud 23:95–110 Houwink ten Cate PhHJ (1988) Brief comments on the Hittite cult calendar: the recension of the outline of the nuntarriyashas festival, especially days 8–12 and 15–22. In: Neu E, R€ uster C (eds) Documentum Asiae Minorae Antique. Weisbaden, pp 167–94 Kellerman G (1981) Towards the further interpretation of the purulli-festival. Slavica Hierosolymitana 5-6:35–46 Kock-Westenholz U (1993) Mesopotamian astrology at Hattusas. In: Galter HD (ed) Die Rolle der Astronomie in den Kulturen Mesopotamiens. Kult, Graz, pp 231–246 M€uller-Karpe A, M€uller-Karpe V, Schrimpf A (2009) Geometrie und Astronomie im Stadtplan des hethitischen Sarissa. Mitteilungen der Deutchen Orient-Gesellschaft zu Berlin 141:45–64 Taggar-Cohen A (2006) Hittite priesthood. Winter, Heidelberg Taracha P (2009) Religions of second millenium Anatolia. Harrassowitz Verlag, Wiesbaden van den Hout T (2002) Tombs and memorials: the (divine) stone-house and hegur reconsidered. In: Aslihan Yener K, Hoffner HA Jr, Dhesi S (eds) Recent developments in Hittite archaeology and history. Eisenbrauns, Winona Lake, pp 73–92

Orientation of Phoenician Temples

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Jose´ Luis Escacena Carrasco

Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Orientated for Prayer . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Building a Vision of the Cosmos . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Abstract

The orientation of Phoenician temples has revealed some of the astronomical knowledge of their builders. What we now know on this topic is complemented by other archaeological documents from Syrio-Palestinian cities and their colonies. The astral aspects of Phoenician religion are a direct legacy from the Canaanite traditions 1,000 years earlier and display connections with Mesopotamia and Egypt.

Introduction Archaeoastronomical research has shown that many ancient societies oriented their sanctuaries toward certain points of the sky. In the Phoenician Mediterranean, this search for astral references has also been applied to tombs (Ventura 2000). To these data we must add written texts and iconography relating to celestial bodies. Overall, this provides a rich data set for the study of archaic conceptions of the cosmos.

J.L. Escacena Carrasco Department of Prehistory and Archaeology, University of Seville, Seville, Spain e-mail: [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_183, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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Archaeoastronomy and cultural astronomy have begun to be used to learn about the ideas that ancient and prehistoric societies held about the universe, its origin, and how it works. These fields are thus enabling historians to access the mentality of early man. These scientific disciplines offer important methodological tools for the interpretation of many artistic representations. The Canaanite world is a fruitful area of research for these topics, although most of the work remains to be done. In recent years, studies of the orientation of Phoenician temples have provided a new explanation of the oriental myth of a god who dies and comes back to life (Escacena 2007). This hypothesis constitutes a robust alternative to the traditional view, which sees this belief as a mere metaphor for the seasonal cycles of Mediterranean vegetation.

Orientated for Prayer Our knowledge of Phoenician astronomy is still in early days. Given the spectacular nature of Egyptian and Mesopotamian religious buildings, Mediterranean archaeology has often overlooked this aspect of the analysis of Phoenician religious places, most often humble mud buildings. However, there is already sufficient data on the basis of which to elaborate a synthesis. In this regard, the excavations in the Phoenician colonies overseas have proved particularly valuable, since Phoenician culture is currently better known in the settlements of the diaspora than in the Levantine cities. Many studies, more often by astronomers than by archaeologists, have measured the orientation of sacred buildings. This has resulted in precise works on the celestial alignments but without the necessary historical analysis. Thus, the regularities observed have rarely been explained, although this situation is changing rapidly with the development of an interdisciplinary approach to this field. Carthage, Tyre’s main central-Mediterranean colony, has been relatively well studied. However, it remains difficult to trace archaeoastronomical analysis back to the archaic city (9th–6th centuries BC), since many of the religious spaces measured correspond to the upper strata of Roman times. The same occurs at some Phoenicio-Punic sites in Morocco, for example, Lixus, at the mouth of the river Loukos, near Larache (Esteban et al. 2001, p. 69). In Carthage and other North African Punic centers, there were temples that, dedicated to Saturn or particular local names of Apollo, had inherited Ba‘alic solar orientations (Fig. 164.1). Certain buildings faced the solstices that were also well known in other Mediterranean cultures (Esteban 2002, p. 94). Others, on the contrary, pointed to the equinoxes (Esteban 2003a, p. 86; 2003b, pp 136–137). In either case, these represent a helioscopic vision (Esteban 2003b) that was always linked to the solar epiphanies of Ba‘al Hammon, the principal name used by the inhabitants of Carthage to invoke their male god (Xella 1991, pp. 107–108). The earliest Phoenician archaeoastronomy is better known in the south of the Iberian Peninsula where the temples display shrines that are aligned with the solstices. This has led to explanations that attribute a deep meaning to the

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Fig. 164.1 Equinoctial orientation. Temple of Apollo at Mactar (Tunisia) (Esteban 2003a, Fig. 8)

orientations, with hypotheses that argue in favor of a solar theological basis. The best-studied examples correspond to two sites in the Guadalquivir: Coria del Rı´o and Carambolo. The first is identified as ancient Caura; the second depended on the Phoenician colony of Spal (Seville). Between the eighth and sixth centuries BC, the Canaanites of Caura had a temple located on the slope that led from the port to the town, which at the time centered on the Cerro de San Juan. In the seventh century BC, this urban sanctuary had a clay altar in the shape of a bull’s hide, the long axis of which was symbolically orientated toward summer solstice sunrise and winter solstice sunset. This same provision was shared by the primitive temple, although in later phases it underwent changes motivated by the topography and the urbanism of the town (Escacena and Izquierdo 2008, p. 445). A similar development was experienced by the Carambolo sanctuary, possibly dedicated to Astarte, Phoenician goddess of love, although the worship of Ba‘al conditioned the orientation of the original construction. The first temple, a humble building built in the ninth century BC, was set on an axis defined by the summer solstice sunrise and the winter solstice sunset (Fig. 164.2). When the sanctuary was enlarged in the eighth and seventh centuries BC, the same orientation was

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Fig. 164.2 Solstitial orientation. Carambolo sanctuary (initial phase), next to Seville (Spain)

symbolically given to the southern chapel, dedicated to the male deity, while other rooms were adapted in symmetry with this chapel (Escacena 2010, p. 111). The deviations undergone by the temples Caura and Carambolo in relation to their original buildings could be due to changes in the cult. But such differences of a few degrees are better explained by considering that astronomical accuracy was sought primarily in the inaugural consecration of the sacred spaces. The later orientations would have satisfied the rule only symbolically. Despite being fixed structures, temples and altars were not instruments for celestial calibration. The measurements were taken from the upper terraces, never from inside the temples.

Building a Vision of the Cosmos Knowledge of the sky goes back a long time. Annual calendars were established on the basis of the apparent motions of the Sun, while the moon determined the months and the beginning, in our month of October, of the official and agricultural year (Del Olmo 1995a, p. 115; 1995b, p. 282; Stieglitz 2000, p. 695). The astronomical experiences were instrumental in the rapid maritime expansion of the Canaanites in the first millennium BC. Although the Mycenaeans have been acknowledged in this regard (Blomberg and Henriksson 1999), the Phoenicians were the first in the Mediterranean to apply astral navigation systematically in journeys made by sea. This followed a long prehistoric phase during which the reference had been the flight of certain birds (Luzo´n and Coı´n 1986). This was the technique used by the biblical Nohad. In Roman times, and according to Pliny (N.H. VII, 209) and Strabo (I, 1, 6), Phoenician navigators were guided by Ursa Minor, which still today retains

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Fig. 164.3 The planet Venus represented as rosette on a chain of lotus flowers. Phoenician glass (Carmona, Spain)

the name of “Phoenician Star”. Compared with Ursa Major used by the Greeks, it offered greater precision because of its proximity to the celestial north pole, although the position of these constellations and their stars did not coincide exactly with their present position (Medas 2004, pp. 45–46; see ▶ Chap. 31, “Long-term changes in the appearance of the sky”). The most influential astronomical knowledge concerning Phoenician cosmology related to the Sun (Azize 2005), followed by Venus, the Moon, and the other planets then known: Mercury, Mars, Jupiter, and Saturn. The Earth was conceived as a fixed platform surrounded by a boundless sea. The Sun (Ba‘al) and Venus (Astarte) were considered as a divine marriage. This union was based on their proximity, which in ancient cultures was consistent with the idea that the woman was subordinate to her husband. Indeed, Venus is, after Mercury, the planet that strays least from the Sun, with a maximum elongation of 44 . Venus was preferred because it shines brighter than Mercury. Venus was thus identified with Astarte in archaic times and with Tanit in Carthage and the Punic world in general (Marlasca 2004). The Phoenicians often represented Venus-Astarte as rosettes (Fig. 164.3).

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The most important belief was related to solar declination. If the annual movements of our star across the morning and evening horizons were comparable to human existence – for the Hebrews, neighbors of the Phoenicians, God made man in his image and likeness – the growth in the daylight period that accompanies the advance of the Sun toward the north between December and June would be equivalent to a lifetime, from childhood to maturity, the end of which was marked by 2 days of death (solstice stillness) followed by a resurrection on the third day (the beginning of the displacement toward the South). Thus, the mythical avatars of a god who dies and returns to life find an exact counterpart in these solar cycles. Precisely the repetitive nature of this phenomenon allowed the Canaanites of Tyre and its many colonies to fix the greatest of their festivities, the e´gersis of Melqart. On the summer solstice, the god would die incinerated on the embers of the altar. This was the real and symbolic representation of the scorching heat of the Mediterranean climate at the beginning of summer (Escacena 2009). These experiences of the changing position of the Sun on the horizon also had several practical applications. Thus, encryption mechanisms were developed to keep this knowledge from the Greeks, the main rivals of the Phoenicians in the control of the maritime routes (Escacena and Garcı´a 2009, pp. 27–28).

Cross-References ▶ Astronomy and Navigation ▶ Iberian Sanctuaries

References Azize J (2005) The Phoenician solar theology. Gorgias Press, New Jersey Blomberg M, Henriksson G (1999) Evidence for the Minoan origins of stellar navigation in the Aegean. In: Lebeuf A, Zio´łkowski M (eds) Actes de la Ve`me Confe´rence Annuelle de la SEAC. Institute of Archaeology, Warsaw University, Warzawa, pp 69–81 Del Olmo G (1995a) Mitologı´a y religio´n de Siria en el II milenio a.C. (1500-1200). In: del Olmo G (ed) Mitologı´a y religio´n del oriente antiguo. II/2, Semitas occidentales (Emar, Ugarit, ´ rabes. Ausa, Sabadell, pp 45–222 Hebreos, Fenicios, Arameos, A Del Olmo G (1995b) La religio´n cananea de los antiguos hebreos. In: del Olmo G (ed) Mitologı´a y religio´n del oriente antiguo. II/2, Semitas occidentales (Emar, Ugarit, Hebreos, Fenicios, ´ rabes). Ausa, Sabadell, pp 223–350 Arameos, A Escacena JL (2007) El dios que resucita: claves de un mito en su primer viaje a Occidente. In: Justel JJ et al (ed) Las aguas primigenias. El Pro´ximo Oriente Antiguo como fuente de civilizacio´n (Actas del IV Congreso Espan˜ol de Antiguo Oriente Pro´ximo). Instituto de Estudios Isla´micos y del Oriente Pro´ximo, Zaragoza, pp 615–651 Escacena JL (2009) La E´gersis de Melqart. Hipo´tesis sobre una teologı´a solar cananea. Complutum 20(2):95–120 Escacena JL (2010) El Carambolo y la construccio´n de la arqueologı´a tarte´sica. In: De la Bandera ML, Ferrer E (ed) El Carambolo. 50 an˜os de un Tesoro. Universidad de Sevilla, Sevilla, pp 99–148

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Escacena JL, Garcı´a D (2009) Interdemic selection and phoenician priesthood. Darwinian reflections on the archaeoastronomy of Southern Spain. In: Muscio HJ, Lo´pez GEJ (ed.), Theoretical and methodological issues in evolutionary archaeology. Toward an unified Darwinian Paradigm (BAR International Series 1915). Archaeopress, Oxford, pp 21–30 Escacena JL, Izquierdo R (2008) A propo´sito del paisaje sagrado fenicio de la paleodesembocadura del Guadalquivir. In Dupre´ X et al. (ed) Saturnia Tellus. Definizioni dello Spazio Consacrato in Ambiente Etrusco, Italico, Fenicio-Punico, Iberico e Celtico. Consiglio Nazionale delle Ricerche, Roma, pp 431–455 Esteban C (2002) Elementos astrono´micos en el mundo religioso y funerario ibe´rico. Trabajos de Prehistoria 59(2):81–100 Esteban C (2003a) Equinoctial markers and orientations in Pre-Roman religious and funerary monuments of the Western Mediterranean. In Maravelia A-A (ed) Ad Astra per Aspera et per Ludum. European Archeoastronomy and the Orientation of Monuments in the Mediterranean Basin. BAR International Series 1154, Oxford, pp 83–100 Esteban C (2003b) Temples and astronomy in Carthage. In: Blomberg M, Blomberg PE, Henriksson G (eds) Calendars, symbols, and orientations: legacies of astronomy in culture. Report 59, (Uppsala Astronomical Observatory. Report 59, Uppsala, pp 135–142 Esteban C, Perera MA, Marrero R, Jime´nez JJ (2001) Orientations of pre-Islamic temples of northwest Africa. Archaeoastronomy 26:565–584 Luzo´n JM, Coı´n L (1986) La navegacio´n pre-astrono´mica en la Antig€ uedad: utilizacio´n de pa´jaros en la orientacio´n na´utica. Lvcentvm 5:65–85 Marlasca R (2004) Tanit en las estrellas. In: Gonza´lez Blanco A et al. (ed) El Mundo Pu´nico. Religio´n, Antropologı´a y Cultura Material (Estudios Orientales 5-6). Universidad de Murcia, Murcia, pp 119–132 Medas S (2004) L’orientamento astronomico: aspetti tecnici della navigazione fenicio-punica tra retorica e realta`. In: Pen˜a V et al. (ed) La Navegacio´n Fenicia. Tecnologı´a Naval y Derroteros. Centro de Estudios Fenicios y Pu´nicos, Madrid, pp 43–53 Stieglitz RR (2000) The Phoenician-Punic calendar. In: Aubet ME, Barthe´lemy M (eds) IV Congreso Internacional de Estudios Fenicios y Pu´nicos II. Universidad de Ca´diz, Ca´diz, pp 691–695 Ventura F (2000) Orientations of the Phoenician and Punic shaft tombs of Malta. In: Esteban C, Belmonte JA (ed) Oxford VI and SEAC 99: astronomy and cultural diversity. Organismo Auto´nomo de Museos del Cabildo de Tenerife, La Laguna, pp 59–63 Xella P (1991) Baal Hammon. Recherches sur l’Identite´ et l’Histoire d’un Dieu Phe´nico-Punique. Consiglio Nazionale delle Ricerche, Roma

Astronomy in the Levant During the Bronze Age and Iron Age

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Andrea Polcaro

Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The Proto-Urban Period (3300–2900 BC) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The Urban Period (2900–1900 BC) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The Middle–Late Bronze Age (1900–1200 BC) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The Iron Age (1200–586 BC) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Abstract

This chapter concerns the actual knowledge about astronomy in the Levant between the Early Bronze Age and the Iron Age. Most of the data comes from archaeoastronomical studies of tomb and temple orientations; for some periods the study of cuneiform texts provides information on the cultic calendars.

Introduction “Levant” is a term usually intended as a geographical and historical definition of the western area of the Near East, along the Eastern shore of Mediterranean Sea. Owing to its topographical position, this area has been a passageway for populations, technologies, and religious ideologies between Eastern and Western cultures since prehistoric times. Levantine populations have paid great attention to the sky at least since the Chalcolithic Period (4300–3300 BC), as is shown by the famous Ghassulian Star Painting. This is a large painting of a big star, possibly identifiable with the Sun (see Polcaro 2011, pp. 37–48), testifying perhaps to a solar calendar

A. Polcaro Universita` degli Studi di Perugia, Perugia, Italy e-mail: [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_184, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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Fig. 165.1 Dolmen of Jebel al-Mutawwaq, Jordan (Photograph by the author)

and an important cult of the Sun god, worshipped in the main sacred area of the Tuleilat al-Ghassul settlement in Jordan. (The sacred area of Tuleilat al-Ghassul was composed of two temples. One of them has a circular open-air altar, surrounded by a temenos wall. For a recent analysis see Seaton (2008).) Unfortunately, the lack of written data sources in the Southern Levant up to the Iron Age makes it difficult to delineate the precise astronomical knowledge that the Levantine population had at the beginning of the period of first urbanization; in this framework, archaeoastronomical research has helped significantly.

The Proto-Urban Period (3300–2900 BC) At the beginning of the Early Bronze Age, the phenomenon of megalithism spread in to the Southern Levant. From the Sinai Peninsula to the Northern Golan, different kind of megalithic monuments were built, more or less linked to the presence of settlement occupation (see Polcaro 2013a). Since the nineteenth century AD, dolmens have been identified along the Jordan River and its tributaries, in particular in Jordan (Fig. 165.1): the first archaeoastronomical analyses of these monuments by Belmonte (1997) clearly show that the repetition of some significant orientations in the dolmens of Damiya probably have an astronomical reason. Moreover orientation analyses prove that, despite the topographical and geographical position, dolmens throughout Jordan are always built along two precise main axes, north–south and east–west (see Belmonte 1997;

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24 23 22 21 20 19 18 17 16

no. of dolmens

15 14 13 12 11 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1 0 0

10

20

30

40

50

60

70

80

90 100 110 120 130 140 150 160 170 180 190 200 210 220 230 240 250 260 270 280 290 300 310 320 330 340 350 360 azimuth

Fig. 165.2 Diagram of a sample of Jebel al-Mutawwaq and Wadi az-Zarqa dolmen orientations (Polcaro and Polcaro 2006, Fig. 165.2)

Polcaro and Polcaro 2006, 2009). According to Belmonte, the majority of Damiya dolmens were oriented to the north and in particular to Ursa Major, possibly because of a relationship with Egypt (see Belmonte 1997). In 2006 the author measured many dolmens in Jebel al-Mutawwaq and in other dolmen fields along the Wadi az-Zarqa river, noting that these megaliths are mostly oriented along the meridian. However, the measurement of the azimuth was made from the inside to the outside (this choice was made imagining that funerary rituals were performed on the stone platform surrounding the dolmen, looking toward the entrance — see Polcaro and Polcaro 2006). In this reference system, it was discovered that a significant number of dolmens are oriented to 152
(Fig. 165.2; see Polcaro and Polcaro 2006, 2009). The preliminary hypothesis was that dolmens are oriented upon southern constellations, in particular Orion, which is high in the sky during the winter months when the Wadi az-Zarqa had larger water flow. Moreover, azimuth 152
is the direction in which Orion, possibly identified as the dying god Dumuzi, appears to be standing. (The same orientation to azimuth 152
was identified at the main entrance of the Temple of the Snake, excavated on the settlement located on the top of Jebel al-Mutawwaq by J. A. Ferna´ndez-Tresguerres (2008) — see Polcaro (2010).) It was also noticed that one of the two entrances to the monument of Rujm el-Hiri in the Golan Heights has the same azimuth of 152
, which could strengthen the hypothesis that the observation of the appearance of Orion in the sky could have had a calendrical purpose (see Polcaro and Polcaro 2009). This megalithic monument, dated to the Early Bronze I, is a large, circular ceremonial complex, made of a number of concentric walls joined by radial-like structures (see Fig. 35.3 in ▶ Chap 35, “Stellar alignments: identification and analysis”). Archaeological

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excavations performed in 1988–91 provided information on Rujm el-Hiri geometry and on alignment associations between the architecture of the complex and astronomical events (see Aveni and Mizrachi 1998). The field measurements clearly demonstrate that the north-eastern entryway is aligned in the direction of the summer solstice sunrise in the middle of the fourth millennium BC, while two boulders form a sight line from the geometrical center of the complex, identifying the direction of the equinoctial sun. So, it seems that the Rujm el-Hiri complex was essentially designed for a calendrical role, in the framework of the agricultural and pastoral needs and of the cosmological vision of the local culture. Finally, it is worth noting that other megalithic monuments excavated in Sinai, called Nawamis, have been convincingly argued to be astronomically oriented with a solar direction. In particular, Bar-Yosef has proposed that these funerary monuments were aligned with the setting sun at the time of construction (see Bar-Yosef et al. 1983).

The Urban Period (2900–1900 BC) Urbanization spread through the Levant in the Early Bronze II–III, when fortified settlements with public buildings, places of political power, appear. No written sources are known from the Southern Levant. Moreover no archaeoastronomical investigation has been carried out on the monuments of the area. It is thus very difficult to assess the knowledge of astronomy in the Southern Levant during this period. More data come from the Northern Levant, in particular from Ebla/Tell Mardikh, whose cuneiform archive, dated to the end of the third millennium BC, gives important information about the mythology and the cults performed in Ebla temples (Matthiae 2008). One of these texts, known as the Ritual of Kingship, has been found in three different versions (Fronzaroli 1993). The text describes a complex ritual for the renewal of royalty, a festivity similar to the Egyptian Sed festival, during which the King and the Queen of Ebla undertook a pilgrimage to important sanctuaries and mausoleums of the region, carrying offers to the royal ancestors (Matthiae 2010, pp. 106–115). The starting point of the ritual in Ebla was probably in front of a temple identified by the excavations on the eastern sector of the Early Bronze IV city, the Temple of the Rock (Fig. 165.3). This temple had a peculiar feature, a large basin inside the cella, directly carved into the bedrock, and filled with fresh water through three wells. It was a huge temple in antis with perimeter walls 6 m thick that could reach 13 m in height and a very wide and long passage between the antecella and the sancta sanctorum — in fact, 1.4 m wide and 5 m long, with a height of at least 3.5 m (see Matthiae 2010, pp. 387–391). This wide passageway means that just at some specific moments of the year, the light of the sun passed through the temple door and was reflected in the basin, illuminating the sancta sanctorum. It is interesting to note the particular attention given to the sunrise at the beginning of each paragraph of the Ritual of Kingship (Fronzaroli 1993, pp. 9–11). Sunrise is the time at which ritual travel starts. Moreover, the sunrise marks the beginning of rituals concerning offerings: in particular, the

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Fig. 165.3 Temple of the Rock (Ebla, Area HH), from east, Syria (Copyright MAIS, permission received)

moment and the direction of the sunrise was considered extremely important for this sacred ritual connected to the Eblaite royal family. “And we wait the presence of the Sun god. When the god of the Sun rise, the invocator invocate, and the mourners sing the lamentation of the goddess Nintu (. . .) And therefore the one who sprinkles, sprinkles really the mausoleum three times from the jug. And the third time he rise the cup in front of the rising Sun god. . .” (Fronzaroli 1993, pp. 13–14).

There is also a passage in the text that could be considered as an explicit reference to a sacred building oriented in the sunrise direction: “When the Sun god moves forward to the door of the Kura chamber, the queen sits to the left of the king. And the king and the queen carry the oil vessels, when the gods and the royal couple enter in their rooms” (Fronzaroli 1993, p. 16).

The orientation of the Temple of the Rock of Ebla, which was measured in the field in 2010, turns out to have an azimuth of 100
 1
(Fig. 165.4). Considering the topographic position, the proximity of the city walls, and the narrow entrance, it is possible that only for a few months would the Sun be able to overcome the difference in altitude between the door of the temple and the city walls, allowing its rays to penetrate the narrow corridor into the inner sancta sanctorum (Polcaro 2013b). In particular, in the third millennium BC, the days around the Spring Equinox were those during which direct sunlight entered the temple nearest to dawn (Table 165.1). During the rest of the year, from November to February and in the short span of time between early July and mid-August, the direct sunlight never entered the door of the temple, leaving it in the shadow throughout the day. It was likely that the Ritual of Kingship started when lighting conditions of the temple occurred, particularly just after the sunrise, between April and June. In fact, the first text of the ritual of Eblaite kingship refers to a specific month in which this

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Fig. 165.4 Plan of the Temple of the Rock (Ebla, Area HH), Syria, elaborated by the author (Copyright MAIS, permission received)

ceremony took place, the month of Gi. This month, attested in the Proto-Semitic calendar, indicates the second month of the year, between April and May (different interpretations have been proposed concerning the months in the cultic calendars in use at Ebla in the Bronze Age — see Cohen 1993, p. 26 and Charpin 1982). Thus, it is probable that a strong connection exists between the appearance of the sunlight inside the cella, in the Spring period, and the start of important rituals linked to the royalty of Ebla.

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Table 165.1 Visibility and angle of the sunlight entering the Temple of the Rock’s sancta sanctorum for each day and for each hour between the end of March and the end of April of the year 2400 BC Date (yyyy/mm/dd) 2,400/03/25 2,400/03/26 2,400/03/27 2,400/03/28 2,400/03/29 2,400/03/30 2,400/03/31 2,400/04/01 2,400/04/02 2,400/04/03 2,400/04/04 2,400/04/05 2,400/04/06 2,400/04/07 2,400/04/08 2,400/04/09 2,400/04/10 2,400/04/11 2,400/04/12 2,400/04/13 2,400/04/14 2,400/04/15 2,400/04/16 2,400/04/17 2,400/04/18 2,400/04/19 2,400/04/20 2,400/04/21 2,400/04/22 2,400/04/23 2,400/04/24 2,400/04/25

Temple illumination from to (hh.mm) (hh.mm) 6.40 6.50 6.40 6.50 6.40 6.50 6.40 6.50 6.30 6.50 6.30 6.50 6.30 7.00 6.30 7.00 6.30 7.00 6.30 7.00 6.30 7.00 6.20 7.00 6.30 7.10 6.30 7.10 6.30 7.10 6.30 7.10 6.30 7.10 6.30 7.10 6.40 7.20 6.40 7.20 6.40 7.20 6.40 7.20 6.40 7.20 6.40 7.20 6.50 7.20 6.50 7.30 6.50 7.30 6.50 7.30 6.50 7.30 6.50 7.30 7.00 7.30 7.00 7.40

Z Sun initial (
) 102.8 102.5 102.3 102.0 100.3 100.1 99.8 99.6 99.3 99.1 98.8 97.1 98.3 98.1 97.8 97.6 97.3 97.1 98.3 98.0 97.8 97.5 97.3 97.0 98.3 98.0 97.8 97.5 97.3 97.0 98.3 98.0

h Sun initial (
) 7.1 7.4 7.7 8.0 6.3 6.6 6.9 7.2 7.6 7.9 8.2 6.5 8.8 9.1 9.5 9.8 10.1 10.4 12.8 13.1 13.4 13.7 14.0 14.4 16.7 17.0 17.3 17.6 18.0 18.3 20.6 20.9

Z Sun final (
) 102.8 102.5 102.3 102.0 101.8 101.5 102.8 102.6 102.3 102.1 101.8 101.6 102.9 102.6 102.4 102.1 101.9 101.6 103.0 102.7 102.4 102.2 101.9 101.7 101.4 102.8 102.5 102.3 102.0 101.7 101.5 102.9

h Sun final (
) 7.1 7.4 7.7 8.0 8.3 8.6 10.9 11.3 11.6 11.9 12.2 12.5 14.8 15.2 15.5 15.8 16.1 16.5 18.8 19.1 19.4 19.8 20.1 20.4 20.7 23.0 23.4 23.7 24.0 24.3 24.6 26.9

The Middle–Late Bronze Age (1900–1200 BC) The Middle Bronze Age Levant is characterized by the presence of new populations, such as the Amorrean in the North and the increase of political and cultural influences of Egypt in the South, in particular during the 12th–17th Dynasties (1750–1552 BC).

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Fig. 165.5 Sacred area of the Pella temple, Jordan, from the south (Photograph by Ce´sar Gonza´lez Garcı´a)

Archaeoastronomical research in progress on the Pella/Tabaqat al-Faql, Middle Bronze Age main temple (Fig. 165.5) shows a strong connection between its orientation to the summer solstice sunrise (declination þ22.5
) and the seasonal rituals that were performed in it (Fig. 165.6; Polcaro et al. 2012). In particular, a corpus of Egyptian funerary vessels, discovered against one of the temple walls from its first phase of use (Bourke 2004, Fig. 9), is a strong clue that the summer solstice sunrise orientation had the calendrical purpose of identifying the period at which important rituals dedicated to the aspect of a dying god (assimilated to the Egyptian Osiris) were performed in the Pella temple. (For the identification of the deity worshipped in the Pella temple, and the hypothesis of a passage from the ancient Cananean god El, with the main god of the Late Bronze Age Levantine pantheon, Baal, see Burke 2004.) In this temple the coherence in the architecture and the orientation during the following Late Bronze Age phase, and the indication of the maintenance of a cult dedicated to Baal, testify to the continuity of the summer solstice as an important sacred period in the cultic calendar. The importance of the summer solstice is also recognizable in the calendars of the Late Bronze Age Levant (Cohen 1993, pp. 454–481). In this period the site of Ugarit reveals an impressive archive that gives information about the mythology and the rituals of that time. The calendar in use at Ugarit during the Late Bronze Age indicates that the equinoxes, at least, were important moments of the year, at which different rituals must be performed (Cohen 1993, pp. 378–379). Also the architecture of

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Fig. 165.6 Schematic plan of the Middle Bronze Age phase of the Cananean temple of Pella, Jordan (Elaborated by the author from Bourke 2004)

Fig. 165.7 Temple of Ain Dara, Syria, from the south (Photograph: Sara Pizzimenti)

one of the principal temples of Ugarit, the temple of Baal, may point in this direction. In this temple a high altar has been discovered inside the cella leading to the roof of the temple. In the ritual texts of Ugarit, this altar is described as the place where the main animal sacrifice in honor of the god is performed, and it is explicitly mentioned that the priest performed the ritual with his hands raised to the sky (Xella 1984, pp. 60–62). Another temple of the Middle–Late Bronze Age probably oriented upon summer solstice sunrise was the Temple of the Obelisks at Byblos (azimuth 64
). The presence in this temple of many stelae, perhaps representing the ancestors, suggests a ritual and calendrical purpose in its orientation: the summer was the period of the year when many festivities linked to the dead and the ancestor cult were performed. An example is

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Fig. 165.8 Plan of the Temple of Ain Dara, Syria (Elaborated by the author from Abu Assaf 1990, Fig. 18)

the Ab-e` festival that, at least in the Ur III period, was performed at Mari in the 4th month of the year, between June and July (Cohen 1993, p. 461).

The Iron Age (1200–586 BC) During the Iron Age the ethnic components of the Levantine population changed completely. In the Iron Age I the Sea People arrived, while in the Iron Age II–III Assyrians, Babylonians, and finally Persians conquered the Levant. On the astronomical knowledge of the Phoenicians

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Table 165.2 Maximum, minimum, and medium field of view and illumination period of the slabs decorating the altar of the Ain Dara temple in 1000 BC Z max Z min Z med Duration illum. (h)

E1a 144.6 131.8 138.2 0.9

E2 147.3 134.8 141.1 0.8

E3 149.3 137.8 143.6 0.8

E4 153.3 141.8 147.6 0.8

E5b 156.7 144.7 150.7 0.8

E6 – – – 0.0

Empty space 151.5 139.7 145.6 0.8

Z max ¼ temple axis Z min ¼ temple axis

a

b

see ▶ Chap. 164, “Orientation of Phoenician Temples”; on the transmission of Babylonian astronomy to other cultures, see ▶ Chap. 175, “Transmission of Babylonian Astronomy to Other Cultures”. As regards the Transjordanian kingdoms of Edom, Ammon, and Moab in the Southern Levant, too few archaeoastronomical studies have been done. However, it is possible to state that, at least in the Northern Levantine Aramean culture, astronomical orientation continues to be present in the main temples of the settlements. A case worth mentioning is the temple of Ain Dara, excavated by Ali Abu Assaf (1990) (Fig. 165.7; see also Akkerman and Schwartz 2003, pp. 370–372). It is a typical tripartite temple in antis that follows the prevailing sacred architectonic tradition of Bronze Age Syria; the temple, whose associated deity is uncertain, was completely decorated with carved reliefs showing demons and divinities (Akkerman and Schwartz 2003, p. 372). The main door of the temple (azimuth 140
) seems to be roughly oriented in the direction of sunrise around the winter solstice. An interesting feature of the temple is the presence of two large footprints represented standing in front of the temple entrance carved on its stone threshold. Similar footprints are also carved on the other two stone thresholds of the antecella and cella doors, as if representing the strides of a giant approaching the sacred statue of the god that was located on the central back wall of the cella, on the axis with the entrance, clearly a symbol of the god entering his temple. There is also an interesting relationship between the period of illumination of the cella and the large altar of the temple, which is decorated with six slabs with mythological subjects (Fig. 165.8). In particular, it seems that following sunrise during the winter solstice period the sun illuminated each of the six slabs of the altar (except for the sixth one) for more or less 1/12 of the day. When the illumination of the second slab starts, the slab before still remains lit for about 30 min. The process ends at 10:34 a.m., when the fifth slab is no longer illuminated (see Table 165.2). It seems that this architecture and conception of the cella illumination functioned as a kind of solar clock, testifying to the great attention paid by the temple constructors to the sky and the maintenance of astronomical knowledge in the Iron Age.

Cross-References ▶ Orientation of Phoenician Temples ▶ Stellar Alignments - Identification and Analysis ▶ Transmission of Babylonian Astronomy to Other Cultures

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References Abu¯ Assaf A (1990) Der Tempel von ‫ﺀ‬Ain Da¯ra¯. Mainz am Rhein. Verlag Philipp von Zabern, Darmstadt Akkerman PMG, Schwartz GM (2003) The archeology of Syria. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge Aveni A, Mizrachi Y (1998) The geometry and astronomy of Rujm el-Hiri, a megalithic site in the southern Levant. J Field Archaeol 25:475–496 Bar Yosef O et al (1983) The orientation of nawamis entrance in southern Sinai: expressions of religious belief and seasonality? Tel Aviv 10:52–60 Belmonte JA (1997) Mediterranean archaeotopography and archaeoastronomy: two examples of dolmenic necropolises in the Jordan Valley. J Hist Astron 28:37–43 Bourke S (2004) Cult and archaeology at Pella in Jordan: excavating the Bronze and Iron Age Temple precint (1994–2001). J Proc R Soc N S W 137:1–31 Charpin D (1982) Mari et le calendrier d’Ebla. Revue d’Assyriologie et d’Arche´ologie Orientale 76:1–6 Cohen ME (1993) The cultic calendars of the ancient Near East. CDL Press, Bethesda Ferna´ndez-Tresguerres JA (2008) The “Temple of the serpents”. A sanctuary in the Early Bronze Age I in the village of Jabal al-Mutawwaq (Jordan). Annu Dep Antiq Jordan 52:23–34 Fronza´roli P (1993) Testi rituali della regalita` (ARET XI). Sapienza, Roma Matthiae P (2008) Gli Archivi reali di Ebla. Mondadori/Sapienza, Milano Matthiae P (2010) Ebla la citta` del trono. Einaudi, Torino Polcaro A (2010) Jebel Mutawwaq Dolmens: cult of ancestors in EB I Wadi Az-Zarqa Valley, Jordan. In: Matthiae P et al (eds) Proceedings of the 6th ICAANE, Rome, 5–10 May 2008, vol 2. Harrassowitz, Wiesbaden, pp 553–566 Polcaro A (2011) Un culto solare nel IV millennio a.C. nei dipinti di Tuleilat al-Ghassul. In: Lozito L, Pastore F (eds) Cielo e Cultura Materiale. Recenti scoperte di archeoastronomia nel bacino del Mediterraneo, XIII Borsa Mediterranea del Turismo Archeologico, Paestum, 20 Nov 2010. Arci Postiglione, Salerno, pp 37–48 Polcaro A (2013a) The stone and the landscape: the phenomenon of megalithic constructions in Jordan in the main historical context of southern Levant at the beginning of the 3rd millennium B.C. In: Mazzoni S et al (eds) Proceeding of the 16th symposium on Mediterranean archaeology, BAR series, Florence, 1–3 March 2012 Polcaro A (2013b) Architettura templare e orientamenti astronomici: analisi della tipologia nord-siriana dell’”Antentempel” nel Periodo Protosiriano. Contributi e Materiali di Archeologia Orientale XIV Polcaro A, Gonza´lez-Garcı´a AC, Belmonte JA (2012) Study on the orientation of the Bronze Age temple of Pella, Jordan: the dying god Baal and the rituals of the summer solstice. Paper presented at the International Congress of the European Society for Astronomy in Culture (SEAC), Ljubljana, Slovenia, 24th–29th September 2012 Polcaro A, Polcaro VF (2006) Early Bronze Age Dolmens in Jordan and their orientations. Mediterr Archaeol Archaeom 6(2):165–171 Polcaro A, Polcaro VF (2009) Man and sky: problems and methods of Archaeoastronomy. Archeologia e Calcolatori 20:223–245 Seaton P (2008) Chalcolithic cult and risk management at Teleilat Ghassul. BAR International Series 1864, Archeopress, Oxford Xella P (1984) La terra di Baal. Curcio Editore, Roma

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Juan Antonio Belmonte and A. Ce´sar Gonza´lez-Garcı´a

Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . A Statistical Analysis of Nabataean Monuments . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Light and Shadows over Petra . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Abstract

The Nabataeans built several monuments in Petra and elsewhere displaying decoration with a certain preference for astronomical motifs. A statistical analysis of the orientation of their sacred monuments demonstrates that astronomical orientations were often part of an elaborate plan and possibly reflect traces of the astral nature of Nabataean religion. Petra and other monuments in the ancient Nabataean kingdom demonstrate the interaction between landscape features and astronomical events. Among other things, the famous Ad Deir has revealed a fascinating ensemble of light and shadow effects, perhaps connected with the bulk of Nabataean mythology, while a series of suggestive solstitial and equinoctial alignments emanate from the impressive Urn Tomb, which might have helped bring about its selection as the cathedral of the city.

J.A. Belmonte (*) Instituto de Astrofı´sica de Canarias, Universidad de La Laguna, La Laguna, Tenerife, Spain e-mail: [email protected] A.C. Gonza´lez-Garcı´a Instituto de Ciencias del Patrimonio, Incipit, Santiago de Compostela, Spain e-mail: [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_185, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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Introduction The Nabataeans, a people presumably of Arab roots, developed a singular and sophisticated culture in the harsh lands of Arabia Petraea at the frontiers of the Hellenistic World from the early first century BC to the annexation of their kingdom by Emperor Trajan at the beginning of the second century AD – and even later (Markoe 2003; Bowersock 2003). Petra was the capital of their kingdom for generations and represented the highlight of their civilization although the Nabataean genius was also present in many other sacred buildings scattered across their territory (Fig. 166.1). Among these, the nearly contemporaneous temples at Khirbet et-Tannur and Khirbet ed-Dharih do show several elements of undoubted astral symbolism (Fig. 166.2; see also Tholbecq 1997) which can be traced in the nature of Nabataean religion (Gawlikowski 1990; Healy 2000). Nabataean inscriptions refer to a set of divinities with a possible astral nature such as Dushara, Al Kutba, Allat, or Al Uzza. All these deities were often represented by stone blocks (baetyles). In the area of Petra, Dushara and Uzza were undoubtedly at the head of a pantheon with many levels of comprehension (Zayadine 2003). It is interesting to analyze how this pantheon could be reflected in the monuments.

A Statistical Analysis of Nabataean Monuments Recently, the authors, in collaboration with Andrea Polcaro (Belmonte et al. 2013) have presented a preliminary archaeoastronomical analysis of Nabataean monuments in the region. Data were deliberately collected at the time of the winter solstice. The goal was to analyze a statistically significant sample of temples and other sacred buildings, which could permit archaeological confirmation of previously suspected astronomical activities by the Nabataeans relating to religious practice (Belmonte 1999). The data sample includes c. 90% of the temples known so far, including those in Petra and in other Nabataean settlements of the kingdom such as El Qsar, Tannur, Dharih, or Wadi Ramm. In Petra, the data include temples plus the majority (
80%) of the accessible so-called high places, including the best known of these at Djebel Madbah (Fig. 166.3, panel a), and a few of the most architecturally significant and representative monuments excavated and sculpted in the sandstone walls. In total, the data include 50 temples and other cultic structures from all over the ancient Nabataean kingdom that have been estimated to be a statistically significant sample of all known religious structures up to now. Figure 166.4 illustrates the main outcome of the analysis, showing the astronomical declination histogram. This is strikingly similar to the one discovered for neighboring cultures with a strong astral component in their religion such as ancient Egypt or the Hittites. The histogram shows a series of significant peaks. Some of them, of probable astral – presumably solar – character, can be interpreted in the light of Nabataean beliefs, considering that Strabo (Geographia XVI, 4, 26), among other sources, reported that this people worshipped the Sun on the roofs of their houses.

Petra and the Nabataeans

Fig. 166.1 Nabataean temples outside Petra: (a) Sanctuary at Avdat; (b) Djebel Tannur, the temple is located at its summit; (c) Sancta sanctorum of the temple of Khirbet ed-Dharih; and (d) the temple of Allat at the bottom of the cliffs of Djebel Ramm facing Wadi Ramm (Photographs: J.A. Belmonte (a–c) and A.C. Gonza´lez-Garcı´a (d))

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Fig. 166.2 A reconstructed plaster copy of the portrait of Tyche discovered at the temple of Tannur surrounded by zodiacal signs. This is the best example of astral symbolism in Nabataean art (Photograph: J.A. Belmonte, courtesy of the Amman Archaeological Museum)

Fig. 166.3 Images of different kinds of monuments at Petra discussed within the text: (a) Madbah high place; (b) the Obelisks or Zibb Attuf at Djebel Madbah; and (c) The Urn Tomb at the cliffs of Djebel Khubtha (Photographs: J.A. Belmonte)

Peak I, centered at ¼ , can be catalogued as equinoctial. Scholars had already suspected that the temple of Tannur might be associated with the equinoxes (Villeneuve and Al-Muheisen 2003; Mckenzie 2003), presumably a time for pilgrimages to the top of the mountain where the temple is located (see Fig. 166.1) and a fact hardly surprising considering the abundance of astral symbolism in the sculpture rescued on site. This may suggest that the

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Fig. 166.4 Declination histogram of a set of 50 Nabataean monuments. The dashed and continuous vertical lines mark the major lunistices and solstices, respectively. The horizontal dotted line marks the 3s confidence level. Roman numerals identify peaks discussed within the text

equinoxes were important markers in Nabataean sacred time and were possibly used to control time within the framework of a lunisolar calendar. Belmonte et al. (2013) confirm this suspicion since there is a significant general trend in the data toward the time frame of the equinoxes. The Urn Tomb and the Obelisks at Djebel Madbah are also relevant in this context, as will be discussed afterwards. Peak II at þ24¼ is certainly solstitial, while peak III, centered at 25¼ , could be related to any of the celestial bodies moving close to the ecliptic and that were relevant in Nabataean religion: the winter solstice Sun for Dushara (according to Epiphanius’s Panarion), Venus for Al Uzza, or Mercury for Al Kutba. Peak IV, centered at þ60¼ , is certainly an accumulation peak of northerly directions related to the average latitude of the Nabataean kingdom, 30 N. This could be connected to the large number of monuments that were orientated to the north, including the main temples at the colonnade avenue in Petra, and could be interpreted as an interest in northern skies. Hence, the most significant peaks in the histogram can be interpreted in the light of Nabataean beliefs reinforcing the astral character of their religion and showing that the equinox and perhaps the solstices were important for timekeeping.

Light and Shadows over Petra Our 2011 campaign in Nabataea set out to observe winter solstice effects at some of the most impressive monuments of Petra. Belmonte (1999) had suggested

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a phenomenology related to the solstices for some of the most singular monuments in the city which needed further verification. Direct observation could enable us to directly witness light-and-shadow effects that may have been of significance to the Nabataeans. The most impressive light-and-shadow effect at winter solstice occurs at Ad Deir (the Monastery). It is unclear if this is the temple of one of the most important Nabataean divinities, Dushara or Uzza; a heroon for one of their deified kings such as Obodas I; or the unfinished burial place or cenotaph of one of their last kings. Its use as a church in the Byzantine era and its internal distribution suggest that, originally, this was a sort of monumental cella or biclinium with a cultic podium (a moˆtab) on its back (Wenning 2003). Indeed, Ad Deir would have been a prominent festival venue, with an elaborated staged ascent from the center of the city, a vast court in front of it, and a series of related monuments. The orientation of the structure strongly suggests a winter solstice relationship. On the one hand, the left image of Fig. 166.5 shows the light-and-shadow effect produced at the interior of the monument at the moment of winter solstice sunset. The light of the setting Sun entering through the gate of the monument perfectly illuminates the sacred area of the deep interior of the building where the moˆtab for the installation of the sacred baetyles is located. The effect is spectacular and would have been observable for only a week or so before and after the winter solstice. On the other hand, the setting winter solstice Sun, as observed from the moˆtab itself, interacts in a most interesting way with a peculiar rock as shown in the right panel of Fig. 166.5. The phenomenon would have been still more impressive 2,000 years ago when the northern limb of the disk of the Sun had a declination close to 23½ . We believe that this extraordinary ensemble of solar hierophanies, perhaps in combination with the visibility after sunset of other celestial bodies such as the evening star, clearly reinforces the idea that the Monastery was one of the most important sacred enclosures of the Nabataean realm. Ad Deir would have been the ideal place to celebrate, on dates close to the winter solstice, the birth of Dushara from his own mother-cum-consort Al Uzza, the goddess of fertility. As mentioned above, knowledge of the equinoxes could have been of particular importance to the Nabataeans and a key element in controlling a lunisolar calendar. Interestingly, our new data confirm the equinoctial alignment of the impressive Zibb Attuf, the “Pillars of Merciful” (see Fig. 166.3, panel b) popularly known as the Obelisks. These carved-out behemoths could have been used to control time by the use of the shadow cast at sunrise. However, according to Belmonte (1999), the most inspiring equinoctial relationship would have been found in the Urn Tomb – the most impressive and best preserved of the so-called royal tombs (see Fig. 166.3, panel c) – in relation to the impressive mountain of Umm al Biyara. This sacred mountain was very important for the Nabataeans not only due to its unassailability but also because it was the main source of water for the city. The well-preserved gate of the Urn Tomb was centered upon equinox sunset over the central part of that particular mountain, a result plainly confirmed by the new data but to a much larger degree of sophistication.

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Fig. 166.5 Winter solstice sunset at Ad Deir. The left image shows the light-and-shadow effect in the innermost sacred area of the structure, the moˆtab. The right image demonstrates the accurate solstitial phenomenology associated with the site. The dotted line corresponds to the path followed by the upper limb of the Sun at winter solstice sunset in the first century BC (Photographs: J.A. Belmonte and A.C. Gonza´lez-Garcı´a, respectively)

This is shown in Fig. 166.6. The Urn Tomb has a quite elaborate design, suggesting that it was used not only as a tomb but also as a place for other religious activities or festivals, possibly related to the cult of the dead. On December 21, 2011, sunset at the winter solstice was observed from the court in front of the Urn Tomb. During the sunset, the Sun passed behind a conspicuous landmark on the distant western horizon. Most important, the last rays of the Sun illuminated the northeast corner of the inner hall after crossing the main gate of the tomb. The phenomenon, in combination with the confirmed equinoctial alignment (see Fig. 166.6), proved quite astonishing. Sunset at the equinox took place between two distinct features on the summit of Umm al Biyara. It is difficult to discern whether they are purely natural, artificial, or natural but elaborated. Surprisingly, the data also indicated that sunset at the summer solstice occurs between another two, similar “natural” features further to the north on the distant western horizon and that this new alignment completes the symmetry of the main hall of the tomb (see Fig. 166.6). This impressive set of three alignments within the plan of the monument in combination with significant features on the distant horizon can hardly be ascribed to chance. This suggests a deliberate attempt to convert the hall of the Urn Tomb, whatever its actual purpose – certainly religious – into a kind of timekeeping device that would have been very useful in controlling time and the calendar, be it sacred or profane. This probably resulted from an original Nabataean design, considering related findings in other buildings of the city. Interestingly, Bishop Jason converted the Urn Tomb into the cathedral church of Petra on June 24, 446 AD (Fiema 2003). Perhaps this formidable enclosure was selected as the new cathedral of the city because it included such a notable grouping of alignments so useful for Christian

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Fig. 166.6 Sunset phenomenology on the western horizon (a) related to the solstices and the equinoxes as seen from the Urn Tomb enclosure (b). Our data suggest that the site and the internal distribution of the monument were deliberately chosen with an astronomical objective in mind (Adapted from Belmonte et al. 2013)

worship: the three alignments would have offered markers, of an excellent and precise nature, for the determination of Christmas on December 24, Easter (through the observation of the spring equinox), and Saint John on June 24, which was also the date of consecration of the new cathedral. The analysis of a statistically significant sample of data, together with the study of light-and-shadow effects confirmed in several monuments of the city related to the consistent use of the equinoxes, the solstices, and perhaps other conspicuous astronomical features, certainly points toward the importance of astral elements in Nabataean religion, posing new evidence for cultic worship centered on the celestial sphere. Acknowledgments This work is partially financed under the framework of the projects P310793 “Arqueoastronomı´a” of the IAC and AYA2011-26759 “Orientatio ad Sidera III” of the Spanish MINECO.

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Cross-References ▶ Analyzing Light-and-Shadow Interactions ▶ Analyzing Orientations ▶ Orientation of Egyptian Temples: An Overview ▶ Orientation of Hittite Monuments

References Belmonte JA (1999) Mediterranean archaeoastronomy and archaeotopography: Nabataean Petra. In Lebeuf A, Zio´łkowski M (eds) Actes de la Ve`me Confe´rence Annuelle de la SEAC. Institute of Archaeology, Warsaw University, Warzawa, pp 77–90 Belmonte JA, Gonza´lez-Garcı´a AC, Polcaro A (2013) Light and shadows over Petra: astronomy and landscape in Nabataean lands. Nexus Netw J (in press) Bowersock GW (2003) The Nabataean history context. In: Markoe G (ed) Petra rediscovered: lost city of the Nabataeans. Harry Abrahams, New York, pp 19–25 Fiema ZT (2003) The Byzantine church at Petra. In: Markoe G (ed) Petra rediscovered: lost city of the Nabataeans. Harry Abrahams, New York, pp 239–249 Gawlikowski M (1990) Les Dieux des Nabate´ens. A.N.R.W. II.18.4, 2659. Berlin Healy JF (2000) The religion of the Nabataeans. Brill, Boston Markoe G (2003) Petra rediscovered: lost city of the Nabataeans. Harry Abrahams, New York Mckenzie JS (2003) Carvings in the desert: the sculpture of Petra and Khirbet et-Tannur. In: Markoe G (ed) Petra rediscovered: lost city of the Nabataeans. Harry Abrahams, New York, pp 165–191 Tholbecq L (1997) Les Sanctuaires des Nabate´ens: E´tat de la question a` la lumie`re de recherches arche´ologiques re´centes. Topoi 7:1069–1095 Villeneuve F, Al-Muheisen Z (2003) Dharih and Tannur, sanctuaries in central Nabataea. In: Markoe G (ed) Petra rediscovered: lost city of the Nabataeans. Harry Abrahams, New York, pp 83–100 Wenning R (2003) The rock-cut architecture of Petra. In: Markoe G (ed) Petra rediscovered: lost city of the Nabataeans. Harry Abrahams, New York, pp 133–142 Zayadine F (2003) The Nabataean gods and their sanctuaries. In: Markoe G (ed) Petra rediscovered: lost city of the Nabataeans. Harry Abrahams, New York, pp 75–64

Mesopotamian Cosmogony and Cosmology

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Wayne Horowitz

Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Traditions in Sumerian . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Traditions in Akkadian . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Minor Works . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Abstract

Mesopotamian cosmogony and cosmology has interested scholars and laymen since the decipherment of the cuneiform script in the nineteenth century. Below is a short discussion of this topic, with references to further bibliography.

Introduction Mesopotamian cosmogony and cosmology has been investigated countless times since the beginnings of modern Assyriology which goes back to the decipherment of the cuneiform script in the mid-1800s. Two recent summaries are Lambert 2008, which provides an overview of Mesopotamian cosmogony with a new English translation of the Babylonian national and creation epic Enuma Elish, the most explicit Ancient Mesopotamian statement about the creation of the universe, and Horowitz 2011, which gives a full length study of the shape and structure of the physical universe (cosmic geography). A new German edition of Enuma Elish is available in Kammerer and Metzler 2012, and a French translation with a study

W. Horowitz The Hebrew University, Jerusalem, Israel e-mail: [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_186, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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edition of the epic is available in Talon 2005. A few other relevant studies are listed in the bibliography below, but most will soon be superseded by the publication of W. G. Lambert’s posthumous book on Babylonian Creation Myths in the near future. Although there are a number modern tools and a plethora of ancient sources that are related in some way or another to cosmogony and cosmology, we are far from able present a comprehensive view of Ancient Mesopotamian thoughts on such subjects. This is a result of the nature of our evidence. Ancient Mesopotamia civilization is a dead civilization which is known to us almost exclusively from hundreds of thousands of cuneiform documents and inscriptions that mostly record the mundane comings and goings of everyday life. These date from the end of the fourth millennium BC, to the first century AD, thus leaving us with no living informants who might be interviewed for the purposes of ethnoastronomy. Further, very little reliable information about the cuneiform Ancient Near East survives in the writings of contemporary cultures who knew Ancient Mesopotamia, most notably Jewish sources and Classical Greek writings. For our topic, we have only what survives from the learned writings of a small literate scribal minority, whose views might have differed in some respects from the views of the less learned. What we do have comes to us from two very different languages: Sumerian, the classical language of Ancient Mesopotamia which belongs to no known language family and died out as a spoken language just after the start of the second millennium BC, and Akkadian, a Semitic language of the same family as Hebrew and Arabic, which was written as part of a living civilization from about 2500 BC, down to the end of cuneiform culture ca. 100 AD. As we will see below, there are differences in the portrayal of cosmology and cosmogony in Sumerian and Akkadian, but these can perhaps be attributed to the time factor, Sumerian being attested earlier than Akkadian, rather than to a difference of opinion between Sumerian and Akkadian speakers. Thus, our situation is thus somewhat like a very elaborate jigsaw puzzle for which we have thousands of pieces, but still cannot be sure of the full picture, or even that all our pieces belong to a single puzzle. Nonetheless, the many pieces of evidence that we do have at hand allow us to present the following short synthesis.

Traditions in Sumerian There are two basic strands in Mesopotamian accounts of the creation of the physical universe: an earlier strand, which seems to be based on the concept of a separation of solids, and a later strand, which appears to be based on a separation of waters. The earlier tradition is best known from a series of prologues to Sumerian literary texts dating to the late third millennium BC, but known primarily from later copies dating to the first half of the second millennium BC. Here, in the opening lines of a number the texts, one finds a summary of what came before the text’s main plot. These events go back to the start of the universe, in most cases beginning with the separation of Heaven and Earth by the two leading gods of the Sumerian pantheon: An (the King of Heaven) and Enlil (the King of Earth). The

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time frame for this event is given as “long ago days and nights” (Sjo¨berg 2002; Horowitz 2011, pp. 134–142). Thus, as in Genesis 1, the history of the universe in Sumerian appears to begin with divine acts that make order out of a primordial chaos of some sort within the context of days and nights of the era of creation. The parallels with Genesis 1 go even further in two broken texts that appear to refer to a primordial darkness which pervaded the universe before the introduction of light (Horowitz 2011, pp. 140–141). There is, however, no reference to the creation of cosmic waters in Sumerian sources, although the Sumerian god of the waters, Enki, is present at the time of creation, and in another set of sources perhaps even identified as the father of the gods, from whom all other gods ultimately issue forth. Thus, it may be fair to suppose that water was a primordial element of the Sumerian universe, as it is in later Akkadian tradition, particularly that of Enuma Elish and related materials. If so, perhaps the Sumerian view of the primordial universe was one of a solid mass of matter surrounded on all sides by waters, with Heaven and Earth then separated out of the original solid. In any case, it is within this universe, that the gods come into being, all apparently being descended from an original first male–female pair of Enki and Ninki, literally “Lord and Lady Earth”, with Enki (in our opinion) being the god of the same name who is the Sumerian god of the waters noted above, and so King of the freshwater underground cosmic reservoir that the Sumerians and later Akkadians call the abzu/apsuˆ, which may be compared with the teho¯m of the Hebrew Bible. Enki is also the god of wisdom and the god who is responsible for making the universe function as it should, and so might be thought of, in modern terms, as the god who runs the software of the universe, as opposed to An and Enlil who are responsible for the universe’s hardware (Heaven and Earth). Sumerian thought also seems to make a clear distinction between the original inanimate material from which the universe was made, and the life force which animates the gods, and is later passed on to humans when mankind is created by the fashioning of human bodies from clay, like statues, and then animating these human forms by means of elements derived from deities. Hence, perhaps a distinction between what we might call “body and soul” as early as the time of the Sumerians. However, much of the above has already drawn us from the realm of what can be demonstrated with certainty in Sumerian texts to what may be speculated for Sumerian thought by extrapolating from traditions which are later available in writing in Akkadian.

Traditions in Akkadian Akkadian literature, in contrast, supposes a liquid primordial universe that consists of living divine waters. This is most clear in Babylonian tradition, in particular Enuma Elish which will be presented in full edition in W. G. Lambert’s forthcoming book. In Enuma Elish, the primordial universe is alive and animate, consisting of Apsu, a male deity composed of the fresh waters, and Tiamat, the female seagoddess. The mixing of these waters begins a chain of creation that includes the birth of the next generations of deities, but also leads to disaster when the noise of

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the younger gods so bothers the god Apsu of the first generation that he decides to kill them. Apsu is thwarted by Ea (the Akkadian equivalent of Sumerian Enki), who then puts Apsu to death, thus creating the inanimate cosmic region Apsu, Ea’s cosmic region. This establishes the principle that all inanimate matter must be made from the corpses of deities who are put to death. It is this principle which stands at the heart of the main story of creation of Enuma Elish, namely, the battle between Marduk, the son of Ea, and the primordial Sea-goddess Tiamat, which results in Marduk killing Tiamat and using her corpse to build Heaven and Earth. Later, Tiamat’s helper Kingu is also slaughtered, with his life force animating the first human beings in a tradition that is heavily dependant on earlier accounts of the creation of man in both Sumerian and Akkadian (e.g., Sumerian Enki and Ninmah and the Akkadian Atrahasis Epic). Enuma Elish also teaches how Marduk opened the sources of the Tigris and Euphrates rivers in Tiamat’s eyes, and how the mountains on the Earth’s Surface were created from Tiamat’s breasts (in both cases making use of puns in Akkadian), and how the universe was bound together by Marduk using Tiamat’s tail to make the durmahhu, “great bond”. In other section of Enuma Elish, Marduk creates time by placing the stars, Moon-god, and Sun-god in the sky and commanding them to regulate, respectively: the year, the month, and in the case of the Sun, the day, and makes Babylon his cosmic capital of Heaven and Earth. The creation of time and the organization of the sky is also considered in a literary fragment from Nineveh in which the heavens are organized in part by means of the equation for determining the area of a semicircle, or in three dimensions, a dome (Horowitz 2010). Thus, by the seventh century, we find in Mesopotamian thought what appears to be a connection between cosmogony and mathematics. An early Hellenistic Period rendering of many of the ideas found in Enuma Elish are to be found in Greek in what remains of the Greek writings of the former Babylonian priest of Marduk Berossus, who wrote his Babyloniaca in honor of Antiochus I, who came to throne in 281 BC (Burstein 1978).

Minor Works A number of other ideas and topics are considered in more minor Sumerian and Akkadian works. For example, a bilingual incantation commonly known as The Bilingual Creation of the World by Marduk, speaks of Marduk building the Earth’s Surface as a raft floating on the waters of the cosmic ocean, and an Akkadian medical incantation known as The Worm describes a chain of creation that begins with Heaven creating Earth, and Earth creating the Rivers, and ends with the creation of the worm which lives in the human mouth, i.e., the root of the tooth that is extracted in root canal surgery, ancient and modern. Finally, a group of Sumerian incantations may imply the existence of seven heavens and seven earths, as in later Arabic and Hebrew cosmology. This stands in contrast to a learned tradition in Akkadian which speaks of only three heavens and earths. Here, the three levels of heaven are made of stone and consist of the starry sky, and two regions inhabited by the gods of heaven above the sky, including in one variation of this

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tradition, a heavenly sanctuary of Marduk. Below the three earths are the realm of man, the Apsu of Ea, and the underworld of the dead (Horowitz 2011, pp. 3–19). There is, however, no direct evidence for the creation of the underworld in surviving materials, although the Akkadian myth Nergal and Eresˇkigal does explain how sovereignly in the underworld passed from the hands of Queen goddess Eresˇkigal to King Nergal by means of the marriage of the two (Foster 1993, pp. 410–428).

Cross-References ▶ Mesopotamian Celestial Divination

References Burstein S (1978) The Babyloniaca of Berossus. Undena, Malibu Foster B (1993) Before the muses, an anthology of Akkadian literature. CDL Press, Bethesda Horowitz W (2010) They multiplied the SAG by the USˇ in the sky. In: Stackert J, Porter BN, Wright DP (eds) Gazing on the deep: ancient Near Eastern and other studies in honor of Tzvi Abusch. CDL Press, Bethesda, pp 51–61 Horowitz W (2011) Mesopotamian cosmic geography. Eisenbaruans, Winona Lake (Second Printing, with Corrections and Addenda) Kammerer TR, Metzler KA (2012) Das babylonische Weltschopfungsepos Enuma elıˆsh, vol 375, Alter Orient und Altes Testament. Ugarit-Verlag, M€ unster Lambert WG (2008) Mesopotamian creation stories. In: Geller M, Schnipper M (eds) Imagining creation. Brill, Leiden, pp 15–59 Sjo¨berg AW (2002) In the beginning. In: Abusch T (ed) Riches hidden in secret places: ancient Near Eastern studies in memory of Thorkild Jacobsen. Eisenbrauns, Winona Lake Talon P (2005) The standard Babylonian creation myth Enuma Elish, vol 4. State archives of Assyria cuneiform texts. Neo-Assyrian Text Corpus Project, Helsinki

Mesopotamian Star Lists

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Wayne Horowitz

Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The Lexical Tradition . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The Astronomical-Astrological Tradition . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Abstract

Sumerian and Akkadian names of stars and constellations occur in cuneiform texts for over 2,000 years, from the third millennium BC down to the death of cuneiform in the early first millennium AD, but no fully comprehensive list was ever compiled in antiquity. Lists of stars and constellations are available in both the lexical tradition and astronomical-astrological tradition of the cuneiform scribes. The longest list in the former is that in the series Urra ¼ hubullu, in the latter, those in Mul-Apin.

Introduction Cuneiform texts bearing names of stars and constellations are available from the early second millennium BCE down to the time of the latest available cuneiform tablets of the first-century AD (Sachs 1976), but there is no such thing as an authoritative Mesopotamian star list, that is, a standard list of all the stars, or the main stars, known to a set of Ancient Mesopotamians in any one time or place. Thus, we must begin by this discussion by defining our terms.

W. Horowitz The Hebrew University, Jerusalem, Israel e-mail: [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_187, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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First of all, the term star, per se, as it is most commonly used in English to refer to individual fixed stars, does not exist in either Sumerian or Akkadian. Instead, the nouns commonly translated as “star” in English, Sumerian mul ¼ Akkadian kakkabu, refer to a full range of observed astronomical phenomena including the fixed stars but also constellations, planets, mirages, comets, shooting stars, etc. In fact, most often when a mul ¼ kakkabu is named, what is meant is a constellation, with individual stars most often described in terms of parts of constellations, for example, “the bright star of the Bull of Heaven” (Taurus), “the front star of the Little Twins” (Ursa Minor), or “the right hand of The True Shepherd of Heaven (Orion)”. Thus, when speaking of Mesopotamian star lists, what is generally meant is a collection of names of constellations, with the occasional name of a fixed star or planet included. For our purposes below, we will use the term “star” as ancient Sumerians and Akkadians would have used mul ¼ kakkabu, with a “star list” being a grouping of names of such objects. Star lists are found in two very different parts of the cuneiform corpus. First are dictionary lists in the lexical tradition that is best known from the canonical Sumerian-Akkadian series Urra ¼ hubullu (see Civil 1995) and second, sets of star names in the astronomical/astrological tradition. For example, the stars of the Paths of Anu, Enlil, and Ea – the traditional divisions of the Mesopotamian sky, these being east–west paths in the central, northern, and southern portions of the heavens. A list of stars of the Paths of Anu, Enlil, and Ea is to be found in the first millennium astronomical compendium Mul-Apin (Hunger and Pingree 1989, 1999, pp. 57–83) and slightly earlier in the Astrolabe tradition best known from the twelfth-century Berlin Astrolabe (Astrolabe B, see Horowitz forthcoming, with a current discussion of the Astrolabe group in Hunger and Pingree 1999, pp. 50–57). These star names and others are collected in the Russian language reference work of Kurtig (2007), which lists and identifies (when possible) all star names available in extant cuneiform texts. Lists of the most of the common Mesopotamian stars in English are available in Hunger and Pingree’s edition of Mul-Apin, Hunger and Pingree 1989, 1999, and earlier in Reiner and Pingree 1981. In such modern works, as here, the identifications between the ancient names and modern names are only approximate and are meant to serve as an aid to the modern reader, rather than to imply exact equivalence between ancient and modern constellations.

The Lexical Tradition The canonical version of series Urra ¼ hubullu, dating to ca. 1000 BCE, was comprised of 24 tablets with a total of more than 10,000 entries when complete. Included in Tablet 22 of the series was a list of star names with the Sumerian name on the left translated by its Akkadian equivalent on the right. As is typical of the series as a whole, the list begins with the standard sign for stars, that is, the stardeterminative, Sumerian mul ¼ Akkadian kakkabu, the latter being cognate to terms for stars in the other Semitic languages. A now outdated version of the

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series is available in the modern multivolume work Materials for the Sumerian Lexicon (MSL), with the star list reconstructed in part on MSL XI 30–31. A new improved version of the list, based on the old MSL XI edition, but with new sources from late first millennium BC. Uruk and the British Museum, is being completed by W. Horowitz and Y. Bloch. The canonical list in Urra 22, as reconstructed by Horowitz and Bloch, now consists of approximately 60 entries, with some variation between the sources. Earlier versions of the Urra star list from the second millennium are discussed in Horowitz (2005), and there is also a first millennium commentary to the series which gives some updated names of stars (MSL XI 40–41). Horowitz 2005 also discusses some Sumerian star names and the oldest Semitic star name now known, ka`-ma-tu`, a name for the Pleiades from Ebla, which is cognate to the much later biblical Hebrew name for the star Kimah.

The Astronomical-Astrological Tradition The earliest groupings of star names in cuneiform are to be found in two parallel prayers commonly known as Old Babylonian Prayers to the Gods of the Night. These two prayers, dating to the first half of the first millennium, each list slightly different repertoires of ten constellations, which are addressed by a petitioner requesting a favorable omen in a ceremony performed under the night sky (Foster 1993, pp. 146–147, Wilcke 2007, pp. 224–228 with further bibliography). Examples of this same genre with appeals to the ‘Gods of the Night’ (the constellations and planets) recur throughout the rest of Mesopotamian history, and include an important example from the Hittite capital Boghazko¨i from the middle of the second millennium. The repertoire of stars in Old Babylonian Prayers to the Gods of the Night reflects an older set of star names that does not survive in full down to the time of the Astrolabes and Mul-Apin. The earliest set of stars in the Astrolabe tradition is the tablet HS 1897 from Kassite Period Nippur (ca. 1250) which gives the earliest surviving list of Anu-, Enlil-, and Ea-stars. This text names ten stars for each path, apparently following the older tradition of listing stars in groups of ten that goes back to aforementioned Old Babylonian prayers. Soon after, we find the mature system of listing stars in groups of 12 in Astrolabe B. This system is based on the principle of one star per month of the year per stellar path. Thus, in Astrolabes one finds 12 Anu-stars, 12 Enlil-stars, and 12 Ea-stars. Although in theory the Enlil-stars for each month should be north of the Anu-stars, and Anu-stars, in turn, north of the Ea-stars, in practice this is not always the case. Likewise, in theory, the stars listed for each month were meant to rise helically in that month, but this is not necessarily the case at the time of the writing of the earliest Astrolabes. Further, there is also the impossible situation of planets being listed as rising stars for a particular month. For example, the planet Mars, the star of the god Nergal, King of the Underworld, is assigned to the Path of Ea in Kislev (Month IX, November-December), Nergal’s month. Thus, the Astrolabes do not offer a fully scientific exposition of stellar phenomena, but reflect religious-mythological considerations as well as observational data.

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The series Mul-Apin offers a more scientific exposition of the heavens. The series is written in two tablets with the first tablet dedicated in full to the stars. The opening section of Mul-Apin I gives a list of Enlil-, Anu-, and Ea-stars that more accurately assigns stars to their proper north–south path in the sky than the Astrolabes. Here there are a total of 71 entries, with more than 12 entries for each path so there is no correlation between stars and month. The date of the heliacal risings of selected stars is then given in Tablet I, Sections b., with the following sections noting which stars set as others rise, and time intervals between risings of stars given in numbers of days over an ideal 360 day year. Tablet I then concludes with a section listing ziqpu-stars, stars that culminate in the Path of Enlil, and the dates of their culminations, and finally a list of stars that stand in the Path of the Moon. The opening section of Mul-Apin Tablet II names the seven ancient planets (Mercury, Venus, Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, the Moon, and the Sun) and states that they move in the Path of the Moon. These sections of Mul-Apin are considered in greater detail in Hunger and Pingree 1989, 1999. The ziqpu-star list of Mul-Apin is but one of a number of lists in this genre (Hunger and Pingree 1999, pp. 84–90). A particularly interesting example is the late Babylonian tablet AO 6487 from Uruk which measures the intervals between culminations of ziqpu-stars in terms of (1) degrees of arc, (2) time as measured on the water clock, and (3) actual distance in the sky in terms of be¯ru ina sˇameˆ, “leagues in the sky”. A full circuit of intervals is given as 364 , just over 60 minas of water, and 655,200 “leagues in the sky” (Horowitz 2011, pp. 182–188). Given that one Mesopotamian league distance on earth is just over 10 km, this circuit of ziqpu-stars is equivalent to over 6,552,000 km. Thus, although AO 6478 is obviously speculative in nature, this text, and a few others, offers evidence that the Mesopotamian universe was very large indeed. The anomaly of a stellar circuit of 364 , rather than 360 , may reflect a solar year of 364 days that is known from The Apocrypha and the Dead Sea Scrolls (Al-Rawi and Horowitz 2001; Ben-Dov 2008). Another source for lists of stars is The Great Star List (Koch-Westenholz 1995: 187–205), an astronomical-astrological work where one finds lists of names for the Planets, lists of Elam, Akkad, and Amurru stars in the Astrolabe tradition, and lists of tikpu-stars, lu¯masˇu (constellations), and twins (Geminis). In more scientific astronomical works, one finds lists of sets of strings of stars in what is called The GU Text and other sets in The DAL.BA.AN.NA Text (Hunger and Pingree 1999: 90–111). Such lists represent new ways to organize the sky reflecting advances in Mesopotamian astronomical knowledge and technique as one moves through the first millennium BC, a process which culminates with the development of the true mathematical astronomy represented by the ACT-texts (Hunger and Pingree 1999: 212–270). However, even at this late date, the earlier texts and traditions continued to be copied and even integrated to a certain extent with later knowledge. Two examples of this are the late Astrolabe compendium BM 55502 which gives a near duplicate to the earlier lists of ten Anu-, Enlil-, and Ea-stars known a millennium earlier from HS 1897 (instead of the 12 stars per path system of the standard Astrolabe system) and the roughly contemporary Astrolabe work LBAT 1499,

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which includes two sections relating to Astrolabe stars and rising times of the micro-zodiac (Rochberg 2004). The observational and predictive texts of the late period frequently refer to a group of stars close to the ecliptic. These stars are referred to as the Normal Stars in modern scholarship. Two catalogues of the Normal Stars are known (Roughton et al. 2004).

Cross-References ▶ Babylonian Observational and Predictive Astronomy

References Al-Rawi F, Horowitz W (2001) Tablets from the Sippar Library IX. A Ziqpu-Star Planisphere. Iraq 63:171–181 Ben-Dov J (2008) Head of all years: astronomy and calendars at Qumran in their ancient context. Brill, Leiden Civil M (1995) Ancient Mesopotamian lexicography. In: Sasson J (ed) Civilizations of the ancient Near East. Charles Schnbner’s Sons, New York, pp 2305–2314 Foster B (1993) Before the muses, an anthology of Akkadian literature. CDL Press, Bethesda Horowitz W (2005) Some thoughts on Sumerian star-names and Sumerian astronomy. In: Sefati Y et al (eds) An experienced scribe who neglects nothing, ancient Near Eastern studies in honor of Jacob Klein. CDL Press, Bethesda, pp 163–178 Horowitz W (2011) Mesopotamian cosmic geography. Eisenbrauns, Winona Lake (Second Printing with Corrections and Addeda) Horowitz W (forthcoming) The three stars each: the astrolabes and related texts (Archiv f€ ur Orientforschung ), vol 33 (in press) Hunger H, Pingree D (1989) MUL.APIN: an astronomical compendium in cuneiform, vol 24. Archiv f€ur Orientforschung. Horn, Verlag Ferdinand Berge & So¨hne Hunger H, Pingree D (1999) Astral sciences in Mesopotamia. Brill, Leiden Koch-Westenholz U (1995) Mesopotamian astrology, an introduction to Babylonian and Assyrian celestial divination. The Carsten Niebuhr Institute of Near Eastern Studies, Museum Tusculanum Press, University of Copenhagen, Copenhagen Kurtig GE (2007) The star heaven of ancient Mesopotamia, the Sumero-Akkadian names of constellations and other heavenly bodies. Aletheia, St. Petersburg Reiner E, Pingree D (1981) Babylonian planetary omens part two, Enu¯ma Anu Enlil tablets 50–51, vol 2/2. Bibliotheca Mesopotamia. Undena Press, Malibu Rochberg F (2004) A Babylonian rising-times scheme in non-tabular astronomical texts. In: Burnett C et al (eds) Studies in the history of the exact sciences in honour of David Pingree. Brill, Leiden, pp 56–94 Roughton NA, Steele JM, Walker CBF (2004) A late Babylonian normal and ziqpu star text. Arch Hist Exact Sci 58:537–572 Sachs A (1976) The latest datable cuneiform tablets. In: Eichler B, Heimerdinger J, Sjo¨berg A (eds) Kramer anniversary volume: cuneiform studies in honor of Samuel Noah Kramer, vol 25, Alter Orient und Altes Testament. Butzon & Bercker, Neukirchener, pp 379–398 Wilcke C (2007) Das Recht: Grundlage des sozialen und politischen Diskurses in Alten Orient. In: Wilcke C (ed) Das geistige Erfassen der Welt im Alten Orient: Sprache, Religion, Kultur und Gesellschaft. Harrassowitz, Wiesbaden, pp 209–244

Mesopotamian Celestial Divination

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Lorenzo Verderame

Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The Third Millennium and the Sumerian Tradition . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The Akkadian Literary Tradition (Second to First Millennium) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Abstract

Celestial divination was an important aspect of scholarly activity in Mesopotamia. Several hundred cuneiform tablets attest to its practice and provide details of the different types of omens that were drawn from observations of the sky. This chapter outlines the sources of celestial divination in Mesopotamia and traces the development of the divinatory tradition from the late third millennium BC down to the end of the first millennium BC.

Introduction Divination is one of the most significant legacies of what we conventionally call Mesopotamian civilization. All types of omens were observed, recorded, collected, arranged, transmitted, and commented upon within the stream of the cuneiform literary tradition, from the end of the third millennium BC until the beginning of the Christian era (Reiner 1995; Koch-Westenholz 1995; Rochberg 2004). It is perhaps not surprising that such a long, uninterrupted, and consolidated tradition had a great influence on the neighboring and coeval cultures, especially those that adopted the

L. Verderame “Sapienza” Universita` di Roma, Rome, Italy e-mail: [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_188, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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cuneiform writing, such as the Hittites, or the Akkadian language as a lingua franca in international diplomacy. This stream, however, also reached directly or indirectly into other traditions that are more distant in time and space, for example, the Indian and the Greek traditions (Pingree 1998). The name of Chaldea became a synonym of the esoteric sciences, particularly astrology. As late as the thirteenth century AD, King Alfonso X of Castile, called the wise (“el sabio”), claimed to draw on Chaldean tradition. For a long time, however, the original Mesopotamian tradition was blended with elements of other traditions, all gathered under the name “Chaldean” that synthesized and unified the Oriental science in opposition to the Western one. This vague definition survived until the rediscovery of the forgotten Mesopotamian cultures and their scholarly writing in the nineteenth century. Sources for the study of Mesopotamian divination, especially that concerning the observation of celestial bodies, are abundant. These are mainly in the form of texts preserved on clay tablets written in cuneiform, although relevant exceptions, as the edition of the astrological series Enu¯ma Anu Enlil written on an ivory writing board found at Nimrud and made for the Assyrian king Sargon II, must be noted. On the other hand, due to a number of concrete and hermeneutic problems, iconographic and archaeological sources have up to now not been considered relevant for a general discussion on celestial divination in Mesopotamia (Verderame 2010).

The Third Millennium and the Sumerian Tradition The most ancient documents in cuneiform writing date from the third millennium BC and are written mainly in Sumerian language. Most of the written documents are economic and administrative records, and the majority of the literary texts in Sumerian come from the Old Babylonian period when this language was not spoken anymore. Within the known corpus of Sumerian literature, no texts treat divination, and this had led to the general opinion that the stream of divinatory texts began with the Akkadian literary tradition. This assumption, however, must be put in the right perspective. Indirect references to divination do appear in mythological and religious texts as well as in economic and historical documents. References to the shape or rising of stars and constellations appear in relation with the construction of new buildings. For example, in Enki and the World Order, the god Enki, who previously is said to control the calendar and make “the stars, of which you know the number, measure the sky” (43–45), builds his temple with the lower part shaped as the Field constellation (Pegasus) and the upper part as the Wagon constellation. The construction of the temple of Ningirsu, the god of Girsu/Lagash, is described in a group of inscriptions by a local ruler, Gudea (Cylinder A–B). Through a series of dreams, the god instructs Gudea on the correct procedure to build the temple. In one of these the rising of a star is mentioned as the sign for starting the construction. In another a woman described as a lady bearing a silver stylus and a tablet dealing with stars on her knee. She is Nisaba, patron deity of grain, counting, and writing, and, as a consequence of the three previous features, she is the one, together with the god Enki, to know the number of the stars

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and their cycles. In fact, the use of rising stars to mark the agricultural calendar is well known and clearly stated in the instruction provided by the god Ninurta, Nisaba’s son, in The farmer’s instructions, to start field work “once the sky constellations are right”. Further indirect evidences could be advanced to prove the existence of a third millennium celestial observation tradition. References to astral aspects of the gods are often referred to in myths and hymns, especially for the triad Nanna-Su’en, Utu, and Inanna, identified, respectively, with the Moon, the Sun, and the planet Venus. The figures of the zodiac constellations recall a Sumerian mythological background. Finally, it must be noted that most of the names of stars and constellations in Akkadian sources are Sumerian words that continued to be written and possibly read in Sumerian even in later periods.

The Akkadian Literary Tradition (Second to First Millennium) Around the nineteenth century BC, literature began to be written in Akkadian. This period sees a burst of composition of texts dealing with a great variety of divinatory methods (including extispicy, teratomancy, and oneiromancy). The omens, which were initially recorded on single tablets, were later collected and systematized by the Mesopotamian scribes in a process of standardization that led at the creation of large collections (referred to as “series”) arranged according to the phenomenon observed. On a few texts dealing with celestial divination are known from this period. It is therefore difficult to reconstruct the development of the celestial divination literature (Rochberg-Halton 1988, p. 7) as the texts from the early period are very limited and little is known about the process of standardization. Evidences come mainly from other areas or periods. For example, in the Hittite capital Hattusa, divinatory texts deriving from Old Babylonian sources have been found, among which a few relate to celestial divination. These finds show the earlier transmission of this literature outside the border of proper Mesopotamia (Rochberg-Halton 1988, pp. 30–35; KochWestenholz 1995, pp. 44–53). Indirect references to an earlier stage of compilation of this material are found in later series. The most famous example is the mention to the eighth year of the Old Babylonian king Ammisaduqa in the 63rd tablet of the Enu¯ma Anu Enlil dealing with Venus phenomena (Reiner and Pingree 1975). Given the few texts of celestial divination known from the second millennium, it is surprising to find the mass of information on celestial divination coming from the first millennium, when a variety of different sources are available. The written tradition (the series) is widely documented along with a new hermeneutic literature (commentaries). Furthermore, Neo-Assyrian letters and reports from the seventh century BC provide evidence that allows us to see not only how the written tradition was received and transmitted but also how this literature, rather than being a dogmatic knowledge/tradition, was the object of complex hermeneutic discussions in daily practice. The basic pattern of divinatory texts is constituted by a list of entries composed by a protasis and an apodosis. The protasis, introduced by a vertical wedge or the

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particle sˇumma “if. . .”, describes the phenomenon observed. The protasis is followed by an apodosis recording the related forecast. Here are some examples from the lunar eclipse section: If an eclipse begins in the south and clears in the south: downfall of Elam . . . If an eclipse occurs and it rains: the people will experience famine . . . If an eclipse occurs on the 14th of Nisan (month I), in the evening watch and is red, it begins and clears in the north: the king of Agade is well on account of that red eclipse, there will be famine in that land. (RochbergHalton 1988, p. 71ff)

The apodosis is mainly related to the state, its head (the king), and the well-being of his subjects. There is no place for the fate of individuals, for which other divinatory practices were employed. Except for very occasional examples, such as an iatromantic text from Sultantepe involving the use of shooting stars to forecast the sick man’s fate, one must wait until the emergence of horoscopes in the fifth century BC to see celestial phenomena being related to an individual man’s destiny. The celestial omens were systematized and transmitted in a series known from its incipit as Enu¯ma Anu Enlil “When An, Enlil”. This was divided in four sections containing omens drawn from phenomena of the Moon (Rochberg-Halton 1988; Verderame 2002a, b), the Sun (van Soldt 1995), the stars (Reiner and Pingree 1975, 1981, 1998, 2005), and the weather (Gehlken 2012). Enu¯ma Anu Enlil represented the main tradition, parallel to which existed another one called “other, stranger”, which was only quoted seldom, but had the same authority. The omens belonging to the “other” tradition were probably the ones excluded by the process of standardization and proceeding from a variety of sources, including oral tradition. In the later period a variety of hermeneutic texts, generally classified as commentaries, were produced mainly in order to explain obscure passages of the main series (Frahm 2011). For example, If the moon, the first day of the month, when it appears, its left horn [is pointed and Jupiter (Shulpa’e)] stands at its side. MUL (means) “star”, MUL (means) Mars (Salbatanu) [. . . GAM] (means) “to bend”, GAM (means) “to bow”; SI (means) “light”, S[I (means) . . .] of the horn. (Verderame 2002b, p. 39)

It is important to highlight that all these texts (the main and the “other” tradition as well as the commentaries), which belong to a general category that we can call “technical” literature, were not a manual in a modern sense of the term, that is to say, they were not meant to explain how divination worked, but were rather used as reference works. Together with them, the ancient Mesopotamian scribes and scholars consulted other works dealing with the sky and the stars such as almanacs and star lists.

Cross-References ▶ Astronomy, Divination, and Politics in the Neo-Assyrian Empire ▶ Late Babylonian Astrology

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References Frahm E (2011) Babylonian and Assyrian Text Commentaries Origins of Interpretation Guides to the Mesopotamian Textual Record. GMTR 5. Ugarit-Verlag, M€ unster Gehlken E (2012) Weather omens of Enu¯ma Anu Enlil. Brill, New York/Leiden/Ko¨ln Koch-Westenholz U (1995) Mesopotamian astrology. An introduction to Babylonian and Assyrian celestial divination. The Carsten Niebuhr Institute of Near Eastern Studies, Copenhagen Pingree D (1998) Legacies in astronomy and celestial omens. In: Dalley S (ed) The legacy of Mesopotamia. Clarendon, Oxford, pp 125–137 Reiner E (1995) Astral magic in Babylonia. The American Philosophical Society, Philadelphia Reiner E, Pingree D (1975) Babylonian planetary omens, I: the Venus tablet of Ammisaduqa. Undena Publications, Malibu Reiner E, Pingree D (1981) Babylonian planetary omens, II: Enuma Anu Enlil, tablets 50–51. Undena Publications, Malibu Reiner E, Pingree D (1998) Babylonian planetary omens, III. Styx, Groningen Reiner E, Pingree D (2005) Babylonian planetary omens, IV. Brill/Styx, Leiden/Boston Rochberg F (2004) The heavenly writing: divination, horoscopy, and astronomy in Mesopotamian culture. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge Rochberg-Halton F (1988) Aspects of Babylonian celestial divination: the lunar eclipse tablets of Enu¯ma Anu Enlil. Berger & Sohne, Horn Van Soldt WH (1995) Solar omens of Enu¯ma Anu Enlil: tablets 23(24)–29(30). Nederlands Historisch-Archaeologisch Instituut te Istanbul, Leiden Verderame L (2002a) Enu¯ma Anu Enlil tablets 1–13. In: Steele JM, Imhausen A (eds) Under one sky. Ugarit-Verlag, M€ unster, pp 447–457 Verderame L (2002b) Le Tavole I-VI della serie astrologica Enu¯ma Anu Enlil. Di.Sc.A.M, Messina Verderame L (2010) I rapporti tra architettura e corpi celesti nell’antica Mesopotamia. In: Antonello E (ed) Il cielo e l’uomo. Societa` italiana di archeoastronomia, Milano, pp 55–61

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Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Structure of the Civil Calendar . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Schematic Calendars . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Astronomical Regulation of the Civil Calendar . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Abstract

The civil calendar used throughout ancient Mesopotamia was a lunisolar calendar. This chapter discusses the structure of the calendar, local variations, the role of the calendar in society, and the increasing use of astronomy in the management of the calendar during the first millennium BC.

Introduction The calendar played an important role in the cultic and civil life of ancient Mesopotamia. Religious and civic rituals were performed on specific dates during the year, necessitating a common framework of time within which members of society could organize and participate in these events. On a more mundane level, a calendar was necessary for the functioning of governmental bureaucracy (e.g., tax collection) and private business (e.g., calculating interest on loans) (Steele 2012). The origin of the calendar in Mesopotamia is unknown; by the time we have adequate textual sources with which to study the calendar, its basic structure was

J.M. Steele Department of Egyptology and Ancient Western Asian Studies, Brown University, Providence, RI, USA e-mail: [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_189, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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fixed. Local differences in the calendar were restricted to the different names assigned to the months, intercalation practices, etc. Gradually, the month names used at Nippur in the last part of the third millennium BC were adopted in other parts of Mesopotamia; by about 1800 BC, the Nippur calendar was used more or less throughout the region (Cohen 1993; Britton 2007). The month names used in the Nippur calendar are taken from a combination of cultic and agricultural events supposed to take place during those months. For example, the first month of the year is the month in which statues of the gods are placed the throne of god Enlil, and the eighth month is the month in which the plow is stored away at the end of its season of use (Cohen 1993). In later times these month names were shortened and lost their explicit connection with the events for which they were originally named. The Babylonian names of the month were later adopted in the Jewish calendar.

Structure of the Civil Calendar The Mesopotamian civil calendar operated with three units of time: the day, the month, and the year. The day in Mesopotamia began at sunset. Thus, the first part of the day was often referred to as “night of the xth”, whereas the phrase “the xth” could refer either to just the daylight part of the day or the whole night plus day. The day itself was divided into the smaller time units be¯ru (1/12th of a day ¼ 2 h) and USˇ (1/360th of a day ¼ 4 min), where there are 30 USˇ in a be¯ru. Months contained either 29 or 30 days depending upon the visibility of the moon. In principle, the process for determining the beginning of the month was as follows: On the evening which began the 30th day of a month, a watch was kept for the new moon crescent. If the lunar crescent was seen, which would happen about an hour or so after the beginning of the 30th day, the day would be “rejected” (Akkadian: turru), and the day that had just begun would be renamed the 1st day of the new month. Alternatively, if the lunar crescent was not seen, then the month was “confirmed” (Akkadian: kunnu), and the new month would start on the following evening (Beaulieu 1993). Note that this criteria is different to defining the beginning of the month as the evening on which the new moon is seen; instead it is a binary decision made on the 30th evening of the old month resulting in months that are either 29 or 30 days long (never 31 or 32 days long as might happen in a true lunar calendar because of bad weather). This procedure seems to have been followed in most periods of Mesopotamian history, although in the Neo-Assyrian period, at least there is evidence for debate between different scholars as to whether the month should be considered to have begun even if the moon was still not seen of the 31st or even 32nd evening, which could happen because of clouds. A year normally contained 12 months. However, because 12 lunar months equals about 355 days, a little more than 10 days short of the solar year, an extra intercalary month was added in some years in order to keep the calendar in line with the seasons. The addition of this intercalary month every third year or so kept the

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beginning of the year around the time of the spring equinox. The decision on when to intercalate officially lay with the king, and in the second millennium, we have examples of very irregular intercalation practices (e.g., missing intercalations, additional intercalations), some of which at least can be attributed to periods of political uncertainty (e.g., following the death of the king) or to manipulation of the calendar, and therefore the time of tax and tribute collection, by the king for his own benefit. By the first millennium, we find an increasing regularization of intercalation practices. So far as we know, intercalation was used throughout Mesopotamia from the third millennium down to the end of the first millennium BC with the possible exception of the territory controlled by the Assyrian empire during the last part of the second millennium BC. Conflicting views have been put forward by different scholars as to whether the Assyrian calendar of this period was lunisolar (i.e., with intercalation) or purely lunar (i.e., without intercalation) (Weidner 1928/1929; Bloch 2012). In the first millennium, however, there is clear evidence that the Assyrian calendar, like the Babylonian calendar, was lunisolar. Two main systems were used in Mesopotamia for keeping track of years. In both Assyria and Babylonia during the second millennium and in Assyria during the first millennium, years were given names. These names could be taken either from events that took places during that year or from the names of individuals in the king’s service. Several texts survive which list successive year names. In Babylonia during the first millennium, years were generally numbered from the accession of the king to the throne. A continual count of years replaced regnal years during the reign of Seleucus shortly after Alexander the Great’s conquest of Babylonia.

Schematic Calendars In addition to the lunisolar civil calendar, at least two schematic calendars were used in Mesopotamia. Both calendars took months to be uniformly 30 days in length. In the earliest schematic calendar, dating from the Ur III period in the last part of the third millennium BC, 30-day months were used in administrative contexts to simplify calculation (Englund 1988). In these calculations the year could still have either 12 or 13 months depending upon intercalation. As a result the year could either have 360 or 390 days in the administrative calendar. Later schematic calendars went further in simplifying the year by assuming that the year always had 12 months, each of 30 days, making a year of 360 days. The schematic calendars were used in a variety of contexts including civic and private administration (e.g., calculating rations, rates of work, interest on loans), astronomy, astrology, schemes for good and bad luck days, and mathematical exercises (Brack-Bernsen 2007). In addition, the 360-day schematic calendar appears in various literary and religious works such as the so-called epic of creation, Enu¯ma Elisˇ. It has been suggested that in these contexts the 360-day year reflected a Babylonian belief in an ideal state of the universe (Brown 2000). The relationship

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between the “ideal” 360-day year of Enu¯ma Elisˇ and the schematic 360-day calendar requires further study (Steele 2011). It is worth stressing that the 360-day year was only used to simplify calculations and was not a poor estimate by the Mesopotamians of the true length of the solar year. The 360-day calendar was never intended to be, and was never used as, the actual calendar used in real life.

Astronomical Regulation of the Civil Calendar The operation of the lunisolar civil calendar required two decisions: (1) a determination of when the new month began and (2) a determination whether an intercalary month is required in a given year. Traditionally, the right to make both decisions lay with the king who would rely on, but not necessarily implement, the advice of his scholars. During the first millennium BC, however, we find a growing dependence upon astronomical regulation of the calendar through set rules governing intercalation and the length of each month. By the middle of the first millennium BC (a period when Babylonia was ruled by a foreign empire), the king seems to have surrendered the right to decide on calendrical matters to astronomers employed in the temples. This had practical benefits for the king and the country but also required an ideological change in the relationship between the calendar and the power of the king (Steele 2011). A number of schemes for determining whether an intercalary month were needed on the basis of observations of the position of the moon with respect to the Pleiades are known from the end of the second and the beginning of the first millennium BC (Hunger and Reiner 1975), but there is no evidence that these schemes were used on a regular basis. From the fifth century BC onward, however, we have strong evidence for the use of a strict 19-year cycle of intercalations (Britton 2007). The 19-year cycle relies on the astronomical fact that 19 solar years very closely equals 235 synodic months. This cycle was also known in the Greek world and is often referred to as the “Metonic cycle”. By at least the beginning of the sixth century BC, Babylonian astronomers had developed an accurate method for predicting the duration of visibility of the moon around new and full moon (Brack-Bernsen 2002). This method also allowed the length of the month to be predicted by setting a threshold on the duration of visibility for the moon that must be exceeded for the moon to be seen on a particular day. Evidence from preserved references to the length of the month suggests that during the last few centuries BC, prediction based upon this method replaced observation for determining the beginning of the month.

Cross-References ▶ Calendars and Astronomy ▶ Transmission of Babylonian Astronomy to Other Cultures

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References Beaulieu P-A (1993) The impact of month-lengths on the Neo-Babylonian cultic calendar. Zeitschrift f€ur Assyriologie 83:66–87 Bloch Y (2012) Middle Assyrian lunar calendar and chronology. In: Ben-Dov J, Horowitz W, Steele JM (eds) Living the lunar calendar. Oxbow Books, Oxford, pp 19–61 Brack-Bernsen L (2002) Predictions of lunar phenomena in Babylonian astronomy. In: Steele JM, Imhausen A (eds) Under one sky: astronomy and mathematics in the ancient Near East. Ugarit Verlag, M€unster, pp 5–19 Brack-Bernsen L (2007) The 360-day year in Mesopotamia. In: Steele JM (ed) Calendars and years: astronomy and time in the ancient Near East. Oxbow Books, Oxford, pp 83–100 Britton JP (2007) Calendars, intercalations and year-lengths in Mesopotamian astronomy. In: Steele JM (ed) Calendars and years: astronomy and time in the ancient Near East. Oxbow Books, Oxford, pp 115–132 Brown D (2000) Mesopotamian planetary astronomy-astrology. Styx, Groningen Cohen ME (1993) The cultic calendars of the ancient Near East. CDL Press, Bethesda Englund RK (1988) Administrative timekeeping in ancient Mesopotamia. J Econ soc Hist Orient 31:121–185 Hunger H, Reiner E (1975) A scheme for intercalary months from Babylonia. Wiener Zeitschrift f€ur die Kunde des Morgenlandes 67:21–28 Steele JM (2011) Making sense of time: observational and theoretical calendars. In: Radner K, Robson E (eds) The Oxford handbook of cuneiform culture. Oxford University Press, Oxford, pp 470–485 Steele JM (2012) Living with a lunar calendar in Mesopotamia and China. In: Ben-Dov J, Horowitz W, Steele JM (eds) Living the lunar calendar. Oxbow Books, Oxford, pp 373–387 Weidner EF (1928/1929) Der altassyrische Kalender. Archiv f€ ur Orientforschung 5:184–185

Astronomy, Divination, and Politics in the Neo-Assyrian Empire

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Lorenzo Verderame

Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Correspondence Between the King and His Scholars . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Divination and Politics . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Abstract

Celestial divination had an important role in the complex political and military machine of the Neo-Assyrian empire. Thousand of cuneiform documents dealing with celestial divination have come to light from the excavated archives of this period, as the Assurbanipal’s library. Among them letters and reports enlight the relation of the king with his experts (ummaˆnu), who performed divination and apotropaic rituals for his protection.

Introduction At the end of the second millennium BC, the regional state of Assyria expanded from its original core, a fertile triangle in northern Mesopotamia delimited by the rivers Tigris and Lower Zab, to the east, taking advantage of the large power vacuum around the east of the Mediterranean. From the beginning of the first millennium BC until the end of the seventh century, the Assyrian kings were able to control directly and indirectly a large territory whose borders reached the

L. Verderame “Sapienza” Universita` di Roma, Rome, Italy e-mail: [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_190, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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Mediterranean to the west and the Persian Gulf to the south, and that was limited by the mountain arch of the Taurus and Zagros to the northeast. With ups and downs, the Assyrian kings were able to extend their control over Babylon and, for a short period, even Egypt. The ancient capital of Assur, center of the region and seat of the homonym national god, remained an important religious center, even when the Neo-Assyrian kings moved their courts to new capitals (Nimrud/Kalkhu, Mosul/Nineveh, Khorsabad/Dur-Sharrukin). The excavation of the Assyrian capitals led to the beginning of the rediscovery of the ancient Mesopotamian cultures and provided impressive relics of these forgotten civilizations. Excavations during the nineteenth and twentieth century uncovered monumental remains of royal buildings and their stone reliefs and thousands of clay tablets inscribed with cuneiform writing. These tablets were kept in the palace and temple “libraries” as well as in the houses of professional scribes. The main discoveries come from Assur, Sultantepe (ancient Khuzirina), and the temple of Nabu in Nimrud (ancient Kalkhu), but the most famous source is the so-called library of Nineveh or Assurbanipal’s library, named after the king who built it. Assurbanipal began the constitution of the library when he was still a prince and his interest on expanding its holdings was so great that he did not hesitate over sacking scribal families’ and temples’ libraries in Babylonia as well as in Assyria and to append his signature as author in the colophon of tablets written by others. This vast archive of cuneiform documents is one of the main sources for the Akkadian literature. Among these, texts related to celestial observation are well represented. The larger part of the sources available for the study of Mesopotamian celestial divination, that is, the standardized collection of omens Enu¯ma Anu Enlil “When An, Enlil”, as well as the related hermeneutical works, comes from the Assurbanipal’s library in Nineveh.

Correspondence Between the King and His Scholars Besides the “technical” literature, the library of Assurbanipal has provided another invaluable source for the reconstruction of the events of this period, as well as for the understanding of how celestial divination was practiced, namely, the letters and reports sent by Assyrian and Babylonian experts on different disciplines (ummaˆnu) to the kings Esarhaddon and his son Assurbanipal (Parpola 1983; Verderame 2004). The reports, of which around 600 are known, are brief communications with the description of an observed phenomenon and/or the pertinent quotes from Enu¯ma Anu Enlil. “If the moon becomes visible in the Tebet (Xth month) on the 30th day: the Akhlamu will devour Subartu; a foreigner will rule the Westland”. Tebet means Elam. From Bullutu. We watched on the 29th day; the clouds were dense, we did not see the moon, (but) it was (already) very high. The (weather) of the 29th day has to do with it. What is it that the king my lord says? (Hunger 1992, p. 120)

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Venus disappeared in the west. “If Venus in Ab (Vth month) descends darkly to the horizon and sets: there will be a fall of Elam”. “If Venus in Ab, from the 1st to the 30th day, disappears in the west: there will be rains; the harvest of the land will prosper”. During the month (Venus) will become visible in the east of Leo. From Nergal-etir. (Hunger 1992, p. 246)

The reports highlight the three phases of the divinatory process undertaken by the Mesopotamian scribes and experts. The first one concerns the prediction of the phenomenon according to forecasting based on almanacs, star lists, and other “technical literature”. Direct observation of the phenomenon follows. Recorded observations include the visibility of the new moon crescent, lunar and solar eclipses, comets, meteors, planets entering constellations, planetary conjunctions, haloes, and the date of full moon. The third and last phase regards the consultation of omens collections in order to find the entries concerning the observed phenomenon. In the reports the last information or the entire process is recorded and sent to the king to be evaluated. Letters differ from reports as they provide more exhaustive information. The letter opens with a salutation, followed either by an answer to the king’s query or the discussion of some relevant concern which may be unrelated to celestial observation. Sometimes the sender concludes the letter with a personal request to the king. Letters offer detailed information on specific events and show how divination, and in particular celestial observation, was part of the complex political and military machine of the Neo-Assyrian empire.

Divination and Politics The subjects of the Assyrian king were considered as his “eyes and ears”, and they were called to refer everything that might have been of interest for the king and the state. This activity was called the “protection” (massartu). The experts (ummaˆnu) of ˙ ˙ in providing the king with divination, magic, and scribal disciplines, worked “protection” through the constant observation and interpretation of signs in Heaven and Earth as well as through the performance of different kinds of apotropaic rituals in case of danger (Verderame 2004). As common subjects of the state, on the other hand, they were called to refer any relevant information regarding the state affairs. This, however, was often the occasion to denounce personal enemies as well. For example, during the performance of a substitute king ritual, the substitute witnesses the organization of a plot against the king and denounces it: He (the substitute) claims: “Say [in] the presence of the ‘farmer’ (the king): on the eve[ning of the xth, we were drinking w]ine. Sallaya gave b[ribes] to his servant Nabu-[usalli] and meanwhile he inquired about Nikkal-iddina, Shamash-ibni, and Na’id-Marduk, speaking about upheaval of the country: ‘Seize the fortified places one after another!’ He is to be watched (carefully); he should no (longer) belong to the entourage of the ‘farmer.’ His servant Nabu-usalli should be questioned — he will spill everything”. (Parpola 1993, p. 2)

Once written down, reports and letters were received at court and read to the king, who proceeded to their evaluation with the assistance of his inner circle of

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experts. In a letter sent by the scholar Nabu-akhkhe-eriba to Esarhaddon, the sender described how this worked during the reign of Esarhaddon’s father Sennacherib: Concerning the report on the lunar eclipse about which the king, my lord, wrote to me - they used to receive and introduce all astrological reports into the presence of the father of the king, my lord. Afterwards, a man whom the father of the king, my lord, knew used to read them to the king in a qirsu on the river bank. (Parpola 1993, p. 76)

The king maintained a lively exchange of messages with the experts asking for details and interpretations. In fact, most of the letters we have are replies to the king’s inquires and begins with or contains the expression “concerning . . . about which the king, my lord, wrote to me”. Once observed, recorded, and quoted from the omen series, the omen went through a hermeneutical process in which both the observed phenomenon and the related forecast were interpreted. For example, the presence during the observation of positive planets, such as Jupiter, could neutralize a negative prediction, and the presence of a negative planet, such as Mars, may invert a positive forecast (Brown 2000). Besides positive or negative forecasting, different features were observed and considered during the observation, such as variables of time (month, day, watch, duration), space (part of the sky or of the moon’s/sun’s surface where the phenomenon takes place), and other features (colors, etc.). The sum of these variables determined the specifics of the forecast and most importantly which one of the four parts of the world would be affected by the omen. Munnabitu explains in detail the entire system in a report concerning the lunar eclipse in the third month when Jupiter was visible: The evil of an eclipse affects the one identified by the month, the one identified by the day, the one identified by the watch, the one identified by the beginning, where (the eclipse) begins and where the moon pulls off its eclipse and drops it; these (people) receive its evil. Sivan (month III) means the Westland (W), and a decision is given for Ur. The evil of the 14th day means Elam (E). The beginning, where (the eclipse) began, we do not know. (The moon) pulled the amount of its eclipse to the south and the west; that is evil for Elam and the Westland. That it became clear from the east to north, is good for Subartu and Agade. That is covered all of (the moon), is a sign for all the lands. The right side of the moon means Agade, the left side of the moon means Elam, the upper part of the [moon means the Westl] and, the lower part of the moon means Subartu . . . In the eclipse [of the moon] Jupiter stood there: well-being for the king, a famous important person will die in his stead. The king should have much trust in this omen! (Hunger 1992, p. 316)

However, since the series Enu¯ma Anu Enlil, the main source of the omens, was a text compiled through centuries, obscure terms and references to political powers which no longer existed in the Neo-Assyrian period sometimes required an explanation: This eclipse which occurred in the month Tebet (X), afflicted the Westland; the king of the Westland will die and his country decrease or, according to another tradition, perish. Perhaps the experts can tell something about the (concept) “Westland” to the king, my lord. Westland means the Hittite country and the nomad land or, according to another tradition, Chaldea. Someone of the king of Hatti, Chaldea or Arabia will carry the curse. With the king, my lord, all is well. (Parpola 1993, p. 351)

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Balasi highlights the problematic exegesis of the sources in his commentary to the king: Concerning the interpretation of the omen about which the king, my lord, wrote to me: “(It is said that) the king will be vilified amongst his magnates — what losses will ensue?” — interpretations of monthly omens are like this: one is never similar to another, their interpretations go separately. (Parpola 1993, p. 56)

This hermeneutical process allowed the experts to shape the interpretation and potentially to offer a specific point of view which might have favored their own interests. Partisan positions emerge from the letters of different scholars. For example, the interest of the Babylonian expert Bel-ushezib in the war against the Manneans and his support of his homeland appears clearly in his letters: “If a star flashes like a torch from the east and sets in the east: the main army of the enemy will fall” . . . If the king has written to his army: “Invade Mannea”, the whole army should not invade; (only) the cavalry and the professional troops should invade. The Cimmerians who said, “The Manneans are at your disposal, we shall keep aloof” - maybe it was a lie; they are barbarians who recognize no oath sworn by god and no treaty . . . Bel (¼ Marduk) [has ordered] the destruction of the Manneans and is for the second time [delivering] them into the hands of the king, my lord. If on the 15th day the moon [is seen] with the sun, it will be on account of them (indicating) that the Cimmerians will keep aloof from them and that [the . . .] will be conquered. (Parpola 1993, p. 111 ll. 3f., r. 9ff.)

Scholars opposed to the pro-Babylonian faction in the Assyrian court sometimes used their letters to advice the rejection foreign influences. This is illustrated in two statements of the chief exorcist Marduk-shakin-shumi: Concerning the string of (amulet) stones (proposed as remedy by foreign experts), what the king, my lord, said is quite correct. Did I not tell the king, my lord, (already) in the enemy country that they are unsuited to Assyria? Now we shall stick to the methods transmitted to the king, my lord, by the gods (themselves, i.e. the Assyrian tradition). (Parpola 1993, p. 241 ll. r. 3ff.) I am listening - [the king, my lord], knows the Babylonians and what they [pl]ot and [re] peat. (These) plotters should be af[flicted] (by the omen)! (Parpola 1993, p. 240 ll. r. 21ff.)

The extent of the influence of these experts over the king and the state policy has been a matter for considerable scholarly debate (Parpola 1983, p. 21ff.). The letters, however, clearly show a complex situation where the potential influence of the scholars was entangled with the general powers struggling within the Assyrian court. At the end of the reign of Sennacherib and with the rise to power of his successor Esarhaddon, court intrigues ending up in a general purge of the conspirators involved many experts. The king was aware of this risk and adopted countermeasures. One was the strict control over the performance of the two main divinatory practices, extispicy and celestial divination, as well as over their professionals and the teaching of these disciplines. Another countermeasure was to deploy a net of informants from different parts of Assyria as well as from Babylonia as part of the complex informative system employed by the Neo-Assyrian state. These experts were controlled, and the king tried to maintain them separated in

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order to avoid them plotting against him. This was, according to the sender of the letter (Bel-ushezib), the reason of the origin of this practice: In the reign of your royal father, Kalbu the son of Nabu-etir, without the knowledge of your royal father made a pact [with] the scribes and haruspices, saying: “If an untoward sign occurs, we shall [tell] the king that an obscure sign has occurred”. For a period of time he censored all [. . .], if a sign untoward to him [occurred], and that was anything but good. (Parpola 1993, p. 109)

The king confronted the information on the same matter provided by the different experts, often questioning one about the interpretation of the other maintaining his sources anonymous. In the following example, Issar-shumu-eresh replied to the king’s enquiry about an observation of the visibility of Mercury that had been claimed by another scholar, arguing that the visible planet is actually Venus: As to what the king, my lord, wrote to me: “one of your colleagues wrote to me: the planet Mercury will be visible in the month Nisan (I). What do you take the present month to be?” - we take the present month to be Adar (XII) and we take this day to be the 25th . . . (According to a popular saying) “An incompetent one can frustrate a judge, an uneducated one can make the mighty worry” - this is what is said. Concerning the planet Venus about which the king, my lord, wrote to me: “When will you tell me (what) ‘Venus is stable in the morning’ (means)?” - it is [writte]n as follows in the commentary: “Venus [is stable] in the morning: (the word) ‘morning’ (here) means [to be bright], it is shinin[g brightly], (and the expression) ‘[its] posi[tion is stable]’ means it [is lighted] in the west”. (Parpola 1993, p. 23)

The large amount of documents on magic and divination preserved from the period of the last Assyrian kings has led many scholars to argue that the dynasty founded by Sargon II of Assyria was obsessed by “superstitious” beliefs. Most of the kings of this dynasty died violently, starting with Sargon himself whose body was never recovered, and the letters document the climate of intrigue at court as well as the fear felt by the kings, in particular Esarhaddon in his late stage of sickness. However, magic and divination were an integral part of Mesopotamian religion and cannot been considered evidence of a decay of the official religion. The abundant and detailed information provided by Assurbanipal’s library allows us to reconstruct a sketch of the official policy as well as of the “behind-the-scene” Assyrian court life, which can seldom be tracked down for other periods (Parpola 1983, 46ff.). We have no comparable body of material for other periods, and therefore, it is not possible to determine whether the attitude toward magic and divination displayed during the Neo-Assyrian period was unusual or the normal course of affairs for Mesopotamian kings.

Cross-References ▶ Astronomy and Politics ▶ Mesopotamian Celestial Divination

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References Brown D (2000) Mesopotamian planetary astronomy-astrology. Styx, Groningen Hunger H (1992) Astrological reports to Assyrian kings. Helsinki University Press, Helsinki Parpola S (1983) Letters from Assyrian scholars to the kings Esarhaddon and Assurbanipal, II. Butzon & Bercker, Neukirchen/Kevelaer Parpola S (1993) Letters from Assyrian and Babylonian scholars. Helsinki University Press, Helsinki Verderame L (2004) Il ruolo degli “esperti” (ummaˆnu) nel periodo neo-assiro. Universita` di Roma “La Sapienza”, Roma

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John M. Steele

Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Observational Astronomy . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Records of Astronomical Observations . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Predictive Astronomy . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Abstract

Babylonian astronomers during the last seven and a half centuries BC kept systematic records of night-by-night observations of a range of astronomical phenomena. From these observations, lunar and planetary cycles were identified which were used to make predictions of future astronomical phenomena from previous observations.

Introduction Babylonian astronomy during the first millennium BC encompassed the careful and systematic observation of astronomical phenomena, the identification of planetary and lunar cycles that allowed future phenomena to be predicted from past observations, and the development of a theoretical astronomy which used mathematical methods to calculate astronomical phenomena. These different aspects of Babylonian astronomy coexisted throughout the second half of the first millennium: Mathematical astronomy did not replace the prediction using cycles nor did

J.M. Steele Department of Egyptology and Ancient Western Asian Studies, Brown University, Providence, RI, USA e-mail: [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_191, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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prediction and calculation replace observation. All three types of astronomy, observational, predictive, and mathematical, were practiced by the same scribes (Rochberg 2000). This article focuses on observational and predictive astronomy.

Observational Astronomy The large number of astronomical observations preserved in the Babylonian astronomical diaries and related texts demonstrate that the Babylonian astronomers undertook regular and systematic observations of astronomical phenomena. These observations were made on a night-by-night basis from the mid-eighth century BC down to sometime in the first century AD (Sachs 1974). The preserved observations indicate that the Babylonians were primarily interested in observing cyclical phenomena such as the first and last visibilities of the planets, stellar passages by the moon and the planets, eclipses, and the duration of visibility of the moon after sunset or before sunrise. Observations of irregular astronomical phenomena such as comets, meteors, or aurorae are only recorded very occasionally. On the whole, the Babylonian astronomers observed astronomical phenomena that were capable of being predicted in advance. The most common type of observation recorded by the Babylonians was the passage of the moon or a planet past certain reference stars. By at least the fourth century BC, and quite possibly earlier, a standard repertoire of 28 stars was used by the Babylonian astronomers (Jones 2004). These stars, usually referred to by researchers as “normal stars”, are spread irregularly through the zodiacal band and were used as reference points for tracking the motion of the moon and the planets. Whenever the moon or one of the planets passed by a normal star, the distance from the star was measured and recorded. For the moon, distances “in front of” (Akkadian: ina IGI), “behind” (Akkadian: a´r), “above” (Akkadian: e), or “below” (Akkadian: SIG) were usually measured. Measurements along these directions correspond roughly to differences in celestial longitude and latitude (Jones 2004; Steele 2007). For the planets, usually only the distance “above” or “below” ` Sˇ) and fingers was given. Measurements are recorded in cubits (Akkadian: KU (Akkadian: SI), where there are 24 fingers in a cubit (Steele 2003). According to contemporary theoretical texts, 1 cubit is equal to 2
; in practice it seems that the cubit was slightly larger than this (Jones 2004). Sometime toward the end of the fifth century BC, the zodiac was invented as a second system for recording positions in the sky (Britton 2010). The zodiac is a mathematical division of the zodiacal band into 12 equal parts, each of 30
, making the complete zodiac 360
. The zodiac, however, cannot be observed directly as the boundaries between zodiacal signs are invisible constructs. The position of a planet in the zodiac was instead obtained from the observation of the planet’s position relative to a normal star. Two catalogs of the normal stars are (partially) preserved which give the position in the zodiac of each star

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(Roughton et al. 2004). The use of stars to mark points in the zodiac implies that the Babylonian zodiac is sidereal and moves with respect to our tropical zodiac because of precession (Huber 1958). The dates on which the planets have their first and last visibilities, stationary points, and acronychal risings were also regularly recorded by the Babylonians. Sometimes, the dates of first and last visibility are accompanied by a measurement of the duration of visibility of the planet on the night on which the planet was seen for the first or last time. If this time interval was considered to be too great, indicating that the planet should have been observed one or more days earlier/ later than the observed first/last visibility but had not been seen because of bad weather, the Babylonians would append a corrected date to the record when they estimated that the first/last visibility should have taken place if the observing conditions had been better. In addition to the date of the first or last visibility or stationary point, the position of the planet at that time was usually recorded either by reference to a normal star or to the zodiac. Six times during the month the Babylonians measured the time interval between the moon and the sun crossing the horizon. These measurements are known collectively by scholars as the “lunar six”. The lunar six are as follows: NA: Sunset to moonset when the moon was visible for the first time after conjunction (near new moon) ´ : Moonset to sunrise when the moon set for the last time before sunrise (near full SˇU moon) NA: Sunrise to moonset when the moon set for the first time after sunrise (near full moon) ME: Moonrise to sunset when the moon rose for the last time after sunset (near full moon) GE6: Sunset to moonrise when the moon rose for the first time after sunset (near full moon) KUR: Moonrise to sunrise when the moon was visible for the last time before conjunction (near new moon) The lunar six time intervals were measured in USˇ (1/360 of a day equivalent to 4 min). Eclipses of the sun and moon were also regularly observed (Steele 2000a; Huber and De Meis 2004). A typical eclipse report includes a measurement of the time the eclipse began and of the duration of the phases of the eclipse, a statement of the magnitude of the eclipse given in fingers where 1 finger is 1/12 of the moon, the color of the eclipse and the path of the shadow across the luminary, a measurement of the position of the moon at the time of the eclipse, the visibility of stars and planets, and the direction of the wind during the eclipse. Times are again given in USˇ, and the position of the moon may be given either with reference to a normal star or by the sign of the zodiac. We know very little about how the Babylonians made their observations. No instruments have been preserved. Textual references indicate that water clocks were used to measure the time of eclipses and the lunar six intervals. Some type

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of instrument must have been used to measure the distances of the moon and planets to the normal stars, but this was probably nothing more than a graduated stick held at arm’s length.

Records of Astronomical Observations Roughly one third of the 5,000 or so astronomical cuneiform tablets preserved from Babylonia contain reports of observations. Almost all of the observational texts fall into one of three types of text: astronomical diaries, lunar and planetary compilations, or goal-year texts (Sachs 1948; Sachs and Hunger 1988–; Hunger 1999). Night-by-night accounts of astronomical observations were recorded in texts know as astronomical diaries. These texts typically cover a 6- or 7-month period and are divided into sections for each month. Within the monthly sections, observations are recorded for successive day of the month. If no observation was possible on a given day because of bad weather then a remark to that effect was entered in the diary. If the bad weather prevented observation of an astronomical phenomena that could be predicted (e.g., a lunar six measurement), then the predicted value would be recorded in place of the observation. Following the daily records, a short summary of the positions of the planets and any first or last visibilities, stations, or acronychal risings of the planets is usually given. At the very end of the monthly section, a summary of the river level at Babylon, the value of six staple commodities in the markets at Babylon, and some significant political or religious events in the life of the city are recorded. The earliest preserved diary dates to the middle of the seventh century BC, and only two or three more are known until the middle of the fifth century BC, after which diaries are preserved for a fairly large proportion of years down to the middle of the first century BC. Circumstantial evidence from other texts suggests that the diary tradition probably began in the middle of the eighth century BC and continued until the last part of the first century AD (Sachs 1974). The diaries therefore provided an enormous body of empirical data for the Babylonian astronomers to investigate. The diaries also provided the observational accounts for two other types of astronomical text: lunar and planetary compilations and goal-year texts. The lunar and planetary compilations contain collections of lunar or planetary records covering several years (frequently several decades and occasionally even several centuries). Some of the compilations are simple chronological lists of observations, but a significant minority is arranged into cycles with a tabular format. These latter compilations look like a large table divided into cells by rulings in the text. Successive observations are given within the columns of the table and observations separated by the characteristic period of the moon or the planet in question are given in the same rows. For example, several eclipse compilations are arranged in 18-year cycles, a Venus compilation is arranged in 8-year cycles, and a Jupiter compilation in 12-year cycles. According to these cycles, phenomena repeat on the same day in the Babylonian calendar. Thus, arranging compilations of lunar or

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planetary data into cycles makes it very easy for the reader of the text to see these periodic repetitions and to investigate the accuracy of the cycle. The characteristic periods of the moon and planets were also used in producing the goal-year texts. These texts are divided into sections for each planet, and observations from one cycle earlier than the date of the goal-year text are entered into each section. The goal-year texts therefore provided a convenient source for the observational data needed to make predictions of future astronomical phenomena using the characteristic cycles.

Predictive Astronomy The identification of the characteristic periods of the moon and planets provided the means by which future astronomical phenomena could be predicted from past observations (Steele 2011). The periods used by the Babylonian astronomers in the goal-year texts are as follows: Mercury: 46 years Venus: 8 years Mars: 47 years and 79 years Jupiter: 71 years and 83 years Saturn: 59 years Moon: 18 years (223 months) and 18 1/2 years (229 months) Where two periods are given for a planet, the Babylonians used one period for predicting passages and the other for predicting first and last visibilities, stationary points, and acronychal risings. The principle of goal-year astronomy for predicting planetary phenomena is very simple. After one characteristic period, it is assumed that the same phenomena of a planet will recur on the same day in the Babylonian calendar and at the same location in the sky. Therefore, to predict a planet’s phenomena for a coming year, all that is needed is to go back the number of years given by the period and copy out the observations from that year. In practice, two small corrections need to be made in order to make accurate predictions: A small correction of plus or minus a few days to allow for the fact that the periods are not perfect (several texts list such corrections) and sometimes a 1-month correction will be necessary to allow for intercalation in the calendar (Gray and Steele 2008, 2009). Comparison of the predictions found in Babylonian texts with the source data in the goal-year texts indicates that both these corrections were regularly applied by the Babylonian astronomers. The prediction of lunar phenomena using the goal-year periods is somewhat more complicated because neither eclipses nor the lunar six repeat exactly after 18 years. The 18-year cycle is known in modern astronomy as the Saros cycle and is more accurately a cycle of 223 synodic months which closely equals 242 dracontic months and 239 anomalistic months. In the Babylonian calendar, 223 months corresponds to either 18 years or 18 years plus 1 month, depending upon intercalation. Eclipses do not repeat exactly after one Saros because the cycle does not

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equal a whole number of days: 223 months is equal to 6,585 days plus about 1/3 day (more accurately the excess length of the Saros over 6,585 days varies between about 6 h and about 9 h). Thus, eclipses after one Saros will take place roughly 8 h later in the day than the preceding eclipse. This means that a lunar eclipse seen during the night will often be followed one Saros later by an eclipse which takes place during the day when the moon cannot be seen. Furthermore, the Saros cycle cannot be used to predict the visibility of solar eclipses at any given site. Thus, the Saros can only predict moments of eclipse possibilities (times when an eclipse is possible as opposed to times when it is impossible). The Babylonian astronomers combined the Saros cycle with knowledge that lunar eclipse possibilities occur every 6 or occasionally every 5 months to work out that within a 223 month Saros cycle, there will be 38 lunar eclipse possibilities of which 5 will be separated from the last eclipse possibility by 5 months and the remaining 33 will be separated at 6-month intervals. Distributing the 5-month intervals as evenly as possible gives a pattern whereby within a Saros, eclipse possibilities fall into five groups containing 8, 7, 8, 7, and 8 eclipses of which the first eclipse in the group is separated by a 5-month interval and the remainder are at 6-month intervals. Knowing also that eclipse possibilities repeat after one Saros, the Babylonians understood that this pattern of 5- and 6-month intervals repeats over and over again. This meant that by simply aligning the arrangement of the 5- and 6-month intervals between eclipse possibilities with the observational record, the Saros cycle could be used to predict all future eclipse possibilities (not only those of a Saros after an observed eclipse) (Steele 2000b). A similar approach allowed the Babylonian astronomers to predict solar eclipse possibilities. Methods were also developed to allow the time of an expected eclipse to be predicted using the Saros (Brack-Bernsen and Steele 2005). The Babylonian astronomers also developed highly elegant and successful methods of predicting the lunar six using the Saros. They discovered that linear combination of pairs of the lunar six observations which take place at full moon can be used to correct the data from 18 years earlier according to the following equations (Brack-Bernsen 1999; Brack-Bernsen and Hunger 2002): ´ + NA)i229 NANi ¼ NANi-223  1/3(SˇU ´ i ¼ SˇU ´ i223 + 1/3(SˇU ´ + NA)i223 SˇU ´ + NA)i223 NAi ¼ NAi223  1/3(SˇU MEi ¼ MEi223 + 1/3(ME + GE6)i223 GE6i ¼ GE6i223  1/3(ME + GE6)i223 KURi ¼ KURi223 + 1/3(ME + GE6)i229 (in these equations, I use NAN to distinguish NA at new moon from NA at full moon, and the subscript i is the lunation number). These equations allow the lunar six to be predicted with an accuracy that is more or less indistinguishable from that of the observed lunar six measurements. The Babylonians also devised ways to use this method of predicting the lunar six to predict in advance the length of the month (Brack-Bernsen 2002). The predictions of lunar and planetary phenomena made using the observations collected in the goal-year texts were recorded in two types of texts called almanacs

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and normal star almanacs (Gray and Steele 2008). These texts both contain predicted data arranged month-by-month for a coming year and served as a guide for the astronomers when they were making observations. If an observation was missed because of bad weather then the predicted data in the almanac or normal star almanac would be entered into the diary in place of the observation. Thus, the diaries, goal-year texts, and the almanacs and normal star almanac form a closed circle of astronomy: Observations were recorded in the diaries which were then extracted for compiling the goal-year texts which were then used to produce the almanacs and normal star almanacs which either served as guides to the observations that would be entered into the dairies or provided data which was entered into the diaries when observation was not possible.

Cross-References ▶ Babylonian Mathematical Astronomy ▶ Mesopotamian Calendars

References Brack-Bernsen L (1999) Goal-year tablets: lunar data and predictions. In: Swerdlow NM (ed) Ancient astronomy and celestial divination. The MIT Press, Cambridge, pp 149–177 Brack-Bernsen L (2002) Predictions of lunar phenomena in Babylonian astronomy. In: Steele JM, Imhausen A (eds) Under one sky: astronomy and mathematics in the ancient Near East. Ugarit Verlag, M€unster, pp 5–19 Brack-Bernsen L, Hunger H (2002) TU 11: a collection of rules for the prediction of lunar phases and of month lengths. SCIAMVS 3:3–90 Brack-Bernsen L, Steele JM (2005) Eclipse prediction and the length of the Saros in Babylonian astronomy. Centaurus 47:181–206 Britton JP (2010) Studies in Babylonian lunar theory: part III. The introduction of the uniform zodiac. Arch Hist Exact Sci 64:617–663 Gray JMK, Steele JM (2008) Studies on Babylonian goal-year astronomy I: a comparison between planetary data in goal-year texts, almanacs and normal star almanacs. Arch Hist Exact Sci 62:553–600 Gray JMK, Steele JM (2009) Studies on Babylonian goal-year astronomy II: the Babylonian calendar and goal-year methods of prediction. Arch Hist Exact Sci 63:611–633 Huber PJ (1958) Ueber den Nullpunkt der babylonischen Ekliptik. Centaurus 5:192–208 Huber PJ, De Meis S (2004) Babylonian eclipse observations from 750 BC to 1 BC. IsIAOMimesis, Milan Hunger H (1999) Non-mathematical astronomical texts and their relationships. In: Swerdlow NM (ed) Ancient astronomy and celestial divination. The MIT Press, Cambridge, pp 77–96 Jones A (2004) A study of Babylonian observations of planets near normal stars. Arch Hist Exact Sci 58:475–536 Rochberg F (2000) Scribes and scholars: the tupsˇar Enu¯ma Anu Enlil. In: Marzahn J, Neumann ˙ H (eds) Assyriologica et Semitica: festschrift f€ ur Joachim Oelsner. Ugarit-Verlag, M€ unster, pp 359–376 Roughton NA, Steele JM, Walker CBF (2004) A late Babylonian normal and Ziqpu star text. Arch Hist Exact Sci 58:537–572

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Sachs A (1948) A classification of the Babylonian astronomical tablets of the Seleucid period. J Cuneif stud 2:271–290 Sachs A (1974) Babylonian observational astronomy. Philos Trans R Soc 267:43–50 ¨ sterreichishe Sachs A, Hunger H (1988–) Astronomical diaries and related texts from Babylonia. O Akademie der Wissenschaften, Vienna. 5 volumes to date Steele JM (2000a) Observations and predictions of eclipse times by early astronomers. Kluwer, Dordrecht Steele JM (2000b) Eclipse prediction in Mesopotamia. Arch Hist Exact Sci 54:421–454 Steele JM (2003) Planetary latitude in Babylonian mathematical astronomy. J Hist Astron 34:269–289 Steele JM (2007) Celestial measurement in Babylonian astronomy. Ann Sci 64:293–325 Steele JM (2011) Goal-year periods and their use in predicting planetary phenomena. In: Selz G, Wagensonner K (eds) The empirical dimension of ancient Near Eastern studies – Die empirische Dimension altorientalischer Forschungen. LIT Verlag, Vienna, pp 101–110

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Contents Sources and Historical Context . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Case Study: A Computed Table for Jupiter . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Past, Current, and Future Directions of Research . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Abstract

The earliest known form of mathematical astronomy of the ancient world was developed in Babylonia in the 5th century BCE. It was used for predicting a wide range of phenomena of the Moon, the Sun, and the planets. After a brief discussion of the material evidence and historical context of Babylonian mathematical astronomy, its main concepts and methods are illustrated on the basis of a tablet with computed data for Jupiter. Finally, the past, present, and future directions of research are briefly addressed.

Sources and Historical Context All cuneiform tablets with mathematical astronomy were found in Babylon and Uruk, two major Babylonian cities and centers of learning. They were written between 380 and 48 BCE, a period covering a part of the Persian era (380–331 BCE), the reign of Alexander the Great and his dynasty (330–312 BCE), the Seleucid era (311–146 BCE), and a part of the Parthian era (145–48 BCE). The tablets from Babylon cover this entire period. Most of them were acquired by

M. Ossendrijver TOPOI, Humboldt University, Berlin, Germany e-mail: [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_192, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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the British Museum (London) in the last decades of the nineteenth century after having been excavated unscientifically by local inhabitants. Subsequent excavations between 1899 and 1917 by the German archaeologist Robert Koldewey produced only about 10 astronomical tablets, including a single one with mathematical astronomy. All originate from a private house, presumably the living quarters of a scholar, located not far south of the Esagila, temple of the Babylonian supreme god Bel (Marduk) and his spouse Beltu. These are the only astronomical tablets from Babylon for which the archaeological context is reliably known, but it is generally assumed that the others also originate from private houses in the same area. Evidence from administrative tablets suggests that the astronomers who wrote them were employed by the Esagila, at least from the Achaemenid era onward. Many astronomers mentioned in these tablets belong to the Mushezib family, whose activities in Babylon can be followed over at least seven generations. The sources from Uruk are fewer and they cease near 170 BCE, but their archaeological context is better known, because most of them came to light during scientific excavations conducted by German archaeologists between 1912 and the 1990s. One small group of early Seleucid tablets was found in the private house of the exorcist Iqisha from the Ekur-zakir family, which played a dominant role in Uruk’s intellectual circles throughout the Seleucid era. Although the astronomical tablets from Iqisha’s library do not mention the name of a scribe, they were likely written by him or his next kin. Another library with astronomical tablets was located in the Resh temple, sanctuary of the sky god Anu and his spouse Antu. It was discovered in a small brick-paved room adjacent to the southeastern gate of the Resh complex, some tablets still lying in their original location in niches in the walls. Most tablets in this library were written by members of the Sin-leqe-unninni family. The beginning of Babylonian mathematical astronomy can be dated to about 400 BCE, when Babylonian astronomers invented the zodiac by dividing the path of the Sun, the Moon, and the planets into 12 equal segments of 30
and naming each one after a nearby constellation. This coordinate system became an essential ingredient of mathematical astronomy for computing positions of the Moon, the Sun, and the planets. It appears that mathematical astronomy developed rapidly after that, since the algorithms reached their final stage by about 350–310 BCE, with little evidence of further change. Most of the extant tablets were written after 220 BCE and reflect that final stage. The corpus of mathematical astronomy consists of about 340 tabular texts, tables with numbers arranged in rows and columns, and about 110 procedure texts, verbal instructions for computing and verifying the tables. There are four kinds of tabular texts: synodic tables (numbering 230), template tables (50), daily motion tables (30), and auxiliary tables (20). In a synodic table, consecutive rows correspond to successive events of a synodic phenomenon (see below). While most planetary synodic tables contain only two columns, one for times and one for positions, the lunar tables may contain up to 21 columns, each tabulating a different astronomical quantity. Template tables contain a selection of columns corresponding to some intermediate stage in the production of a synodic table. In a daily motion table,

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the zodiacal position of the Moon, the Sun, or a planet is tabulated from day to day (or from tithi to tithi, an artificial unit of time; see below). Finally, auxiliary tables provide certain numerical coefficients that are needed in the computations. About half the corpus is concerned with the Moon, the rest with the planets Mercury, Venus, Mars, Jupiter, and Saturn, apart from a few tables with daily positions of the Sun. A remarkable feature of Babylonian mathematical astronomy is the simultaneous existence of different computational systems (sets of algorithms) for predicting the same phenomena of a given planet or the Moon. These different systems form two main families known as type A and type B (see below).

Case Study: A Computed Table for Jupiter This case study of a computed table and corresponding procedures for Jupiter system A0 aims to illustrate some of the main concepts and methods of Babylonian mathematical astronomy. However, it should be kept in mind that the lunar tablets have a far higher complexity and sophistication that cannot be addressed here. The tablet consists of three joining fragments, all originating from unscientific excavations in Babylon. The largest fragment, BM 34570, is kept in the British Museum, while the others, VAT 1753 and VAT 1755, are in the Berlin museum. Their combined dimensions are 15.5  14.0  1.7–3.3 cm. The obverse and most of the reverse are occupied by a synodic table which is followed by two procedures and a colophon (For a critical edition of the table see ACT 611; for the procedures see Ossendrijver (2012, p. 35). Figure 173.1 shows a photograph of the reverse. The table covers the years SE 180–252, of which SE 219–252 (sexagesimally: 3,39–4,12) are on the reverse. In the translation (Fig. 173.2) missing text is enclosed by square brackets and damaged text by upper corners. Since the table very likely covered five synodic phenomena (see below), about 40 % of the tablet is still missing on the right side. Babylonian astronomers used the sexagesimal place-value notation, which means that numbers were represented as sequences of digits, each assuming a value between 0 and 59. Successive digits denote successively decreasing powers of 60, entirely analogous to our decimal system. When the astronomers took over this notation, which was invented in the Ur-III period (2000–1900 BCE) and is well known from Old Babylonian mathematical texts (1900–1600 BCE), they introduced a few minor changes, for instance, a special sign for vanishing digits (0). (However, this sign is not used for representing the number zero.) In modern translations, commas are inserted between all digits except those pertaining to 1 and 1/60, where a semicolon is used. In order to understand the table, some basic knowledge of Jupiter’s synodic cycle is necessary. The relevant synodic phenomena are the first appearance (FA), first station (S1), acronychal rising (AR), second station (S2), and last appearance (LA). FA denotes the planet’s first visible rising on the eastern horizon shortly before sunrise, also known as heliacal rising, and LA its last visible setting on the western horizon shortly after sunset, also known as heliacal setting. Between LA

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Fig. 173.1 Photograph of BM 34570 + VAT 1753 + 1755 (reverse)

Fig. 173.2 Translation of BM 34570 + VAT 1753 + 1755 (reverse)

and FA, which can last several months, Jupiter cannot be observed; between FA and LA it is always visible for some portion of the night. After FA, Jupiter moves along the ecliptic in the forward direction, i.e., through the zodiacal signs in the sequence Ari, Tau, and Gem. At S1 Jupiter comes to a standstill, after which it moves in the

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opposite, retrograde direction. Roughly halfway between S1 and S2, Jupiter is in opposition to the Sun. This phenomenon itself is not readily observable, but a few days earlier Jupiter’s last visible so-called achronychal rising (AR) can be observed on the eastern horizon, just after sunset. After S2, Jupiter again moves in the forward direction until it disappears at LA. For each phenomenon there are three main columns: one for the time (modern symbol: T), one for the zodiacal position (B), and one identifying the phenomenon. In column T the date is provided as a year number of the Seleucid era (SE year 1 ¼ 311/0 BCE) and a month name, translated here as a Roman numeral. A few words about the calendar are necessary in order to understand this column. The Babylonians used a lunisolar calendar in which the beginning of the month was determined by the first appearance of the lunar crescent, so that the length of the month varied irregularly between 29 and 30 days, the mean value being 29.53 days. Since 12 such months fall short of 1 year by about 11 days, an extra month was occasionally inserted in order to prevent the months from running out of step with the seasons, so that month I (Nisannu) always begin in March/April. In the 6th c. BCE, Babylonian astronomers introduced a highly effective 19-year intercalation cycle, whereby 1 extra month, either a VI2 or a XII2, was inserted in 7 out of 19 years according to a fixed pattern that could be readily continued to arbitrary future dates. Column T also contains the date expressed in mean tithis (1–30) within the month. The mean tithi is an artificial unit corresponding to 1/30 of the mean synodic month, so that 1 mean tithi is slightly shorter than 1 day. By using mean tithis instead of days, Babylonian astronomers circumvented the computation of the varying lengths of future months (29 or 30 days), which would be required if times were to be expressed as actual dates in the civil calendar. Positions are defined in terms of a zodiacal sign and a number of degrees (0–30) within that sign (From procedure texts, we know that Babylonian astronomers could also compute Jupiter’s distance to the ecliptic, but this quantity is not present in this or any other of the extant tables). The table was computed with a set of algorithms known as Jupiter system A0 , one of about ten known computational systems for Jupiter. After writing down the initial values in Obv. 1, the rest of the table was filled by updating B and T from one (i  1) to the next occurrence (i) of the same synodic phenomenon, in accordance with the following modern formulas: Bi ¼ Bi1 þ s;

(173.1)

Ti ¼ Ti1 þ t:

(173.2)

Here s is Jupiter’s displacement along the zodiac, also known as synodic arc, and t is the corresponding synodic time. This approach, whereby the coordinates of each synodic phenomenon are updated independently of the others, is typical of Babylonian astronomy. The value of s depends on Jupiter’s position, which reflects the varying speed of Jupiter and the Sun during their apparent motion around the Earth. Two different algorithms were used for computing s. In type B systems, s

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Table 173.1 Jupiter system A0 : parameters of the step function for the synodic arc j 1 2 3 4

Zone 9
Cnc – 9
Sco 9
Sco – 2
Cap 2
Cap – 17
Tau 17
Tau – 9
Cnc

sj 30
33;45
36
33;45


rj 1;7,30 1;4 0;56,15 0;53,20

varies between a minimum and a maximum with a constant difference, which results in a so-called zigzag function. In Jupiter system A0 , which is a type A system, s is modeled as a step function of the zodiacal position. This means that the zodiac is divided into a number of zones, four in this case, each featuring a different constant value of s. The corresponding rules are provided in the first procedure (Rev. 31–32), which begins as follows: if Jupiter is between 9
Cnc and 9
Sco then s ¼ 30
. This rule was used, e.g., for computing the positions of FA in Rev. 8–10. Then follows a second rule which modifies the updated position if it is beyond 9
Sco, i.e., in the next zone: the excess of s beyond 9
Sco is multiplied by the coefficient 1;7,30 and the product is added to 9
Sco. This so-called transition rule explains, for instance, the position of FA in Rev. 11. Analogous rules apply in the other three zones (Table 173.1). Occasional scribal errors which were not passed on to the next line (e.g., the underlined digits in Rev. 17) prove that the tablet was copied from an original in which these errors were absent. As it turns out, the coefficients, rj, always satisfy rj ¼ sj+1/sj. It can be shown that this has two important effects. First, if Jupiter crosses from one zone ( j) into the next ( j + 1), then s assumes a value in between sj and sj+1. Second, Jupiter’s positions satisfy a strict period relation. If one would continue this table for 391 lines, then all phenomena would repeat at exactly the same positions as in Obv. 1. During that interval, Jupiter performs exactly 36 revolutions around the zodiac, the Sun 427. This period relation, 391 repetitions ¼ 36 revolutions ¼ 427 year, belongs to the empirical core of Jupiter system A0 which was derived from observations. The algorithm for updating T is badly preserved on this tablet (Rev. 33–34), but other procedure texts and the synodic tables imply that the synodic time equals the following: t ¼ s þ 12 months þ 12; 5; 15 mean tithis

(173.3)

This algorithm also reflects the empirical behavior of Jupiter. Note that the tabulated times were rounded to whole mean tithis, but it can be shown that this was done after computing the entire column to full precision – another indication that the tablet is a modified copy. To work out one example of the updating of T for FA, recall that B in Rev. 9 was obtained by adding s ¼ 30
to the previous value; hence, the corresponding t equals 12 months +42;5,15 mean tithis. Since 30 mean tithis equal 1 month, t can be rewritten as 13 months +12;5,15 mean tithis. In order to find the month obtained by adding this to T in Rev. 8, the 19-year intercalation scheme must be consulted, which would reveal that year SE 3,47 has 13 months.

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Hence, SE 3,47 VI 8 (Rev. 8) +13 months +12;5,15 mean tithis yields SE 3,48 VI 20 (ignoring all fractions), which was written in Rev. 9. The procedure texts, including those on the present tablet, are innovative in terms of how they represent mathematical operations, for instance, by using a notation for abstract quantities of undetermined magnitude (“variables”). Another innovation, found mainly in the lunar texts, concerns the usage of additive and subtractive numbers for quantifying corrections (Ossendrijver 2012). The tablet concludes with a colophon mentioning [. . .]-balassu-iqbi of the Nanna-utu family, who is either the scribe or the owner of the tablet. His full name may be Marduk-zera-ibni, son of Ea-balassu-iqbi, a known scholar of the Nanna-utu family who copied several lamentations and other religious texts during the years SE 177–178. This is consistent with the date of the tablet, since it was probably written near the initial date of the table, SE 180 (132/1 BCE). Other astronomical tablets of Marduk-zera-ibni have not been found, but the astronomical activities of the Nanna-utu family can be traced until 48 BCE, when a descendant produced the latest datable tablet with mathematical astronomy, a synodic table for the Moon (ACT 18) computed in accordance with system A.

Past, Current, and Future Directions of Research Near 1880 Joseph Epping and Johann Strassmaier, German Jesuits, rediscovered Babylonian mathematical astronomy among tablets from Babylon that had recently arrived in the British Museum. Already two decades later, Franz Xaver Kugler, also a German Jesuit, succeeded in correctly explaining most of the algorithms of Babylonian mathematical astronomy. After this pioneering phase, it was Otto Neugebauer who, in 1935, set out to produce the first complete translation of the corpus, which appeared as Astronomical Cuneiform Texts (Neugebauer 1955). Near 1990 a new phase of research began with a critical evaluation of the historiography of Babylonian astronomy by F. Rochberg (2004). Common perceptions of a fundamental difference between scientific cultures in the ancient Near East and classical Greece turned out to be untenable. Furthermore, the internalist approach of previous researchers, with their focus on the reconstruction of algorithms, has made way for a more holistic one which aims to explain Babylonian astronomy in its institutional, political, religious, and social contexts. In a similar spirit, new translations of mathematical tablets (Høyrup 2002) that are more faithful to Babylonian concepts than was previously the case have revised our understanding of Babylonian mathematics. This approach also underlies a new edition of the procedure texts of Babylonian mathematical astronomy (Ossendrijver 2012). Two important, badly understood aspects of Babylonian mathematical astronomy are its development in the formative period 400–330 BCE and its practical applications. It would be of great interest to know the steps by which the algorithms were constructed from empirical data and certain basic assumptions. Although several partial scenarios have been proposed for some of the algorithms, fully satisfying and comprehensive derivations remain to be found. The second question

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has not received much attention. Some possible applications that seem obvious at first sight turn out to be unsatisfactory in one way or another. In the Seleucid era the beginning of the month was no longer established by observing the first lunar crescent, but by predicting it. However, it appears that this was not done with the algorithms of mathematical astronomy (Steele 2007). Babylonian horoscopes, which contain computed positions of the planets for the date of birth, are another possible application of mathematical astronomy, but the daily motion tables, from which these data may have been extracted, are few in number. As mentioned, mathematical astronomy is dominated by synodic tables, for which no concrete application has been identified. Both issues may be resolved by exploring more closely the connections between mathematical astronomy, the far more numerous astronomical diaries and related texts, and astrological texts. The diaries contain the empirical data from which the algorithms were derived, and they may provide clues to their applications. It is particularly striking that the diaries systematically combine astronomical data with market prices, river levels, weather phenomena, and historical events. This suggests a desire to predict these phenomena through their assumed correlations with astronomical phenomena.

Cross-References ▶ Babylonian Observational and Predictive Astronomy

References Høyrup J (2002) Lengths, widths, surfaces. A portrait of Old Babylonian algebra and its kin. Springer, New York Neugebauer O (1955) Astronomical cuneiform texts (¼ACT). Springer, New York Ossendrijver M (2012) Babylonian mathematical astronomy: procedure texts. Springer, New York Rochberg F (2004) The heavenly writing. Divination, horoscopy, and astronomy in Mesopotamian culture. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge/New York Steele J (2007) The length of the month in Mesopotamian calendars of the first millennium BC. In: Steele JM (ed) Calendars and years. Astronomy and time in the ancient Near East. Oxbow, Oxford, pp 133–148

Late Babylonian Astrology

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John M. Steele

Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Personal Horoscopes . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The Zodiac in Late Babylonian Astrology . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Calendrical Astrology . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Astral Medicine . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Other Forms of Astrology . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

1871 1872 1872 1873 1873 1874 1874 1874

Abstract

The last five centuries BC saw the development of several new forms of astrology in Babylonia. Key to these new astrological techniques was the invention of the zodiac in about 400 BC. These new forms of astrology include personal horoscopes, astral medicine, and the exploitation of geometrical relationships between the position of heavenly bodies. Several Late Babylonian astrological doctrines were later adopted within Greek astrology.

Introduction Traditional Babylonian celestial divination as exemplified by the omen series Enu¯ma Anu Enlil interpreted a wide range of celestial phenomena as omens pertaining to the king and the country. The conquest of Babylonia first by the

J.M. Steele Department of Egyptology and Ancient Western Asian Studies, Brown University, Providence, RI, USA e-mail: [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_193, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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Persians in the sixth century BC and then by the Greeks in the fourth century BC and the incorporation of Babylonia into large empires controlled by foreign rulers led to a decrease in the relevance of traditional celestial divination: There was no longer a Babylonian king for the omens to relate to, and many of the traditional enemies of Babylonia referred to in the omens were now part of the same empire. In its place grew new forms of personal astrology whose predictions were directed at individuals. The sixth to the fourth century BC also saw major developments in scientific astronomy in Babylonia. One of the most important of these developments was the invention of the zodiac (Britton 2010). The zodiac provided a range of opportunities for the development of new astrological techniques (Koch-Westenholz 1995).

Personal Horoscopes Horoscopic astrology aims to predict the future life of an individual based upon the celestial circumstances at the moment of birth. Babylonian horoscopic astrology grew out of the tradition of celestial omens and birth omens (Rochberg 2004). Only about 30 Babylonian horoscopes have been identified (Sachs 1952; Rochberg 1998), perhaps because these texts would have been taken (and sometimes destroyed?) by the person who commissioned the horoscope rather than remaining in the archives of the astronomer who compiled the horoscope. A typical horoscope contains a statement of the date and time on which “the child was born” (only occasionally is the child named); a collection of the positions of the moon, sun, and planets at that moment; reports of any eclipses and the date of a solstice or equinox that took place near the date of birth; and sometimes the dates of the first and last visibilities and stations of the planets. The positions of the moon, sun, and planets are usually given by the sign of the zodiac. Sometimes, positions are given more precisely in degrees within the signs of the zodiac. Most of the astronomical data in the horoscopes seems to have been calculated using contemporary astronomical theories rather than taken from the observational records (Rochberg-Halton 1989; Steele 2000). The horoscopes occasionally include brief predictions for the life of the child, although normally no astrological interpretation of the astronomical data is given (we must presume that this was communicated orally to the customer). A few texts which contain information on how the astronomical data in the horoscopes was interpreted astrologically have been studied (Sachs 1952; Reiner 2000), but many more remain unpublished. It is also likely that there existed oral traditions for interpreting horoscopes in addition to the written material.

The Zodiac in Late Babylonian Astrology Many texts provide information on the use of the zodiac in ate Babylonian astrology. Each sign of the zodiac was divided into five regions, each of which was

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assigned to one of the five planets (Jones and Steele 2011), which held significance for how a planet’s position within that part of the zodiacal sign was interpreted. This doctrine is known also in Greek astrology, where it is called the “terms”. A similar doctrine called “the secret place” (Akkadian: bı¯t nisirti) assigns each of ˙ the planets a specific position in the zodiac where its astrological importance was increased. A series of astrological tablets, some of which contain drawings of the signs of the zodiac, refers to the “secret places” of the planets and the occurrence of lunar eclipses (Weidner 1967). The relative placement of the planets in different signs of the zodiac was also important. Particular significance is given to the case where planets are positioned three signs apart, six signs apart, and in other geometrical relationships (RochbergHalton 1988). Many of these relationships are also known from later Greek astrology.

Calendrical Astrology Another development in Babylonian astronomy which utilized the zodiac was the practice of calendrical astrology which uses mathematical schemes to relate dates in the year with positions in the zodiac which are then interpreted astrologically. The mathematical schemes which are used in calendrical astrology rely upon the idea of a schematic year of 360 days in which each month has 30 days. In this schematic year, the sun will move through the zodiac at a mean speed to 1 per day. Thus, days in the schematic year correspond directly to positions in the zodiac, with the first day of the first month of the year corresponding to the position Aries 1. Two mathematical schemes are built upon this system. The first scheme, referred to as the dodecatemoria scheme by scholars, uses the fact that if the mean sun moves 1 per day, then the mean moon will move 13 per day (this is because in 1 month of 30 days, the sun will have moved 30 , and so the moon will have traveled once around the zodiac plus this 30 to catch up with the sun, in total 390 , which divided by 30 days equals 13 per day). The second scheme, known as the kalendertext scheme, manipulates the first scheme to produce a motion of 277 per day (Brack-Bernsen and Steele 2004). Both the dodecatemoria and the kalendertext schemes connect a day in the year with a position in the zodiac (when these schemes were used, it is likely that dates in the schematic calendar were simply equated with dates in the actual calendar). These positions in the zodiac were associated with things such as the ingredients to be used in making medical remedies, temples and other cultic places, trees, plants, stones, and cities in Babylonia.

Astral Medicine A long history of connecting celestial objects and medicine in Babylonia existed back into the second millennium BC, but there was a significant expansion of

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the role of astronomy within medicine in the Late Babylonian period (Heeßel 2005, 2008; Geller 2010). New developments included the association of illnesses with signs of the zodiac and the use of the kalendertext scheme to determine what ingredients should be used to make a remedy on a given day.

Other Forms of Astrology A range of other forms of astrology was practiced in the Late Babylonian period. For example, two tablets from Uruk relate planetary conjunctions and other astronomical phenomena with weather (Hunger 1976), and another tablet makes predictions for the value of commodities in the market from the positions of the planets. Many Late Babylonian cuneiform tablets containing astrological texts have not yet been studied, and there are undoubtedly many more aspects of ate Babylonian astrology still to be discovered.

Cross-References ▶ Babylonian Observational and Predictive Astronomy ▶ Mesopotamian Calendars ▶ Mesopotamian Celestial Divination

References Brack-Bernsen L, Steele JM (2004) Babylonian mathemagics: two mathematical astronomicalastrological texts. In: Burnett C, Hogendijk JP, Plofker K, Yano M (eds) Studies in the history of the exact sciences in honour of David Pingree. Brill, Leiden, pp 95–125 Britton JP (2010) Studies in Babylonian lunar theory: part III. The introduction of the uniform zodiac. Arch Hist Exact Sci 64:617–663 Geller MJ (2010) Look to the stars: babylonian medicine, magic, astrology and melothesia. Max-Planck-Institut f€ ur Wissenschaftergeschichte preprint 401 Heeßel N (2005) Stein, Pflanze und Holz. Ein neuer Text zur ‘medizinischen Astrologie’. Orientalia 74:1–22 Heeßel N (2008) Astrological medicine in Babylonia. In: Akasoy A, Burnett C, Yoel-Tlalim R (eds) Astro-medicine: astrology and medicine, east and west. Sismel, Firenze, pp 1–16 Hunger H (1976) Astrologische Wettervorhersagen. Zeitschift f€ ur Assyriologie 66:234–260 Jones A, Steele JM (2011) A new discovery of a component of Greek astrology in Babylonian tablets: ‘the terms’. ISAW papers 1 Koch-Westenholz U (1995) Mesopotamian astrology: an introduction to Babylonian and Assyrian celestial divination. Museum Tusculanum Press, Copenhagen Reiner E (2000) Early zodialogia and related matters. In: George AR, Finkel IL (eds) Wisdom, gods and literature: studies in Assyriology in honour of W. G. Lambert. Eisenbrauns, Winona Lake, pp 421–427 Rochberg F (1998) Babylonian horoscopes. American Philosophical Society, Philadelphia

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Rochberg F (2004) The heavenly writing: divination, horoscopy, and astronomy in Mesopotamian culture. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge Rochberg-Halton F (1988) Elements of the Babylonian contribution to Hellenistic astrology. J Am Philos Soc 108:51–62 Rochberg-Halton F (1989) Babylonian horoscopes and their sources. Orientalia 58:102–123 Sachs A (1952) Babylonian horoscopes. J cuneiform stud 6:49–74 Steele JM (2000) A3405: an unusual astronomical text from Uruk. Arch Hist Exact Sci 55:104–135 ¨ sterreichishe Akademie Weidner E (1967) Gestirn-Darstellungen auf babylonischen Tontafeln. O der Wissenschaften, Vienna

Transmission of Babylonian Astronomy to Other Cultures

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Alexander Jones

Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Transmission to Egypt . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Transmission to the Greco-Roman World . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Transmission to India . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Abstract

Babylonian astronomy and astrology were extensively transmitted to other civilizations in the second and first millennia BC. Greek astronomy in particular was largely shaped by knowledge of Babylonian observations and mathematical astronomy.

Introduction The astral sciences that evolved in Mesopotamia (interpretation of celestial phenomena as omens, personally oriented astrology, and astronomical observation and prediction) were in great demand in other ancient civilizations, and components of them survived in transmitted and transmuted form long after the disappearance of cuneiform writing around the beginning of the present era (Pingree 1998). During the second millennium BC, Babylonian texts comprising omens to do with the Sun and Moon were present in libraries in Syria, Elam, and Anatolia, sometimes written in the original Akkadian language and sometimes translated into local languages.

A. Jones Institute for the Study of the Ancient World, New York University, NY, USA e-mail: [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_194, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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Transmission to Egypt Astral omen texts derived from the Babylonian tradition seem to have appeared in Egypt only much later, during the period when both Egypt and Mesopotamia were under Persian rule (c. 500 BC). The earliest known texts, which are known from a demotic Egyptian papyrus written during the Roman Empire, concern eclipses and the appearance of the Sun’s or Moon’s disk (Parker 1959). They resemble omen texts from the Babylonian corpora such as Enuma Anu Enlil (completed by the seventh century BC) in that they analyze an observed eclipse into various supposedly significant factors such as time and color and relate them to predicted outcomes, mostly dire, for kings and kingdoms. However, they are not mere translations from cuneiform texts, but original compositions pertaining to Egypt and its neighbors. Egyptian scholars appropriated the Babylonian astral omens very selectively: new texts originating during the Ptolemaic period (third to first centuries BC) and preserved in later manuscripts in both the Egyptian and Greek languages were exclusively devoted to eclipses and to the first appearance of Sirius, an annual event of long-standing importance in Egypt because it approximately coincided with the onset of the Nile’s flood. The fact that the zodiacal signs occupied by the heavenly bodies are a key element determining these omens shows that Egyptian and Babylonian astronomy remained in contact with each other after the Babylonian adoption of the standard zodiac, around 400 BC. The imagery of the zodiac, adhering to a largely Mesopotamian iconography, frequently appears in Egyptian monuments of the Ptolemaic and Roman periods, as in the well-known circular ceiling from Dendera (now in the Louvre) in which the 12 zodiacal figures appear in the midst of an otherwise strictly Egyptian representation of the constellations. In a further merging of Egyptian with Babylonian elements, the 36 decans, which had originally been a belt of asterisms used observationally for nocturnal time reckoning, were transformed into astrologically significant 10 subdivisions of the zodiacal signs.

Transmission to the Greco-Roman World Up to the fifth century BC, Greek astronomy was largely concerned with using solstices, equinoxes, and the appearances and disappearances of asterisms as regulators of agricultural activities and as signs relating to changes of weather and public health. The resemblance of schemes specifying the intervals of days separating these annual events in compositions such as Hesiod’s Works and Days and the Hippocratic medical writings to the Babylonian compendium Mul Apin may reflect practices widespread in the eastern Mediterranean regions rather than an actual dependence. A stronger claim may be made that Meton of Athens’s proposal of a 19-year cycle to regulate a lunisolar calendar (and anchored to the summer solstice of 432 BC) was inspired, directly or through unknown intermediaries, by the Babylonian calendar, which had followed a 19-year cycle of intercalations from about 500 BC on. By the first century BC, we are told by the historian Diodoros that most Greek cities had adopted the 19-year cycle.

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Eudoxos’s books Enoptron and Phainomena were, so far as we know, the first comprehensive delineations written in Greek of a system of constellations covering the entire visible sky, which was essentially the one that became standard in GrecoRoman astronomy and its heirs. Babylonian influence can be recognized in the descriptions of the zodiacal constellations and some others, though our imperfect knowledge of the Babylonian constellations – and for that matter, of Greek constellations before Eudoxos – makes it difficult to estimate how much Eudoxos’s system owed to Near Eastern sources. The practice of Babylonian astronomy during the last three centuries BC, as we know it from cuneiform tablets found at Babylon, Uruk, and occasionally other sites, had three major components. First, there was a program of standardized recording of observations of phenomena of the Sun, Moon, and planets combined with a repertoire of methods for predicting these phenomena by a fairly direct application of certain periods associated with each heavenly body to previous observations. Running in parallel with this program, a sophisticated mathematical methodology was developed for predicting phenomena by means of arithmetical algorithms. Finally, a new form of astrology had arisen out of the tradition of astral omens, which chiefly offered predictions for the life and character of individuals based on the astronomical events and the configuration of the heavenly bodies around the time of the individual’s birth. Knowledge of all three components was transmitted to the Greco-Roman world and profoundly influenced the course of Greek astronomy’s development. The Babylonians had a reputation among the Greek as great observers of the heavens, though most of the authors who alluded to this had only a vague idea of what an astronomical observation consisted of and exaggerated notions of how long the Babylonians had been at it – the figures often run to tens or hundreds of thousands of years. However, Hipparchos (second century BC) and Ptolemy (second century AD) both had access to translations of many actual Babylonian observations and used them as data in their measurements of various theoretical quantities such as the periodicities of motion of the Moon. We do not know who procured the Babylonian records and why, and there may have been multiple transmissions. It is doubtful whether the original archive of cuneiform tablets from which they came existed anywhere besides Babylon. The records kept at Babylon extended, at least for eclipses, back to the eighth century BC. In the Greek world, observations of a kind useful for scientific analysis only began to be preserved systematically from about 300 BC, and no single project was maintained for more than a few decades. It is conceivable that the earliest Greeks making such observations, who worked in Ptolemaic Egypt, were inspired by some acquaintance with the Babylonian program. The mathematical and astrological aspects of late Babylonian astronomy are likely to have been transmitted to the Greco-Roman world primarily by means of trained practitioners who transported their knowledge from its presumed places of origin in the great Babylonian temples to other parts of the Near East and beyond. A second-century BC inscription at Larissa on the Greek mainland (SEG 33–463) commemorates the services rendered to the community by one such person, a resident Syrian who called himself a “Chaldean”, i.e., a Babylonian and an

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astronomer. Unfortunately, we have little documentary evidence for this diffusion of expertise because the ephemeral written materials produced as part of their trade, mostly horoscopes and astronomical tables, were on perishable media. Only from Egypt, where climatic conditions allowed papyri to survive, do we have abundant numbers of such documents and only from the first century AD on (Jones 1999). But already in the second and first century BC, astronomical theoreticians, such as Hipparchos and Hypsikles, and popularizers, such as Geminos, were exploiting Babylonian mathematical methods as sources of astronomical data. Greco-Roman horoscopic astrology, an immensely popular form of divination, was fundamentally a transferring of the Babylonian astral interpretation of nativities into a Greek geocentric cosmological framework (Pingree 1997). In contrast to the older astral omen tradition, horoscopic astrology depended entirely on information about the configuration of the heavenly bodies derived from tables and computation, not from observation. The Babylonian arithmetical algorithms provided the original “toolbox” for obtaining the data in horoscopes, and it was probably through them that the idea of making precise quantitative prediction a primary goal of astronomical research entered Greek astronomy. Tables such as Ptolemy’s, which used trigonometry to translate geometrical models of planetary motion into predictions of the planets’ positions as seen from the Earth, eventually displaced the Babylonian-style tables while retaining Babylonian conventions such as units of measure and the base-60 notation for fractional arithmetic.

Transmission to India Transmission of elements of Babylonian astronomy and omen literature to India during the first half of the first millennium BC has been suggested but, in the absence of decisive evidence, remains controversial. On the other hand, many concepts and methods originating in late Babylonian mathematical astronomy and astrology can be identified in Indian astronomy from the third century AD onward, but their presence in India certainly reflects a transmission from the GrecoRoman world under the later Roman Empire, not direct contact with Babylonian scholars (Plofker 2009).

Cross-References ▶ Babylonian Mathematical Astronomy ▶ Babylonian Observational and Predictive Astronomy ▶ Greco-Roman Astrology ▶ Greek Constellations ▶ Greek Mathematical Astronomy ▶ Late Babylonian Astrology ▶ Mesopotamian Celestial Divination ▶ Mesopotamian Star Lists

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References Jones A (1999) Astronomical papyri from Oxyrhynchus. American Philosophical Society, Philadelphia Parker RA (1959) A Vienna demotic papyrus on eclipse- and lunar-omina. Brown University Press, Providence Pingree D (1997) From astral omens to astrology: from Babylon to Bı¯ka¯ner. Istituto Italiano per l’Africa e l’Oriente, Roma Pingree D (1998) Legacies in astronomy and celestial omens. In: Dalley S (ed) The legacy of Mesopotamia. Oxford University Press, Oxford Plofker K (2009) Mathematics in India. Princeton University Press, Princeton

Ancient and Medieval Jewish Calendars

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Sacha Stern

Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Jewish Calendars in Antiquity and the Middle Ages . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

1883 1884 1887 1887

Abstract

This chapter surveys the history of Jewish calendars from Biblical origins to the later Middle Ages, with reference to their structure, astronomical basis, and cultural context. Special attention is given to the 364-day calendar (third century BCE–first century CE) and the fixed rabbinic calendar (from late Antiquity to the Middle Ages). The chapter concludes with a discussion of attempts to date the institution of the rabbinic calendar on the basis of its minor astronomical discrepancies.

Introduction “Jewish” calendars, in Antiquity and the Middle Ages, are best defined in terms of their main function: to determine the dates of Biblical and other Jewish festivals. Jewish calendars were also used by Jews for general purposes, for example, dating inscriptions and documents, but these uses were never universal or consistent.

S. Stern University College London, London, UK e-mail: [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_195, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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Jewish Calendars in Antiquity and the Middle Ages The structure of the calendar and how it is reckoned is not explained in the Hebrew Bible, but the ancient Israelite calendar is most likely to have been lunar, as were all calendars of the Ancient Near East (with the only exception of Egypt) (Stern 2001, 2012a). This probably means that months began at the new moon, with a normal length of 29 or 30 days; the year consisted of 12 such lunar months, with the occasional intercalation of a 13th month to maintain the year in line with the seasons and ensure, for example, that Passover occurred in the month of aviv, spring. In the postexilic period (from the sixth century BCE on), the Jews adopted the standard Babylonian calendar, a lunar calendar that served as official, imperial calendar throughout the Persian and (later) Hellenistic, Seleucid empires of the Near East. This calendar is evident, for example, in the later books of the Hebrew Bible and in the Jewish, Aramaic papyri from Elephantine in southern Egypt (late fifth century BCE) (Stern 2000). After the Judean, Hasmonean state became independent from its Seleucid overlords in the mid second century BCE, the Judean or Jewish calendar soon acquired a separate identity of its own. A lunar calendar with Babylonian month names was maintained (as evident, e.g., in the books of Maccabees) and has remained in use ever since among the Jews. But it is likely that the Jews determined the month on the basis of their own new moon sightings and that they no longer followed the Babylonian, fixed 19-year cycle of intercalations that had become established in the Seleucid period (Stern 2001). A dissident, non-lunar calendar appears for a brief historical period in Jewish literary sources from the late third century BCE to the first century CE, in the books of Enoch, Jubilees, and the Dead Sea Scrolls. This calendar consists of a fixed year of 364 days (with months of 30 or 31 days, arranged in a regular pattern) or exactly 52 weeks; in this calendar, therefore, the New Year and festivals recurred every year on the same day of the week (VanderKam 1998; Ben-Dov 2008). Since it is slightly shorter than the solar or seasonal year of approximately 365 1/4 days, this calendar gradually drifts away from a correct alignment with the seasons. In the book of 1 Enoch (chs. 72–82 of the Ethiopic version), the 364-day calendar is used for purely astronomical purposes, in conjunction with a schematic solar theory; but in Jubilees and the Dead Sea Scrolls, it serves to date Biblical events and annual festivals. The extent to which this calendar was used in practice, for example, at Qumran (where the Dead Sea Scrolls were discovered), as well as its relevance to Qumran sectarianism, remains unclear (Stern 2011). However, this is the earliest calendar to be explicitly described in any Jewish source. In Qumran calendar texts, the 364-day calendar is synchronized with a schematic lunar calendar (in a 3-year cycle), a scheme of priestly courses (a 24-week cycle, harmonized with the year in a 6-year cycle), and in one text (4QOtot), the cycle of jubilees (49-year cycle). This schematic lunar calendar consists of a regular alternation of 29- and 30-day months and the intercalation of 1 month in 3 years; its very neat compatibility to the 364-day year suggests that it was arithmetically constructed on the basis of, indeed derived from, the 364-day calendar (Ben-Dov 2008). This came, however, at the cost of astronomical

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accuracy: the Qumran lunar calendar falls behind the moon by 1 day every 6 years. Nevertheless, the synchronization of calendars in Qumran calendar texts achieves a level of complexity that was hardly matched in any other ancient culture, until the rise of Christian, Easter Computus texts in the third century CE. The origins of the 364-day calendar are much debated. Some see it as the original, cultic calendar of ancient Israel (Jaubert 1957; VanderKam 1998), but this theory is not supported by evidence (Davies 1983; Wacholder and Wacholder 1995). A 364-day year has been inferred from a small number of Mesopotamian astronomical texts, especially one passage of MUL. APIN (Horowitz 1994, 1998; Ben-Dov 2008), but this is unlikely to be the source of the Judean calendar (even though much of the astronomy of 1 Enoch 72–82 is derived from Mesopotamian astronomy): the inference itself, above all, is problematic (MUL. APIN explicitly assumes, in fact, a 360-day scheme) (Koch 1996). Egyptian influence is perhaps more likely, as the Egyptian calendar consisted of a similarly fixed, schematic year (albeit of 365 days), and Judea was under Ptolemaic rule in the third century BCE (Stern 2012a). After the first century CE, the 364-day calendar fell into oblivion, while the lunar calendar remained dominant among all Jews. In the early Roman imperial period, Jewish calendars were still quite close to the Babylonian calendar, with months based on new moon sightings, and years intercalated such as to make Nisan, the Passover month, occur relatively late (approximately in April). By the fourth century CE, however, the Jewish Passover month had generally regressed (approximately to March), while the beginnings of months were increasingly determined by calculated, fixed schemes, perhaps under the influence of Christian Computus (Stern 2001). The rabbinic calendar, attested in rabbinic literature from the third century CE and later (e.g., Mishnah Rosh Hashanah), was initially based on a new moon sighting procedure (without much knowledge, however, of astronomical theory: Stern 2012b) and ad hoc intercalation. In the following centuries, a number of rules were gradually introduced – for example, the rule of the equinox (that Passover should not occur before it) or that certain months should only count 29 days – which had the effect of gradually fixing the calendar into a predetermined scheme. That this calendar was formally instituted by a Hillel in 359 CE is only one of several medieval legends. A partially fixed calendar is evident already in the Palestinian Talmud (late fourth century), but the complete, fixed rabbinic calendar that eventually became normative in Judaism took much longer to emerge and was not finalized until the early tenth century (Stern 2001). The complex and, in astronomical terms, remarkably accurate calculations that form the basis of the fixed rabbinic calendar were first expounded in an almost complete form in a short treatise in Arabic by the early ninth-century Muslim mathematician al-Khwa¯rizmı¯ (Kennedy 1964), then in early tenth-century, Hebrew texts of which fragments have survived in the Cairo Genizah. The most famous, comprehensive description of the calendar, from the late twelfth century, is Maimonides’ Laws of Sanctification of the Month (Gandz et al. 1956). In the rabbinic calendar, the beginning of the month is determined by a computation of

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the molad, that is, the mean conjunction of the sun and moon, for which the Ptolemaic lunation is used, expressed as 29 days, 12 h, and 793/1,080 parts of the hour (Goldstein 2003), with an epoch of Friday, 14 h (counted from sunset) at the month of Tishri when Adam was created (¼ 26 September 3,759, about 8 a.m.). Intercalation is based on a 19-year cycle, similar (but not identical) to the Alexandrian cycle and derivatives of it in Easter Computus. Additional calendar rules prevent the occurrence of certain festivals on certain days of the week. Various algorithms and tables were designed, throughout the Middle Ages, to facilitate the computation of this calendar; the earliest known, already attested in al-Khwa¯rizmı¯, is called the “Four Gates” (Stern 2001). The fixed rabbinic calendar is not a cycle: the value of the molad, in particular, is too complex for any pattern to recur over a period of years or even centuries. Nevertheless, a similar molad recurs after thirteen 19-year cycles (falling short of only 905 parts of the hour), and on this basis, a 247-year cycle was designed no later than the twelfth century and attributed to Rav Nahshon, a ninth-century ˙ Babylonian rabbi. Adherence to this cycle – far easier to use than the complex molad calculation – would lead to occasional discrepancies from the normative rabbinic computation, but this did not prevent it from being used throughout the Middle Ages in various Jewish communities (especially in France and Germany), sometimes causing controversy (e.g., in fourteenth-century Yemen: Tobi 1981). More important, however, were controversies between Rabbanites and Qaraites, as the latter rejected the rabbinic computation and relied, instead, on new moon sightings and empirical assessments of the agricultural seasons (for determining intercalations) (Rustow 2008). The history and origins of the rabbinic calendar computation, which emerged sometime between the fourth and tenth centuries, are not well documented and understood. The use of the Ptolemaic lunation is unlikely to have been introduced before the eighth century, when the Almagest was first translated into Arabic; adoption of the 19-year cycle may have occurred then or earlier. Attempts have been made to date the institution of the rabbinic calendar or even to vindicate the medieval tradition that it occurred as early as 359 CE, on the basis of astronomical dating. Thus, it has been argued that the 19-year cycle goes back to the fourth century, because only in this period the cycle would have conformed to the true vernal equinox (Wiesenberg 1961). The 19-year cycle, indeed, entails an average year length that is slightly longer than the solar, tropical year, resulting in a discrepancy of approximately 1 day in 216 years; nowadays, the earliest possibly occurrence of Passover (15th Nisan) is 26 March (as in 2013, year 16 of the cycle), some 6 days after the vernal equinox, or 6 days later than it need be. The discrepancy would thus have been nil some thirteen centuries ago, which suggests, in fact, an institution of the cycle somewhat later than the fourth century. An argument of this kind, however, rests on several unverifiable assumptions: (1) that the 19-year cycle was instituted on the basis of a specific rule of the equinox – even if it was, there are several definitions of this rule in early rabbinic sources (with several versions of these definitions in medieval manuscripts), without evidence of which would have been assumed; (2) that the rule was based on

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a true astronomical equinox, rather than on a mean calculation or scheme (as was commonly used in Antiquity, including the Babylonian Talmud bEruvin 56a, where we find the scheme later called tequfat Shemuel, essentially modeled on the Julian calendar’s year and equinox); and (3) that the true equinox was precisely measured, as in modern astronomy – which we know ancient astronomers did not successfully achieve. Given that an error of 1 day is sufficient to alter the putative date of the 19-year cycle by as much as two centuries, this argument is effectively worthless (Stern 2001). The same applies to attempts to backdate the institution of the molad calculation, of which the lunation is excessive by a fraction of a second, leading nowadays to a discrepancy of about 2 h between the molad and the mean conjunction. The inference that the molad calculation was instituted in the fourth century depends on various unverifiable assumptions, such as (1) the precise discrepancy, over the last two millennia, between the molad’s lunation and an astronomically accurate mean lunation; (2) how the mean conjunction should be determined, or rather, how it would have been determined by rabbis in the fourth century. It seems clear that both the lunation and the epoch of the molad calculation were simply borrowed from Ptolemy, the latter, however, being rounded off to a whole hour (Friday 14 h) at the year of the Creation. These values could easily have been borrowed, for example, as late as the eighth century. Thus, the astronomical discrepancy of the molad does not indicate anything about the date of its original institution (Stern 2001).

Cross-References ▶ Ancient Egyptian Calendars ▶ Astronomy and Calendars at Qumran ▶ Astronomy in the Book of Enoch ▶ Astronomy in the Service of Christianity ▶ Greek Mathematical Astronomy ▶ Mesopotamian Calendars ▶ Transmission of Babylonian Astronomy to Other Cultures

References Ben-Dov J (2008) Head of all years: astronomy and calendars at Qumran in their ancient context. Brill, Leiden Davies PR (1983) Calendrical change and Qumran origins: an assessment of VanderKam’s theory. Cath Biblical Quart 45:80–89 Gandz S, Obermann J, Neugebauer O (1956) Maimonides, sanctification of the new moon, vol 11. Yale judaica series. Yale University Press, New Haven Goldstein BR (2003) Ancient and medieval values for the mean synodic month. J Hist Astron 34:65–74 Horowitz W (1994) Two new Ziqpu-star texts and stellar circles. J Cuneiform Stud 46:89–98 Horowitz W (1998) The 364 day year in Mesopotamia, again’. Nouvelles assyriologiques bre`ves et utilitaires 49:49–51

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Jaubert A (1957) La date de la Ce`ne: calendrier biblique et liturgie chre´tienne. Gabalda, Paris Kennedy ES (1964) Al-Khwa¯rizmı¯ on the Jewish calendar. Scripta Math 27:55–59 Koch J (1996) AO 6478, MUL. APIN und das 364-Tage-Jahr. Nouvelles assyriologiques bre`ves et utilitaires 111:97–99 Rustow M (2008) Heresy and the politics of community: the jews of the Fatimid Caliphate. Cornell University Press, Ithaca Stern S (2000) The Babylonian calendar at Elephantine. Zeitschrift f€ ur Papyrologie und Epigraphik 130:159–171 Stern S (2001) Calendar and community: a history of the Jewish calendar: 2nd century BCE to 10th century CE. Oxford University Press, Oxford Stern S (2011) The ‘sectarian’ calendar of Qumran. In: Stern S (ed) Sects and sectarianism in Jewish history. Brill, Leiden, pp 39–62 Stern S (2012a) Calendars in antiquity: empires, states, and societies. Oxford University Press, Oxford Stern S (2012b) The rabbinic new moon procedure: context and significance. In: Ben-Dov J, Horowitz W, Steele J (eds) Living the lunar calendar. Oxbow Books, Oxford, pp 211–230 Tobi Y (1981) Hamahloqet ‘al mahzor RMZ beTeyman. In: Morag S, Ben-Ami I (eds) Studies in ˙ Geniza and Sepharadi heritage:˙ volume in honour of S. D. Goitein. Magnes Press, Jerusalem, pp 193–228 VanderKam JC (1998) Calendars in the dead sea scrolls: measuring time. Routledge, London\New York Wacholder BZ, Wacholder S (1995) Patterns of Biblical dates and Qumran’s calendar: the Fallacy of Jaubert’s hypothesis. Hebrew Union Coll An 66:1–40 Wiesenberg E (1961) Appendix. In: Gandz S, Klein H (eds) The code of Maimonides, book 3: the book of seasons. Yale University Press, New Haven, pp 557–602

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Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The 364-Day Year . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The Sun on the Horizon and the Length of Daylight . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Lunar Visibility . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The Moon on the Horizon . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Stars . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Conclusion . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Abstract

A section of the Book of 1 Enoch is called “The Book of Heavenly Luminaries.” This section was written in Aramaic in the second-third centuries BCE, with fragments discovered among the Dead Sea Scrolls. The complete book is preserved in Ethiopic translation. The astronomical treatise reflects the traditional Mesopotamian astronomical models of the mid-first millennium BCE: length of daylight and nighttime, the place of the sun on the horizon (without mention of the ecliptic and the zodiac), and intervals of lunar visibility. Much of these parameters are measured by “Heavenly Gates”, i.e., specific sections on the horizon. The book of luminaries adds to the Mesopotamian models an interest in the place of the moon on the horizon using the same system of gates, as well as a crude geometrical model of the lunar and solar movement. In addition, it features some vague remarks about the role of stars as markers of the seasons.

J. Ben-Dov Department of Bible, University of Haifa, Haifa, Israel e-mail: [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_196, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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Introduction The Book of 1 Enoch, known today mainly through its Ethiopic translation, is a collection of five treatises, authored in Aramaic mainly between the second century BCE and the first century CE. Authored in a Jewish apocalyptic milieu, the book was rejected from the Jewish tradition as well as from the mainstream Christian tradition. Fragments of the Aramaic text were discovered among the Dead Sea Scrolls at the site of Qumran. The book conveys apocalyptic visions and admonitions by the primordial seer Enoch. The “Book of Heavenly Luminaries” (also called “Astronomical Book”, henceforth AB) constitutes an early part of the collection, since its earliest copy or forerunner, the Qumran Scroll 4Q208, dates to ca. 200 BCE. Four fragmentary copies of this Aramaic text were discovered at Qumran, alongside the longer – and quite different – text in Ethiopic. (For the textual find, see Drawnel 2011; Nickelsburg and VanderKam (2012).) The Aramaic text preserves ancient patterns of representing numbers and calculations, which were obscured in the later transmission (Drawnel 2011; Ben-Dov 2008). The astronomy of AB resembles traditional Mesopotamian teaching, contained in cuneiform writings of the second millennium and early first millennium BCE. The resemblance is especially apparent with parts of the astronomical compendia Mul. Apin and Enuma Anu Enlil (Albani 1994; Ben-Dov 2008). Although AB found its textual form around the second century BCE, it reflects neither the advanced astronomy of the late cuneiform culture nor the achievements of Greek astronomy. AB is thus an example of the dissemination of popular, nonmathematical astronomy from Mesopotamia westward. This knowledge, circulating outside Mesopotamia already in the mid-first millennium BCE, became common knowledge in the ancient world until the Middle Ages. It does not practice observations of the heavenly phenomena but rather uses simple numerical relations and schematic figures as its building blocks (see Neugebauer 1985). Generally speaking, the Enochic astronomy continues the Babylonian focus on period relations but adds to it a somewhat crude interest in spatial relations, i.e., in geometrical models for explaining the movement of the luminaries. The astronomical topics covered in AB are described in the following sections.

The 364-Day Year The models of AB operate in a year of 364 days, which is vehemently propagated by the author or redactor (1 Enoch 75, 82). While this number may have been known already in Mul. Apin, it became particularly suitable for use in a Jewish context because of the centrality of the number 7. The number of 364 days was derived from the ideal year of 360 days, which had been the norm in traditional cuneiform astronomy. Four additional days were added as a result of the decision to include the sun’s cardinal days in the count of year, yielding 364 days altogether.

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Although often seen as a solar year, the 364-day year is not a solar one but rather an ideal scheme meant to supply a general explanation for the paths of all heavenly luminaries. The appellation “solar year” is wrong (Ben-Dov 2008).

The Sun on the Horizon and the Length of Daylight AB is not aware of the ecliptic and of any zodiacal coordinates. Instead it calibrates the sun’s position by tracing its appearance and setting on the horizon. Whereas the sun rises due east around the days of the equinox, it wanders ca. 30 north- and southward on the days of the summer and winter solstice, respectively (Jerusalem latitude). The segment of the horizon traversed by the sun throughout the year (ca. 60 ) was divided in AB into six sections in the east and six in the west, altogether twelve “gates of heaven”, as they are designated in 1 Enoch Chap. 72. The sun thus travels through six bands running from east to west, 10 wide each. Its movement on the horizon along the year is controlled by a simple zigzag function: gate 4 close to the equinox days, gate 1 (north) in the summer, and gate 6 (south in the winter). While a similar mechanism – dubbed “the three paths of heaven” – is used in Mul. Apin, that mechanism covers the entire horizon rather than the segment of 60 only (this insight is courtesy of Eshbal Ratzon). Regrettably the Enochic model of gates is not fully preserved in the Aramaic fragments but rather only in Chap. 72 of the Ethiopic text. The same zigzag function which depicts the path of the sun serves also to describe the length of daylight throughout the annual seasons. This theme was often explored in Babylonian astronomy, where the relation between the longest and the shortest day of the year was taken to be 2:1. The same ratio is followed in the Book of Enoch (Chap. 72), despite the fact that it does not correspond with reality, neither in Babylon nor in Jerusalem. The 2:1 ratio is applied in 1 Enoch by means of a division of the day into 18 “parts”, a system which is unknown elsewhere.

Lunar Visibility The calculations of the length of daylight and of nighttime give rise to further extrapolation in order to determine the length of the moon’s visibility during each of the days of the lunation. Reaching maximum nighttime visibility at the night of the full moon, the moon delays its setting by ca. 48 min every day consecutively, until the new crescent reaches a maximum of daylight visibility at the beginning of the next lunation. These variations were carefully tracked in Babylonian astronomy and divided into 15 steps of waning and waxing, respectively, in the ideal month of 30 days. The Aramaic AB gives a stunningly similar account of the monthly lunar visibility, making AB almost a translation of the Akkadian table (Drawnel 2011). However, AB counts 14 rather than 15 intervals of waning and waxing, most probably as a reflection of the Jewish preference for seven-based numbers.

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This component, which appears in the Aramaic scrolls 4Q208 and 4Q209, was later obscured in transmission and is almost entirely absent from the Ethiopic version.

The Moon on the Horizon The same system used above to describe the path of the sun is used in AB also to depict the path of the moon, by tracing its appearance on the gates of the horizon throughout the month. This aspect finds no precedence in Mesopotamian astronomy and is only partly attested in the Aramaic fragments. It was probably developed further in the Greek or Ethiopic phase of transmission. A full record of data on the moon’s passage in the gates appears only in later Ethiopic astronomy (Neugebauer 1979). The moon traverses each gate for 2–8 days, with the number increasing in the extreme gates 1–6, when the moon is at its maximum north or south declination.

Stars Although the literary statements in the framework of AB relate also to the path of the stars, concrete information about the stars is entirely absent from AB, where no fixed star or planet is mentioned by name. A highly fragmentary Aramaic passage preserved on the scroll 4Q211 possibly conveys a mathematical scheme for the rising of monthly stars. While this passage may have been part of the original AB, it may equally be an early expansion of it. In the extant passages of AB, esp. Chaps. 75 and 82, the stars serve as markers for the advance of the seasons, with each season being led by a star and/or an angel. Stars and angels are often associated in Jewish sources (Ben-Dov 2008).

Conclusion The astronomical teachings of AB serve – with modifications – as the basis for the astronomy of later Enochic literature, i.e., in the Second (Slavonic) Book of Enoch and other Slavonic Pseudepigrapha. They are echoed in the calendars and liturgical texts from Qumran and in the Book of Jubilees (for the reception history of AB, see Nickelsburg and VanderKam 2012). In other Jewish literature what remains is mostly the legendary figure of Enoch, the seer and the scientist, with this figure being gradually replaced by the figure of Abraham. Finally, elements of Enochic astronomy are the cornerstone in the design of traditional Ethiopic astronomy until this very day (Neugebauer 1979).

Cross-References ▶ Ancient and Medieval Jewish Calendars ▶ Astronomy and Calendars at Qumran

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References Albani M (1994) Astronomie und Scho¨pfungsglaube: Untersuchungen zum astronomischen Henochbuch. Neukirchener, Neukirchen-Vluyn Ben-Dov J (2008) Head of all years: astronomy and calendars at Qumran in their ancient context. Brill, Leiden Drawnel H (2011) The Aramaic astronomical book from Qumran: text, translation, and commentary. Oxford University Press, Oxford ¨ sterreichische Akademie der Neugebauer O (1979) Ethiopic astronomy and computus. O Wissenschaften, Vienna Neugebauer O (1985) The ‘Astronomical Chapters’ of the Ethiopic book of Enoch (72 to 82). In: Black M (ed) The book of Enoch or 1 Enoch: a new english edition. Brill, Leiden, pp 386–414 Nickelsburg GWE, VanderKam JC (2012) 1 Enoch 2: a commentary on the book of 1 enoch chapters 37–82. Fortress, Minneapolis

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Jonathan Ben-Dov

Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The Sabbath . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Lunar Phases and the Three-Year Cycle . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The Cycle of Priestly Families . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Festivals . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Shemitah and Jubilee . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Intercalation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Liturgy . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Abstract

A corpus of ca. 20 calendrical texts dated mostly to the first century BCE was found among the Dead Sea scrolls. These documents attest to a year of 364 days, which was adopted from earlier Jewish Pseudepigrapha like the Books of Enoch and Jubilees. The 364-day year was the main time frame used by the sectarian community represented in the scrolls. It is not a solar year, as often stated, but rather a schematic-sabbatical year. Its main characteristic in the DSS is the absorption of many various calendrical frameworks. The 364-day calendar tradition is strongly based on the calculation of full creational weeks and of weeks of years (Shemitah). It incorporates the service cycles of the 24 priestly families in the temple, while in addition, it encompasses an additional cycle of lunar phenomena. This cycle is related to the Mesopotamian concept of “the Lunar Three”. Finally, an awareness of the cycle of the Jubilee (49 years)

J. Ben-Dov Department of Bible, University of Haifa, Haifa, Israel e-mail: [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_197, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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produced a megacycle of 294 years. It remains unknown how and whether at all the 364-day year was intercalated to fit the tropical year of 365.25 days approximately.

Introduction In the middle of the twentieth century, a large library of Hebrew, Aramaic, and Greek scrolls and fragments was found deposited in the caves around the site of Qumran on the shores of the Dead Sea. The scrolls date between the third century BCE and the first century CE. Among the many types of texts in this corpus, a group of about 20 calendrical scrolls and fragments stands out, as well as other, more secluded attestations of astrology, and a possible sundial (for the official publication of the calendar texts, see Talmon et al. 2001). Most of the texts reflect the worldview of the Yahad, the sectarian community living at Qumran, which considered its unique calendar of 364 days to be a constitutive sectarian marker (Talmon 1989). The most prominent characteristic of the calendar developed by the Yahad is its absorption of various numerical sets of data and their integration into one elaborate scheme. In this aspect, the Qumran calendar is unique among all other calendars known from Antiquity (Stern 2012). The 364-day year of the Yahad is a variation on the concept developed in the “Astronomical Book” of 1 Enoch. The calendar in the Book of Jubilees is an additional branch of the same tradition. In earlier research, it was common to claim that a 364-day solar year constituted the earliest Jewish calendar (Jaubert 1965; VanderKam 1998), which underlies already the priestly writings in the Hebrew Bible. This view, however, lacks substantial support from the biblical sources (Ben-Dov 2011). It makes more sense that biblical Israel followed a lunisolar year like all other nations in the ancient Near East. The 364-day year is thus an innovation of priestly apocalyptic circles in the postbiblical period. While the Enochic calendar focused predominantly on astronomical aspects and on the fourfold division of the year, the Yahad calendar introduces numerous new features. First and foremost, it celebrates the inner symmetry reached by means of the 364-day edifice. The year is divided into four equal quarters of 91 days each, in turn divided into months of 30-30-31 days.

The Sabbath Each quarter of the year contains exactly 13 weeks. The quarters mirror each other, since they are all equally anchored to the order of the days of the week. Every year inadvertently begins on the fourth day of the week, and accordingly all other festivals occur always on the same day of the week. In effect, the entire year is constructed around the constitutive power of the Sabbath and the week. This element, derived from biblical sources, became the cornerstone of the sectarian

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calendar. The system makes sure that no festival occurs on the Sabbath day, to avoid clashes in the religious laws pertaining to it. This element is emblematic of the sectarian law and does not occur elsewhere. Several calendrical scrolls such as 4Q394 1–2 record the order of Sabbaths along a single year of 364 days. The 364-day year is not a solar year, but rather a schematic-sabbatarian cycle. It is the only year used in the sources of the Yahad which pertain to sacred time, festivals, and liturgy. Although the moon is also tracked in some calendars (see below), no festival in the sectarian calendar was harnessed to the moon (cp. the condemnation against the moon in Jubilees 6:32) (On the ideology of the 364-dayyear tradition, see Ben-Dov 2011).

Lunar Phases and the Three-Year Cycle The scrolls 4Q320, 4Q321, and 4Q321a harness the 364-day year to a schematic cycle of lunar phenomena (Talmon et al. 2001). The synchronization of the 364-day year with the schematic lunar year of 354 days requires the addition of a lunar month every 3 years: 364
3 ¼ 1092 ¼ 354
3 þ 30 While the sacred 364-day year remained unaltered, the schematic lunar calendar aligned to it was intercalated. Two lunar phases are marked within each lunar month. One of them remains nameless, while the other carries the ambiguous name doq or duq (“observation”). They lie 13 days or 16/17 days apart, and together they cover the entire lunation of 29/30 days. Their astronomical value is not entirely clear. However, due to the correspondence of these phenomena with the system known from Babylonia as “the Lunar Three”, it seems that they reflect the day after full moon and the day of last lunar visibility (Ben-Dov 2008; for a differing opinion, see VanderKam 1998). The Qumran calendar thus reflects knowledge of an astronomical denotation system, which was common in cuneiform writings during the second half of the first millennium BCE. However, in Yahad literature, this scientific device is anchored to the sacred framework of the year and to the service cycles of the priests (see below).

The Cycle of Priestly Families In the Yahad calendar (as, for example, also in ancient Egypt), the yearly order was harnessed to the weekly service of priestly families (mishmarot) in the temple, 24 families altogether. While these families corresponded to the calendar also in other branches of Judaism, this link was further perfected in the Yahad. Some scrolls project the priestly cycle on the history far back in time, enacting this cycle

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at the time of creation, in order to emphasize that it is inherent in world order. Six years were required in order to align this cycle with the 364-day year, with each family serving exactly 13 weeks in the temple: 24
13
7 ¼ 2184 ¼ 6
364 Not surprisingly, the 6-year priestly cycle exactly corresponds to two consecutive 3-year lunar cycles (Ben-Dov 2011). The two cycles thus merge together the typological numbers 3-4-6-7-12 in an intricate way.

Festivals The 364-day year accommodates all the festivals mentioned in the Hebrew Bible in a newly knit framework. It adds to them some other festivals which originate from the special status of the weekly cycle in the order of the year. The Temple Scroll prescribes two new harvest festivals, for the wine and for the oil, which stand 7 weeks apart. They follow the biblical harvest festivals of barley and wheat (Leviticus 23), together forming an orchestrated sequence of multiple periods of 7 weeks, covering nearly a half of the year. The special structure of the Yahad calendar dictates that these weeks always constitute full creational weeks (i.e., from Sunday to Sabbath) rather than nominal weeks (i.e., any sequence of 7 days). This point has been fiercely debated among Jewish sects and parties of the Second Temple period and persisted in later literature, where the sectarian stance was utterly rejected (For this debate and the role of festivals, see generally VanderKam 1998).

Shemitah and Jubilee Yet another element integrated into the fabric of the Qumran calendar is the biblical cycle of the Release Year (Shemitah) and the Jubilee, 7 and 49 years, respectively. A long calendrical list in the scroll 4Q319 (which is in fact an extension of the central foundation document of the Yahad) accomplishes this task by creating a cycle of 294 years, i.e., six Jubilees. At the end of this cycle, the same priestly course who had served at the creation of the world will repeat its service at the exact same constellation of the luminaries which had existed at the creation.

Intercalation The scrolls do not even hint of any awareness of the gap of 1.25 days between the “true” solar year of 365.25 days and the 364-day year. This gap would have accumulated to a significant amount of time within 30 years or so. Since the Yahad calendar is conspicuously anchored to the seasons, it is hard to assume that the sectarians would let the year float by without correcting it. On the other

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hand, so much religious meaning was attached to the number 364 and its derivatives that no regular mechanism of intercalation could have been admitted to correct it. We thus need to speculate either that the pure numerical symmetry was preferred to the correction of time through intercalation or that intercalation was indeed practiced ad hoc when a serious gap accumulated (Ben-Dov 2011). Other suggestions raised by scholars for the regular correction of the Yahad’s year are not supported by the texts.

Liturgy The special fascination of the Yahad with the structure of the year led to the creation of calendrical liturgies. Thus, the collection of prayers Songs of the Sabbath Sacrifice assigns a special prayer to be recited on each of the 13 Sabbaths of the first quarter of the year. This liturgy connects the calendar with themes of priests and angels in the heavenly temple. Similarly, the scroll 5Q503 assigns daily prayers for the 30 days of the first month of the year, employing similar themes to the former prayer-cycle. Other collections assign special prayers for the protection against demons, with special emphasis on the days of transition between the seasons, once every 91 days.

Cross-References ▶ Ancient and Medieval Jewish Calendars ▶ Astronomy in the Book of Enoch

References Ben-Dov J (2008) Head of all years: astronomy and calendars at Qumran in their ancient context. Brill, Leiden Ben-Dov J (2011) The 364-day year in the dead sea scrolls and Jewish Pseudepigrapha. In: Steele J (ed) Calendars and years II: astronomy and time in the Ancient and Medieval world. Oxbow Books, Oxford, pp 59–105 Jaubert A (1965) The date of the last supper. (Trans: I. Rafferty) Staten Island. Alba House, New York Stern S (2012) Calendars in antiquity: empires, states, & societies. Oxford University Press, Oxford Talmon S (1989) The calendar of the Covenanters of the Judean desert. In: The world of Qumran from within. Magnes\Brill, Jerusalem\Leiden, pp 147–185 Talmon S, Ben-Dov J, Glessmer U (2001) Qumran cave XVI: calendrical texts. Clarendon, Oxford VanderKam JC (2008) Calendars in the dead sea scrolls: measuring time. Routledge, London

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Arkadiusz Sołtysiak

Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Persian Skywatching and Calendars . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Sources . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Elamite and Old Persian Calendars . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Achaemenian Calendar . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Sassanian Calendar Reform . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Skywatching and Religion . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Persian Astrology . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Astronomical Orientations . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Abstract

The peoples of Iran used lunisolar calendars until the early fifth century BCE when the 365-day calendar with 30 months and 5 epagomenal days was introduced. This calendar was not corrected to the actual length of the tropical year, and therefore, seasonal festivals gradually moved away from their seasons. Finally, around the turn of the fifth century CE, a partially successful calendar reform was undertaken, and the feasts were restored to their original seasons. In that time, Sasanian kings were interested in astrology, and some Greek and Hindu astrological texts were translated into Persian, but there is no evidence of indigenous contributions to skywatching.

A. Sołtysiak Institute of Archaeology, University of Warsaw, Warszawa, Poland e-mail: [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_198, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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Introduction Iran is perhaps the most contrasting part of the Near/Middle East, with two large mountains ranges (Zagros and Alburz), fertile plains on the shore of the Caspian Sea and in Khuzestan, and most inhospitable deserts in the Central Plateau. In the Early Bronze Age, it was the place of development of at least two urban civilizations, the early Elamite state in Khuzestan and southern Zagros and the Jiroft civilization in the southeastern part of Iran. If the history of Elam with its two capital cities, one in Susa and the other in Anshan, far in the Zagros Mountains, may be roughly reconstructed using textual evidence from neighboring Mesopotamia, the development of human societies in remaining parts of Iran is known only through scarce archaeological data. After the Assyrian campaigns in the mid-seventh century BCE, Elam had lost its independence, but in this time, most of Iran was already controlled by Aryan tribes which came from the steppes of Central Asia during the 2nd millennium BCE. From among these tribes, the Medes established the first known kingdom, and in the early sixth century, they controlled almost the whole of Iran, northern parts of previous Assyrian Empire, and most of Anatolia. In the mid-sixth century, this large state was taken over by Cyrus the Great from the Achaemenian dynasty which then controlled whole of the Near East and Egypt. Although Alexander the Great conquered this first Persian Empire during his campaigns in 334–329 BCE and Iran became a part of the Hellenistic world, two centuries later the territory was successfully retrieved by the Parthians, another Aryan tribe from the Central Asia. The Parthian dynasty was itself overthrown in 224 CE by Ardashir I, the founder of the Sassanian dynasty which ruled the second Persian Empire until its final fall in 651 CE caused by the expanding Muslim Caliphate.

Persian Skywatching and Calendars Sources In spite of this splendid history, very little is known about calendars and skywatching in ancient Iran, especially in comparison to Mesopotamia. This is the result of a general scarcity of written sources. Apart from external (chiefly Mesopotamian, Greek, and Roman) evidence, there are only a few archives found in Susa, Persepolis, and some other cities and a small collection of royal inscriptions. Avesta, the sacred Zoroastrian book, contains some data on celestial bodies, but this source was compiled over several centuries, and it is virtually impossible to put this data in any chronological or territorial context. In general, the early history of Persian interest in the sky must be reconstructed from much later, chiefly medieval sources. The most important primary sources are Bundahisˇn, De¯nkard, and the writings of al-Bı¯ru¯nı¯. These are all dated to the ninth/eleventh century CE, when Muslim authors were especially interested in Zoroastrian traditions and also Zoroastrians wrote down much of their oral traditions. Bundahisˇn is a book on cosmology

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compiled in the eighth/ninth century CE and containing also many references to celestial bodies as well as the horoscope of the world (MacKenzie 1964). De¯nkard is large compilation of Zoroastrian lore from the tenth century, and there are also chapters on calendar and astronomy (de Blois 1996). ’Abu¯ al-Rayha¯n Muhammad ˙ ibn Ahmad al-Bı¯ru¯nı¯ (973–1048) was a famous Muslim scholar from Choresm and the author of many books about Muslim, Persian, and Indian astronomy and astrology.

Elamite and Old Persian Calendars Available sources enable only a rough reconstruction of the history of the Persian calendar (de Blois 1996). The Elamites used a lunisolar calendar at least since early 2nd millennium BCE; some names of months attested in early sources are Akkadian, and it is likely that the Elamites adopted the Babylonian calendar and added only some local month names (Basello 2002). Also, the pattern of intercalations was the same in the history of Elamite and standard Babylonian calendar with exception of three instances (de Blois 2007). Finally, both systems were synchronized during the rule of Darius I (522–486 BCE). Also, the original Persian calendar was lunisolar, as attested by the Behistun inscription and some administrative documents from Persepolis (de Blois 1996), although some authors speculate that the Aryans originally used 360-day solar year (Boyce 2005). However, this is inconsistent with the quite peculiar system of time reckoning preserved in Avesta, with six uneven seasons called ga¯ha¯nba¯rs and lasting 60, 75, 30, 80, 75, and 45 days (Hartner 1979).

Achaemenian Calendar In the Achaemenian period, most likely during the reign of Darius I or Xerxes (486–465 BCE), the Persians adopted the idea of the Egyptian calendar with 12 regular 30-day months and 5 epagomenal days. The Persian year began on the day of the vernal equinox, and the best fit for this coincidence was in 481–479 BCE (de Blois 2007). Each of 30 days was consecrated to one of Yazatas (Zoroastrian deities), and the most important from them were also associated with regular months (see Table 179.1). The feast of a given deity was held during its day of its months, although the presence of this tradition is attested not before the Middle Ages. Only the feast of Ahura Mazda was celebrated four times during the 10th month, as 4 days were consecrated to the main god of Zoroastrian pantheon (Boyce 2005). The last 5 days of the year were called Ga¯tha¯ days and preceded No¯ Ru¯z, the New Year festival, most important holiday in the Persian calendar. The 365-day year needs regular intercalations to follow the tropical year, but the Persians never inserted leap day every 4 years as in the Julian calendar. Several medieval authors, as al-Bı¯ru¯nı¯ and al-Mas’u¯dı¯, reported that one leap month was added every 120 years, which would also solve the problem. Hasan al-Qummı¯ ˙

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Table 179.1 Month names in Persian calendar (after Panaino 1990). Aməsˇa Spənta, the six emanations of Ahura Mazda¯, are marked with an asterisk Month names Avestan Fravasˇinam Asˇahe Vahisˇtahe Haurvata¯to¯ Tisˇtryehe Amərəta¯to¯ Xsˇayrahe Vairyehe Miyrahe Apa˛m ¯ yro A Dayusˇo¯ Vaƞhəusˇ Manaƞho¯ ¯ rmato¯isˇ Spəntaya˚ A

Parthian Prwrtyn ’Rtywhsˇt Hrwtt Tyry Hmrtt Xsˇtrywr Mtry ’Pxwny ’Trw Dtsˇ Whmn Spndrmty

Pahlavi Frawardı¯n Ardwahisˇt Xorda¯d Tı¯r Amurda¯d Sˇahrewar Mihr ¯ ba¯n A ¯ Adur Day Wahman Spandarmad

Deity Fravasˇis, the guardian spirits *Asˇa Vahisˇta¯, the best righteousness *Haurvata¯t, the wholeness Tisˇtrya ¼ Sirius *Amərəta¯t, immortality *Xsˇayra Vairya, the desirable dominion Mithra, the god of oath, later associated with Sun ¯ pas, the waters A ¯ Ayar, the fire Ahura Mazda, the creator of the world *Vohu Manah, the goodwill ¯ rmaiti, the holy devotion *Spənta A

wrote in the late tenth century that the intercalation took place every 116 years and this version was obviously better fitted to the tropical year but lost the symbolical significance of the number 120 (de Blois 1996). Anyway, there is no evidence of such intercalations, and it is most likely that the legend of such a long-term system was invented in the ninth century CE when the Caliph al-Mutawakkil (847–861) failed to reform the Persian calendar (de Blois 1996).

Sassanian Calendar Reform However, the comparison of Persian, Choresmian, Sogdian, and Armenian medieval calendars revealed traces of one reform of calendar which must have taken place during the Sassanian period. The Persian calendar in the Middle Ages differed from the other three in two respects: the beginning of the year occurred 5 days earlier, and the Ga¯tha¯ days were inserted after the eighth month and not after the last month of the year. This difference was likely due to the reform of the Persian calendar which took place when three other calendrical traditions (dating back to the Achaemenian Empire) were independent. It is very likely that the Ga¯tha¯ days were shifted to the time just before the vernal equinox in order to place them again before the New Year festival which had to be restored in its original season, after displacement due to several centuries of calendar movement in relation to the tropical year. This reform was refused or misinterpreted by some priests, and in result, No¯ Ru¯z and other important festivals were celebrated two or three times a year: the New Year feast on the first (little No¯ Ru¯z) and fifth day (great No¯ Ru¯z) of the first month and on the first day of the ninth month (No¯ Ru¯z of the Magians). The vernal equinox was convergent with the beginning of the ninth month in the late fifth century CE, so the reform may be dated to the

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rule of Kava¯d I, prior to 517 when the reformed calendar was attested by a Syriac source (de Blois 1996; Boyce 2005).

Skywatching and Religion Several references to the celestial bodies may be found in the corpus of the Zoroastrian literature. Yasˇt 8 of Avesta is devoted to Tisˇtrya, the deity identified with Sirius and controlling rains (Panaino 1995). Other important deities with celestial attribution were Anahit, the goddess of the planet Venus, sharing some attributes with Mesopotamian Inanna/Isˇtar (Jakubiak and Sołtysiak 2008), and Mithra, the god of oathes, later identified with the Sun (Sick 2004), perhaps also by analogy to Mesopotamian Utu/Sˇamasˇ (Jakubiak and Sołtysiak 2006).

Persian Astrology Sassanian rulers were interested in astrology, and during their reign, several Greek and Indian astronomical tables, among them planet positions for horoscopes, were translated into Persian. The most important astrological compilation was called Zı¯j-i Sha¯h, and some Muslim sources preserved some references to this source (Pingree 1963). According to al-Bı¯ru¯nı¯, the major revision of Zı¯j-i Sha¯h was done during the reign of Khosrow I (531–579). Some historians of astronomy have claimed that Mesopotamian and Greek astrology were transferred to India with the mediation of the Sassanian Persia (Kennedy and Van der Waerden 1963). This idea was was based on two premises: a passage by Ibn Yu¯nis who had reported that Persian astronomers observed the longitude of the solar apogee in 450 and 610 CE, and the method of correction to obtain the true positions of the planets called “the method of the Persians” in the Medieval sources. However, David Pingree refuted this view, indicating that both elements of the astrological lore may be directly traced from the Indian tradition (Pingree 1965). The only Persian contribution to astrology was the cycle of 960 years, multiplication of the period of Saturn-Jupiter conjunctions (about 20 years), which was thought to mark turning points in human history (Pingree 1963).

Astronomical Orientations Although several monumental buildings were found by archaeologists in Iran, studies on their orientations are lacking, although the review of plans of some possible fire temples suggests that this might be a productive direction for future research. Among nine fire temples with plans reproduced by David Stronach (1985, Fig. 3), four had orientation ca. 320–340 , three ca. 215–270 , and there were single temples with main axis ca. 105 and 140 . In another source (Shenkar 2007), six temples are oriented to the north and another three to the NE and NW, deviating from the north by

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less than 40 , although the orientations here are less reliable. However, it seems likely that N and NW orientations dominated in the fire temples reviewed by these two authors, and the sunlight operating through their entrances (located in the south) may have had some symbolic importance.

Cross-References ▶ Ancient Egyptian Calendars ▶ Greek Mathematical Astronomy ▶ Islamic Mathematical Astronomy ▶ Mathematical Astronomy in India ▶ Mesopotamian Calendars

References Basello GP (2002) Babylonia and Elam. The evidence of the calendars. In: Panaino A, Pettinato G (eds) Ideologies as intercultural phenomena. In proceedings of the third annual symposium of the Assyrian and Babylonian intellectual heritage project. Held in Chicago, 27–31 Oct 2000. Universita` di Bologna and IsIao, Milan, pp 13–36 Boyce M (2005) Further on the calendar of Zoroastrian feasts. Iran 43:1–38 de Blois F (1996) The Persian calendar. Iran 34:39–54 de Blois F (2007) Lunisolar calendars in ancient Iran. In: Panaino A, Piras A (eds) In proceedings of the 5th congress of the Societas Iranologica Europaea. Mimesis, Milan, pp 39–52 Hartner W (1979) The young Avestan and Babylonian calendars and the antecedents of precession. J Hist Astron 10:1–22 Jakubiak K, Sołtysiak A (2006) Mesopotamian influence on Persian sky-watching and calendars. Part I. Mithra, Shamash and solar festivals. In: Sołtysiak A (ed) Proceedings of the conference ‘Time and astronomy in past cultures’. Torun´, 30 Mar – 1 Apr 2005. Instytut Archeologii UW, Warszawa and Torun´, pp 51–62 Jakubiak K, Sołtysiak A (2008) Mesopotamian influences on Persian sky-watching and calendars. Part II. Ishtar and Anahita. In: Vaisˇku¯nas J (ed) Astronomy and cosmology in folk traditions and cultural heritage. Archaeologia Baltica, vol 10. Klaipe˙da University Institute of Baltic Sea Region History and Archaeology, Klaipe˙da, pp 45–51 Kennedy ES, Van Der Waerden BL (1963) The world-year of the Persians. J Am Orient Soc 83:315–327 MacKenzie DN (1964) Zoroastrian astrology in the “Bundahisˇn”. Bull School Orient Afric Stud 27:511–529 Panaino A (1990) Calendars. Encyclopaedia Iranica vol 4 fasc 6/7. Encyclopaedia Iranica Foundation, London, pp 658–677 Panaino A (1995) Tisˇtrya. Part 2: The Iranian myth of the star Sirius, vol 68. Serie orientale. Instituto Italiano per il Medio ed Estremo Oriente, Rome Pingree D (1963) Astronomy and astrology in India and Iran. Isis 54:229–246 Pingree D (1965) The Persian ‘observation’ of the solar apogee in ca. A.D. 450. J Near Eastern Stud 24:334–336 Shenkar M (2007) Temple architecture in the Iranian world before the Macedonian conquest. Iran and the Caucasus 11:169–194 Sick DH (2004) Mit(h)ra(s) and the myths of the sun. Numen 51:432–467 Stronach D (1985) On the evolution of the early Iranian fire temple. Acta Iran 25:605–627

Part XII India and the Islamic Near East John M. Steele

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Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Transmission and Transformation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The Zı¯j . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The Role of Observation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Legacy . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Abstract

A short survey on Islamic mathematical astronomy practiced during the period running from the eight century until the fifteenth is presented. Various pertinent themes, such as the translation of foreign scientific works and their impact on the tradition; the introduction, assimilation, and critique of the Ptolemaic model; and the role of observations, will be covered. In addition, the zı¯j, the dominant format for astronomical works, will be briefly explained as well as the legacy of the Islamic tradition of astral sciences to other cultures.

Introduction One of the common appellations for astronomy that flourished throughout the Islamic world from the eighth to the fifteenth centuries is the term’ilm al-hay’a, literally, the knowledge of the configuration (of the universe). Such a term conveys one of the ambitions that increasingly impressed itself on astronomers working in this intellectual context as the tradition developed: not only to account for the

C. Montelle University of Canterbury, Christchurch, New Zealand e-mail: [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_202, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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apparent motions of celestial phenomena but also to embed them in a consistent, physically intelligible, celestial configuration. Indeed, the astral sciences during this period were more and more a discipline that was required to model the phenomena as well as to account for the reality behind those appearances. Mathematical astronomy practiced during this time benefited substantially from the achievements and successes of many cultures that preceded it, but also significantly it connected with other contemporaneous intellectual disciplines, such as physics and philosophy, which placed on it new demands and shifted its goals, ideals, and objectives. Throughout this entire period astronomical activity was encouraged by the demands of various Islamic religious observances, and a spirit of observing and data gleaned from careful and systematic observations was used to update and refine models like never before. While there are many aspects that unify the tradition as a whole, diverse strands of astronomical activity flourished in both time and place in the Islamic world. Broadly speaking, activity in the astral sciences can be usefully divided up into three distinct periods. The first, from around 700–825 CE, is characterized by the acquisition, translation, and assimilation of foreign sources, notably Indian, Iranian, and Greek. The astronomical practice of this period is thus often regarded as syncretic, given the plurality of different (some mutually exclusive) astronomical systems that were circulating (Pingree 1973). In the following few centuries, from 825 to 1025, practitioners prioritized Ptolemy’s exposition in the Almagest, and scholarly industry was dominated by the interpretation, exegesis, and adaption to local circumstances where appropriate of this system. The third period, from 1025 until around 1500, is characterized by the emergence of new forms of astronomical inquiry that were distinctly Islamic. Ptolemy’s proposals increasingly became the object of intense critique by many key scholars, and alternatives were proposed for those aspects which were found to be philosophically unsatisfactory or theologically objectionable (Sabra 1998). In addition, during this entire period, various regional schools developed, each with their own objectives and preferred textual authorities (King 1996).

Transmission and Transformation Not long after the founding of Baghdad, an ambitious and large-scale program of translating works from other traditions was initiated and patronized by the caliphate and other high-ranking officials and leaders in society (Gutas 1998). This translation movement lasted for well over two centuries, and it has been argued that its purpose was largely to define and energize this emergent nation by the injection and promotion of new ideas and intellectual activity. Accordingly, Arabic literate scholars from a variety of religious and sociocultural backgrounds sourced texts of significance from other cultures of inquiry and translated them into Arabic. As a result, Arabic became the dominant language of scientific expression and, by providing a common forum for scientific communication, facilitated both the flow and development of ideas for a diversity of practitioners throughout the empire.

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A wide range of disciplines were included as part of this translation project. The astral sciences were no exception, and astronomical and related texts were translated from Sanskrit, Persian, Pahlavı¯, Syriac, and most significantly Greek originals (Pingree 1973). After translation, astronomical models and techniques were integrated, transformed, and synthesized. Indeed, this activity had some notable and unanticipated effects on the discipline; the very process of translation compelled scholars to construct new vocabulary for concepts and thus prompted them to interact with and analyze texts in unprecedented ways. Not only did these foreign sources offer new ways to tackle astronomical problems but also the process of collating and considering competing approaches from diverse cultures impressed upon some scholars the need to examine closely their foundations and to reflect on issues such as consistency and unity. This encouraged them not only to advance their own proposals but also instilled in them the necessity of obtaining their own empirical evidence for evaluating contrasting theories and being better able to judge the superiority of one over another. From the outset of the Islamic world, the prestige accorded to foreign astronomical works was clear. Even determining the auspicious moment to found Baghdad was based on computations derived from Indian-Iranian sources, notably the Pahlavı¯ work, the Zı¯k-i Shahriya¯ra¯n in the mid-seventh century, a text which has clear links to the Indian midnight system (Pingree 1963). The beginning of the eight century saw an influx of influences from Sanskrit and Syrian sources. Pivotal for introduction of Indian astronomy into Islamic tradition was a foreign delegation from Sind to the court of al-Mansu¯r in around 772. In particular, a Sanskrit ˙ astronomical text apparently called the Maha¯siddha¯nta, based on the Bra¯hmasphutasiddha¯nta of Brahmagupta (629 CE), was translated into Arabic by al-Faza¯rı¯ ˙(Pingree 1970). The resulting work, the Zı¯j al-Sindhind al-kabir, was inspiration in both content and format to a variety of astronomers up until the tenth century, including the renowned scholar al-Khwa¯rizmı¯ (ca. 780–ca. 850). Ptolemy’s works were first translated in the late eighth century, and by the end of the ninth century, there were at least five different versions of the Almagest circulating. These translations prompted a series of detailed commentaries. Other works of Ptolemy were influential, including the Handy Tables and the Planetary Hypotheses. The so-called Little Astronomy, a compendium of works authored by Autolycus, Aristarchus, Hypsicles, Theodosius, and others, was a popular text, intended to be read before tackling Ptolemy. In time, scholars embraced the Ptolemaic geometric kinematic model above all others, but not unquestioningly. Various practitioners proposed updated parameters and experimented with replacing some of the assumptions in the Almagest. For instance, observations revealed that the obliquity of the ecliptic was smaller than the value given by Ptolemy; Islamic astronomers questioned that this value was fixed. Furthermore, it appeared to them that the rate of precession was speeding up. This led to them developing the theory of trepidation, argued to have been introduced by the grandson of Tha¯bit ibn Qurra (836–901) (Ragep 1993). This theory was intended to explain this purported variation by an additional back-and-forth motion, or oscillation, in the precession of the equinoxes over several thousand years (Ragep 1996).

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Other parameters too were the subject of scrutiny. For example, Islamic scholars probed the Ptolemaic values of lunar and solar diameters which entailed that annular eclipses are impossible. The resulting proposals were not always improvements. In many cases, inherent problems with these assumptions too eventually necessitated their overhaul. Superior mathematical techniques too were introduced. The most important of these was replacing the Ptolemaic chord with Indian sine function. In addition, a new advanced spherical trigonometry was developed, inspired by Greek achievements but surpassing them in many respects. Key relations for triangles on the sphere were developed by Habash al-Ha¯sib (d. ca. 870) and by Abu’l-Wafa¯’ ˙ ˙ al-Bu¯zja¯nı¯ (940–997/998) who enunciated the sine law for spherical triangles (van Brummelen 2009). In principle these were intended to make astronomical computations more theoretically correct, but most often this level of precision could not be reflected within the limits of observation. Furthermore, Islamic astronomers are also noted for their advancement of computational and approximation techniques that they had inherited in a large part from India (Plofker 2002). Fixed-point iteration techniques were commonly used. Interestingly enough, these were often presented alongside analytical approaches to the same problems as did Habash in ˙ his presentation of parallax theory (Montelle 2011; Kennedy 1956b). Despite the predominance of Ptolemy’s system, eventually it too became the subject of intense scrutiny of a different sort. In time, scholars approached the work with a deeply critical eye. For instance, Ibn al-Haytham (fl. ca. 1025) wrote a work called al-Shuku¯k ‘ala¯ Batlamyu¯s (literally: Doubts About Ptolemy) which emblem˙ atizes this new trend. Innovation in the astronomical scene came now from more physical, philosophical, or theological motivated objections, and various substitutes were sought which were more in harmony with basic Islamic theologically inspired cosmological tenets such as concentricity. Nas¯ır al-Dı¯n al-Tu¯sı¯ (1201–1274) in his ˙ ˙ work al-Tadhkira fı¯ ‘ilm al-hay’a proposed a new mechanism to model celestial motion (better known later as the “Tu¯sı¯ couple”) (Ragep 1993; Di Bono 1995) ˙ which produced rectilinear motion from the combination of two circular motions. This was intended to replace those aspects of Ptolemy’s model which were not founded on uniform circular motion. Another one of the more radical adjustments Islamic astronomers made to the Ptolemaic model was one proposed by Ibn al-Sha¯tir (d. ca. 1375) who argued for the replacement of the Ptolemaic equant ˙ and eccentric deferent. In its place he proposed secondary epicycles which provided a substitute for the nonuniform motion produced by the deferent via uniform motions (King 2008; Saliba 1987).

The Zı¯j The predominant genre of astronomical works in this period was the zı¯j (King (2002)). This was a set of tables with accompanying text intended as an explanatory guide for astronomers on how to use these tables. Over 100 of these have been briefly accounted for in a survey (Kennedy 1956a), and ongoing efforts have

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revealed that there were over 225 works of this kind (King and Samso´ 2001). The majority of zı¯jes are substantial works, typically containing many scores of tables, and are location specific—that is, the tables are computed with respect to a single terrestrial latitude. Although each zı¯j has its own distinctive features, they generally conform to the format which groups astronomical topics into 13 sections as follows: 1. Chronology and Calendar Conversion 2. Trigonometry 3. Spherical Astronomy 4. Mean Motions of Sun, Moon, and Planets 5. Equations of Sun, Moon, and Planets 6. Latitudes of Moon and Planets 7. Planetary Stations 8. Parallax 9. Eclipses of the Moon and the Sun 10. Visibility of the Moon and Planets 11. Geography 12. Coordinates of the Fixed Stars 13. Mathematical Astrology These astronomical tables were typically tabulated using Arabic abjad (alphanumeric) notation in a sexagesimal format (base 60). Zı¯jes tabulated the sine (using a radius of 60 and occasionally 1) and the cotangent, or shadow (commonly tabulated with respect to 12 digits or 7 ft, the base of a gnomon), functions and sometimes other trigonometric functions to various intervals, including one degree, half a degree, and sometimes even a quarter degree of arc to some specified precision. Various interpolation procedures were used to extract non-tabulated values, and these were frequently described in the accompanying text (van Brummelen 2009). With a few exceptions of distinctly new recomputed tables, tables for mean motions and planetary equation tables were fundamentally Ptolemaic. However, there were a few notable adjustments Islamic astronomers made. For instance, while Ptolemy and Hipparchus used the same amount for the solar apogee, Islamic observations determined that this had shifted 15  since this time, and many values were shifted with respect to precession which was generally taken to be 1  in 66 2/3 years (King 1996). Alternative approaches to determine parallax, some inspired by Indian techniques, were also introduced. In most cases, the authors of the zı¯jes do not specify the origin of their tabular data nor give explicit information as to their construction or their underlying parameters. Analyzing tabular data is further complicated by various techniques that the authors silently employ, such as approximation practices, interpolation techniques, and the like. However, various modern mathematical techniques can be employed which are often more or less successful in shedding light on these features (van Dalen 1993). Innovations in data storage and format to ease the burden of computation (such as precomputed equation tables or auxiliary tables for generating ephemerides) too were developed.

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While there was a great diversity, certain zı¯jes predominated in the various regional schools (Sayılı 1960; King 2002; King and Samso´ 2001). For instance, in central Islam, Yahya¯ ibn Abı¯ Mansu¯r’s (d. 832) Mumtahan zı¯j was popular, as ˙ ˙ well as those of al-Batta¯nı¯ (b. ca. 858) and Abu’l-Wafa¯’. In ˙Iran, the zı¯j-i ¯ılkha¯nı¯ of al-Tu¯sı¯ was esteemed as was Ibn Yu¯nus’ Ha¯kimı¯ zı¯j in Egypt. In al-Andalus the zı¯jes ˙ ˙ of al-Khwa¯rizmı¯ and al-Batta¯nı¯ predominated and, in the Maghrib, the zı¯j of Ibn Isha¯q (808–873). A notable zı¯j that found widespread appeal was the zı¯j-i Sulta¯nı¯ of ˙ ˙ Ulugh Beg (1394–1449).

The Role of Observation Under the reign of caliph al-Ma’mu¯m (813–833), observational programs were initiated under imperial patronage, and astronomical activity was enhanced by sustained work carried out in observatories, initially in Baghdad and subsequently in Damascus and beyond. Teams of astronomers were charged to conduct detailed observational programs that were intended to update the parameters associated with Ptolemy’s planetary models, as well as a better reckoning of local latitudes, star positions, values for the obliquity of the ecliptic, and the like. The insistence on checking and updating in this way became a central feature of astronomical practice, and the concept of “testing” (Sabra 1998) became a key priority. For instance, astronomical data supposedly modified by observations were the basis for Yahya¯’s popular zı¯j al-Mumtahan (literally: the “tested” zı¯j). ˙ ˙ In addition, observational activity was being carried out in other parts of the Islamic world. For instance, the Banu¯ Mu¯sa¯, a team of two brothers (both b. beginning of ninth century), made observations in Baghdad and Samarra, and al-Batta¯nı¯ was working in Raqqa (Northern Syria). Scholars collaborated with others in different regions to make parallel observations. For instance, Abu’l-Wafa¯’ situated in Baghdad teamed up with al-Bı¯ru¯nı¯ (973–ca. 1050) in Khwa¯razm to simultaneously observe a lunar eclipse in 997 and compare observations. Observational activity was sustained over long periods of time. In the thirteenth century, there was a concerted and comprehensive program of observations in Mara¯gha under the leadership of al-Tu¯sı¯ which provided the data to make important ˙ refinements to the Ptolemaic model. Over a century later, in the early fifteenth century, a collective of astronomers under the leadership of the astronomer-prince, Ulugh Beg, achieved notable and impressive results in Samarkand in central Asia. The set of tables which resulted from this remains is yet to be carefully analyzed so as to uncover the precise achievements of these scholars in this respect. While there exists clear documented evidence of astronomical observations, it is not always possible to directly appreciate the ways in which these observations were used to modify parameters. For example, Ibn Yu¯nus embarked on a comprehensive observation program, making series of observations of conjunctions, occultations, eclipses, and equinoctial and solstitial observations over a long period of time. However, he remains silent as to the ways in which these observations contributed to his base parameters or computations in his zı¯j.

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Legacy By the sixteenth century, new and original works by Islamic astronomers became fewer and fewer. However, the tradition of astronomy still possessed a certain vitality, and astronomical works of the proceeding centuries were used for the many applications throughout society and provided the basis for teaching and further study. In time, Islamic mathematical astronomy reached the Latin West and beyond and had a substantial impact on Eurasian cultures of inquiry including India, Byzantium, Europe, and China (van Dalen 2011). Indeed, as is frequently the case with the transmission of ideas, there is no guarantee that the leading or most up-to-date theory automatically gets transmitted. For instance, European scholars gained access to Islamic astronomical sources initially from Spain, which was on the periphery of the Islamic world (King 1996). It has been noted that the texts that were popular in these areas had long since been outdated by work conducted more centrally, and thus, the material that European scholars initially imported was by that time already several centuries “old”. Furthermore, in the absence of evidence, speculation exists as to the possible connections or transmission of Ibn al-Sha¯tir’s ideas to Copernicus (Saliba 2007). ˙ Without a doubt though, it was to be the work carried out in this flourishing and industrious culture of inquiry that contributed to conditions ripe for an entire overhaul in the astronomical model some centuries later, which was to form the basis of modern astronomy.

Cross-References ▶ Astronomy in the Service of Islam ▶ Greek Mathematical Astronomy ▶ Islamic Astronomical Instruments and Observatories ▶ Islamic Folk Astronomy ▶ Mathematical Astronomy in India

References Di Bono M (1995) Copernicus, Amico, Francastoro and Tu¯sı¯’s device: observations on the use and transmission of a model. J Hist Astron 26:133–154 ˙ Gutas D (1998) Greek thought, Arabic culture: the Graeco-Arabic translation movement in Baghdad and early ‘Abba¯sid society (2nd-4th/8th-10th centuries). Routledge, London Kennedy ES (1956a) A survey of Islamic astronomical tables. Trans Am Philos Soc 46(2):123–177 Kennedy ES (1956b) Parallax theory in Islamic astronomy. Isis 47(1):33–53 King DA (1996) Islamic astronomy. In: Walker C (ed) Astronomy before the telescope. British Museum Press, London, pp 143–174 King DA (2002) Zı¯j, The encyclopedia of Islam, vol XI, fasc. 187. E. J. Brill, Leiden, pp 496–508 ¯ la¯’ Al-Din Abu’l-Hasan ‘Alı¯ Ibn Ibra¯hı¯m, Complete dictionary of King DA (2008) Ibn Al-Sha¯tir ‘A scientific biography, vol˙ 12. Charles Scribner’s Sons, Detroit, pp 357–364

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King DA, Samso´ J (2001) Astronomical handbooks and tables from the Islamic World (750–1900): an interim report. Suhayl 2:9–105 Montelle C (2011) Chasing shadows: mathematics, astronomy, and the early history of eclipse reckoning. Johns Hopkins University Press, Baltimore Pingree D (1963) Astronomy and Astrology in India and Iran. Isis 54:229–246 Pingree D (1970) The fragments of the works of Al-Faza¯rı¯. J Near East Stud 29(2):103–123 Pingree D (1973) The Greek influence on early Islamic mathematical astronomy. J Am Orient Soc 93(1):32–43 Plofker K (2002) Use and transmission of iterative approximations in India and the Islamic world. In: Dold-Samplonius Y et al (eds) From China to Paris: 2000 years transmission of mathematical ideas. Franz Steiner, Stuttgart, pp 167–186 Ragep FJ (1993) Nası¯r al-Dı¯n al-Tu¯sı¯’s Memoir on astronomy (al-Tadhkira fı¯’ilm al-hay’a). In: Toomer G J (ed) Sources in ˙the history of mathematics and physical sciences 12, vol 2. Springer, New York Ragep FJ (1996) Al-Battani, cosmology, and the early history of trepidation in Islam. In: Casulleras J, Samso´ J (eds) From Baghdad to Barcelona: studies in the Islamic exact sciences in honour of Prof. Juan Vernet. Universidad de Barceloa, Facultad de Filologı´a, Barcelona Sabra AI (1998) Configuring the universe: Aporetic, problem solving, and kinematic modeling as themes of Arabic astronomy. Perspect Sci 6:288–330 Saliba G (1987) Theory and observation in Islamic astronomy: the work of Ibn al-Sha¯tir of ˙ Damascus. J Hist Astron 18:35–43 Saliba G (2007) Islamic science and the making of the European Renaissance. MIT Press, Cambridge MA Saylılı A (1960) The observatory in Islam, vol VII(38). Publ Turk Hist Soc, Ankara van Brummelen G (2009) The mathematics of the heavens and the earth: the early history of trigonometry. Princeton University Press, Princeton/Oxford van Dalen B (1993) Astronomical and mediaeval astronomical tables—mathematical structure and parameter values. Utrecht University, Utrecht van Dalen B (2011) Between orient and occident: transformation of knowledge. Ann Sci 68(4):445–451

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Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Astronomical Instruments . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Observational Programs and Observatories . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Abstract

This chapter is a brief survey of astronomical instruments being used and developed in Islamic territories from the eighth to the fifteenth centuries as well as a concise account of major observatories and observational programs in this period.

Introduction Islam appeared in 610 AD in Mecca, a small city at the coastal region of the Western Arabian Peninsula; however, within a few decades, Muslims were able to establish a vast empire extending from North Africa to India. It was through this expansion that they became familiar with the theory and practice of astronomy from various Persian, Indian, and Hellenistic traditions. During the eighth and ninth centuries, Ptolemy’s Almagest was translated at least four times into Arabic, and his other works too became known for astronomers practicing in the Islamic territories. In this way, Muslim astronomers became familiar with the astronomical instruments described in the Almagest and practiced technical procedures of astronomical observations (Kunitzsch 1997). Soon, Muslim scholars mastered Ptolemaic

T. Heidarzadeh University of California, Riverside, CA, USA e-mail: [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_203, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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planetary models, improved computational and observational techniques and parameters, devised accurate observational instruments, and established large-scale observatories. By the fifteenth century, the observatory had been evolved from the “one-man one-instrument” setting to an institute housing numerous observers, different instruments, and other supporting facilities.

Astronomical Instruments Our knowledge about Islamic astronomical instruments and observatories comes from two major sources: preserved instruments or observatory sites, and manuscripts describing the observational devices. However, the number of extant sources from the early periods of the Islamic era is much less than those created after the fifteenth century (King 1987). Based on the available sources, we can categorize these instruments in two major types: observational and non-observational. While the first type instruments – portable or mounted – were designed and built to acquire positional astronomical data, the latter category were being used as educational tools to display basic astronomical concepts, simulate celestial motions, and facilitate astronomical computations. The majority of the observational and educational tools found in Islamic astronomy were based on Greek and Hellenistic astronomical and mathematical concepts, mainly described in the Almagest. However, scholars in the Islamic world made various improvements by adding new components, increasing the accuracy, producing large-scale instruments, introducing different versions of the same instrument, and designing new devices to facilitate computations required in their rituals. These innovations can be seen both in observational and non-observational instruments through out the Islamic period. Of major astronomical instruments that were employed and developed in the Islamic period, one can refer to the mural quadrant (and the sextant), the armillary sphere, the parallactic ruler, the celestial sphere, the different versions of astrolabes, the portable quadrants, the sundials, and the qibla finders. The mural quadrant (or the sextant) was one of the major instruments in observatories to measure the altitude of celestial objects above the horizon. Although the large-scale quadrants make finer graduations theoretically possible, they can have considerable error for practical reasons initiated by the magnitude of the construction and the inaccuracy of the large sighting components. The mural quadrant of the Mara¯gha observatory had a radius of about 40 m, and the radius of the sextant at the Samarqand observatory was 40 m, enabling astronomers to make graduations up to seconds of arc (Sayili 1998). Of all large-scale Islamic quadrants and sextants, only the sextant of the Samarqand observatory and a very small segment of the quadrant of the Mara¯gha observatory are extant (Vardjavand 1987). Also, none of the large armillary spheres or parallactic rulers (used to measure the zenith distance of a celestial object), which are described in several astronomical reports, are preserved. However, a considerable number of portable

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Fig. 181.1 This astrolabe was made in around 1230 AD (628 AH by the Muslim calendar) for a muezzin – the person who calls Muslims to prayer from the mosque (Source: http://www.bbc.co. uk/history/ancient/cultures/ astronomical_instruments_01. shtml)

Fig. 181.2 Celestial Globe, by Ja’faribn’Umar ibnDawlatshah al-Kirmani, Persian, 1362/3 (http://www. mhs.ox.ac.uk/scienceislam/ objectsl.php?invnum ¼ 44790&file ¼ 44790151523s.jpg)

devices, mainly manufactured after the fourteenth century, can be found in museums and collections all over the world. Unfortunately, a comprehensive catalogue of the extant Islamic astronomical devices has not been published yet (Figs. 181.1 and 181.2).

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Fig. 181.3 Astrolabe with Geared Calendar, by Muhammad b. AbiBakr, Isfahan, 1221/2. This early Persian astrolabe with a geared calendar movement is the oldest geared machine in existence in a complete state. It illustrates an important stage in the development of the various complex astronomical machines from which the mechanical clock derives (http://www.mhs.ox.ac.uk/ scienceislam/objects.php?invnum ¼ 48213)

The majority of preserved portable astronomical devices are astrolabes (mainly the planispheric astrolabes), portable quadrants, sundials, and qibla finders. Islamic astronomers improved the astrolabe by adding new computational grids and observational features. For instance, from the ninth century, they produced astrolabes having a shadow square on the back, to present the gnomon and its shadow, i.e., the tangent function of an angle. As a result, the astrolabe (and portable quadrants with a shadow square) could be used for terrestrial observations and surveying purposes, such as calculation of the height of buildings or for triangulation. Also, different versions of the astrolabe were developed, most importantly the universal astrolabe which enabled the user to make observations and calculations at all latitudes by using only one plate. A considerable number of treatises devoted to the astrolabe and its function in solving computational problems in celestial and terrestrial observations are preserved (King 1987) (Figs. 181.3 and 181.4).

Observational Programs and Observatories In the Almagest, Ptolemy describes a number of astronomical devices in detail, mainly those instruments essential in measuring angular distances. Although there is no information about the design and description of the instruments used by early Muslim astronomers, most probably, those instruments were constructed based on Ptolemy’s descriptions, after the first translation of the Almagest into Arabic was

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Fig. 181.4 Astrolabic quadrant, made by Muhammad ibn Ahmad alMizzi (From Damascus, Syria, AD 1333–1334, http:// www.britishmuseum.org/ explore/highlights/ highlight_image.aspx? image ¼ ps339644. jpg&retpage ¼ 18549)

carried out in the last years of the eighth and early years of the ninth centuries. The Egyptian astronomer IbnYu¯nus (d. 1009) briefly describes two early astronomical observations in Islam which were performed in Gu¯ndı¯shapu¯r between the 790s and early 800s. However, these reports give minimal information about the details of the observations and the instruments being used. The second and third translations of the Almagest, with corrections, were completed by the time that the first systematic astronomical observations started under the patronage of the Abbasid caliph al-Ma’mu¯n (Saliba 1987) (reign: 813–833). Texts from this period are relatively detailed in describing observational goals, observation sites, the scholars involved, and the astronomical tables from which astronomical data were acquired. However, detailed specifications of the instruments employed are not given. We know that in two observation posts – the Shamma¯siyya district in Baghdad and Mount Qasiyu¯n near to Damascus – two sets of observations were completed from 828 to 829 and from 831 to 832, respectively. The observations were mainly concentrated on the sun and the moon and led to corrections in solar parameters, calculation of the obliquity of the ecliptic, and verification of the movement of the solar apogee with the precession of the fixed stars (which rejected Ptolemy’s belief in its immobility). The results of these observations were compiled in al-Zı¯j alMumtahan (the verified tables; in Latin: Tabula Probata) (Dizer 2001). Our knowledge of the instruments used during the Ma’mu¯ni observations comes from a few reports, which either are very short or composed much later. It has been said that an armillary sphere was used in Shamma¯siyya, and a mural quadrant as well as a gnomon (with a size of 5 m) were erected in Mount Qasiyu¯n (Samso´ 1989).

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After the initial impulse of al-Ma’mu¯n, systematic observations and the establishment of observatories became widespread in the Islamic territories extending from Spain to Transoxiana. In the ninth century, al-Batta¯ni (Albategnius in its Latinized form, c. 850–929) conducted astronomical observations in Raqqa, Northern Syria, for about 30 years. He calculated a new figure for the obliquity of the ecliptic (23 350 instead of Ptolemy’s 23 510 2000 ), found an accurate value for the eccentricity of the sun (0.017326 instead of Ptolemy’s 0.0175), observed planetary motions carefully, and improved the observed values for the moon’s mean motion in longitude. It was alBatta¯ni that for the first time predicted the possibility of annular solar eclipses based on his observation of the variation of the apparent angular sizes of the sun and the moon. During the tenth and eleventh centuries, a number of large-scale observatories appeared all over the Islamic territories. Although these observatories and their astronomical instruments are not extant, some technical reports explain their programs and instruments. For instance, the Persian astronomer ‘Abd al-Rahma¯n al-Sufı¯ (903–986), under the patronage of the Buyid rulers (ruled over Iran and Mesopotamia), conducted a series of precise astronomical observations at Ray (near modern Tehran), Isfahan, and Shiraz. He used a large meridian circle, graduated in intervals of 5 min, to determine the length of the tropical year, the obliquity of the ecliptic, and the position of stars (Dallal 1999). Al-Sufı¯ also compiled an accurate star catalogue based on a corrected value for the precession of the equinoxes (1 per 66 years versus Ptolemy’s 1 per 100 years). His contemporary astronomers Abu¯l Fadl al Hirawı¯, Ja’far al-Kha¯zı¯n, and Abu¯ Mahmu¯d al-Khujandı¯ determined the obliquity of the ecliptic and local latitudes by observing meridian transits of the sun. Al-Khujandı¯’s sextant (called Fakhrı¯ sextant to honor his patron Fakhr al-Dawleh) had a radius of about 20 m and was graduated to seconds of arc (Kennedy 1975, North 2008). In one of the most interesting medieval observational projects, an attempt to determine the difference in longitude between two cities, Abu¯’l Wafa¯ al-Bu¯zja¯nı¯ observed the lunar eclipse of 24 May 997 at Baghdad, while Abu¯ Rayha¯n al-Bı¯ru¯nı¯ observed it in Khwarizm (in modern Turkmenistan). Bı¯ru¯nı¯ was a dedicated observer who conducted observations for more than 30 years in Khura¯sa¯n (East-Northeastern Iran). Applying precise observational methods to measure the mobility of the solar apogee, he was able to discover that the apogee has a distinct motion different from the motion of precession. Bı¯ru¯nı¯’s contemporary, ‘Umar al-Khayya¯m (well known in the West for his poetry) observed in an observatory in Isfahan, Iran, for about 18 years where he prepared a zı¯j and supervised the calendar reform project for the Seljuk ruler, Malik Sha¯h, in the late eleventh century. In the Eastern parts of the Islamic world, IbnYu¯nus started an extended observational program in Cairo in the 1970s which he explained in his major work, the Ha¯kimı¯ Zı¯j. And finally, the Toledan astronomer and instrument maker Ibn al˙ ¯ llu performed a long-term observational program in Spain in the eleventh Zarqa century. He also invented a simplified universal astrolabe (King 1987). However, two observatories in the Islamic period occupy a special place in the history of astronomy: the Mara¯gha Observatory, built in 1259 in Northern Iran under the patronage of Hu¯la¯gu¯ (a grandson of the Mongol conqueror Genghis Khan), and the Samarqand Observatory, founded by Ulugh Beg (a grandson of Tamerlane) in 1424.

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These two observatories are incomparable to all other medieval observatories regarding the scale and the accuracy of observational instruments, their institutional setting and administration, the number of affiliated astronomers and mathematicians, and the results of their astronomical programs. The director of the Mara¯gha observatory was the Persian polymath Nası¯r al-Dı¯n alTu¯sı¯ (1201–1274), who established the observatory under the patronage of Hu¯la¯gu¯. The observatory was in fact a scientific institute, with a main building for the observational equipment, some auxiliary buildings, and accommodation spaces. In the observatory, there was a library which is said to have contained about 400,000 volumes. The institute had enough reputation to attract scholars from different parts of the Islamic world, where they involved in the design and the construction of astronomical instruments, as well as conducting observations and calculations (Sayili 1998). Although only small fragments of the buildings have been survived, the extant reports present a rather detailed picture of the observatory. A text written by Mu’ayyad al-Dı¯n al-‘Urdı¯, one of the chief astronomers and instrument designers of the observatory, gives detailed information about the astronomical equipment of the observatory. The central instrument of the Mara¯gha observatory was a mural quadrant with a radius of about 40 m. There were also a number of large-scale instruments such as a solstical armilla, an azimuth ring, a parallactic ruler, and an armillary sphere with a radius of about 160 cm. Tu¯sı¯, with the cooperation of some famous astronomers, mathematicians, and instrument makers, among them al-‘Urdı¯ and Qutb al-Dı¯n Shı¯razı¯, completed one of the most important Islamic astronomical tables, the I¯lkha¯nı¯ Zı¯j in 1272. After the death of Tu¯sı¯ in 1274, the observatory was supervised by his son and remained active to the end of the thirteenth century. However, back-to-back change of the I¯lkha¯nı¯d rulers in a short period caused the Mara¯gha observatory to lose its powerful patrons. Mara¯gha observatory not only marked a revival of scientific activities after a long period of social disturbance following the Mongol invasion; it became the model for a number of observatories that were built in Persia, Transoxiana, and Asia Minor up to the sixteenth century. There are reports that the ¯Ilkha¯nı¯d ruler Gha¯za¯n Kha¯n (reigned 1295–1304) who was interested in astronomy and had visited the Mara¯gha observatory several times build an observatory in Tabriz, most probably having Mara¯gha as a model. However, there are adequate documents showing that in the construction of the second most famous observatory of the Islamic world, the Samarqand observatory (built in late 1420s), Mara¯gha observatory was considered as a model (Heidarzadeh 2010). In 1420, Tamerlane’s grandson Ulugh Beg who was a mathematician and astronomer and the ruler of Transoxiana built a school in his capital city Samarqand, where mathematical sciences were also being taught. In the early 1420s, Ulugh Beg established an observatory in Samarqand which marked the largest observatory in the Islamic world. The observatory was a large building with three stories. Its main instrument was a huge sextant, bedded in a trench about 2 m wide and a radius of 40 m, dug in a hill in the plane of the meridian. On the arc of the sextant divisions of 70.2 cm represented 1 , and marks with 11.7 mm separation corresponded to 1 min, and 1 mm marks represented 5 s. Ka¯shı¯, one of the chief astronomers of the

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Fig. 181.5 The main instrument of the Samarqand observatory was a huge sextant, bedded in a trench about 2 m wide and a radius of 40 m, dug in a hill in the plane of the meridian (http://en. wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Ulugh_Beg_observatory.JPG. # Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 2.5 Generic).

observatory, described some of the instruments used in the Samarqand observatory in his treatise on observational instruments. Also, another treatise, written by ‘Abd ¯ mili almost a century after the observatory ceased to ruins, gives al-Mum‘im al-‘A valuable information about the instruments of the observatory. The remains of the observatory, mainly the sextant, were excavated in 1908. The Samarqand observatory which was built upon ideas from the Mara¯gha observatory became a model for an observatory built by Taqı¯ al-Dı¯n in Istanbul in 1575 and a group of observatories in North India in the 1720s. After the fall of Ulugh Beg’s dynasty in the 1450s, a number of scholars in the circle of Ulugh Beg emigrated to the newborn Ottoman Empire and had a deep influence on development of science there. Taqı¯ al-Dı¯n, the court astronomer of Sultan Murad III (reigned 1574–1595), established an observatory in Istanbul, employing more than 15 astronomers and mathematicians in making the instruments and performing the observations. However, the ill-fated observatory was demolished at the order of the Sultan, who thought the great comet of 1577 was appeared because of the establishment of this observatory and caused the heavy losses of Turkish troops in their battle with the Persian army. Taqı¯ al-Dı¯n’s observatory was the last observatory in premodern Islamic world (Sayili 1998).

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Fig. 181.6 Istanbul Observatory, directed by Taqı¯ al-Dı¯n (http://upload. wikimedia.org/wikipedia/ commons/f/f4/Taqi_al_din. jpg).

Cross-References ▶ Astronomy in the Service of Islam ▶ Greek Mathematical Astronomy ▶ Islamic Folk Astronomy ▶ Islamic Mathematical Astronomy

References Dallal A (1999) Science, medicine, and technology, the making of a scientific culture. In: Eposito JL (ed) The Oxford history of Islam. Oxford University Press, Oxford, pp 155–213 Dizer M (2001) Observatories and astronomical instruments. In: L-Hassan AY (ed) Science and technology in Islam: the exact and natural sciences. UNESCO, Paris, pp 235–266 Heidarzadeh T (2010) The Maragha observatory. In: Ruggles CLN, Cotte MC (eds) Heritage sites of astronomy and archaeoastronomy in the context of the UNESCO World Heritage Convention, a thematic study. ICOMOS–IAU, Paris, pp 163–166 Kennedy ES (1975) The exact sciences. In: Frye RN (ed) The Cambridge history of Iran, vol 4. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, pp 378–395 King DA (1987) Islamic astronomical instruments. Variorum, London

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Kunitzsch P (1997) Almagest: its reception and transmission in the Islamic World. In: Selin H (ed) Encyclopaedia of the history of science, technology, and medicine in non-western cultures. Springer, Dordrecht North J (2008) Cosmos, an illustrated history of astronomy and cosmology. The University of Chicago Press, Chicago Saliba G (1987) The role of Maragha observatory in the development of Islamic astronomy: a scientific revolution before the Renaissance. Rev Synth 108:361–373 Samso´ Marsad J (1989) Encyclopedia of Islam, 2nd ed, vol IV, E. J. Brill, Leiden, pp 599–602 ˙ Sayili A (1998) The observatory in Islam. Turk Tarih Kurumu Basimevi, Ankara Vardjavand P (1987) Kavosh-e Rasadkhaneh-e Maragha. Amirkabir, Tehran

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Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . What Does “Folk Astronomy” Imply? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Problems . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Methods . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Genres . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Authors and their Possible Readership . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . What is the “Islamic” Part of Folk Astronomy? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . First Sighting of the Lunar Crescent . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Prayer Times . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Qibla Determination . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Summary . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Abstract

This article investigates what premodern “folk astronomy” implies and explains its Islamic characteristics.

Introduction Premodern astronomy in Islamic societies covers a great variety of people practicing astronomy and astrology and involves a large number of places and times,

P.G. Schmidl Institut f€ur Orient– und Asienwissenschaften – Abteilung Islamwissenschaften, Rheinische Friedrich–Wilhelms–Universit€at, Bonn, Germany Exzellenzcluster “Normative Ordnungen”, Goethe–Universit€at, Frankfurt, Germany e-mail: [email protected]; [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_199, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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motivations and methods. There is no such thing as premodern astronomy in Islamic society, but rather premodern astronomical and astrological traditions in societies that mainly use the Arabic language – and later on Persian, Ottoman, and other languages, too – and that are characterized basically by Islam as a religion. One possibility to deal with that great variety distinguishes two main traditions of premodern astronomical practices, namely, folk astronomy and mathematical astronomy. Despite its name, folk astronomy is in fact part of the scholarly traditions.

What Does “Folk Astronomy” Imply? Problems Commonly, folk astronomy provides solutions to astronomical problems similar to those dealt with in mathematical traditions. Those problems concern the organization of time in everyday life; the orientation on land and by sea; the description, explication, and computation of phenomena observed; and the prediction of future events. The main differences between the folk and mathematical astronomical traditions are the methods and procedures which are used, the genres of texts in which these are described, and the scholarly traditions to which their authors mainly belong.

Methods In general, folk astronomical methods and procedures are more descriptive and less mathematical and formal than these used in mathematical traditions. Despite its contents, the rather descriptive nature of folk astronomy becomes also obvious in its presentation. Usually, folk astronomical lore is presented in texts, lists, and schemes, not in tables. One exception where folk astronomical traditions are presented in tabular form is a treatise on timekeeping by the lunar mansions probably written by al-Siqillı¯ (Egypt, ca. 1300; Schmidl 2006, pp. 82–83). ˙ Frequently, folk astronomical data, for example, on the seasons or the anwa¯ʾ (see below), are provided in didactical poems or rhyming proverbs, most probably because this literary form facilitates learning by heart. Folk astronomical procedures make use of straightforward arithmetical methods, not of trigonometric procedures, geometrical models, and analemmata. They do not distinguish between exact and approximate methods. Isolated observations by naked eye, sometimes supported by auxiliary devices, predominate, in contrast to the systematic astronomical observations patronized by rulers and noble men and carried out by means of astronomical instruments of great complexity and exactitude. For timekeeping by day, for example, folk astronomical traditions provide shadow lengths usually incorporated in texts that rely either on naked eye observations or on approximate arithmetic formulae. On the other hand, procedures and

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methods of mathematical astronomical traditions make use of trigonometric formulae, either approximate or exact, and often record the results in tables (King 2004, esp. art. I and III).

Genres Texts describing folk astronomical methods and procedures are of great variety. Typical genres are anwa¯ʾ- and azmina-books, calendars and almanacs, and books on the first sighting of the lunar crescent, the prayer times, and the qibla (see below). Headings of such texts are often little informative concerning their contents. For example, al-Ashraf ʿUmar (Yemen, d. 1298) includes in his introduction into the science of the stars also folk astronomical lore and calls it Kita¯b al-Tabsira ˙ fı¯ ʿilm al-nuju¯m (“Enlightenment on the Science of the Stars”; Varisco 1994, p. 16). Another example is the title of a treatise on folk astronomy by al-Tawa¯shı¯ ˙ (?; Yemen, unknown date; the manuscripts preserved were copied in the 18th and 19th c.) that reads Mifta¯h al-asra¯r fı¯ ʿilm al-falak al-dawwa¯r (“Key to the secrets of ˙ sphere”; King 1983, pp. 27–28 and 41). Some lexica and the science of the rotating encyclopedias include, among other topics, also folk astronomical lore. Anwa¯ʾ-books, as their name implies, deal mainly with the system of the anwa¯ʾ, which combines atmospheric and sidereal phenomena (Sezgin 1979, p. 336). Risings and settings of specific stars and groups of stars indicate the times of rain, wind, heat, and cold. Frequently, they also include a presentation of the lunar mansions and a description of their use for calendrical and timekeeping purposes. These treatises are complemented by proverbs, poems, and commentaries that are related to astronomical phenomena and other topics. An early example – and stadium – of this genre represents the Kita¯b al-anwa¯ʾ by Ibn Qutayba (Iraq, 828–889) (Pellat 1954, p. 88). Sometimes, anwa¯ʾ-books even comprise astrological data, for example, in the Mukhtasar min al-Anwa¯ʾ by Ahmad b. Fa¯ris (Co´rdoba [?], end of 10th c.; Forcada ˙ ˙ 143–149). The differences 2000, pp. to azmina-books, which concentrate on seasonal changes, are marginal. They, as well as encyclopedic and lexicographical treatises, also comprise information on anwa¯ʾ, with many details, for example, in al-Mukhassas, a lexicon written by Ibn Sı¯dah (al-Andalus, d. 1066). ˙ ˙ ˙ also calendars and almanacs include information on anwa¯ʾ. HowSometimes, ever, these texts are different in their formal layout and record the information according to the days of the months of the solar year. Similarly, they present for every day of the year information about astronomy, chronology, agriculture, meteorology, animals, diets, medical treatments, and other topics such as navigation or even Christian saints. An example of such a text is the anonymous Calendar of Co´rdoba most probably written in 10th c. al-Andalus (Pellat 1961, p. viii). Sometimes, calendars and almanacs include general introductions and inform, for example, on the zodiacal signs, the lunar mansions or the numbers of days at the beginning of each season or month (Renaud 1948, pp. 28–56). While anwa¯ʾ- and azmina-books, calendars and almanacs deal with astronomical problems that concern the organization of time and orientation in everyday life,

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another group of texts that also provides folk astronomical lore concentrates on time and orientation in everyday religious life. These treatises present folk astronomical methods and procedures for determining the first sighting of the lunar crescent, the times of the five daily ritual prayers, and of the qibla, the sacred direction of Islam toward the Kaʿba in Mecca (see below). Some books on the determination of prayer times incorporate the term mawa¯qı¯t (“timekeeping”) in their titles, while some books on the determination of the qibla mention dala¯ʾil al-qibla (“indicators (for the determination) of the qibla”). Although these titles point toward contents limited to sacred astronomy, usually, such treatises also include other folk astronomical lore. For example, Kita¯b Dala¯ʾil al-qibla by Ibn al-Qa¯ss (Tarsus, ˙˙ d. ca. 947) deals primarily with the arrangement of the world around the Kaʿba in Mecca and the determination of the qibla, but also informs on lunar mansions, prayer times, and other topics (Duce`ne 2001, pp. 182–187). On the other hand, calendars and almanacs may also provide information concerning the determination of prayer times or the qibla. For example, Risa¯la fı¯ l-Anwa¯ʾ (“Treatise on anwa¯ʾ”), probably incorrectly attributed to Ibn al-Banna¯ʾ (Morocco, 1256–1321[?]), records for Cordoba (j ¼ 38 ) the shadow lengths for the beginning of the midday and afternoon prayers (Renaud 1948, p. 22; also King 2004, pp. 497–498).

Authors and their Possible Readership The authors, who wrote texts on folk astronomical lore, were rarely astronomers or astrologers. Although in general familiar with the science of the stars, they were rather philologists and legal scholars (Sezgin 1979, p. 338). Assumedly, possible readers of these texts belonged to a similar scholarly tradition and were more familiar with philology and judicature than with astronomy and astrology (Varisco 1994, p. 8). Possibly, treatises dealing with problems of sacred astronomy aimed, among others, at muezzins, muwaqqits, and imams.

What is the “Islamic” Part of Folk Astronomy? Three astronomical problems have their origins in obligations of Muslim religious practice. This sacred astronomy concerns the first sighting of the lunar crescent, the determination of the five daily prayers, and of the qibla.

First Sighting of the Lunar Crescent Religious life in Islamic societies is based on a lunar calendar; the first sighting of the lunar crescent in the western evening sky determines the beginning of a lunar month. Concerning Muslim religious practice, these sightings are particular important for the beginning of the fasting month Ramada¯n and of the pilgrimage month ˙

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Dhu¯ l-Hijja. During the first 2 weeks of this month, the hajj toward Mecca takes ˙ place. Over this time, specific days require specific ˙religious performances. Although a general statement is difficult to establish, it appears that religious literature and folk astronomical lore favor observation instead of calculation of the first sighting of the lunar crescent (Schacht 1971, p. 380a). Modern scholarship, however, has examined only a few texts that deal with this topic in folk astronomical sources, for example, a treatise by an anonymous author (Morocco, ca. 1300) that bears the title Risa¯la fı¯ Hila¯l al-Ramada¯n (“Treatise on the crescent of (the fasting month) Ramada¯n”; Renaud 1945, p. ˙56). ˙

Prayer Times The five daily ritual prayers, midday prayer (zuhr), afternoon prayer (ʿasr), evening prayer (maghrib), night prayer (ʿisha¯ʾ), and˙ morning prayer (fajr or˙ subh), are a normative part of daily Muslim religious life and one of the five pillars˙ of˙Islam. They must be performed at the right time and in the right way to be legal (King and Wensinck 1993, p. 27a). According to the astronomical descriptions by which the prayer times are described, they can be divided into two groups: diurnal, or shadow, prayers, which include the midday and afternoon prayers, and twilight prayers, which comprise the evening, night, and morning prayers. To the first group belong the prayer times whose beginning and end are determined by shadow lengths; to the second, those by twilight phenomena. Similar to timekeeping for everyday life by folk astronomical methods and procedures, records with observations of shadow lengths for a specific location in the course of the year or shadow schemes based on approximate, arithmetical, and non-trigonometric formulae help to decide when it is time to perform the diurnal prayers (King 2004, p. III). Concerning twilight prayers, folk astronomical sources explicate the use of the lunar mansions as a star clock. The lunar mansions comprise 28 stars, groups of stars, and void sections that divide the ecliptic, the apparent path of the sun on the celestial sphere, into 28 parts. Usually, the folk astronomical sources provide day and month for the heliacal rising of a given mansion so that the risings of the following mansions subdivide the night from sunset until sunrise into 14 parts. This system allows the determination of the times of the twilight prayers – as they allow organizing other nocturnal activities (Schmidl 2007, pp. 628–637; Samso´ 2008, pp. 122–124).

Qibla Determination In performing daily ritual prayers but also in other religious performances, it is obligatory to align oneself toward the Kaʿba in Mecca, a building of cubical shape and the main sanctuary of Islamic belief. In mathematical-astronomical traditions, this obligation is dealt as a problem of spherical trigonometry. The qibla direction is defined as the angle that is described by the meridian of a given place and the great circle that goes through it and Mecca. Mathematical traditions provide exact and

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approximate methods and analemmata to calculate this angle. Folk astronomical traditions make use of different procedures, which arrive at different solutions (King 2004, p. VIIa). One folk astronomical method relies on Muhammad’s ˙ practice who performed his prayer toward the south while being in Medina, north of Mecca. Another possibility recorded by qibla schemes rests on the following two basic thoughts (Herrera-Casais and Schmidl 2008, p. 276): • The Kaʿba in Mecca is astronomically aligned; its axes are related to astronomical phenomena. The four corners of this sacred building point roughly to the four cardinal directions (Hawkins and King 1982, p. 255, Fig. 1). The walls of the sanctuary are also associated with the winds whose limits are defined likewise by astronomical phenomena (Schmidl 2007, pp. 638–642). • The Kaʿba is the center of the world. All regions and cities are arranged around this sanctuary in sectors and associated with a segment of its perimeter. For example, Ibn Rah¯ıq (Hejaz, 11th c.) records a qibla scheme by Ibn Sura¯qa ˙ (Yemen, d. 1019) in which he associates the western third of the southwestern wall of the Kaʿba with, among others, the Maghreb and Ethiopia. The qibla Ibn Sura¯qa describes for these regions by the rising of the Pleiades and of Sirius, but also by the winds, results in northeast (Schmidl 2007, pp. 272–273 and 593–594). Therefore, the directions these qibla schemes provide are intended as if one was standing directly in front of that part of the building that belongs to the region or city where one performs the prayer. A very early example of such qibla schemes is presented by Ibn Khurrada¯dhbih (Iran, Iraq, d. ca. 910) in his geographical work called Kita¯b al-Masa¯lik wa-lmama¯lik (“The Book of Itineraries and Kingdoms”). In this treatise, he uses a qibla scheme that subdivides the world around the Kaʿba into four sectors. The first sector Ibn Khurrada¯dhbih described as follows: The qibla for the inhabitants of Armenia, Azerbaijan, Baghdad, Wasit, Kufa, al-Mada’in, Basra, Hulwan, Dinawar, Nihawand, Hamadan, Isfahan, Rayy, Tabaristan, all of Khurasan, the land of the Khazars and Kashmir in India is to the wall of the Kaʿba where the door (in the north eastern wall – pgs) is located. It is between the North Pole to the left of (the wall) as far as due east. (Herrera-Casais and Schmidl 2008, pp. 279–280)

Three later examples are presented by Muhammad al-Fa¯risı¯ (Yemen, d. 1278/79 ˙ (?)) at the end of his folk astronomical treatise Tuhfat al-ra¯ghib wa-turfat al-ta¯lib fı¯ ˙ and taysı¯r al-nayyirayn wa-haraka¯t al-kawa¯kib (“Work˙full (of news) for the desiring ˙ searching on the motions of the two luminaries and the movements of the planets”). The fifth sector of his first scheme Muhammad al-Fa¯risı¯ describes as follows: ˙ The fifth direction: Kufa, Baghdad, Qadisiyya, Hulwan und Hamadhan, parts of Persia, as Rayy, Nishapur, Bukhara, Fergana, Tashkent, and what lies in the direction of those countries. (Their inhabitants) place the Big Dipper (bana¯t naʿsh al-kubra¯; abdgezZ UMA) during its rising at the right ear, and al-hanʿa (gx Gem) when it rises, between both shoulders. The pole star (al-judayy; a UMi) is at the right shoulder. The wind saba¯ ˙¯ r at blows from the side of the left shoulder, . If those indicators – or some of them – are obvious (for you), then you are opposite (of the part) of the direction towards the Kaʿba that lies between the prayer place of Adam (musalla¯ A¯dam) – praise be ˙ upon him – and the door. (Schmidl 2007, pp. 344–347 and 653–654)

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Summary Premodern folk astronomical traditions in Islamic societies deal with the same problems as mathematical astronomy. In general, information that belongs to folk astronomical traditions is more descriptive and less mathematical and less formal. In detail, folk astronomical treatises deal with anwa¯ʾ, comprise calendars and almanacs, and provide solutions of problems related to time and to orientation in everyday life and in everyday religious life by astronomical and arithmetical, but not trigonometric, means. Various examples, though, show that there is a gradual transition between folk astronomy and mathematical astronomy. Although Kita¯b Suwar al-kawa¯kib ˙ al-tha¯bita (“Book on the constellations”) by al-Su¯fı¯ (Rayy, 903–986) is not con˙ sidered to present a folk astronomical treatise, it includes a good deal of Arabic folklore on stars (Kunitzsch 1986, pp. 56–57; King 1985, p. 218). Although the Calendar of Co´rdoba obviously belongs to folk astronomical traditions, it appears that its anonymous author calculated the lengths of daylight by trigonometric means (Samso´ 1983, pp. 130–131). Treatises such as these that reside in a gray area of transition rise suspicion if the use of the dualism folk astronomy versus mathematical astronomy to describe two different ways of practicing astronomy in premodern Islamic societies reflects modern research interests rather than a sharp distinction established in its contemporary context.

Cross-References ▶ Astronomy in the Service of Islam ▶ Egyptian “Star Clocks” ▶ Folk Astronomy and Calendars in Yemen ▶ Islamic Astronomical Instruments and Observatories ▶ Islamic Mathematical Astronomy ▶ Qibla in the Mediterranean ▶ Star Clocks and Water Management in Oman

References Duce`ne J-C (2001) Le Kita¯b Dala¯ʾil al-qibla d’Ibn al-Qa¯ss: analyse des trois manuscrits et des ˙ ˙ arna¯t¯ı. Zeitschrift f€ emprunts d‘Abu¯ Ha¯mid al-G ur ˙Geschichte der arabisch-islamischen ˙ ˙ Wissenschaften 14:169–187 Forcada M (2000) Astrology and folk astronomy: the Mukhtasar min al-Anwa¯ʾ of Ahmad b. Fa¯ris. ˙ ˙ Suhayl 1:107–205 Hawkins GS, King DA (1982) On the orientation of the Kaʿba. J Hist Astron 13: 102–109 [repr. in King DA (1993) Astronomy in the service of Islam. Variorum, London, art. XII] Herrera-Casais M, Schmidl PG (2008) The earliest known schemes of Islamic sacred geography. In: Akasoy A, Raven W (eds) Islamic thought in the middle ages. Studies in text, transmission and translation, in honour of Hans Daiber, vol 75. Islamic philosophy, theology and science. Brill, Leiden/Boston, pp 275–300

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King DA (1983) Mathematical astronomy in medieval Yemen: a bio-bibliographical survey, American Research Center in Egypt. Udena, Malibu King DA (1985) Astronomy for landlubbers and navigators: the case of the Islamic middle ages. Revista da Universidade de Coimbra 32:211–223 King DA (2004) In synchrony with the heavens: studies in astronomical timekeeping and instrumentation in medieval Islamic civilization, vol one: the call of the Muezzin (Studies I-IX), Islamic philosophy, theology and science, Brill, Leiden/Boston King DA, Wensinck AJ (1993) Mı¯ka¯t. In: The encyclopaedia of Islam, 7th edn. Brill, Leiden, ˙ pp 26b–32a, New edition Kunitzsch P (1986) The astronomer Abu ‘l-Husayn al-Su¯fı¯ and his book on the constellations. ˙ ˙ Wissenschaften 3: 56–81 [repr. in: Zeitschrift f€ur Geschichte der arabisch-islamischen Kunitzsch P (1989) The arabs and the stars. Variorum, Northampton, art. XI] Pellat C (1954) Le traite´ d’astronomie pratique et de me´te´orologie populaire d’Ibn Qutayba. Arabica 1:84–88 Pellat Ch (1961) Le Calendrier de Cordoue publie´ par R. Dozy: Nouvelle e´dition, Medieval Iberian Peninsula Texts and Studies 1, Brill, Leiden Renaud H-P-J (1948) Le calendrier arabe d’Ibn al-Banna¯ʾ de Marrakech (1256–1321 J.C.): Texte arabe ine´dit, e´tabli d’apre`s cinq manuscrits, de la Risa¯la fi ‘al-Anwa¯ʾ avec une traduction franc¸aise annote´e et une introduction, Publications de l’Institut des Hautes-E´tudes Marocaines 34. Larose, Paris [repr. in Sezgin F (ed) (1998) Ibn al-Banna¯ʾ al-Marra¯kushı¯: Texts and Studies, Islamic Mathematics and Astronomy 44, Institut f€ ur Geschichte der arabisch-islamischen Wissenschaften, Frankfurt, pp 207–298] Samso´ J (1983) Sobre los materiales astrono´micos en el ‘Calendario de Cordo´ba’ y en su versio´n latina del siglo XIII. In: Vernet J (ed) Nuevos estudios sobre Astronomı´a Espan˜ola en el Siglo de Alfonso X. Instituto de Filologı´a, Institucio´n “Mila´ y Fontanals”, Barcelona, pp 125–138 [repr. in: Samso´ J (1994) Islamic astronomy and Medieval Spain, Variorum, London 1994, art. V] Samso´ J (2008) Lunar mansions and timekeeping in Western Islam. Suhayl 8:121–161 Schacht J (1971) Hila¯l i: in Islamic law. In: The encyclopaedia of Islam, 3rd edn. Brill, Leiden, pp 379a–381a, New Edition Schmidl PG (2006) On timekeeping by the lunar mansions in Medieval Egypt. In: Sołtysiak A (ed) Time and astronomy in past cultures. Institute of Archeology, Warsaw University, Warszawa, pp 75–87 Schmidl PG (2007) Volkst€ umliche Astronomie im islamischen Mittelalter: Zur Bestimmung der Gebetszeiten und der Qibla bei al-Asbah¯ı, Ibn Rah¯ıq und al-Fa¯risı¯, vol 68. Islamic philosophy, ˙ ˙ ˙ theology and science. Brill, Leiden/Boston Sezgin F (1979) Geschichte des arabischen Schrifttums, vol 7. Brill, Leiden Varisco DM (1994) Medieval agriculture and Islamic science: the Almanac of a Yemeni sultan. University of Washington Press, Seattle/London

Folk Astronomy and Calendars in Yemen

183

Daniel Martin Varisco

Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Yemeni Almanacs . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Agricultural Marker Stars . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Pleiades Conjunction Calendar . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Research on Yemeni Folk Astronomy . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

1935 1936 1937 1938 1938 1939 1939

Abstract

A rich folk tradition of star lore evolved in the southwestern corner of the Arabian Peninsula, especially during the Islamic era. Some of this lore was recorded in Yemeni Arabic texts, especially during the 13th and 14th centuries. Among the calendars in use are solar, lunar, and stellar varieties. The most significant folk calendars are the system of agricultural marker stars, often correlated with the 28 lunar stations, and the Pleiades conjunction calendar.

Introduction Yemen, situated at the southwestern corner of the Arabian Peninsula, has a long tradition of folk astronomy recorded in manuscripts from the Islamic era, notably after the tenth century. Its vibrant agricultural system led to the area being known as the “Verdant Yemen” (al-Yaman al-khadra¯’) so it is no surprise that farmers ˙ developed specific star calendars for determining seasonal activities. While most of this folk astronomy has not been documented over the centuries, ethnographic

D.M. Varisco Department of Anthropology, Hofstra University, Hempstead, NY, USA e-mail: [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_150, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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research in the past century has shown the regional variation in use of the stars for time reckoning. It should also be noted that the same star name may refer to different asterisms between regions. Almanacs based on the months of the solar year were produced from the thirteenth century, and these reflect both the formal astronomical models in Islamic science and elements of the folk tradition, primarily those in use along the Red Sea coast or Tihama and the southern highlands. Several of the surviving astronomical manuscripts contain details on local folk astronomy (King 1983; Schmidl 2007).

Yemeni Almanacs The earliest known almanacs produced in Yemen focus on the humoral qualities of the seasons and diet according to the solar months of the Julian reckoning. The most famous of these are by Nashwa¯n ibn Sa‘ı¯d al-Himyarı¯ (d. 1177) (King 1983, plate ˙ 10) and by ‘Abd Alla¯h ibn As‘ad al-Ya¯fi‘ı¯ (d. 1367) (Varisco 2012). During Yemen’s Rasulid era (1228–1454), the tradition of agricultural almanacs with details on local folk astronomy first appears. Of the eight surviving Rasulid almanacs, the earliest was compiled for the year 1271 by the third Rasulid sultan, al-Malik al-Ashraf ‘Umar (d. 1296) in an astronomical treatise that also contains valuable information on local star names in Yemen (Varisco 1994). The timing of agricultural activities according to the risings and settings of certain stars is also recorded in the agricultural treatises of al-Malik al-Ashraf and his grand nephew al-Malik al-Afdal al‘Abba¯s (d. 1376). An anthology compiled for al-Malik al-Afdal ˙ ˙ contains two important almanacs, one of which is arranged according to the degrees of the zodiacal constellations and correlated to several calendrical systems (Varisco and Smith 1998, pp. 97–114). Although based on the Julian solar reckoning, Rasulid calendars are also correlated to the Coptic calendar used in Egypt, the Persian Yazdagird calendar, the Islamic lunar calendar and the ancient Himyarite calendar. The Himyarite month names, derived from pre-Islamic South Arabic, relate primarily to agricultural activitites. For example, Dhu¯ Sira¯b (the equivalent of October) refers to the harvest ˙ this is a term used to the present in several Yemeni (sira¯b or sura¯b) of grain crops; ˙ ˙ dialects. The month name equivalent of September is ‘Alla¯n, a term that is applied in the highlands to the stars of Ursa Major that rise in the evening during this month. Correlation is also provided to the navigational nayru¯z calendar used by mariners along the Red Sea and Indian Ocean network. After the Rasulid era, almanacs continued to be compiled in Yemen, often copying from the earlier Rasulid sources without accounting for calendrical change due to precession. An example of this is the almanac for 1733 by Yu¯suf al-Mahallı¯ ˙ (Varisco 2011). In the twentieth century, the most important almanac has been that of Muhammad Haydara, who provided annual almanacs from at least 1945 with ˙ a focus on the southern highlands (Serjeant 1954). There are two other reckoning systems used as grids for the timing of agricultural events. One is according to the Yemeni “agricultural marker stars” (ma‘a¯lim al-zira¯‘a), exemplified in the almanac

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Table 183.1 The agricultural marker stars according to al-Wa¯si‘ı¯ (1947) # 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28

Marker star sima¯k ghuru¯b ka¯ma ghuru¯b al-thawr tulu¯‘ka¯ma ˙ tulu¯‘al-thawr ˙ tulu¯‘al-zulm ˙ ˙ tulu¯‘al-sulm ˙ ˙ kharı¯f ‘alib suhayl al-rawa¯bi‘al-u¯la¯ al-rawa¯bi‘alakhira kha¯mis ‘alla¯n sa¯dis ‘alla¯n sabi “allan fa¯ri‘ rabi ‘kama thawr najmayn sulm ˙ qalb suhayl al-rawa¯bi‘al-u¯la¯ al-rawa¯bi‘alakhira kha¯mis sawa¯b ˙ sa¯dis sawa¯b ˙ sa¯bi‘sawa¯b ˙ za¯fir awwal ˙ za¯fir tha¯nı¯ ˙

Identification Spica setting of Pleiades setting of Taurus rising of Pleiades rising of Taurus star in Orionis? star in Orionis? summer rising of Sirius Canopus first two stars of the square of Ursa Major second two stars of the square of Ursa Major

Lunar station sharatayn ˙ butayn ˙ thurayya¯ dabara¯n haq‘a han‘a dhira¯‘ nathra tarf ˙ jabha zubra

Date III:29 IV:11 IV:24 V:7 V:20 VI:2 VI:15 VI:29 VII:12 VII:25 VIII:7

5th star of Ursa Major 6th star of Ursa Major 7th star of Ursa Major Spica evening rising of Pleiades Taurus Aldebaran plus another star? star in Orion? a Sco Canopus first two stars of Pegasus square second two stars of Pegasus square

sarfa ˙ ‘awwa¯ sima¯k ghafr zuba¯na¯ iklı¯l qalb shawla na‘a¯’im balda sa‘d al-dha¯bih ˙ sa‘d bula‘

VIII:20 IX:2 IX:15 IX:28 X:11 X:24 XI:6 XI:19 XII:2 XII:15 XII:28 I:10

5th star of Pegasus 6th star of Pegasus 7th star of Pegasus a Cen b Cen

sa‘d al-su‘u¯d sa‘d al-akhbiya al-muqaddam al-mu’akhkhar batn al-hu¯t ˙ ˙

I:23 II:5 II:18 III:3 III:16

of Muhammad Sa¯lih al-Sira¯jı¯ for 1959 (Varisco 1982, pp. 560–576). The other is ˙ ˙ ˙ conjunction system of the moon and the Pleiades (Gingrich based on a seasonal 1994, pp. 165–177).

Agricultural Marker Stars The unique Yemeni system of 28 agricultural marker stars has been correlated, at least since the eighteenth century, with the 28 anwa¯’ asterisms attributed to the preIslamic Arabs of the peninsula (Table 183.1). These anwa¯’ were asterisms along the ecliptic and divided the year into 28 parts of 13 days each (with one period of

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14 days to round out the year). The formal astronomical system linked the anwa¯’ directly with the 28 lunar stations (mana¯zil al-qamar), the asterisms that the moon stations in each night of its lunation. This was systematized after contact with the Indian lunar zodiac through Sasanian sources, but there is no evidence that this system was in use by pre-Islamic Arab farmers and herders in Yemen or elsewhere (Varisco 1992). Just as there are alternate lists of anwa¯’ stars recorded for other parts of the Arabian Peninsula, there are alternative seasonal sequences of stars recognized in Yemen. The seventeenth century scholar ‘Abd al-Qa¯dir ibn Muham˙ mad al-Hatta¯r documented a seasonal sequence with several of the same asterisms as in the formal model of 28 agricultural marker stars, but not with equally spaced intervals of time (Varisco 1993, pp. 127–128). Some of these names, for example, sawa¯b (the square of Pegasus), are noted as early as the tenth century by ˙ al-Hamda ¯ nı¯ (1884, p. 191) and figure in the Rasulid almanacs, but not as part of the formal model of the 28 lunar stations.

Pleiades Conjunction Calendar The other major reckoning system in Yemen is the Pleiades conjunction calendar, first described in detail by Eduard Glaser in the nineteenth century (Glaser 1885). In the ninth century, the scholar Ibn Qutayba noted that the new moon conjuncts with the Pleiades (thurayya¯) in the month of Nı¯sa¯n (April). Since the lunation is approximately 2 days less than the cycle of lunar phases, it is possible to reckon the relative seasonal time from autumn through the spring, when the most important agricultural work takes place. In the almanac poem of Hasan ibn Ja¯bir al-‘Affa¯rı¯ ˙ (d. 1710), this system begins with conjunction #19 (the conjunction at 19 days following the new moon), which is correlated with the dawn rising of the fifth star of Ursa Major in mid-September (Varisco 1997, p. #XI). Al-‘Affa¯rı¯ notes that this is the time for stripping off sorghum leaves for use as fodder to be followed a month later in conjunction #17 by the sorghum harvest.

Research on Yemeni Folk Astronomy In addition to the written almanac tradition and other texts, information has been obtained from travelers and anthropologists conducting ethnographic fieldwork. During the 1940s and 1950s, R. B. Serjeant (1954) collected data on the Shiba¯mı¯ calendar and other local reckoning systems in use in the Hadramawt region of ˙ ˙ southern Yemen as well as later research on star lore in Socotra (Serjeant 1988). Southern Yemeni star lore is unique to the Arabian Peninsula and has roots that probably extend back to the pre-Islamic South Arabian kingdoms. Varisco collected local star lore and time reckoning by shadow schemes in the central highland valley of al-Ahjur (Varisco 1982, pp. 554–559). In al-Ahjur, the local star calendar was primarily used for determining the best times for planting sorghum and other local crops. The most extensive analysis is by Andre Gingrich (1994), who lived among

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the Bani Munebbih in the north of Yemen in 1986. His analysis describes both the agricultural marker stars and the Pleiades conjunction system in use as well as suggesting a genealogy of the agricultural calendar stemming back to the ancient South Arabian kingdoms. The Yemeni scholar most active in collecting folklore on local astronomy and agricultural activities is Yahya¯ al-‘Ansı¯. In 1996, he produced an almanac chart of ˙ the agricultural marker stars in relation to the lunar stations, zodiacal months, and solar calendar. Based on extensive field research throughout Yemen, al-‘Ansı¯ (1998) published a massive 589 page documentation of Yemeni astronomical lore by season with numerous proverbs and explanation of dialect terms. This was followed by an annotated edition of Yemeni proverbs on folk astronomy (al-‘Ansı¯ 2005) and a broader anthology of Yemeni proverbs about agriculture with numerous references to star calendars (al-‘Ansı¯ 2008). Acknowledgments I would like to thank Andre Gingrich, David King, and Petra Schmidl for their comments on reading a draft of this article.

Cross-References ▶ Astronomy in the Service of Islam ▶ Islamic Folk Astronomy ▶ Star Clocks and Water Management in Oman

References Al-‘Ansı¯, Yahya¯ ibn Yahya¯ (1998) Al-Ma¯‘alim al-zira¯‘iyya fı¯ al-Yaman. Al-Ma‘had al-Amrı¯kı¯ ˙¯ t al-Yamaniyya ˙ li-al-Dira¯sa and al-Markaz al-Fransı¯ li-al-Dira¯sa¯t al-Yamaniyya, Sanaa Al-‘Ansı¯, Yahya¯ ibn Yahya¯ (2005) Al-Mawa¯qı¯t al-zira¯‘iyya fı¯ aqwa¯l ‘Alı¯ ibn Za¯yid wa-al-Hamı¯d ˙ ¯ n. Maktabat al-Irsha¯d, Sanaa ˙ ibn Mansu¯˙ r wa-akharu ˙ Al-‘Ansı¯, Yahya¯ ibn Yahya¯ (2008) Al-Tura¯th al-zira¯‘ı¯ wa-ma‘a¯rifih fı¯ al-Yaman. Al-Hay’a al-‘Amma ˙li-al-Kita¯b, ˙Sanaa al-Hamda¯nı¯, al-Hasan ibn Ahmad (1884–1891) Al-Hamdaˆnıˆ’s Geographie der Arabischen ˙ Leiden ˙ Halbinsel. Brill, Al-Wa¯si‘ı¯, ‘Abd al-Wa¯si‘ibn Yahya¯ (1947) Kanz al-thiqa¯t fı¯ ‘ilm al-awqa¯t. Matba‘at al-Hija¯ziı¯, ˙ ˙ Cairo Gingrich, Andre (1994) S€ udwestarabische Sternkalendar: Eine ethnologische Studie zu Struktur, Kontext und regionalem Vergleich des tribalen Agrarkalendars der Munebbih im Jemen. Wiener Beitr€age zur Ethnologie und Anthropologie 7, Vienna Glaser E (1885) Die Sternkunde der s€ udarabischen Kabylen. Sitzungsberichte der Akademie der Wissenschaften Wien 91:89–99 King David A (1983) Mathematical astronomy in medieval Yemen: a biobiographical survey. American Research Center in Egypt Catalogs, vol 4. Undena, Malibu Schmidl Petra G (2007) Volkst€ umliche Astronomie im islamischen Mittelalter, vol 2. Brill, Leiden Serjeant RB (1954) Star-calendars and an almanac from South-West Arabia. Anthropos 49:433–459

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Serjeant RB (1988) A Socotran star calendar. In: Irvine AK, Serjeant RB, Rex Smith G (eds) A miscellany of Middle Eastern articles in memoriam Thomas Muir Johnstone, 1924–1983. Longman, Harlow, pp 94–100 Varisco DM (1982) The adaptive dynamics of water allocation in al-Ahjur, Yemen Arab Republic. Ph.D. dissertation, Anthropology, University of Pennsylvania Varisco DM (1992) The origin of the anwa¯’ in Arab tradition. Studia Islamica 74:5–28 Varisco DM (1993) The agricultural marker stars in Yemeni folklore. Asian Folklore Studies 52:119–142 Varisco DM (1994) Medieval agriculture and Islamic science: the almanac of a Yemeni sultan. University of Washington Press, Seattle Varisco DM (1997) Medieval folk astronomy and agriculture in Arabia and the Yemen, Variorum Collected Studies. Ashgate Publishing Limited, England Varisco DM (2011) The 18th century Yemeni Almanac of Yu¯suf al-Mahallı¯. Published online at ˙ http://filaha.org/almanac_yusuf_al_mahalli.html Varisco DM (2012) The 14th century Almanac poem of ‘Abd Alla¯h ibn As‘ad al-Ya¯fi‘ı¯. Oriente Moderno 92(1):29–64 Varisco DM, Smith G Rex (eds) (1998) The manuscript of al-Malik al-Afdal al-‘Abba¯s b. ‘Alı¯ b. Da¯’u¯d b. Yu¯suf b. ‘Umar b. ‘Alı¯ ibn Rasu¯l: a medieval Arabic anthology˙from the Yemen. Gibb Memorial Trust, England

Star Clocks and Water Management in Oman

184

Harriet Nash

Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cultural Context . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Timing of Water Shares . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Methods of Star Use for Time Reckoning . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Star Names . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Issues Raised and Future Directions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

1941 1942 1943 1943 1946 1947 1947 1947

Abstract

For centuries, if not millennia, the farmers of Oman have used the stars and sun for timing their share of water from gravity-fed irrigation systems (afla¯j). When wristwatches became widely available in the late 1960s, many communities abandoned the traditional methods. Today, the use of stars for this purpose survives in eight communities. This contribution focuses on the near extinct system of time reckoning with stars.

Introduction This chapter refers to the traditional astronomical timing of irrigation systems of northern Oman called afla¯j (falaj s.), which are found within and generally close to the Hajar Mountains in an area extending roughly from 55
300 E to 59
550 E and from 22
00 N to 25
00 N (Fig. 184.1).

H. Nash University of Exeter, Exeter, UK e-mail: [email protected]; [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_201, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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Fig. 184.1 Location of afla¯j in Oman

The falaj system comprises a water source (usually a spring or groundwater) and channels for transporting the water and distributing it within the irrigated area, all by gravity flow. Such irrigation systems are widespread throughout semiarid areas of the world where the hinterland receives relatively high precipitation. In Oman, the rainfall in the mountains is about 350 mm/year, sufficient to provide ephemeral wadi flow and groundwater recharge that supply the afla¯j, extending agricultural production into the arid plains beyond. The afla¯j are owned by the community, but land and water are generally owned by individuals. The distribution of water to different fields or sections of the irrigation system therefore has to be timed. Stars and sundials were once widely used for this purpose, but only in Oman does this practice survive to the present day. The cultural context and need for timing water shares are discussed before giving more detail on star use, which is less well known than that of the sun.

Cultural Context The early history of falaj development is relatively well documented through archaeological investigations: in Oman they date from at least 1000 BC (e.g., AlTikriti 2002) and possibly even from 3000 BC (Orchard and Orchard 2007). The practice of using the sun and stars for timing water shares must have once been widespread, but this is not so well documented. The tradition has been passed down, largely orally, from generation to generation, and there are few written records. Most communities stopped using the stars when wristwatches became widely available in the late 1960s–early 1970s. However, their use in Oman continues in a few places where the community preferred to stay with tradition and where light and dust pollution are not too severe. Many falaj systems have been abandoned, mainly because of reduced flow due to pumped wells lowering groundwater levels. Currently, there are about 3,000

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operational systems, many still using the sundial, but only about eight of them using stars. In addition to the introduction of wristwatches, light pollution has been a major factor in the decline of star use. The younger generation has access to education and work outside the village; few are learning the ancient art of stargazing. As those with knowledge age and their eyesight fades, wristwatches become the preferred means of timing water shares; it seems unlikely that this practice will continue for more than about 20 years.

Timing of Water Shares In Oman, the agricultural communities were almost completely self-sufficient, and the irrigation systems were the focus of life for the majority. Water, a scarce resource, had to be shared equitably to prevent disputes and potential wastage. The basic division of time is into day and night, each of which is divided into 24 athars, one athar in theory averaging ½ h over the year, although in some villages the sahm (1½ athars) is preferred. The time taken to irrigate all of the land is the irrigation cycle, which generally ranges from 1 to 2 weeks. The time at which a particular share is taken can vary, often from day to night between one irrigation cycle and the next. Settlements using stars, and some no longer using them, have been investigated by Nash and the majority of the stars identified (Al-Ghafri et al. 2013; Nash 2011). Since these practices are handed down orally, the information is based on interviews with village elders and farmers and firsthand observation. The locations of settlements from which information has been collected are shown in Fig. 184.2, and their status related to traditional timing of water shares is given in Table 184.1. In Al Fath, stargazing stopped in 2011 when the most knowledgeable person died, even though up to that time every farmer had used the stars. The sundials generally comprise a vertical pole and lines on the ground often metal studs, or (grooves in the earth or in cement) demarcating time intervals. Personal markers are often used: when the shadow of the tip of the pole reaches the marker for the start of someone’s water share, they go to the falaj channel(s) and move small sluices to change the direction of flow to their fields. In some communities, waiting for one’s time is a sociable activity, chatting under the shade of a tree or carefully judging the exact spot in discussion with others (Fig. 184.3).

Methods of Star Use for Time Reckoning The number of falaj “stars” comprising the timing system varies from one village to another. (A falaj “star” can be one or more stars considered as a single item. Some of these may be far apart, and the term “asterism” is, therefore, often not appropriate.) Generally, between 21 and 24 stars are used in the course of a year, with 2–3 athars, that is approximately 1 to 1½ h between each star. The simplest method of

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Fig. 184.2 Location of settlements where information on star use has been collected Table 184.1 Star and sun use status in 2011 Area Al Hamra

Mudaybi

Wadi Bani Kharus Sur

Settlement Al Hamra Misfat-Al-Abriyeen (Misfa) Qarya Beni Subh Qarya Barzaman Sudayra Zahib Al Fath Stall Hajeer Halam Tayma Abat

Stars Sun Stopped c. 1968 Stopped c. 1970

Method of stargazing Natural horizon, rising

In use In use Stopped c.1970 In use Stopped 2011 In use by a few In use

In use

Local horizon (wall), rising Local horizon (tops of trees), rising Complex markers + buildings

In use

Natural horizon, rising

In use

Natural horizon, setting

stargazing is to watch the stars either setting below or rising above the natural horizon. With this method, divider stars may be used to obtain shorter divisions, although the timing of the divider stars, and even the main stars, does not necessarily coincide with divisions of athars.

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Fig. 184.3 Use of personal markers at a sundial

Fig. 184.4 Use of a local artificial horizon

Another method is to watch stars rising above a man-made horizon, such as a wall, close to the observer: time can be divided by moving closer to the wall, watching the same star rise at a later time (Fig. 184.4). In this case, divider stars are not needed. In more built-up areas, this method has developed further: indicator stars, which give the time of rise of the main falaj stars above the natural horizon, are watched rising above or setting below different markers, and again the observer moves seeing the same indicator star rising or setting at a later time, with observation points for the athars, two to each falaj star marked on walls, as illustrated in Fig. 184.5. For this method, there are 40 or so places to watch from, but it is only necessary to know six or seven stars, usually the brightest and most easily recognized, which makes the method relatively simple for farm workers to use unaided. As by day, each farmer is responsible for their own timing, and when it is time, they direct the water to their fields. People with more experience are usually

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Shabik

Dubran

Thurayya

Fath

Kabkabayn

1 metre W E

Fig. 184.5 Wall formerly used for stargazing in Al Fath. The star Kuwı¯ (Vega) was watched setting below the roof of the mosque

available to resolve any disputes over both day and night water allocation. They are paid little, if at all, for this community service. When visibility is poor due, for example, to clouds and dust, the shadow of the sundial pole can still usually be seen, but the stars normally used may not be visible. In such conditions, the time divisions may be estimated from experience, the use of alternative stars in a clearer part of the sky, or, more frequently nowadays, by the use of wristwatches.

Star Names Several falaj star names differ from those for the same star in Arabic literature (e.g., Badr 1988). This is not surprising given that star names are rarely unique, appearing in more than one constellation. Omani farmers may use a name appearing in the literature, but often for a different star: their knowledge is from an oral tradition, and they have no need of names from books and do not know the “standard” names used, for example, for the stellar stations of the Moon of the Islamic calendar. In Oman and the rest of the Arab world, the same name is sometimes given to two separate stars rising at about the same time. They may be differentiated as north or south, high or low, or whatever, but since the stargazers in Oman usually only use one for falaj timing, they do not always distinguish them, sometimes leading to confusion over the star’s identity. The above examples show that it is not possible to identify all of the stars used for agriculture by name alone: they must be observed to be sure.

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Issues Raised and Future Directions There are several issues raised by this study that are probably common to many studies of modern ethnoastronomy. One is that archaeological investigations cannot help significantly in tracing the history of such practices. Light pollution is a major issue and one of the main reasons that many communities stopped using stars. Dust pollution and cloudy skies are also more frequent in modern times. A reduction of light pollution would make it easier to see some of the fainter falaj stars but would not improve the chances of the practice surviving. Perhaps the main current factor in the decline and death of traditional practices is the availability of formal education and job opportunities outside the village. The younger generation is not interested in staying in the village and providing community services for little financial reward. Nevertheless, the falaj still forms an important part of the sense of Omani identity. This is one of the reasons that UNESCO registered five falaj systems afla¯j as a World Heritage Site in 2006 (Al Sulaimani et al. 2007), although none of the five are for villages where stars are still used. The practice of star use described here is almost extinct. However, recording what little is known today means that not all will be forgotten. The buildings used as star clocks will be lost unless they are protected, but at present no such measures are in place. Adding them to the existing World Heritage Site would entail management and protection measures to be agreed with the communities and implemented. Some members of the Astronomy Society of Oman have started recording information on sundials and star use in their own villages. This will add to the small extant body of data. Outreach programs in schools would perhaps be more effective: if the younger generation were encouraged to talk to their elders about the past, not only would factual information be recorded, but such an approach would also tap into folk memory and provide a broader context for this ancient practice.

Cross-References ▶ Folk Astronomy and Calendars in Yemen

References Al-Ghafri AS, Nash H, Al-Sarmi M (2013) Timing water shares in Wadi Bani Kharus. Oman Proceedings of Seminar of Arabian Studies 43: in press Al-Sulaimani Z, Helmi T (2007) The social importance and continuity of falaj use. In: Northern Oman, International History Seminar on Irrigation and Drainage, Tehran-Iran 2–5 May 2007. http://hdl.handle.net/10036/15174 Al-Tikriti WY (2002) The south-east Arabian origin of the falaj system. Proccedings of seminar for Arabian studies 32:117–138

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Badr AR (c.1988) Mawsu¯cat asma¯’ al-nuju¯m cinda l-carab fı¯ l-falk al-qadı¯m wa l-Hadı¯th ˙ (Encyclopaedia of Arab star names in ancient and modern astronomy) Amman Nash H (2011) Water management: the use of stars in Oman. Archaeopress, Oxford Nash H, Agius DA (2011) Folk astronomy in Oman: the use of stars for timing water shares. In: Valls-Gabaud D, Bokensberg A (eds) The role of astronomy in society and culture. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, pp 166–171 Nash H, Khaneiki ML, Yazdi AAS (2012) Traditional timing of qanat water shares. In: International conference on traditional knowledge for water resources management, Yazd, 21–23 Feb 2012. http://hdl.handle.net/10036/3545 Orchard J, Orchard J (2007) The third millennium BC Oasis settlements of Oman and the first evidence of their irrigation by Afalj from Bahla. In: Archaeology of the Arabian Peninsula through the ages. Proceedings of international symposium, Sultanate of Oman Ministry of Heritage and Culture, Muscat, pp 143–173

Astronomy of the Vedic Age Yukio Oˆhashi

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Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Astronomical Knowledge in the Vedic Period . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Rg-Vedic Period . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ˙ Later Vedic Period . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Veda¯n˙ga Astronomy Period . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The Jyotisa-veda¯n˙ga of Lagadha . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ˙ The Calendrical System of the Jyotisa-veda¯n˙ga . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ˙ a-veda¯n˙ga . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The Length of a Solar Year in the Jyotis The Date and Place of the Jyotisa-veda¯n˙˙ga . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The Continuous Use of Veda¯n˙ga˙ Astronomy . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Abstract

Aryans who produced Vedic literature migrated to India in the middle of the second millennium BC. After this, they gradually developed astronomical knowledge which was associated with local climate, agriculture, and their predecessors’ culture. Toward the end of the Vedic period, sometime around the middle of the first millennium BC, the Vedic calendrical astronomy text entitled Jyotisa˙ veda¯n˙ga was created.

ˆ hashi Y. O Kyoto University, Kyoto, Japan e-mail: [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_204, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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Introduction The history of Indian astronomy can roughly be divided into the following periods ˆ hashi 2009): (for more detail, see O i. Indus valley civilization period ii. Vedic period (ca. 1500 BC–ca. 500 BC) (ii.a) Rg-vedic period (ca. 1500 BC–ca. 1000 BC) ˙ (ii.b) Later Vedic period (ca. 1000 BC–ca. 500 BC) iii. Veda¯n˙ga astronomy period (iii.a) Period of the formation of Veda¯n˙ga astronomy (sometime between the sixth and fourth centuries BC?) (iii.b) Period of the continuous use of Veda¯n˙ga astronomy (up to sometime around the third–fourth centuries AD?) iv. The period of the introduction of Greek astrology and astronomy (around third–fourth century AD) v. Classical Hindu astronomy period (from the end of the fifth century to the twelfth century AD) vi. Coexistent period of Hindu astronomy and Islamic astronomy (from the thirteenth/fourteenth century to the eighteenth/nineteenth century AD) vii. Modern period (the eighteenth/nineteenth century onward) In this chapter, we shall discuss periods (ii) and (iii). (For more detail, see ˆ hashi 1993). Dikshit 1969 and O

Astronomical Knowledge in the Vedic Period Introduction After the period of the Indus valley civilization (ca. 2500 BC–ca. 1700 BC?), Aryans, who were originally pastoral people, appeared in Northwest India in ca.1600 BC. The Aryans produced a set of Brahmanic literature called Veda in India. There are four Vedas, namely, the Rg-veda, the Sa¯ma-veda, the ˙ four Vedas consists of Yajur-veda, and the Atharva-veda. Each of the the Sam˙hita¯ , the Bra¯ hmana, the A¯ranyaka, and the Upanisad. Firstly, the ˙ ˙ ˙ Rg-veda-sam˙hita¯ was produced in Northwest India (present Punjab) between ˙ca. 1500 BC and ca. 1000 BC. Let us call this period the “Rg-vedic ˙ period”. Then, the Aryans advanced toward east and produced later Vedic literature (the remaining Vedic literature except for the Rg-vedasam˙hita¯) in North India (roughly the western part of the plain˙ of the river Ganga) between ca. 1000 BC and ca. 500 BC. Let us call this period the “later Vedic period”.

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Rg-Vedic Period ˙ In this period, the Rg-veda-sam˙hita¯ (see Wilson 1850f and Griffith 1889f) ˙ was composed in Northwest India (present Punjab) between ca. 1500 BC and ca. 1000 BC. This is the earliest literature produced by the Aryans in India. Although this is basically religious literature, certain astronomical knowledge can be found there. The Rg-veda-sam˙hita¯ consists of ten books (Mandalas), and ˙ II–VII) are considered to be the earliest portions. ˙˙ the Family Books (Books In an early portion of the Rg-veda-sam˙hita¯ (VII.103), certain calendrical knowl˙ edge is already recorded. According to this portion, frogs cried at the beginning of the rainy season regularly every year, and priests also performed Soma rites regularly. Here, we can see that their calendrical knowledge was connected with the annual monsoon, which comes regularly every year, and that the formation of calendrical knowledge was closely connected with the local climate of India and, most probably, agriculture which requires certain knowledge of the seasons. It may be mentioned here that agriculture had already been developed in the Indus valley civilization, and there must have been non-Aryan agriculturists, who had certain calendrical knowledge, when Aryans entered India. So, there is a possibility that Aryans acquired some agricultural and calendrical knowledge from non-Aryan people in India. In a late portion of the Rg-veda-sam˙hita¯ (I.25.8), the intercalary month seems to ˙ have been mentioned. According to Sa¯yana’s commentary (see Wilson 1850f) on this portion, the additional thirteenth month is suggested there. The Rg-veda-sam˙hita¯ (X.85.2) tells that the god Soma (¼ moon) is stationed near the˙ naksatras (constellations, or lunar mansions), and the Rg-veda-sam˙hita¯ ˙ ˙ the names of two constellations, which were probably (X.85.13) gives used to indicate the position of the moon. However, the complete set of names of naksatras ˙ is not recorded in the Rg-veda-sam˙hita¯ itself. ˙

Later Vedic Period In the later Vedic period, between ca. 1000 and ca. 500 BC, the Aryans advanced toward the east and composed the later Vedic literature in a territory that roughly corresponds to the western part of the plain of the river Ganga. Society had become essentially agricultural by this stage, and several kinds of pulses and rice are mentioned in later Vedic literature. Therefore, a more accurate calendar must have been required. The intercalary month is explicitly mentioned in the Atharva-veda (V.6.4) (see Whitney 1905) and the Taittirı¯ya-sam˙hita¯ (I,4,14) (see Keith 1914), which is one text of the Yajur-veda, etc. The rule of intercalation is still not mentioned in the later Vedic literature. However, a 5-year cycle is mentioned in some literature, and this may have been a forerunner of the 5-year yuga of Veda¯n˙ga astronomy which is discussed in the next section.

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The complete set of naksatras (lunar mansions) is given in later Vedic literature. ˙ The Taittirı¯ya-sam˙hita¯ (IV.4.19) gives 27 naksatras, while Atharva-veda (XIX.7) ˙ to indicate the position of the gives 28 naksatras. The naksatras were used ˙ ˙ full moon (Taittirı¯ya-sam˙hita¯ (II.2.10.1) and (VII.4.8.1–2)). This is the origin of the names of lunar months based on the names of naksatras, which are still used in modern Hindi and some other modern Indian regional˙ languages. One year was divided into six seasons, namely, vasanta (spring), grı¯sma ˙ (summer), varsa¯ (rainy), s´arad (autumn), hemanta (winter), and s´is´ira (cool). ˙ This system of division is still used in modern Hindu calendars. In the Yajurveda, Atharva-veda, etc., hemanta and s´is´ira were usually combined into hemanta-s´is´ira, and 1 year was divided into five seasons. The word “muhu¯rta” appears in the Rg-veda-sam˙hita¯ in the sense of “moment”, but the muhu¯rta as 1/30 of a day (which˙ is the later usual meaning) first appears in the Bra¯hmanas (Taittirı¯ya-bra¯hmana (III.10.1.1–3; and 10.9.7) and S´atapatha˙ ˙ bra¯hmana (XII.3.2.5)). ˙ In the Vedic period, the regular calendar was symbolized in rituals. The Vedic rituals, which were developed in the later Vedic period, are divided into S´rauta rituals (orthodox rituals) and Grhya rituals (domestic rituals). The S´rauta rituals ˙ ˜ as (¼ Havis offerings, offerings of any food) and are usually divided into Havir-yajn Soma-yajn˜as (Soma offerings). The Havir-yajn˜as include the Agnya¯dheya, the Agnihotra, the Dars´apaurnama¯sas, the A¯grayana, the Ca¯turma¯syas, ˙ based on Gautama’s the Niru¯dhapas´ubandha, and the ˙ Sautra¯manı¯ (this list is ˙ Dharma-su¯tra (VIII.19–20 — see B€uhler 1879). Some of these rituals are symbols of divisions of time, that is, a regular calendar. Let us read the S´atapatha-bra¯hmana ˙ (I.6.3.35–36): After Praja¯pati had created the living beings, his joints (parvan) were relaxed. Now Praja¯pati, doubtless, is the year, and his joints are the two junctions of day and night (i.e., the twilights), the full moon and new moon, and the beginning of the seasons. He was unable to rise with his relaxed joints; and the gods healed him by means of these havis-offerings: by means of the Agnihotra they healed that joint (which consists of) the two junctions of day and night, joined that together; by means of the full-moon and the newmoon sacrifice they healed that joint (which consists of) the full and new moon, joined that together; and by means of the (three) Ca¯turma¯syas (seasonal offerings) they healed that joint (which consists of) the beginning of the seasons, joined that together. (Translated by Eggeling 1882–1900, Part I, p. 173. I have changed the transliteration of Sanskrit words into modern transliteration.)

Here, we can see that the Agnihotra, the Dars´apaurnama¯sas (the full-moon and ˙ the new-moon sacrifices), and the Ca¯turma¯syas (4 monthly offerings) are mentioned in connection with the division of time, i.e., a regular calendar. We should also note that the A¯grayana is the offering of first fruits, rice in autumn, barley in ˙ spring, and millet in the rainy season. From the above discussions, we know that the development of agriculture and the regular calendar, which was indispensable for agriculture, were symbolized in Vedic rituals, which were developed in the later Vedic period.

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Veda¯n˙ga Astronomy Period Introduction Toward the end of the later Vedic period, a class of works regarded as auxiliary to the Veda was produced, which is called Veda¯n˙ga (limbs of the Veda). The Veda¯n˙ga consists of six divisions, namely, phonetics, metrics, grammar, etymology, astronomy, and ceremonial. Here, astronomy, which was called “jyotisa” in ˙ Sanskrit, was established as an independent branch of learning. The Jyotis a˙ veda¯n˙ga attributed to Lagadha is the fundamental text of this branch. The calendrical system of the Jyotisa-veda¯n˙ga was used for a certain period (from some time during the sixth to fourth˙centuries BC up to some time during the third and fourth centuries AD?) in India. Let us call this period the “Veda¯n˙ga astronomy period” ˆ hashi 1993 and 2011). (see O

The Jyotisa-veda¯n˙ga of Lagadha ˙ The Jyotisa-veda¯n˙ga of Lagadha is a small monograph on astronomy written in Sanskrit. It˙ has two recensions, namely the Rg-vedic recension entitled A¯rca-jyotisa ˙ ˙ and the Yajur-vedic recension entitled Ya¯jusa-jyotisa. Their contents are almost the ˙ ˙ same, and the existence of two recensions is probably due to the different transmissions in different Vedic schools. According to Sastry and Sarma’s edition (1984), the Rg-vedic recension contains 36 verses, and the Yajur-vedic ˙ recension contains 43 numbered verses and 2 unnumbered verses, at least one of which is a later interpolation. The Yajur-vedic recension has a Sanskrit commentary, which is not so helpful for understanding the astronomical meaning of the text, written by Soma¯kara, whose date and place are not known. The name “Lagadha” is mentioned in the Jyotisa-veda¯n˙ga itself. The Rg-vedic ˙ ˙ recension (vs.2) reads: Making obeisance to time with bent head, and saluting Goddess Sarasvatı¯, I shall explain the knowledge of time [enunciated] by high-souled Lagadha.

And also, the Yajur-vedic recension (unnumbered verse placed at the last but one) reads: Thus Lagadha told the explanation of months, years, muhu¯rtas (1/30 of a day), risings, syzygies, days, seasons (1/6 of a year), half years, and months. (The word “months” which appears twice probably refers to the different kinds of months, such as solar and synodic).

It is difficult to say whether Lagadha is the actual author or a kind of authority whom the author followed. The beginning of the Jyotisa-veda¯n˙ga (Rg-vedic recension vss. 1 and 3 and ˙ Yajur-vedic recension vss. 1–2)˙ reads as follows:

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Making obeisance with bent head to God Praja¯pati, who is the supervisor of the 5-year yuga, and has day, season, half year and month as his limbs, I, being purified (s´uci), shall describe systematically the correct movement of heavenly bodies, which is accepted by highest Brahmans, for the sake of the determination of the proper time of sacrifices.

The word s´uci, which I have translated as “being purified”, can also be interpreted as proper noun, that is, the name of the author of this work. At present, there is no way of investigating this problem. From the above quotation, it is seen that the Brahmanic rituals had already been highly developed, and the rituals were considered to be the final purpose of astronomy. However, we should not forget that the development of astronomy was related to practical activities, such as agriculture, and the rituals were only a symbol of authority over those activities.

The Calendrical System of the Jyotisa-veda¯n˙ga ˙ The contents of the Jyotisa-veda¯n˙ga are almost exclusively calendrical science. ˙ is a kind of lunisolar calendar, where two intercalary The calendar described there months are inserted in 5-year cycle called “yuga”. Its system can be summarized as follows: 1 solar year (from winter solstice to winter solstice)

1 yuga

¼ 2 ayanas (half years) ¼ 6 rtus (seasons) ˙ ¼ 12 solar months ¼ 366 sa¯vana days (civil days, sunrise to sunrise) ¼ 372 tithis (1/30 of a synodic month) ¼ 5 years ¼ 60 solar months ¼ 61 sa¯vana months (each consists of 30 sa¯vana days) ¼ 1,830 sa¯vana days ¼ 62 synodic months (new moon to new moon) ¼ 1,860 tithis ¼ 67 sidereal months (moon’s rotation around the stars) ¼ 1,835 sidereal days (sun’s (apparent) rotation around the stars)

In the Jyotisa-veda¯n˙ga, celestial longitude was expressed using naksatra. ˙ is One naksatra ˙(lunar mansion) used there is an equal segment which ˙ equivalent to 1/27 of the ecliptic. The system of 28 or 27 naksatras had already appeared in some of the later Vedic literature, where it ˙must have consisted of the actual visible stars. The Jyotisa-veda¯n˙ga started to use it as ˙ an artificial system of coordinates. (The ancient Chinese created 28 lunar mansions independently – see ▶ Chap. 193, “Ancient Chinese Astronomy – An Overview”).

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The Length of a Solar Year in the Jyotisa-veda¯n˙ga ˙ As we have seen in the previous section, the length of 1 solar year of the Jyotisa-veda¯n˙ga is 366 days. This length may look quite inaccurate at first sight, but˙ if 5-year cycle of intercalation is used, 1 year should be 366 days. The modern, accurate values of 62 synodic months and 67 sidereal months are: 62 synodic months ¼ 1,830.90 days. 67 sidereal months ¼ 1,830.55 days. If 1 solar year is 366 days, 1 yuga becomes 1,830 days, and this number is harmonious with the above value. If we recall that this calendrical system was used for the timing of rituals, including new- and full-moon offerings, we can understand that it had to be harmonious with synodic months. From the above consideration, we can see that this calendar could be used successfully for at least 5 years.

The Date and Place of the Jyotisa-veda¯n˙ga ˙ The date of the composition of the Jyotisa-veda¯n˙ga is not certain, but from historical considerations, such as the˙ comparison of astronomical knowledge with other Vedic sources, the most likely date is sometime between the sixth and fourth centuries BC. One verse (Rg-vedic recension vs. 7 and Yajur-vedic recension vs. 8) reads: ˙ The increase of daytime and decrease of nighttime is [the time equivalent of] one prastha of water [in the clepsydra per day] during the northward course [of the sun]. They are in reverse during the southward course. [The total difference is] 6 muhu¯rtas during a half year.

Another verse (Rg-vedic recension vs. 22 and Yajur-vedic recension vs. 40) reads: ˙ [The number of days] elapsed in the northward course or remaining in the southward course is doubled, divided by 61, and added to 12. The result is the length of daytime [in terms of muhu¯tras].

The above rule can be expressed as follows:  T¼

 2 12 þ n ; 61

where T is the length of daytime in terms of muhu¯rtas and n is the number of days elapsed from or remaining until the winter solstice. One muhu¯rta is 1/30 of a day. This is a kind of linear zigzag function, where the length of daytime changes by 1 muhu¯rta during 1 solar month. The Kaus¯ıtaki-bra¯hmana (XIX.3) (see Keith 1920), which belongs to ˙ later Vedic literature, tells˙ that Vedic people observed the sun (most probably

Y. Oˆhashi

1956 Fig. 185.1 Seasonal variation in day length

14.4

Length of daytime (hours)

35⬚N Indian function (ratio 3:2)

29⬚N 27⬚N

13.6

12.8

12.0 0⬚

30⬚

60⬚

90⬚

120⬚

Solar longitude

the direction of sunrise) which moves constantly during its northward and southward courses and considered it to be stationary around the solstices. From this fact, we are obliged to think that the above formula of the Jyotisa-veda¯n˙ga was not obtained by extrapolation from observations of the length ˙of daytime around the solstices but by extrapolation from observations around the equinoxes. Practically, there are two possibilities. (1) If the formula was obtained from 1 muhu¯rta’s difference of the length of daytime during 1 solar month after the equinox, the most suitable latitude for this observation is around 27 N. (2) If it was obtained from 2 muhu¯rtas’ difference during 2 solar months, the most suitable latitude is around 29 N (see Fig. 185.1). From the above consideration, we can conclude that the Jyotisa-veda¯n˙ga was ˙ of the Ganga produced in North India (most probably the western part of the plain where later Vedic people resided) without apparent foreign influence at some time between the sixth and fourth centuries BC.

The Continuous Use of Veda¯n˙ga Astronomy The calendrical system of Veda¯n˙ga astronomy was widely used in India for some ˆ hashi 2002). time (see O Apart from the Brahmanical work entitled Jyotisa-veda¯n˙ga, a similar calendrical ˙ attributed to Kautilya) (Kangle system is found in the Artha-s´a¯stra (a political work ˙ 1965–1972), the S´a¯rdu¯lakarna-avada¯na (a Buddhist work), the Su¯riya-pannatti ˙ (a Jaina work), etc. The Paita¯maha-siddha¯nta (epoch 80 AD) quoted in the Pan˜ca-siddha¯ntika¯ of Vara¯hamihira (sixth century AD) (Thibaut and Dvivedı¯ 1889; Neugebauer and Pingree 1970–1971; Sastry 1993) is also a text of Veda¯n˙ga astronomy.

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1957

Even after the introduction of Greek horoscopy into India in around the third century AD, Veda¯n˙ga astronomy was still used for some time. The mixture of Veda¯n˙ga astronomy and Greek horoscopy (particularly the use of the zodiac) is found in the last chapter of the Yavana-ja¯taka (269/270 AD) of Sphujidhvaja (Pingree 1978), the Va¯sistha-sama¯sa-siddha¯nta quoted in the Pan˜ca-siddha¯ntika¯, ˙˙ and the Dafangdeng-dajijing Ricangfen (Chinese translation of a Buddhist text translated by Narendrayas´a in 586 AD).

Cross-References ▶ Astronomical Instruments in India ▶ Mathematical Astronomy in India

References ¯ ryas, Part I. Sacred books of the east, vol 2. Reprinted B€uhler G (tr) (1879) The sacred laws of the A Motilal Banarsidass, Delhi, 1965 Dikshit SB (1969) (English Translation of) Bharatiya jyotish sastra (History of indian astronomy) (trans: Vaidya RV), Part I, History of astronomy during the vedic and vedanga periods. The Manager of Publications (Government of India), Delhi Eggeling J (tr) (1882–1900) The S´atapatha-bra¯hmana, (Sacred Books of the East, vols 12, 26, 41, ˙ 43, and 44), 5 parts. Reprinted: Motilal Banarsidass, Delhi, 1963. Griffith Ralph TH (tr) (1889f) The Hymns of the Rgveda. Reprinted: Motolal Banarsidass, Delhi, ˙ 1973 Kangle RP (1965–1972) The Kautilı¯ya Arthas´a¯stra, 3 parts, Bombay. Reprinted: Motilal ˙ Banarsidass, Delhi, 1986 Keith AB (tr) (1914) The Veda of the Black Yajus School entitled Taittiriya Sanhita, (Harvard Oriental Series, vols 18–19), 2 vols. Reprinted: Motilal Banarsidass, Delhi, 1967 Keith AB (tr) (1920) Rigveda Brahmanas, (Harvard Oriental Series, vol 25). Reprinted: Motilal Banarsidass, Delhi, 1971 Neugebauer O, Pingree D (ed and tr) (1970–1971) The Pan˜casiddha¯ntika¯ of Vara¯hamihira, 2 parts. Munksgaard, Copenhagen ˆ hashi Y (1993) Development of astronomical observation in vedic and post-vedic India. Indian O J Hist Sci 28(3):185–251 ˆ hashi Y (2002) The legends of Vasistha – a note on the Veda¯n˙ga astronomy. In: Ansari SMR (ed) O ˙˙ History of oriental astronomy. Kluwer, Dordrecht, pp 75–82 ˆ hashi Y (2009) The mathematical and observational astronomy in traditional India. In: Narlikar O JV (ed) Science in India (History of science, philosophy and culture in Indian civilization, vol XIII, Part 8). Viva Books, New Delhi, pp 1–88 ˆ hashi Y (2011) On Veda¯n˙ga astronomy: the earliest systematic Indian astronomy. In: Nakamura O T, Orchiston W, Soˆma M, Strom R (eds) Mapping the oriental sky, proceedings of the seventh international conference on oriental astronomy. National Astronomical Observatory of Japan, Tokyo, pp 164–170 Pingree D (ed and tr) (1978) The Yavanaja¯taka of Sphujidhvaja, 2 vols, Harvard Oriental Series, vol 48. Harvard University Press, Cambridge, MA

1958

Y. Oˆhashi

Sastry K, Sarma KV (ed and tr) (1984) Veda¯n˙ga Jyotisa of Lagadha with the Translation and ˙ by K.V. Sarma. Indian J Hist Sci Notes of Prof. Kuppanna Sastry, Critically edited 19(3 Supplement):1–32, and (4 Supplement):33–74 Sastry TSK (posthumously edited by Sarma KV) (1993) Pan˜casiddha¯ntika¯ of Vara¯hamihira with translation and notes. P.P.S.T. Foundation, Madras Thibaut G, Dvivedı¯ S (ed and tr) (1889) The Pan˜casiddha¯ntika¯. Reprinted: Chowkhamba Sanskrit Series Office, Varanasi, 1968. Also reprinted: Cosmo Publications, New Delhi, 2002 ˙ hita¯ (Harvard Oriental Series vols 7–8), 2 vols. Whitney WD (tr) (1905) Atharva Veda Sam Reprinted: Motilal Banarsidass, Delhi, 1962 Wilson HH (tr) (1850f) Rg-veda-sam˙hita¯. Reprinted in 6 vols. Nag Publishers, Delhi, 1977 ˙

Use of Astronomical Principles in Indian Temple Architecture

186

B. S. Shylaja

Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Temples and Astronomy: Rediscovering the Forgotten . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Foundations of Temples . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

1959 1960 1962 1967 1967

Abstract

Temples, identified as places of worship, served an important role in building religious tradition and culture in Indian society. Many of them are known to have astronomical elements incorporated in their architecture to facilitate their role in timekeeping and calendar making. In this chapter, we present examples of the use of astronomy in temple architecture.

Introduction India has a long tradition of temples. Studies related to the development of culture, tradition, and social structure have all been centered on temples. Extensive studies on the architecture of temples aim at the historical, social, cultural, and religious point of view; they are excellent portals into the religious tradition in India. They also depict the development of various cults of worship and

B.S. Shylaja Jawaharlal Nehru Planetarium, Bangalore, India e-mail: [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_253, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

1959

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B.S. Shylaja

the accommodative nature of Indian society. However, little attention has been paid toward the study of temples as evidence for historical knowledge of astronomy. Astronomical ideas incorporated into architectural design, religious traditions, and festivities were passed on from generation to generation. The construction of temples began 2,000 years ago, and in many cases, vital clues pertaining to their astronomical significance need to be reestablished. Subsequent renovations and constructions of additional structures render it difficult to identify the basic structure in several cases.

Temples and Astronomy: Rediscovering the Forgotten Temples all over India are known for their awe-inspiring sculptures. The precision maintained in buildings of such large dimensions is amazing. It is interesting to trace how the complicated geometrical patterns were executed so precisely. A careful examination of some of the structures shows how astronomical ideas have been incorporated in the construction (Kak 1999; Vati 2005). Further case studies are presented here. The Gavi Ganga´dhre`s´wara temple in Bangalore is well known for a celestial event on January 14th every year, when the rays of the setting sun illuminate the idol of the deity inside a cave. Paintings dated 1792 (Archer 1980) helped us to demonstrate that a sunbeam would have entered the cave on December 22nd, although a renovation has now changed the date to January 14th (Shylaja 2008; Fig. 186.1). A unique feature of the temple is the pair of disks in the front yard. They are identical in size with a diameter of about 2 m, parallel to each other. Orthogonal lines drawn on the disks on both faces resemble the cross hairs in the eyepiece of telescope. However, the most interesting aspect of these two disks is their alignment to summer solstice sunset, a fact that was hitherto unknown (Vyasanakere et al. 2008). The alignment of the disks toward sunset on the summer solstice also exactly matches the alignment toward sunrise on the winter solstice. Currently the eastern view is blocked by tall trees, but the paintings show a barren landscape which suggests that the same disks were probably used for marking the winter solstice sunrise as well as the summer solstice sunset. The other temple that incorporates the winter solstice as a marker is the Vidya`s´ankara temple of S´ringeri, dated to about the eighth century AD (Shylaja 2007). Here the temple is oriented exactly along the cardinal directions, a general feature seen in the majority of temples. The entrance hall has 12 pillars, each with a zodiacal symbol engraved on it. On December 22nd the beam at sunrise falls on the pillar with the symbol corresponding to Makara (Capricorn) (Fig. 186.2).

186

Use of Astronomical Principles in Indian Temple Architecture

1961

Fig. 186.1 The groundplan of the Gavi Ganga´dhre`s´wara temple, Bangalore (Courtesy Nagaraj Vastarey)

We find several other examples where the solstices appear to have influenced the design. Udayagiri in Madhya Pradesh (Balasubramaniam and Dass 2004) has a pathway designed to permit the rising sun at summer solstice to be used as a marker (Fig. 186.3). A study of stone inscriptions from the eighth century AD onward (Shylaja and Geetha 2012) reveals that while the winter solstice was recorded predominantly all over India, the summer solstice is only referenced in regions above +18
N. This can be clearly understood in terms of the seasonal effects. Monsoon sets in in South India by June, making the summer solstice an unsuitable choice for observations. There are several other examples where temples have winter solstice markers, not explicitly cited. A cave in S´ravana BeLagoLa has a marker, hitherto unknown (Fig. 186.4). There are several temples in Karnataka (at Rangasthala, Kaidala, Gadag, and Chaya Bhagavthi near Ranebennur) that are known for this idea being incorporated in the architecture. Some temples have been identified with a special orientation so as to mark the meridian noon passage of the sun. This day is celebrated with special pomp and ceremony (Jagadish 2009; Vati 2005).

1962

B.S. Shylaja

Fig. 186.2 The groundplan of the Vidya`s´ankara temple at s´ringeri (Courtesy Archaeological Survey of India)

Foundations of Temples The floor-plan of a temple in Kashmir is described in Kalhana’s Rajatarangini (eighth century) (Stein 2009), believed to be an authentic text on the history of Kashmir, as follows: The temple is approached from the lower slope of a hill...........by an imposing stone structure......which leads up to sixty three steps to the main entrance of a quadrangle

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Use of Astronomical Principles in Indian Temple Architecture

1963

Fig. 186.3 The path of the rising sun on June 22nd at Udayagiri, Madhya Pradesh

Fig. 186.4 The sunbeam entering the cave at S´ravana BeLagoLa

court enclosing the temple. It is about 10 feet wide........the temple which forms a square Celia conforming in plan and elevation of the usual Kashmiri architecture. It is raised on a basement 50 300 high................

Texts such as the Manasara (Acharya 1996) describe the procedures in great depth, but cannot be directly traced to any particular building. They are based on an earlier text Sulba Su´tras, which is dated approx. 1600 BC and provides axioms for geometrical constructions (Sen and Bag 1983). The size of the bricks is specified, and one of the exercises elaborates on the estimation of the number of bricks to achieve a specific design. Many aspects of the Sulba Su´tras have been studied in great detail (Saraswathi Amma 1979; Kulkarni 1983; Sen and Bag 1983 and Pfolker 2009).

1964

B.S. Shylaja

Four of the eight texts have been edited and translated into English (Sen and Bag 1983). A construction called Dars´hapournama`siki ve`di appears to be related to ˙ eclipses (Shylaja 2012). The placement of Dakshina`gni (meaning southern altar) is of special interest. Once the north-south line is ˙drawn, using the sun, the methods describe specific procedures for fixing Dakshina`gni at an angle to the east-west line. The main platform where the Vedic˙ altar called the Ma`havedi is constructed is in an elevated place. This has an annexure called pracinavamsa which has three altars in three specified positions, called Ga`rhapatya, a`havan
iya, and Dakshina`gni. ˙ for The Dakshina`gni is sometimes referred to as Anva`ha`ryapacana (a place ˙ cooking). Specific formulae for fixing the location of Dakshina`gni are given in Baudha`yana ˙ Ma`nava Sulba Su´tra (MSS). Sulba Su´tra (BSS), Ka`tyayana Sulba Su´tra (KSS), and The sections are a`havan
iya, a square, and Ga`rhapatya, a circle and square, while Dakshina`gni was a semicircle (Sen and Bag 1983). They appear to be aimed at ˙ a specific accuracy, the purpose of which is not specified anywhere. One achieving of the statements reads “the intension of the Su´traka`ras [is] not to locate Dakshina`gni; but to fix the value √2 and/or √5...... However the approximate values ˙ by these constructions are so much in error [that] . . .the same Su´traka`ras obtained who gave the value of √2 so accurately (elsewhere) would not [be] tolerate[d] here.......... All the same, [neither] of the two statements possibly give the intension of Su´traka`ras as the error is still large” (Kulkarni 1983). This prompted us to seek another possible scenario – an interpretation of these rules as specified for astronomical observations (Shylaja 2011). The fundamental rule can be stated as follows: let Ga`rhapatya be denoted by G and a`havan
iya by A (see Fig. 186.5). These lie along an east-west line (A to the east and G to the west). Let the separation between them be x units. The location of Dakshina`gni is at point D such that: ˙ 1. Ratio AD:BD :: 2:1 and 2. D is to the southeast of G. Now let us see how these rules are satisfied by the constructions by different methods 1, 2, 3, and 4 as detailed in BSS, KSS, and MSS (Fig. 186.6). We may now try to understand the procedural differences that appear to be adjusting the location of point D to suit some specific need – an attempt to interpret this in the context of observational astronomy. The high standard of the astronomical knowledge of the ancient Indians is very well known. This, naturally, was based on accurate observations. One of the most important tasks was to fix the time of day, month, and year. For this purpose, it was essential to monitor the equinoxes and solstices. The ritual of marking winter solstice (Uttara`yana) has been discussed extensively in Kaus´ hik
i Bra`hmana and the Yajurve`˙da. The corresponding text translates as ˙ the Ekavims´a day, the Vis´huvan, in the middle of the year; by “They perform this day Gods raise the sun.......therefore he going between these 10 days does not waver”.

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Use of Astronomical Principles in Indian Temple Architecture

Fig. 186.5 Graphical representation of method 1

1965

N A

2x/3 x

E

D

x/3

G

The year-long Vedic sacrifices were begun on the days following winter solstice, according to Sengupta (1947). He further discusses the need for observations over 21 days, the midpoint of which is considered to be the solstice to an accuracy of about 0.0500 of the noon shadow. In the footnote he refers to a second method: “it is also possible to observe the sun’s amplitude during summer solstice, which will remain constant for about 10 days”. Here the word amplitude refers to the azimuth of the rising sun. This provides a clue to the possible method of observation that might have been adopted for fixing solstice days. We can try to see if this procedure of marking Dakshina`gni was aimed at fixing the point of sunrise on the winter solstice. In the absence˙ of the definition of the reference point (it may be G or A or even D), we proceed to test all the possibilities. We can have a range of latitudes corresponding to the observation of the rising sun at winter solstice corresponding to the different methods; alternatively we could have a range of values of the obliquity of the ecliptic. The results are summarized in Tables 186.1 and 186.2. These numbers can be interpreted in terms of a gradual change in the obliquity over 3,000 years necessitating a revision of the formula. Alternately the results of Table 186.2 could also mean the gradual migration of the scholars to southern latitudes which again necessitated the modification of the formula.

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B.S. Shylaja

Fig. 186.6 Methods 2, 3, and 4 can be represented by extending the chord as denoted by GP, which may be by a factor of 1/5, 1/6, or 1/7

N A

x E

D

G x/7 P

Table 186.1 The latitude (
N) of an observer assuming a maximum declination of +23.5

Observer at Methods 1 and 5 Method 2 Method 3 Method 4

A 26.9

G 55.7

P 41.5 39.3 33.5

The travelogue of Le Gentil, who visited India to observe the Transits of Venus in 1761 and 1768, provides direct evidence on the first task that was used for the construction of any monument. He mentions the use of a gnomon called Shanku to fix the cardinal points for laying the foundation (Hogg 1906). As a result, there is a perfect alignment of the buildings and monuments to the cardinal points. Thus, we find a 3,000-year-old basis for the construction of temples for astronomical observations. However, there are many more temples which need to be investigated as astronomical records.

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Use of Astronomical Principles in Indian Temple Architecture

Table 186.2 The southern maximum values of declination for different latitudes

Method/f 1 2 3 4

26.9 23.5 18.5 17.4 19.8

24.5 24 18.9 17.8 20.2

22.2 24.4 19.2 18.0 20.6

1967 15.4 25.5 20.1 18.9 21.5

10 26.6 20.5 19.3 22.0

Acknowledgments I would like to thank Dr. KR Ganesh and Dr Srivatsa Vati for their valuable discussions; Ms. KG Geetha for her assistance in field work; Mr Nagaraj Vastarey and his team from BMS College of Engineering, Bangalore, for providing Urban Infill: An Attitude, a 1990 thesis report submitted for a B.Arch. degree at Bangalore University and project report submitted to INTACH, Bangalore Chapter, Bangalore; and (late) Prof. R Balasubramaniam for helpful discussions.

Cross-References ▶ Astronomy of Indian Cities, Temples, and Pilgrimage Centers

References Acharya PK (1996) Indian architecture according to Maanasaara silpa saastra. Munshiram Manoharlal, New Delhi Archer M (1980) Early views of India – the picturesque journeys of Thomas and William Daniell 1786–1794. Thames and Hudson, New York Balasubramaniam R, Dass MI (2004) On the astronomical significance of the Delhi iron pillar. Curr Sci 86:1134–1142 Hogg HS (1906) Out of old books. J R Astron Soc 60:80 Jagadish Agasebagilavar (2009) Personal communication Kak S (1999) The solar equation of Angkor Wat. Indian J Hist Sci 34:17–126 Kulkarni RP (1983) Geometry according to Sulbsutra. Vaidika Samshodhana Mandal, Pune Pfolker K (2009) Mathematics in India: 500 BCE – 1800 CE. Princeton University Press, Princeton Saraswathi Amma TA (1979) Geometry in ancient and medieval India. Motilal Banarasi dass, New Delhi Sen SN, Bag AK (1983) The Sulbasutras. Indian National Science Academy, New Delhi Sengupta PC (1947) Ancient Indian chronology. University of Calcutta, India Shylaja BS (2007) The zodiacal Pillars of Sringeri. Curr Sci 92:846–849 Shylaja BS (2008) Astronomical significance of the Gavi Gangadhareshwara temple in Bangalore. Curr Sci 95:1632–1636 Shylaja BS (2011) Astronomical significance of dakshinagni, submitted to IJHS Shylaja BS (2012) Asymmetrical vedis in Sulbasutras. Indian J Hist Sci 47(2):271–280 Shylaja BS, Geetha KG (2012) Stone inscriptions as sources of astronomical records. Indian J Hist Sci 47(3):533–538 Stein MA (2009) Kalhana’s Rajatarangini: a chronicle of the kings of Kashmir. Saujanya Books, New Delhi Vati SS (2005) Time measurement in ancient India. Thesis Karnataka State Open University, Mysore Vyasanakere PJ, Sudeesh K, Shylaja BS (2008) Astronomical significance of Gavi Gangadhareshwara temple in Bangalore. Curr Sci 95:1632–1636

Astronomy of Indian Cities, Temples, and Pilgrimage Centers

187

J. McKim Malville

Contents Varanasi . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Vijayanagara . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Concluding Remarks . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

1970 1973 1979 1979 1979

Abstract

Throughout the Indian subcontinent, there are regions where culture and geography join to create a landscape that is infused with meaning and power. These sites are often tirthas, places of extensive mythological associations where many believe that spirit can cross between different realms. Tirthas may be important fords of rivers, summits of hills where the heaven and the earth seem unusually close, or locations where Hindu deities have entered the world. Many contain a symbolic cosmology or visual astronomical sightlines, primarily to the solstices. Two tirthas are discussed: Varanasi, the most important pilgrimage destination for the whole of Hindu India, and Vijayanagara, once a major pilgrimage center of southern India, which became the capital city of the Hindu empire that controlled the southern part of the subcontinent. The concept of self-organized criticality is introduced as a useful technique for analyzing pilgrimage systems.

J. McKim Malville Department of Astrophysical and Planetary Sciences, University of Colorado, Boulder, CO, USA e-mail: [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_208, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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Varanasi The sun is one of the most ancient objects of devotion in India, first as a natural feature of the celestial hemisphere and later as an icon within temples (Srivastava 1972; Pandey 1971). Every morning of the year, the power and significance of the sun is revealed on the banks of the Ganga at Varanasi. At special days of the solar-lunar calendar, the rising sun, accompanied by chanting of mantras, oil lamps, bells, and ritual bathing, commands the attention of multitudes on the ghats (Fig. 187.1). Between 1998 and 2000 a joint project by the University of Colorado (Malville) and Banaras Hindu University (Rana Singh) was carried out at Assi Ghat, the southernmost ghat of Varanasi. Visitors were counted daily between 5 am and 9 am for a total of 600 days. The survey documented some 890,000 visitors, recording both gender and estimated age. The power of the solar-lunar calendar in Hindu India is demonstrated in the precision by which pilgrims gather on the ghats on the mornings of special festivals (Fig. 187.2). One of the largest festivals is Makara Sankranti on January 14–15,

Fig. 187.1 Sunrise over the Ganga

187

Astronomy of Indian Cities, Temples, and Pilgrimage Centers

1971

40000 35000

Number

30000 25000 20000 15000 10000 5000 0 00 30 4/

/2 29

/2

00

0

99 2/

1/ /3 12

10

/3

1/

/1

19

19

99

9 99

9 31 8/

/1

99

9 30 6/

/1 30 4/

/1 28 2/

99

9 99

98 19 1/ /3

12

10

/3

1/

19

98

0

Date

Fig. 187.2 Daily counts of visitors to Assi Ghat

celebrated in south India as Pongal, when the sun enters the constellation of Capricorn (Makara). This festival is the only fixed-date solar event of the major festivals; the others have variable dates based upon the phases of the moon. One major festival that does not attract pilgrims and bathers is Holi, celebrated on the full moon of March/April. Activity on the ghats on the day of this festival is too raucous for traditional pilgrims (Table 187.1). The large sample in this study allows us to test for self-organized criticality (SOC) among the pilgrims to Varanasi. A well-known example of self-organized criticality is a sand pile maintained at the angle of repose. Once that state has been achieved, individual grains acquire large ranges of influence and, acting in cooperation with other grains, initiate avalanches, which follow a power law distribution of sizes. SOC has become a strong candidate for explaining a number of terrestrial phenomena, such as earthquakes, fluctuations in financial markets, forest fires; landslides; and epidemics (Turcotte 1997; Bak 1996; Malville 2009). Analysis for SOC has recently been applied to a wide range of phenomena in astrophysics, such as planetary magnetospheres, solar flares, cataclysmic variable stars, accretion disks, black holes, and gamma-ray bursts (Aschwanden 2011). Self-organized criticality is characterized by a power law distribution of the sizes of its elements such that the number of elements of a size r is given by N ¼ Ar –D, which appears as a straight line on log-log plots. Figure 187.3 shows the log-log plot of the daily numbers of visitors to Assi Ghat. The straight line portion indicates that the system has reached SOC, suggesting that the tradition of pilgrimage to Varanasi is so coherent across India that it has achieved system-wide cooperative behavior. Flares on the sun are impressive examples of self-organized criticality, and they can help to explain, by analogy, the condition of SOC observed at Varanasi. In the early phase of the 11-year sunspot cycle, small bundles of magnetic field

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Table 187.1 Major pilgrimage festivals of Varanasi Festival Makara Sankranti

Mauni Amavasya Vasant Panchami Magha Purnima Shivaratri Buddha Purnima Ganga Dashahara Guru Purnima Pitra Visarjan Chhath Surya Shashti Prabodhini Ekadashi Karttika Purnima Agahana Purnima

Astronomical Date event 1998 Entry of the sun into Makara (Capricorn) New moon

Number of bathers 16,600 22,600

Date 2000 14 Jan 15 Jan

Number of bathers 10,600 34,700

17 Jan

10,900

5 Feb

10,600

5-day waxing moon Full moon

22 Jan

7,400

10 Feb

2,200

31 Jan

6,000

19 Feb

5,200

14 days of waning moon Full moon

14 Feb

22,500

4 March 23,300

30 April

5,700

18 May

5,700

10 days of waxing Full moon

24 May

10,100

11 June

11,500

28 July

10,000

New moon

9 Oct

5,500

6 days of waxing moon

15 Nov

38,300

11 days of 31 Oct 9,600 waxing moon Full moon 4 Nov 34,800

19 Nov

8600

23 Nov

37,400

Full moon

22 Dec

22,100

3 Dec

Number of Date bathers 1999 14 Jan 15 Jan

22,500

are isolated from each other in small sunspot regions. As the cycle progress, the global magnetic field becomes increasingly twisted. The interaction length of the magnetic bundles increases to cover eventually the entire surface of the sun and SOC sets in. The catchment basin of the pilgrimage system of Varanasi contains many physically separated communities. Through communication of a solar-lunar calendar and a common religious tradition, they are not isolated, but they are members of a self-interactive and cooperative system that spans the subcontinent of India and operates in synchronism with the solar-lunar calendar. This is not an abstract calendrical system but one which has enormous influence over people’s lives. A related analysis involves the spacing of shrines in self-organized pilgrimage systems. We have measured using GPS the locations of the 324 shrines of the inner four yatras (pilgrimage routes) of Varanasi and find evidence for self-organization (Singh and Malville 2000) (Fig. 187.4). A study of the 54 major shrines of the pilgrimage

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Fig. 187.3 Distribution of numbers of visitors to Assi Ghat

2.5

Log Number

2 1.5 1 0.5

Fig. 187.4 Distribution of distances between shrines of the Yatras of Varanasi

0 1.5

2

2.5

3

Log Separation

circuit of Mt. Kailash in Tibet, the most sacred mountain of south Asia, yields a similar result (Fig. 187.5). These results are not surprising. Sacred geometries were established which appear to be neither preplanned nor random (Singh 2009). Neither of these pilgrimage circuits was designed by political or ecclesiastical authorities.

Vijayanagara With a population that may have reached 500,000 just before its destruction in 1565 AD, Vijayanagara was the greatest imperial city of medieval India, controlling the lower third of the subcontinent (Fritz 1985). The earliest historical reference to the area is 689–690 CE, when the most important deity was the river goddess, Pampa. Her cult and that of her father, Matanga, reveal the ancient

1974 1.6 1.4 1.2 Log Number

Fig. 187.5 Distribution of distances between the shrines of the Kora around Mt. Kailash

J. McKim Malville

1 0.8 0.6 0.4 0.2 0 2.5

3.5 3 Log Separation

4

Fig. 187.6 Matanga Hill as viewed from the north in the Tungabhadra River

importance and sacredness of the local river and its adjacent hill. Pampa-tirtha developed into the preeminent ritual center of the region. The prominent hill named after Matanga became a place for protection from enemies. According to the founding myth of the city, Vijayanagara was placed adjacent to Pampa-tirtha and Matanga Hill to benefit from the “spiritual magnetism” (Preston 1992, p. 33) of a popular pilgrimage center (Wagoner 1993, 2001, p. 13) (Fig. 187.6). The major north–south axis of the city that passes across the summit of Matanga Hill and through the Royal Center divides the domains of king and queen. On the its western side of the axis lie the palaces of the queen and on the east lie the king’s

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Table 187.2 Orientations of the major temples

Temple Virabhadra Chandrasekhara Tirumangai Alvar Vitthala Pattabhirama Krishna

Axial length (m) 10 29 24 71 70 47

1975 Orientation 0o 130 89o 46 89o 550 89o 400 90o 420 90o 470

100-column audience hall and the great truncated pyramid from which the king would review the parades of subject people coming to express obeisance and pay tribute (Fritz 1985; Fritz and Malville 1993; Malville and Fritz 1993; Malville 2001). The significance of this axis and symmetries around it is laid out in the Shilpa Shastras such as the Manasara and Mayamata (Fritz 1989; Krishna Deva 2000). The design of the Royal Center appears to have been influenced by the cult of Rama, the hero of the Ramayana, such that the city was designed to establish and display “a homology of the king and the divine hero-king Rama” (Pollock 1993, p. 268). The complete story of the Ramayana is contained in three circuits of carvings within the “state chapel”, the Ramachandra temple. That temple, incidentally, is rotated away from cardinality by 1o300 such that its minor axis is orientated to Matanga Hill, which is framed in its northern gateway. Rama’s wife and queen, Sita, often identified as the ideal queen, was viewed as a vital counterpart of the king, equally necessary for the success of the kingdom. The north–south line that divides the Royal Center appears to be an architectural statement, impressive for the precision with which it was established, of the balanced structure of the ideal medieval Hindu kingdom. Sun sights obtained with a T-2 theodolite and measurements using differential GPS techniques have established that the spire of Virabhadra temple on the summit of Matanga Hill lies 0.8 min of arc from true north as seen from the center of the major ceremonial gateway in the Royal Center. The Indian techniques for determining true north using shadow-casting by a gnomon had been perfected for centuries, culminating in the work of Sripati in the eleventh century (Yano 1986; see also ▶ Chap. 186, “Use of Astronomical Principles in Indian Temple Architecture”; ▶ Chap. 188, “Mathematical Astronomy in India”; ▶ Chap. 191, “Astronomical Instruments in India”). It appears that the architects and astronomers of Vijayanagara, just 50 years before the dawn of telescopic astronomy, were able to obtain accuracies that were the highest achievable with the unaided human eye. If one stands at night inside the ceremonial gateway facing Matanga Hill, one can observe that the pivot of the heavens lies immediately above it. The visual conjunction of celestial pole and sacred mountain could not be more clearly presented. Beyond Matanga Hill, the north–south axis crosses Chakratirtha just at the place where the Tungabhadra River turns northward, in a manner similar to that of the Ganga at Varanasi. Partly for that reason the Tungabhadra River is known as the “Ganga of

TEMPLES AND SHRINES

160

140

130

120

110 LARGE TEMPLES

150

100

90

80

70

60

50

40

30

20

10

0

Fig. 187.7 Orientations of the temples and shrines of Vijayanagara

0

2

4

6

8

10

12

Zenith Sun

190

180

170 AZIMUTH

290

280

270

260

250

240

230

220

210

200

SMALL TEMPLES AND SHRINES

0

2

4

6

8

10

12

1976 J. McKim Malville

360

350

340

330

320

310

300

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Fig. 187.8 North–south axis of Vijayanagara (T Tungabhadra River, M Matanga Hill, L lake, G ceremonial gate of the Royal Center) (After Malville and Fritz 1993, Fig. 6.1)

the South” (Verghese 2002). The remains of a substantial dam are found at the southern base of Matanga Hill. The dam would have impounded a lake, which was fed by a ditch from the Tungabhadra River. The lake may have been a representation of the Ocean of Milk, which lies at the foot of Mt. Meru, one of the great symbols of fertility and creation in Hindu cosmogony (Dimmitt and Van Buitenen 1983). Malville and colleagues measured the locations orientations and geometries of more than 150 temples, shrines, and palaces of Vijayanagara using differential GPS and theodolite-based sun sights. The majority of the large temples face east. Those temples that demonstrate the use of high-precision techniques in establishing an axis with an accuracy of better than 1o are listed in Table 187.2.

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Fig. 187.9 Royal Center showing the ceremonial gate G, queen’s palace P, and king’s audience hall A (Based on Malville and Fritz 1993, Fig. 6.7)

Figure 187.7 gives the measurements of temples and shrines. Instead of a preference for east and north or for the solstices, the small temples primarily have azimuths of 70o–80o. At the latitude of Vijayanagara, on a flat horizon, sunrises on those two days of summer and winter solstice occur at azimuths of 65.5o and 114.4o. The average orientation of the 35 structures in the northeast sector is 75.02o. The three other clusters are open to azimuths that average 159o, 257o, and 341o and are approximately separated by 90o from each other. The average rotation away from cardinality for the four directions is 17o. Similar to the small temples and shrines, the palaces do preference for 75.5o. The 15o–17o of the small temples, shrines, and palaces away from cardinality may identify an indigenous ceremonialism involving the zenith sun. At Vijayanagara, on the morning of May 3 and July 27, the sun reaches the zenith at noon, at which time it rises on a flat horizon at an azimuth of 74o. Although the day of the zenith sun is celebrated in other tropical cultures, this is the first time it has been noted in the archaeological record of India. Attention to the zenith sun is not surprising considering the visual drama of the disappearance of shadows from superstructures of Hindu temples.

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Concluding Remarks Varanasi has been transformed into the major tirtha and pilgrimage center of India. Vijayanagara, built next to one of the major tirthas of south India, became the capital of a major empire. The orientation of small temples and palaces of Vijayanagara appears to reveal an interest in the zenith sun. The survey of bathers at Assi Ghat in Varanasi demonstrates the power and precision of the solar-lunar calendar and suggests the pilgrimage system has reached the condition of self-organized criticality. Other pilgrimage destinations, such as those of the Mesoamerican religious centers, Chaco Canyon, Tiwanaku, and the geoglyphs of Nazca may also display evidence for self-organized criticality. Acknowledgments John Fritz and Rana P. B. Singh have played major roles in the work described in this chapter.

Cross-References ▶ Astronomical Instruments in India ▶ Mathematical Astronomy in India ▶ Use of Astronomical Principles in Indian Temple Architecture

References Aschwanden M (2011) Self-organized criticality in astrophysics: The statistics of nonlinear processes in the Universe. Springer, Berlin Bak P (1996) How nature works: the science of self-organized criticality. Copernicus-Springer Verlag, New York Deva K (2000) Urban planning in Vastusastra. In: Malville JM, Gujral LM (eds) Ancient cities, sacred skies: cosmic geometries and city planning in Ancient India. Indira Gandhi National Centre for the Arts, New Delhi, pp 24–32 Dimmitt C, Van Buitenen JAB (1983) Classical Hindu mythology: a reader in the Sanskrit Puranas. Rupa and Co, New Delhi Fritz JM (1985) Was Vijayanagara a ‘Cosmic City’? In: Dallapiccola AL (ed) Vijayanagara-city and empire: new current of research. Franz Steiner Verlag, Weisbaden, pp 257–273 Fritz JM (1989) The plan of Vijayanagara. In: Dallapiccola AL (ed) Sastric traditions in Indian arts. Franz Steiner Verlag Wiesbaden, Stuttgart, pp 237–251 Fritz JM, Malville JM (1993) Recent Archaeo-astronomical research at Vijayanagara. In: Gail AJ, Mevissen GJR (eds) South Asian archaeology, 1991. Steiner Verlag, Stuttgart, pp 415–425 Malville JM (2000) Cosmic geometries of Vijayanagara. In: Malville JM, Gujral L (eds) Ancient cities. Ancient Skies, Cosmic Geometries and City Planning in India. DK Printworld, New Delhi, pp 100–118 Malville JM (2001) Cosmic landscape and urban layout. In: Michel G, Fritz JM (eds) New light on Hampi. Marg, Mumbai, pp 112–125

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Malville JM (2009) Complexity and self-organization in pilgrimage systems. In: Malville JM, Saraswati BN (eds) Pilgrimage: Self-organization and sacred landscapes. DK Printworld, New Delhi, pp 29–46 Malville JM, Fritz JM (1993) Cosmos and kings in Vijayanagara. In: Ruggles CLN, Saunders NJ (eds) Astronomies and cultures. University Press of Colorado, Niwot, pp 139–162 Pandey LP (1971) Sun-worship in Ancient India. Motilal Banarsidass, Delhi Pollock S (1993) Ramayana and political imagination in India. J Asian Stud 52:261–297 Preston JJ (1992) Spiritual magnetism: an organizing principle for the study of pilgrimage. In: Morinis A (ed) Sacred journeys: The anthropology of pilgrimage. Greenwood Press, Westport, pp 31–46 Singh RPB (2009) Kashi as Cosmogram: Panchakroshi route and complex structure of Varanasi. In: Malville JM, Saraswati BN (eds) Pilgrimage: self-organization and sacred landscapes. DK Printworld, New Delhi, pp 91–102 Singh RPB, Malville JM (2000) Sacred landscapes and cosmic geometries: a study of holy places of North India. In: Esteban C, Belmonte JA (eds) Oxford VI and SEAC 99: astronomy and cultural diversity. Organismo Auto´nomo de Museos del Cabildo de Tenerife, La Laguna, pp 99–106 Srivastava VC (1972) Sun-worship in Ancient India. Indological, Allahabad Turcotte DL (1997) Fractals and Chaos in geology and geophysics. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge Verghese A (2002) Archaeology, art and religion: new perspectives on Vijayanagara. Oxford University Press, New Delhi Wagoner PB (1993) Tidings of the king: an account of Krishnadevaraya of Vijayanagara, translated from the Telugu Rayavacakamu, with an introduction. University of Hawaii Press, Honolulu Wagoner PB (2001) Architecture and royal authority under the early Sangamas. In: Fritz JM, Michell G (eds) New light on Hampi: recent research at Vijayanagara. Marg, Mumbai, pp 12–23 Yano M (1986) Knowledge of astronomy in Sanskrit texts of architecture. Indo-Iranian J 29:17–21

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Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Ancient Indian Astronomy . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Empirical and Mathematical Methods . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Chronology and Sources . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Transition to Spherical Astronomy and Astrology . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Influences from Hellenistic Astronomy . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The Siddha¯nta Astronomy of the Medieval Period . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Empirical and Mathematical Methods . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Late Medieval and Post-Medieval Indian Astronomy . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Impacts of Islamic and European Astronomy . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Innovations in the Early Modern Sanskrit Tradition . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

1982 1982 1983 1984 1984 1985 1985 1986 1987 1987 1987 1988 1988

Abstract

Astronomy in South Asia’s Sanskrit tradition, apparently originating in simple calendric computations regulating the timing of ancient ritual practices, expanded over the course of two or three millennia to include detailed spherical models, an endless variety of astrological systems, and academic mathematics in general. Assimilating various technical models, methods, and genres from the astronomy of neighboring cultures, Indian astronomers created new forms that were in turn borrowed by their foreign counterparts. Always recognizably related to the main themes of Eurasian geocentric mathematical astronomy, Indian astral science nonetheless maintained its culturally distinct character until Keplerian heliocentrism and Newtonian mechanics replaced it in colonial South Asia’s academic mainstream.

K. Plofker Union College, Schenectady, NY, USA e-mail: [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_205, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

1981

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K. Plofker

Introduction Mathematical astronomy in the Sanskrit scientific literature of the Indian subcontinent is known as ganita-jyotisa, literally “calculation-astronomy”, or sometimes just ˙ ganita can mean calculation in general as well as jyotisa or even just ˙ganita. But ˙ ˙ a can encompass astrology and divination as ˙ astronomical computations, and jyotis well as astronomy, reflecting the fact˙ that the subjects of mathematics, astronomy, and astrology were always somewhat intertwined in classical Sanskrit science. The historical development of this discipline can be roughly divided into two phases. The first extends from some time probably in the second or early first millennium BCE to approximately the beginning of the Common Era. The second phase begins to be clearly documented near the middle of the first millennium CE and continues into the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, when traditional jyotisa was partly merged ˙ sources. into and partly supplanted by modern astronomy from European The earliest form of jyotisa for which detailed textual records survive comprises ˙ determining the positions of the sun and moon with various arithmetic models for reference to solstices and equinoxes and to a canonical set of constellations in the path of the moon’s orbit. The fundamental purpose of these models is to regulate a lunisolar calendar based on synodic months and solar years with occasional intercalary months. Since this calendar synchronizes the month and year with ritual observances laid out in the sacred corpus of the Vedas and their ancillary texts, its underlying jyotisa structure is sometimes called “Vedic” astronomy. This, however, ˙ is a very ambiguous term that can refer to any number of hypothetical or speculatively reconstructed astronomical practices in ancient India, or even to the whole corpus of Sanskrit jyotisa from all periods. A more focused designation is “Jyotisa-veda¯n˙ga astronomy”,˙ after the most prominent ancient calendric˙ astronomy text, or simply “ancient ritual-calendar astronomy”. In the second phase, geometric models of celestial spheres and circles and a spherical earth are manipulated to predict the positions of the five naked-eyevisible star-planets in addition to the sun and moon. These models and the spherical coordinate systems used for specifying positions, along with trigonometry techniques for calculating them, were originally inspired by Hellenistic astronomy that found its way to South Asia around the turn of the millennium. Greek sources also provided the impetus for astrological aspects of jyotisa that motivated the detailed ˙ study of planetary models and the prediction of ominous events such as eclipses, conjunctions, and retrogradation. The second millennium brought various modifications of jyotisa methods based on ideas from other fields of Sanskrit learning as ˙ well as ones adapted from Islamic and European sources.

Ancient Indian Astronomy The systems of rite and worship now designated as Hinduism, Buddhism, and Jainism all emerged in the first millennium BCE from the historical background of sacral practices codified in the Vedas. Thus, although they all differ significantly

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from one another and from their common ancestor of “Vedism”, they also share some core concepts about time and the cosmos ultimately derived from Vedic practice (▶ Chap. 185 “Astronomy of the Vedic Age”). In particular, several post-Vedic astronomy texts repeat an ancient aphorism to the effect that since the performance of sacred rituals depends on understanding the computation of time, knowledge of time is fundamental (Dvivedi 1908, 1901–1902). The Vedic worldview recognizes especially the moments of new and full moon in the synodic month and the solstices and equinoxes in the tropical year as significant for sacrificial rituals. Vedic texts also refer to a cycle of 27 constellations or naksatras, beginning with the Pleiades (Krttika¯), that the moon passes through in ˙ ˙ the course of a sidereal month. The liturgical year contains 12 months with a thirteenth month sometimes intercalated to keep the calendar synchronized with the seasons. Some other celestial objects and events such as stars and eclipses are occasionally mentioned, but as incidental phenomena rather than as components of a system of mathematical astronomy (Pingree 1978a).

Empirical and Mathematical Methods The first such system of mathematical astronomy known from surviving texts is preserved in the Jyotisa-veda¯n˙ga (“Auxiliary text of the Vedas concerning jyotisa”), a post-Vedic ˙ verse composition ascribed to one Lagadha (Dvivedi 1908;˙ Sarma and Kuppanna Sastri 1984). It describes an intercalation cycle or yuga equating 5 solar years to 1830 days and 62 synodic months (or two intercalary months in 5 years), which implies a year length of 366 days. Positions of the sun and moon in the sky are measured by the naksatras which are now taken to be 27 equal distances along the lunar route rather than˙ irregular constellations: the sun is said to remain for 13 + 5/9 or 366/27 days in each naksatra. The cycle of the 5-year yuga is held to begin˙ with the new moon at the winter solstice in the naksatra called Dhanistha¯. At any given time when h half-months ˙˙ have elapsed in ˙the current yuga according to the 12-month calendar, the corresponding number ht of total half-months including intercalary ones is computed by the proportion ht 62 ¼ : h 60 Each day is divided into 30 muhu¯rtas or 60 ghatika¯s, and the length of daylight is ˙ a minimum of 12 muhu¯rtas at considered to vary over the course of the year from the winter solstice to a maximum of 18 at the summer solstice 183 days afterwards. The length of daylight d days after the winter solstice is calculated as 12 + 2d/61 muhu¯rtas (for 0  d  183). Days can also be divided into 603 kala¯s apiece, while the synodic month is divided into 30 equal units called tithis. Time reckoning in all these units depends only on linear proportions.

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The Jyotisa-veda¯n˙ga also refers to measurement of shorter time periods by means ˙ other texts from around the start of the Common Era mention using of water clocks; the lengths of gnomon shadows for time measurement as well. All of these arithmetic models and parameters, including the 5-year 1830-day yuga and the 18-muhu¯rta maximum day length, are quite approximate but reasonably accurate for short-term maintenance of a simple liturgical calendar. It is not clear exactly how or when the keepers of the calendar would have been expected to adjust the procedures for more accurate results (for instance, resetting the start of the year after one or two yuga cycles to keep the calendar zero point at the astronomical winter solstice).

Chronology and Sources The lack of historical and technical detail in the ancient Vedic and ancillary texts makes it difficult to date their contents reliably. Astrochronological arguments based on textual allusions to vaguely specified ancient observational data, such as the winter solstice occurring in a particular naksatra, require rather arbitrary additional assump˙ reference points and measurements. Such tions about the precision of celestial assumptions have been invoked to suggest an origin for the Jyotisa-veda¯n˙ga system in the mid- to late second millennium BCE, while its linguistic˙ and literary form seems to indicate a composition date nearly a thousand years later. Since none of the Vedic texts can be incontestably assigned to any date within a range of at least several centuries, and their astronomical content might not be closely contemporary with their date of composition anyway, no very confident conclusion can be reached about the time frame of ancient ritual-calendar astronomy. Similar uncertainty prevails on the question of non-Indian sources for elements of these arithmetic astronomical models. While Mesopotamian inspiration has been proposed on the basis of some similarities in instruments, concepts, and methods (water clocks, gnomons, thirtieths of a synodic month, linear zigzag schemes for daylight length with a 3:2 day/night ratio, and so forth), no Mesopotamian sources or technical terms are explicitly attested in the Jyotisa-veda¯n˙ga and related texts (Falk 2000). ˙

Transition to Spherical Astronomy and Astrology In the centuries around the start of the Common Era, however, dates and sources for astronomical developments begin to be more clearly indicated although still seldom precisely specified. From this point onward, Indian astronomy is indisputably one of the participants in the mainstream Eurasian astral science tradition extending from Hellenistic through Islamic and Byzantine up to early modern European works. Its key shared features are a spherical earth at the center of a spherical cosmos, celestial motions in circular orbits tracked by means of trigonometric calculations using spherical coordinate systems, and astrological schemes of celestial influences determined by planetary positions with respect to specified terrestrial locations and times.

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Influences from Hellenistic Astronomy Some early Common Era jyotisa texts refer to “Yavanas”, an ethnonym originally ˙ derived from “Ionian” and signifying Indo-Greeks and their successors. The Yavanas are especially associated with the pursuit of ja¯taka (“nativity”) or genethlialogical prediction, and some Sanskrit works on this subject are explicitly ascribed to them (Pingree 1978b). Astrological concepts are accompanied in jyotisa ˙ works of this period by technical features of Hellenistic astronomy such as the ecliptic with its twelve thirty-degree signs (whose names correspond to their Greek counterparts); other spherical coordinates including latitude, longitude, and right and oblique ascension; and trigonometric methods. All of these borrowings are modified somewhat in their Indian versions: for instance, the basic trigonometric quantity is the half-chord or sine rather than the chord, and time reckoning employs Indian eras and time units such as the ghatika¯. ˙

The Siddha¯nta Astronomy of the Medieval Period The combination of ancient Indian astronomical and calendric concepts with early Common Era Indian modifications of Hellenistic geometric astronomy models crystallized around the middle of the first millennium CE in a fundamental versified Sanskrit technical genre called the siddha¯nta (“treatise” or “established” theory). Beginning with uniformly circular celestial mean motions expressed in terms of period relations, a siddha¯nta text corrects mean planetary positions to true ones trigonometrically, using orbital models similar (though not identical) to the arrangements of eccentrics and epicycles familiar from Ptolemaic astronomy (Dvivedi 1901–1902; Kuppanna Sastri 1957; Shukla and Sarma 1976; Sastri 1989). The siddha¯nta also uses spherical geometry and trigonometry to solve problems in time reckoning for observers at any terrestrial location, as well as to compute predicted or past ominous events such as eclipses and conjunctions. Moreover, it allows the user to track the complicated successions of time units (not just months, days, tithis, and ghatika¯s but also other subdivisions of different ˙ Indian calendar crucial for both liturgical celestial cycles) that form the standard and astrological purposes. A siddha¯nta typically provides no epoch date more recent than the start of the current notional lifetime or aeon of the universe stretching back millions or billions of years, so in principle its users could compute astronomical phenomena for any conceivable date. For ease of use in routine calculations over a more limited time period, astronomers also composed handbooks or karanas that provided planetary positions for a particular epoch close to the time of the˙ handbook’s composition. The karana texts used simplified versions of algorithms and trigonometric constants for ˙faster computation and ease of application. Both siddha¯ntas and karanas ˙ were in principle supposed to be concise collections of mnemonic verses enabling the user to keep an entire system of mathematical astronomy in his head, although in practice many treatises were quite long and discursive. They generally avoided

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detailed explanations and demonstrations of the formulas they prescribed, leaving such expository tasks to the authors of commentaries, which were usually supplied in prose (Pingree 1981) (▶ Chap. 189, “Va¯kya System of Astronomy”).

Empirical and Mathematical Methods The simple arithmetic schemes of ancient ritual-calendar astronomy were replaced in siddha¯nta and karana texts by much more elaborate mathematics. Mean-motion ˙ still required only simple linear proportions to relate the computations, of course, numbers of years and planetary revolutions in an aeon to planetary mean positions at a given time. The calculation of true planetary positions and their appearance with respect to the local horizon, however, employed trigonometric procedures and various algebraic and iterative approximations to them. Besides the techniques directly applied to astronomical predictions, astronomer-mathematicians developed various mathematical topics apparently spun off from astronomical problems. For instance, the problem of finding integer numbers of planetary revolutions to produce given mean positions after a given elapsed time may have inspired Indian discoveries in indeterminate equations, while innumerable results in trigonometry (and perhaps in some areas of geometry as well, such as the study of cyclic quadrilaterals) arose from the need to compute positions in spherical coordinate systems. The necessity of recording and manipulating standard sets or lists of trigonometric function values gave rise to innovative algorithms for interpolation between such values and later to power series techniques for approximating them to any desired precision. The choice and use of astronomical parameters ultimately had to be based on some empirical knowledge about the motions of celestial objects, but Sanskrit treatises are largely silent on the specifics of how theoretical models and observational data interacted with each other. Several closely related but slightly different sets of parameters and computational algorithms were employed by medieval siddha¯nta authors, often with some individual modifications. These sets were known as paksas (“wings” or “schools”), and adherents of one paksa frequently ˙ parameters provided better agreement between observation ˙ claimed that their and calculation than those of other paksas, indicating that predictive accuracy was ˙ desired and at least in principle empirically checked. A typical siddha¯nta treatise may also describe some observational instruments such as a gnomon or ring dial and may include a list of coordinates of a few dozen fixed stars. But it lays out no procedures for, say, testing the accuracy of a particular parameter by taking some specified set of observations under specified circumstances. Consequently, it is still uncertain exactly how Indian astronomers came up with the numbers they used for the elements of their orbital models or how they determined the elements’ accuracy (Billard 1971; Pingree 1978a).

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Late Medieval and Post-Medieval Indian Astronomy The classical siddha¯ntas composed in the period up to about the twelfth century continued to be regarded as authoritative, but the textual genre of Indian astronomy following that period tended to diverge somewhat from the pattern they had set. Subsequent siddha¯nta compositions were fewer in number and less influential, while new types of texts and issues expanded the jyotisa corpus. ˙

Impacts of Islamic and European Astronomy The Delhi Sultanate established in the early second millennium and the numerous Indo-Islamic states that followed it brought Greco-Islamic traditions of astronomy and astrology to the attention of court astronomers throughout much of India. Although practitioners of jyotisa mostly continued to write in Sanskrit and follow ˙ as, they also adopted some components of Islamic the models of their familiar paks ˙ astronomy. By far the most popular of these was the genre of astronomical tables (Arabic/Persian zı¯j, Sanskrit kosthaka or sa¯ran¯ı) that substituted for the mnemonic ˙˙ ¯ nta and ˙karana texts, a set of precomputed computational algorithms of siddha ˙ function values laid out in rows and columns (Pingree 1968). Many of the most widely used works in early modern Sanskrit astronomy fall in this category of numerical kosthaka texts, in which the user could simply look up desired values ˙˙ rather than working through a recited or remembered formula to compute them. Some observational instruments such as the astrolabe also entered Sanskrit astronomy from the Islamic tradition (▶ Chap. 191, “Astronomical Instruments in India”). Greco-Islamic cosmological models and spherical trigonometry, on the other hand, were generally although not entirely ignored in mainstream texts. European innovations such as the optical telescope and the heliocentric hypothesis likewise became familiar to some elite court astronomers beginning in the eighteenth century, (▶ Chap. 192, “Observatories of Sawai Jai Singh”) but did not significantly impact the practice of jyotisa until some nineteenth-century scholars tried to merge the two approaches with˙ conventionally styled Sanskrit texts on modern astronomy (Ansari 1985). By this time, however, Sanskrit as a medium for mathematical astronomy had been generally abandoned in colonial India, eventually becoming the exclusive domain of traditional culture-bearing disciplines such as astrology and maintenance of ritual calendars.

Innovations in the Early Modern Sanskrit Tradition Partly in response to encounters with foreign astronomies and partly due to internal pressures within the classical Sanskrit intellectual tradition, all of which are still very incompletely understood, authors on jyotisa in the second millennium ˙

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incorporated several new aspects into their subject. All of them involve the interaction between jyotisa and other Sanskrit disciplines or philosophical questions of knowl˙ edge and authority. For instance, nontechnical chapters showing off literary elegance were included in some siddha¯ntas, while other astronomical authors attempted to explain how their geometric models could coexist with the very different cosmological assumptions in sacred scriptures (Minkowski 2002, 2013). Some astronomers explicitly raised the issue of reconciling authoritative ancient texts with recently acquired data and in rare cases even recorded some of their own observations or the results thereof. One school in southern India around 1,500 devised and preserved rather drastically modified models of planetary motions, including a quasiheliocentric system where the interior planets Mercury and Venus revolve about the Sun rather than the Earth (▶ Chap. 190, “Kerala School of Astronomy”). In short, while the majority of jyotisa practitioners after about the twelfth century doubtless continued to carry out ˙the routine procedures in the handbooks and tables familiar to them, some of their colleagues also explored fundamental issues concerning the justification of astronomical knowledge and its proper role in light of the scientific, philosophical, and literary ideals of Sanskrit literature.

Cross-References ▶ Astronomical Instruments in India ▶ Astronomy of the Vedic Age ▶ Kerala School of Astronomy ▶ Observatories of Sawai Jai Singh II ▶ Va¯kya System of Astronomy

References Ansari SMR (1985) Introduction of modern western astronomy in India during 18–19 centuries. Institute of History of Medicine and Medical Research, New Delhi Billard R (1971) L’astronomie indienne: investigation des textes sanskrits et des donne´es nume´riques. E´cole Franc¸aise d’extreˆme-orient, Paris Dvivedı¯ S (1901–1902) Bra¯hmasphutasiddha¯nta (The Pandit NS 23–24). Government Sanskrit ˙ College, Benares ¯ rca-Jyautisa. Medical Hall Press, Benares Dvivedı¯ S (1908) Ya¯jusa-Jyautisa and A ˙ time ˙in Mesopotamia and ˙ Falk H (2000) Measuring ancient India. Zeitschrift der Deutschen Morgenl€andischen Gesellschaft 150:107–132 Gupta RC (2002) India. In: Dauben JW, Scriba CJ (eds) Writing the history of mathematics: its historical development. Birkh€auser, Basel, pp 307–315 Kuppanna Sastri TS (1957) Maha¯bha¯skarı¯ya of Bha¯skara¯ca¯rya with the Bha¯sya of Govindasva¯min ˙ and the Super-commentary Siddha¯ntadı¯pika¯ of Parames´vara. Government Oriental Manuscripts Library, Madras Minkowski C (2002) Astronomers and their reasons: working paper on jyotihs´a¯stra. J Indian Philos ˙ 30:495–514 Minkowski C (forthcoming) Seasonal poetry as science: the rtuvarnana in some astronomy ˙ ˙ treatises. Ganita Bha¯ratı¯ ˙

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Pingree D (1968) Sanskrit astronomical tables in the United States. American Philosophical Society, Philadelphia Pingree D (1970–1994) Census of the exact sciences in Sanskrit, series A, vol 1–5. American Philosophical Society, Philadelphia Pingree D (1978a) History of mathematical astronomy in India. In: Gillespie C (ed) Dictionary of scientific biography, vol 15. Scribner’s, New York, pp 533–633 Pingree D (1978b) The Yavanaja¯taka of Sphujidhvaja, 2 vols. Harvard University Press, Cambridge MA Pingree D (1981) Jyotihs´a¯stra. Harrassowitz, Wiesbaden Pingree D (1997) From˙ astral omens to astrology: from Babylon to Bı¯ka¯ner. Istituto Italiano per l’Africa e l’Oriente, Rome Plofker K (2009) Mathematics in India. Princeton University Press, Princeton Sarma KV, Kuppanna Sastri TS (1984) Veda¯n˙ga-Jyotisba of Lagadha (in its Rk and Yajus ˙ J Hist Sci recensions) with the translation and notes of T. S. ˙ Kuppanna Sastry). Indian 19(suppl) Sastri B (1989) Siddha¯nta Siromani: a treatise on astronomy by Bha¯skara¯ca¯rya Chaukhambha Sanskrit Sansthan, Varanasi ˙ ¯ ryabhat¯ıya of A ¯ ryabhata. Indian National Science Academy, New Shukla KS, Sarma KV (1976) A ˙ ˙ Delhi Subbarayappa BV, Sarma KV (1985) Indian astronomy: a source-book. Nehru Centre, Bombay

Va¯kya System of Astronomy

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Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . True Longitude of the Sun . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . True Longitude of the Moon . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . True Longitude of the Planets in the Va¯kya Method . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . True Longitude of the Moon in Sphutacandra¯pti . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ˙ (c. 1732 CE) and the Va¯kya Method . . . . . . . . . . . . . Continued Fractions in Karanapaddhati ˙ Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

1991 1992 1994 1996 1998 1999 2000 2000

Abstract

In the Va¯kya system of astronomy prevalent in south India, the true longitudes of the Sun, the Moon, and the planets can be found at regular intervals, using va¯kyas or mnemonics. These are based on the various periodicities associated with these celestial bodies. For example, Moon’s anomaly completes very nearly 9 revolutions in 248 days, and correspondingly, there are 248 Candrava¯kyas for the Moon, which give the longitudes of the Moon at mean sunrise on 248 successive days, beginning with the day at the mean sunrise of which the Moon’s anomaly is zero. There are more elaborate tables of va¯kyas for the longitudes of planets which involve their zodiacal anomaly, as well as the solar anomaly. In this chapter, we sketch the essential features of the Va¯kya system.

M.S. Sriram Department of Theoretical Physics, University of Madras, Guindy Campus, Chennai, India e-mail: [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_207, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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Introduction Ancient astronomers were aware of various kinds of periodicities in the motions of celestial bodies. One such periodicity is a 248-day cycle during which the Moon’s anomaly completes nearly 9 revolutions. This cycle had been noticed by the Babylonians, Greeks, and Indians (Jones 1983). The Indians used this cycle to find the true longitude of the Moon at the sunrise for each day of the cycle and expressed them as mnemonics or “va¯kyas”, from early times. These are the 248 “Vararuciva¯kyas” which are attributed to an astronomer Vararuci, who is also credited with the invention of the letter-numeral notation, known as katapaya¯di. He probably hailed ˙ (Sarma 1972). from Kerala in India and lived before seventh century CE Va¯kyakarana is an Indian text which describes the method of computing the true ˙ Sun, the Moon, and the planets using “va¯kyas” or “mnemonics” (Sastri longitude of the and Sarma 1962). Manuscripts of the work are available in the manuscript libraries of south India, especially Tamilnadu. Kuppanna Sastri and K. V. Sarma estimate it to have been composed between 1282 and 1306 CE. The author is not known, but probably hailed from the Tamil-speaking region of south India. It has a commentary called Laghupraka¯s´ika¯ by Sundararaja who hailed from Kanci near modern Chennai. The work is based on “Maha¯bhaskarı¯ya” and “Laghubha¯skarı¯ya” of Bhaskara-I belonging to the Aryabhata School, and the Parahita system of Haridatta prevalent in Kerala. Until recently, the Va¯kya-based almanac in the Tamil areas of south India was based solely on the text Va¯kyakarana and the auxiliary tables of Candrava¯kyas (Moon sentences) and the Kuja¯di-pan˜cagraha-va¯kya s (sentences for the five planets – Mars, etc., also called Samudra-va¯kyas) (Sastri and Sarma 1962; Sastri 1989). Madhava of Sangagragrama, the founder of the Kerala school of mathematics and astronomy, composed two works, namely, “Venva¯roha” and ˙ va¯kya method “Sphutacandra¯pti” in the fourteenth century CE which describe the ˙ for the Moon, and give more accurate va¯kyas correct to a second (Sarma 1956; Sarma 1973). They also explain how the va¯kyas can be used to determine the true longitudes of the Moon at nine instants during the course of a day, thereby reducing the error in calculating the true longitude at any instant using interpolation. Karanapaddhati of Putumana Somaya¯ji (Sambasiva Sastri 1937; Koru 1954), ˙ important Kerala work composed around 1732 CE, explains the basis of another the va¯kya method for the Sun, Moon, and the planets, using the continued fraction method for approximating the rates of motion of the planets and their anomalies. In the first three sections, we explain the Va¯kya method of Va¯kyakarana for the Sun, the Moon, and the planets. We give the method of Sphutacandra¯˙pti in the ˙ section. fourth section, and a brief account of Karanapaddhati in the fifth ˙

True Longitude of the Sun The length of the sidereal year is given as 365 + ¼ + 5/576 days ¼ 365 days (d) 15 na¯dis (n) and 31¼ vindis (v), where a nadi is one-sixtieth of a day, and a vina¯di is ˙ one-sixtieth of a na¯di. In˙ what follows, we˙abbreviate the day, na¯di, and vina¯d˙i by ˙ ˙ ˙

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Table 189.1 Deductive minutes for finding the true Sun for some specified number of days No. of days Va¯kya with corresponding number As computed in the epicycle model

50 100 150 200 250 300 350 munı¯dya bhu¯mı¯ndra tatha¯mbu ta¯pava¯n va¯sa¯n´ga punya¯n´ga Kunı¯la 2540 3760 4160 3740 3110 3010 1050 ˙ 104.050

254.090

375.770

414.50

373.370

3110

300.760

“d”, “n”, and “v” respectively, at times. Then, the mean motion of the Sun is 590 8.200 per day, which is slightly less than 1 per day. Suppose n days have elapsed since the sun was at the first point of Aries (fixed), which is termed the “mesa sankramana” of the Sun, where n can include a fractional part also. Then ˙ longitude˙ of the sun is n , from which the number of minutes, as deduced the true from the table of va¯kyas or mnemonics, is to be subtracted. The va¯kyas beginning with bhu¯pajn˜a which stands for 14 in the katapaya¯di system are given for multiples of 10 days up to 370 days, in the text. The˙ text clearly specifies that the value in minutes to be deducted for an intermediate value of the time interval is to be found by linear interpolation. In fact, linear interpolation is to be used in finding the longitude of any celestial body at an arbitrary instant, from a table of mnemonics. In the following, we present a representative sample of the deductive minutes, at an interval of 50 days. We also compare the values with those obtained by computing the true longitude of the Sun in a simple epicycle model discussed below which is implicit in the text (Table 189.1). In the epicycle model for the sun, implicit in the text, the ratio of the radii of the epicycle and the deferent is 13.5/360. Sun’s apogee is fixed at yA ¼ 78 . Then the true longitude of the Sun, yt, is obtained from its mean longitude y0, using the relation yt ¼ y0  sin1



 13:5 sin M ; 360

where M ¼ y0 – yA ¼ y0 – 78 is the mean anomaly. When the true longitude yt ¼ 0, y0 ¼ 2 6.960 . After n days, the mean longitude is y0 ¼ 2 6.960 + (590 8.200 )  n, from which the true Sun, yt, is computed. For instance, for n ¼ 100 days, we find y0 ¼ 96 26:70 ; yt ¼ 95 45:910 ¼ 100  254:090 : So the computed value of the deductive minutes is 254.090 , compared with the “va¯kya” value 2540 . The text also gives the va¯kyas for the time-intervals between the entry of the Sun into different zodiacal signs (ra¯s´i-sankramana) and the entry into Aries (Mesa-sankramana). ˙ ˙ ˙

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Table 189.2 Va¯kyas giving the instants of entry the Sun into different zodiacal signs, with the entry into Aries as the reference time 0-0-0 Zodiacal sign Va¯kya Zodiacal sign Va¯kya Zodiacal sign Va¯kya

Taurus (Vrsabha) ˙˙ s´rı¯rgunamitra¯ ˙ 2-55-32 Virgo (Kanya¯)

Gemini (Mithuna) bhu¯rvidhipaksa¯ ˙ 6-19-44 Libra (Tula¯)

bha¯vacarorih ˙ 2-26-44 Capricorn (Makara) angadhiga¯rah ˙ 2-39-30

tena vas´attvam ˙ 4-54-6 Acquarius (Kumbha)
stambhitanbhih ˙ 4-6-46

Cancer (Karka¯taka) strı¯ ratis´u¯ra¯ 2-56-22 Scorpio (Vrs´cika) ˙

Leo (Simha) ˙ bhogavara¯te 6-24-34 Sagittarius (Dhanu)

lokajn˜abhı¯tih ˙ 6-48-13 Pisces (Mı¯na)

sthu¯lahayoy´am ˙ 1-18-37 Next Aries (Mesa) ˙

nityas´as´¯ıs´o 5-55-10

ya¯gamayoy´am ˙ 1-15-31

These are presented in the format: day-na¯di-vina¯di. Here the day refers only to the weekday and an appropriate multiple of 7 has to be added to it to obtain the instant of entry into the particular sign. For instance, after 150 days, the true longitude of the Sun is 150 –3760 from the previous table. So, 150 days after the entry into the Aries, the Sun has to traverse 3760 more to enter Virgo. The rate of motion of the Sun for the longitude around 150 can be estimated to be 58.30 per day from the table of deductive minutes in the text (Table 189.2). Hence, it 376 would take 58:3 days ¼ 6 d 26 n 38 v to cover 3760 . Hence the Kanya¯-sankramana ˙ (entry into Virgo) is 156 d 26 n 38 v after the “Mesa-sankramana” (entry into Aries). ˙ This can be compared with the value using the va¯kya method, 156 d 26 n 44 v, where we have added 22  7 ¼ 154 days to the va¯kya value 2-26-44.

True Longitude of the Moon According to the text, the mean longitude of the Moon increases at the rate of nearly 13 100 3500 per day. Only one correction, namely, the equation of center (due to the eccentricity of the Moon’s orbit), is applied to the mean Moon, to obtain the true Moon. Again, an epicycle model is implicit in the text, with the ratio of the radii of the 7 epicycle and the deferent taken to be 31:5 360 ¼ 80 . In contrast to the Sun, the Moon’s apogee (mandocca) is not fixed, but has a significant motion, namely, nearly 60 400 per day. The true longitude yt is given in terms of the mean longitude y0 and the anomaly or the mandakendra, M ¼ y0 – yA, (where yA is the longitude of the apogee) as yt ¼ y0  sin

1



 7 sin M ; 80

where M ¼ y0 – yA increases at the rate of nearly 13 30 5400 per day. One can easily check that the anomaly makes nearly 9 revolutions in 248 days. Hence, an

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anomalistic cycle is nearly 248 days. If the anomaly is zero on some day at the mean sunrise at some place, it is going to be nearly zero again after 248 days. This is the basis of the Va¯kya method for the true Moon. Let the anomaly M be zero on some day, when the true longitude yt equals the mean longitude y0 on that day, at mean sunrise. Now, the mean longitude y0 increases by 13 100 3500 per day and the 9 anomaly increases by nearly 248  360 per day. Hence, after m days the true longitude increases by m  13 100 3500  sin1



  7 9 sin  360  m : 80 248

The mth mnemonic or the va¯kya gives the value of this in the form, zodiacal sign – degree – minute, after subtracting the completed revolutions or multiples of 360 . For instance for m ¼ 1, the increase in the longitude is 0 sign – 12 – 30 whose mnemonic or the va¯kya is gı¯rnah s´reyah. This is the first of the 248 Vararuciva¯kyas. ˙ m ¼ ˙68. Then As another example, consider 68  13 100 1500  sin1



  7 9 sin  360  68 ¼ 174 590 ; 80 248

after subtracting 2  360 ¼ 720 . This is precisely the value represented by the 68th va¯kya, dharmava¯n ra¯mah, which stands for 5 signs – 24 – 590 . ˙ Now the Moon’s anomaly does not make exactly 9 revolutions in 248 days. Actually the anomaly increases by nearly 70 after a 248-day cycle. The Moon’s anomaly makes nearly 110 revolutions in 3,031 days, and the anomaly decreases by nearly 1.750 after 3,031 days. Hence, the 3,031-day cycle is an improvement over the 248-day cycle. Still more accurately, the Moon’s anomaly makes 449 revolutions in 12,372 days, after which the change in the anomaly is negligible. The actual method for finding the true longitude of the Moon in Va¯ kyakarana ˙ is the following. The khanda-dina is the one near to the desired day, where the ˙ ˙ anomaly is exactly zero. Now in Indian astronomy texts, the epoch is the kali-yuga beginning, which is February 18, 3102 BC, mean sunrise at Ujjani. Let A be the number of days which have elapsed from the epoch to the desired day. This is the ahargana. Let A0 be the ahargana corresponding to the ˙ khandas´esa. Divide A – A0 by 12,372. The quotient khandadina. A – A0 is termed ˙ ˙ q1 gives the number of 12,372˙ ˙day ˙cycles within the khandas´esa. Let the ˙ ˙ of 3031-day remainder be divided by 3,031. The quotient q2 gives the number cycles within the khandas´esa. The present remainder is divided by 248. Let the ˙ quotient be q3 and the˙ remainder be m. Hence A – A0 ¼ q1  12,372 + q2  3031 0 + q3  248 + m. At the end of A + q1  12,372 + q2  3031 + q3  248 + m days, the anomaly is (7q3–1.75q2)0 which is taken to be zero, in the first instance. Let the mean longitude of the Moon corresponding to A0 be D0, termed the

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khanda-dhruva. Let the increase in the mean longitude of the Moon in 12,372 days, 3,031 days, and 248 days, which are the dhruvas for the respective number of days, be denoted by D1, D2, D3, respectively. Then it is easily seen that the true longitude of the Moon corresponding to the ahargana A is given by ˙
D0 þ q1 D1 þ q2 D2 þ q3 D3 þ mth v
akya in the 248-day cycle In Va¯kyakarana, the khanda-dina is given as 1600984 and the khanda-dhruva is ˙ 8r 18 15˙0 ˙1000 , D ¼ 10r 15 20 200 , and D ¼ 6r 14˙˙ 80 4200 . The 7r 20 00 700 . D1 ¼ 2 3 correction on account of the increase in the anomaly by +70 and 1.750 , over a 248day and 3031-day cycle respectively, is also specified in the text.

True Longitude of the Planets in the Va¯kya Method Now, the true longitudes of the Sun or the Moon are obtained from its mean longitude, by applying only one correction, namely, the equation of center, to the latter. This involves the apogee or the mandocca, and the mean anomaly or the mandakendra, which is the difference between the mean planet and the apogee. This is also termed the zodiacal anomaly. However, in the case of the planets, two corrections have to be applied to the mean longitude to obtain their true longitudes. The first is the equation of center, which takes into account the eccentricity of the planetary orbits (around the Sun, as understood now), and involves the apogee or the mandocca, and the zodiacal anomaly. The second is the “s´ighra-samska¯ra”, ˙ which essentially converts the heliocentric longitude to the geocentric longitude. This involves the “s´ighrocca”, which is the mean Sun in the case of the exterior planets, and the heliocentric planet in the case of the interior planets. For the latter, the mean planet is the mean Sun itself, whereas for the former, the mean planet is the mean heliocentric planet. Associated with the “sighrocca” is the “s´ighrakendra”, which is the difference between the mean planet and the “s´ighrocca”. This is essentially the “solar anomaly”. Now the time-interval between the successive conjunctions of the mean planet and the s´ighrocca is the synodic period of the planet or a “s´ighra anomaly cycle” or a “s´ighra cycle”. In the case of the Moon, the va¯kya method is based on the “manda anomaly cycle” which involves the successive conjunctions of the Moon and its mandocca or apogee. For a planet, there are two anomalistic cycles associated with it. Now even if the mandocca, s´ighrocca and the mean planet are in the same direction at some time, it is only after a very long period (of the order of a million years) that they will be in the same direction again. A formulation based on such large time intervals would not be useful. So the va¯kya method is formulated differently here. Let the mean planet and the s´ighrocca have the same longitude and be close to the mandocca at some instant, known as the s´odhyadina. After

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Table 189.3 Mandalas and Mandaladhruvas for Mars ˙˙ ˙˙ No. of synodic cycles Duration 634,089 days 9 nadi 813 M1 170 M2 132,589 days 21 nadi 37 M3 28,857 days 41 nadi 22 M4 17,158 days 37 nadi 15 M5 11,699 days 4 nadi

1997

Mandaladhruva in minutes ˙˙ D1 ¼ +4 D2 ¼ +27 D3 ¼ +133 D4 ¼ 504 D5 ¼ 638

a certain integral number of synodic revolutions, the mean planet (coincident with the s´ighrocca) would again be near the mandocca. These periods are known as mandalas. At the end of a mandala, the s´ighrakendra is zero but ˙ ˙ is not. This difference between ˙˙ the mandakendra the mean planet (and also the s´ighrocca, as the s´ighrakendra is zero) is called “mandaladhruva”. It is ˙ a large enough possible to have a very small value of “mandaladhruva”˙ for ˙ ˙ mandala. ˙ ˙ example, for Mars, whose synodic period is nearly 780 days, the mandalas For ˙˙ M1 to M5 from the largest to the smallest with the corresponding mandaladhruvas ˙ ˙ are listed above (Table 189.3). S´odhyadina is the rough equivalent of khanda-dina for the Moon. This is the ˙ ahargana of a day which is close to the desired˙ ahargan a, where the s´ighrakendra ˙ is zero and the mandakendra has a small value. The˙ s´odhyadina need not be integral. For Mars, the s´odhyadina is given as 1,552,827 d, 33 n, and the Dhruva (Mean planet-Mandocca) at the s´odhyadina is 4020 . For Mars, va¯kyas or mnemonics are given for 15 synodic cycles called parivritti ˙ of nearly 780 days each: 15  780 days ¼ 11,700 days is very close to M5 ¼ 11,699 d 4 n. 38 va¯kyas are given for each synodic cycle of 780 days. These are not at equal intervals. For an arbitrary day, the longitude of Mars is to be found by interpolation. The va¯kya of the 0 day of a cycle is that of the last day of the previous cycle. The va¯kya of the 0 day of the first cycle is the apogee of the planet, which is 118 in the case of Mars. The va¯kyas also incorporate the correction term due to the “mandaladhruvas”. ˙˙ Suppose we want to compute the true longitude of Mars for the day corresponding to the ahargana, 18,44,004. Now ˙ 18; 44; 004 ¼ 15; 52; 827 d 35n þ 2  1; 32; 589 d 21 n þ 1  17; 1587 d 37n þ 11  780 d þ 259 d 6 n: This means that after the s´odhyadina of 15,52,827 d 35 n, 2 mandalas of ˙ ˙ in the 1,32,589 d 21 n, 1 mandala of 17,158 d 37 n and 11 cycles of 780 days ˙ ˙ mandala of 11,699 d 4n are complete and 259 d 6 n are over in the 12th cycle. ˙ ˙ the va¯kyas for 250 days and 270 days are specified. The longitude Now,

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corresponding to 259 d 6 n is to be determined by interpolation from these two va¯kyas. There is a “dhruva”, of  4020 þ 2  27 þ 1  5040 ¼ 8520 ¼ 14 120 ; at the beginning of the “mandala” of 11,699 d 4n. This, as well as the correction ˙˙ arising from this for the longitude corresponding 259 days and 6 na¯dis in the 12th ˙ at the mean cycle, should be added to the latter, to obtain the true longitude of Mars, sunrise of the desired day (whose ahargana is 18,44,404 days). The true longitudes of the other planets˙are also found in this manner, using their “s´odhyadina” “mandalas”, dhruvas, and the va¯kyas for the shortest mandala ˙ ˙ d 4n for Mars). ˙˙ (equivalent of 11,699

True Longitude of the Moon in Sphutacandra¯pti ˙ Sphutacandra¯pti is a text composed by Madhava of Sangamagrama, the famous ˙ mathematician-astronomer around 1350 CE, which is completely devoted to Kerala the computation of the true Moon (Sarma 1973). It comprises 51 verses apart from the 248 Moon sentences or va¯kyas. The va¯kyas here give the longitude correction to a second, unlike the Vararuciva¯kyas which are given upto a minute only. More importantly, Sphutacandra¯pti gives an ingenious method to find the true Moon at ˙ a day. Now, among the celestial bodies, the Moon has the nine instants during greatest variation in motion. On account of this, if the true Moon at any specific moment is calculated by the rule of three, using its true position and rate of motion at successive sunrises, there is a possibility of a significant error. Accurate results can be obtained only by the rule of the second or third differences, which however would entail inordinate labor. The method discussed in this text obviates this labor and makes it possible to read out from a chart, the true longitudes of the Moon accurately at nine instants during a day, at intervals of over six and half na¯dis ˙ (2 h 40 min). The true longitude at any other time is computed using interpolation. The khandadina at the mean sunrise of which the anomaly is zero is given by the ˙ ˙ “dı¯nanamra¯nus´asya” which stands for 1502008. The period of mnemonic the anomalistic cycle is taken to be 188611 (parya¯pta hrdaya) divided by ˙ 6,845 (s´ivadu¯ta), which is equal to 27 3791 6845 days. We write it as (27 + a) days 3796 where a ¼ 6845 , for convenience. Consider a day corresponding to the ahargana A at mean sunrise. Suppose that ˙ when the anomaly was last zero. “a” full days and “b” part days have gone by since In other words, the current anomalistic cycle started a + b days earlier, where a is an integer and b is a fraction. If we consider the instant A1, b days earlier than A, the anomalistic cycle would have begun exactly a days earlier to it. Hence, the true longitude corresponding to the instant A1 is given by the ath va¯kya to which the longitude of the Moon at the beginning of this anomalistic cycle has to be added. Now an anomalistic cycle previous to the current one would have begun a days +1 cycle ¼ a + 27 + a days, before A1. Consider an instant A2 which is

189 C2

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1999 A′3

C1

A−1 a

a + 27

A2

A3

A1

a

A

b

a

Fig. 189.1 Method for determining the true longitude of the moon

a days before A1. Hence, the true longitude corresponding to the instant A2 is given by the (a + 27)th Vakya to which the longitude of the Moon at the beginning of the anomalistic cycle previous to the current one has to be added. This is illustrated in Fig. 189.1. Similarly, consider an instant A0 3 such that A2  A0 3 ¼ a days. Then A1  A0 3 ¼ 2a days. Now an anomalistic cycle would have began a days + 2 cycles or a + 54 + 2a days before A1, or a + 54 days before A0 3 . Let A3 ¼ A0 3 þ 1. Then an anomalistic cycle would have began a + 55 days before A3. Hence, the true longitude at A3 is given by the 55th va¯kya, to which the longitude of the Moon at the beginning of the cycle which is 2 cycles previous to the current one has to be added. Note that A1, A2, and A3 are all situated in the day previous to the instant corresponding to A. Similarly, true longitudes at six more instants during the previous day can be determined using the above method. As there are 9 anomalistic cycles within a span of 248 days, it is clear that the true longitudes can be obtained at only nine instants on any day, using this method. It is obvious that the true longitudes for nine instants on the subsequent day are obtained by adding one more va¯kya to those corresponding to A1, A2, A3, . . . .

Continued Fractions in Karanapaddhati (c. 1732 CE) and the ˙ Va¯kya Method For the Moon, the success of the va¯kya method depends upon the identification of the “khanda-dina” on which the anomaly is zero, the various anomalistic cycles, ˙ correction due to the approximate nature of the shorter cycles. (For and also ˙the instance after 248 days, Moon’s anomaly does not return to zero, even if it were zero, initially, as the anomalistic period is slightly less than 248/9 days). Similarly for the planets, the va¯kya method is critically dependent on the “s´odhyadina” on which the planet and its “s´ighrocca” are close to the “mandocca” (apogee) and the various mandalas or “s´ighra cycles”, after which the planet and the “s´¯ıghroca” ˙ come back ˙close to the apogee. The “khanda-dina”, “s´odhyadina”, the various ˙ ˙¯ kyakarana without any explanation. cycles, and the “dhruvas” are just stated in Va ˙ 1937; Koru 1953) comKaranapaddhati of Putumana Somaya¯ji (Sambasiva Sastri ˙ posed around 1732 CE, is one of the important texts of the Kerala school of astronomy and mathematics, and explains how these are arrived at.

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Now the computations of the true longitudes of the Moon and the planet involve the rates of motion of their mandakendras (zodiacal anomaly) and the s´ighrakendras (solar anomaly). These can be expressed as ratios which involve large numerators or multipliers (gunaka¯sas) and large denominators or divisors ˙ these ratios as continued fractions. The (ha¯rakas). Karanapaddhati expresses ˙ truncations of the continued fractions result in approximations to the exact ratios, which involve small multipliers and divisors. These play a crucial role in the identification of the various anomalistic cycles, and the relations among the small multipliers and divisors lead one to the determination of the “khandadina”, ˙ ˙number “s´odhyadina”, and the various corrections, dhruvas, etc. For instance, the of revolutions of the Moon and its apogee are given as 57753336 and 488219 in 43,20,000 sidereal years consisting of 1577917500 civil days in A¯ryabhat¯ıya and ˙ many other Indian texts on astronomy. Then the anomalistic period would be 126040405436547500/4574211340428709 days. Using the continued fraction method, the successive approximations to this are 27/1, 28/1, 55/2, 248/9, 3031/ 110, 12372/449, 188611/6845, etc. So the anomalistic cycles of 248, 3,031, 12,372 days in Va¯kyakarana and the cycle of 1,88,611 days in Sphunacandra¯pti emerge ˙ ˙ naturally in this method.

Cross-References ▶ Kerala School of Astronomy ▶ Mathematical Astronomy in India

References Jones A (1983) The development and transmission of 248-day schemes for lunar motion in ancient astronomy. Arch Hist Exact Sci 29:1–36 Koru PK (1953) Karanapaddhati of Putumana Somaya¯ji. Astroprinting and Publishing Co., Cherp Kuppana S, Sarma ˙ KV (1962) Va¯kyakarana with the commentary Laghupraka¯s´ika¯ by Sundrararaja. Kuppuswami Sastri Research ˙Institute, Chennai Kuppanna S (1989) Collected papers on Jyotisha. Kendriya Sanskrit Vidyapeetha, Tirupati, pp 329–344 Sambasiva Sastri K (1937) Karanapaddhati of Putumana Somaya¯ji. Trivandrum Sarma KV (1956) Venva¯roha of ˙Madhava of Sangamagrama. The Sanskrit College Committee, Tripunithura Sarma KV (1972) A history of the Kerala school of Hindu astronomy. Vishvesharanand Institute, Hoshiarpur Sarma KV (1973) Sphutacandra¯ptih: Computation of true moon by Ma¯dhava of Sangamagrama. ˙ ˙ Vishveshvaranand Institute, Hoshiarpur

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Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The Kerala School . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Traditional Indian Planetary Model . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Revision Made by Nı¯lakantha . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Concluding Remarks . . . . .˙.˙. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Abstract

It is well known that the Kerala school of astronomy, pioneered by Ma¯dhava in the fourteenth century, made remarkable contributions to the development of calculus. In this chapter, we shall summarize the equally significant contribution made by the Kerala astronomers to the development of planetary theory. By 1500 CE, Nı¯lakantha Somaya¯jı¯ came up with a remarkable revision of the ˙˙ traditional Indian planetary theory, in which, for the first time in the History of Astronomy, he arrives at a correct formulation of the equation of center and the latitudinal motion of the interior planets, which in turn makes his model computationally equivalent to the Keplerian theory under certain approximation.

Introduction Most of the works on Indian astronomy and mathematics, at least till the latter half of the twentieth century, continued to maintain that the creative period of Indian

K. Ramasubramanian Cell for Indian Science and Technology in Sanskrit, Department of Humanities and Social Sciences, IIT Bombay, Mumbai, India e-mail: [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_209, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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mathematics and astronomy ended with Bha¯skara¯ca¯rya (c. 1150 CE). However, the painstaking work of several scholars – particularly by the renowned indologist K V Sarma over the past few decades – in the form of editing and publishing several source works (Sarma 1972) along with translation and detailed notes has largely dispelled such misconceptions, whose cause could be partially traced to the fact that people generally confined their studies to the “mainstream” sources and often overlooked the commentaries, which at times used to be composed even in regional languages. A classic example of this is one of the most notable works of the Kerala school, namely, Ganita-Yuktibha¯sa¯ (Sarma et al. 2008) of Jyesthadeva (c. 1530), ˙˙ ˙ ˙ composed in Malayalam (local language of Kerala) whose first part discusses the proofs of the infinite series discovered by Kerala mathematicians, and in fact, much deserves the claim as the “First Textbook on Calculus”. It is interesting to note that until about the 1940s, the seminal mathematical contributions of the Kerala school somehow did not attract the attention of scholars, despite the fact that Charles Whish, an employee of the East India Company, had detailed communications regarding the discovery of the infinite series by the “natives” with his senior counterparts as early as 1820s (Sarma et al. 2010), and also the fact that he published an article in 1834 in the Transactions of the Royal Asiatic Society (Whish 1834). Now it is fairly well known that the Kerala school pioneered by Ma¯dhava (c. 1340–1420) of San˙gamagra¯ma has blazed a new trial in the study of mathematics by discovering the infinite series for p, sine, and cosine functions (the so-called Newton series) which in turn led to the discovery of calculus (Ramasubramanian and Srinivas 2010).

The Kerala School Kerala, also referred as Keralam in Malayalam, is located in the southwest region of the Indian subcontinent. By virtue of having long range of mountains called the Western Ghats in the east, and the Arabian sea in the west, this piece of land was not only privileged to have abundant natural resources suitable for the growth of a variety of spices, but also could share it with other parts of the world. Kerala seems to have been a major spice exporter to several parts of the world through maritime trade as early as third or second millennia BCE. Besides trading with spices, it has been argued recently (Raju 2007) that Keralites might have also been sharing their mathematical and astronomical knowledge with the West. This chapter primarily aims to discuss one of the major breakthroughs that occurred in the development of mathematical astronomy in Kerala around 1500 CE. The astronomers and mathematicians of the Kerala school, besides making several important contributions to mathematical analysis, have also made equally significant discoveries in astronomy, in particular planetary theory (Ramasubramanian et al. 1994), which somehow has not received the attention that it deserves. Parames´vara of Vatasseri (1380–1460) – one of the highly ˙ respected astronomers and a disciple of Ma¯dhava – is supposed to have made meticulous observations for a period of over 55 years continuously, and evolved

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the famous Drgganita system, replacing the older Parahita system. Nı¯lakantha ˙˙ Somaya¯jı¯ of˙ Tr˙kkantiyur (1444–1550), disciple of Parames´vara’s son ˙ ˙˙ Da¯modara, carried out an even more fundamental revision of the earlier Indian planetary model for the interior planets Mercury and Venus. This indeed led Nı¯lakantha to a much better formulation of the equation of center and the theory ˙˙ of latitudinal motion of these planets, than was available either in the earlier Indian works or the Islamic or the Greco-European traditions of astronomy till the work of Kepler, which was to come more than a 100 years later.

Traditional Indian Planetary Model ¯ ryabhata (c. 499 CE), In the Indian astronomical tradition, at least from the time of A ˙ the procedure for calculating the geocentric longitudes of the five planets, namely Mercury, Venus, Mars, Jupiter, and Saturn, involved essentially a two-step process. First, the mean longitude known as madhyama-graha was calculated for the desired day, from the ahargana (the number of mean civil days elapsed since a given epoch) by multiplying˙ it by the mean daily motion of the planet. Then two corrections, namely, manda-samska¯ra and s´¯ıghra-samska¯ra, were applied to obtain ˙ a-graha. ˙ the “true” longitude called sphut ˙ In the case of exterior planets, Mars, Jupiter, and Saturn, since the manda-samska¯ra was applied to the mean planet obtained from its own mean ˙ it is evident that the manda-samska¯ra is equivalent to taking into daily motion, ˙ account the eccentricity of the planetary orbit around the sun. Also, the expression given in Indian astronomical texts for manda-samska¯ra roughly translates in its ˙ of center currently calculated form, to the first order in eccentricity, to the equation in astronomy. Thus, the manda-corrected planet, known as manda-sphutagraha, in ˙ To this the case of exterior planets, corresponds to the true heliocentric longitude. manda-sphutagraha (eccentricity corrected planet), the s´¯ıghra-samska¯ra was ˙ in modern parlance is equivalent to converting the ˙heliocentric applied which longitude into geocentric longitude. In the case of interior planets, Mercury and Venus, the traditional planetary model was not successful in capturing their heliocentric motion. This was because the manda-correction was applied to the mean Sun which was taken as the mean planet for Mercury and Venus. Hence, in the case of interior planets, the mandacorrected planet did not correspond to the true heliocentric longitude, as in the case of exterior planets. But this was an error that was common to all the ancient planetary models developed in the Greek, Islamic, and European traditions till the time of Kepler. Notwithstanding this error in the application of the mandacorrection, it is noteworthy that the Indian planetary models, however, gave a fairly correct procedure for the calculation of latitudes of the interior planets based on their notion of s´¯ıghrocca. This fact that there were two different procedures for the computation of planetary latitudes – calculating it from the s´¯ıghrocca in the case of interior planets, and from that of the manda-sphutagraha in the case of exterior planets – was noted as an unsatisfactory feature of˙the traditional planetary theory

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by various savants including the renowned Bha¯skara¯ca¯rya (c.1150). However, Indian astronomers chose to live with it, as this is what led to the concordance between the calculated and observed values.

Revision Made by Nı¯lakantha ˙˙ Nı¯lakantha Somaya¯jı¯ resolved this long-standing problem by proposing ˙˙ a fundamental revision of the traditional planetary theory. In his treatise Tantrasan˙graha composed in 1500 (Ramasubramanian and Sriram 2011), Nı¯lakantha proposed that in the case of Mercury and Venus, the manda-correction ˙˙ or the equation of center should be applied to what was traditionally identified as the s´¯ıghrocca of the planet which, in the case of interior planets, corresponds to what we currently refer to as the mean-heliocentric planet. This led to a more accurate formulation of the equation of center and the latitudinal motion of the interior planets. Incidentally, it may be noted that the celebrated works of Copernicus (c.1543) or Tycho Brahe (c. 1583) did not bring about any improvement in the planetary theory of interior planets as they merely reformulated the ancient planetary model of Ptolemy to different frames of reference. Commenting on this aspect, Neugebauer and Sverdlow observe: “Copernicus, ignorant of his own riches, took it upon himself for the most part to represent Ptolemy, not nature, to which he had nevertheless come the closest of all”. In his famous and just assessment of Copernicus, Kepler was referring to the latitude theory of Book V [of De Revolutionibus], specifically to the “librations” of the inclinations of the planes of the eccentrics, not in accordance to the motion of the planet (Swerdlow and Neugebauer 1984, p. 483).

Thus, in so far as the computation of the planetary longitudes and latitudes is concerned, Nı¯lakantha’s revised planetary model closely approximates the ˙˙ Keplerian model, except that Nı¯lakantha conceives of the planets as going in ˙˙ eccentric orbits around the mean Sun rather than the true Sun. Nı¯lakantha was also the first savant in the history of astronomy to clearly ˙˙ deduce from his computational scheme and the observed planetary motion (and not from any speculative or cosmological argument) that the interior planets go around the Sun, and that the period of their motion around Sun is also the period of ¯ ryabhat¯ıya that the their latitudinal motion. He explains in his commentary on the A ˙ Earth is not circumscribed by the orbit of the interior planets, Mercury and Venus, and the mean period of motion in longitude of these planets around the Earth is the same as that of the Sun, precisely because they are being carried around the Earth by the Sun. Excerpts from the passage wherein Nı¯lakantha presents his clinching ˙˙ argument (Pillai Surnad 1957, pp. 8–9) to arrive at the above picture is quoted below. satyam, bhagolaparibhramanam tasya¯pyekenaiva abdena | etaduktam bhavati – tayoh ˙ ˙¯kriyate | tato bahireva sada¯ bhu¯h | bhagolaikapa ˙ bhramanavrttena na bhu¯h kabalı ¯ rs´ve eva˙ ˙ ˙parisama¯ptattva ˙ ¯ t tadbhaganena na dva¯das´ara¯s´isu ca¯rah˙ sya¯t | tadvrttasya ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙

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Fig. 190.1 Schematic picture of Nı¯lakantha’s ˙ ˙ showing cosmological model the five planets moving in eccentric orbits around the mean Sun

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Saturn Jupiter

Venus Mercury

Sun

• O (Earth)

Mars

True, the period in which Mercury completes one full revolution around the bhagola (the celestial sphere) is one year only. This is what is being stated – the Earth is not circumscribed by their [Mercury and Venus] orbits. The Earth is always outside their orbit. Since their orbit is confined to one side of the [geocentric] celestial sphere, in completing one revolution they do not go around the twelve signs (ra¯s´is).

In his works, Golasa¯ra and Siddha¯ntadarpana, and a short but remarkable tract called Grahasphuta¯nayane Viksepava¯sana¯, Nı¯˙lakantha describes the geometrical ˙˙ ˙ motion (Fig. ˙ 190.1) that follows picture of planetary from his revised planetary theory, where the five planets Mercury, Venus, Mars, Jupiter, and Saturn move in eccentric orbits (inclined to the ecliptic) around the mean Sun, which in turn goes around the Earth (which is the same as the model of solar system proposed in 1583 by Tycho Brahe, albeit on entirely different considerations). Most of the Kerala astronomers who succeeded Nı¯lakantha, such as Jyesthadeva, Acyuta, and others ˙˙ ˙˙ seem to have adopted the revised planetary model proposed by him.

Concluding Remarks Around the beginning of seventeenth century, the region of Malabar, where the Kerala school flourished continuously for about three centuries, became a highly disturbed region due to constant warfare between rival European powers, the Portuguese and the Dutch. Notwithstanding this, the Kerala school of mathematics and astronomy somehow managed to survive well into the nineteenth

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century, as evidenced from the Sadratnama¯la¯ of S´an˙karavarman. This work composed in 1819 by the Ra¯ja¯ of Kadattanadu is perhaps the last important work ˙ emanating from the school. Ever since the seminal work of Needham, who showed that till around the sixteenth century Chinese science and technology seem to have been more advanced than their counterparts in Europe, historians of science have expressed wonder as to “Why did modern science not emerge in non-Western societies?” In the work of the Kerala school, we notice clear anticipations of some of the fundamental discoveries which are associated with the emergence of modern science, such as the mathematical ability to express finite quantities in terms of infinite series, as well as non-geocentric geometrical models of planetary motion. It seems therefore more appropriate to investigate “Why did modern science cease to flourish in India after the sixteenth or the seventeenth century?”, and it would also be worthwhile to speculate “What would have been the nature of modern science (and the modern world) had sciences continued to flourish in non-western societies?”, as it could generate dialogue along a new direction.

Cross-References ▶ Mathematical Astronomy in India

References ¯ ryabhat¯ıya of A ¯ ryabhata¯ca¯rya with Maha¯bha¯sya of Nı¯lakantha Somaya¯jı¯, Pillai Surnad K (1957) A ˙ Sanskrit Series ˙ 185, Trivandrum ˙ ˙˙ Part III, Golapa¯da Trivandrum Raju CK (2007) Cultural foundations of mathematics: the nature of mathematical proof and the transmission of calculus from India to Europe in the 16th c. CE, PHISPC, vol X, Part 4. Pearson Longmann, New Delhi Ramasubramanian K, Srinivas MD (2010) Development of calculus in India. In: Seshadri CS (ed) Studies in the history of Indian mathematics. Hindustan Book Agency, New Delhi, pp 201–286 Ramasubramanian K, Sriram MS (2011) Tantrasan˙graha of Nı¯lakantha Somaya¯jı¯ with English tr. ˙ ˙ Springer, 2011) and explanatory notes. Hindustan Book Agency, New Delhi (repr. Ramasubramanian K, Srinivas MD, Sriram MS (1994) Modification of the earlier Indian planetary theory by the Kerala astronomers (c. 1500 AD) and the implied heliocentric picture of planetary motion. Curr Sci 66:784–790 Sarma KV (1972) A history of the Kerala school of Hindu astronomy. Vishvesharanand Institute, Hoshiarpur Sarma KV, Ramasubramanian K, Srinivas MD, Sriram MS (2008) GanitaYuktibha¯sa¯ of ˙ ˙ Jyesthadeva, vol 2. Hindustan Book Agency, New Delhi (repr. Springer, 2009) ˙ ˙ Sarma UKV, Vanishri B, Venketeswara P, Ramasubramanian K (2010) The discovery of Ma¯dhava series by Whish: an episode in historiography of science. Ganita Bha¯ratı¯ 32:115–126 Swerdlow NM, Neugebauer O (1984) Mathematical astronomy in˙ Copernicus’ De revolutionibus. Springer, New York Whish CM (1834) On the Hindu quadrature of the circle, and the infinite series of the proportion of the circumference to the diameter exhibited in the four Shastras, the Tantrasangraham, Yucti Bhasa, Carana Paddhati and Sadratnamala. Trans R Asiat Soc (GB) 3:509–523

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Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Gnomon . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Water Clock . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Instruments Described by Brahmagupta . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Astrolabe . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Indo-Persian Astrolabes . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Sanskrit Astrolabes . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Celestial Globe . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Sine Quadrant . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Dhruvabhrama-yantra . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cylindrical Sundial . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Conclusion . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Abstract

The earliest astronomical instruments used in India were the gnomon and the water clock. In the early seventh century, Brahmagupta described ten types of instruments, which were adopted by all subsequent writers with minor modifications. Contact with Islamic astronomy in the second millennium AD led to a radical change. Sanskrit texts began to lay emphasis on the importance of observational instruments. Exclusive texts on instruments were composed. Islamic instruments like the astrolabe were adopted and some new types of instruments were developed. Production and use of these traditional instruments continued, along with the cultivation of traditional astronomy, up to the end of the nineteenth century.

S.R. Sarma D€ usseldorf, Germany e-mail: [email protected]; [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_251, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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Introduction The history of astronomical instruments in India has to be reconstructed from literary references and also from the actual specimens which are extant. From the beginnings of history, some kind of astronomical activity must have taken place in India for determining the passage of time, the equinoxes and the solstices for agricultural and religious purposes. The Rgveda, the earliest available literary text generally dated 1500–1200 BC, contains ˙references to the seasons, to the length of the year, and so on, but makes no mention of any instruments. It is in the late Vedic literature that instruments are met with for the first time: these are the gnomon and the water clock.

Gnomon The Ka¯tyayana-s´ulbasu¯tra (c. fifth century BC), which deals with the geometry of the fire altars used in the ritual, describes the use of the gnomon (s´an˙ku) for determining the cardinal directions. The Arthas´a¯stra of Kautilya (c. third century ˙ BC), a manual of statecraft, and other contemporary texts, mention the gnomon and ˆ hashi 1993). discuss the diurnal and annual variations of the gnomon shadow (O From the sixth century AD onward, Sanskrit astronomical texts of the genre siddha¯nta teach the employment of the gnomon for determining the cardinal directions, the local latitude, and time.

Water Clock A water clock of the outflow type is mentioned for the first time in the Veda¯n˙gajyotisa, the earliest text on astronomy and calendar (c. fourth century BC). In the ˙ subsequent centuries the Arthas´a¯stra and other texts refer to it. This water clock consisted of a hollow cylinder with a small perforation at the bottom, through which it discharged a certain amount of water in the course of one-sixtieth part of a nychthemeron, i.e., 24 min. This was the standard unit of time in India and was called at first na¯dika¯. ˙ the fifth century AD, this type of water clock was replaced by Sometime about another variety known as the sinking bowl type which was called ghat¯ı-yantra in ¯ ryabhata in his A¯ryabhat˙asiddha¯nta Sanskrit. It was described for the first time by A ˙ ˙ it. In this in the early sixth century; thereafter, almost all siddha¯nta texts refer to device, a hemispherical bowl made of copper or coconut shell with a small perforation at the bottom is placed on the surface of water in a larger basin. Water enters the bowl from below through the perforation, fills it, and thus makes it sink. The weight of the bowl and the size of the perforation are so adjusted that the bowl sinks in 24 min. The unit of time measured remained the same as before, but was given a new name, ghat¯ı, in accordance with the name of the instrument (Sarma 2004) ˙ (Fig. 191.1).

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Fig. 191.1 Ghat¯ı-yantra made of coconut ˙shell (Photograph: S.R. Sarma)

From the seventh century onward, institutions of time keeping are attested at royal palaces, temples, and monasteries, where time was measured constantly with this water clock and the passage of each ghat¯ı was broadcast by means of drums and ˙ so popular that Muslim rulers like conch shells, or by gongs. The institution was Fı¯ru¯z Sha¯h Tughluq (r. 1351–1388), Ba¯bur (r. 1520–1530), and Akbar (r. 1556–1605) adopted it. Moreover, in Akbar’s atelier, the sinking bowl and water basin were depicted in two miniature paintings, which remain the only pictorial representations of this device (Sarma 1992). Subsequently, minor nobles also began to maintain water clocks at their palace gates. This practice lasted up to the end of the nineteenth century. Besides regular time keeping, the sinking bowl was used for measuring the duration of the supply of irrigation water to individual fields. From India the device spread to other countries in South and Southeast Asia. Interestingly enough, in Thailand and Indonesia it was also used for regulating the length of cockfights. Considering the universal popularity of this water clock, there ought to be hundreds of specimens extant. But in India brass or copper objects which are no longer in use are immediately recycled. Consequently not many have survived. The largest collection of seven pieces is in the Pitt Rivers Museum at Oxford.

Instruments Described by Brahmagupta Brahmagupta offers for the first time a systematic discussion of the construction and use of astronomical instruments in his Bra¯hmasphutasiddha¯nta of 628 AD. Here he ˙ type of water clock, eight new treats, in addition to the gnomon and the sinking bowl instruments, viz., gola-yantra (armillary sphere), cakra, dhanus, turyagola, pı¯tha, ˙ kapa¯la, kartarı¯, and yasti. Of these, the cakra (graduated circle),˙ dhanus (graduated ˙ ˙ ˙ semicircle), and turyagola (graduated quarter circle) are closely related in shape and function. In all the three, a peg is affixed at the center like an axis, and a plumb line is

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suspended from there. These instruments are so held toward the sun that the axis throws a shadow on the circumference. Then the arc intercepted between the nadir, which is indicated by the plumb line, and the shadow is the zenith distance. The other instruments are generally variations of the cakra or dhanus. The pı¯tha ˙ equal˙ in is a circular platform set up at the observer’s eye level, with a vertical axis length to the radius of the circle. The kapa¯la is a horizontally placed semicircular plate, the axis pointing upward, the diameter in the north-south direction, and the arc to the east or to the west where the shadow happens to fall. In the kartarı¯, two semicircular plates are so joined that one forms the lower half of the plane of the equator and the other the meridian plane, its diameter forming the polar axis. A peg is fixed at the junction of the two diameters. From its shadow on the equatorial plane, the time since sunrise can be read. Apparently, the equatorial plate can be rotated in its own plane, and this movement presumably gave rise to the name kartarı¯, which means a pair of scissors. Finally Brahmagupta discusses at length several types of measurements that can be carried out with the yasti (staff), which is ˙˙ a variant of the gnomon (Sarma 1986–1987). Brahmagupta’s instruments and observational methods were adopted by almost all subsequent writers on astronomy, albeit with minor modifications. In the twelfth century, Bha¯skara introduced a new instrument called phalaka-yantra. It is a rectangular board filled with horizontal lines. A pin is affixed on its surface from which an index is suspended. Around the pin is drawn a circle graduated in degrees. It was used to measure ˆ hashi 1988). the sun’s altitude and then to determine time graphically (O

Astrolabe Contact with Islamic astronomy led to the introduction of Islamic astronomical instruments like the astrolabe, the celestial globe, and the sine quadrant in the second millennium AD. The astrolabe may have been introduced by al-Bı¯ru¯nı¯ during his sojourn in India in the early eleventh century. In the next centuries, Muslim scholars migrating from Central Asia to the court of the Sultans of Delhi brought astrolabes with them. Production of astrolabes commenced apparently in the latter half of the fourteenth century at the court of Fı¯ru¯z Sha¯h Tughluq at Delhi. His court chronicle Sı¯rat-i Fı¯ru¯z Sha¯hı¯ of 1370 reports that five astrolabes were made for him. There is also evidence that he sponsored the composition of manuals on the astrolabe in Persian as well as in Sanskrit (Sarma 2000). From this time up to the middle of the nineteenth century, the cultivation of the astrolabe followed two parallel traditions, viz., Indo-Persian and Sanskrit.

Indo-Persian Astrolabes Muslim astronomers in India studied the Arabic and Persian works on the astrolabe and produced astrolabes with legends in Arabic/Persian. These are classified as IndoPersian astrolabes. The majority of the surviving Indo-Persian astrolabes were

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Fig. 191.2 Indo-Persian astrolabe by Diya¯’ al-Dı¯n ˙ 1059 (AD Muhammad AH ˙ 1649–1650), diameter 18.5 cm, and height 26.1 cm. Darul Uloom Nadwatul Ulama, Lucknow (Photograph: S. R. Sarma)

manufactured by the members of a single family from Lahore. Alla¯hda¯d, the patriarch of this family, appears to have come to India from Samarqand and set up his workshop at Lahore under the patronage of the Mughal emperor Huma¯yu¯n (r. 1530–1556). There exist today nearly 130 astrolabes produced by Alla¯hda¯d and his six descendants during the late sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. Patronage by the Mughal nobility encouraged the creation of very large astrolabes, with lavish ornamentation and technical virtuosity. The main characteristics of these Lahore astrolabes are the exquisitely crafted openwork kursı¯; ornate floral tracery joining the star pointers on the rete; plates carrying projections for the latitudes of the Mughal imperial cities of Agra (27 ), Delhi (29 ), and Lahore (32 ); and sigmoid graphs of the solar meridian altitudes at the latitudes of these cities engraved on the back. Two members of this family deserve special mention for the technical perfection and aesthetic quality of their creations. Muhammad Muqı¯m ( fl. 1621–1659) has to ˙ his credit some 40 astrolabes, each one of which is unique for the size, ornamentation, and the configuration of the various technical elements. The most prolific and versatile member of this family is Muqı¯m’s nephew, Diya¯’ al-Dı¯n Muhammad ˙ ˙ ( fl. 1637–1680), whose oeuvre consists of about 30 astrolabes and 16 celestial globes (Fig. 191.2). Besides the standard northern astrolabes, he also crafted unusual specimens like north-south astrolabes, zawraqı¯ astrolabes, and the universal zarqa¯lı¯ astrolabes, where one plate serves for all latitudes (Sarma 1994).

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Fig. 191.3 Sanskrit astrolabe made by/for Ranakumjala¯la with a single ˙ calibrated ˙ plate to latitude  26 of Jodhpur, diameter 20.7 cm, and height 24.7 cm. Private collection (Photograph: S. R. Sarma)

Sanskrit Astrolabes Hindu and Jain astronomers received the astrolabe with great enthusiasm and composed Sanskrit manuals on the astrolabe. The first such manual was written at the court of Fı¯ru¯z Sha¯h Tughluq in 1370 by Mahendra Su¯ri who, impressed by the versatile functions of the astrolabe, called it yantra-ra¯ja, “king of instruments”. Fifteen more such manuals were composed in the subsequent centuries. The composition of these manuals was naturally accompanied by the production of Sanskrit astrolabes, on which the legends and numerals were engraved in Sanskrit language in Devana¯garı¯ script. There exist today about 100 Sanskrit astrolabes in various museums and private collections (Sarma 1999). The earliest extant specimens were produced in Gujarat in the seventeenth century. Later on the production shifted to Rajasthan, where astrolabes with multiple plates calibrated to different latitudes were gradually replaced by astrolabes containing just one plate with projections pertaining to a single latitude, often 27  which is the latitude of Jaipur (Fig. 191.3).

Celestial Globe It is not known when the celestial globe was introduced into India. It is mentioned for the first time in connection with the Mughal emperor Huma¯yu¯n in the late seventeenth century.

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The members of the Lahore family, who monopolized the production of astrolabes, also specialized in crafting celestial globes. While celestial globes were produced outside India first as two hollow hemispheres and then joined together, Alla¯hda¯d’s grandson, Qa¯’im Muhammad, mastered the art of casting perfectly ˙ spherical globes in one piece by the cire perdue process, and his son Diya¯’ al-Dı¯n ˙ excelled in this technique with his finely drawn constellation figures (Savage-Smith 1985). Like the astrolabes, celestial globes also continued to be produced until the middle of the nineteenth century. However, these were not as popular among the Hindus as the astrolabe had been: just four specimens with Sanskrit legends are known.

Sine Quadrant The sine quadrant, which is used for solving trigonometric problems graphically, was introduced into India along with the astrolabe as it was usually incorporated on the back of the astrolabe. Sine quadrants were occasionally produced also as separate instruments, but the extant pieces are not many. In the Sanskrit milieu, the sine quadrant was received with greater interest than the celestial globe. The first one to discuss it was Padmana¯bha in the first quarter of the fifteenth century. In the subsequent centuries the instrument was described in several texts. Two of these are exclusively devoted to the sine quadrant. In 1572 Bhu¯dhara composed the Turyayantra-praka¯s´a in 265 verses. Probably in the same century Cakradhara composed a shorter text entitled Yantra-cinta¯mani in just 26 ˙ verses, together with an autocommentary. This text enjoyed great popularity; two other commentaries were written on it and there survive some 90 manuscript copies of this work. Like the Indo-Persian sine quadrants, the Sanskrit sine quadrants were not made separately, but were generally incorporated in Sanskrit astrolabes and also in dhruvabhrama-yantras, which will be discussed below.

Dhruvabhrama-yantra Besides accepting and adopting foreign instruments, Indian astronomers developed new Sanskrit instruments in the late medieval period. The most important of these is the dhruvabhrama-yantra, apparently invented by Padmana¯bha who wrote a manual on it in the first quarter of the fifteenth century. The instrument, which is latitude-specific, consists of an oblong metal plate with a horizontal slit at the top. Loosely pivoted to the center of the plate is a metal index with four indicators projecting into the four directions. The southern indicator is weighted and points always downward, no matter how the plate is held. Around the center are drawn concentric circles containing scales of ghat¯ıs, signs of the zodiac, lunar mansions, and the like. At night, the instrument is so ˙held that the two stars a and b UMi are visible through the slit. When these two stars are sighted in a straight line by

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Fig. 191.4 Dhruvabhramayantra made for Ya¯do Jos´¯ı for the latitude of 20 , not dated. 11.2  10.4 cm. Raja Dinkar Kelkar Museum, Pune (Adapted from Sarma 2012)

appropriately tilting the instrument, the eastern indicator will point to the ascendant for that moment, the northern indicator will show which sign is on the upper meridian and the western indicator will indicate the time in ghat¯ıs and their sub˙ multiples. In the daytime, observations are done with the sine quadrant engraved on the reverse side of the plate. The popularity of the dhruvabhrama-yantra is attested by the nearly 70 manuscript copies of Padmana¯bha’s manual and the 20 and odd extant specimens (Sarma 2012) (Fig. 191.4). Furthermore, Muslim astronomers in India adapted the dhruvabhrama-yantra and produced Indo-Persian versions with Arabic/Persian legends. Two specimens have come to light so far, where the obverse side, calibrated as the nocturnal, is called shabnuma¯, “night indicator”, and the reverse side with the quadrant is called ru¯znuma¯, “day indicator” (Sarma and Bagheri 2011).

Cylindrical Sundial Among the other instruments developed in this period, mention may be made of the cylindrical sundial, which consists of a prismatic column, generally of wood. A horizontal gnomon is inserted into a hole at the top of the column, below which is engraved a scale to measure the shadow of the gnomon in terms of ghat¯ıs ˙ since sunrise or up to sunset. As the sun’s altitude varies according to the seasons, separate scales with separate holes are engraved for each season. Usually there is one scale for each month or for a pair of months. The instrument is said to have been invented in the Islamic world whence it spread both to Europe and India. In India it was introduced under the name ca¯buk or “whip”

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instrument. Sanskrit texts literally translate the word as kas´a¯-yantra or pratoda-yantra, or just transliterate as ca¯buka-yantra. The first description in India occurs in Ra¯macandra’s Yantrapraka¯s´a of 1428. Thereafter, it was discussed by Hema (second half of the ˆ hashi 1998). fifteenth century), Ganes´a Daivajn˜a (sixteenth century), and others (O ˙ About a dozen wooden specimens produced in the Nepal-Darjeeling region in the nineteenth century are extant with lengths ranging between 100 cm and 150 cm (Winter 1964).

Conclusion Even after the advent of the telescope and the establishment of modern observatories, the production and use of the naked-eye instruments discussed above continued up to the end of the nineteenth century, as an integral part of the traditional astronomical training of Hindus and Muslims in India. The last great representative of both Hindu and Muslim traditions of instrument making was a Hindu of Lahore, by the name Bha¯lu¯mal, who produced Indo-Persian as well as Sanskrit instruments. There survive today about two dozen specimens of astrolabes, celestial globes, and dhruvabhrama-yantras, produced by him between 1839 and 1851.

Cross-References ▶ Astronomy of the Vedic Age ▶ Observatories of Sawai Jai Singh II ▶ Star Clocks and Water Management in Oman ▶ Water-Powered Astronomical Clock Tower

References ˆ hashi Y (1988) Astronomical instruments of Bha¯skara II and after. In: Subbarayappa BV, O Murthy SRN (eds) Scientific heritage of India. Mythic Society, Bangalore, pp 19–23 ˆ hashi Y (1993) Development of astronomical observation in vedic and post-vedic India. Indian O J Hist Sci 28:185–251 ˆ hashi Y (1998) The cylindrical sundial in India. Indian J Hist Sci 33:S147–S205 O Sarma SR (1986–1987) Astronomical instruments in Brahmagupta’s Bra¯hmasphutasiddha¯nta. ˙ Indian Hist Rev 13:63–74. Reprinted in: Sarma 2008, pp 47–63 Sarma SR (1992) Astronomical instruments in Mughal miniatures. Studien zur Indologie und Iranistik 16–17:235–276. Reprinted in: Sarma 2008, pp 76–121 Sarma SR (1994) The Lahore family of astrolabists and their ouvrage. Stud Hist Med Sci 13(2):205–224. Reprinted in: Sarma 2008, pp 199–222 Sarma SR (1999) Yantrara¯ja: the astrolabe in Sanskrit. Indian J Hist Sci 34:145–158. Reprinted in: Sarma 2008, pp 240–256 Sarma SR (2000) Sulta¯n, su¯ri and the astrolabe. Indian J Hist Sci 35:129–147. Reprinted in: Sarma 2008, pp 179–198˙

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Sarma SR (2004) Setting up the water clock for telling the time of marriage. In: Burnett C et al (eds) Studies in the history of the exact sciences in honour of David Pingree. Brill, Leiden, pp 302–330. Reprinted in: Sarma 2008, pp 147–175 Sarma SR (2008) The archaic and the exotic: studies in the history of indian astronomical instruments. Manohar, New Delhi Sarma SR (2012) The Dhruvabhrama-yantra of Padmana¯bha. Samkrtavimars´ah. Journal of ˙ ˙ ˙ Rashtriya Sanskrit Sansthan 6:321–343 Sarma SR, Bagheri M (2011) Shabnuma¯-wa-Ru¯znuma¯: a rare astronomical instrument extant in two specimens. Tarikh-e Elm 9:21–48 Savage-Smith E (1985) Islamicate celestial globes: their history, construction and use. Smithsonian Institution Press, Washington DC Winter HJJ (1964) A Shepherd’s time-stick, Na¯garı¯ inscribed. PHYSIS: Rivista Internazionale di Storia dello Scienze 4:377–384

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Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Shahjahanabad . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Jaipur . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Ujjain, Varanasi (Benares), and Mathura . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Restoration and Current State of the Observatories . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Abstract

Sawai Jai Singh II, Maharaja of Amber and Jaipur, constructed five observatories in the second quarter of the eighteenth century in the north Indian cities of Shahjahanabad (Delhi), Jaipur, Ujjain, Mathura, and Varanasi. Believing the accuracy of his naked-eye observations would improve with larger, more stable instruments, Jai Singh reengineered common brass instruments using stone construction methods. His applied ingenuity led to the invention of several outsize masonry instruments, the majority of which were used to determine the coordinates of celestial objects with reference to the local horizon. During Jai Singh’s lifetime, the observatories were used to make observations in order to update existing ephemerides such as the Zı¯j-i Ulugh Begı¯. Jai Singh established communications with European astronomers through a number of Jesuits living and working in India. In addition to dispatching ambassadorial parties to Portugal, he invited French and Bavarian Jesuits to visit and make use of the observatories in Shahjahanabad and Jaipur. The observatories were abandoned after Jai Singh’s death in 1743 CE. The Mathura observatory was disassembled

S.N. Johnson-Roehr Rutgers, The State University of New Jersey, New Brunswick, NJ, USA e-mail: [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_252, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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completely before 1857. The instruments at the remaining observatories were restored extensively during the nineteenth and twentieth centuries.

Introduction Sawai Jai Singh II was born on November 3, 1688 CE (Ka¯ti Su¯di 10 V. S. 1745), to the Maharaja of Amber, Bishan Singh, and a Rathor queen, Indra Kamvari. Before his ninth birthday, he was charged with representing the kingdom at the Mughal court and on January 25, 1700 (Ma¯gh Su¯di 5 V. S. 1756), he formally ascended the throne of Amber. While a prince, Jai Singh received a conventional education in Sanskrit, Persian, Arabic, and Jaipuri (bha¯sa¯), as well as in the customary Shastric ˙ texts on statecraft, warfare, and mathematics (Bhatnagar 1974). By 1706, he developed an interest in astronomy and commissioned copies of thirteen astronomy manuscripts in Sanskrit (Pingree 1999). In 1721, he petitioned the newly seated emperor, Muhammad Shah (r. 1719–1748), for permission to correct errors in the ephemerides used to calculate the imperial calendar. In order to accomplish this task, Jai Singh constructed astronomical observatories on property governed by his Kaccawaha clan in the northern cities of Shahjahanabad (Delhi), Jaipur, Ujjain, Mathura, and Varanasi (Benares). Conventionally, the reach of Jai Singh’s power has been considered to have been limited by the boundaries of the hereditary state of Amber; however, he was the patron of several large-scale construction projects in northern India, including a network of astronomical observatories built between c. 1721 and 1743. While many South Asian rulers maintained an interest in the conjoined practices of astrology and astronomy and newly seated emperors frequently called for the issue of new calendars with epoch dates based on their accessions, it was not until the era of Jai Singh that the ephemerides on which these calendars were based were reevaluated in empirical terms. Working with common brass instruments, such as the Dha¯t al-Shu῾batayn (triquetrum or parallactic ruler) and Suds-i Fakhrı¯ (sextant), Jai Singh made a series of observations and compared the results with positions predicted by the tables of the Zı¯j-i Kha¯qa¯nı¯ (c. 1420) and the Zı¯j-i Ulugh Begı¯ (c. 1437). Noting many discrepancies, Jai Singh appealed to the emperor, Muhammad Shah (r. 1719–1748), for permission to correct the tables. As his work continued, Jai Singh concluded that his instruments lacked the accuracy needed to make the revisions. The small size of instruments prohibited the graduation of scales in minutes and the weight and mutability of brass threw axes out of true. To compensate, Jai Singh designed sturdier and larger models. Just outside the imperial capital Shahjahanabad, in a suburb governed by his family, he commissioned the construction of five stone instruments, founding the first of five observatories credited to his patronage. In concept, Jai Singh’s instruments were familiar; they marked the coordinates of celestial objects with reference to horizontal and equatorial systems. In fabrication, they were unusual, in that they relied on masonry construction techniques.

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Most were built at a scale expected of architecture, their rubble cores and mortarless ashlar masonry dressed with finish stone or plaster. The size of the observatories was not without precedent in Asia – stone instruments were erected during the thirteenth century CE in Maragha (Iran) and Dengfeng (China), and during the fifteenth century CE in Samarkand (Uzbekistan) – but the massiveness of the instruments marked a departure from the modest brass tools then popular in India (Zhang 1976). Like the brass instruments, however, Jai Singh’s inventions were designed for naked-eye observations. They required the observer to position an eye along a graduated stone edge and move until a celestial object was aligned with two or more scales.

Shahjahanabad Five instruments were constructed at Shahjahanabad. The largest, the Samra¯t Yantra (“Supreme Instrument”), was an equinoctial sundial with a height of˙ 21.3 m (Fig. 192.1). The scales of the gnomon and quadrants were surfaced in lime plaster and graduated such that the instrument could be used to measure local time as well as right ascension and declination. The terminus of the instrument’s eastern quadrant contained the chamber of the Sastha¯m˙s´a Yantra (“60-Degree Instrument”), a mural sextant with a radius of 8.25 ˙m.˙˙At the apex of the gnomon of the Samra¯t Yantra was the Agra¯ Yantra (“Principal Instrument”), a horizontal sundial. ˙

Fig. 192.1 Northern exposure of gnomon and quadrants of Large Samra¯t Yantra, Delhi ˙ (Photograph: Catherine A. Johnson-Roehr)

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Fig. 192.2 Complementary bowls of Jaya Praka¯s´a Yantra (foreground) and arcades of Ra¯ma Yantra (background) as viewed from quadrant of the Large Samra¯t Yantra, Delhi (Photograph: ˙ Catherine A. Johnson-Roehr)

Two additional instruments, the Jaya Praka¯s´a Yantra (“Light of Victory Instrument”) and the Ra¯ma Yantra (“Ram’s Instrument”), were also constructed at Shahjahanabad (Fig. 192.2). The Jaya Praka¯s´a Yantra, which could be used to record local time as well as horizontal and equatorial coordinates, stood south of the Samra¯t Yantra. The instrument’s complementary bowls, each of which had ˙ a diameter of 8.33 m, were approached by short flights of stairs that led to viewing positions both above and below grade. Southwest of the Jaya Praka¯s´a Yantra were the dual rings of the Ra¯ma Yantra, an arcaded structure used to measure altitude, zenith distance, and azimuth. The rings of the Ra¯ma Yantra stood 7.5-m high, with an inside diameter of 16.65 m. The addition of the Mis´ra Yantra (“Mixed Instrument”) to the observatory is credited to Jai Singh’s younger son, Madho Singh I (r. 1751–1758) (Sharma 1995). This was a conglomeration of instruments that included a Samra¯t Yantra, a Daksinottara Bhitti Yantra (“Transit Wall Instrument”), the Karkara¯˙s´i Valaya (“Cancer Ring”), and Niyati Cakras (“Fixed Circles”). The four fixed arcs of the Niyati Cakras, used to measure the declination of the sun over the course of the day, comprised the structure’s southern exposure (Fig. 192.3). The Daksinottara Bhitti Yantra, a north–south transit wall, was inscribed on its eastern wall. The Karkara¯s´i

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Fig. 192.3 Southern exposure of Mis´ra Yantra with graduated white marble rings of Niyati Cakras at center (Photograph: S. N. Johnson-Roehr)

Valaya, which may have been used to mark the arrival of sun at the summer solstice, was inscribed on the north wall of the Mis´ra Yantra.

Jaipur In 1728, Jai Singh founded the new capital city of Jaipur. Over the course of several years, he moved the kingdom’s political and cultural center from Amber to Jaipur’s City Palace. Within the walls of the City Palace, he also built a courtyard observatory. With the exception of the Large Samra¯t Yantra, which stood 22.6-m high, the instruments erected here were more modest than˙ those in Shahjahanabad (Fig. 192.4). The collection included the Small Samra¯t Yantra, a Ra¯ma Yantra, a Jaya Praka¯s´a Yantra, a Kapa¯la ˙ the Jaya Praka¯s´a Yantra), four Sastha¯m˙s´a Yantras, and Yantra (a close relation to ˙ ˙˙ ˙s´a Yantra consisted a Digam˙s´a Yantra (“Azimuth Instrument”) (Fig. 192.5). The Digam of two masonry walls encircling a central pillar. The upper surfaces of walls and pillar were graduated such that an observer at the center of the circle could use the scales to determine the azimuth angle of a star or planet. Unique to the Jaipur observatory were the Ra¯s´ivalayas (“Zodiac Instruments”), a group of twelve stone quadrants that may have been used to measure the longitude and latitude of the leading star of a zodiacal sign as it arrived at meridian. The Daksinottara Bhitti Yantra was added to the observatory in ˙ 1876 to replace a transit wall instrument that was decayed beyond repair (Sharma 1995). The collection at Jaipur included a number of brass instruments represented today by the Yantraraja, a massive astrolabe oriented to the latitude of Jaipur (Sarma 1999).

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Fig. 192.4 Large Samra¯t Yantra with platform of Ja¯ya Praka¯s´a Yantra in foreground, Jaipur (Photograph: Catherine A.˙ Johnson-Roehr)

Fig. 192.5 Complementary bowls of Jaya Praka¯s´a Yantra (foreground) and Ra¯s´ivalayas (background) (Photograph: S. N. Johnson-Roehr)

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Ujjain, Varanasi (Benares), and Mathura To create a certain level of redundancy for the cross-checking of observations, Jai Singh built additional observatories in Ujjain, Varanasi (Benares), and Mathura. The instruments at these sites were modest versions of those in Jaipur and Shahjahanabad, built out of locally available stone and lime plaster. The observatory in Ujjain stood on the banks of the Kshipra River in the imperial village awarded to Jai Singh after his appointment as governor of Malwa in November 1712. The observatory included a Samra¯t Yantra (6.75-m high), a free-standing Daksinottara Bhitti Yantra, a Na¯˙d¯ıvalaya (“Hemispheric ˙ ˙ ˙s´a Yantra (Figs. 192.6 and 192.7). Sundial”), and a Digam The S´anku Yantra ˙ (“Cone Instrument”), originally known as Gol Yantra (“Spherical Instrument”), south of the former administrative building, was added in 1934–36 by the astronomer Govinda Sada¯s´iva Apte in order to measure the amplitude of the sun (Gwalior State 1937, 1938). The instruments of the Varanasi observatory were distributed across the split roofs of the Ma¯n Mahal, a palace built on the Ma¯nmandir Ghat c. 1600 by Man Singh I of Amber. The north roof contained two Samra¯t Yantras (6.8-m high and ˙ Cakra Yantra (“Wheel 2.53-m high), a Digam˙s´a Yantra, a Na¯d¯ıvalaya, and a brass ˙ ˙ Instrument”) (Figs. 192.8 and 192.9). A small Daksinottara Bhitti Yantra was inscribed on the east wall of the Large Samra¯t Yantra˙and a second was lodged in ˙ the southwest corner of the south roof.

Fig. 192.6 Southern exposure of Samra¯t Yantra and Na¯d¯ıvalaya, with entrance to Digam˙s´a ˙ ˙ Yantra at right, Ujjain (Photograph: S. N. Johnson-Roehr)

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Fig. 192.7 Scaled surfaces of Digam˙s´a Yantra walls as viewed from eastern quadrant of Samra¯t ˙ Yantra, Ujjain (Photograph: S. N. Johnson-Roehr)

Fig. 192.8 Gnomon and quadrants of Large Samra¯t Yantra on north roof of Ma¯n Mahal, Varanasi ˙ (Photograph: S. N. Johnson-Roehr)

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Fig. 192.9 Cakra Yantra (center) and gnomon of Small Samra¯t Yantra (right), with outer wall of ˙ Digam˙s´a Yantra in background, Varanasi (Photograph: S. N. Johnson-Roehr)

Jai Singh’s fifth observatory was located 150 km south of Shahjahanabad in Mathura, a temple town crowded between the imperial highway and the Yamuna River. The four instruments at Mathura – a Samra¯t Yantra, an Agra¯ Yantra, ˙ a Daksinottara Bhitti Yantra, and a S´anku Yantra – reportedly occupied a terrace ˙ of the city fort, Kans ka Kila¯. The earliest known description of the observatory was penned by Joseph Tieffenthaler, an Austrian Jesuit who visited Mathura in May 1744. His description of the observatory gave the general dimensions of the instruments, but did not elaborate on their functions. The observatory and its instruments were demolished in the first half of nineteenth century (Growse 1882).

Restoration and Current State of the Observatories Each of the four extant observatories has been restored or rebuilt and today, they exist as managed heritage sites. To the observatory in Jaipur, Madho Singh I added a Yasti Yantra (“Stick Instrument”) and armillary sphere. His successor, Prthvi Singh˙˙ (r. 1768–1778), restored the Na¯d¯ıvalaya. Pratap Singh (r. 1778–1803) dis˙ Anand Bihari temple and converted the mantled several instruments to build the remainder of the observatory to a gun foundry (Sharma 1995). Around 1876, Ram Singh II (r. 1835–1880) sponsored the renovation of the remaining instruments. Madho Singh II (r. 1880–1922) initiated limited restorations as early as 1891 and invested in a complete overhaul of the observatory in 1901–1902 under the

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Fig. 192.10 Renovations of Large Samra¯t Yantra, ˙ core of showing rubble quadrant terminus, Jaipur, 2007 (Photograph: S. N. Johnson-Roehr)

guidance of Chandrahar Guleri and Arthur ff. Garrett (Garrett and Guleri 1902). In 1945, the plaster scales of the Samra¯t Yantra were refinished in marble. ˙ In 2007–2008, under the guidance of the Archaeology and Museum Department, the observatory underwent the first large-scale restoration in over a century. The major instruments were stripped to their rubble cores and resurfaced with fresh lime plaster (Fig. 192.10). Exhausted turf was replaced, a well was dug for a new irrigation system, the observatory walls were rebuilt with crenellations, and a new interpretive center and entrance were built in the western sector of the complex. In 2010, the observatory was inscribed on UNESCO’s World Heritage List as an outstanding example of an architectural ensemble that illustrates India’s cultural traditions and a significant stage in human history (UNESCO 2010). In 1852, at the request of the Delhi Archaeological Society, Ram Singh II of Jaipur provided 600 rupees for the refurbishment of the Shahjahanabad observatory. Between 1909 and 1911, under the supervision of Gokul Chand Bhavan, Astronomer Royal at Jaipur, additional improvements were made to the instruments. In 1951, the plaster scales of the Mis´ra Yantra were refinished in marble under the supervision of Kedara Natha Sharma, Astronomer Royal at Jaipur (Sharma 1995). Between 1975 and 1981, the pit of the Samra¯t Yantra was partially ˙

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filled with concrete an effort to prevent the pooling of groundwater. A series of interventions into the site were proposed by members of the Astronomical Society of India in 1993, but only cosmetic repairs have been made during the past two decades (Babu and Venugopal 1993). In 2007, the Apeejay Group installed spotlights and completed patchwork in anticipation of the Commonwealth Games 2010. In 1911, the Varanasi observatory was restored under the supervision of Gokul Chand Bhavan. Since 1947, the observatory has been under the management of the Archaeological Survey of India. In 1923, the instruments in Ujjain were repaired, also under the supervision of Gokul Chand Bhavan. Small patchworks to the instruments have been ongoing and recent renovations have included the construction of a new ghat and installation of an 8” Meade telescope on rails. An Interpretation Centre, developed by Madhya Pradesh Tourism and funded by the Ministry of Tourism, Government of India, was completed in 2008. Because the observatories are managed by separate government agencies, the interpretive strategies employed from site to site are contradictory. In Jaipur, a city popular with tourists, the observatory is interpreted as part of a romanticized Rajput history. The astrological potential of the instruments is emphasized as evidence of Jai Singh’s identity as a Hindu king. In Delhi, the instruments are interpreted as emblematic of Islamic science, the practice of which demonstrated Jai Singh’s fealty to the Mughal emperor. Jai Singh’s work is more appropriately understood as one instance of the global inquiry into astronomy during the eighteenth century. Although he studied Hindu astronomy manuscripts, his familiarity of the Zı¯j-i Ulugh Begı¯ and facility with Graeco-Arabic instruments demonstrate that he looked beyond a conventional Rajput education to pursue a broader literature of science (Pingree 1999). By 1726, he was in contact with the Jesuit College in Agra, negotiating European representation for his work. He dispatched a scientific ambassador to Portugal in the company of Father Manuel de Figueredo and in 1730/31, he reached east to Chandernaggar to discuss Philippe de la Hire’s Tabulae Astronomicae with the Jesuit astronomer Claude Stanislaus Boudier (b. 1686-d. 1757) (Boudier 1732). Boudier, too, was entangled in the strands of a global science and dependent on cooperation from Jesuit astronomers in China and France to support his discourse with Jai Singh. In 1737, Jai Singh opened negotiations with the Viceroy of Goa to ensure the rapid and safe passage of the Jesuit mathematicians, Anton Gabelsperger (d. 1741) and Andreas Strobl (d. 1758), from Goa to Jaipur. On the eve of his death, Jai Singh was preparing a second embassy to Rome on the recommendation of Strobl (1726).

Cross-References ▶ Archaeoastronomical Heritage and the World Heritage Convention ▶ Astronomical Instruments in India ▶ Chinese Armillary Spheres

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▶ Dengfeng Large Gnomon ▶ Islamic Astronomical Instruments and Observatories ▶ Mathematical Astronomy in India

References Babu GSD, Venugopal VR (1993) Programme for the restoration of the masonry instruments at Delhi Jantar Mantar. Bull Astron Soc India 21:481–483 Bhatnagar VS (1974) Life and times of Sawai Jai Singh, 1688–1743. Impex India, Delhi Boudier C (1732) Letter to E´tienne Souciet. GBro 088 Fonds Brotier. Les Archives des Je´suites de Paris, Vanves Garrett A, Guleri C (1902) The Jaipur observatory and its builder. Pioneer Press, Allahabad Growse FS (1882) Mathura¯: a district memoir. New Order Book, Ahmedabad Gwalior State (1937) Administration of the Gwalior State during the year 1934–1935 (from 1st July to 30th June). Alijah Darbar Press, Lashkar Gwalior State (1938) Administration of the Gwalior State during the year 1935–1936 (from 1st July to 30th June). Alijah Darbar Press, Lashkar Pingree D (1999) An astronomer’s progress. Proc Am Philos Soc 143:73–85 Sarma SR (1999) Yantrara¯ja: the astrolabe in Sanskrit. Ind J Hist Sci 34:145–158 Sharma VN (1995) Sawai Jai Singh and his astronomy. Motilal Banarsidass, Delhi Strobl A (1726) Letter No. 644. Der neue Weltbott mit allerhand Nachrichten dern Missionariorum Societatis Jesu. Joseph Stocklein, Augsburg UNESCO (2010) Convention concerning the protection of the world cultural and natural heritage. World Heritage Committee, Brasilia Zhang J (1976) Dengfeng guanxingtai he yuanchu tianwen guanze de chengjiao (the observatory in Dengfeng and early Yuan astronomy). Kaogu 2:95–102

Part XIII China and the Far East Xiaochun Sun

Ancient Chinese Astronomy - An Overview

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Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Origin and Early Development . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Growing Need for More Exact Study . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . New Inventions in Instrumentation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Conclusion: The Formation of a Paradigm . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Abstract

Documentary and archaeological evidence testifies the early origin and continuous development of ancient Chinese astronomy to meet both the ideological and practical needs of a society largely based on agriculture. There was a long period when the beginning of the year, month, and season was determined by direct observation of celestial phenomena, including their alignments with respect to the local skyline. As the need for more exact study arose, new instruments for more exact observation were invented and the system of calendrical astronomy became entirely mathematized.

Introduction China is one of the earliest places in the world where agricultural civilization originated, and remained an agriculture-dominated culture before the end of the imperial period in 1912. For this reason, Chinese people became keen observers and worshipers of celestial phenomena from very early times. For them, these

Y. Shi University of Science and Technology of China, Hefei, China e-mail: [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_210, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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phenomena from high above were mandates from Heaven tian (天), showing sacred regulations and admonishments important not only for an agricultural economy but also for all human affairs centered on this economy. They called the regular motions and cycles of celestial bodies Calendrical Phenomena lixiang (历象), and the general astronomical and meteorological sky, as well as any occurrences in this sky, Celestial Patterns tianwen (天文). For Calendrical Phenomena, they developed and continued to improve systems of Calendrical Astronomy lifa (历法) as a way to describe and predict the motions of the sun, the moon, and the five major planets and thus to regulate economic, political, and even daily activities in accordance with the rhythm of the heavens. In the meantime, vigilant eyes were kept on Celestial Patterns in order to promptly discover any omens and portents meaningful to rulers. Official institutions were set up to take care of these businesses and formed an uninterrupted tradition lasting thousands of years.

Origin and Early Development Documentary evidence for the existence of such a tradition can be traced back to the first Chinese dynasty Xia (夏), from the twenty-third to the seventeenth century BC, as recorded in “The Canon of Yao” of The Book of Documents, or Shujing (书经), which describes how Yao, an ancestral king of the Xia dynasty, ordered the brothers of Xi (羲) and He (和) “reverently to conform themselves to August heaven, to trace the phenomena of the sun, the moon, the stars and the celestial houses, and respectfully to deliver time to people”. He dispatched them to four directions, using asterisms Bird niao (鸟), Fire huo (火), Void xu (虚), and Hairy Head mao (昴) as indicators for the approach of equinoxes and solstices, “taking three hundred, sixty and six days [as a round year], and fixing the four seasons by means of an intercalary month”. Such a calendar was then to be used in “regulating the various officers to make all works in the year fully performed”. Archaeological discoveries have confirmed the early origin of astronomical culture in China. In 1987 and 1988, a tomb dated to 4000 BC was excavated in the Puyang County, Henan province. Its occupant is surrounded by a group of figures made up of clam shells and human bones (Fig. 193.1): a dragon to the east, a tiger to the west, and a ladle to the north (Sun et al. 1988). While most archaeologists agree that the dragon and tiger are two benevolent animals in Chinese mythology that carry the deceased into heaven, Li Xueqin connects the configuration to the old Chinese sky that was divided into four directions and marked with four benevolent animals: Blue Dragon of the East, White Tiger of the West, Red Bird of the South, and Black Tortoise of the North (Li 1988). Following this line of thought, Feng Shi further deciphers the ladle as Ursa Major and the special shape of the tomb as a representation of the primitive Chinese cosmography that depicted heaven as a canopy over a flat earth (Feng 1990). Textual evidence from the third to second century BC reveals the key idea of dividing the zodiac constellations into four directions, namely of using the four groups of asterisms as indicators of the four seasons (Fig. 193.2).

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4t

H34 A

M45 M54

H51 D

A⬘

Fig. 193.1 The Tiger and Dragon Grave from Puyang. # Authorized for nonprofitable use

Fig. 193.2 The special symbol on the pottery from the Dawenkou site. # Authorized for nonprofitable use

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Of course, the most obvious indicator of the seasons is the sun. During the 1970s, archaeologists excavating a late Neolithic site of the Dawenkou Culture dating from 4040 to 2240 BC at Juxian, Shangdong province, unearthed some pottery decorated with a special symbol. Since then, pottery with the same symbol has also been found at the contemporary sites in the neighboring areas, even at the Yuchisi site in northern Anhui province. Archaeologists differ in their interpretations of the symbol’s exact meaning, but most of them connect it with the sun. Wang Shuming even suggests that the symbol must have been originated from using the alignment of the sun in the determination of different seasons, because looking eastward from the Dawenkou site, one can find a skyline with five mountain peaks (Wang 1986). Further evidence for this interpretation comes from the altar unearthed in 2003 at Taosi, a site in the middle south of Shanxi, dating from 2300 to 1900 BC, which some scholars believe to be an “observatory” using sunrise alignments for the determination of the seasons (see ▶ Chap. 201, “Taosi Observatory”). Oracle-bone inscriptions show that the calendar of the Shang (商) dynasty (eighteenth to twelfth century BC) reached a more sophisticated level, although views on its detailed nature have been quite divergent. A luni-solar calendar was adopted together with certain intercalation rules, while the system of 60 heavenly stems and earthly branches was used to count days, initiating a tradition believed to have been uninterrupted all the way up to the present. Simple instruments such as the gnomon and clepsydra might have been used. Records of celestial phenomena in the divinatory oracle-bone inscriptions, such as eclipses and names of stars, hint at the institutionalized development of astrology in the era (Feng 2011). At least from the following Zhou dynasty (mid-11th century to 256 BC), astronomical and astrological activities became wholly controlled by the emperor, the Son of Heaven tianzi (天子), the only one who had the right to maintain an establishment like the Platform for Heavenly Communication, or lingtai (灵台), both an observatory for sky-gazing and a site for the worship of heaven.

Growing Need for More Exact Study Since at least the Spring and Autumn period (722–481 BC), the precision of the calendar has been deemed a key factor concerning the peace and prosperity of the country. To maintain a precise calendar became a sign of the power, capacity, and legitimacy of a monarch. Up to the Warring States period (481–221 BC) and the Qin dynasty (221–206 BC), more sophisticated forms of celestial divination were developed and required more precise results from calendrical astronomy, which now covered not only the motions of the sun and moon but also those of the five major planets. Important evidence of this new trend comes from the Divination of the Five Planets, or Wuxing zhan 五星占 (Fig. 193.3), a silk book unearthed in 1973 from the tomb of the son of the prefecture chief of Changsha buried in 168 BC at Mawangdui, Changsha City, Hunan Province. The book concerns the astrological

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Fig. 193.3 The silk book Divination of the Five Planets

meaning of the phenomena of the five naked-eye planets, especially the accompanying lunar lodges of their first heliacal rising as well as the times of their first heliacal rising and last heliacal setting, which needed to be calculated from an exact knowledge of the synodic and sidereal motions of the planets. As an astronomical basis for astrology, the book gives not only the synodic and sidereal cycles of the five planets, but also tables detailing the accompanying lunar lodges of the first heliacal risings of Saturn, Jupiter, and Mars from 246 BC to 177 BC, as well as their motions in 246 BC, the first year of the founding emperor of the Qin dynasty (Liu 1974). These contents testify the existence, and are the results, of the need for more precise observation, documentation, and study of the motions of the celestial bodies. Other evidence includes the emergence and popularization of a type of divination involving the use of the cosmic board shi (栻), for which more exact data about the calendar and the motion of the celestial bodies were necessary (Ho 2003). The Cosmic Board for Six Ren Divination (Fig. 193.4) and the Cosmic Board for Grand Monad and Nine Lodges Divination (Fig. 193.5) unearthed in 1977 from the tomb of Xiahou Zao (夏侯灶) (?–165 BC), in Fuyang City, Anhui Province, are the oldest examples of the instruments used in this type of divination. The inscriptions on the two boards range from an image of Ursa Major to the names of the 28 lunar lodges, 12 months, 12 earthly braches, and eight of the 24 solar terms, which are indications of the need for an exact form of calendar and astronomy (Yin 1978; Yan 1978; Harper 1978–1979; Cullen 1980–1981).

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Fig. 193.5 A drawing of the cosmic board for Grand Monad and nine lodges

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Fig. 193.6 A drawing and reconstruction of the Lacquerwork object of unknown name

The new trend also coincided with the emergence of the first star catalogs in China, believed to be compiled by Shi Shen (石申) and Gan De (甘德) of the Warring State period, which provided a quantitative reference framework for more exact observation and the study of celestial phenomena (Ho 1985).

New Inventions in Instrumentation A more exact instrument is a key step to more exact astronomy. The most important instruments for this purpose in ancient China are the gnomon with template guibiao (圭表) and the armillary sphere hunyi (浑仪). Although the use of the gnomon can be traced back to the Shang dynasty, the combination of a gnomon with a fixed template occurred much later. The oldest example comes again from the tomb of Xia Houzao. It is a foldable object originally named by the archaeologists as the “Lacquerwork Object of Unknown name” (Fig. 193.6), for nobody has been able to identify it. Paleographical study indicates that the inverted T-shaped symbols ⊥ on the object (Fig. 193.7) may represent a tool for the observation of the shadow of the sun. Computational analysis shows that, while placed in the meridian plan at Fuyang, the fief territory of the Marquis of Ruyin, the device could be used to mark the position of the shadow cast by the erect tablet at noon on the solstices and equinoxes (Shi et al. 2012). In other words, the object is a foldable gnomon with template. A later example of this device is the foldable gnomon unearthed in 1965 from a tomb of the Eastern Han dynasty located in Yizhen City, Jiangsu province (Fig. 193.8) (Nanjing Museum 1977; Che et al. 1988), which turns out to be a one-tenth-scale model of the standard gnomon with template used on the official observatory of the dynasty in Luo Yang. The main

2038 Fig. 193.7 The components with the inversed T-shaped symbols

Fig. 193.8 The foldable gnomon from the tomb of the Eastern Han dynasty

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Fig. 193.9 A drawing of the disk with twenty-eight lunar lodges

function of the instrument is the measurement of the length of the tropical year and different seasons (see ▶ Chap. 202, “Dengfeng Large Gnomon”). The Chinese armillary sphere is said to have been invented in about 104 BC during the first major calendar reform of the Western Han dynasty (see ▶ Chap. 204, “Chinese Armillary Spheres”), but such an instrument cannot be invented overnight. Consequently, historians of Chinese astronomy have been wondering about its prehistory. Some of them have suggested that the “circular instrument”, yuanyi 圆仪, mentioned in the astronomical literature of the Western Han dynasty, might have been its direct ancestor (Cullen 1980–1981; Liu 1983). A key clue comes from the disk with 28 lunar lodges (Fig. 193.9), again an object from the tomb of Xiahou Zao. Its upper disk has been divided around its circumference into 365 du, the ancient Chinese division of the celestial circle. The lower disk bears the names of the 28 lunar lodges in anticlockwise sequence, and the number of du actually occupied by each lodge is marked below its name. Experts suggest that the disk could be the “circular instrument” (Yan 1978; Cullen 1980–1981; Liu 1984), another type of cosmic board for astrological purposes (Harper 1978–1979 and Harper 1980–1981), or even an astronomical readyreckoner for practicing astrologers (Cullen 1980–1981), but none of these suggestions is supported by sound evidence. A recent study shows that a “lacquer work case” unearthed together with the disk and described in the first report of the excavation (Wang 1978) is actually a support for the disk (Fig. 193.10) that can hold the disk in the local equatorial plane at

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Fig. 193.10 A drawing of the “Lacquer Work Case”

Fig. 193.11 A reconstruction of the function of the disk with twenty-eight lunar lodges

Fuyang (Fig. 193.11). Plugging a long pointer vertically into the hole in the middle of the disk, it is possible to measure the right ascension of any celestial body visible from the place (Shi et al. 2012). Therefore, such a device might be really the “circular instrument”, the direct ancestor of the Chinese armillary sphere.

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Conclusion: The Formation of a Paradigm All these new developments paved the way for the calendar reform in 104 BC, which led to the birth of the Grand Commencement System of Calendrical Astronomy, or Taichu li (太初历). The system covers nearly all the major subjects of ancient Chinese calendrical astronomy, and the motions of the sun, the moon, and the five major planets are reduced to quantitative cycles or tables, which form the basis for the arithmetic calculation of their future movements and positions (Sivin 1969). This system formed a paradigm for the later development of calendrical astronomy in China. Together with ever-changing socio-political interests, the consistent pursuit of higher precision remained a powerful driving force behind the development of ancient Chinese calendrical astronomy, leading to a long series of inventions and discoveries in astronomical observation, instrumentation, theorization, and calculation, which reached its summit in the Yuan dynasty (1271–1368).

Cross-References ▶ Chinese Armillary Spheres ▶ Dengfeng Large Gnomon ▶ Taosi Observatory

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Observation of Celestial Phenomena in Ancient China

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Xiaochun Sun

Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Solar and Lunar Eclipses . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Sunspots . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Guest Stars: Novae and Supernovae . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Comets and Meteors . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Planetary Phenomena . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cross-References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Abstract

Because of the need for calendar-making and portent astrology, the Chinese were diligent and meticulous observers of celestial phenomena. China has maintained the longest continuous historical records of celestial phenomena in the world. Extraordinary or abnormal celestial events were particularly noted because of their astrological significance. The historical records cover various types of celestial phenomena, which include solar and lunar eclipses, sunspots, “guest stars” (novae or supernovae as we understand today), comets and meteors, and all kinds of planetary phenomena. These records provide valuable historical data for astronomical studies today.

X. Sun Institute for the History of Natural Science, Chinese Academy of Sciences, Xicheng, Beijing, China e-mail: [email protected] C.L.N. Ruggles (ed.), Handbook of Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy, DOI 10.1007/978-1-4614-6141-8_224, # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2015

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Introduction Ancient Chinese astronomy mainly consisted of two parts, calendar-making (li fa 历法) and astrology (tian wen 天文). Both were based on the observation of celestial phenomena. The Chinese calendar was not only a scheme for the arrangement of days, months, and years, but also a mathematical system for the prediction of the movements of the sun, moon, and five planets. For these purposes, Chinese astronomers have observed such celestial events as solar and lunar eclipses and planetary conjunctions since long ago. Chinese astrology was basica