How Do Archaeologists Know What They’ve Got?

It is a well-known, if begrudgingly accepted, fact among archaeologists that history is largely written in stone. This can perhaps be broadened to other earthworks as well; a shard of pottery and ceramics on one hand, a chipped spearhead and pestle on the other, but they all come back to the same fundamental truth. Wood dissolves with time, leather and sinew turn to dust. Even metals, far exceeding most organic materials in durability, are prone to corrosion. Oftentimes, stone and clay are all that is left to provide a fragmentary insight into the lives of their creators over the vast swathes of time that separate us from their creation. It is easy then, given their paramount importance to our modern understanding of the past, to overvalue their actual historical role in contemporary civilizations. If one found in the remains of a permanent settlement 100 stone spearheads or a dozen stone hand axes, they might then believe that wood had taken the metaphorical back-seat to other materials.

Take the classic example of clay pottery; pottery is largely ubiquitous, existing globally among innumerable of civilizations in the form of cups, bowls, jars, and lamps, among hundreds of other forms where the medium was favored for its modularity and convenience. Given the overwhelming presence of this particular kind of artifact, it is easy enough to assume these new designs widely overtook the old, and that the advent of clay fundamentally transformed some aspect of ancient life. While this was likely entirely true, it is predicated on a highly fragmented perception of the past. Oftentimes, barring major discoveries, the only way to fill in these gaps is with speculation and hypothesis.

The challenge for archaeologists, then, is largely two-fold. In the first case, we are limited in our understanding by the scope of our discoveries; in the second, we are sometimes susceptible to over-representing what we do find, particularly when there is little to compare it to. Bahn offers in the preamble to his third chapter a particularly staggering statistic in this regard: that “the “Paleolithic”, or “Old Stone Age”, encompasses over 99 percent of the archaeological record… and stone tools are what predominate in its refuse” (Bahn. 24). If we accept that our perception is skewed by those few enduring artifacts that make up the archaeological record, how do we derive anything true or reasonably informed from what we find? The answer lies largely in an object’s means of construction, as well as its determined function.

‘Ground stone tool analysis’ is the catch-all term for any method used to understand the construction of stone tools. This is a very effective way to catalogue and learn about artifacts based on their shapes, design, and materials, but struggles to specifically identify what tasks they were used for. Using powerful microscopes, archeologists search for signs of ‘use-wear’, such as impact marks, abrasions, and chipping that could provide insight into their original use.

A study in the Journal of Archaeological Science provides a particularly useful example of this idea. Two morphologically distinct hammer stones are pictured together; one round and smooth, the other boxy with a wide, flat face. By studying signs of impact marks on the striking surfaces of each stone, archaeologists were able to accurately identify both as hammer stones. A third stone, slightly sharper and more angular in structure, was then identified as a ‘chopper’ due to the fine polish the material had taken on along its cutting face over years of wear.

While identifying the specific functions of stone tools is certainly a more difficult task that identifying broad categories, archaeologists have developed several tools to do so. Studying non-tool artifacts from the same place often provides helpful context. Jennie R. Ebeling, writing for the Journal of Near Eastern Archaeology, described a “late 18th Dynasty Egyptian limestone statuette [depicting] Senenu grinding grain” (Ebeling et al. 109). Murals, sculptures, and later writings provide direct insights into how tools were used, and what industries ancient people engaged in.

A second method for identifying specific use-cases for ancient tools is through hands-on testing with ancient artifacts. Sometimes ancient tools or other artifacts can simply be duplicated using authentic methods and materials to produce a copy that can be safely tested and compared to originals. A stone hand axe could, for example, be tested on different pieces of wood, leather, or other rocks, to see which wear patterns most closely match authentic examples. This method can also clue archaeologists in on things that might have eroded with time, such as handles or pads that might have been used alongside surviving tools.

Reconstruction instead involves reassembling actual artifacts to determine how they were built and assembled. This particular method can provide extensive insight into the technical knowledge of ancient people, and is generally being much cheaper than duplicating artifacts from scratch.

Both reconstruction and replication are part of a larger subcategory of archaeology known as experimental archaeology, which emphasizes gaining historical knowledge through modern use of surviving artifacts. While experimental archaeology alone usually isn’t enough to fully understand the historical context of artifacts, combining it with other archaeological methods can provide a remarkably complete insight into ancient life as it truly was, filling in many of the holes that formed along the way. 

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