When I began my research on the topic of this book, several well-meaning colleagues understood that I was trying to assess archaeologists’ efforts at educating a larger public about archaeology. They recommended me to read specific books written by academic authors and to study how some professionals were contributing to public education in the media – as if any of that could reveal very much about my topic, the portrayal of archaeology in popular culture. The most important question that archaeologists in public contexts need to ask their audiences is not ”How can I best persuade you about the merits of my project or discipline?” but ”What does what I am doing mean to you?” (Ascherson 2004: 157). Yet, to date, these meanings have not very often been investigated by archaeologists (significant exceptions include Kirchner 1964; Pallotino 1968; Welinder 1987; Jensen and Wieczorek 2002).

Archaeologists have still not properly come to terms with the popularity of their own subject in the mainstream. In parts, this may be because some academics prefer studying lasting cultural achievements to an encounter with the pleasurable frivolity and superficiality of popular culture (cf. Maase 2003). But if we want to understand how people now are appreciating archaeology within the worlds in which they live, it is inevitable to study archaeology within that very context. Ascherson’s new question ultimately leads to a new paradigm for public archaeology (see also Holtorf 2005). In order to get better at public archaeology, professional archaeologists will need to try and work with rather than against the pre-understandings and expectations of their non-archaeological audiences. It has become pertinent, or even urgent to try and relate archaeology to ”what’s hot and what’s cool in the world beyond the professional and academic boundaries of the discipline” (Darvill 2004: 57).

Any possible benefits of a purely academic understanding of archaeology – different from its popular appeal – are not obvious to the rest of the population. As a group of Swedish students (André et al 2001) demonstrated in a thought experiment, it is all too easy to argue that archaeology is a pretty useless and unsuccessful academic discipline that tells us very little of a highly hypothetical nature about issues of little relevance to us today. Arguably, archaeology also produces little else than artifacts that end up in dark storage vaults and literature, such as excavation reports, that not very many people will ever read. At the same time, money is lacking for health care, social security, education, alternative energy research, or international solidarity, so that one can only wonder how anybody could possibly want to go ahead with archaeology at all. To counter such arguments, professional archaeologists must be proactive and make sure that they fulfill, and are seen to fulfill, a social role that is widely appreciated in society. This ambition to define archaeology in terms of usefulness and legitimacy should not be considered as the ”prostitution” of an academic discipline. It is rather a reminder of its social duty (see also Rieche 1996).

It does not take more than a good look at the characterization of archaeology in popular culture (as attempted in this book) to find out what might be archaeology’s most important aim and function in contemporary Western society: archaeology tells us stories that are both exciting and full of important metaphorical meanings. Archaeological stories are about heroes who overcome adversities and solve mysteries. Archaeologists can give meticulous attention to detail. Their research is not seldom about contemplating, and perhaps answering, large existential questions or other issues of significance to many people. Archaeologists are taking responsibility of scarce resources for everybody’s benefit. Such characters, and the stories within which they act, matter to people, for they reflect some of their dreams and aspirations but also issues of concern and immediate relevance to their own lives (Jensen 2002).

We all live through adventures during which we need to overcome adversity, hoping to emerge as heroes. We all need to attend to detail, occasionally, hoping to solve complex ”cases”. We all wonder about what it all means and where it will all end, hoping to gain some certainties and peace of mind in an uncertain world. We all need to household with resources, both personally and on levels of larger communities of, for instance, employees or citizens, hoping that we will ”manage”. In other words, archaeology tells us stories that are directly concerned with ourselves. It is these stories that give archaeology currency in the contemporary world. In them becomes manifest to what extent, Western societies are dominated by certain dreams and experiences that transform us as human beings and give our lives meaning (see also chapter 1). In a sense it can be said that the archaeologist is not digging for artifacts but for dreams (Petersson 1994: 71). By the same token, John Fritz (1973: 81) summarized what archaeology contributes society in the following way: ”archeology is of interest to, rooted in the experience of, and is beneficial to the common (hu)man in several respects. It provides puzzles to be solved, vicarious experience of the exotic and the adventurous, the hope of ’striking it rich,’ and a form of contact with the ’other world’.”

This entire dimension of archaeology should not be buried by traditional academic habits and the social values of the educated middle classes with which probably most professional archaeologists have grown up. Regrettably, archaeologists themselves often have a fairly limited understanding of what an archaeologist actually is and what archaeological stories – in their own societies – are actually about. In other words, archaeologists are often rather clueless about archaeo-appeal.

At the end of the day, most of professional archaeology is not in the education but in the story-telling business. Archaeologists, like others who have tales to tell about the past, are “sophisticated storytellers” and as such we are “performers on a public stage” (Fagan 2002: 254). That is not to say that archaeology was any less important, quite the opposite. As discussed in chapter 6, appropriate stories educate people and can create political good will. What is more, archaeological stories can be told by many people and everybody can be given the opportunity to express their own perspectives about archaeology. Story-telling and the foregrounding of ”experiences” have become central to the society in which we live. Besides their other functions, they contribute to peoples’ social identities and can give inspiration, meaning, and happiness to their lives (Schulze 1993; Jensen 1999). These are no small achievements – not only because of the immediate satisfaction gained by the individuals directly affected (Fowler 1977: 28-29). Arguably, society too benefits from citizens who occasionally fulfill their dreams, can overcome adversities, develop inquiring minds, ask – and learn to deal with – large existential questions, or gain a sense of purpose from being able to contribute to important missions. If all that can be fun too, then so much for the better.

There is, of course, a political dimension to everything discussed in this book – not just the specific politics involved in all ”public” archaeology but also the general politics concerning archaeology’s role in society. It is a legitimate concern that at the end of this book it appears that archaeology may have little else to offer to people than temporary escapes from the ’real’ world. As enjoyable and indeed necessary as they can be occasionally, there may be a risk that such escapes merely compensate for some of the deficiencies of peoples’ real lives and thus keep them from addressing these deficiencies and ultimately trying to improve their lives. However, rather than distracting from reality, adventures and certain other kinds of stories and experiences are arguably playing an important role in maintaining a given social order by reaffirming crucial underlying values. As the German anthropologist Christoph Köck (1990: 160; my translation) argued, ”if the transgression of boundaries were not domesticated, the existence of the (cultural) order as a whole would be at risk.” In other words, temporary escapes are necessary in order to retain the status quo of a society in which people generally live well. But not all societies provide generally good lives for their citizens, and probably no social order is as good as it might be.

Nothing I said should hold professional archaeologists and others back from problematizing and critiquing the stories and themes that are associated with the subject of archaeology. Instead, a critical assessment of the audiences’ interpretations and possible implications and consequences of particular portrayals of archaeology are a social duty of archaeologists, too. This is the one reservation without which archaeological stories, however popular, should not be told. Such an assessment could lead to an acceptance, a required modification or a complete rejection of a particular way of depicting archaeology. But critical assessments are never easy, and there are no general rules that could suggest perfect responses in all eventualities. Each situation needs to be looked at carefully in its entire context and must be assessed on its own merits. What makes general recommendations harder still is that everybody may have a different set of values or criteria to be applied in any such assessment.

If I was to apply my own set of values, it would be possible to modify the existing clichés so that archaeology can still benefit from their appeal while at the same time avoiding some of their problems. For example, the A theme may have colonial and gender-related overtones that I would not want to promote in contemporary Western society. But it is possible to remove (or ironize or invert) them and still let archaeologists participate in hero adventure stories, for their essential characteristics do not depend on these traits (see also Cohodas 2003). Similarly, as scholarly experts caring for antiquities, archaeologists adhere to the C theme, but as far as I am concerned that does not necessarily mean that in times of war they need to get embedded in the war machineries of a military superpower in order to try and protect archaeological sites. Rather, archaeologists could adjust the C theme to a commitment of caring first and foremost for human beings, and thus avoid contributing to making brutal wars more feasible (see also Hamilakis 2003). Political choices such as these are ours to make.

Forward to Ending

Return to Table of Contents

Return to Home

References