One day in 1908, an aging African-American cowboy named George McJunkin rode out on the New Mexico landscape chasing cows up a foreboding arroyo called Dead Horse Gulch.
He got there the hard way...
The son of slaves who had been freed after the Civil War, McJunkin had led a patchwork life of employment that included oxen driver, freighter, wrangler and ranch work, but none of it included formal schooling. As McJunkin rode through the arroyo, an unusual site caught his attention. Sticking out of the now cracking and drying mud was a rather large well-aged rib cage; too big for a bull or even a large elk. He dismounted and walked over to the unusually large bone pile and pulled one of the ribs from the mud.
As McJunkin turned the rib over in his hands he also turned an enormous page in archaeological and anthropological history; the carcass was a prehistoric bison (extinct since at least the Late Pleistocene Epoch and ancestral to the declining herds of current American buffalo). What was in his hand was part of a 10,000 year old animal that had been killed by a then unknown ancestral hunter-gatherer culture who occupied the ancient southwest in the long pre-horizon of North American history. Up to this point professional archaeologists and academics alike were more deeply mired than bucolic megalithic bison in the notion that occupation by prehistoric Americans in the four corners region of Arizona, New Mexico, Utah and Colorado went back only a few thousand years—at most.
Archaeology involving prehistoric occupations in the pithouses, cliff dwellings and pueblos of the American four corners area is arguably professional guesswork. A lot of it can be terribly wrong but seems good at the time and there is precious little correlation between improved accuracy and the provenance of the college degrees involved in the research; McJunkin’s mega faunal find is a case in point.
Often referred to as ‘argue-ology’, professionals then and now are appropriately skeptical regarding sweeping conclusions drawn from so-called ‘earth-shattering’ archaeological or anthropological discoveries; this is both the nature and strength of modern peer-reviewed science and is born out of a myriad of past mistakes.
Although he began almost immediately alerting professionals to his find, McJunkin’s ‘discovery’ was met (at first) with both professional and academic indifference, followed by skepticism and finally with outright slander and righteous indignation largely born of professional conceit. But McJunkin was a patient sort and he used his time wisely. Over the coming years he educated himself with the extant literature on archaeology and anthropology; eventually he became avocationally fluent in both subjects. However, by the time McJunkin died in 1922, the revolutionary find could still be filed under the dusty category of professional obscurity.
What little attention was paid by the scientific community immediately after his death was typically couched in denial. It was not until 1927 that Carl Schwachheim under the direction of Colorado archaeologist Jesse Figgins, finally excavated the Folsom point artifact (Figure 1) that served as definitive proof the bison had been killed by an undocumented alien outside the context of the accepted animas of anthropology. But, when the distinguished journal Scientific American published an early report regarding McJunkin’s bone pile in 1928—the first public record documenting Schwachheim’s Paleolithic flint point association and the prehistoric hunter that would become famously known as Folsom Man—the editors still felt it necessary to include a disclaimer that would provide them with plausible deniability in the world of scientific and journalistic pundits.
Well, caution is a good thing.
However, leading the professional reactionaries of the period was anthropologist Aleš Hrdlička. Ironically, as head of the Smithsonian Institution’s National Museum of Natural History, Hrdlička had led the early field work on what was termed the Beringia migration; a theory arguing that the upper North American continent had been originally populated by an Asian-based Kamikaze-like migration moving quickly across the frozen expanses of the Bering Strait some 15,000 years ago. But to Hrdlička and others in 1908 and for years after, the American southwest was a different story of migration and did not include any uppity uneducated cowboys contradicting the college-educated stuffed shirts of professional archaeology. Hrdlička presented a problem, not of prudent scientifically-based peer-review skepticism as part of a dutiful scientific inquiry, but of ‘no review on my watch’ elitism. Happily this sort of intellectual barrier is rare in today’s open climate of professional inquiry and academic freedom. Unfortunately it is not completely absent either.
I remember visiting Palatki ruins, one of Arizona’s premier petroglyphic sites and a watering hole of probable archaic origin. I had casually but frequently noted here and elsewhere the occurrence of nightshade in the proximity of similar prehistoric occupational sites. In asking one of the uniformed docents about nightshade as a possible prehistoric cultigen, he responded with a sneer that drove his nose well up into the air,
“Who knows? We’re archaeologists, not botanists...”
In the field of logic, the entire episode of McJunkin’s discovery and the scientific community’s intellectual rejection is now known as a Black Swan Theory. This theory of critically nascent but completely unpredictable events of enormous magnitude was popularly introduced by Nassim Nicholas Taleb to explain the disproportionate role of high-impact, hard to predict, and rare events that are beyond the realm of normal expectations in history, science, finance and technology. The proverbial black swan (the bird, not the theory) was considered a defacto impossibility in an empirically driven world that quite innocently viewed all swans as white. The ultimate discovery of black swans in Western Australia by explorer Willem de Vlamingh in 1697 suddenly transitioned the now conventionally accepted black swan from the dominion of the impossible into the new realm of modern metaphor regarding the predictability of human nature to stick its head in a quiet dark place.
Taleb suggested there are three principal elements to any Black Swan event; rarity, extreme impact, and rationalization on the part of those invested in the original fallacy. Taleb referred to the objects of these events (e.g. the swans themselves) as statistical outliers in the conventional wisdom of those who are unable to rationally reason outside the box, even when presented with evidence to the contrary.
The myopia of professional provincialism and academic hegemony will no doubt continue to plague the emergence of complex new theories in all disciplines, but I believe research and important discoveries will continue in spite of it.
I claim the present Black Swan in this research as my own, and—like McJunkin—I offer you no collegiate credentials in archaeology, astronomy, anthropology (or anything else for that matter) to salve the perturbations of the skeptical academic review process. I spent most of my career as a self-taught engineer—I am not an archaeologist. To make it worse, I also wear a cowboy hat.
To be fair, what I found here I initially uncovered by accident; at the time I was researching the history of Aztlán and its connections to the American southwest. Stunned by what I found, all research on that original subject was put aside and I immediately took up the uncovering of the research that now unfolds before you. At best I might be accidentally (or even in some circles generously) described as a self-taught avocational-archaeologist. Self-taught is a suicidal term in both academic and professional circles, and avocational is a tawdry pejorative for amateur (in fact, cheap amateur).
I’m OK with that.
The best approximation I can give you for self-description is perhaps Gonzo-Archaeologist (Retired); a sufficiently fuzzy term, and it allows me not only to wax eloquently about subjects for which I have absolutely no formal education, but to revel in my retirement in the type of hare-brained analogies, crazy cultural connections and wildly disparate conclusions necessary to support my archaeological theories without threat of occupational retribution—untenured professors should be so lucky.
Having said that, let’s begin the waxing.
Modern temptations inherent in connecting epoch-wide archaeological dots necessarily includes a tool called ethnography; this is the academic and professional use of Reverend LeRoy’s Church of What's Happenin' Now to gain possible insight into what might have happened ‘back in the day’. Ethnography, like any other adjunct research method, must be used carefully; like fire; it can both warm the butt and burn the barn down.
On a good day, ethnography can be a very useful conjectural analog. Without ethnography it is unlikely early Mayan translations of rare codex-based hieroglyphic data would have progressed as quickly as it did. Comparisons to contemporary traditions in the Yucatan provided valuable (if sometimes initially flawed) insights which led to ever more robust interpretations and better translations. Today, the enormous and valuable record of literature and science of the Mayan culture which fills miles of book shelves in public, academic and private libraries stands on the humble shoulders of ethnography.
Ethnography, like botany, anthropology, astronomy, dendrochronology (once thought to be about as relevant to archaeology as a talking Ouija board), pollen studies and mitochondrial DNA research, acoustics, linguistics as well as other scientific endeavors are now routinely employed by archaeologists to peel the recalcitrant onion of pre-history. To the study of Anasazi architecture this research adds one new intellectual tool to the archaeologist’s trowel—that of algebraically-based geometric proportionality replicated as scale-independent design rules in ancient Anasazi landscape and architecture. A highly visible guidon always leads the way in any new adventure, and I have chosen to call this new endeavor isotropic-archaeology. What you will read here is what I believe is evidence of previously undocumented algebraic geometry first used by Anasazi engineers during the late first millennium AD.
Although no example of writing or mathematics has previously been recovered in the Anasazi artifact record, assumptions necessarily concluding their nonexistence may not be our best bet. Like dendrochronology there may be smoking guns of pre-history waiting to broaden the horizons of those willing to invest in embracing new paradigms.
Unfortunately, geometry in high school is one of those ‘required’ subjects most people grind their way through, hoping for a passing grade—a lot of us wondering all the while how any teacher can possibly find the field interesting enough to teach πr˛ semester after semester. In my youth, to get a passing grade in Mr. Roberts geometry class and move on to more important things in life (like throbbing motorcycles and girls) required at least a glancing familiarity with the dreaded bludgeoning of algebra; and together geometry and algebra formed an arithmetic Romulus and Remus for the evolutionary evils of trigonometry and other frighteningly higher levels of math and science.
Yet there are always those few, now and indeed even at the cultural horizon of Chaco Canyon, that actually discover enthusiastic ability in mathematics where others see only prolonged drudgery. It is in this enthusiastic ability that science, engineering and architecture find new horizons of thought and imagination. The old ones mentor the young in a time honored exchange between professor and scholar—Shaman and apprentice. It was in this relationship that the algebraic science of an ancient worldview was articulated in the stonework and landscape of the pre-historic San Juan.
This discussion includes an extensive analysis of the well-planned geometry used in the architectural construction and positional relationships of their signature Great House stonework. Their masonry execution is already unique in the ancient world; this research adds a new algebraic dimension which I think not only reflects the presence of a heretofore unknown scientific experience in Chacoan culture, but further suggests the stonework design was in fact a metaphor in a pre-historic round earth worldview. Yee-haw.
I believe the emergence of this architecture included hard-won engineering and arithmetic knowledge that brought about new intellectual horizons in design as well as engineering, and over time (probably several generations) this knowledge moved north from Chaco to Aztec Ruin and then south into Paquimé (near Casas Grandes) in northern Mexico and proceeded along a narrow north-south longitude first described by J.Q. Jacobs and later published in the book The Chaco Meridian by Dr. Stephen Lekson. I suggest here there is evidence this geometry was also used by the Aztecs in Teotihuacán, Mexico and by the Inca at Machu Picchu, Peru.
My research supports not only the engineering necessary to administer a migration of people along this longitudinal meridian, but a temporal and evolutionary migration of engineering knowledge fundamentally based in arithmetic design rules called isotropic geometry (see Appendix A).
But, don’t let the big words scare you.
Isotropic is a two-dollar word in geometry for literally any shape (e.g. a circle, triangle or rectangle) that can be expanded equally and simultaneously in all directions without losing proportional similarity to the original form. The simplest example of this would be the shape of a round kiva which might be twenty feet across in a small house pueblo setting, but may be observed to be many times that dimension in Great Kiva form (e.g. Casa Rinconada is more than sixty feet in diameter). Importantly, Casa Rinconada and other kivas great and small are all basically round in shape and can be dimensionally compared with any round kiva without either architectural example losing their fundamental element of “roundness.” This proportional change without loss of shape is isotropic by definition; the same proportional scaling can be used with any geometric form.
The research presented here suggests engineers in Chaco manipulated both landscape and architecture based on consistently applied design rules of very specific geometry which was scaled in this isotropic fashion throughout the Anasazi culture area. This repetitive use of geometric proportionality required development and use of the first engineering tools (Figure 2)—not only in well-educated hands—but with the resolution to produce both intricate geometric designs and accurate mathematical reflections of those designs in masonry construction and landscape.
The presence of algebraically-based and highly accurate geometry imposed by the Anasazi on Chacoan architecture, canyon-wide landscape—and on even broader regional reflections of these isotropic design rules--will be controversial. None the less, they are the principal fact-based foundations I present for the suggestion of intentional Shaman engineering, the first generational science in America and an evolutionary design tool technology. This already sandy bottom provides a challenging foundation for even more controversial proposals such as the use of a standard Anasazi unit of measure, the presence of longitude, and a pre-historic use of time.
“Fasten your seatbelts, it’s going to be a bumpy night…”
When this geometry is superimposed on an Anasazi Great House floorplan the result is an isotropic plot (Figure 4) which is a composite of the geometric design and the actual floorplan. In each instance, I will present this type of composite plot in order to fully develop the visual relationships between algebra, the stonework and the landscape.
Clearly, to many readers who do not give a fig about math, Figure 4 is merely an elegant diagram corrupted by the ugliness and rancor of algebra. For those who do not like balancing your check book (let alone doing the algebraic drudgery associated with geometry) I will not bludgeon you here with the technical stuff. I will reserve the heavy arithmetic lifting (and the statistical analysis and number crunching) for the appendices. Yet, there is some math here, I’m sorry; if you want to understand Anasazi science you’ll have to get over it.
However, I promise not to bog this discussion down with a lot of high level arithmetic; Mr. Peabody’s data is not buried in the individual chapters. Stephen Hawking’s publisher once told him each mathematical formula in his book would reduce his readership by half; fair enough (and my wife agrees). However, I highly recommend at least perusing Appendix A for the basics of isotropism (this is your last chance, but you can have it as often as you need it).
I will present statistical evidence this same geometric pattern, in a scaled isotropic proportionality of landscape was no accident; it was intentionally implemented and not only as a blueprint for architectural implementation, but a reflection of scientific achievement and a cultural worldview. It is of course entirely possible to place a geometric pattern over virtually any architecture or community plan and find at least two interesting points. This result may be interpreted as you like for it is the Goofy-Glue approach to both intention and probability—a false implementation of Exidor’s salient theory on guilt without sex. This sort of biased geometric overlay coupled with irrational speculation regarding the mystical meaning of randomly superimposed patterns frequently leads the innocent into the realm of so-called sacred geometry; this is the wacky world of Looney Ley Lines, alien crop circles, bone-tossing geomancy and Findhorn elves chanting gently to their rutabagas—what I like to call Recalcitrant Operational Theory (a.k.a. ROT).
I used to have a debate coach in high school whose favorite platitude was “…figures don’t lie, but liars figure.” This concept was importantly impressed upon me during my many years as a Senior Applications Engineer at Intel Corp. It was here that 2 and 3-sigma statistical methodology and upper confidence levels were force-fed into my thick cranial vault regarding the probability of intention. This is the tactic of having an all-important paper trail of plausible deniability when things fail to materialize in a high-tech and high risk manufacturing environment—and, like carbon-dating in archaeology, theoretical predictions have limitations, they can and will fail to some degree (it is only a question of how soon and how often).
This is the fundamental challenge to pre-historic theories of probability of intention; one must demonstrate occurrence (in this case the re-occurrence of a specific geometry) so often and in so many important locations that it becomes futile and downright foolish to argue otherwise.
Towards this end, I offer what I hope is meaningful contest to the null argument of chance and coincidence. This will be formulated at several levels. Statistical sigma methodology gets to have its day (as a long-time engineer I would be remiss to exclude it); the hard data in spreadsheet form is available for peer review on the internet at the Warfield Press website). But, independent correlation in other contexts will also play an all important factor in convincingly laying out this argument. It is here that pre and post-ethnographic studies, petroglyphic records, celestial mechanics, topographic data, known archaeology, your own common sense and rational judgment will take the stage to augment this theory.
For instance, there are several well-documented, ancient and geometrically-based sites where pre-historic landscape patterns have shown that ancient people demonstrated a high probability of intentional manipulation in both architecture and landscape. This manipulation was used to create metaphorical geometries relating to their cosmological worldview; e.g. the Hopewell celestial mounds (Figure 6) in the eastern United States which predated Chaco by several centuries. Dr. Bradley T. Lepper, Curator of Archaeology, Ohio Historical Society, hypothesizes that the Hopewell Octagon earthwork at Newark, Ohio, is an ancient lunar observatory oriented to the 18.62 year standstill cycle; importantly this work is based on longitudinal horizon position not actual lunar standstill timing.
Some mathematical manipulations of celestial landscape date even further back in time; i.e. the famous Avebury and Stonehenge Neolithic/Bronze Age sites in England and one of the world’s oldest megalithic henge-based landscapes in Nabta Playa, Egypt which dates to at least 4000BC. Rock art in Boca de Potrerillos, Mexico depicting an equinoctial east/west alignment dates to 5500 BC. And pre-historic North American hunter-gatherers were keeping up with the Jones’ as well…
“Watson Brake, in the floodplain of the Ouachita River near Monroe in northern Louisiana, may be the oldest large-scale mound site in the Americas. It has been dated to 5400 B.P. (years before present), making it 1,900 years older than Poverty Point, a ceremonial and trading center in Louisiana which has been dated to 3500 B.P. and was long thought to be the earliest such site.“
Amélie A. Walker, 1998
Clearly sky-based mathematics and planetary motion impaled upon manipulated and manufactured landscape is not a new idea. Yet, even in these well-known locations with lots of hard evidence and conventionally accepted probability, statistical analysis will not by itself prove anything and this is why tree rings and rock art and the entire plethora of scientific disciplines become individual elements in a larger mosaic of critical thought and peer review.
Our understanding of Chacoan science and mathematics is so limited and based on technology so ancient we are only now beginning to uncover its true provenance—let alone decode its meaning and relationship to the pre-historic human condition of life ways and ritual.
All visual observations of science, celestial or otherwise, begin with light and evolve into knowledge, tools and finally industry. The combination of knowledge, tools, and industry along with curiosity and motivation becomes science, itself based on a common language of mathematics. Our intellectual perception, indeed our eyesight, is crucial to exploration of experience and innovation; one cannot perceive the physical world and extend that perception into physical reality without some initial recording of the senses, in particular the eye. Humans are the only species to not only imagine and practice science but communicate its legacy through the generations.
“Imagination is a word which derives from the making of images in the mind…The world of science is wholly dominated by the sense of sight…We cannot separate the special importance of the visual apparatus of man from his unique ability to imagine, to make plans and to do all the other things which are generally included in the catchall phrase ‘free will’. What we really mean by free will, of course, is the visualizing of alternatives and making a choice between them. In my view… the central problem of human consciousness depends on the ability to imagine.”
We will begin then with the assumption that through light, imagination and free-will-choice the unique architecture of Chaco Canyon became tightly coupled with the emergence of imagination, metaphor and consciousness in the Anasazi experience. This unique pre-historic Southwestern American human evolution of consciousness and mathematics, observing the Chacoan universe, recording important memories, and finally choosing to implement a cosmological expression into monumental architecture and landscape, must of necessity have required the patience of weathering rock art. That a pre-historic culture was able to imagine and then intentionally articulate vast architecture and geometrically-designed community patterns across an enormous desert landscape over a thousand years ago is nothing short of extraordinary.
And yet, how did they do it? What mathematics could possibly have been available to ancient Chaco surveyors to compute geographic surface locations for Great Houses, neatly squared and surveyed corn, bean and squash fields, estimate labor, stone quarry and lumber needs for extensive construction, plan travel times to distant trade centers, predict calendrical activity, schedule ceremony, accurately value trade exchanges for turquoise in rural mines and copper bells in the Grand Chichimeca area of Mexico (Figure 7)? Indeed, how would they manage the exactness of the great north road construction let alone a migration across over 400 miles of difficult terrain and inject themselves into a new urban expression in Mexico, migrating along an important celestial longitude—and amazingly accomplish all this within a narrow margin of global error without slide rule, calculator, sextant, navigational theodolite, Global Positioning Systems (GPS), chronometer, or importantly—a thorough understanding of applied mathematics and algebra?
probably first connected cosmology with geography and through development and application of higher mathematics envisioned some very complex geometry coupled with architecture and landscape in the San Juan basin.
Unraveling this history of Puebloan science and engineering is important on several levels; it may also be an opportunity for assessing pre-historic American archaeology in an entirely new light. The fact that geometry was used to manipulate architecture worldwide for thousands of years by radically diverse cultures suggests a sort of universal evolutionary experience that transcends both language and locale. The idea that advanced geometry and algebra is used as a pan-cultural rubric for critically assessing advanced civilizations is not entirely new; including the Chaco phenomenon in that elite country club is not only new, it breaks some rather fragile glass ceilings. A Tigua pueblo lady-friend I know who grew up at Ysleta told me that—lacking a firmly documented scientific history of their people—proud Puebloan descendants have to continually justify themselves and their architectural traditions as something more than the happenstance product of illiterate savants. It was this sad realization that the fiction of an illiterate civilization had fraudulently trumped the earned legacy of what in all probability had been the first scientific achievements in the southwestern United States that motivated me to dig deeper into what was clearly emerging as a new cultural dynamic in the Puebloan experience.
In fact, it was clear to me the pueblo people used mathematics. From the first moment I looked at this with my aging engineering eyes, even before I found the evidence of a smoking algebraic geometry in Chaco Canyon, it was lucidly intuitive that mathematics, arithmetic computation, navigation and survey tools had to be involved—even if a lot of evidence and conventional wisdom suggested exactly the opposite.
“Damn the torpedoes!”
Further, I think it is important to recognize that for all the research and shoveling done to date, it is not the artifacts that are of primary importance; rather the significance lies in an understanding of the nature of prehistoric man and the knowledge they used to create these artifacts which were—at least conceptually—an evidentiary reflection of their worldview. It was through this universal language of mathematics they applied architectural design rules and importantly employed, however flawed, the first high tech engineering tools in America to imagine, plan and construct Great House architecture and express a known mathematical reality into their landscape in a process honoring their vision of culture and science—to suggest otherwise is to ignore the engineering fundamentals necessary to this enormous pre-historic accomplishment.
Algebraic, geometric and celestial alignments in the Chaco landscape pattern extend from Peńasco Blanco to Tsin Kletzin, to the understudied ruin at Kin Nahasbas and to Aztec Ruin in northern New Mexico; it exists in kiva alignments with plaza and building construction and other complex interrelations of architectural design that stretches from the remote reaches of northern New Mexico deep into old Mexico and beyond. Yet, incredibly, ever since Anna Sofaer accidentally witnessed the now famous Sun Dagger event at Fajada Butte, no one any longer seriously questions either the cosmology or the broader subject of celestial positioning involved at Chaco; but few are willing to step into the fray debating the arithmetic foundations, tool evolution and other scientific requirements absolutely necessary to actually achieve celestial alignments in landscape, architecture and the calendrical rock art exhibited in the 800-1200AD time period.
Were the lunar/solar or geometric architectural or landscape alignments used by the Anasazi perfectly exact? No, of course not, but we are discussing 9th century tool accuracy not 20th century digital theodolite technology. Yet, considering neither lodestone nor GPS was available to pre-historic engineers, when properly viewed, celestial and geometric alignments in Chacoan architecture and landscape are surprisingly accurate even to the archaeologically jaded modern eye.
The first hard evidence I found in the dirt suggested the geometric survey accuracy of the broad cross-canyon landscape design in Chaco was accurate to something less than 1/100th of a mile across a six mile canyon. The great Egyptian Khufu pyramid (a.k.a. Cheops) was not celestially aligned with any other building at any distance, and yet the corners similarly erred by a few tenths of a degree. Even the 17th century Paris Observatory constructed with much more modern survey equipment and similarly un-aligned with other buildings at any distance is about 0.10 shy of true north.
Considering the limited technology available and not even taking issue of Earth’s curvature into consideration, I have found a typical positioning accuracy of less than one degree (0.0027%) or better was common throughout the Chacoan cultural experience; absolutely stunning—impossible to achieve without intention, tools and mathematics—particularly when you consider the Anasazi began to plan and construct the Chacoan landscape over one-half millennia before the European invention of the sextant!
The famous Occam’s razor argument suggests that given two alternatives, the simplest is usually the better choice. While it is likely many academics in science—and in particular archaeology—may use Occam’s theorem as an opportunity to reject smoking gun arguments regarding the use of algebra in Chaco construction which exists without evidence of lithic artifact, it is also likely that in the face of copious evidence to the contrary it may become simpler in the spirit of Occam to accept the theory of Anasazi geometry rather than reject it; data is paramount, quality data is obligatory.
If not already deeply in trouble with professional archaeologists in connecting these centuries-long and disparate cultural and arithmetic horizons, I will also include several other important (and likely, highly toxic) engineering theories, among them support for non-literary mathematical computations, methods of pre-historic time-telling without mechanical pendulums, ancient longitude used in the theory of migration along the Chaco Meridian, a petroglyphic record in support of my proposition for pre-historic engineering tools, and suppositions for what the Anasazi engineering tool might have looked like, how accurate it was and how it was used.
What ties this together is a common geometrically-symmetrical pattern; a set of isotropic design rules born in the antediluvian desert of New Mexico and consistently applied by several generations of Anasazi engineers to the design of Great House architecture, conspicuously manipulated canyon-wide landscape and an even broader regional architectural implementation at Aztec Ruin and (in a temporal Mimbres continuum) at Paquimé, Mexico and beyond. Much, if not all, of this is exceedingly dangerous ground to the intellectual gatekeepers and reactionary skeptics of the Hrdlička worldview.
To others on the avocational horizon of ancient algebraic science, it is just another black swan event in gonzo-archaeology.
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