This all may eventually get turned into an actual paper – it’s all very interesting to me. I had to write more because I felt I needed an example of what I was talking about.

King Philip II, Macedonian king and father of Alexander the Great, was buried in a richly-outfitted tomb in the royal cemetery at Vergina in northern Greece. Vergina is near the site of the ancient Macedonian capital, Aegae. In 1976, his tomb was found. Philip’s remains were in a beautiful golden casket, of a type called a larnax, with the sixteen-rayed star, symbol of ancient Macedonian kingship, on the lid. He was identified by a distinctive wound to his eye, which he was known for in life. His wife Kleopatra is buried in the same tomb.

Or, maybe not

There are other stories about this site. Here’s another one:

Philip III Arrhidaeus, Macedonian king and half-brother of Alexander the Great, was buried in a richly-outfitted tomb in the royal cemetery at Vergina in northern Greece. Vergina is near the site of the ancient Macedonian capital, Aegae. In 1976, his tomb was found. Philip’s remains were in a beautiful golden casket with the sixteen-rayed star, symbol of ancient Macedonian kingship, on the lid. His bones bore none of the markings of a warrior, and Philip III was known to be mentally disabled and was not a fighter. An unknown woman is buried in the same tomb.

Or maybe not.

Here’s another story: Someone was buried in a richly-outfitted tomb in the cemetery at Vergina in northern Greece. In 1976, his tomb was found. His remains were in a beautiful golden casket with a sixteen-rayed star on the lid. A woman is buried in the same tomb.

That last story contains the facts in this case. It’s all we know for sure about that tomb – everything else is pure speculation. Nobody knows for sure that Aegae was located at the site near Vergina – other equally likely locations have been proposed. The cemetery contained burials of people from various social classes, so it’s not correct to call it a “royal cemetery.” The presumption that the body in the tomb represented royalty is not at all certain; it is the only unlooted tomb in the cemetery, so there’s no basis for comparison with other tombs to see how royalty was buried in ancient Macedon. The bones in the golden box had been cremated – the eye injuries seen in one analysis can, in another analysis, look more like damage that happened after death. The sixteen-rayed star is a common decorative motif in Greek art and has no basis for being called a Macedonian royal symbol beyond its appearance on the larnax.

The first story might be true – this could possibly be Philip II. Or it could be Philip III. Or it could be somebody completely different. If I had to pick one, I’d take the third choice, simply based on odds. The first two are possible. However, a Google search on “tomb of Philip” shows the majority of sites describe the first story – this tomb is the tomb of Philip II, science has proved it, and that’s that. A few talk about the second interpretation. I didn’t see anything on the first few pages about the third.

The tomb is important in matters of Greek nationalism and relations between the modern nation of Greece and the country calling itself the Republic of Macedonia. The Greeks feel that the Republic of Macedonia has no right to the name and is trying to usurp Greek cultural heritage. Vergina is in Greece and it’s of modern political importance to have the ancient capital of Macedon and one of her most famous kings firmly located in Greece. The site has been exploited to support nationalist ends, and to draw in tourists – tourists who would be excited to see the tomb of Alexander the Great’s father but not that of “some guy who may or may not have been an ancient Macedonian king.” It’s politically and economically useful; tourist brochures, travel agents, and official Greek sources all call it “the tomb of Philip II,” as though it were a proven matter.

It’s a very appealing hypothesis – ancient history, right there! It would be really neat if that was Philip II. It’s natural to want it to be so. I would believe it, if I didn’t have a few archaeology professors who used the whole thing as an example of what to watch out for in interpreting the past.

It’s only a few short steps from “Given [abc] evidence, I would speculate that [xyz] was true in the past,” to, “Dr. X claims that [xyz] was true in the past,” to “[Xyz] was true in the past, and really happened.” And, the ADF might add, “and so we can base our religious practice on this.” Dr. X could change his mind ten years down the road. The figure that was interpreted as a religious icon can be re-interpreted as a tool for making rope – if I had been praying to that icon for the past ten years; do I have to stop now? A well-loved goddess is found to be the result of a mistranslation and is demoted to a medieval interpolation; should we cancel our annual ritual in her honor and ignore all the good she may have done in our lives?

I’m new to the study of the Celtic past. It’s never been my area. I come to it with exactly the sort of wide-eyed attitude that wants the occupant of that tomb to be Philip II. I’m cautious. I don’t know what to watch out for – I have nothing to guide me in this area beyond reading lists put up by Druids of unknown scholastic provenance. No area of study is immune to the kinds of influences I described, and archaeological interpretation is subject to vast and sudden changes.

On a visceral level, I find the reconstructionist approach very appealing (otherwise I wouldn’t have devoted three long blog posts to it so far) and I love the idea of bringing ancient practices back from the dead, as it were. Oddly enough, though, I have too much respect for the study of the past to feel comfortable claiming that my practice is based on that study. The most useful and important ability in this field is the capacity to say, confidently and fearlessly, “I don’t know.” Once that statement is out, worthwhile speculation can follow. I can’t base my religion on “I don’t know.” It comes from things that I know to be true in a way that I would never even think to claim in academic writing. If my patron Lugh was found tomorrow to be a philological mistake, it wouldn’t change the relation that I have with him.