Neanderthals have enjoyed quite the renaissance in the last decade or so, with research attributing skills and capacities to them once considered uniquely human. One of the most contested claims in this arena is language. Since (spoken) language does not fossilise, nor leave material traces in the archaeological record, the case for Neanderthal language relies on indirect evidence. In this book, linguist Rudolf Botha takes a hard-nosed look at why this matter is so controversial and offers a framework to properly tackle it.
Neanderthal Language: Demystifying the Linguistic Powers of our Extinct Cousins, written by Rudolf Botha, published by Cambridge University Press in May 2020 (hardback, 209 pages)
The introduction to Neanderthal Language might intimidate as it immediately introduces Botha’s conceptual framework and attendant terminology. The book is as much a review of the many claims put forth as it is about the nature of evidence and how to evaluate claims. This is where it all gets a bit meta, so bear with me.
In his previous book, Language Evolution, Botha introduced what he calls the Windows Approach. Basically, since there is no direct evidence available to study the evolution of language, you have to rely on other phenomena for which you do have direct evidence, and then convincingly argue that these offer a window on language evolution. For your inferences and conclusions to be sound, three conditions need to be met. One, your conclusions need to be pertinent: whatever you are describing (here, language) should be properly identified. Two, your inferences should be grounded: grounded, that is, in accurate data that is informative of the phenomenon you are trying to study. And three, your inferences should be warranted: you should be able to justify why you can draw on this indirect evidence to say something about language evolution, i.e. you require a so-called bridge theory. Are you still with me? The first two chapters will require you to wrap your head around this framework, but stick with it, it is quite intuitive.
Botha evaluates two groups of claims that archaeologists and anthropologists use to argue for Neanderthal language: behaviours that are symbolic (personal ornamentation, cave art, body decoration, and burials) and non-symbolic (making stone tools, teaching it, and hunting big game). The last chapter shortly touches on biological attributes such as genetics (e.g. the gene FOXP2) and brain regions, but that is not the focus of this book*.
“[Claims for language rely on] complex inferences: you do not just jump from finding objects at a dig site to the conclusion of language.”
All of these claims rely on what Botha calls complex inferences: you do not just jump from finding objects at a dig site to the conclusion of language. So, for the personal ornamentation argument, the chain of inference runs something like this: we find objects associated with Neanderthal skeletons, we conclude these were worn as ornaments, from which we conclude in turn that they were treated as symbols, from which we conclude in turn that Neanderthals had language. The problem is that upon close inspection most claims already fall at the first hurdle, writes Botha.
The examples of cave art attributed to Neanderthals might have been made by other hominids; we just cannot date them accurately enough. Plus, their meaning remains a mystery—maybe they were symbols, maybe something else. The blocks of manganese dioxide yielding black pigment might have had other explanations than Neanderthal make-up, fire-starters being one likely candidate. And those burials were probably intentional, but the lack of clear grave goods undermines their symbolic status as funerary practices. Out of this lot, only personal ornamentation fares reasonably well. This is the largest chapter as there is much empirical work to make a pretty convincing case that objects found associated with Neanderthal skeletons were, indeed, used as jewellery.
Where all these claims fail is the inference that they are examples of symbolic behaviour. Botha asks probing questions, such as “what are the distinctive properties of symbols according to [these authors]?“, and “To what theory of symbolism do they subscribe?” (p. 54). Many authors are either not explicit about this, do not specify what would count as evidence for or against, define symbolism but present data that has no bearing on it, or, in the case of ornamentation, simply state that ornaments are symbolic by definition, excluding them from empirical verification.
“[…] there is much empirical work to make a pretty convincing case that objects found associated with Neanderthal skeletons were, indeed, used as jewellery.”
Even if, writes Botha, we assume for argument’s sake that these behaviours were symbolic: how do you go from there to language? The often unspoken assumption is “because language is also symbolic”. This lands you into a hornet’s nest of linguistics. I quote Botha: “By what bridge theory is [the inference] underpinned—a theory specifying the ways in which semantically non-combinable cultural symbols and semantically combinable linguistic signs are interlinked?” (p. 105). Without this, it is merely “an arbitrary inferential leap” to go from symbolic behaviour to language. Further problems are the vague and frequently different definitions of what exactly would characterise Neanderthal language, and the failure to distinguish between Neanderthal groups. “The Neanderthal” does not exist: they were not a monolithic entity, but a hominid species that were around for roughly 400,000 years, distributed over a large area. So who, exactly, are we talking about?
It is much the same for the non-symbolic behaviours, according to Botha. The stone-tool claims start with empirical data obtained on modern human volunteers. In the former, there is the assumption that tool behaviour and speech are similar enough that, because we knap stone tools using a series of actions involving hierarchies and recursions, so did Neanderthals, and from there that this also applies to their language. The latter argues that, since teaching stone-tool making by modern humans benefits from verbal instructions, it is likely that Neanderthals used language too. The only claim that Botha deems likely is that of big-game hunting. We have unequivocal evidence of cooperative ambush hunting of large prey, which would have required cooperation, which would have required communication, which would have required language. Even here, though, by mentioning a grammatically simple language such as Riau Indonesian, he points out it need not have been a complex language.
“[Botha] is not unfriendly to the idea of Neanderthal language […] but he calls for better science and offers a framework to do so.”
I mentioned this book gets rather meta, talking of conceptual frameworks and bridge theories, the nature of evidence and the evaluation of claims, and a healthy dollop of linguistics. Fortunately, it is also clearly structured, both within and between chapters, making good use of lists, headers, and figures to make its points. Though aimed at professionals, this book is perfectly accessible to a more general audience.
Books such as The Smart Neanderthal and Kindred have popularised the idea that Neanderthals are not all that different from us, so you might think Botha a bit of a party pooper. Note, however, that he is not unfriendly to the idea of Neanderthal language and explicitly says his criticism does not disprove it, but he calls for better science and offers a framework to do so. As such, Neanderthal Language provides a healthy dose of caution and scepticism for readers of general works such as the above and should be a valuable guide for practising archaeologists and anthropologists.
* After this review was published, a user on Reddit by the name of Denisova commented that they found it “a bit awkward that genetic and anatomical arguments are left out in his assessments.” This is a good point of critique that, in hindsight, I did not raise sufficiently. Botha mentions in his introduction they will not be the focus of this book, but it would have made for a more complete treatment if he had, possibly seeking the help of a co-author better versed in those fields.
Disclosure: The publisher provided a review copy of this book. The opinion expressed here is my own, however.
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Whatever mental image you have of our close evolutionary cousins, the Neanderthals, it is bound to be incomplete. Kindred is an ambitious book that takes in the full sweep of 150 years of scientific discovery and covers virtually every facet of their biology and culture. Archaeologist Rebecca Wragg Sykes has drawn on her extensive experience communicating science outside of the narrow confines of academia to write a book that is as accessible as it is informative, and that stands out for its nuance and progressive outlook. Is this a new popular science benchmark?
Kindred: Neanderthal Life, Love, Death and Art, written by Rebecca Wragg Sykes, published by Bloomsbury Sigma in August 2020 (hardback, 408 pages)
Two things immediately struck me when I received this book. First, a personal favourite, illustrated end plates! Since Kindred discusses discoveries made at numerous dig sites, there is a map of Europe and part of Asia with their locations. At the back, there is a family tree showing the complex interrelatedness between early Homo sapiens, Neanderthals, and Denisovans. Second, at just shy of 400 pages with the bibliography online (more on that later) and having a larger trim size than usual for a Bloomsbury Sigma title, this is a chunky book
The reason soon becomes apparent: Sykes covers a lot of ground in this book. The deeper evolutionary history of our family tree, the history of Neanderthal discovery, their skeletal morphology, the traces and injuries that reveal their hardships in life, the climatological fluctuations during the 350,000 years of their existence on this planet, the stone, wood, and bone tools they produced and left behind, their diet, the temporary nature of their home sites as deduced from traces of fireplaces, their migrations and mobility in the landscape, the material traces hinting at a sense of aesthetics, the educated guesses we can make about their social and emotional lives, their funerary practices, the ancient DNA revolution, and, finally, the various explanations given for their disappearance. The scope of Kindred is nothing short of breathtaking. Her acknowledgements mention that the eight years it took to write this book were as daunting and as difficult as she had feared they would be, and the enormity of the task is clear.
“[…] the tools now at the disposal of archaeologists border on science fiction. Most certainly quite beyond the imagination of the pioneers, but even a formidable task for current scientists to keep on top of.”
Part of the reason is that technological advances have led to a veritable explosion in new methods to apply and new kinds of questions to ask. I was familiar with some of these, such as ancient DNA and the microscopic patterns of wear and tear left on teeth, but many were entirely new to me. The use of computers to fit stone flakes and fragments back together to reconstruct how a piece of stone was chipped and shaped into a tool? The use of laser scanners to document dig sites in exquisite three-dimensional detail? The analysis of the microscopic stratigraphy in soot layers, known as fuliginochronology? The use of isotopes to study where individuals were born and then moved to during their lives? As Sykes remarks, the tools now at the disposal of archaeologists border on science fiction. Most certainly quite beyond the imagination of the pioneers, but even a formidable task for current scientists to keep on top of.
This avalanche of information and techno-wizardry could have resulted in an inaccessible monolith of a book. There were a (very) few places where I felt Sykes careened into a dense thicket of details, such as when discussing the different lithic techno-complexes (for us mortals, the different styles of stone tools). And she does not always explain technologies. I assume most people will not know what the deal is with ancient DNA or what mtDNA even stands for. By and large, however, this book stands out for being fascinating, accessible, and terribly exciting. This is a golden age for archaeology! Most chapters are just the right length to avoid information overload, while a handful of drawings illustrate tricky concepts.
The picture that emerges of Neanderthals is that of hominins who are increasingly indistinguishable from early Homo sapiens; inventive, smart, social creatures, likely capable of spoken language, that survived for a very long time while weathering ice ages and warm periods. This picture is delivered in vivid writing that sometimes borders on lyrical—there were passages where I felt Sykes channelled the voice of deep time:
“Amid ancient surfaces densely spangled with myriad artefacts, fireplaces are like archaeological wormholes, bridging the impossible chasms of time separating us from long-vanished dwellers.”
But there is much else in her writing to admire. There are fascinating histories: how some skeletons ended up scattered over different countries, surviving multiple wars before the different body parts were reunited decades later. She reveals how archaeologists used to work and think, and how that has changed. For example, early excavators could not tell the difference between naturally shattered versus intentionally knapped rocks, thus discarding vast bodies of evidence at dig sites without recording them. In some cases, these are now being re-excavated for renewed examination. She repeatedly warns of simplistic interpretations and sexed-up headlines that dominate the news, instead stressing the far more interesting nuances, such as the fantastically complex patterns of population dispersals, influxes, turnovers, and interbreeding revealed by ancient DNA.
One of Sykes’s side projects is co-curating the website TrowelBlazers which celebrates the achievements of women in archaeology, geology, and palaeontology. Thus, I expected a certain progressive outlook. Indeed, why should the evidence for interbreeding always be interpreted as rape? Why is “desire and even emotional attachment […] regarded as more of a fairy tale than other explanations”? But she goes well beyond that, positively surprising me. Such as when parsing the complex and incomplete evidence for cannibalism in Neanderthals. She challenges the reader to consider different ways of interpreting this behaviour. Or by highlighting how Indigenous knowledge from hunter-gatherer communities can offer completely fresh perspectives on the archaeological record. This can illuminate blind spots of Western scientists, whether practical (the identification of tracks in the physical record) or more fundamental (challenging our ingrained tendency to see everything through a lens of dominance, exploitation, and conflict).
“[…] this book stands out for being fascinating, accessible, and terribly exciting. This is a golden age for archaeology!”
Finally, one decision that might divide opinions. Sykes opens the book explaining why, after careful thought, she did not include citations for claims and statements, focusing instead on the narrative. She has provided a 122-page bibliography online, but unfortunately, there is no link between references and what part of the text they are relevant to. Although I understand her reasoning, I have always found the use of superscripted numbers leading to individual notes and references to be a minimally intrusive middle road.
Though Kindred is not the first book to point towards a certain Neanderthal renaissance, its scope and authoritativeness eclipse what has come before. Whether you wonder what book to start with when new to the topic, or which book to pick if you only have time for one, Kindred is without a doubt the go-to book for a nuanced and current picture of Neanderthals.
Disclosure: The publisher provided a review copy of this book. The opinion expressed here is my own, however.
Other recommended books mentioned in this review:
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]]>Why are we, from an evolutionary standpoint, the last man standing? This question fascinates archaeologists and anthropologists, and the dominant narrative is one of humans outcompeting other hominin lineages, driving them extinct. In the process, our evolutionary cousins, such as Neanderthals, always get the short end of the stick, being clumsier, dumber, or just generally inferior to us. In a book that is both a popular summary of his work and a critique of current thinking in archaeology, evolutionary biologist Clive Finlayson aims to redress this balance. Neanderthals, he says, were a lot smarter than we give them credit for, and one unexpected line of evidence comes from the birds that lived alongside them.
The Smart Neanderthal: Cave Art, Bird Catching & the Cognitive Revolution, written by Clive Finlayson, published by Oxford University Press in February 2019 (hardback, 236 pages)
Finlayson is the director of the Gibraltar National Museum where he also acts as chief scientist and curator. Together with his wife and son, they have been leading excavations in the Gorham’s Cave Complex for some three decades and have unearthed evidence of some 120,000 years of occupation by Neanderthals and Modern Humans. In recognition of this, the site was declared a UNESCO World Heritage Site in 2016.
Neanderthals went extinct some 28,000 years ago, this much we know, but the “why?” remains hotly debated. The reason for this, writes Finlayson, is that archaeology has a problem. As argued by archaeologist John Shea, the discipline relies on narrative explanations that are being tinkered with in the light of new evidence, often becoming increasingly convoluted in the process. All to maintain the story of a superior Homo sapiens lineage outcompeting other hominin lineages.
So, at one time archaeologists talked of Anatomically Modern Humans, but when it became apparent that clear-cut anatomical distinctions could not be made, they ensured humans remained special by shifting the goalposts and speaking of Behaviourally Modern Humans. And that, Finlayson says here, is no longer tenable either in light of his findings. Specifically, a list of seven behavioural features put forward by archaeologist Paul Mellars, the so-called “modern package”, has become a checklist by which to argue why Homo sapiens ended up successful where other Homo lineages did not. This modern package shows itself in the archaeological record as more complex tools, personal ornamentation, and art. The thing is, research is increasingly showing the items on this list not to be unique to Modern Humans.
“[…] archaeology relies on narrative explanations that are being tinkered with in the light of new evidence, often becoming increasingly convoluted in the process”
In short, the background motif to this book is that we underestimate Neanderthals, something which other authors have also pointed out. But what do birds have to do with this?
Finlayson’s excavations in the Gibraltar caves have so far yielded remains of 160 bird species. And there is solid evidence that these were not simply the result of birds sheltering, or being dragged in there by non-human predators. Taphonomic study (the study of how organisms decay and become fossilized) has revealed signs of cooking fires, burn marks and charred bones, and cut marks pointing to butchery with stone tools. These findings go against the conventional view that Neanderthals lacked the technology and skill to catch fast-moving prey. Their reliance on slow-moving prey is often invoked as an explanation of why they were outcompeted by the smarter Homo sapiens.
What is more, Finlayson and others have argued that Neanderthals were specifically targeting certain birds for their feathers, including birds of prey and corvids. Analyses of fossil bones show a clear preference for wing bones (which are not a bird’s fleshy, tasty parts). These feathers may have seen symbolic, ritual, or ornamental use, just as they do for many tribespeoples today. Again, something Neanderthals were not thought capable of.
“[…] Neanderthals lived amidst species assemblages that no longer exist today: the Ice Age forced Arctic birds to the south to mingle with resident Mediterranean birds”
Finlayson alternates between describing the Gibraltar excavations and their results, and his criticism of current thinking in archaeology. I think he makes some really interesting points here and I will highlight a few. Most relevant to this book and his work on birds is that he berates archaeologists for being poor natural historians. They know their archaeology while lacking expertise in bird ecology and behaviour. But that does not stop them from making sweeping generalisations. Finlayson is an avid birdwatcher and the idea that all birds can be lumped into a “fast-moving prey” category seems absurd to him. Even today, with some know-how, you can easily catch birds that are exhausted from migrations, stuffed from eating or absorbed in breeding with little more than your bare hands. (He refers to books such as Feasting, Fowling and Feathers and Birds & People for overviews of how humans have lived with and exploited birds in the past.)
Or what of the biogeographical observation that they have unearthed bones of Arctic bird species such as snowy owls and long-tailed ducks in Gibraltar? What were these doing so far south? Finlayson argues that Neanderthals lived amidst species assemblages that no longer exist today: the Ice Age forced Arctic birds to the south to mingle with resident Mediterranean birds that stayed put. Even fishing, argued to be a driving force in human expansion, is no longer the exclusive domain of Homo sapiens. Finlayson has excavated remains of shellfish, fish, and even marine mammals such as dolphins in Gibraltar.
“Why did it take until 40,000 years ago before Modern Humans started showing up in the European archaeological record? […] Finlayson argues that Neanderthals actually successfully kept modern humans out of Europe”
One last conundrum worth mentioning is that of dates. By the latest estimates, Modern Humans left Africa some 300,000 years ago and spread over the globe. Why did it take until 40,000 years ago before they started showing up in the European archaeological record? We managed to colonise other parts of the world well before we colonised Europe, even though it is just around the corner from Africa. Finlayson has previously argued that Neanderthals actually successfully kept modern humans out of Europe, and it is not impossible that humans ended up copying behaviours and habits from Neanderthals.
My only minor quibble with this book is that I think it suffers a bit in its structure. Finlayson could have streamlined the presentation more as I feel he now frequently goes back and forth between different lines of argumentation, losing coherence a bit. Overall though, The Smart Neanderthal convincingly argues its premise and is a joy to read. Finlayson’s research is fascinating and his explanation of it clear and captivating. For me, his thought-provoking criticism made this book a real eye-opener.
Disclosure: The publisher provided a review copy of this book. The opinion expressed here is my own, however.
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