It follows from the core principle that we favor the preservation of archaeological sites, and hence deplore their destruction. However, in point of fact we destroy sites ourselves, by excavating them, and here’s the quandary: we cannot adhere to our core ethic of retrieving and making good use of data without destroying them. This might not be the problem it is, if we could document everything we uncover in an excavation, but complete documentation is impossible. We cannot record every particle of soil and its relationships with every other particle, its chemical composition, and its physical structure. Every year, it seems, new analytic techniques are developed or new research questions posed that make us wish we had recorded something that went unrecorded in last year’s excavations. So most archaeologists acknowledge that the very conduct of archaeological research destroys sites and the data they contain.
To contend with this uncomfortable truth, many of us try to conduct our research only in sites that are likely to be destroyed by other forces anyway - sites in the path of development, for example, or that are being eroded off sea cliffs. We sometimes are critical of colleagues who conduct excavations in sites that can be preserved, or who excavate in unnecessarily destructive ways. If an archaeologist strips away a 2000-year-old cultural stratum to get at one that is 4000 years old, and fails to make a reasonable effort to record the more recent stratum and its contents, his or her ethics are likely to be questioned.
The vehemence with which we criticize such practices, however - particularly the practice of excavating sites that can be preserved, such as those in protected areas like parks - waxes and wanes through time. Back in 1974, William Lipe called eloquently on archaeologists in the United States to adopt a ‘conservation model’ and emphasize site preservation. For a time many - perhaps most - American archaeologists followed Lipe’s advice; we tried to focus our attention only on threatened sites, and criticized those who dug sites that could be preserved. In recent years this ethic has eroded, in part because it can be hard to uphold the core ethic of learning and transmitting information about the past without excavating protected sites. Another reason the ‘conservation ethic’ has eroded is disillusionment with our ability truly to protect any site over the long run. This decade’s open space all too readily becomes the next decade’s parking lot or housing tract. Illicit excavators can gain access to even the most remote sites, in the most protected locations. Earthquakes, volcanic eruptions, tsunamis, and the massive erosion resulting from rising sea levels are mostly beyond human control, and warfare seems to be as well; the organized military forces of most countries theoretically adhere to the 1954 UNESCO Convention for the Protection of Cultural Property in the Event of Armed Conflict, but compliance with the letter of this convention is sporadic at best, and compliance with its spirit is even less systematic. All these characteristics of the real world can wreak massive destruction, and do not respect the integrity of ostensibly protected archaeological sites. In the face of these complexities, few archaeological eyebrows are currently raised over the excavation of a site that theoretically can be protected, provided the excavation is well and carefully done. However, the pendulum may swing back at any time toward something like Lipe’s ‘conservation model’. Ethics are not immutable.
World History
