Gobekli Tepe

by Andrew Collins

  This then was the knowledge very likely made available to the Epipaleolithic peoples of southeast Anatolia some twelve to thirteen thousand years ago. Those who offered this solution were, most probably, members of a Swiderian ruling elite—hunters, warriors, tool specialists, and shamans—whose journey probably begins as far west as Poland’s Vistula River and the obsidian sources of the Carpathian Mountains and ends with their entry into eastern Anatolia sometime during the Younger Dryas mini ice age, perhaps around 10,500 BC or slightly later. They are the face of the Hooded Ones, whose own great ancestors are most likely immortalized in the twelvefold rings of T-shaped pillars, not just within the large enclosures at Göbekli Tepe but also at the various other Pre-Pottery Neolithic sites throughout the triangle d’or.

  Yet we still need to better understand how exactly the incoming groups of Swiderians were able to convince the Epipaleolithic hunter-gatherers of southeast Anatolia to come together to create the first truly megalithic architecture in human history. How did this happen? It is a matter we address next.

  26

  STRANGE-LOOKING PEOPLE

  Can we imagine the sense of fear and uncertainty that must have existed in the minds of the Epipaleolithic peoples who lived in the vicinity of Göbekli Tepe during the Younger Dryas mini ice age, ca. 10,900–9600 BC? The golden age once spoken about by the elders was now little more than a utopic dream. Since the great fire from the sky and the time of perpetual darkness and constant rain, when the land had sunk beneath the waters, the world had been an entirely different place—cold, bleak, dry, and almost devoid of the herd animals that had provided life and sustenance to so many.

  It almost seemed as if the animal spirits that had addressed their every need had now deserted them, perhaps through their misdeeds in the years leading up to this terrible change in the world. What is more, there was no assurance that these great catastrophes would not happen again and again, until finally nothing more was left, only the darkness that prevailed before time began.

  Then one day a group of tall, strange-looking people of striking appearance, with elongated heads, long faces, high cheekbones, strong jaws, and prominent brow bridges due to their ancestry as Neanderthal-human hybrids, enter the settlement. Perhaps they wear long, hooded garments made of linen, flax, or hide, as well as belts decorated with strange symbols, leather leggings, and boots made out of animal skin (a reconstruction by graphic artist Russell M. Hossain is offered in figure 26.1). They are clearly hunters, with bows and arrows slung over their backs and items of personal adornment gained from the chase. They have necklaces of wolf or fox teeth; strings of beads made from ivory, bone, shell, antler, and stone; as well as insignia of office that hang like medallions around their necks. Alongside them are others, peoples of the region, identified as post-Zarzian shamans, warriors, and tradesmen.

  Figure 26.1. 3-D digital sculpts by artist Russell M. Hossain depicting the Hooded Ones—the Swiderian power elite behind the creation of Göbekli Tepe. Their physical traits are derived from anatomical evidence of the Brünn population and the Sungir burials of Russia, coupled with a knowledge of Swiderian physiognomy, which suggests Neanderthal-human hybridization.

  Leaders of the group will have addressed representatives of the community, showing them examples of exotic materials such as obsidian from Bingöl and Lake Van and flint from farther afield. They might have offered to supply these and other valuable commodities, and then, after gaining the community’s trust, the hooded strangers will have revealed the true purpose of their mission. Their sky magic had successfully combated the baleful influences of the canine trickster, who had attempted to destroy the world at the time of the great fire from the sky. This knowledge they would now pass on at a price. However, to successfully bind the cosmic trickster and ensure the future stability of the sky pole that supported the heavens, the community would have to give up their hunting lifestyles and learn to work together to put into practice this powerful magic.

  COMMUNITY NETWORKING

  The chances are that this incoming group, of Swiderian descent, visited other Epipaleolithic communities as well, offering exotic materials to their inhabitants while at the same time spreading their potent message and showing their control and influence over the cosmic trickster, perhaps by predicting the appearance of short-period comets. Eventually the Hooded Ones gained control of each and every one of the settlements they entered. When simple exchanges did not work, open conflict might have ensued, although very likely the strangers set existing allies against confrontational groups or tribes to quell any unrest.

  This then was very likely the beginning of a type of regional supremacy instigated by the incoming power elite to bring about the building projects that would eventually lead to the creation of major cult centers such as Göbekli Tepe. These stone sanctuaries would function as axes mundi, terrestrial turning points of the heavens, their central pillars acting as gateways or portals to a perceived sky world existing in the direction of the constellation of Cygnus. From these enclosures rites of birth, death, and rebirth would be enacted and the baleful influence of comets countered by shamans.

  THE WALLS OF JERICHO

  How exactly the ruling elite might have convinced the indigenous peoples to create monumental architecture on such a grand scale remains a mystery. Fear is the most obvious answer—fear that it would all happen again if they did not create these monuments in exactly the fashion prescribed. Yet as Klaus Schmidt is at pains to point out, nothing like Göbekli Tepe existed anywhere else in the world at this time. That said, monumental architecture was being built contemporary to the construction of Göbekli Tepe 420 miles (675 kilometers) away at Jericho, in what is today the Palestinian territories.

  A Natufian site existed at Jericho during the Younger Dryas period, but it was not until the arrival of a Pre-Pottery Neolithic A culture that the place was transformed into a major town complex. Very quickly the inhabitants felt the need to surround the 10-acre (4 hectare) settlement with a stone wall 10 feet (3 meters) thick and 13 feet (4 meters) high, which extended around the entire occupational mound for a distance of nearly half a mile (800 meters).

  In addition to the great wall, the Jericho inhabitants constructed an enormous stone tower 33 feet (10 meters) in diameter and 28 feet (8.5 meters) high, accessed through a west-facing doorway that connected with a stone staircase of twenty-two steps.

  As well as the almighty stone tower and perimeter wall, a gigantic ditch was cut out of the limestone bedrock around the outside of the settlement. This was 9 feet deep (2.75 meters), 27 feet wide (8 meters), and more than half a mile (over 800 meters) long, with one prehistorian describing it, aptly, as “a considerable feat in the absence of metal tools.”1

  Clearly, something major was occurring at Jericho. The inhabitants seemed eager to keep something out, and it was not simply wild animals or the elements. An aggressor lurked out there somewhere, who was perceived as a potential threat to the well-being and lifestyle of the Jericho population, which numbered in the hundreds.

  The existence of sites such as Jericho tells us that the capability to supersize monuments and structures was present among the Pre-Pottery Neolithic peoples of the Fertile Crescent at this time. Yet clearly, before the construction of Göbekli Tepe and Jericho, the motivation to create large-scale stone buildings for specific magico-religious purposes was simply not present. Something then changed, and all the indications are that the hunter-gatherers of southeast Anatolia and the Levantine corridor were responding to events happening in their world, and in the opinion of the author that was the Younger Dryas Boundary impact event and the incredible state of fear it left in the world’s human population in its aftermath. However, even then it had taken the intrusion of a powerful elite of European descent to inspire the creation of monumental architecture with the intent of curbing wide-scale catastrophobia once and for all.

  SCHMIDT AND THE SWIDERIANS

  As controversial as these theories might seem, even Klau
s Schmidt has had his eye on the Swiderians as being in some way instrumental in what was going on in southeast Anatolia at the commencement of the Pre-Pottery Neolithic age. Not only does he acknowledge the similarity between the Natufian gazelle hunters and the “reindeer hunters of the North,”2 that is, those in Europe, and admit that “perhaps there was some kind of connection or communication between the societies of Turkey and those around the Black Sea and the Crimea,”3 but in a paper written for the journal Neo-lithics in 2002, he even names the Swiderians4 when he writes:

  The late Paleolithic Swiderian reindeer hunters of eastern Europe had a similar hunting strategy [to the Pre-Pottery Neolithic peoples of the Upper Euphrates] using the seasonal wandering of reindeer and their crossing of big rivers such as the Vistula (Weichsel).5

  Schmidt obviously recognizes something of the European hunting tradition in the Pre-Pottery Neolithic world that existed in the lead-up to the construction of Göbekli Tepe and other religious centers in southeast Anatolia during the tenth millennium BC. He singles out the Swiderians as an example of these hunting strategies, when he could have mentioned the Hamburgian-Ahrenburgian cultures of North Germany, the Brommian-Lyngby cultures of Denmark and Scandinavia, or indeed any one of a number of other Paleolithic hunting traditions that thrived in Europe toward the end of the Upper Paleolithic age. Why? Was it that he had just read an article on the Swiderian culture and wanted simply to use them as an example of this hunting strategy, or does he too have a sense of their presence at Göbekli Tepe?

  The greatest clue is in the German archaeologist’s suggestion that “perhaps there was some kind of connection or communication between the societies of Turkey and those around the Black Sea and the Crimea.”6 When he said these words to osteoarchaeologist and TV presenter Dr. Alice Roberts, he almost certainly had in mind the incursions of the Polish Swiderian tradition into the Crimean Highlands, immediately above the Black Sea. A simple boat journey along its eastern coast, or a gradual migration overland through the Caucasus Mountains and the Armenian Highlands, would have brought these European hunters directly into contact with the Epipaleolithic peoples of southeast Anatolia, and Schmidt knows this very well. However, I suspect that until now he has found nothing concrete at Göbekli Tepe that might help confirm these surmises, despite the fact that worked flints have been found that are more-orless identical to Swiderian tanged points.

  THE END OF GÖBEKLI TEPE

  The world of Göbekli Tepe remains truly bizarre, and so far we have only been able to scratch the surface of what was really going on here nearly twelve thousand years ago. Having started with grand structures featuring monoliths 18 feet (5.5 meters) high, the Göbekli builders ended up settling for bathroom-size rooms, with standing stones no more than a few feet in height and communal benches like something you might find in a family-size Jacuzzi.

  It seems clear that whatever incentive there had been to remain loyal to a particular style and design gradually diminished as the centuries rolled by. It is almost as if the Göbekli builders, although still committed to following an established tradition, which included the erection of anthropomorphic T-shaped pillars, were now downsizing in their choice of architectural styles. By the end they were simply going through the motions, without the original motivation being there any more.

  It has been suggested that the entire complex at Göbekli Tepe was buried hurriedly around 8000 BC, as if there was some urgency involved. It has even been speculated that the large enclosures were covered over to protect them from another cataclysm, either a comet strike or some kind of plasma-induced event, brought about by a coronal mass ejection from the sun.7

  As attractive as such disaster scenarios might seem, there is at present nothing that has been discovered at Göbekli Tepe that might support such claims. The site’s final decommissioning involved the remaining sanctuaries, cult buildings, shrines, and other structures being buried beneath thousands of tons of imported earth, quarry chippings, and refuse matter. Yet even then, very occasionally, the heads of stones would be exposed by soil erosion and tilling of the land. The rest, however, remained encased within the tell’s swollen belly for a full ten thousand years until Klaus Schmidt realized the site’s incredible importance in 1994. We owe him a great debt for bringing back to life this unimaginable stone complex that reveals to us the mind-set of our ancestors during an age of uncertainty and change.

  Yet we cannot end the story here, for even after the final abandonment of Göbekli Tepe its legacy lived on, and there is every reason to believe that the role its founders, and maintainers, played in the instigation of the Neolithic revolution was preserved in the myths and legends of the cultures that thrived in these same regions during much later times.

  Some of these ancient accounts are still with us today, and it is time now to see how exactly they address the strange world that existed in southeast Anatolia and the Armenian Highlands during the formative years of the Neolithic era. As we shall see, they seem to preserve dim echoes of the Younger Dryas Boundary impact event and the existence of the Hooded Ones—the Swiderian elite whose memory is encapsulated in the rings of T-shaped pillars and twin central monoliths at Göbekli Tepe.

  For the next part of our journey the author would like to ask the reader to excuse him as he now switches from a third-person narrative to, where necessary, a first-person delivery that much better fits the quest of discovery that befell him in the wake of an extraordinary sequence of events that will culminate with the finding of Eden itself.

  PART FIVE

  Convergence

  27

  IN THE GARDEN OF EDEN

  The overwhelming aroma of incense hung heavy in the air of the church’s darkened interior. Low chanting, almost like a murmuring, filled the open space, where lamps burned, a few candles flickered, and the soft light pouring in through the high windows revealed a strange but compelling sight.

  Illuminated on the cold stone floor, close to the center of this archaic house of God, was a group of Armenian monks, dressed from head to foot in thick, dark garments. They were the source of the melancholic chanting that continued unabated, like some primal tone, essential to the success of their ritual actions. It was unlike any singing ever heard before, even in the strange, secluded monasteries of Mount Athos in Greece. Their combined voices made the whole place seem like a slowly building powerhouse of divine energy.

  The monks were engaged in a religious ceremony, yet one without any congregation. It seemed to involve the elevation of an object high above their heads, as if offering it up for God to acknowledge its presence here in this monastery. It was an act that had been performed for countless generations to celebrate the gift of eternal life, given to our First Parents in the Garden of Eden, but taken away from them at the time of the Fall.

  For these monks believed that their monastery was located on the very spot where the terrestrial Paradise could once be found. It was an unerring conviction that, although they could never have realized it themselves, was linked integrally with the location, just a couple of hundred miles away, of the hidden world that would one day be uncovered at Göbekli Tepe, the site of the oldest temple in the world.

  It was an unprompted dream I awoke from on Wednesday, April 20, 2011, triggered no doubt by the fact that I had just agreed with the publisher to write a book on the story of Göbekli Tepe and its impact on myth, religion, and the origins of civilization. I had already submitted a detailed synopsis and chapter breakdown and knew pretty well what I was going to write.

  Yet now I sensed that something was missing, a major piece of the jigsaw that my vivid dream suggested I would find if I looked in the right places. Somewhere in eastern Turkey, not far from the huge inland sea named Lake Van, a couple of hundred miles east of Göbekli Tepe, was, I felt, a church and monastery where the monks believed that the landscape thereabouts was the actual Garden of Eden. These were thoughts now going through my mind, even though twenty years of research into the origins of the Genesi
s account of the Fall and its geographical relationship to eastern Turkey, for books such as From the Ashes of Angels (1996) and Gods of Eden (1998), had failed to uncover anything even remotely like this tradition.

  TEMPLE IN EDEN

  There seemed only one thing to do, and this was for me to reexamine the evidence that had led me to conclude that eastern Turkey, the former Greater Armenia, or Armenia Major, was the true site of the Garden of Eden, and to see if I could turn up any new leads that might throw further light on this puzzling mystery. This seemed especially important to do, as in 2009 there had been reports that Professor Klaus Schmidt had told British journalist Sean Thomas (writing under the pseudonym Tom Knox) that “Göbekli Tepe was not the Garden of Eden: it is a temple in Eden.”1

  Although Klaus Schmidt told me in September 2012 that Sean Thomas had misquoted him (the German archaeologist had actually said that Göbekli Tepe was an Eden-like place, not “a temple in Eden”), the story became a news sensation, with headlines such as “Do These Mysterious Stones Mark the Site of the Garden of Eden?”2 appearing worldwide. The German archaeologist obviously played down the matter, and eventually it did all die down. (I actually apologized to Schmidt as it was me who’d given Sean Thomas instructions on how to get out there, after he became interested in Göbekli Tepe through reading material I’d written on the subject.)

  So if Göbekli Tepe was not the Garden of Eden, where was it really located, and how did the Genesis story of Adam and Eve and the Fall fit into the emergence of the Pre-Pottery Neolithic world of southeast Anatolia?