Is it right to put human remains on show? It’s a question that museum curators and the public have been asking themselves ever since European institutions began displaying bodies of the dead – notably Egyptian mummies – in the early 19th century.
It’s the same question that continues to be posed today in Canterbury. Here, an exhibition at the Beaney House of Art & Knowledge chronicles and collates the significant archaeological discoveries in and around the city over recent decades. Finds that have unearthed skeletons of the city’s previous occupants – mostly Anglo-Saxon nobility and Roman soldiers and civilians from the 2nd and 3rd century AD. The question remains the same: what to do with these remains?
The organisers can be forgiven for the halting and self-referential tone of their preamble: ‘How we care for, study, and display human remains raises important ethical questions,’ it begins. ‘Should museums display human remains at all?’ Most institutions today – especially those ostensibly dedicated to transmitting knowledge – exist in a state of crisis. Less forgivable is another modern malaise that rears its head even before you enter. ‘Content warning: this exhibition includes the display of human remains which some visitors may find upsetting.’
Alas, the enticing trigger warning unfairly raises expectations. The skeletons here consist merely of three ancient Romans, all exhumed between 1977 and 2010, and – inexplicably at first – the part-mummified head of an ancient Egyptian (it transpires that it was donated to Canterbury museums in 2008, its previous owner having been a university Egyptologist who later ran a travel agency in Ramsgate).
But the adults who administer today’s museums can be as hyper-sensitive as they like. It won’t stop children and grown-ups of an immature disposition forever being captivated by cadavers, death and war. (Remember how Gunther von Hagens forged an entire career enticing members of the public to ogle preserved body parts.)
What do we learn from all this? Next to the collarbone of one Roman, there is an orange disc to indicate evidence of a wound from a bladed weapon. This not only tells us of his violent way of life and the pain he suffered, but also reminds the living that these bones used to house bodies, and that these bodies in turn housed people. Elsewhere hangs an intact model skeleton that explains how archaeologists identify the sex of the exhumed and speculates on their diet, lifestyle and ailments. Perspex boxes display bracelets and beads found in digs and the mitres and try-squares of Roman carpenters.
While there is just enough in this small, slight exhibition to satisfy the curiosity of youngsters with an interest in history, there is also sufficient material to stimulate the minds of tomorrow’s archaeologists, anthropologists, osteopaths and writers. I won’t be the only one to wonder: what was the story behind the 1980 find in a deep pit in Stour Street of an adult male, adult female, two children and a dog? There is no evidence of any coffin or burial chamber. So why the hasty interment? Why are they all together? And why the dog?
To judge by the remarks in the visitors’ book – jottings made mostly in immature hands – young visitors to the exhibition don’t seem remotely upset by the content. ‘I like seeing history and it’s just so fun to see what lyes [sic] below,’ reads one.
Alas a salient problem, and this exhibition is by no means alone, lies not in how we hold the attention of children, but why we continue to treat adults like infants. Not satisfied with repeatedly reminding us of the non-judgmental nature of this exhibition – one ‘designed to promote thinking and discussion’ – an enormous panel adds: ‘This can be a sensitive and emotional subject for many. There are many local services who offer support should you need it.’ For added emphasis the second sentence is printed in bold.
Such timorousness is unnecessary, though unsurprising. Neither is it unexpected to encounter the mandatory shoehorning in of progressive concerns. ‘Religion in Roman Britain was diverse and fluid,’ we learn. Elsewhere, in very large letters: ‘The osteobiography of one person from the cemetery reveals a potential case of disability.’ Yet disability – as the exhibition makes clear – was not an unusual, remarkable or interesting facet of Roman Britain.
What Remains? is more interrogative than informative, preferring embarrassed questions to authoritative statements. The title’s question mark is apt.
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