Finding truth in story of Mayan ‘lost city’
It was a good story while it lasted: A 15-year-old boy discovered a lost city by theorizing that a modern star map would correlate with ancient Maya settlements. It seemed to fit the common understanding of the Maya as peaceful stargazers, centuries ahead of their time in astronomical observation and deeply mystical. It only makes sense they’d plan their cities to align with constellations.
Teen scientist William Gadoury, of Saint-Jean-de-Matha, Quebec, overlaid constellations and known Maya cities. When he found a gap where it seemed a settlement ought to have been, he consulted satellite imagery and found shapes that looked man-made. Suddenly, the lost city story went viral.
The Canadian Space Agency, which had supplied Gadoury with the satellite images, swiftly awarded him a Medal of Merit. A University of New Brunswick expert on geospatial technology suggested he might have found a metropolis with 30 buildings and a large pyramid. The teen was interviewed by the BBC, and the public passed along word of his achievement as his story skyrocketed to the top of the global media’s trending topics.
The only problem is, Gadoury was most likely wrong. David Stuart, a professor at the University of Texas at Austin and one of the world’s leading experts on the Maya, was among the first to raise an alarm. He argued that the square shape Gadoury saw on a satellite image of the Maya heartland was probably a fallow agricultural field. Since then, numerous other experts have cast doubts on Gadoury’s city, some even presenting evidence that what was aligned with the constellations was an old marijuana plot.
The rise and fall of this particular news flash illustrates the way a hyperspeed media landscape can elevate speculative, unproven “facts” to prize-worthy status. The lost city story undeniably had a lot going for it as a media phenomenon: the appealing plotline of the genius kid scientist who sees what the hidebound researchers and experts missed. And an equally appealing confirmation of popular if incomplete notions about the Maya.
Gadoury deserves praise for his initiative and drive. His hypothesis about how constellations relate to Maya cities may even deserve closer study. Certainly archaeologists and geospatial scientists have something to say to each other: Remote-sensing technology has enhanced archaeological ground surveys in spectacular fashion in Jordan, Egypt, Peru and other locales.
But so much else about this particular lost city story is cause for concern. We’ve come to value the thrill of the seeming breakthrough over the slower processes of analytical thinking and the importance of scholarly expertise. The geospatial specialist at the University of New Brunswick and the Canadian Space Agency should have taken the time to call a Maya expert for verification before giving Gadoury any endorsement. The media also must cast a critical eye on scientific discoveries. Finally, all of us who consume the news could do better in the critical-thought department. What trends on social media isn’t necessarily a fact. What sounds too good to be true usually is.
Still, there are positive take-aways from the lost city story. Gadoury’s enterprise should serve as a model for aspiring scientists; he may well have a bright future as an archaeologist. And the excitement the public demonstrated about this story proves that interest in ancient civilizations is alive.
There are, no doubt, lost cities left to be discovered. The best way to do it is to support and fund careful collaborations between down-in-the-dirt archaeology and all the other sciences that can enhance their work. When that effort lands on the real thing, we’ll have something lasting to tweet, post, share and award.
Stephennie Mulder is a professor of art history and Middle Eastern studies at the University of Texas. She wrote this for the Los Angeles Times.