Rosslyn Chapel (again)

It’s been a while, but my old nemesis Rosslyn Chapel, not to mention my actual nemesis Stuart Mitchell (who threatened to sue me my over my criticism of his made-up ‘code’) have made a (relatively) recent comeback in Susan Calman’s 2019 ‘Secret Scotland’ series, which I am just catching up with. Sadly, the production team made no effort to research the reality of the situation, and afforded Mitchell one last hurrah in episode 1 (Edinburgh) before he (unfortunately) passed away in 2018, not long after filming must have happened. Calman and the producers seem to swallow this without question. She even breaks down in tears after hearing the ‘Rosslyn Motet’. I really like her as a comedian and she’s an excellent presenter as well, but she is clearly something of a ‘believer’, going by her reaction to the ghost aspect of the same episode. I won’t rehash the Music of the Cubes nonsense (and trust me, it is total nonsense). If you want to catch up on that, there’s a whole series of old posts here; if you’re short on time, this was my original debunk. I also recommend Jeff Nisbet’s excellent article.

Instead, I want to address a much older claim; that the Chapel contains depictions of maize (American corn) and aloe, and therefore proves arcane or otherwise lost medieval knowledge of the Americas. It categorically does not. This BBC article absolutely nails it, so read that, but I will quote the most important bits below

“Dr Adrian Dyer, a professional botanist and husband of the Revd Janet Dyer, former Priest in Charge at Rosslyn Chapel, meticulously examined the botanical carvings in the Chapel…Dr Dyer found that there was no attempt to represent a species accurately: the ‘maize’ and ‘aloe’ carvings are almost certainly derived from stylized wooden patterns, whose resemblance to recognisable botanical forms is fortuitous.

Much the same conclusion was reached by archaeo-botanist Dr Brian Moffat, who also noted that the carvings of botanical forms are not naturalistic nor accurate. He found a highly stylised Arum Lily the most likely candidate for what has been identified as American maize.

As for the ‘aloes’, Dr Moffat points out that the consumer would never have seen the plant, only the sap which was used medicinally.”

There you are. Given the total lack of any other evidence for these plants in Europe prior to the mid-16th century, I would certainly accept the opinion of two qualified scientists over those who dreamed up this theory. Speaking of which, where did this one come from? There are two near-contemporary competing claims. The earliest reference seems (based upon this reference) to be plate 23 of Andrew Sinclair’s 1992 book ‘The Sword and the Grail: Of the Grail and the Templars and a True Discovery of America’. It is then independently made in 1996’s ‘The Hiram Key’ by infamous Rosslyn ‘scholars’ Knight and Lomas (2nd edition, 1998, p. 79). In this book Robert Lomas claims that Brydon had the revelation about the carvings in his company and quotes him supposedly verbatim. They also claim that Dyer’s wife agreed that the carvings represented aloe and maize (p. 302), despite Dyer’s own debunking of this. To be clear, Sinclair, Knight and Lomas were all card-carrying ‘alternative history’ types, alleging all sorts of far less plausible, yet far more bonkers ‘alternative facts’, perhaps the craziest of which is that the moon was built by humans (Knight). All three are proponents of the idea that Earl Henry Sinclair ‘discovered’ America before Columbus, hence being keen on the idea that the Chapel, which was founded by the Sinclair family, provides evidence for this within its carvings. Sinclair also claimed that the Holy Grail was secreted at Rosslyn. Brydon, archivist for the Commandery of St Clair (a chapter effectively) of the Grand Priory of the Knights Templar in Scotland, apparently agreed that the carvings represented aloe and maize. He doesn’t seem to have actually made this claim directly, only as quoted by Knight and Lomas, who don’t reference Sinclair and imply that the claim originates with Brydon. As a prominent Knight Templar and an advocate of attracting attention and funding to the Chapel, Brydon had a vested interest in tolerating this form of dubious history. The same is true of the Rosslyn Chapel Trust, who continually walk a tightrope between actual and BS history due to their overarching remit to keep the visitors coming. This, no doubt, is why Trust Director Ian Gardner happily endorses the maize/aloe theory in the Secret Scotland programme. Oddly, their website can’t seem to make up its mind; one page uncritically accepts it, another (very similarly worded) page is much more circumspect, triggering Betteridge’s law of newspaper headlines (that if the claim is phrased as a question, the answer is always “no”). Yet another, an interview with a stonework conservator, falls into the “I’m not saying it’s aliens, but it’s aliens” trope, by denying that stone conservators take a view on such things, and then immediately siding with the believers. Finally, and rather insidiously, a quiz for children states outright that the carvings show maize and corn, and invite the reader to engage with the theory that the Chapel builders knew of these plants.

Early in the hi…

Early in the history of this blog (and for some years afterward), I covered a lot of speculative nonsense regarding the famous Rosslyn Chapel in Scotland. The claims made back then have never gone away, but they haven’t received a whole lot more attention either, aside from a lengthy Slate article a few months back. This did at least give some time to the sceptics, though it was clear that the author had taken a liking to the purveyors of the theory, found it appealing, and ‘wanted to believe’, as Fox Mulder might put it.

This kind of story tends to get picked up in cycles, every few years, whenever lazy journalists need a quirky ‘discovery’ type story. Well, I have a feeling the ‘musical cubes’ will soon be back, thanks to this presentation by the author of the Slate article at none other an august institution than Princeton University. Thanks to foremost cube-critic Jeff Nisbet for the heads-up.

This post is quite long, but not nearly so long as either the linked video or the original article. Consider that I’ve sat through both so you don’t have to. I should also point out that one of my comments – I can’t remember what – has been deleted from that third section of the article, along with the preceding comment by fellow critic Jeff Nisbet that. It’s possible that there was a good reason for this, but it’s pretty poor form. Nonetheless, plenty of negative comments from both Jeff and I remain, along with lots of other sceptical people, including musicians.

Now, many people will assume that because Princeton have given the ‘theory’ stage-time, they are in agreement with the presenter and the originator of the claims. This is not the case. He has been permitted (or invited) to speak on the basis of the very real physics behind the very bogus historical claims. Physicists are not historians, nor even necessarily critical thinkers.

Also, the presenter himself expressed similar doubts in his original article, citing my ‘prolific’ responses to the original claims, and in the comments pages, actually admitting that;

‘I think the early BSHistorian articles–which I get to later–are probably the best summation of all the very reasonable doubts about this project.’

Wilson restates these doubts in the video with tentative phrases like ‘could have been’, ‘no record of’, and ‘possibly a coincidence’ (more of these below). For all that he is pushing this idea, at least unlike the guys that originated the claims he is, to an extent, allowing the reader/viewer to make up his or her own mind up. He also points out that a section at the end doesn’t make musical sense, and puts this down to the changes in the stonework that are documented as having taken place. But he’s happy to accept that the rest is OK, despite the Victorian restoration of the chapel being extensive. How do we know which bits are original and therefore part of the supposed piece of music?

At one point he compares the composer’s efforts to ‘recreate’ the ‘music’ to the frog DNA used to plug the gaps in the dinosaur DNA in ‘Jurassic Park’. He also points out the various ‘arbitrary decisions’ made by the composer in that process and admits that even if the music can be considered genuine, its modern-day creator must be regarded as the ‘arranger stroke co-composer’.

Strangely, Wilson claims it can’t be a moneymaking scheme/scam because the two men involved don’t make much money from it. The fact that they only managed to strike a deal giving them £1200 a year for it does not inform us as to their motives in doing so.

The only new piece of information in the whole presentation is a piece of music found in the notes of Gilbert Hay (an associate of the chapel builder), about which Wilson states:

‘…not precisely a melody that you would find in Stuart’s – erm – transcription, but it’s the same key, its the same tonic, and its the same notes.’

He then goes on to admit, rather contradictorily, that one could ‘absolutely see this as reaching for evidence, but it is there’. He also waves away some pretty important scepticism from Professor Warwick Edwards at Glasgow University on the basis that his specialist period is the 16th century rather than the 15th and quotes him as stating ‘I don’t really know’. It’s difficult to tell, but to me it sounds like Edwards would rather not get too deeply involved either as a supporter or a critic, which is pretty standard amongst academics. Indeed, Wilson bemoans the fact that these two ‘eccentric eccentric people’ are ‘not being taken seriously by the academy’. Academics will tend to ignore speculative claims rather than get tarred by the woo brush, even if they are debunking rather than endorsing.

A couple of points he gets plain wrong. He makes the old mistake of believing that the ‘green man’ is a pagan symbol. More importantly though, he claims that the cube carvings were ‘carved in place’, when in fact all of the internal decoration of the chapel is applied, as is evident from the missing chunks today and as depicted in art (see Robert Cooper’s ‘Rosslyn Hoax’ book, Jeff Nisbet’s research, and some of my earlier posts e.g. this). Many of these chunks of masonry were restored or replaced in the 19th century. I don’t know where to start with his claim that the cubes are ‘so geometrical in a way that was not a common theme at the time’, since medieval architecture is based upon geometry. Unless he’s referring to the shape of the cubes themselves I suppose.

We also get a claim I’ve seen before (not least in the book that originally laid out the musical cube idea) that this was a ‘…time when you’d want to keep quiet about being interested in maths or music.’ Yes, music was the preserve of the rich and the church, and rules were laid down about it, but I’ve yet to see any real evidence of suppression beyond this. Medieval historians – comment below!

I would have said that Wilson simply does not understand critical thinking when he says;

‘If aliens found it, they could draw the same conclusion that the Mitchell’s did’.

He bases this on the fact that the Chladni patterns are a natural phenomenon. The clear problem with this is that they are only the hypothetical basis for the claims made. That seeing a pattern where none exists is a mistake that anyone could make is obviously not evidence that it does!

Yet Wilson apparently does understand both critical thought, and the dangers of becoming too personally invested in an idea. He points out that the originators of the cube hypothesis are ‘two men who believe’ (emphasis on believe) and most importantly that ‘their opinion is unfalsifiable’. Despite this admission that it could well all be bollocks, Wilson nonetheless believes it to be ‘very compelling’, and places his emphasis on how plausible the hypothesis is:

‘Because if it’s plausible, it’s ‘the most fascinating thing I’ve ever seen.’

Unfortunately, ‘is it plausible?’ is entirely the wrong question to ask. Plausible does not equal historical, and speculative history relies upon the superficial plausibility of the claims made to bamboozle the laymans and (some of) the enthusiasts. If there’s a whizz-bang gimmick to awe the rubes, so much the better; in this case it’s the impressive (and very real) phenomenon of ‘Chladni’ patterns. ‘Plausible’ essentially suggests that if it sounds or even ‘feels’ right, so perhaps it is.

No. No, no, no. There are times when speculation is justified or even necessary in the study of the past, but it must be carried out within a framework of evidence. It’s exactly the same principle as the old ‘extraordinary claims require extraordinary evidence’ for claims of the pseudoscientific or paranormal. You can infer foundations from a ditch on an archaeological site, but you can’t speculate that it was an elephant hopscotch arena.

The claim that the cubes represent musical notes has serious implications for the established history of music, and the medieval understanding of science, so we need a damn good reason to believe it. Moreover, there is a far more parsimonious explanation for the ‘motet’ – that it is an elaborate example of bad pattern recognition. The fact that the claim is unfalsifiable is not just a caveat, it undermines the whole thing.

I can’t help feeling that if anyone in the audience was fooled by all this, had Wilson pointed out that one of the originators of the cube theory has since turned his hand to producing ‘music’ from DNA, they might not have been. No-one is seriously suggesting that music is somehow encoded in Beethoven’s DNA – nor should they be suggesting that someone did so with the Rosslyn ‘cubes’. You can generate ‘notes’ from any sequence – it’s what you do with them that makes them a piece of music.

Rosslyn: Return of the Cubes

Never mind the “code” – what about the mullet?

The “cubes” haven’t exactly returned. The promulgators of that particular claim (about a piece of music supposedly recreated by an enterprising musician) have moved on to other things since I took an interest back in 2006. But I thought this video well worth pointing out because of a very telling comment by the director of the Rosslyn Chapel Trust (timecode 51:45);

“In the lady chapel, which is the front part of the choir, there’s like little nodules of stone going up and around over the top, and each of those has a different symbol carved on it, and there’s a local gentleman who’s spent the last twenty years studying these, and noting them down, and what he did was..erm..like a bed of sand, and if, when he played a certain musical note, it came up with legibly the shape, so from that he managed to work out what the notes were, and then he put..set that to what the original instruments of the time would be, and composed what he said was the Rosslyn “anthem”. The only slight difficult with that is we know that some of the nodules had fallen off in recent years, and had been put back up by the local stonemason, and he will quite fully admit that he just carved what he thought might be right, and popped them back up *laughter*! So if there’s a few off notes in the concert, then… maybe that explains it!”

It’s worse than that, as I’ve explained in previous posts, but it’s good to see a degree of scepticism about the claims coming from, essentially, an official source. And although I don’t set too much store by “body language” as a (pseudo)science, it’s obvious nonetheless that between this and the director’s tone of voice, he’s not buying 100% into the “Rosslyn Motet”.

Thanks to Jeff Nisbet of Mythomorph.com for catching this and passing on the link (his own article on the “controversy” is here).

Unfortunately the video itself, though informative and clear on the original nature and (Catholic Christian) purpose of the chapel itself, does propagate various other myths about the chapel. That William St Clair was NOT made an hereditary Grand Master Mason has been shown beyond doubt by Scottish Grand Lodge curator Robert Cooper, using primary sources. In fact this was a case of an 18th century Sinclair easing his acquisition of that title by “graciously” renouncing the supposed hereditary title in order to be elected to that position in modern Scottish Freemasonry (which doesn’t even date back as far as the 14th century). Then there’s the old chestnut of the American corn carvings. There’s plenty of storytelling, but precious little in the way of scepticism about the stories. This bet-hedging non-commital attitude is summed-up by the Trust director’s comment that “We don’t seek to prove or disprove any theories“. I have to ask “why not”, when the facts are so close at hand? At the least, it should be possible to make clear what is folklore and myth, and what is supported by historians as fact, or at least, reasonably plausible speculation. However, note that he also says “the facts are just as amazing as any fiction”, which would seem to be at odds with the stance in general. To me, it seems as though the beliefs about the chapel are being treated with kid gloves, as though they are dealing not with visitors, but customers who are “always right” – a common trend in the heritage sector today – or even as members of religious groups whose irrational beliefs are not to be challenged for fear of offending them (and their spending power).

To me, this makes it all the more telling that they were willing to publically “diss” the idea of “musical” cubes in this way. Then again, they did host the composer’s live performances and sell copies of his book in their shop. But hey, the fantasy/speculative history stuff keeps the roof on, right? And there’s a lot of good conservation work going on, paid for in large part by this popular approach.  Bearing all this in mind, it’s hard to blame the Trust for this. Still, I’d hope that a lecture like this might deal a little more in hard facts, and I hope for something more in the planned interpretative visitor centre that the director outlines.

Rosslyn and the Loch Ness Monster

Nessie and Rosslyn – closer together than you might think…

No, I haven’t lost the plot. I’m just looking to coin a new expression; the ‘Nessie Effect’. This is when a heritage site embraces unsupported speculation in order to pay the bills. At Loch Ness it’s a real boost to the local economy. In the ’90s, it was on the order of $36 million dollars a year (rather less now admittedly). The downside is (arguably) that this level of focus on a piece of mythology (represented as plausible fact) distracts from the real treasures of the region and the country. But this isn’t really about Nessie. For that, you’d best head here or back to Google. No, I’m suggesting that the same phenomenon applies to many sites in Britain, but specifically Rosslyn Chapel (subject of many of my past posts).

I may spend a fair bit of time criticising unfounded claims about the past, but I recognise that they can bring in a lot of money that can benefit important sites like Rosslyn Chapel. It’s an ethical dilemma really. As a custodian of a cultural or historic thing, do you steadfastly stick to the known facts and struggle to get by? Or do you “sell out” by entertaining alternative history in order to keep the money rolling in?

I think the answer is to strike a balance. The Rosslyn Chapel Trust stock both serious and speculative books in the gift shop, and of course fiction like the Da Vinci Code. This does allow visitors to make up their own minds, and makes money from different audiences at the same time. Unfortunately, they go further and allow events like the live performances of the so-called Rosslyn Motet. You could argue that this is little different than a museum hosting a corporate event within its galleries, but the difference is that the latter do not passively endorse dubious claims about its exhibits.

For me, the Rosslyn approach is simply too uncritical, too laissez-faire. But from their perspective – why bite the hand that feeds? I really can’t blame them for it. But what does it say about your attitude to your visitors when you do this? Aren’t you casting them as gullible punters to be herded in, harvested for money, and sent on their way none the wiser? I for one would rather visitor centres strive toward fact-based interpretation as accredited museums are obliged to do.

But I’m just an armchair commentator. It’s not easy running a site like Rosslyn without significant external funding. And it’s clear that their approach has worked as far as increased visitor numbers and income, as this Scotsman article details. It remains to be seen whether this is used to its fullest potential.

Besides, let’s not forget the media’s role in peddling the pseudohistory that places like Rosslyn take advantage of. On that score, I was pleased to see from the linked article that the Scotsman has moderated its tone regarding the musical cubes ‘discovery’ that it reported on rather uncritically in 2005. The following year it even suggested that when the music was played, it might unlock a lost secret. I wrote a series of posts debunking these claims – see also Jeff Nisbett’s definitive article. Pleasingly, the latest media mention as linked above, is this:

Among Rosslyn’s many intricate carvings are a sequence of 213 cubes or boxes protruding from pillars and arches with a selection of patterns on them. It is unknown whether these have any particular meaning.

Many people have attempted to find information coded into them, but as yet no interpretation has proven conclusive.

Now that’s how to report speculative history. I wish more of those in charge of the UK’s cultural landmarks were so circumspect.

Those Elusive Knights Templar

Though entirely without substance, the notion that the medieval order of the Knights Templar hid and persisted somewhere in Scotland after their destruction in the early C14th is too far out of control to be dispatched in one post. It’s also been tackled quite thoroughly by others, notably Robert Cooper in his “Rosslyn Hoax?” and Mark Oxbrow in the less in-depth but rather more accessible “Rosslyn and the Grail“. I’ll focus on the claims surrounding some stone grave slabs at sites in Kilmartin and Kilmory Knap, both in the West Highlands of Scotland.

National heritage institution Historic Scotland describe Kilmory succinctly as “A small medieval chapel with a collection of typical West Highland grave slabs and some early medieval sculpture.” A bit of a “Mostly Harmless” entry, but hey, it’s accurate. This interpretation is not enough for the speculative historians, who propose it as evidence of a long-running hypothesis that the Knights Templar somehow survived disbandment and hid themselves in western Scotland (Argyll is the location usually given in the pseudohistorical “literature”). The Argyll connection was proposed by Baigent and Leigh of “Holy Blood, Holy Grail” fame, and as readers will know, once a claim is out there, it’s pretty tough to fully lay it to rest. Those carrying out some casual online research into the Templars or this area of Scotland will no doubt encounter the RosslynTemplars.org.uk site. This seems to be somewhat of a prototype for parts of Robert Cooper’s book, and hosts some useful images and musings. Being unfinished, however, and Cooper’s book (quite rightly) available in print only, it does not effectively separate fact from fiction and can appear ambiguous in places.

The lynch-pin, in fact, the only supposed evidence for the Templar connection is the idea that the grave marking slabs found there somehow represent Templar burials. A typical example is shown at the top of this item, and many more from Kilmory are to be seen on RosslynTemplars.org.uk. That site does recognise some flaws in the claims they relate, but ultimately still seem to “want to believe” that there must be something to the idea, and that Templars might indeed have been buried there. Of course, they’re working backwards – trying to fit the evidence to the claim and doing Baigent and Leigh’s work for them in the process. A more critical approach is needed.

For those unfamiliar with both the graveslabs of the West Highlands and the history of the Templars (i.e. most people!) this seems quite plausible on the face of it. But are these slabs so unusual? Do they really bear Templar symbolism and even depict Knights of the order? Well, this blog isn’t called the “BS Historian” for nothing. Let’s take a realistic run through the Baigent and Leigh checklist of “Templar” features…

Templar Slabs?
Let’s not mess about. They don’t look anything like Knights Templar, or any other crusading knight, for that matter. As an artefact type, the slabs themselves (an example from elsewhere is pictured above) constitute nothing more or less than evidence of a warrior elite with ties in all three areas – fighting men who lent or sold their skills and weaponry to anyone worthy or wealthy enough, from Irish chieftains to Robert the Bruce himself. In fact slabs like this are quite common not just in Argyll, the claimed refuge of the last Templars, but across the West Highlands and Isles of Scotland. Thanks to the Galloglass branches of the families in question, they also have direct parallels in Ireland, typically show more heavily armoured men. One theory is that the original West Highland warriors, being more reliant upon their wooden galleys for transport (see below), eschewed easily corroded and difficult to maintain mail armour in favour of their distinctive long quilted aketon/cotuns, possibly faced with deer hide. Of course it’s also possible that the reverse is true, with mail worn under the aketon, the Galloglass being the ones abandoning their outer armour (for some reason). The other de rigeur features of such figures (although not all slabs have all features) are a rather pointy type of bascinet , a simple spear, and usually, a distinctively Scottish style of single-handed sword.

Grave slab from Islay

The intention of all of this material depiction was the same – to display power, prestige, and wealth. In the case of the Galloglass kindreds, this was hard-earned by mercenary soldiering. Much of the military equipment shown tallies with that listed in the Bruce’s Arming Act of 1318 – the warriors may have been demonstrating that they were so equipped, and then some! But none of it, not one feature, has any connection whatever to the Knights Templar. In light of this, Andrew Sinclair’s claim that a figure at Kilmartin is that of a “crusader” is odd. As armed and armoured men go, he could not look less like a crusading knight, let alone a Templar specifically. See the movie “Kingdom of Heaven” for a good idea of what they ought to look like, or some of the images on this excellent page (about the great helm of the period):

Crusaders c1285 (left) and effigy drawings of REAL Knights Templar (right)
All wear typical head-to-toe mail and sleeveless surcoats.
Nothing like the West Highland warrior slabs.

Templar Ships?
Some slabs, not just those near Argyll (see above), also include a depiction of a sailing vessel. The Templars did indeed use wooden medieval galleys of this sort – they even had their own shipwrights. So is this a true and reliable Tempar symbol? Unlikely. These are rather more likely to be depictions of West Highland galleys, even more vital to life in the watery world of the coastal and isles Gael than to the globetrotting Templar. There is also an element of the Scandinavian influence here again – these vessels were not so different in construction and function to the Viking longships still being built in the Norse homelands at the time. But they were more visually impressive, being owned and used by those at the other end of the social scale to your average logboat paddler. Kindreds or clans with West Highland connections like Clan Donald even came to use the galley in their coats of arms. For those with hereditary or battle-won prestige and finances, the grand galley, like the other slab features, was a symbol of their power and influence – an attempt to “take it with you” in death that the typical Christian burial ritual, with its proscription against grave goods, couldn’t sacrifice. It may actually be a hang-over from pagan days.

A typical West Highland galley – but from a named Gaelic tomb
in the Western Isles, not the Argyll area…

Templar Swords?
RosslynTemplars pose the question of whether the ubiquitous and disctinctive sword design seen on the slabs might be a uniquely Templar weapon. I can answer this by saying that there is no evidence at all that these swords were ever used by Templars, and every indication that they were a Scando-Gaelic Scottish design. This page mentions the Baigent and Leigh claim that graveslabs bearing a sword like that seen at Kilmartin, did indeed once mark Templar graves. This is clearly nonsense when one examines the dozens of West Highland, Isles, and even East Highland slabs that feature the same type of Gaelic single-handed or hand-and-a-half sword in some capacity. These weapons all feature a swept guard with swollen tips, protruding central “langets” along the blade, and either lobated or “tea-cosy” type Viking style pommel, or a later rounded type with protruding tang enclosure (as seen two links back). The blade is usually a pan-European design classified by sword historian Ewart Oakeshott as Type XII – a wide but tapering 3/4 fullered blade, whose heyday was the 13th and 14th centuries – within the period of both Templar (1100-1307) and our warriors (c1300-1400). It’s not possible to establish a closer date for either carved depictions, or for the several examples of these swords that exist today in museum collections, but we know from these real swords that the depictions are accurate and Gaelic in origin, because no weapons of this complete design (or “halflang”, as some arms and armour scholars call it) have ever been found outside Scotland. Further, many elements of the hilt were retained or adapted in the later and much more well-known two-handed “claymore” of the 16th Century, with its quatrefoil (rather than swollen) terminals. A tell-tale typological sign is that the later pommel on the “halflang” is identical to that on the earlier of the claymores, before a globe pommel was adopted, which was in turn (along with many cut-down blades) retained in the basket-hilted “claymore” of later years. These earliest swords are therefore part of an traceable tradition of Scottish swordmaking. Any refugee Templar choosing to be buried under a representation of such a weapon, must have wholly embraced the culture of his adopted land in order to forsake the conventional cross-hilted weapon of his crusading days. Or to quote Eddie Murphy, deep deep deep undercover. So much so, that we wouldn’t actually be able to tell him from his native counterpart. Which makes a nonsense of the original claim.

One of the Kilmory slab swords (left) and one of several surviving “halflang”
swords recovered in Scotland and Ireland (this one is now in Glasgow)

Templar Crosses?
The other vaguely plausible claim about these slabs at Kilmartin is that one of them (far left in this linked image) bears a cross pattee – the symbol of the Knights Templar. A conclusion of Templar origins must first ignore the classic single-handed Scottish sword, as discussed above. Granted, the cross within the circle somewhat resembles the cross pattee, one application of which was as a Templar symbol. However, it’s not actually a cross at all (though may have been intended to serve as one in this context). Have a look at the below images, especially another slab from elsewhere in the Highlands which depicts another textbook West Highland warrior, with the same so-called “pattee” cross at his feet. Compare the supposed “Templar” example… In fact, it is a cross-of-arcs – a common early (“Celtic”) Christian, Anglo-Saxon, and Scandinavian design. See “Early Medieval Sculpture in the West Highlands and Islands” for some examples of this, especially page 128. They are found not just in this area, but across Scotland and England. This makes sense given the mixed cultural background of the warriors in question, but none at all in terms of any supposed Templar connection. Though the Kilmartin and Kilmory crosses may be contemporary with the Templars, the style of cross pre-dates them. It didn’t originate with them, and wasn’t exclusive to them even in their heyday.

Kilmartin cross claimed as Templar (left) compared to West Highland (middle) and English Cumbrian (right) equivalents

But wait a second, there is another, quite strikingly “pattee” cross at Kilmory. There’s no denying that it matches pretty closely. Again though, one only has to start looking for similar crosses in the medieval Gaelic world, and we start to see them everywhere. For example in Ireland, carved into older, pagan stones in an attempt to assert religious control. Clearly these cannot all be Templar in origin. In fact the style of cross is a popular and recurring form of the famous Christian “brand logo”, one of many chosen for subtle variations in their meaning, now lost, or simply for stylistic or regional reasons.

The same goes for this example, with the extra snag that the piece of stone bearing this supposed Templar temple marker was found in modern times, more than ten miles from the chapel. The chances of it being carved to mark out Kilmory chapel as a Templar one are therefore slim (never mind the issue of just how incognito these secret Templars could be with the medieval equivalent of a flashing neon sign over their door…

And how about this slab below? Is this a Templar cross?

Nope. This is the slab of a priest who was dead and buried on the opposite coast to Argyll – in Aberdeen – more than 100 years before the Templars were even disbanded (remember, the claim here is that the remaining Templars took refuge in Scotland after their early C14th disbandment). The folks at RosslynTemplars.org.uk must be aware of other crosses similar to the croix pattee that are certainly not, because they show an example of a consecration cross here. The bracelet design on this slab is another, the sword denoting another career warrior of note in the area. Other funerary art of the time and region includes plant-like designs and wheel-like crosses like the “escarbuncle” to be seen on the grave slab of William St Clair (now in Rosslyn Chapel). Of course the St Clair slab is also claimed to be Templar, despite his family giving evidence against the Templars at a 1309 trial. The design of cross to be included on any given English or Scottish slab of the 12th-15th centuries was down to personal or family preference, and each had subtly different meanings. The Templars themselves used a variety of cross designs beside the pattee or St John’s cross, and even if the crosses at Kilmory were perfect matches for a croix pattee, we could still not say with any certainty that this denoted a Templar grave.

Masonic Set-Square?
There is only one Argyllshire slab that features all of the items on the Baigent and Leigh Templar Spotter’s checklist. The galley, the armed figure, the sword, the cross and “floriate” designs we have already covered in this article, as being typically medieval Gaelic features found across a wide area. The “masonic set square” is the last of these. It is a difficult feature to interpret, and seems to resemble a set-square only inasmuch as any right-angled design. But, even assuming it does represent a set-square, we are talking 300 years before the Freemasons were even established. There is, in addition, no historic connection between the Knights Templar and the Freemasons – only what the latter call “traditional histories” – myths, to you and I. See Robert Cooper’s “Rosslyn Hoax” for an excellent debunking of this connection. Prior to Freemasonry, which formed from earlier guilds of stonemasons, a set-square depicted in stone meant some connection to an actual craftsman. Given that at least one graveslab from the Isles features a dedication to three craftsmen apparently valued by the Lords of the Isles, the appearance of such a feature should certainly not result in a default conclusion of “Knight Templar!”

In conclusion then, to accept the above as evidence of French Templar knights in the Gaelic West Highlands is to deny an historically documented warrior culture. Baigent and Leigh claim that Argyll was chosen as the new HQ of the now secret order, because it was sparsely populated and remote. More modern-day snobbery I’m afraid. In reality medieval Argyll was a thriving sea port in an age when over-land travel was difficult, but wooden sailing ships afforded fast and reliable access to this, and other coastal towns. Another claim is that it was the Bruce himself who afforded safe haven to the Knights Templar because of their assistance to him, notably at the pivotal Battle of Bannockburn where a mysterious host of knights is said to have arrived at the eleventh hour to save the day. This too, is rubbish, with no mention in the contemporary sources. The “small folk” referred to latterly would have been lightly armed camp followers fighting on foot, not mounted knights. Their arrival on the field either persuaded the enemy that a reserve force was engaging and they must retreat. The very idea of a fanatical religious order of knights fighting with the excommunicated Bruce is inherently unlikely. Ironically though, West Highland warriors and Islemen; the men really buried under the slabs mentioned above, were among Bruce’s host that day. And the Knights Templar do have history elsewhere in Scotland; just not after their disbandment as claimed. It’s strange that instead of taking an interest in real history, some prefer to weave romantic fantasy.

Rosslyn Chapel’s musical cubes silenced?

In previous posts I have offered criticism of the Rosslyn Chapel “musical” code theories, specifically that put forward in Thomas Mitchell’s frankly bonkers book, and the end product; his son Stuart’s “Rosslyn Motet” piece of music. Both are, of course, for sale, as are tickets to live performances at the chapel itself. The whole exercise relies not upon quality research, reason and evidence, but rather assumption, speculation and assertion. Paradoxically, this makes it fairly immune to active debunking; the carved “cubes” might still represent notes, and there’s nothing that outright contradicts that (burden of proof be damned). Or is there?

There are many assumptions underpinning the Mitchell’s work. One that is that all of the cubes that we see in the chapel ceiling today are original to the 15th Century. The Mitchells have confidently accounted for the two missing cubes, but clearly the fewer original ones, the fewer the “notes” with which to reconstruct any underlying musical code. The chapel has a long history of neglect and repair, and real expertise is required to spot the more subtle alterations today. Could the Mitchells be working with the wrong notes? As it turns out, historical evidence shows that it’s very likely that they are. I found this, of all places, in a recent issue of the esoteric magazine “Atlantis Rising“, buried amongst pieces on secret Nazi flying saucers and “Intelligent” Design. An article by Jeff Nisbet of mythomorph.com, as well as accusations of sneaky appropriation of the work of others, reproduces pieces of art by Samuel Dukinfield Swarbreck and dated to 1837, which show the accumulated damage of over 200 years of neglect. Not only are lots of cubes missing from the arches, but those vital first few “notes” in particular have been obliterated from the first pillar or “stave” in the “motet”. In fact, whole blocks of cube-carrying masonry are absent, revealing the bare arches beneath (Rosslyn’s carvings were mostly appliqué). If this artwork is accurate, it blows any musical code hypothesis out of the proverbial water.

So, in the absence of period photographs, can we trust these sources? Or could one legitimately play the “artistic licence” card to keep the claims alive? Certainly some artists opted for a romantic or idealised impression of the evocative but visually complex interior. As documented in the wonderfully illustrated Rosslyn: Country of Painter and Poet however, Swarbreck was there to document the dilapidated original interior of the chapel prior to the first major restoration effort, due to begin that year. But how good a job did he do? Take a look at another of Swarbreck’s series, from the opposite side of the church. This shows just how many individual cubes, and how many supporting appliqué masonry blocks, were missing.

Artistic licence? Perhaps as far as individual cubes go, but it’s clear that until the restoration, a great number were missing. This second engraving by J & J Johnstone (1825), shows the same damage – missing cubes, even entire swathes of arch rib that would have held original cubes:

Finally, a work by J.A. Houston, again depicting loss to the stonework around the Apprentice Pillar, from a different angle, as it was in 1854:

Perhaps in over-eagerness to discredit the hypothesis, Nisbet attacks the historicity of Mitchell’s “stave angel”. This is supposedly the “Rosetta Stone” key to the sequence and interpretation of the cubes, hence a prime target. However, his claim that it is “not holding a musical stave but is, in fact, playing an instrument“, is by my estimation wide of the mark. Take a look at these two images:

A modern photo (left) and the same view in 1837 (right)

All of the salient features are there, save for the missing cubes and, in the case of the middle upright arch, the very blocks of stone they would be attached to. The “stave angel” is there, and given the limitation of scale, the artist has done a great job of representing it, even down to the fingers that Mitchell claims are pointing to specific lines on the stone. Now, whatever the angel is supposed to be holding (book, lectern, musical instrument, or even “stave”), it’s the same thing in both images.

Though it might suit my argument to be able to dismiss the angel as a modern piece, I’m not about to do so when the evidence suggests otherwise. In fact this serves only to further validate the artwork as an historical source vis the missing/replaced cube carvings. There are only two real get-out scenarios that I can conceive of. One is to assume that the 1837 restoration team was able to locate each and every missing cube and piece of masonry, either repair or create exact replicas of them, and finally somehow correctly relocate them at the correct place. Not impossible, but not likely either, especially not in the 19th Century, when rigorous authenticity in architectural and historical restoration had yet to appear on the radar. Just look at the radically different 1861 replacement east window – and that was intact when they started! The other possibility is that Swarbreck’s lithographs were commenced after the restoration had begun, and that the missing stonework had actually been deliberately removed for repair or copying for replacement. The work above by Houston suggests otherwise, at least as far as the individual (missing) cubes are concerned – they are still gone seventeen years later, making it rather unlikely that their original positions and carved faces could have been faithfully recreated. Finally, if this were the case, one has to wonder why the restoration team would removed some blocks whole, and simply knock other cubes from their blocks in such haphazard fashion. At this point it would take impressive intellectual gymnastics to explain how today’s sequence of cube patterns could possibly bear meaningful relation to that originally intended by William Sinclair and installed by his successor some time in the late 1400s/early 1500s.

In conclusion then, my opinion was that there was never any reason to believe that the Rosslyn cubes ever held a secret piece of music, or indeed any other code (though I will approach any new evidence for such a thing with interest). Now, thanks to contemporary artwork, we can go further and say that the pattern of cubes seen today is not 600 years old, but a composite of Renaissance and Victorian work. Anything resembling intent or design in the sequence (as well as individually) is therefore nothing more than co-incidence, with no more intrinsic meaning than the pattern of your nan’s kitchen wallpaper. Lovely church, though, isn’t it?

Edit – note that Jeff Nisbett of Mythomorph suggests the various designs on the cubes, like other elements in the chapel (notably the whole east window) may well have been introduced in their entirety by the restoration crews. In other words they may originally have been identical. Even if there is original variation, the original pattern of this is forever lost, whether or not it once contained hidden secrets.

Seeing the light (box) at Rosslyn Chapel

One of the more recent alternative history books written about Rosslyn Chapel is “Rosslyn Revealed ; A Library in Stone” by Butler and Ritchie. Compared to the overt mysticism of Thomas Mitchell’s “Music of the Cubes“, you could be forgiven at first glance for thinking it might take a reasoned, if populist, approach. It even has the odd reference/footnote! Sadly, serious research shortcomings become apparent as the chapters unfold, as various speculative interpretations abound, both old and new. There seems to be a concerted effort to associate the Chapel with an ephemeral, secretive and heretical, yet progressive spirituality/philosophy. This is supposed to have embraced the Jewish “Kabala” and venerating John the Baptist to the exclusion of Jesus himself (conveniently dismissing the heavy Christian symbolism as a cover story), and culminated in the founding of Freemasonry at the chapel itself! Butler and Ritchie confidently label the devoutly Christian founder of the chapel (William Sinclair), and various tenuously linked historical figures (including Pope Pius II) as secret followers. This central thread, and just about every other claim made in the book is supported by nothing more than circular argument. They start from premises that are neither backed by quality evidence, nor accepted by historians. The precarious position so established is then passed off as fact and used to prop up the next specious idea, and so on. Careful to keep the really wacky stuff at arms length for most of the book, they nonetheless add a dash of sacred geometry of their own towards the end, and even include the wonderfully bonkers and thoroughly discredited Madame Blavatsky as one of their few cited references.

A New Discovery at the Chapel?
There was one aspect of the authors’ work that made the press back in 2006; the (re)discovery of the so-called “light box”; a tiny stained glass window set into the uppermost tracery of the east window. Based upon rather unscientific observation however, Butler and Ritchie believe it to be more complex than that. They postulate, without having the means to check, a short, roughly pentagonal (natch!) channel containing red and white glass panes or lenses and a reflective liner, somehow capable of both projecting a defined beam of light and permitting observation of a rare planetary conjunction (see below). In this Youtube video, the interior does appear to be somewhat reflective when lit, though not perhaps the gold, mica, or faceted precious stone suggested. The metal visible around the edge of the hole is what appears to be plain old (oxidised) glazing lead. Whatever the case, here’s the “box”, shown from inside the Chapel (image taken from the above-linked Scotsman article);

They were apparently alerted to its presence by a local person who told them of a particular effect that could be observed on 21st September each year. As the authors point out, this corresponds to the Autumn Equinox and also St Matthew’s Day. The latter may indeed be no co-incidence, as the chapel has long been known to be dedicated to that Christian saint, and was probably founded on his day in AD1450 (see this PDF). Butler and Ritchie describe their “Indiana Jones moment” in confirming this effect first hand. Good thing 21 September 2006 was an unseasonally cloudless day! I should point out that though their Youtube video purports to show the effect au natural on the big day, the portions showing the illuminated box are clearly taken from their earlier experiments with a 3-million candlepower lamp. Essentially they are applying a red filter to said lamp, and so the differences between a directed beam, and the diffuse light radiated by the sun, is difficult to reconcile with the observed effect they claim. There are other problems with their approach, for example no mention is made of “control” visits to ensure that the same level of light is not produced on other days and under different weather conditions. They do construct a Blue Peter-esque plastic replica to replicate the red and white “doughnut” of light observed in the chapel. As this model was designed, after the fact and from the outset, to do exactly that, and cannot be validated, it seems pretty pointless. The team really “jump the shark” as far I was concerned, when they state that it would also have been possible to observe via the tiny window, a planetary conjunction that they equate with a their convoluted interpretation of the kabalistic “Shekinah“. Thus convinced of what they have discovered and its special esoteric significance, they proceed to make the “light box” the centrepiece of “secret Kabalistic library” hypothesis, citing flawed examples of precedent such as the Saint-Sulpice sundial, actually an 18th Century addition built to show the date of Easter each year.

The Evidence
Esoterica aside, let’s test the validity of this tangible claim. Have they really discovered an original (i.e. 15th Century) architectural feature in the chapel? No. They have brought to light a little known and interesting feature of the Chapel; a rare feat given the intense scrutiny the building has been under over the years. But their “light box” is demonstrably a 19th Century addition. Read on…

The authors of “Rosslyn Revealed” are at least intellectually honest enough to point out the main drawback to their claim, only to cheerfully ignore it later on. The entire east window of the Chapel was replaced during major restoration work in the late 19th Century. Therefore the light box was either understood and left intact, was recreated, or was simply created from scratch at that time. They plump for the second option, allowing them to maintain both great antiquity for their “discovery”, and also continuity with their overarching esoteric hypothesis. They cite an 1840s photograph of the top of the east window that supposedly shows the feature. If it is the image that appears heavily Photoshopped on the cover of their book, I can provide two similar images from the first half of that century for you to see for yourself; can you see anything resembling an aperture?

No? How about in a closeup, alongside a modern-day equivalent:

1844 – 2006

As you can see, although the structural arch is intact, the entirety of the window itself has been replaced. This was done during one of the restorations listed here, either 1861 or 1883. In my opinion, the photographic evidence shows clearly that there is no such aperture at the apex of that arch; if there were, it would coincide with the big, black, empty, unglazed space you see there. The real nail in the coffin comes when we look again at the masonry currently surrounding the “light box”:

Note the comparatively fresh appearance and different styling of the 19th Century masonry, with its projecting rounded cusps, and the block containing the “light box” set into the arch apex. Note that this extends unbroken right to the point of the arch, but has obvious joints to the side and bottom where it abuts the other blocks comprising the window tracery below it. There is also a joint between the upper curves of the block and the window frame where it is cemented in place. These joints continue right through to the exterior of the window tracery – it is without doubt one solid, though deeply carved, block, with the “light box” an integral feature cut into it – entirely replacing the original tracery.
Conclusion
Butler and Ritchie’s claim that the light box is a feature of William Sinclair’s original design is, on the available evidence, entirely without basis. Instead, it appears to be a wholly 19th Century piece of work. This also renders the heretical-spiritual reasons offered for its presence completely redundant. They may be correct about a deliberate alignment vis St Matthew’s Day (though precise East-West situation is by no means unique), but any exploitation of this via the light box is likely to be a Victorian whimsy. They reluctantly acknowledge this, pointing out that before 1752, St Matthew’s Day did not in fact correlate with the Autumn equinox, though they insist that this was only possible due to the precise alignment of the building by the original builders. The implication is that there must have been an equivalent original feature that was recreated by the Victorian restorers. In fact, as we have seen, the evidence does not support this – if anything, it actively contradicts it. As for “Rosslyn Revealed” overall, despite its air of legitimacy it carries no more weight than the raft of other “alternative history” publications on the chapel. Long on speculation, short on evidence.

“Music of the Cubes” – a musician’s perspective

I have been acutely aware that my sceptical approach to the Mitchell’s work on Rosslyn Chapel’s supposedly musical carvings has been lacking a musical angle. I am entirely without grounding in musical theory (and indeed history), and so decided to ask for a fellow JREF forum sceptic’s musical take on things: many thanks to “calebprime” for his valuable insight. First things first though, the actual “Rosslyn Motet” CD (and the sizable accompanying booklet by Stuart Mitchell) has in fact now been reviewed by a music website; very fairly and accurately in my view. In particular it highlights the high degree of artistic licence necessary to render the final piece, and the incongruous nature of the final product. It complements well my own sceptical review of Thomas Mitchell’s book here, so I’d suggest checking it out before wading through the following.

I have asked Stuart Mitchell in a brief exchange of Youtube messages to clarify what carvings (beyond the four revealed in the book) have been matched to what vibration-patterns, so far to no avail. We also don’t have his final score to look at – Mr Mitchell, if you’re reading this; any element of speculation you can clear up here will be much appreciated. This said, the below is based upon my correspondent’s assessment of how one might derive such a piece as the “Rosslyn Motet”, without there necessarily being any medieval intent to pass on hidden musical notation. At the least it should illustrate that it is not possible to make the claims the Mitchells have made on the evidence they have provided.

We know from the book (page 32) that the opening notes (the first three carvings above the “stave angel”) are supposed to be B, C, A. There is also a variant carving that despite obvious difference, is also assigned the note of “B” (page 28). I have marked these known notes onto the diagram of the chapel ceiling available at musician Mark Naples’ website – see below:

There are significant gaps, but as the author says, these notes account for most of the cube carvings in the chapel, so in the absence of anything like full disclosure from those behind the theory, it’s at least a start.

Now we can take the clip of the Rosslyn Motet found on Stuart Mitchell’s website, and attempt to spot some of the sequences seen in the diagram. The fragment of tune at the point at which the vocal enters, goes something like:

| B C A |C E A | A . . | G#. . | G# G# E | G# . F# |#. . | . . . |

( | = bar line of 3 beats )
( . = continuation of note or rest)

Now, the composer is supposed to have used the stave angel as the starting point for the piece, and the strings of cubes in that area do look to be the closest match to the recording. There are four instances of “B C A” overall, two of which go as far as “B C A C”. The only possible match to “B C A C ? A” (? meaning an unknown note) is in the pattern third from the right on the diagram (at the bottom, on the “Apprentice” pillar):

(Pillar top upwards) B C A C B A ? ? (pendant/arch)

Where this analysis parts company with the explanations given in the book (assuming that those two missing notes have been accounted for), is that the latter specifies that the sequence is a string of nine carvings/notes, followed by one of eight. That would move the starting point around the same (stave angel) pillar, giving us:

B C A ? B B B B B (first arch), and then B C A C B A ? ?.

But this doesn’t seem to match what we’re hearing in the clip. Perhaps the clip does not represent the beginning of the piece, but it does sound as though it is intended to. I hope to get hold of a copy of the full piece before too long and will update this post accordingly when I do.

So, discrepancies notwithstanding, the motet is clearly based somewhat upon sequences of values assigned to the strings of carvings. Let’s assume that individual carvings do represent certain notes (see previous articles for the validity of this crucial claim). We still have problems. Looking at the diagram of the ceiling, you can see that the design of the arches does not lend itself to any logical progression. You can’t follow one long sequence all the way around, because there’s no clear path and no markers that might tell what turns to make as you navigate the ceiling. Do you zig-zag from west to east wall, from right to left and back again? Or do you “read” each group of three strings as they radiate from the tops of the pillars and other points along the walls? Whichever way you approach it, you are left with “stranded” strings of notes, and an obligation to incorporate these somehow in the final piece. Otherwise, the likelihood is that you are not actually making sense of the strings; you are constructing your own meaning from essentially random patterns.

Some of the sequences are tough to reconcile with any musical intent, the most obvious being the string of nine C “notes” that appears on the arch first from the right along the bottom of the ceiling plan. My correspondent’s interpretation, which I agree with, is that the composer is looking at these 8-10 note sequences, and loosely deriving a musical phrase from it. If this is so, the bulk of the final piece consists of artistic licence and “fleshing out” that is not based on any historical evidence.

My contact’s assessment of the steps needed, which tallies with the review of the CD, is;
Step 1. Assign a design to a pitch
Step 2. Treat each design as a beat, except when it isn’t…
Step 3. Change the scale (G becomes G#, F becomes F#, etc.) as needed
Step 4. Proceed in whichever direction sounds “right” when played.
Step 5. Ignore unmusical/boring sequences, such as C C C C C C C
Step 6. Add harmony and other lines as desired
Step 7. Assign to instruments as desired
Step 8. Massage the whole thing for “listenability”.

In other words, you’d be (unconsciously) creating something from nothing, with the chapel carvings as nothing more than a prop, lending structure but not meaningful content. Rather like a ouija board session, or the facilitated communication scandal. And like those things, one is asked to accept what is happening on belief alone. Calebprime points out that with only three notes, A, B, C,–even if the designs were random– you’d see some repetition of the motif B, C, A. He also notes the sequences A C A C, A C A B, B B C B C A, and B A C C; patterns which could be interpreted as musical motifs. He stresses that we can’t rule out the possibility that these designs were put there with quasi-musical or semi-purposeful taste. They appear neither truly random, nor deliberately patterned. The obvious explanation for this is that a human being will arrange things in a visually interesting way, without devising a specific pattern, or going to the trouble of actually randomising the designs. As an everyday example, how many people pick their lottery numbers blind from a bag (OK, my Dad admittedly!), and how many choose a sequence that “looks right” to them on paper?

Calebprime is quite right of course; absence of evidence isn’t evidence of absence. There’s no way to conclusively disprove the whole hypothesis, because much history is inherently unfalsifiable. Especially so in this case, because the whole is based upon subjective opinion that one thing looks like another, with no supporting historical sources. However, it should not be necessary to disprove the theory, since the burden of proof is upon the claimant, to show that what they are proposing has sound basis. What I hope I have done in this series of articles is to demonstrate that in this case, the claimant has shown no such thing; the claims do not stand up to sceptical scrutiny or historical rigour. As presented in the book and other media, the hypothesis behind the “Rosslyn Motet” is a matter of faith, not evidence. For these reasons I think it is wrong to claim that a secret musical piece has been discovered in the Chapel.

What You See Isn’t Always What You Get.

I must admit that I still find the idea of hidden musical notation in Rosslyn Chapel fascinating. Not that I think there has yet been any meaningful evidence provided for this, nor as a sceptic am I able to take the idea on faith alone. No, it’s the phenomenon that seems to play a large part in some of the Rosslyn myths that I’m interested in – apophenia. Evolution has provided us with the ability to recognise abstract patterns and ideas in things that are new to us. Put simplistically, this helped our hunter-gatherer forbears to spot that naughty bit of megafauna hiding in the undergrowth. It’s still useful in everyday life today, but it has most peculiar side effects. If you’ve ever been in the shower and sure that you’ve heard the doorbell go, or the phone ring, that’s your confused brain trying to make sense of the many noises being produced by the falling water and directing you to take action in case you miss that call. Visual equivalents of this (or pareidolia) are everywhere; the man in the moon is the all-time classic, and the face on Mars a latter-day parallel. Who hasn’t lain on the ground on a cloudy day and through wishful thinking “seen” all manner of creatures, vehicles, and bodily appendages? Most people who experience this often subconscious phenomenon recognise it for what it is, chuckle, and move on. After all, the next person to see the thing in question will invariably have a different interpretation to offer based on their own experiences and thought processes. The meaning is entirely personal and subjective, even if the similarity to certain things is quite striking. But some people with deep-seated beliefs or other agendas, might convince themselves that what they are seeing is more than co-incidence – that it’s somehow significant. The more “out-there” individuals contact the press claiming to have seen the Pope in a Pop-Tart or the Virgin Mary in a grilled-cheese sandwich. Then we have those in-between; people who see something that looks like something else, and feel it represents real-world confirmation of something they’ve believed might be the case all along. It’s this category that the pseudohistorian, cult archaeologist, and cryptozoologist fall into; by misrepresenting the subjective similarity and/or significance of something, they can both “prove” something para-normal and be an “expert” and a celebrated figure, all with very little work! Both fellow believers and the casual layperson (including the media) will be swept along by whatever sexy, Indiana Jones-esque revelation is being “revealed”.

In other words, things can look like other things. In an historical context, you need evidence to be sure it’s not just your brain playing tricks on you. Because if you’ve built a whole theory around this, you could end up looking rather silly.

This brings me back to the Rosslyn Chapel carvings or “cusps” as they should probably be described. An entire theory (and a small degree of fame and fortune) hinges on the idea that each carving is not purelynow hinges on the idea that each carving is not purely decorative but instead represents a musical note visualised using a liquid or sand on a vibrating surface (300 years before such techniques were known in the West). You can see how the two things actually compare in the image in my original post, as well as in Stuart Mitchell’s YouTube video. Personally, I think they look very little alike. But the carvings are odd-looking; quite geometric. How rare are such carvings? What else might they represent? Rosslyn is known for its rich and unique stonework; are these supposedly mystical figures to be seen elsewhere?

Yep. Here’s one of the Rosslyn patterns, next to a drawing of a carving from a completely different building:

Not a perfect match, but at least as good as any of the vibration-patterns used as “evidence” for the musical theory. In fact, there is context for this similarity that elevates it above mere pareidolia. Foliage themes and motifs were pretty universal in Gothic ecclesiastical architecture; Rosslyn itself is crawling with stylised naturalistic carvings. My final image combines two of the major cusp/cube carving motifs – vine leaves, and flower buds:

So, does Exeter Cathedral, from whence this particular boss comes, have its very own hidden musical code just waiting to be cracked? Do the other churches and cathedrals in the UK? I think not. I also think it’s an extremely poor basis for the complete musical score put forward earlier this year by the Mitchells, and for the original theory put forward by fellow New Ager Stephen Prior before them.

Update on the “Music of the Cubes”.

My first post was a book review of “The Music of the Cubes” by Thomas Mitchell, which tries to back up recent claims about supposedly hidden carvings in Rosslyn Chapel. Shortly after I posted, an observant reader (possibly my only reader at this point!) noticed that the publishing company for the book and CD associated with this “research” was making bold claims about the academic support for it:

“Using the Chladni research as reference, Thomas Mitchell discovered that the cubes, when translated, produce a meaningful and authentic medieval musical composition. This has been verified by Acoustic Science experts at Edinburgh University.”
(from http://www.divine-art.com/rosslynmotet.htm)

An quick email to and response from a staff member at Edinburgh University confirmed my suspicion that this is definitely NOT the case. Academics – please be aware that if you associate yourself with “alternative” historians and their ilk, it pays to be sure just what is being said about the relationship.