• Monumental Instructions for the Post-Apocalypse Age The Marvel and Mystery of the American Stonehenge

    Email Print
    Share

    The strangest
    monument in America looms over a barren knoll in northeastern Georgia.
    Five massive slabs of polished granite rise out of the earth in
    a star pattern. The rocks are each 16 feet tall, with four of them
    weighing more than 20 tons apiece. Together they support a 25,000-pound
    capstone. Approaching the edifice, it’s hard not to think immediately
    of England’s Stonehenge
    or possibly the ominous
    monolith
    from 2001:
    A Space Odyssey
    . Built in 1980, these pale gray rocks are
    quietly awaiting the end of the world as we know it.

    Called the
    Georgia
    Guidestones
    , the monument is a mystery – nobody knows exactly
    who commissioned it or why. The only clues to its origin are on
    a nearby
    plaque
    on the ground – which gives the dimensions and explains
    a series of intricate notches and holes that correspond to the movements
    of the sun and stars – and the "guides" themselves,
    directives carved into the rocks. These instructions appear in eight
    languages ranging from English to Swahili and reflect a peculiar
    New Age ideology. Some are vaguely eugenic (guide reproduction wisely
    – improving fitness and diversity); others prescribe standard-issue
    hippie mysticism (prize truth – beauty – love – seeking
    harmony with the infinite).

    What’s most
    widely agreed upon – based on the evidence available –
    is that the Guidestones are meant to instruct the dazed survivors
    of some impending apocalypse as they attempt to reconstitute civilization.
    Not everyone is comfortable with this notion. A few days before
    I visited, the stones had been splattered
    with polyurethane
    and spray-painted with graffiti, including
    slogans like "Death to the new world order." This defacement
    was the first serious act of vandalism in the Guidestones’ history,
    but it was hardly the first objection to their existence. In fact,
    for more than three decades this uncanny structure in the heart
    of the Bible Belt has been generating responses that range from
    enchantment to horror. Supporters (notable among them Yoko Ono)
    have praised the messages as a stirring call to rational thinking,
    akin to Thomas Paine’s The
    Age
    of Reason
    . Opponents have attacked them as the Ten Commandments
    of the Antichrist.

    Whoever the
    anonymous architects of the Guidestones were, they knew what they
    were doing: The monument is a highly engineered structure that flawlessly
    tracks the sun. It also manages to engender endless fascination,
    thanks to a carefully orchestrated aura of mystery. And the stones
    have attracted plenty of devotees to defend against folks who would
    like them destroyed. Clearly, whoever had the monument placed here
    understood one thing very well: People prize what they don’t understand
    at least as much as what they do.

    The story
    of the Georgia Guidestones
    began on a Friday afternoon in June
    1979, when an elegant gray-haired gentleman showed up in Elbert
    County, made his way to the offices of Elberton Granite Finishing,
    and introduced himself as Robert C. Christian. He claimed to represent
    "a small group of loyal Americans" who had been planning
    the installation of an unusually large and complex stone monument.
    Christian had come to Elberton – the county seat and the granite
    capital of the world – because he believed its quarries produced
    the finest stone on the planet.

    Joe Fendley,
    Elberton Granite’s president, nodded absently, distracted by the
    rush to complete his weekly payroll. But when Christian began to
    describe the monument he had in mind, Fendley stopped what he was
    doing. Not only was the man asking for stones larger than any that
    had been quarried in the county, he also wanted them cut, finished,
    and assembled into some kind of enormous astronomical instrument.

    What in the
    world would it be for? Fendley asked. Christian explained that the
    structure he had in mind would serve as a compass, calendar, and
    clock. It would also need to be engraved with a set of guides written
    in eight of the world’s major languages. And it had to be capable
    of withstanding the most catastrophic events, so that the shattered
    remnants of humanity would be able to use those guides to reestablish
    a better civilization than the one that was about to destroy itself.

    Read
    the rest of the article

    July
    4, 2009

    Email Print
    Share