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What is the first thing that comes to mind when someone mentions ‘ivory’? Perhaps you will think of a cruel trade that was banned in 1975. Or maybe you will imagine objects that were made before ivory was outlawed: the keys on an old family piano or the handles of well-worn cutlery, perhaps. Such artefacts belong to the peak ‘industrial’ use of elephant ivory in the 18th and 19th centuries, when large quantities of the material were in circulation and it was not uncommon in European homes. Looking further back in time to Late Antiquity (the 3rd to 8th centuries AD), many people’s views will be informed by museum displays that often highlight ivory’s use in elite objects – especially religious carvings such as crosses, ornate boxes, and ceremonial diptychs. Focusing on such artefacts emphasises past associations of ivory with high-status goods and people, at a time when it was seemingly far scarcer in Europe. Even so, new research is revealing how this material also played a quiet, practical role in the everyday lives of people inhabiting regions that run all of the way from eastern England to the shores of the Indian Ocean. Contrary to traditional views of ivory only being available as a raw material for the elites, it was exploited by a broader range of people in communities across the ancient world.
Perhaps one of the most interesting places to explore the hidden life of elephant ivory in Late Antiquity is north of the Alps. One of the authors, Rowan English, dedicated part of his doctoral research to collecting all available evidence for the presence of ivory rings in graves dating to the post-Roman period in north-western Europe. These sturdy circular frames were used to hold open drawstring pouches that were worn at the waist, and served as something like a cross between a modern trouser pocket and a handbag. The ivory rings were cut from the base of an elephant tusk, which is naturally hollow at its core. This structure – similar to human teeth – was ideal for crafting ring-shaped objects without any need for extra carving or materials. Rather than undertake the labour required to create comparable bag frames from metal or wood, the natural form of the tusks could simply be put to use.
The bags themselves were made from textile or leather, and often incorporated metal fittings and fastenings, making them quite complex objects. Plenty of archaeological evidence exists for the study of these objects. The large, early medieval cemetery at Lauchheim, Baden- Württemberg, Germany, for example, contained bags fabricated from a range of materials, including leather, canvas, wool, and even one example that potentially had a chain-mail component. These accessories were usually worn at the waist, hanging from the belt, which is also the position where most examples occur in inhumation graves across north-west Europe. That the bags were actually used in daily life, and not just a component of the funerary assemblage, is indicated by traces of repairs that have been detected on some rings. When they broke, they were patched back together, indicating that they were functional items, not carefully handled prestige objects.
Rowan’s research created a corpus of over 1,200 ivory rings, allowing a fresh exploration of the ivory trade during the early medieval period. This considered the possible sources in eastern Africa and the Indian subcontinent, as well as the means by which ivory was transported, transformed, and crafted into different objects for different audiences across the Western world. Key to this analysis, and an interesting starting point, is how our modern thoughts about ivory compare and contrast with those of people who were living in the Late Antique world.
Perceiving ivory
Looking back from today, perhaps the ivory objects that are most familiar to us from the late and post-Roman period are diptychs. These are two-part carved relief panels that were hinged together to form small, portable pieces of art. In the Middle Ages, they often depict religious scenes, for example episodes from the life of Christ. But such diptychs have their roots in Late Antiquity, where they were made to commemorate the ascension of consuls to their office. While these were once important public officials in the Roman Empire, by Late Antiquity the role had become more ceremonial – albeit with the appointment still bringing plenty of prestige. Ivory was often used as the medium of choice to reflect this importance. There is even written evidence documenting its use as a raw material for this specific purpose: a law of AD 384 from Constantinople (modern Istanbul, Nova Roma in Latin) stated that only consuls of the highest rank could use ivory for their diptychs. This makes clear that its use was controlled, at least in elite circles.
It is such diptychs that often take a prominent place in museum collections, while the quality of the workmanship shows that they were crafted by talented artisans, reinforcing the impression that in Late Antiquity ivory was seen as a luxurious material that a skilled hand could transform into a work of art. This notion is seemingly supported by the distances over which ivory was transported, bringing with it expectations that the material would have appeared ‘exotic’ to many of those experiencing it.
To some extent, we retain this perception when thinking about ivory in the past. Considering the carving skills, the prestige, and the thousands of kilometres between the natural habitat of elephants and sites in north-western Europe where ivory has been found, it seems self-evident that it must have been very difficult and costly for people to get their hands on it. The finished items embody qualities that we still associate with value, such as rarity and craftsmanship. All of these traits should have made it a commodity that people were eager to show off to those around them. But that is not the story of the ivory rings and the everyday bags they frame.
A mundane material?
Because the ivory-framed bags of early medieval England were not prestigious objects, they add another dimension to our understanding of how it was viewed in the era. At the same time that ivory was being reserved for the Empire’s elite, communities across the North Sea also had access to this material. Indeed, its widespread use as a key component of an everyday accessory suggests that ivory was not rare in these communities. On the contrary, it was present in sufficient quantities to be put to a use so modest that it was not even seen. Once covered in fabric or leather, the ivory rings became invisible: by holding open the mouth of the bag they were serving a purpose, not making a statement! In some ways, this approach mirrors the ‘everyday’ use of cutlery and billiard balls in the 19th century. If this suggests that greater quantities of ivory were circulating in the Late Antique world than previously appreciated, though, so too the consequences for the elephant populations it came from would have been graver.
Delving deeper into the archaeological records of Late Antique Rome and Alexandria reveals that there, too, ivory was more than just an elite commodity. During this era, Rome and Alexandria were bustling urban centres, home to industrial facilities and artisan craftworking. There is evidence in Alexandria for complete tusks arriving in the city, where they were processed into smaller – but still sizable – portions for sale, transit, and crafting. There is no evidence for comparable workshops undertaking this initial role in Rome, suggesting that by the time ivory was circulating via Mediterranean shipping, it had already been processed to some degree. Such work required a high level of skill, which is perhaps why the activity was confined to specialist workshops. This segmenting of the tusks, and the circulation of the resulting material, was – of course – essential for manufacturing imperial diptychs and other elite objects. Even so, both Rome and Alexandria have also produced evidence for ivory artefacts of a more utilitarian character.
In Alexandria, a range of small, functional ivory objects was produced, including combs, pins, dice, and containers for cosmetics. We can be confident that these objects were used by the inhabitants of the city, as they have been found in small, mixed-craft workshops that incorporated shopfronts for selling wares to passersby.
In Rome, evidence for ivory crafting can be found in, among other places, the Crypta Balbi. This covered walkway surrounded an open-air courtyard situated adjacent to the Theatre of Balbus, in the Capitoline Hill area. The walkway provided a gathering place during intermissions in performances. However, by the 7th century AD, this space had become a bustling workshop, probably under the control of a nearby monastery. A huge array of craft activities were carried out, among them ivory-working, as evidenced by the remains of both waste products and finished objects. Some of the ivory artefacts manufactured there were small cosmetic containers, just like the ones in Alexandria, but there were also remains of much larger boxes and other composite objects containing ivory parts. Together, these sites offer a striking counterpoint to the idea that ivory was exclusively elite. Instead, they show how this commodity was integrated into the fabric of urban life.
The story beneath the surface
Ivory’s story does not end with its form or function, as it presents a source of scientific information as well. Encoded within it are clues about ancient trade networks, environmental change, and the biology of extinct elephant populations. This information can be accessed using a range of scientific methods that look at proteins, minerals, and DNA. Analysis of proteins can help to differentiate between species of elephant, helping to narrow down the geographical source of the ivory. Isotopes – chemical markers ingested with the plants and water that an elephant consumed – allow scientists to reconstruct an animal’s movements and habitat.
DNA analysis is one of the most powerful tools for reconstructing past ivory trading networks. Where preservation permits, work on 16th-century material has demonstrated that the specific herds and regions that elephants came from can be identified, helping to map the movement of ivory across continents, as well as changing patterns of procurement over centuries. Work like this is already under way, but there is much more that could be done.
These techniques are not just a means of illuminating the past, as they can help inform modern work dedicated to ensuring the survival of elephant populations. Studying past biodiversity illuminates our ancestors’ relationship with their environment, as well as their effect on it. The earliest signs of African elephant ivory being used as a raw material date back 5,000 years, while the quantity of elephant ivory objects created between then and the trade becoming prohibited in the modern era is simply astounding. Archaeological ivory can help us understand the costs of this, including the extinction of the North African elephant, which supposedly occurred in the 7th century AD, following intense exploitation by the Roman Empire.
Contextualising these objects within the long history of consequences for elephant populations is necessary to understand the repercussions on not only overall animal numbers, but also their genetics and physical characteristics. For example, one consequence of long-term ivory exploitation is that some elephants grow much smaller tusks, while others do not grow them at all.
Ivory reconsidered
How, then, should we think about ancient ivory use? Archaeologists are trained to interpret the past through objects, but, as we cannot free ourselves from our own assumptions, we need to be very careful with the interpretations we make and the stories we tell. Looking at the evidence of the ivory bag rings, we need to be aware that it does not matter what we think about the objects we excavate, but it is important what the people of the past thought about them and the knowledge they would have had. When we see an ivory diptych illuminated in a museum case, it is tempting to see only ancient luxury. When we excavate an ivory ring, it is easy to underestimate, or overestimate, its value. Yet both tell important and intertwined stories of the past.
It is clear that ivory use was complex. The very same tusk that yielded a carved panel in Constantinople, may also have provided the segment for a bag ring in early medieval Britain. Different parts of the tusk served different ends – and different people.
Ivory was always more than the product it ended up as. It was a raw material, transformed and traded on a vast scale long before industrialisation. Examining the evidence from the early medieval era emphasises that the global ivory trade did not begin in the 18th century, with cutlery and piano keys. Instead, it began thousands of years earlier, when people used ivory as a raw material for all kinds of purposes.
Understanding ivory in all its contexts, from small mundane pins to painstakingly crafted imperial objects, helps us rethink not just ancient societies, but the deep and complicated relationship between humans and elephants. A relationship that spans continents, centuries, and lives, both human and animal.
Further information:
Rowan English’s research has been funded by the Danish National Research Foundation under the grant DNRF119 – Centre of Excellence for Urban Network Evolutions (UrbNet), a grant held by Rubina Raja. This article was written while both authors were employed at the Centre for Urban Network Evolutions. More can be read about ivory rings in graves in Britian here: R S English (2024) ‘Elephant ivory rings in early medieval graves reconsidered’, Early Medieval Europe 32: 306-336, https://doi.org/10.1111/emed.12715.
The trade in ivory has been banned under the Convention on International Trade in Endangered Species of Wild Fauna and Flora regulations (CITES) since 1975, with other national and multinational groups (for example, the European Union) having even stricter laws on its trade. The hunting of elephants for their tusks is also illegal. The authors neither condone nor support the trade or procurement of ivory. Information on the CITES convention can be found at https://cites.org/eng.
