What if the drive to uncover all of the precious secrets of ancient cultures is an act of violence intended to strip them of their primal power with the machine guns of cultural anthropology and the aircraft bombers of satellite photography?
Man decodes the riddles of stoic gods as a means to his very own ends, which adorn him with the elusive crown of mastery. Everyone and everything outside of mastery is either a willing subject or a slave to it. Decoding is when the politically impotent bags the baddest bitch in the room for props and never calls her back.
He is the serial killer who pompously postures himself as Prometheus with the torch of brutal insight in hand. No lamentations for the fallen robot in the resurrection of the real.
The true guardians of ancient genius are those who ultimately preserve the allure of its ancient secrets. They give us just enough information to be inspired by the brilliance of sleeping centuries without completely exposing its distant mystery.
After all, power is maintained through the conservation of energy and not in its total release. However powerless people always want to see something powerful completely decoded and disrobed. This is death and dismemberment at the hands of Definition.