We Have No Idea What These Ancient Artifacts Were For (And That’s the Point)

You’ve probably never heard of the Roman dodecahedron. But hold on—because once you see it, you’ll never forget it. And that’s the problem: nobody knows what it is.

This hollow bronze object, with 12 flat faces and mysterious knobs on each corner, has been found across Europe—from Britain to Germany—dating back to the 2nd century CE. It was clearly made with skill. It was clearly important to someone. But no ancient text, no inscription, no tomb painting ever mentions it. We are left staring at a perfectly crafted mystery that the people who made it took to their graves.

And the Roman dodecahedron isn’t alone.

In China, the Zeng Hou Yi tomb yielded a coiled gold spring that looks like it belongs inside a modern clock. Except it’s from the 5th century BCE. Scholars have called it a machine part, a hunting tool, a decoration. No consensus. In Sichuan, the Sanxingdui site produced the Bronze Sun Wheel—a circular object that feels like a steering wheel from a forgotten chariot. But it’s not. It’s “probably” a religious symbol. Probably.

Then there’s the Bronze Five-Column Vessel from Anhui. It looks like a surrealist’s table. The famous historian Guo Moruo himself admitted defeat. Some say it’s a musical instrument, but it doesn’t produce musical notes. Some say it’s part of a machine, but no other parts survive. The most honest answer an archaeologist can give is: we have no idea.

Now, you might be thinking: “But surely they must have had a function? We just haven’t figured it out yet.”

That’s exactly the bias I want you to question.

For centuries, we’ve approached ancient artifacts with a functionalist mindset: everything must have had a job. A tool, a weapon, a religious offering, a status symbol. But what if that assumption is wrong? What if many ancient objects were never meant to “do” anything in the way we understand?

Consider the possibility that some of these artifacts were one-offs: created for a specific person, for a specific ritual, for a specific moment that had no repeatable purpose. Or maybe they were “failed experiments”—prototypes that never went into mass production. Or, the most provocative idea: they were art. Pure, non-utilitarian art—a concept we assume is modern, but why should it be?

The Roman dodecahedron could have been a meditation object. The gold spring could have been a ceremonial token that was never meant to spring. The Bronze Sun Wheel might have been someone’s attempt to capture the sun in bronze, not because it helped with anything, but because it felt necessary.

We don’t know. And that’s the point.

These artifacts are not puzzles waiting to be solved. They are mirrors reflecting our own need for certainty. Every time we insist an object must have had a practical use, we discount the possibility that ancient people had the same creative, irrational, and symbolic impulses we have today. Our obsession with function is a modern invention. Ancient people made things that didn’t have to ‘do’ anything.

Think about it: how many objects in your own home serve no clear purpose but still mean something? A souvenir from a trip. A piece of art you love but can’t explain why. A gift that sits on a shelf for its sentimental value. Why would antiquity be any different?

So the next time you see an artifact and feel that itch to know “what it was used for,” stop. Sit with the not-knowing. Let the mystery teach you something about the limits of history—and about your own assumptions. The most honest answer is not the one that fills a museum label; it’s the one that admits we’re standing in front of a message we can’t yet read.

These silent objects are not failures of archaeology. They are invitations to be humble. And in a world obsessed with answers, that might be the most valuable lesson the past can give us.