Heritage is known, as just demonstrated, in ways utterly unlike history. Like medieval relics, heritage is sanctioned not by proof of origins but by present exploits. No one in the 14th century would have thought to test the date of the Turin Shroud, said to have enfolded Christ; what mattered was the shroud's current miraculous efficacy The worth of heritage is likewise gauged not by critical tests but by current potency.

If historians despise heritage fakery, heritage disdains historians' truth fetishes. “It is our culture and history,” say Indian tribal spokesmen, “and we do not have to prove [it] to anyone by footnoting”. An Iowa senator was incensed when the state historical society vetoed a bogus memorial to his bailiwick's patron. “All they care about are the historical facts,” fumed the senator. “I don't care if he lived in it or not; I just want a memorial. … Just put up a plaque, say Ansel Briggs lived here, and who would know the difference?”

Historical films casually dump history: “Getting [things] wrong is quicker, simpler, and usually makes a better story than getting them right.” Pocahontas, the box office leader as I write, got Indian consultants to OK Disney's detours from the facts. “It's not historically accurate,” admits one. “I don't think that's necessarily bad.” Producers of Mutiny on the Bounty told high-school teachers they portrayed Captain Bligh as a sadist for the sake of “a strong, close-knit, comprehensive” portrayal; the actual story “might have confused the issue.”