Behold 3D Recreations of Pompeii’s Lavish Homes–As They Existed Before the Eruption of Mount Vesuvius

“I pray that to their share of noble for­tunes [Zeus] send no Neme­sis of jeal­ous will, but in pros­per­i­ty and free from ills, exalt them and their city.” Pin­dar, Olympian Ode 8

Why are humans awestruck by nat­ur­al dis­as­ter? Or — more to the point — why are we dumb­found­ed when dis­as­ters destroy cities? We should hard­ly be sur­prised at this point when nature does what it invari­ably does: tec­ton­ic plates shift, vol­ca­noes erupt, hur­ri­canes and typhoons sweep the coasts…. These things have always hap­pened on Earth, with or with­out our help, and for many mil­lions of years before any­thing like us showed up.

Like the myth­i­cal Nar­cis­sus, we can only see our­selves and assume every­thing that hap­pens must be for us. After the Great Lis­bon Earth­quake in Por­tu­gal in 1755, “Lis­bon’s devout Catholic pop­u­la­tion saw the ruined city as divine pun­ish­ment,” writes Lau­ra Trethewey.

“The Protes­tant coun­tries of Europe also saw the destruc­tion as pun­ish­ment, but for back­ward Catholic behav­ior.” Mean­while, philoso­phers like Voltaire, who wrote Can­dide to sat­i­rize respons­es to the quake, saw the cat­a­stro­phe as more evi­dence that a cre­ator, if such a being had ever cared, cared no more.

In Greek and Roman mythol­o­gy, the gods nev­er stop med­dling, pun­ish­ing, reward­ing, etc. Nar­cis­sus is tempt­ed to gaze at him­self by Neme­sis, the god­dess who meets hubris with swift ret­ri­bu­tion. While gen­er­al­ly invoked as a lev­el­er of indi­vid­u­als who over­step, she also lev­els cities, as fifth cen­tu­ry BC Greek poet Pin­dar sug­gests when he begs Zeus to spare the island city of Aegi­na from her wrath. Per­haps, then, it was Neme­sis, winged vengeance her­self, that the cit­i­zens of Pom­peii believed bore down upon them, as molten lava, smoke, and ash.

From its ear­li­est sta­tus as a Roman-allied city (then Roman colony), Pom­peii grew into a very wealthy area, its sur­round­ing lands rich with vil­las and farms, its city cen­ter anchored by its Amphithe­ater, Odeon, Forum Baths and tem­ples, its run­ning water arriv­ing from the Seri­no Aque­duct. Maybe they had it too good? Maybe their extrav­a­gant good for­tune caused too much jeal­ous­ly in the neigh­bors? Maybe the gods demand­ed bal­ance. It’s very human to think so — to ascribe divine will, in the lack of expla­na­tion, for why some­thing so filled with teem­ing life should be destroyed for no rea­son at all.

It must have been the gods, who looked down on Pom­pei­i’s wealth and grew jeal­ous them­selves. In these 3D ani­mat­ed videos, see why ancient Pom­pei­ians would have been proud of their city, recre­at­ed here in part by Swe­den’s Lund Uni­ver­si­ty and Sto­ried Past Pro­duc­tions. “While in Pom­peii few could reach the elite,” notes the lat­ter in their descrip­tion of the video above, “many tried to recre­ate ‘the good life’ in their own ways.… From grand urban vil­las, to small pri­vate homes, to small­er apart­ments.” In these walk­throughs, you can “see all the dif­fer­ent things ‘home’ could mean in ancient Pom­peii.” You might also, if you aren’t care­ful, find your­self get­ting a lit­tle envi­ous of these doomed ancient urban­ites.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Pom­peii Rebuilt: A Tour of the Ancient City Before It Was Entombed by Mount Vesu­vius

The Lit­tle-Known Bomb­ing of Pom­peii Dur­ing World War II

Archae­ol­o­gists Dis­cov­er an Ancient Roman Snack Bar in the Ruins of Pom­peii

A Drone’s Eye View of the Ruins of Pom­peii

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

How France Hid the Mona Lisa & Other Louvre Masterpieces During World War II

Pho­to­graph by Pierre Jahan/Archives des museés nationaux

Twice, we’ve brought you posts explain­ing how the Mona Lisa – the most famous paint­ing in the world – went from near obscu­ri­ty to glob­al noto­ri­ety almost overnight, after an employ­ee of the Lou­vre pur­loined and tried to hide it in 1911. Accu­sa­tions flew – includ­ing very pub­lic accu­sa­tions against Pablo Picas­so; sala­cious rumors cir­cu­lat­ed; the enig­mat­ic smile of Lisa del Gio­con­da — the Flo­ren­tine silk merchant’s wife depict­ed in the paint­ing – appeared in black and white pho­tographs in news­pa­pers around the globe. When she returned to the muse­um, vis­i­tors couldn’t, and still can­not, wait to see her in per­son. As great as that sto­ry is, what hap­pened a few decades lat­er under the Nazi-con­trolled Vichy gov­ern­ment makes for an even bet­ter tale.

By the 1930s, the Mona Lisa was deemed the most impor­tant work of art in France’s most impor­tant muse­um. With due respect to the Mon­u­ments Men (and unsung Mon­u­ments Women), before the Allies arrived to res­cue many of Europe’s price­less works of art, French civ­il ser­vants, stu­dents, and work­men did it them­selves, sav­ing most of the Lou­vre’s entire col­lec­tion. The hero of the sto­ry, Jacques Jau­jard, direc­tor of France’s Nation­al Muse­ums, has gone down in his­to­ry as “the man who saved the Lou­vre” — also the title of an award-win­ning French doc­u­men­tary (see trail­er below). Men­tal Floss pro­vides con­text for Jau­jard’s hero­ism:

After Ger­many annexed Aus­tria in March of 1938, Jau­jard… lost what­ev­er small hope he had that war might be avoid­ed. He knew Britain’s pol­i­cy of appease­ment was­n’t going to keep the Nazi wolf from the door, and an inva­sion of France was sure to bring destruc­tion of cul­tur­al trea­sures via bomb­ings, loot­ing, and whole­sale theft. So, togeth­er with the Lou­vre’s cura­tor of paint­ings René Huyghe, Jau­jard craft­ed a secret plan to evac­u­ate almost all of the Lou­vre’s art, which includ­ed 3600 paint­ings alone.

On the day Ger­many and the Sovi­et Union signed the Nonag­gres­sion Pact, August 25, 1939, Jau­jard closed the Lou­vre for “repairs” for three days while staff, “stu­dents from the École du Lou­vre, and work­ers form the Grands Mag­a­zines du Lou­vre depart­ment store took paint­ings out of their frames… and moved stat­ues and oth­er objects from their dis­plays with wood­en crates.”

The stat­ues includ­ed the three ton Winged Nike of Samoth­race (see a pho­to of its move here), the Egypt­ian Old King­dom Seat­ed Scribe, and the Venus de Milo. All of these, like the oth­er works of art, would be moved to chateaus in the coun­try­side for safe keep­ing. On August 28, “hun­dreds of trucks orga­nized into con­voys car­ried 1000 crates of ancient and 268 crates of paint­ings and more” into the Loire Val­ley.

Includ­ed in that haul of trea­sures was the Mona Lisa, placed in a cus­tom case, cush­ioned with vel­vet. Where oth­er works received labels of yel­low, green, and red dots accord­ing to their lev­el of impor­tance, the Mona Lisa was marked with three red dots — the only work to receive such high pri­or­i­ty. It was trans­port­ed by ambu­lance, gen­tly strapped to a stretch­er. After leav­ing the muse­um, the paint­ing would be moved five times, “includ­ing to Loire Val­ley cas­tles and a qui­et abbey.” The Nazis would loot much of what was left in the Lou­vre, and force it to re-open in 1940 with most of its gal­leries stark­ly emp­ty. But the Mona Lisa — at the top of Hitler’s list of art­works to expro­pri­ate — remained safe, as did many thou­sands more art­works Jau­jard believed were the “her­itage of all human­i­ty,” as Inge Laino, Paris Muse Direc­tor, says in the France 24 seg­ment above.

Relat­ed Con­tent: 

How the Mona Lisa Went From Being Bare­ly Known, to Sud­den­ly the Most Famous Paint­ing in the World (1911)

How Did the Mona Lisa Become the World’s Most Famous Paint­ing?: It’s Not What You Think

The 16,000 Art­works the Nazis Cen­sored and Labeled “Degen­er­ate Art”: The Com­plete His­toric Inven­to­ry Is Now Online

The Louvre’s Entire Col­lec­tion Goes Online: View and Down­load 480,00 Works of Art

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

Make Your Own Medieval Memes with a New Tool from the Dutch National Library

As much joy as inter­net memes have giv­en you over the years, you may have strug­gled to explain them to those unfa­mil­iar with the con­cept. But if you’ve found it a tall order to artic­u­late the pow­er of found images crude­ly over­laid with text to, say, your par­ents, imag­ine attempt­ing to do the same to an ances­tor from the four­teenth cen­tu­ry. Intro­duc­ing memes to a medieval per­son, the best strat­e­gy would pre­sum­ably be to begin not with sar­don­ic Willy Won­ka, the guy dis­tract­ed by anoth­er girl, or The Most Inter­est­ing Man in the World, but memes with famil­iar medieval imagery. Thanks to KB, the nation­al library of the Nether­lands, you can now make some of you own with ease.

“On www.medievalmemes.org vis­i­tors can use images tak­en from the Dutch nation­al library’s medieval col­lec­tion and turn them into memes,” says Medievalists.net. “When using the meme gen­er­a­tor, peo­ple active­ly cre­ate new con­texts for these his­toric images by adding cur­rent cap­tions. The avail­able images are accom­pa­nied by explana­to­ry videos, pro­vid­ing view­ers with back­ground infor­ma­tion and show­ing them that, much like today, peo­ple in the Mid­dle Ages used images to com­ment on their sur­round­ings and cur­rent affairs.” You might repur­pose these live­ly pieces of medieval art for such twen­ty-first-cen­tu­ry top­ics as club­bing, online shop­ping, or the COVID-19 pan­dem­ic.

At the top of this post appears an image from 1327, orig­i­nal­ly cre­at­ed for a book of mir­a­cles King Charles IV ordered for his queen. As KB explains, it offers “a warn­ing of what can hap­pen if you don’t learn your prayers prop­er­ly.” Below that is “a sort of Medi­ae­val car­toon” from 1183 about the tech­niques involved in prop­er­ly slaugh­ter­ing a pig. And just above, we see what hap­pened when “the Ken­ite Jael lured the leader of the army, Sis­era, into her tent. Sis­era had been vio­lent­ly oppress­ing the Ken­ites for 20 years. While he slept, she whacked a tent peg straight through his head.” Though cre­at­ed for a pic­ture Bible 592 years ago, this pic­ture sure­ly has poten­tial for trans­po­si­tion into com­men­tary on the very dif­fer­ent per­ils of life in the twen­ty-twen­ties. But when you deploy it as a meme, you can do so in the knowl­edge that even your medieval fore­bears would have known that feel.

via Medievalist.net

Relat­ed con­tent:

Why Butt Trum­pets & Oth­er Bizarre Images Appeared in Illu­mi­nat­ed Medieval Man­u­scripts

Killer Rab­bits in Medieval Man­u­scripts: Why So Many Draw­ings in the Mar­gins Depict Bun­nies Going Bad

Why Knights Fought Snails in Illu­mi­nat­ed Medieval Man­u­scripts

800 Illu­mi­nat­ed Medieval Man­u­scripts Are Now Online: Browse & Down­load Them Cour­tesy of the British Library and Bib­lio­thèque Nationale de France

160,000 Pages of Glo­ri­ous Medieval Man­u­scripts Dig­i­tized: Vis­it the Bib­lio­the­ca Philadel­phien­sis

The Aberdeen Bes­tiary, One of the Great Medieval Illu­mi­nat­ed Man­u­scripts, Now Dig­i­tized in High Res­o­lu­tion & Made Avail­able Online

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include the Sub­stack newslet­ter Books on Cities, the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les and the video series The City in Cin­e­ma. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

How Did Roman Aqueducts Work?: The Most Impressive Achievement of Ancient Rome’s Infrastructure, Explained

At its peak, ancient Rome enjoyed a vari­ety of com­forts that, once lost, would take cen­turies to recov­er. This process, of course, con­sti­tutes much of the sto­ry of West­ern civ­i­liza­tion. Though some knowl­edge did­n’t sur­vive in any use­ful form, some of it remained last­ing­ly embod­ied. The mighty ruins of Roman aque­ducts, for exam­ple, con­tin­ued to stand all across the for­mer Empire. Togeth­er they once con­sti­tut­ed a vast water-deliv­ery sys­tem, one of whose con­struc­tion and oper­a­tion it took human­i­ty quite some time to regain a func­tion­al under­stand­ing. Today, you can learn about both in the video from ancient-his­to­ry Youtu­ber Gar­rett Ryan just above.

“Greek engi­neers began build­ing aque­ducts as ear­ly as the sixth cen­tu­ry BC,” says Ryan. “A stone-line chan­nel car­ried spring water to archa­ic Athens, and Samos was served by an aque­duct that plunged through a tun­nel more than one kilo­me­ter long.”

These sys­tems devel­oped through­out the Hel­lenis­tic era, and their Roman suc­ces­sors made use of “arch­es and hydraulic con­crete, but above all it was the sheer num­ber and scale that set them apart.” Most Roman cities had “net­works of wells and cis­terns” to sup­ply drink­ing water; aque­ducts, in large part, came as “lux­u­ries, designed to sup­ply baths, ornate foun­tains, and the hous­es of the élite.” Man’s taste for lux­u­ry has inspired no few of his great works.

The task of build­ing Rome’s aque­ducts was, in essence, the task of build­ing “an arti­fi­cial riv­er flow­ing down­hill from source to city” — over great dis­tances using no pow­er but grav­i­ty, and thus on a descend­ing slope of about five to ten feet per mile. This pre­ci­sion engi­neer­ing was made pos­si­ble by the use of tools like the diop­tra and choro­bates, as well as an enor­mous amount of man­pow­er. Roman aque­ducts ran most­ly under­ground, but more impres­sive­ly in the ele­vat­ed chan­nels that have become land­marks today. “The most spec­tac­u­lar exam­ple is undoubt­ed­ly the Pont du Gard, locat­ed just out­side Nîmes,” says Ryan, and TV trav­el­er Rick Steves vis­its it in the clip above. What once served as infra­struc­ture for the well-watered man­sions of the wealthy and con­nect­ed now makes for a fine pic­nick­ing spot.

Relat­ed con­tent:

Roman Archi­tec­ture: A Free Online Course from Yale Uni­ver­si­ty

A Vir­tu­al Tour of Ancient Rome, Cir­ca 320 CE: Explore Stun­ning Recre­ations of The Forum, Colos­se­um and Oth­er Mon­u­ments

A Huge Scale Mod­el Show­ing Ancient Rome at Its Archi­tec­tur­al Peak (Built Between 1933 and 1937)

The Roads of Ancient Rome Visu­al­ized in the Style of Mod­ern Sub­way Maps

How Did the Romans Make Con­crete That Lasts Longer Than Mod­ern Con­crete? The Mys­tery Final­ly Solved

Every­thing You Want­ed to Know About the L.A. Aque­duct That Made Roman Polanski’s Chi­na­town Famous: A New UCLA Archive

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include the Sub­stack newslet­ter Books on Cities, the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les and the video series The City in Cin­e­ma. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

Watch a Television Station Switch From Black & White to Color for First Time (1967)

The his­to­ry of tele­vi­sion is a murky, con­vo­lut­ed affair, filled with patent wars, cor­po­rate back­stab­bing, and sto­ries of thwart­ed genius found in many such tales. The sto­ry of col­or TV can seem no less com­pli­cat­ed, with patents stretch­ing all the way back to 1904 (filed by a Ger­man inven­tor), decades before the mag­ic box appeared in any liv­ing room. The first mechan­i­cal col­or sys­tem was designed by Scot­tish inven­tor John Logie Baird in 1928.

Attempts to broad­cast col­or TV would­n’t be made until the 1950s, with the first com­mer­cial broad­cast made by CBS air­ing in 1951 on five sta­tions. Hard­ly any­one could see it. When NBC broad­cast the Tour­na­ment of Ros­es Parade in 1954, few­er than 8,500 Amer­i­can house­holds owned a col­or TV set. By April 1961, an edi­to­r­i­al in Tele­vi­sion mag­a­zine argued that col­or “is still in the egg, and only skill­ful and expen­sive han­dling will get it out of the egg and on its feet.” Need­less to say, the adop­tion of the new tech­nol­o­gy was exceed­ing­ly slow.

Rat­ings wars and adver­tis­ing wars forced col­or to come of age in the mid-60s, and as a result “col­or TV trans­formed the way Amer­i­cans saw the world, writes his­to­ri­an Susan Mur­ray at Smith­son­ian, as well as the way “the world saw Amer­i­ca.” Col­or tele­vi­sion “was, in fact, often dis­cussed by its pro­po­nents as an ide­al form of Amer­i­can post­war con­sumer vision: a way of see­ing the world (and all of its bright­ly hued goods) in a spec­tac­u­lar form of ‘liv­ing col­or.’” Col­or was explic­it­ly talked up as spec­ta­cle, though sold to con­sumers as a truer rep­re­sen­ta­tion of real­i­ty.

“Net­work exec­u­tives pitched [col­or TV] to adver­tis­ers as a unique medi­um that would inspire atten­tive­ness and emo­tion­al engage­ment,” writes Mur­ray, “mak­ing [view­ers] more like­ly to pur­chase adver­tised prod­ucts, a grow­ing myr­i­ad of con­sumer goods and appli­ances that were now avail­able in a wider set of vibrant col­ors like turquoise and pink flamin­go.” (Thanks, of course, to the advent of space-age poly­mers.) Such his­to­ry pro­vides us with more con­text for the puz­zle­ment of news­man Bob Bruner in 1967 (above), intro­duc­ing view­ers to Iowa’s Chan­nel 2 switch-over to col­or.

“I feel dou­bly hon­ored to have been cho­sen to be the first one involved in our big change,” says Bruner after chat­ting with sta­tion man­ag­er Doug Grant, “because there are so many much more col­or­ful char­ac­ters around here than this report in the news.” That year, there were char­ac­ters like Pink Floyd appear­ing for the first time on Amer­i­can Band­stand (see that footage col­orized here), their psy­che­del­ic vibran­cy mut­ed in mono­chrome.

Bruner had already been upstaged near­ly ten years ear­li­er, when NBC’s WRC-TV in Wash­ing­ton, DC intro­duced its first col­or broad­cast with Pres­i­dent Dwight D. Eisen­how­er, who extolls the virtues of the medi­um above, in the old­est sur­viv­ing col­or video­tape record­ing. Even so, only around 25% of Amer­i­can house­holds owned a col­or TV in 1967. It would be anoth­er decade before every Amer­i­can house­hold (or every “con­sumer house­hold”) had one, and not until the mid-80s until the medi­um reached full sat­u­ra­tion around the globe.

via Laugh­ing Squid

Relat­ed Con­tent:

When Rod Ser­ling Turned TV Pitch­man: See His Post-Twi­light Zone Ads for Ford, Maz­da, Gulf Oil & Smokey Bear

Pink Floyd’s Debut on Amer­i­can TV, Restored in Col­or (1967)

Elvis’ Three Appear­ances on The Ed Sul­li­van Show: Watch His­to­ry in the Mak­ing and from the Waist Up (1956)

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

Why Algorithms Are Called Algorithms, and How It All Goes Back to the Medieval Persian Mathematician Muhammad al-Khwarizmi

In recent decades, a medieval Per­sian word has come to promi­nence in Eng­lish and oth­er major world lan­guages. Many of use it on a dai­ly basis, often while regard­ing the con­cept to which it refers as essen­tial­ly mys­te­ri­ous. The word is algo­rithm, whose roots go back to the ninth cen­tu­ry in mod­ern-day Greater Iran. There lived a poly­math by the name of Muham­mad ibn Musa al-Khwariz­mi, whom we now remem­ber for his achieve­ments in geog­ra­phy, astron­o­my, and math­e­mat­ics. In that last field, he was the first to define the prin­ci­ples of “reduc­ing” and “bal­anc­ing” equa­tions, a sub­ject all of us came to know in school as alge­bra (a name itself descend­ed from the Ara­bic al-jabr, or “com­ple­tion”).

Today, a good few of us have come to resent algo­rithms even more than alge­bra. This is per­haps because algo­rithms are most pop­u­lar­ly asso­ci­at­ed with the deep, unseen work­ings of the inter­net, a sys­tem with ever increas­ing influ­ence over the things we do, the infor­ma­tion we receive, and even the peo­ple with whom we asso­ciate.

Pro­vid­ed suf­fi­cient data about us and the lives we lead, so we’re giv­en to under­stand, these algo­rithms can make bet­ter deci­sions for us than we can make for our­selves. But what exact­ly are they? You can get one answer from “Why Algo­rithms Are Called Algo­rithms,” the BBC Ideas video at the top of the post.

For West­ern civ­i­liza­tion, al-Khwarizmi’s most impor­tant book was Con­cern­ing the Hin­du Art of Reck­on­ing, which was trans­lat­ed into Latin three cen­turies after its com­po­si­tion. Al-Khwarizmi’s Latinized name “Algo­rit­mi” gave rise to the word algo­ris­mus, which at first referred to the dec­i­mal num­ber sys­tem and much lat­er came to mean “a set of step-by-step rules for solv­ing a prob­lem.” It was Enig­ma code­break­er Alan Tur­ing who “worked out how, in the­o­ry, a machine could fol­low algo­rith­mic instruc­tions and solve com­plex math­e­mat­ics. This was the birth of the com­put­er age.” Now, much fur­ther into the com­put­er age, algo­rithms “are help­ing us to get from A to B, dri­ving inter­net search­es, mak­ing rec­om­men­da­tions of things for us to buy, watch, or share.”

The algo­rithm giveth, but the algo­rithm also taketh away — or so it some­times feels as we make our way deep­er into the twen­ty-first cen­tu­ry. In the oth­er BBC Ideas video just above, Jon Stroud makes an inves­ti­ga­tion into both the nature and the cur­rent uses of this math­e­mat­i­cal con­cept. The essen­tial job of an algo­rithm, as the experts explain to him, is that of pro­cess­ing data, these days often in large quan­ti­ties and of var­i­ous kinds, and increas­ing­ly with the aid of sophis­ti­cat­ed machine-learn­ing process­es. In mak­ing or influ­enc­ing choic­es humans would once have han­dled them­selves, algo­rithms do present a risk of “de-skilling” as we come to rely on their ser­vices. We all occa­sion­al­ly feel grat­i­tude for the bless­ings those ser­vices send our way, just as we all occa­sion­al­ly blame them for our dis­sat­is­fac­tions — mak­ing the algo­rithm, in oth­er words, into a thor­ough­ly mod­ern deity.

Relat­ed con­tent:

Algo­rithms for Big Data: A Free Course from Har­vard

Advanced Algo­rithms: A Free Course from Har­vard Uni­ver­si­ty

This Is Your Kids’ Brains on Inter­net Algo­rithms: A Chill­ing Case Study Shows What’s Wrong with the Inter­net Today

The Prob­lem with Face­book: “It’s Keep­ing Things From You”

The Com­plex Geom­e­try of Islam­ic Art & Design: A Short Intro­duc­tion

How Youtube’s Algo­rithm Turned an Obscure 1980s Japan­ese Song Into an Enor­mous­ly Pop­u­lar Hit: Dis­cov­er Mariya Takeuchi’s “Plas­tic Love”

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include the Sub­stack newslet­ter Books on Cities, the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les and the video series The City in Cin­e­ma. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

How Ukraine’s Works of Art Are Being Saved in Wartime–Using the Lessons of World War II

Much in Ukraine has been lost since the Russ­ian inva­sion com­menced this past Feb­ru­ary. But efforts to min­i­mize the dam­age have been respond­ing on all fronts, and not just geo­graph­i­cal ones. The preser­va­tion of Ukrain­ian cul­ture has become the top pri­or­i­ty for some groups, in response to Russ­ian forces’ seem­ing intent to destroy it. “Cul­tur­al her­itage is not only impact­ed, but in many ways it’s impli­cat­ed in and cen­tral to armed con­flict,” says Hay­den Bas­sett, direc­tor of the Vir­ginia Muse­um of Nat­ur­al His­to­ry’s Cul­tur­al Her­itage Mon­i­tor­ing Lab, in the Vox explain­er above. “These are things that peo­ple point to that are uni­fy­ing fac­tors for their soci­ety. They are tan­gi­ble reflec­tions of their soci­ety.”

This very qual­i­ty made them a sad­ly appeal­ing tar­get for Russ­ian attacks. As the video’s nar­ra­tor puts it, Vladimir Putin “has made it clear that iden­ti­ty is at the ide­o­log­i­cal cen­ter of Rus­si­a’s inva­sion,” osten­si­bly an effort to reuni­fy two lands of a com­mon civ­i­liza­tion. For Ukraine, the strat­e­gy to pro­tect its own cul­tur­al her­itage dur­ing wartime involves two phas­es of work.

First, “iden­ti­fy what needs pro­tect­ing,” already a require­ment of the 1954 Con­ven­tion for the Pro­tec­tion of Cul­tur­al Prop­er­ty in the Event of Armed Con­flict (known as the “Hague Con­ven­tion). In Ukraine’s case, the list includes no few­er than sev­en UNESCO World Her­itage Sites.

Step two is to secure these cul­tur­al trea­sures, whether they be paint­ings, sculp­tures, build­ings, or any­thing else besides. This requires the col­lab­o­ra­tion of “gov­ern­ment agen­cies, mil­i­taries, NGOs, aca­d­e­mics, muse­um insti­tu­tions,” says Bas­sett, as well as of vol­un­teers on the ground phys­i­cal­ly safe­guard­ing the arti­facts. This often involves hid­ing them when­ev­er pos­si­ble, and “if his­to­ry is any indi­ca­tion,” says the nar­ra­tor, “col­lec­tions have moved under­ground or out­side of major cities, or out­side the coun­try entire­ly.” So it was in Europe under the maraud­ing of Nazi Ger­many, includ­ing, as seen in the France 24 seg­ment above, with hold­ings of the Lou­vre up to and includ­ing the Mona Lisa. The state of world geopol­i­tics today may have us won­der­ing if we’ve tru­ly learned the lessons of the Sec­ond World War, but at least the fight to save Ukrain­ian cul­ture reminds that we haven’t for­got­ten them all.

Relat­ed con­tent:

Sav­ing Ukrain­ian Cul­tur­al Her­itage Online: 1,000+ Librar­i­ans Dig­i­tal­ly Pre­serve Arti­facts of Ukrain­ian Civ­i­liza­tion Before Rus­sia Can Destroy Them

Take a Vir­tu­al Real­i­ty Tour of the World’s Stolen Art

Ukraini­ans Play­ing Vio­lin in Bunkers as Rus­sians Bomb Them from the Sky

Lis­ten to Last Seen, a True-Crime Pod­cast That Takes You Inside an Unsolved, $500 Mil­lion Art Heist

When Pablo Picas­so and Guil­laume Apol­li­naire Were Accused of Steal­ing the Mona Lisa (1911)

Why Rus­sia Invad­ed Ukraine: A Use­ful Primer

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include the Sub­stack newslet­ter Books on Cities, the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les and the video series The City in Cin­e­ma. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

What Did People Do Before the Invention of Eyeglasses?

You remem­ber it — one of the most heart­break­ing scenes on TV. A man longs for noth­ing more than time to read, to be free of all those peo­ple Sartre told us make our hells. Final­ly grant­ed his wish by the H‑Bomb, he then acci­den­tal­ly break his glass­es, ren­der­ing him­self unable make out a word. Oh, cru­el irony! Not an optometrist or opti­cian in sight! Sure­ly, there are “Time Enough at Last” jokes at eye care con­ven­tions world­wide.

Moral­i­ty tales wrapped in sci­ence fic­tion might make us think about all sorts of things, but one of the most obvi­ous ques­tions when we wit­ness the fate of Mr. Hen­ry Bemis, “char­ter mem­ber in the fra­ter­ni­ty of dream­ers,” might be, but what did peo­ple do before cor­rec­tive lens­es? Were mil­lions forced to accept his fate, liv­ing out their lives with far­sight­ed­ness, near­sight­ed­ness, and oth­er defects that impede vision? How did ear­ly humans sur­vive in times much less hos­pitable to dis­abil­i­ties? At least there were oth­ers to read and describe things for them.…

In truth, the Twi­light Zone is not far off the mark. Or at least near­sight­ed­ness and read­ing are close­ly linked. “As long as pri­mates have been around, there’s prob­a­bly been myopia,” says pro­fes­sor of oph­thal­mol­o­gy Ivan Schwab. But Schwab argues in his book Evo­lu­tion’s Wit­ness: How Eyes Evolved that the rise of read­ing like­ly caused sky­rock­et­ing rates of myopia over the past three hun­dred years. “Though genes and nutri­tion may play a role in near­sight­ed­ness,” Natal­ie Jacewicz writes at NPR, “[Schwab] says edu­ca­tion and myopia seem to be linked, sug­gest­ing that when peo­ple do a lot of close work, their eyes grow longer.”

As the His­to­ry Dose video above explains, the old­est image of a pair of glass­es dates from a 1351 paint­ing of Car­di­nal Hugh of Saint-Cher. The paint­ing is an anachro­nism — spec­ta­cles, the nar­ra­tor tells us, were invent­ed 23 years ear­li­er in Pisa, after the car­di­nal’s death. They “grad­u­al­ly spread across Europe and trav­elled the Silk Road to Chi­na.” (The old­est sur­viv­ing pair of glass­es dates from around 1475). So what hap­pened before 1286? As you’ll learn, glass­es were not the only way to enlarge small items. In fact, humans have been using some form of mag­ni­fy­ing lens to read small print (or man­u­script or cuneiform or what-have-you) for thou­sands of years. Those lens­es, how­ev­er, cor­rect­ed pres­by­opia, or far-sight­ed­ness.

Those with myopia were most­ly out of luck until the inven­tion of sophis­ti­cat­ed lens-grind­ing tech­niques and improved vision tests. But for most of human his­to­ry, unless you were a sailor or a sol­dier, you “like­ly spent your day as an arti­san, smith, or farm work­er,” occu­pa­tions where dis­tance vision did­n’t mat­ter as much. In fact, arti­sans like medieval scribes and illu­mi­na­tors, says Neil Han­d­ley — muse­um cura­tor of the Col­lege of Optometrists, Lon­don — were “actu­al­ly encour­aged to remain in their myopic con­di­tion, because it was actu­al­ly ide­al for them doing this job.”

It was­n’t until well after the time of Guten­berg that wear­ing lens­es on one’s face became a thing — and hard­ly a pop­u­lar thing at first. Ear­ly glass­es were held up to the eyes, not worn. They were heavy, thick, and frag­ile. In the 15th cen­tu­ry, “because… they were unusu­al and rare,” says Han­d­ley, “they were seen as hav­ing mag­i­cal pow­ers” and their wear­ers viewed as “in league with the dev­il, immoral.” That stig­ma went away, even if glass­es picked up oth­er asso­ci­a­tions that some­times made their users the sub­ject of taunts. But by the nine­teenth cen­tu­ry, glass­es were com­mon around the world.

Giv­en that we all spend most of our time inter­act­ing with small text and images on hand­held screens, it seems maybe they haven’t spread wide­ly enough. “More than a bil­lion, and maybe as many as 2.5 bil­lion, peo­ple in the world need but don’t have glass­es to cor­rect for var­i­ous vision impair­ments,” notes Live­science, cit­ing fig­ures from The New York Times. For many peo­ple, espe­cial­ly in the devel­op­ing world, the ques­tion of how to get by in the world with­out eye­glass­es is still a very press­ing, present-day issue.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The World’s Old­est Sur­viv­ing Pair of Glass­es (Cir­ca 1475)

James Joyce, With His Eye­sight Fail­ing, Draws a Sketch of Leopold Bloom (1926)

Oliv­er Sacks Explains the Biol­o­gy of Hal­lu­ci­na­tions: “We See with the Eyes, But with the Brain as Well”

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

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