How Nashville Became Home to a Full-Scale Replica of the Parthenon

Asked to iden­ti­fy “the Athens of the South,” many Amer­i­cans might well point to Athens, Geor­gia, espe­cial­ly if they hap­pen to be fans of REM, the B‑52s, or Of Mon­tre­al. In fact, that title was claimed by Nashville, Ten­nessee as ear­ly as the eigh­teen-fifties, when the city put into action its ambi­tious plans for a pub­lic edu­ca­tion sys­tem. By the end of that cen­tu­ry, Nashville boast­ed not just more than 20 col­leges and uni­ver­si­ties (Van­der­bilt being the best known today), but also a full-scale repli­ca of the Parthenon, the ancient tem­ple to the god­dess Athena. It was built for the state’s Cen­ten­ni­al Exhi­bi­tion in 1897, when no dis­play of local grandeur was too much.

Near­ly 130 years lat­er, the Nashville Parthenon remains a major local attrac­tion along­side the likes of the Grand Ole Opry, the Coun­try Music Hall of Fame, and the Honky Tonk High­way. The struc­ture cur­rent­ly sit­u­at­ed in Cen­ten­ni­al Park (also the home of that mod­ern site of pil­grim­age, the Tay­lor Swift Bench) isn’t the same one at which vis­i­tors mar­veled in 1897.

After a cou­ple of decades of dete­ri­o­ra­tion, writes Art­sy’s Isaac Kaplan, “mas­sive ren­o­va­tions were under­tak­en in 1920, over­seen by an archi­tect named Rus­sell Hart, who com­mit­ted to mak­ing the build­ing both endur­ing and as his­tor­i­cal­ly true to the orig­i­nal Parthenon as pos­si­ble,” an exten­sive rebuild that even entailed mak­ing casts of the orig­i­nal mar­bles.

Unlike the bombed-out ruin in the Athens of Greece, the Nashville Parthenon stands proud­ly intact. But does it pass muster with seri­ous enthu­si­asts of clas­si­cal civ­i­liza­tion? In the video at the top of the post, Gar­rett Ryan of ancient-his­to­ry YouTube chan­nel Told in Stone makes the trip. He notes that, though it does con­tain a gold-plat­ed (or rather, gold-leaf plat­ed) stat­ue of Athena much like the one orig­i­nal­ly sculpt­ed by Phidias, the build­ing is “not an exact repli­ca. It’s made of con­crete, not mar­ble, it has no frieze, the col­ors are all wrong, and the inte­ri­or is very dif­fer­ent from the orig­i­nal. But it gives a sense of the scale of the Parthenon,” and “cap­tures the expe­ri­ence of vis­it­ing a tem­ple of this size.” The park­ing lot right along­side it does some harm to the illu­sion, grant­ed, but it does encour­age the vis­i­tor to reflect upon the nature of civ­i­liza­tion: Amer­i­can civ­i­liza­tion, that is.

Relat­ed con­tent:

The City of Nashville Built a Full-Scale Repli­ca of the Parthenon in 1897, and It’s Still Stand­ing Today

A Tour of Athens’ Acrop­o­lis, Explained with 3D Recon­struc­tions

A 3D Mod­el Reveals What the Parthenon and Its Inte­ri­or Looked Like 2,500 Years Ago

How the Ancient Greeks Built Their Mag­nif­i­cent Tem­ples: The Art of Ancient Engi­neer­ing

A Vir­tu­al Tour of Ancient Athens: Fly Over Clas­si­cal Greek Civ­i­liza­tion in All Its Glo­ry

How the Parthenon Mar­bles End­ed Up In The British Muse­um

Based in Seoul, Col­in Marshall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. He’s the author of the newslet­ter Books on Cities as well as the books 한국 요약 금지 (No Sum­ma­riz­ing Korea) and Kore­an Newtro. Fol­low him on the social net­work for­mer­ly known as Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

Benedict Cumberbatch Reads Albert Camus’ Touching Thank You Letter to His Elementary School Teacher

It’s nev­er too late to thank the teacher who changed your life.

Oprah Win­frey fell to pieces when she was reunit­ed on air with Mrs. Dun­can, her fourth grade teacher, her “first lib­er­a­tor” and “val­ida­tor.”

Patrick Stew­art used his knight­hood cer­e­mo­ny as an occa­sion to thank Cecil Dor­mand, the Eng­lish teacher who told him that Shakespeare’s works were not dra­mat­ic poems, but plays to be per­formed on one’s feet.

And Bill Gates had kind words for Blanche Caffiere, the for­mer librar­i­an at View Ridge Ele­men­tary in Seat­tle, who des­tig­ma­tized his role as a “messy, nerdy boy who was read­ing lots of books.”

One of the most heart­felt stu­dent-to-teacher trib­utes is that of Nobel Prize-win­ning author and philoso­pher Albert Camus to Louis Ger­main, a father sub­sti­tute whose class­room was a wel­come reprieve from the extreme pover­ty Camus expe­ri­enced at home. Ger­main per­suad­ed Camus’ wid­owed moth­er to allow Camus to com­pete for the schol­ar­ship that enabled him to attend high school.

As read aloud by actor Bene­dict Cum­ber­batch, above, at Let­ters Live, a “cel­e­bra­tion of the endur­ing pow­er of lit­er­ary cor­re­spon­dence,” Camus’ 1957 mes­sage to Ger­main is an exer­cise in humil­i­ty and sim­ply stat­ed grat­i­tude:

Dear Mon­sieur Ger­main,

I let the com­mo­tion around me these days sub­side a bit before speak­ing to you from the bot­tom of my heart. I have just been giv­en far too great an hon­our, one I nei­ther sought nor solicit­ed.

But when I heard the news, my first thought, after my moth­er, was of you. With­out you, with­out the affec­tion­ate hand you extend­ed to the small poor child that I was, with­out your teach­ing and exam­ple, none of all this would have hap­pened.

I don’t make too much of this sort of hon­our. But at least it gives me the oppor­tu­ni­ty to tell you what you have been and still are for me, and to assure you that your efforts, your work, and the gen­er­ous heart you put into it still live in one of your lit­tle school­boys who, despite the years, has nev­er stopped being your grate­ful pupil. I embrace you with all my heart.

Albert Camus

The let­ter was grate­ful­ly received by his for­mer teacher, who wrote back a year and a half lat­er to say in part:

If it were pos­si­ble, I would squeeze the great boy whom you have become, and who will always remain for me “my lit­tle Camus.”

He com­pli­ment­ed his lit­tle Camus on not let­ting fame go to his head, and urged him to con­tin­ue mak­ing his fam­i­ly a pri­or­i­ty. He shared some fond mem­o­ries of Camus as a gen­tle, opti­mistic, intel­lec­tu­al­ly curi­ous lit­tle fel­low, and praised his moth­er for doing her best in dif­fi­cult cir­cum­stances.

Read­ers, please use the com­ments sec­tion to share with us the teach­ers deserv­ing of your thanks.

You can find this let­ter, and many more, in the great Let­ters of Note book.

Note: An ear­li­er ver­sion of this post appeared on our site in 2017.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Albert Camus: The Mad­ness of Sin­cer­i­ty — 1997 Doc­u­men­tary Revis­its the Philosopher’s Life & Work

Albert Camus, Edi­tor of the French Resis­tance News­pa­per Com­bat, Writes Mov­ing­ly About Life, Pol­i­tics & War (1944–47)

Hear Albert Camus Deliv­er His Nobel Prize Accep­tance Speech (1957)

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is an author, illus­tra­tor, the­ater mak­er in NYC.

Alfred Hitchcock Wanted Frank Lloyd Wright to Design the North by Northwest House: An Architect Just Built It for $45 Million

Vil­lains who live in opu­lent, remote mod­ernist hous­es may have been a cliché since the last cen­tu­ry, but giv­en Hol­ly­wood’s addic­tion to the tried and true, they do still turn up now and again. Unsur­pris­ing­ly, few film­mak­ers have man­aged to use them any­where near as mem­o­rably as Alfred Hitch­cock did. Think back to North by North­west, that show­case of both late-fifties high style and unadul­ter­at­ed Hitch­cock­ery, and any num­ber of images come right to mind: the dead­ly crop duster bear­ing down on Cary Grant, the hang off the edge of Mount Rush­more, the cheeky cut to the train enter­ing the tun­nel. But on the archi­tec­tural­ly inclined, the deep­est impres­sion is made by not a shot but a set: the house — mod­ernist, opu­lent, remote — occu­pied by James Mason’s vil­lain Phillip Van­damm.

“The pio­neer­ing deci­sion to fea­ture a mod­ern house as the villain’s lair in North by North­west arose from both the prac­ti­cal needs of the script and the desire to explore inno­va­tion in archi­tec­tur­al rep­re­sen­ta­tion,” writes Chris­tine Madrid French, author of The Archi­tec­ture of Sus­pense: The Built World in the Films of Alfred Hitch­cock.

The look of the Van­damm House betrays con­sid­er­able inspi­ra­tion from the work of Frank Lloyd Wright, espe­cial­ly his “icon­ic Falling­wa­ter, best known for its aston­ish­ing pro­ject­ed porch­es can­tilevered over a run­ning stream.” As the Hol­ly­wood sto­ry goes, Hitch­cock asked Wright him­self about the pos­si­bil­i­ty of design­ing the house, but when the archi­tect asked for ten per­cent of the film’s entire bud­get, the job went to pro­duc­tion design­er Robert F. Boyle.

Despite the high­ly un-Wright­ian steel beams sup­port­ing the can­tilevered liv­ing room (insert­ed because Grant need­ed a way to climb in), movie­go­ers left the the­ater assum­ing that they’d wit­nessed a show­down in one of his hous­es. In fact, like so many of Hitch­cock­’s famous built envi­ron­ments, the struc­ture did­n’t actu­al­ly exist: Boyle and his col­lab­o­ra­tors con­struct­ed pieces on sets, com­plet­ing the rest with mat­te paint­ings. Yet their work did, in a sense, bring the Van­damm House into the world. A North by North­west fan since child­hood, archi­tect John Boc­car­do just this year achieved his $45 mil­lion dream of build­ing it for real. Apart from faith­ful­ly repli­cat­ing onscreen details, he also put in an eigh­teen-seat home the­ater, pos­si­bly on the safe assump­tion that the buy­er will be a fel­low cinephile — who, giv­en that the house over­looks Park City, Utah rather than sits atop Mount Rush­more, will sure­ly rue the day Sun­dance decid­ed to move to Boul­der. See pho­tos here.

If you would like to sup­port the mis­sion of Open Cul­ture, con­sid­er mak­ing a dona­tion to our site. It’s hard to rely 100% on ads, and your con­tri­bu­tions will help us con­tin­ue pro­vid­ing the best free cul­tur­al and edu­ca­tion­al mate­ri­als to learn­ers every­where. You can con­tribute through Pay­Pal, Patre­on, and Ven­mo (@openculture). Thanks!

Relat­ed con­tent:

16 Free Hitch­cock Movies Online

Alfred Hitch­cock Explains the Plot Device He Called the ‘MacGuf­fin’

Take a Tour of Frank Lloyd Wright’s Ennis House, the Man­sion That Has Appeared in Blade Run­ner, Twin Peaks & Count­less Hol­ly­wood Films

1,300 Pho­tos of Famous Mod­ern Amer­i­can Homes Now Online, Cour­tesy of USC

A Med­i­ta­tive Tour of Falling­wa­ter, Frank Lloyd Wright’s Archi­tec­tur­al Mas­ter­piece

Sal­vador Dalí Cre­ates a Dream Sequence for Spell­bound, Hitchcock’s Psy­cho­an­a­lyt­ic Thriller

Based in Seoul, Col­in Marshall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. He’s the author of the newslet­ter Books on Cities as well as the books 한국 요약 금지 (No Sum­ma­riz­ing Korea) and Kore­an Newtro. Fol­low him on the social net­work for­mer­ly known as Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

When Albert Einstein & Charlie Chaplin Met and Became Fast Famous Friends (1930)

Pho­to via Wiki­me­dia Com­mons

“You do not real­ly under­stand some­thing unless you can explain it to your grand­moth­er,” goes a well-known quote attrib­uted var­i­ous­ly to Albert Ein­stein, Richard Feyn­man, and Ernest Ruther­ford. No mat­ter who said it, “the sen­ti­ment… rings true,” writes Michelle Lav­ery, “for researchers in all dis­ci­plines from par­ti­cle physics to ecopsy­chol­o­gy.” As Feyn­man dis­cov­ered dur­ing his many years of teach­ing, it could be “the mot­to of all pro­fes­sion­al com­mu­ni­ca­tors,” The Guardian’s Rus­sell Gross­man writes, “and espe­cial­ly those who earn a liv­ing com­mu­ni­cat­ing the tricky busi­ness of sci­ence.”

Ein­stein became one of the world’s great sci­ence com­mu­ni­ca­tors by choice, not neces­si­ty, and found ways to explain his com­plex the­o­ries to chil­dren and the elder­ly alike. But per­haps, if he’d had his way, he would rather have avoid­ed words alto­geth­er, and pre­ferred acro­bat­ic feats of silent dar­ing to get his mes­sage across. We might at least con­clude so from his rev­er­ence for the work of Char­lie Chap­lin. Chap­lin was the only per­son Ein­stein want­ed to meet in Cal­i­for­nia dur­ing his sec­ond, 1930–31 vis­it to the U.S., when he was “at the height of his fame,” notes Claire Cock-Starkey at Men­tal Floss, “with news­pa­pers track­ing his every move and aca­d­e­mics clam­or­ing for expla­na­tions of his the­o­ries.”

The admi­ra­tion, of course, was mutu­al. Their first meet­ings hap­pened out­side the press’s scruti­ny, at Uni­ver­sal Stu­dios, “where the pair took a tour and had lunch togeth­er. They hit it off straight away, shar­ing quick wits and curi­ous minds.” In his auto­bi­og­ra­phy, Chap­lin writes that Einstein’s wife Elsa fina­gled an invi­ta­tion to din­ner at Chaplin’s house. And he “was only too hap­py to oblige,” Cock-Starkey writes, arrang­ing an “inti­mate din­ner, at which Elsa regaled him with the sto­ry of when Ein­stein came up with his world-chang­ing the­o­ry, some­time around 1915.”

The two con­tin­ued to cor­re­spond, and the big pub­lic unveil­ing of their friend­ship came when Chap­lin invit­ed Ein­stein to the pre­miere of City Lights in 1931 (see pho­to up top) where the mega-celebri­ties from very dif­fer­ent worlds were greet­ed by reporters, pho­tog­ra­phers, and ador­ing crowds. There are sev­er­al record­ed ver­sions of their con­ver­sa­tion. In one account, Ein­stein expressed bemuse­ment at the cheer­ing, and Chap­lin remarked, “the peo­ple applaud me because every­one under­stands me, and they applaud you because no one under­stands you.”

Chap­lin him­self wrote in his 1933–34 trav­el­ogue, A Come­di­an Sees the World, that one of Einstein’s sons uttered the line, weeks after­ward: “You are pop­u­lar [because] you are under­stood by the mass­es. On the oth­er hand, the professor’s pop­u­lar­i­ty with the mass­es is because he is not under­stood.” Yet anoth­er ver­sion, cir­cu­lat­ing on the Nobel Prize’s Insta­gram and col­lect­ing tens of thou­sands of likes, has the exchange take place in a dia­logue.

Ein­stein: “What I most admire about your art, is your uni­ver­sal­i­ty. You don’t say a word, yet the world under­stands you!”

Chap­lin: “True. But your glo­ry is even greater! The whole world admires you, even though they don’t under­stand a word of what you say.”

What­ev­er they real­ly said to each oth­er, it’s clear Ein­stein saw some­thing in Char­lie Chap­lin worth emu­lat­ing. Chap­lin left his mark on Exis­ten­tial­ist phi­los­o­phy, lend­ing the name of his film Mod­ern Times to Jean-Paul Sartre and Simone de Beauvoir’s influ­en­tial jour­nal, Les Temps Mod­ernes. He left a lega­cy on Beat poet­ry, lend­ing the name City Lights to Lawrence Ferlinghetti’s infa­mous San Fran­cis­co book­store and pub­lish­er. And it seems he also maybe had some small effect on physics, or on the most famous of physi­cists, who might have har­bored a secret ambi­tion to be a silent film comedian—or to com­mu­ni­cate, at least, with the uni­ver­sal effec­tive­ness of one as skilled as Char­lie Chap­lin, favorite of genius­es and grand­moth­ers (and genius grand­moth­ers) every­where.

Note: An ear­li­er ver­sion of this post appeared on our site in 2020.

Relat­ed Con­tent:  

60+ Free Char­lie Chap­lin Films Online

Einstein’s The­o­ry of Rel­a­tiv­i­ty Explained in One of the Ear­li­est Sci­ence Films Ever Made (1923)

Hear Albert Ein­stein Read “The Com­mon Lan­guage of Sci­ence” (1941)

The Char­lie Chap­lin Archive Opens, Putting Online 30,000 Pho­tos & Doc­u­ments from the Life of the Icon­ic Film Star

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC.

The Declaration of Independence Performed by Morgan Freeman, Benicio del Toro, Winona Ryder & Other Actors

Some suc­cess­ful Hol­ly­wood pro­duc­ers spend their mon­ey on yachts, sports teams, and Euro­pean cas­tles. Nor­man Lear’s biggest pur­chase, or at least his most famous one, was a copy of the Dec­la­ra­tion of Inde­pen­dence. He did not, of course, buy the kind of repro­duc­tion any tourist can pick up at the gift shop of a major Amer­i­can his­toric site, but a “Dun­lap broad­side,” one of 200 or so run off by Philadel­phia print­er John Dun­lap on the very night of July 4th, 1776. After hand­ing over $8.1 mil­lion in exchange for the doc­u­ment in 2001, Lear put it on tour, and it there­after made years of pub­lic appear­ances all around the coun­try, includ­ing at the 2002 Olympics, Super Bowl XXXVI, and the Live 8 con­cert in the city where it was made.

Lear’s pur­chase also inspired a film, as it might well do for any man with his con­nec­tions. Co-pro­duced by Lear and the late Rob Rein­er, anoth­er Hol­ly­wood enthu­si­ast of Amer­i­can pol­i­tics, the 2001 short at the top of the post cap­tures a dra­mat­ic read­ing of the Dec­la­ra­tion of Inde­pen­dence by a line­up of big stars of the day, includ­ing the likes of Michael Dou­glas, Winona Ryder, Edward Nor­ton, Renée Zell­weger, and Beni­cio del Toro.

Their per­for­mances were all shot togeth­er at Inde­pen­dence Hall in Philadel­phia by Con­rad Hall, the famed cin­e­matog­ra­ph­er of Cool Hand Luke, Butch Cas­sidy and the Sun­dance Kid, Marathon Man, and Amer­i­can Beau­ty, on  July 4, 2001.

These 25 years lat­er, the film remains an invig­o­rat­ing refresh­er on what the Dec­la­ra­tion of Inde­pen­dence actu­al­ly says. Don’t think of it as the next best thing to read­ing that hal­lowed doc­u­ment: as Mor­gan Free­man tells us in his intro­duc­tion, Thomas Jef­fer­son “intend­ed for the dec­la­ra­tion to be per­formed, and not just read. Its words and rhythms were writ­ten to be spo­ken, in proud and defi­ant tones in grand pub­lic places.” His fel­low thes­pi­ans deliv­er them with the aplomb of a coun­try that under­stood itself as supreme in the world, though one does now feel a cer­tain irony in their speak­ing in the mid-sum­mer of 2001, just months before that con­fi­dence would be ter­ri­bly shak­en. Amer­i­can his­to­ry, it turned out, had not yet end­ed; even now, on the 250th anniver­sary of the Unit­ed States’ inde­pen­dence, it may have just bare­ly begun.

Relat­ed con­tent:

Fred­er­ick Douglass’s Fiery 1852 Speech, “The Mean­ing of July 4th for the Negro,” Read by James Earl Jones

John Trumbull’s Famous 1818 Paint­ing Dec­la­ra­tion of Inde­pen­dence Vir­tu­al­ly Defaced to Show Which Found­ing Fathers Owned Slaves

Read George Washington’s “110 Rules of Civil­i­ty”: The Code of Decen­cy That Guid­ed America’s First Pres­i­dent

Meet “Found­ing Moth­er” Mary Katharine God­dard, First Female Post­mas­ter in the U.S. and Print­er of the Dec­la­ra­tion of Inde­pen­dence

Bertrand Russell’s 10 Com­mand­ments for Liv­ing in a Healthy Democ­ra­cy

John Wayne Recites the Pledge of Alle­giance

Based in Seoul, Col­in Marshall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. He’s the author of the newslet­ter Books on Cities as well as the books 한국 요약 금지 (No Sum­ma­riz­ing Korea) and Kore­an Newtro. Fol­low him on the social net­work for­mer­ly known as Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

Meet the Syntopicon: The Ambitious Index That Tried to Organize All of Western Thought (1952)

Mor­timer J. Adler rose to cul­tur­al promi­nence in the mid-twen­ti­eth-cen­tu­ry Unit­ed States, not that a fig­ure like him could have done so in any oth­er place or time. A hap­haz­ard pro­fes­sion­al and intel­lec­tu­al path involv­ing copy-boy work at the New York Sun, night school, and an incom­plete Colum­bia degree even­tu­al­ly led to a fac­ul­ty posi­tion teach­ing phi­los­o­phy of law at the Uni­ver­si­ty of Chica­go. In 1945, he com­menced work on what would become the Great Books of the West­ern World, a 54-vol­ume set pub­lished by Ency­clopæ­dia Bri­tan­ni­ca includ­ing the works of every­one from Homer to Vir­gil to Dar­win to Hem­ing­way. Sold door-to-door, it became an unlike­ly suc­cess by the ear­ly nine­teen-six­ties, and for a time it was a fair­ly com­mon, if book­shelf-dom­i­nat­ing, sight in the aspi­ra­tional homes of sub­ur­ban Amer­i­ca.

How many of those fam­i­lies reg­u­lar­ly pulled their Great Books off the shelf is anoth­er mat­ter. Despite hav­ing come through an inten­sive process of cura­tion, they could still look rather impos­ing as the wall of knowl­edge they formed all togeth­er. To this prob­lem, Adler offered a char­ac­ter­is­ti­cal­ly ambi­tious and idio­syn­crat­ic solu­tion: a con­cept-ori­ent­ed index called the Syn­topi­con — or rather, “A Syn­topi­con.”

“He believed these two vol­umes to be just the ‘assis­tance’ that the aver­age man need­ed to dig into the books that formed West­ern Civ­i­liza­tion,” writes Jonathan White, an alum­nus of the sim­i­lar­ly West­ern canon-based St. John’s Col­lege. They “com­prised an exhaus­tive cat­a­logue of each time one of the 102 ‘Great Ideas of West­ern Civ­i­liza­tion’ was men­tioned in the 431 ‘Great Books’ enshrined in Bri­tan­ni­ca’s col­lec­tion.”

Good and evil, log­ic and love, plea­sure and pain, uni­ver­sal and par­tic­u­lar: all the big ideas, at least as Adler defined them, were there in A Syn­topi­con. Cus­tomers report­ed­ly found it unwieldy, but the notion behind it holds out a cer­tain appeal still today. It’s even inspired the launch of Syntopi.com, a dig­i­tal suc­ces­sor that enables you to nav­i­gate “the Great Con­ver­sa­tion” in a vari­ety of ways includ­ing a 3D visu­al­iza­tion and a per­son­al cur­ricu­lum-cre­ation tool. The Great Books of the West­ern World’s mid-cen­tu­ry read­ers — pro­fes­sion­als and busi­ness­men look­ing to fill the gaps in their gen­er­al knowl­edge, vet­er­ans ready to learn more after their G.I. Bill-fund­ed col­lege edu­ca­tion, house­wives hop­ing to get a han­dle on what intel­li­gent peo­ple were sup­posed to know about — could have had fun with it. And we could ben­e­fit, no doubt, from redis­cov­er­ing a lit­tle of their earnest­ly self-improv­ing spir­it our­selves. You can view an edi­tion of A Syn­topi­con on the Inter­net Archive, or this site.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The West­ern Canon: From Homer to Mil­ton (Free Course)

Harold Bloom Cre­ates a Mas­sive List of Works in The “West­ern Canon”: Read Many of the Books Free Online

The West­ern Tra­di­tion by Eugen Weber: 52 Video Lec­tures

Great Big Ideas: Free Course Fea­tures Top Thinkers Tack­ling the World’s Most Impor­tant Ideas in 12 Lec­tures

48 Ani­mat­ed Videos Explain the His­to­ry of Ideas: From Aris­to­tle to Sartre

The 10 Great­est Books Ever, Accord­ing to 125 Top Authors (Down­load Them for Free)

Based in Seoul, Col­in Marshall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. He’s the author of the newslet­ter Books on Cities as well as the books 한국 요약 금지 (No Sum­ma­riz­ing Korea) and Kore­an Newtro. Fol­low him on the social net­work for­mer­ly known as Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

The Thai Beef Noodle Soup That Has Been Continuously Simmering for 52 Years

As Bangkok ris­es into the ranks of the world’s great culi­nary des­ti­na­tion cities, its restau­rant scene caters to ever more well-heeled trav­el­ers. There, you can now vis­it estab­lish­ments with not just one, and not just two, but three Miche­lin stars. Even so, many a Bangkok habitué will sure­ly tell you that the city’s best food is still served in the same hum­ble places as always, or at least whose rent has­n’t been hiked too bad­ly. Even in as hip­ster­ized an area as Ekka­mai Road, though, some have been around long enough to own their real estate. Take Wat­tana Panich, which has been serv­ing beef noo­dle soup in its own build­ing for more than 50 years — and indeed, using the same broth the whole time.

You can have a look at the process in the Great Big Sto­ry video at the top of the post. “For­ev­er soup, also known as per­pet­u­al stew or hunter’s pot, is enjoy­ing a moment as adven­tur­ous cooks and intre­pid din­ers redis­cov­er the old method in which a broth can sim­mer for weeks, months or even years,” writes Shan Li in a recent Wall Street Jour­nal arti­cle.

Third-gen­er­a­tion Wat­tana Panich own­er Nat­tapong Kawee­nunta­wong “has tend­ed the broth from morn­ing until night since gain­ing cus­tody two decades ago. By day, it bub­bles in a giant stain­less-steel pot about 5 feet across and one foot deep, encased in lava-like con­crete and heat­ed by gas. He tweaks the fla­vor by adding fresh ingre­di­ents, includ­ing fish sauce, soy sauce, chunks of beef and sachets of Chi­nese herbs.”

Per­haps you feel you can taste it already. But its reg­u­lar vis­i­tors may insist that you’ll nev­er real­ly know the fla­vor of the shop’s epony­mous broth, con­tin­u­ous­ly refined while being rolled over night after night for five decades, until you try it for your­self. The prospect may put cer­tain West­ern­ers, uncom­fort­able con­sum­ing even last night’s left­overs, ill at ease. But they should rest assured that the sol­id ingre­di­ents are always fresh. It’s just the broth itself, rig­or­ous­ly strained each night and boiled each day, that has been kept in use, tying the estab­lish­ment to its own past in the same man­ner as its inher­it­ed own­er­ship. As with any fam­i­ly busi­ness, of course, each gen­er­a­tion gets com­plete­ly dis­placed soon­er or lat­er, just as every mol­e­cule of “for­ev­er soup” at one time will, in the­o­ry, have been con­sumed by some lat­er time. Is the broth Wat­tana Panich uses today real­ly iden­ti­cal to the one it start­ed with in 1974? That’s a philo­soph­i­cal ques­tion best saved for after the meal.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Chow­da!: Three Cen­turies of Recipes Reveal the Rise of New England’s Finest Culi­nary Export

When Al Capone Opened a Soup Kitchen Dur­ing the Great Depres­sion: Anoth­er Side of the Leg­endary Mobster’s Oper­a­tion

Allen Ginsberg’s Per­son­al Recipe for Cold Sum­mer Borscht

How to Make the Old­est Recipe in the World: A Recipe for Net­tle Pud­ding Dat­ing Back 6,000 BC

The Old­est Restau­rant in the World: How Madrid’s Sobri­no de Botín Has Kept the Oven Hot Since 1725

Based in Seoul, Col­in Marshall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. He’s the author of the newslet­ter Books on Cities as well as the books 한국 요약 금지 (No Sum­ma­riz­ing Korea) and Kore­an Newtro. Fol­low him on the social net­work for­mer­ly known as Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

Isaac Asimov Laments the “Cult of Ignorance” in the United States (1980)

Rochester Insti­tute of Tech­nol­o­gy, via Wiki­me­dia Com­mons

In 1980, sci­en­tist and writer Isaac Asi­mov argued in an essay that “there is a cult of igno­rance in the Unit­ed States, and there always has been.” That year, the Repub­li­can Par­ty stood at the dawn of the Rea­gan Rev­o­lu­tion, which ini­ti­at­ed a decades-long con­ser­v­a­tive groundswell. Polit­i­cal strate­gist Steve Schmidt (who has been regret­ful about choos­ing Sarah Palin as John McCain’s run­ning mate in 2008) once point­ed to what he called “intel­lec­tu­al rot” as a pri­ma­ry cul­prit, and a cult-like devo­tion to irra­tional­i­ty among a cer­tain seg­ment of the elec­torate.

It’s a famil­iar con­tention. There have been cri­tiques of Amer­i­can anti-intel­lec­tu­al­ism since the country’s found­ing, though whether or not that phe­nom­e­non has inten­si­fied, as Susan Jaco­by alleged in The Age of Amer­i­can Unrea­son, may be a sub­ject of debate. Not all of the unrea­son is par­ti­san, as fail­ures to chal­lenge human- and AI-gen­er­at­ed mis­in­for­ma­tion in polit­i­cal news sources and social media out­lets over recent years have shown. But “the strain of anti-intel­lec­tu­al­ism,” writes Asi­mov, “has been a con­stant thread wind­ing its way through our polit­i­cal and cul­tur­al life, nur­tured by the false notion that democ­ra­cy means that ‘my igno­rance is just as good as your knowl­edge.’”

Asimov’s pri­ma­ry exam­ples hap­pen to come from the polit­i­cal world. How­ev­er, he doesn’t name con­tem­po­rary names but reach­es back to take a swipe at Eisen­how­er (“who invent­ed a ver­sion of the Eng­lish lan­guage that was all his own”) and George Wal­lace. Par­tic­u­lar­ly inter­est­ing is Asimov’s take on the “slo­gan on the part of the obscu­ran­tists: ‘Don’t trust the experts!’” This lan­guage, along with charges of “elit­ism,” Asi­mov wry­ly notes, is so often used by peo­ple who are them­selves experts and elites, “feel­ing guilty about hav­ing gone to school.” So many of the Amer­i­can polit­i­cal class’ wounds are self-inflict­ed, he sug­gests, but that’s because they are behold­en to a large­ly igno­rant elec­torate:

To be sure, the aver­age Amer­i­can can sign his name more or less leg­i­bly, and can make out the sports headlines—but how many nonelit­ist Amer­i­cans can, with­out undue dif­fi­cul­ty, read as many as a thou­sand con­sec­u­tive words of small print, some of which may be tri­syl­lab­ic?

Asimov’s exam­ples are less than con­vinc­ing: road signs “steadi­ly being replaced by lit­tle pic­tures to make them inter­na­tion­al­ly leg­i­ble” has more to do with lin­guis­tic diver­si­ty than illit­er­a­cy, and accus­ing tele­vi­sion com­mer­cials of speak­ing their mes­sages out loud instead of using print­ed text on the screen seems to fun­da­men­tal­ly mis­un­der­stand the nature of the medi­um. Jaco­by in her book-length study of the prob­lem looks at edu­ca­tion­al pol­i­cy in the Unit­ed States, and the resis­tance to nation­al stan­dards that vir­tu­al­ly ensures wide­spread pock­ets of igno­rance all over the coun­try. Asimov’s very short, pithy essay has nei­ther the space nor the incli­na­tion to con­duct such analy­sis.

Instead he is con­cerned with atti­tudes. Not only are many Amer­i­cans bad­ly edu­cat­ed, he writes, but the broad igno­rance of the pop­u­la­tion in mat­ters of “sci­ence… math­e­mat­ics… eco­nom­ics… for­eign lan­guages…” has as much to do with Amer­i­cans’ unwill­ing­ness to read as their inabil­i­ty.

There are 200 mil­lion Amer­i­cans who have inhab­it­ed school­rooms at some time in their lives and who will admit that they know how to read… but most decent peri­od­i­cals believe they are doing amaz­ing­ly well if they have cir­cu­la­tion of half a mil­lion. It may be that only 1 per cent—or less—of Amer­i­cans make a stab at exer­cis­ing their right to know. And if they try to do any­thing on that basis they are quite like­ly to be accused of being elit­ists.

One might in some respects charge Asi­mov him­self of elit­ism when he con­cludes, “We can all be mem­bers of the intel­lec­tu­al elite.” Such a blithe­ly opti­mistic state­ment ignores the ways in which eco­nom­ic elites active­ly manip­u­late edu­ca­tion pol­i­cy to suit their inter­ests, crip­ple edu­ca­tion fund­ing, and oppose efforts at free or low cost high­er edu­ca­tion. Many efforts at spread­ing knowledge—like the Chau­tauquas of the ear­ly 20th cen­tu­ry, the edu­ca­tion­al radio pro­grams of the 40s and 50s, and the pub­lic tele­vi­sion rev­o­lu­tion of the 70s and 80s—have been ad hoc and near­ly always imper­iled by fund­ing crises and the designs of prof­i­teers.

Nonethe­less, the wide­spread (though hard­ly uni­ver­sal) avail­abil­i­ty of free resources on the inter­net has made self-edu­ca­tion a real­i­ty for many peo­ple, and cer­tain­ly for most Amer­i­cans. But per­haps not even Isaac Asi­mov could have fore­seen the bit­ter polar­iza­tion and dis­in­for­ma­tion cam­paigns that tech­nol­o­gy has also enabled. Need­less to say, “A Cult of Igno­rance” was not one of Asimov’s most pop­u­lar pieces of writ­ing. First pub­lished on Jan­u­ary 21, 1980 in Newsweek, the short essay has nev­er been reprint­ed in any of Asimov’s col­lec­tions.

Note: An ear­li­er ver­sion of this post appeared on our site in 2016.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Isaac Asi­mov Reviews George Orwell’s Nine­teen Eighty-Four and Calls It “Not Sci­ence Fic­tion, But a Dis­tort­ed Nos­tal­gia for a Past that Nev­er Was”

Isaac Asi­mov Pre­dicts the Future on The David Let­ter­man Show (1980)

Isaac Asi­mov on How Libraries Can Rad­i­cal­ly Change Your Life (1971)

Isaac Asi­mov Pre­dicts in 1964 What the World Will Look Like in 2014

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. 

An Entire Ancient Greek Philosophical Treatise Burned by Mount Vesuvius Has Been Deciphered with X‑Ray and AI Technologies

Most of our con­cep­tion of Sto­icism, an ancient school of thought much fea­tured here on Open Cul­ture, derives from the writ­ings of just three fig­ures: Epicte­tus, Mar­cus Aure­lius, and Seneca the Younger. But there were oth­er Sto­ics, and despite their antiq­ui­ty, we may yet learn more about them. Take Chrysip­pus of Soli, who was offi­cial­ly known as the Sec­ond Founder of Sto­icism due to his influ­ence on its spread through­out the Greek and Roman world. What we know of his demand­ing work, we know because of ref­er­ences writ­ten on scrolls inad­ver­tent­ly pre­served in a vil­la in Her­cu­la­neum when near­by Mount Vesu­vius erupt­ed in the year 79. To date, most of those “Her­cu­la­neum papyri” have been unread­able, but soon, thanks to tech­nolo­gies like X‑ray micro­to­mog­ra­phy and arti­fi­cial intel­li­gence, that may change.

In 2023, we post­ed about the decod­ing of the first word of one such scroll, an achieve­ment made with the incen­tive of prizes offered by a con­test called the Vesu­vius Chal­lenge. Now, says its web­site, “we have com­plete­ly vir­tu­al­ly unwrapped and read PHerc. 1667 — the scroll the Vesu­vius Chal­lenge com­mu­ni­ty knows as Scroll 4 — with­out ever touch­ing its pages.”

What appears to be lit­tle more than a big hunk of char­coal, fur­ther dam­aged by sev­er­al phys­i­cal unrolling attempts in less tech­no­log­i­cal­ly advanced times, turns out to be “a philo­soph­i­cal trea­tise on ethics, and the evi­dence points to a Sto­ic work: it turns on human nature, impulse, and the moral progress of human beings.” The scrol­l’s last pre­served col­umn even drops the name of Aris­tocre­on, “nephew and dis­ci­ple of the great Sto­ic Chrysip­pus,” sug­gest­ing it dates to the sec­ond cen­tu­ry BC.

These col­lab­o­ra­tive efforts, both tech­no­log­i­cal and intel­lec­tu­al, have made PHerc. 1667 “the first Her­cu­la­neum papyrus to be dig­i­tal­ly unrolled and read in full, end to end, and made avail­able for sus­tained schol­ar­ly study.” But there are also oth­er texts still being deci­phered, includ­ing PHerc. 139, which has been iden­ti­fied as “Philode­mus, On Gods, Book 8 — a trea­tise by the Epi­cure­an philoso­pher whose works fill so much of this library.” In their day, Sto­icism and Epi­cure­anism stood as sim­i­lar but rival philoso­phies, and it seems that the own­er of the so-called Vil­la of the Papyri (pos­si­bly Julius Cae­sar’s father-in-law) had an inter­est in both of them. Ancient Sto­ics and Epi­cure­ans car­ried on a live­ly debate about how to live, some of whose argu­ments were writ­ten down. If the nec­es­sary tech­nolo­gies con­tin­ue to advance, per­haps we’ll one day be able to read them all and pick that con­ver­sa­tion up right where they left it off. Learn more about the decod­ing of the papyrus here and here.

via Smith­son­ian Mag­a­zine

Relat­ed con­tent:

Researchers Use AI to Decode the First Word on an Ancient Scroll Burned by Vesu­vius

Based in Seoul, Col­in Marshall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. He’s the author of the newslet­ter Books on Cities as well as the books 한국 요약 금지 (No Sum­ma­riz­ing Korea) and Kore­an Newtro. Fol­low him on the social net­work for­mer­ly known as Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

Hannah Arendt on “Personal Responsibility Under Dictatorship:” Better to Suffer Than Collaborate

Image by Bernd Schwabe, via Wiki­me­dia Com­mons

When Eich­mann in JerusalemHan­nah Arendt’s book about Nazi offi­cer Adolf Eichmann’s trial—came out in 1963, it con­tributed one of the most famous of post-war ideas to the dis­course, the “banal­i­ty of evil.” And the con­cept at first caused a crit­i­cal furor. “Enor­mous con­tro­ver­sy cen­tered on what Arendt had writ­ten about the con­duct of the tri­al, her depic­tion of Eich­mann, and her dis­cus­sion of the role of the Jew­ish Coun­cils,” writes Michael Ezra at Dis­sent mag­a­zine, “Eich­mann, she claimed, was not a ‘mon­ster’; instead, she sus­pect­ed, he was a ‘clown.’”

Arendt blamed vic­tims who were forced to col­lab­o­rate, crit­ics charged, and made the Nazi offi­cer seem ordi­nary and unre­mark­able, reliev­ing him of the extreme moral weight of his respon­si­bil­i­ty. She answered these charges in an essay titled “Per­son­al Respon­si­bil­i­ty Under Dic­ta­tor­ship,” pub­lished in 1964. Here, she aims to clar­i­fy the ques­tion in her title by argu­ing that if Eich­mann were allowed to rep­re­sent a mon­strous and inhu­man sys­tem, rather than shock­ing­ly ordi­nary human beings, his con­vic­tion would make him a scape­goat and let oth­ers off the hook. Instead, she believes that every­one who worked for the regime, what­ev­er their motives, is com­plic­it and moral­ly cul­pa­ble.

But although most peo­ple are cul­pa­ble of great moral crimes, those who col­lab­o­rat­ed were not, in fact, crim­i­nals. On the con­trary, they chose to fol­low the rules in a demon­stra­bly crim­i­nal regime. It’s a nuance that becomes a stark moral chal­lenge. Arendt points out that every­one who served the regime agreed to degrees of vio­lence when they had oth­er options, even if those might be fatal. Quot­ing Mary McCarthy, she writes, “If some­body points a gun at you and says, ‘Kill your friend or I will kill you,’ he is tempt­ing you, that is all.”

While this cir­cum­stance may pro­vide a “legal excuse,” for killing, Arendt seeks to define a “moral issue,” a Socrat­ic prin­ci­ple she had “tak­en for grant­ed” that we all believed: “It is bet­ter to suf­fer than do wrong,” even when doing wrong is the law. Peo­ple like Eich­mann were not crim­i­nals and psy­chopaths, Arendt argued, but rule-fol­low­ers pro­tect­ed by social priv­i­lege. “It was pre­cise­ly the mem­bers of respectable soci­ety,” she writes, “who had not been touched by the intel­lec­tu­al and moral upheaval in the ear­ly stages of the Nazi peri­od, who were the first to yield. They sim­ply exchanged one sys­tem of val­ues against anoth­er,” with­out reflect­ing on the moral­i­ty of the entire new sys­tem.

Those who refused, on the oth­er hand, who even “chose to die,” rather than kill, did not have “high­ly devel­oped intel­li­gence or sophis­ti­ca­tion in moral mat­ters.” But they were crit­i­cal thinkers prac­tic­ing what Socrates called a “silent dia­logue between me and myself,” and they refused to face a future where they would have to live with them­selves after com­mit­ting or enabling atroc­i­ties. We must remem­ber, Arendt writes, that “what­ev­er else hap­pens, as long as we live we shall have to live togeth­er with our­selves.”

Such refusals to par­tic­i­pate might be small and pri­vate and seem­ing­ly inef­fec­tu­al, but in large enough num­bers, they would mat­ter. “All gov­ern­ments,” Arendt writes, quot­ing James Madi­son, “rest on con­sent,” rather than abject obe­di­ence. With­out the con­sent of gov­ern­ment and cor­po­rate employ­ees, the “leader… would be help­less.” Arendt admits the unlike­ly effec­tive­ness of active oppo­si­tion to a one-par­ty author­i­tar­i­an state. And yet when peo­ple feel most pow­er­less, most under duress, she writes, an hon­est “admis­sion of one’s own impo­tence” can give us “a last rem­nant of strength” to refuse.

We have only for a moment to imag­ine what would hap­pen to any of these forms of gov­ern­ment if enough peo­ple would act “irre­spon­si­bly” and refuse sup­port, even with­out active resis­tance and rebel­lion, to see how effec­tive a weapon this could be. It is in fact one of the many vari­a­tions of non­vi­o­lent action and resistance—for instance the pow­er that is poten­tial in civ­il dis­obe­di­ence.

We have exam­ple after exam­ple of these kinds of refusals to par­tic­i­pate in a mur­der­ous sys­tem or fur­ther its aims. Arendt was aware these actions can come at great cost. The alter­na­tives, she argues, may be far worse.

Note: An ear­li­er ver­sion of this post appeared on our site in 2017.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Han­nah Arendt Explains How Pro­pa­gan­da Uses Lies to Erode All Truth & Moral­i­ty: Insights from The Ori­gins of Total­i­tar­i­an­ism

Han­nah Arendt’s Orig­i­nal Arti­cles on “the Banal­i­ty of Evil” in the New York­er Archive

Hen­ry David Thore­au on When Civ­il Dis­obe­di­ence and Resis­tance Are Jus­ti­fied (1849)

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC.

How Japan Invented Daisugi, the Ancient Method of Growing Lumber Without Cutting Down Trees

Ask any­one, of most any age and in most any soci­ety, how we get wood, and you’ll hear one answer: by cut­ting down trees. It’s there­fore nat­ur­al that any method of lum­ber pro­duc­tion that leaves trees stand­ing will get a lot of atten­tion. Such has been the case with daisu­gi, the 600-year-old Japan­ese tech­nique we’ve pre­vi­ous­ly fea­tured here on Open Cul­ture. The Leaf of Life video above explains just what it involves: “Spe­cial­ly plant­ed cedar trees are pruned heav­i­ly. Think of it as a giant bon­sai.” While these oper­a­tions take place bien­ni­al­ly, “har­vest­ing takes 20 years, and old tree stock grows up to 100 shoots at a time,” pro­duc­ing a stronger and more flex­i­ble wood to boot.

Such an unusu­al method of cul­ti­va­tion, you may imag­ine, must have arisen in unusu­al cir­cum­stances. As the video explains, daisu­gi was orig­i­nal­ly invent­ed in the west­ern Japan­ese region of Kitaya­ma, well south of the Osa­ka-Kyoto-Nara conur­ba­tion.

Work­ing under a short­age of seedlings and flat ter­rain, the arborists of Kitaya­ma devel­oped this method of forest­ing that made it pos­si­ble to “reduce the num­ber of plan­ta­tions, make the har­vest cycle faster, and pro­duce denser wood as well.” More than a lit­tle of the demand for it owed to the four­teenth-cen­tu­ry elite vogue for sukiya-zukuri, an ele­gant form of res­i­den­tial archi­tec­ture much expand­ed from the tra­di­tion­al Japan­ese tea house.

For a more nuts-and-bolts — or rather, trunks-and-branch­es — expla­na­tion of how daisu­gi is done, have a look at the video just above from Roji Gar­den­ing. You first need a sugi tree, also known as a Cryp­tome­ria japon­i­ca or Japan­ese red­wood, whose fast growth makes it all work. When it reach­es six or sev­en meters, which takes about as many years, “you do some­thing West­ern gar­den­ers would nev­er dream of”: cut the trunk at the height of half a meter, prune back the remain­ing branch­es, and cul­ti­vate the buds that appear on the remain­ing “plat­form seed­er.” Con­tin­ue reg­u­lar­ly prun­ing the series of “per­fect­ly ver­ti­cal” new trunks into which they grow, even­tu­al­ly remov­ing every­thing but the top 30 cen­time­ters on each. With­in a decade, you’ll end up with a good source of wood, if you need it, but also an “ever-chang­ing, inter­est­ing state­ment tree” — that, as a bonus, will also look like some­thing out of a Ghi­b­li movie.

If you would like to sup­port the mis­sion of Open Cul­ture, con­sid­er mak­ing a dona­tion to our site. It’s hard to rely 100% on ads, and your con­tri­bu­tions will help us con­tin­ue pro­vid­ing the best free cul­tur­al and edu­ca­tion­al mate­ri­als to learn­ers every­where. You can con­tribute through Pay­Pal, Patre­on, and Ven­mo (@openculture). Thanks!

If you would like to sup­port the mis­sion of Open Cul­ture, con­sid­er mak­ing a dona­tion to our site. It’s hard to rely 100% on ads, and your con­tri­bu­tions will help us con­tin­ue pro­vid­ing the best free cul­tur­al and edu­ca­tion­al mate­ri­als to learn­ers every­where. You can con­tribute through Pay­Pal, Patre­on, and Ven­mo (@openculture). Thanks!

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Daisu­gi, the 600-Year-Old Japan­ese Tech­nique of Grow­ing Trees Out of Oth­er Trees, Cre­at­ing Per­fect­ly Straight Lum­ber

The Art of Cre­at­ing a Bon­sai: One Year Con­densed Con­densed Into 22 Mes­mer­iz­ing Min­utes

The Biol­o­gy of Bon­sai Trees: The Sci­ence Behind the Tra­di­tion­al Japan­ese Art Form

What Makes the Art of Bon­sai So Expen­sive?: $1 Mil­lion for a Bon­sai Tree, and $32,000 for Bon­sai Scis­sors

A Dig­i­tal Ani­ma­tion Com­pares the Size of Trees: From the 3‑Inch Bon­sai, to the 300-Foot Sequoia

This 392-Year-Old Bon­sai Tree Sur­vived the Hiroshi­ma Atom­ic Blast & Still Flour­ish­es Today: The Pow­er of Resilience

Based in Seoul, Col­in Marshall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. He’s the author of the newslet­ter Books on Cities as well as the books 한국 요약 금지 (No Sum­ma­riz­ing Korea) and Kore­an Newtro. Fol­low him on the social net­work for­mer­ly known as Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.


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