A Short Animated Introduction to Hypatia, Ancient Alexandria’s Great Female Philosopher

Ten years ago, a film came out called Ago­ra, a biopic of philoso­pher and math­e­mati­cian Hypa­tia of Alexan­dria, daugh­ter of math­e­mati­cian Theon, the last record­ed direc­tor of the Library of Alexan­dria. The movie wasn’t well-reviewed or wide­ly seen, which is nei­ther here nor there, but it was heav­i­ly crit­i­cized for his­tor­i­cal inac­cu­ra­cies. This seemed a lit­tle sil­ly. “One does not go to the movies to learn about ancient his­to­ry but to be enter­tained,” as Joshua J. Mark writes at the Ancient His­to­ry Ency­clo­pe­dia. Ago­ra is not an accu­rate ren­der­ing of the lit­tle we know of Hypa­tia, but nei­ther is Spar­ta­cus, a far more enter­tain­ing film, an accu­rate depic­tion of the 2nd cen­tu­ry B.C.E. glad­i­a­tor and rebel.

And yet, we should know who Hypa­tia was, and we should under­stand what hap­pened to her, some­thing many of the film’s reli­gious­ly-moti­vat­ed crit­ics refused to admit, claim­ing that the depic­tion of hos­tile, anti-intel­lec­tu­al Chris­tians in the movie was noth­ing more than prej­u­di­cial ani­mus on the part of direc­tor Ale­jan­dro Amenabar. The truth is that “the anti-intel­lec­tu­al stance of the ear­ly church is attest­ed to by ear­ly Chris­t­ian writ­ers,” Mark points out. And “the his­tor­i­cal records state” that Hypa­tia “was beat­en and flayed to death by a mob of Chris­t­ian monks who then burned her in a church.”

The TED-Ed video above calls this mob a “mili­tia” who saw Hypatia’s sci­en­tif­ic pur­suits as “witch­craft.” The charge is, of course, specif­i­cal­ly gen­dered. The man­ner of her death was so bru­tal and shock­ing that “even those Chris­t­ian writ­ers who were hos­tile to her and claimed she was a witch,” Mark writes, “are gen­er­al­ly sym­pa­thet­ic in record­ing her death as a tragedy. These accounts rou­tine­ly depict Hypa­tia as a woman who was wide­ly known for her gen­eros­i­ty, love of learn­ing, and exper­tise in teach­ing in the sub­jects of Neo-Pla­ton­ism, math­e­mat­ics, sci­ence, and phi­los­o­phy.”

As is the case with many ancient fig­ures, none of her own writ­ings sur­vive, but both her con­tem­po­rary crit­ics and sym­pa­thet­ic stu­dents record sim­i­lar impres­sions of her intel­lec­tu­al curios­i­ty and sci­en­tif­ic knowl­edge. The short video les­son tells us Hypa­tia was born around 355 A.C.E., which means she would have been around six­ty years old at the time of her death. She lived in Alexan­dria, “then part of the Egypt­ian province of the East­ern Roman Empire, and an intel­lec­tu­al cen­ter.” Edu­cat­ed by her father, she sur­passed him “in both math­e­mat­ics and phi­los­o­phy, becom­ing the city’s fore­most schol­ar.”

She even­tu­al­ly suc­ceed­ed Theon as head of the Pla­ton­ic school, “sim­i­lar to a mod­ern uni­ver­si­ty,” and she served as a trust­ed advi­sor to the city’s lead­ers, includ­ing its gov­er­nor, Orestes, a “mod­er­ate Chris­t­ian” him­self. Her achieve­ments were many, but her teach­ing, draw­ing on Pla­to, Aris­to­tle, Plot­i­nus, and Pythago­ras, was her great­est lega­cy, the TED-Ed les­son (script­ed by Soraya Field Fio­rio) asserts. Hypatia’s death not only deprived the city of a beloved teacher and schol­ar. Her mur­der, at the behest of Alexan­dri­an bish­op Cyril, “was a turn­ing point.” Oth­er philoso­phers fled the city, and Alexandria’s “role as a cen­ter of learn­ing declined.”

“In a very real way,” the les­son tells us, “the spir­it of inqui­si­tion, open­ness, and fair­ness she fos­tered died with her.”

For a more com­plete treat­ment of Hypa­ti­a’s life and intel­lec­tu­al con­tri­bu­tions, read Maria Dziel­ska’s book, Hypa­tia of Alexan­dria.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Rise and Fall of the Great Library of Alexan­dria: An Ani­mat­ed Intro­duc­tion

Carl Sagan Explains How the Ancient Greeks, Using Rea­son and Math, Fig­ured Out the Earth Isn’t Flat, Over 2,000 Years Ago

Free Cours­es in Ancient His­to­ry, Lit­er­a­ture & Phi­los­o­phy 

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

Manuscript Reveals How Medieval Nun, Joan of Leeds, Faked Her Own Death to Escape the Convent

“The time­worn image of clois­tered nuns as escapists, spurned lovers or naïve waifs has lit­tle basis in real­i­ty today,” wrote Julia Lieblich in a 1983 New York Times arti­cle, “The Clois­tered Life.” “It takes more than a botched-up love affair to lure edu­cat­ed women in their 20’s and 30’s to the clois­ter in the 1980’s.”

The devo­tion that drew women to clois­tered life in the fast-paced 80s, or today, also drew women in the mid­dle ages. But in those days, an edu­ca­tion was much hard­er to come by. Many women became nuns because no oth­er oppor­tu­ni­ties were avail­able. “Con­vent offer­ings,” Eudie Pak explains at History.com, “includ­ed read­ing and writ­ing in Latin, arith­metic, gram­mar, music, morals, rhetoric, geom­e­try and astron­o­my.” Oth­er pur­suits includ­ed “spin­ning, weav­ing and embroi­dery,” par­tic­u­lar­ly among more afflu­ent nuns.

Those “from less­er means were expect­ed to do more ardu­ous labor as part of their reli­gious life.” Who knows what kinds of hard­ships 14th cen­tu­ry Bene­dic­tine Eng­lish nun Joan of Leeds endured while at St. Clement pri­o­ry in York? The tedi­um alone may have dri­ven her over the edge. Nor do we know why she first entered the convent—whether dri­ven by faith, a desire for self-improve­ment, a “botched-up love affair,” or a less-than-vol­un­tary com­mit­ment.

We know almost noth­ing of Joan’s life, except that at some time in 1318, she faked her death, left behind a fake body to bury, and escaped the con­vent to pur­sue what William Melton, then Arch­bish­op of York, called “the way of car­nal lust.” Joan’s sis­ters aid­ed in her great escape, as the arch­bish­op wrote in a let­ter: “numer­ous of her accom­plices, evil­do­ers, with mal­ice afore­thought, craft­ed a dum­my in the like­ness of her body in order to mis­lead the devot­ed faith­ful.”

The episode—or what we know of it from Melton’s register—struck Uni­ver­si­ty of York pro­fes­sor Sarah Rees Jones as “extraordinary—like a Mon­ty Python sketch.” Joan’s sto­ry has become a high­light of The North­ern Way, a project that “seeks to assess and ana­lyze the polit­i­cal roles of the Arch­bish­ops of York over the peri­od 1306–1406.” A num­ber of records from the peri­od have been dig­i­tized, includ­ing William Melton’s reg­istry, in which Joan’s escape appears (see the page of scrib­al notes above).

One of the arch­bish­op’s roles involved inter­ced­ing in such cas­es of run­away monks and nuns. “Unfor­tu­nate­ly,” Rees Jones remarks, “we don’t know the out­come of the case” of Joan. Often, as one might expect, escapes like hers—though few as picaresque—had to do with “not want­i­ng to be celi­bate…. Many of the peo­ple would have been com­mit­ted to a reli­gious house when they were in their teens, and then they didn’t all take to the reli­gious life.”

The arch­bish­op put mat­ters rather less char­i­ta­bly: “Hav­ing turned her back on decen­cy and the good of reli­gion,” he writes, “seduced by inde­cen­cy, she involved her­self irrev­er­ent­ly and per­vert­ed her path of life arro­gant­ly to the way of car­nal lust and away from pover­ty and obe­di­ence, and, hav­ing bro­ken her vows and dis­card­ed the reli­gious habit, she now wan­ders at large to the noto­ri­ous per­il to her soul and to the scan­dal of all of her order.”

Or, as we might say today, she was ready to embark on a new life path. So des­per­ate­ly ready, it seems, that we might only hope Joan of Leeds remained “at large” and found hap­pi­ness else­where. Learn more about The North­ern Way project here.

via The Guardian/Medieval­ist

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Expe­ri­ence the Mys­ti­cal Music of Hilde­gard Von Bin­gen: The First Known Com­pos­er in His­to­ry (1098 – 1179)

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

Why Knights Fought Snails in Illu­mi­nat­ed Medieval Man­u­scripts

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

NASA Enlists Andy Warhol, Annie Leibovitz, Norman Rockwell & 350 Other Artists to Visually Document America’s Space Program

It’s hard to imag­ine that the space-crazed gen­er­al pub­lic need­ed any help get­ting worked up about astro­nauts and NASA in the ear­ly 60s.

Per­haps the wild pop­u­lar­i­ty of space-relat­ed imagery is in part what moti­vat­ed NASA admin­is­tra­tor James Webb to cre­ate the NASA Art Pro­gram in 1962.

Although the pro­gram’s hand­picked artists weren’t edit­ed or cen­sored in any way, they were briefed on how NASA hoped to be rep­re­sent­ed, and the emo­tions their cre­ations were meant capture—the excite­ment and uncer­tain­ty of explor­ing these fron­tiers.

NASA was also care­ful to col­lect every­thing the artists pro­duced while par­tic­i­pat­ing in the pro­gram, from sketch­es to fin­ished work.

In turn, they received unprece­dent­ed access to launch sites, key per­son­nel, and major events such as Project Mer­cury and the Apol­lo 11 Mis­sion.

Over 350 artists, includ­ing Andy Warhol, Nor­man Rock­well, and Lau­rie Ander­son, have brought their unique sen­si­bil­i­ties to the project. (Find NASA-inspired art by Warhol and Rock­well above.)

(And hey, no shame if you mis­tak­en­ly assumed Warhol’s 1987 Moon­walk 1 was cre­at­ed as a pro­mo for MTV…)

Jamie Wyeth’s 1964 water­col­or Gem­i­ni Launch Pad includes a hum­ble bicy­cle, the means by which tech­ni­cians trav­eled back and forth from the launch pad to the con­crete-rein­forced block­house where they worked.

Pho­tog­ra­ph­er Annie Lei­bovitz offers two views of NASA’s first female pilot and com­man­der, Eileen Collins—with and with­out hel­met.

Postage stamp design­er, Paul Calle, one of the inau­gur­al group of par­tic­i­pat­ing artists, pro­duced a stamp com­mem­o­rat­ing the Gem­i­ni 4 space cap­sule in cel­e­bra­tion of NASA’s 9th anniver­sary. When the Apol­lo 11 astro­nauts suit­ed up pri­or to blast off on July 16, 1969, Calle was the only artist present. His quick­ly ren­dered felt tip mark­er sketch­es lend a back­stage ele­ment to the hero­ic iconog­ra­phy sur­round­ing astro­nauts Arm­strong, Aldrin and Collins. One of the items they car­ried with them on their jour­ney was the engraved print­ing plate of Calle’s 1967 com­mem­o­ra­tive stamp. They hand-can­celed a proof aboard the flight, on the assump­tion that post offices might be hard to come by on the moon.

More recent­ly, NASA’s Jet Propul­sion Lab­o­ra­to­ry has enlist­ed a team of nine artists, design­ers, and illus­tra­tors to col­lab­o­rate on 14 posters, a visu­al throw­back to the ones the WPA cre­at­ed between 1938 and 1941 to spark pub­lic inter­est in the Nation­al Parks. You can see the results at the Exo­plan­et Trav­el Bureau.

View an album of 25 his­toric works from NASA’s Art Pro­gram here.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Lau­rie Ander­son Cre­ates a Vir­tu­al Real­i­ty Instal­la­tion That Takes View­ers on an Uncon­ven­tion­al Tour of the Moon

Star Trek‘s Nichelle Nichols Cre­ates a Short Film for NASA to Recruit New Astro­nauts (1977)

NASA Dig­i­tizes 20,000 Hours of Audio from the His­toric Apol­lo 11 Mis­sion: Stream Them Free Online

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is an author, illus­tra­tor, the­ater mak­er and Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inky zine.  Join her in NYC on Mon­day, Sep­tem­ber 9 for anoth­er sea­son of her book-based vari­ety show, Necro­mancers of the Pub­lic Domain. Fol­low her @AyunHalliday.

How Margaret Hamilton Wrote the Computer Code That Helped Save the Apollo Moon Landing Mission

From a dis­tance of half a cen­tu­ry, we look back on the moon land­ing as a thor­ough­ly ana­log affair, an old-school engi­neer­ing project of the kind sel­dom even pro­posed any­more in this dig­i­tal age. But the Apol­lo 11 mis­sion could nev­er have hap­pened with­out com­put­ers and the peo­ple who pro­gram them, a fact that has become bet­ter-known in recent years thanks to pub­lic inter­est in the work of Mar­garet Hamil­ton, direc­tor of the Soft­ware Engi­neer­ing Divi­sion of MIT’s Instru­men­ta­tion Lab­o­ra­to­ry when it devel­oped on-board flight soft­ware for NASA’s Apol­lo space pro­gram. You can learn more about Hamil­ton, whom we’ve pre­vi­ous­ly fea­tured here on Open Cul­ture, from the short MAKERS pro­file video above.

Today we con­sid­er soft­ware engi­neer­ing a per­fect­ly viable field, but back in the mid-1960s, when Hamil­ton first joined the Apol­lo project, it did­n’t even have a name. “I came up with the term ‘soft­ware engi­neer­ing,’ and it was con­sid­ered a joke,” says Hamil­ton, who remem­bers her col­leagues mak­ing remarks like, “What, soft­ware is engi­neer­ing?”

But her own expe­ri­ence went some way toward prov­ing that work­ing in code had become as impor­tant as work­ing in steel. Only by watch­ing her young daugh­ter play at the same con­trols the astro­nauts would lat­er use did she real­ize that just one human error could poten­tial­ly bring the mis­sion into ruin — and that she could min­i­mize the pos­si­bil­i­ty by tak­ing it into account when design­ing its soft­ware. Hamil­ton’s pro­pos­al met with resis­tance, NASA’s offi­cial line at the time being that “astro­nauts are trained nev­er to make a mis­take.”

But Hamil­ton per­sist­ed, pre­vailed, and was vin­di­cat­ed dur­ing the moon land­ing itself, when an astro­naut did make a mis­take, one that caused an over­load­ing of the flight com­put­er. The whole land­ing might have been abort­ed if not for Hamil­ton’s fore­sight in imple­ment­ing an “asyn­chro­nous exec­u­tive” func­tion capa­ble, in the event of an over­load, of set­ting less impor­tant tasks aside and pri­or­i­tiz­ing more impor­tant ones. “The soft­ware worked just the way it should have,” Hamil­ton says in the Christie’s video on the inci­dent above, describ­ing what she felt after­ward as “a com­bi­na­tion of excite­ment and relief.” Engi­neers of soft­ware, hard­ware, and every­thing else know that feel­ing when they see a com­pli­cat­ed project work — but sure­ly few know it as well as Hamil­ton and her Apol­lo col­lab­o­ra­tors do.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Mar­garet Hamil­ton, Lead Soft­ware Engi­neer of the Apol­lo Project, Stands Next to Her Code That Took Us to the Moon (1969)

How 1940s Film Star Hedy Lamarr Helped Invent the Tech­nol­o­gy Behind Wi-Fi & Blue­tooth Dur­ing WWII

Meet Grace Hop­per, the Pio­neer­ing Com­put­er Sci­en­tist Who Helped Invent COBOL and Build the His­toric Mark I Com­put­er (1906–1992)

How Ada Lovelace, Daugh­ter of Lord Byron, Wrote the First Com­put­er Pro­gram in 1842–a Cen­tu­ry Before the First Com­put­er

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include 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, on Face­book, or on Insta­gram.

What the First Movies Really Looked Like: Discover the IMAX Films of the 1890s

Cin­e­mat­ic leg­end has it that, back in the ear­ly days of motion pic­tures, audi­ences would see a train com­ing toward them on the screen and dive out of the way in a pan­ic. “There turns out to be very lit­tle con­fir­ma­tion of that in the actu­al news­pa­per reports of the time,” says crit­ic and Muse­um of Mod­ern Art film cura­tor Dave Kehr in the video above, “but you can still sense the excite­ment in see­ing these gigan­tic, incred­i­bly sharp, life­like images being pro­ject­ed.” But aren’t they only sharp and life­like by the stan­dards of the late-19th cen­tu­ry dawn of cin­e­ma, an era we film­go­ers of the 21st cen­tu­ry, now used to 4K dig­i­tal pro­jec­tion, imag­ine as one of unre­lieved blur­ri­ness, grain­i­ness, and herky-jerk­i­ness?

By no means. The footage show­cased in this video, a MoMA pro­duc­tion on “the IMAX of the 1890s,” was shot on 68-mil­lime­ter film, a greater size and thus a high­er def­i­n­i­tion than the 35-mil­lime­ter prints most of us have watched in the­aters for most of our lives.

Only the most ambi­tious film­mak­ers, like Paul Thomas Ander­son mak­ing The Mas­ter, have used such large-for­mat films in recent years, but 120 years ago an out­fit like the Bio­graph Com­pa­ny could, in Kehr’s words, “send cam­era crews around the world, as the Lumière Com­pa­ny had,” and what those crews cap­tured would end up in movie the­aters: “Sud­den­ly the world was com­ing to you in ways that peo­ple just could not have imag­ined. That you could go to Europe, that you could meet the crowned heads, that you could go to see ele­phants in India…”

Thanks to the efforts of film archivists and preser­va­tion­ists, a few of whom appear in this video to show and explain just what degra­da­tion befalls these cin­e­mat­ic time cap­sules with­out the kind of work they do, much of this footage still looks and feels remark­ably life­like. “It’s worth return­ing to these images to remind us that movies used to be ana­log,” Kehr says. “They saw things in front of the cam­era in a one-on-one rela­tion­ship. This was the world. It was an image you could trust. It was an image of phys­i­cal sub­stance, of real­i­ty. Nowa­days we tend not to trust images, because we know how eas­i­ly manip­u­lat­ed they are.” We’ve gained an unfath­omable amount of imagery, in terms of both quan­ti­ty and qual­i­ty, in our dig­i­tal age. But as the sheer “onto­log­i­cal impact” of these old 68-mil­lime­ter clips reminds us, even when felt in stream­ing-video repro­duc­tion, our images have lost some­thing as well.

via Aeon

Relat­ed Con­tents:

The Art of Cre­at­ing Spe­cial Effects in Silent Movies: Inge­nu­ity Before the Age of CGI

Enjoy the Great­est Silent Films Ever Made in Our Col­lec­tion of 101 Free Silent Films Online

Hol­ly­wood, Epic Doc­u­men­tary Chron­i­cles the Ear­ly His­to­ry of Cin­e­ma

100 Years of Cin­e­ma: New Doc­u­men­tary Series Explores the His­to­ry of Cin­e­ma by Ana­lyz­ing One Film Per Year, Start­ing in 1915

The His­to­ry of the Movie Cam­era in Four Min­utes: From the Lumiere Broth­ers to Google Glass

How Cin­e­mas Taught Ear­ly Movie-Goers the Rules & Eti­quette for Watch­ing Films (1912): No Whistling, Stand­ing or Wear­ing Big Hats

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include 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, on Face­book, or on Insta­gram.

Why a Cat Always Lands on Its Feet: How a French Scientist Used Photography to Solve the Problem in 1894

In the era of the CATS trail­er and #cat­sofin­sta­gram, it’s easy to for­get that sci­en­tif­ic research is what orig­i­nal­ly con­vinced our feline friends to allow their images to be cap­tured and dis­sem­i­nat­ed.

An anony­mous white French pussy took one for the team in 1894, when scientist/inventor Éti­enne-Jules Marey dropped it from an unspec­i­fied height in the Bois de Boulogne, film­ing its descent at 12 frames per sec­ond.

Ulti­mate­ly, this brave and like­ly unsus­pect­ing spec­i­men fur­thered the cause of space explo­ration, though it took over 50 years for NASA-backed researchers T.R. Kane and M.P. Sch­er to pub­lish their find­ings in a paper titled “A Dynam­i­cal Expla­na­tion of the Falling Cat Phe­nom­e­non.”

As the Vox Dark­room episode above makes clear, Marey’s obses­sion was lofti­er than a fond­ness for Stu­pid Pet Tricks and the mis­chie­vous impulse to drop things off of tall build­ings that moti­vat­ed TV host David Let­ter­man once upon a time.

Marey’s pre­oc­cu­pa­tion with the mechan­ics of organ­ic loco­mo­tion extend­ed to hors­es and humans. It prompt­ed him to invent pho­to­graph­ic tech­niques that pre­fig­ured cin­e­matog­ra­phy, and, more dark­ly, to sub­ject oth­er, less-cat­like crea­tures to dead­falls from sim­i­lar heights.

(Chil­dren and ani­mal rights activists, con­sid­er this your trig­ger warn­ing.)

The white cat sur­vived its ordeal by arch­ing its back mid-air, effec­tive­ly split­ting its body in two to har­ness the iner­tia of its body weight, much like a fig­ure skater con­trol­ling the veloc­i­ty of her spin by the posi­tion of her arms.

Why waste a sin­gle one of your nine lives? Physics is your friend, espe­cial­ly when falling from a great height.

See one of Marey’s pio­neer­ing falling cat chronopho­tographs below.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Thomas Edison’s Box­ing Cats (1894), or Where the LOL­Cats All Began

An Ani­mat­ed His­to­ry of Cats: How Over 10,000 Years the Cat Went from Wild Preda­tor to Sofa Side­kick

Explo­sive Cats Imag­ined in a Strange, 16th Cen­tu­ry Mil­i­tary Man­u­al

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is an author, illus­tra­tor, the­ater mak­er and Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inkyzine.  Join her in NYC on Mon­day, Sep­tem­ber 9 for anoth­er sea­son of her book-based vari­ety show, Necro­mancers of the Pub­lic Domain. Fol­low her @AyunHalliday.

The Library of Congress Digitizes Over 16,000 Pages of Letters & Speeches from the Women’s Suffrage Movement, and You Can Help Transcribe Them

“Democ­ra­cy may not exist,” Astra Tay­lor declares in the title of her new book, “but we’ll miss it when it’s gone.” This inher­ent para­dox, she argues, is not fatal, but a ten­sion with which each era’s demo­c­ra­t­ic move­ments must wres­tle, in messy strug­gles against inevitable oppo­si­tion. “Per­fect democ­ra­cy… may not in fact exist and nev­er will, but that doesn’t mean we can’t make progress toward it, or that what there is of it can’t dis­ap­pear.”

Tay­lor is upfront about “democracy’s dark his­to­ry, from slav­ery and colo­nial­ism to facil­i­tat­ing the emer­gence of fas­cism.” But she is equal­ly cel­e­bra­to­ry of its successes—moments when those who were denied rights mar­shaled every means at their dis­pos­al, from lob­by­ing cam­paigns to con­fronta­tion­al direct action, to win the vote and bet­ter the lives of mil­lions. For all its imper­fec­tions, the women’s suf­frage move­ment of the 19th and ear­ly 20th cen­tu­ry did just that.

It did so—even before elec­tron­ic mass com­mu­ni­ca­tion systems—by build­ing inter­na­tion­al activist net­works and form­ing nation­al asso­ci­a­tions that took high­ly-vis­i­ble action for decades until the 19th Amend­ment passed in 1920. We can learn how this all came about from the sources them­selves, through the “let­ters, speech­es, news­pa­per arti­cles, per­son­al diaries, and oth­er mate­ri­als from famed suf­frag­ists like Susan B. Antho­ny and Eliz­a­beth Cady Stan­ton.”

So reports Men­tal Floss, describ­ing the Library of Con­gress’ dig­i­tal col­lec­tion of suf­frag­ist papers, which includes dozens of famous and less famous activist voic­es. In one exam­ple of both inter­na­tion­al coop­er­a­tion and inter­na­tion­al ten­sion, Car­rie Chap­man Catt, Anthony’s suc­ces­sor (see a pub­lished excerpt of one of her speech­es below), describes her expe­ri­ence at the Con­gress of the Inter­na­tion­al Woman Suf­frage Alliance in Rome. “A more unpromis­ing place for a Con­gress I nev­er saw,” she wrote, dis­mayed. Maybe despite her­self she reveals that the dif­fer­ences might have been cul­tur­al: “The Ital­ian women could not com­pre­hend our dis­ap­proval.”

The frac­tious, often dis­ap­point­ing, rela­tion­ships between the larg­er inter­na­tion­al women’s suf­frage move­ment, the African Amer­i­can women’s suf­frage move­ment, and most­ly male Civ­il Rights lead­ers in the U.S. are rep­re­sent­ed by the diaries. let­ters, note­books, and speech­es of Mary Church Ter­rell, “a founder of the Nation­al Asso­ci­a­tion of Col­ored Women. These doc­u­ments shed light on minori­ties’ labo­ri­ous suf­frage strug­gles and her own deal­ings with Civ­il Rights fig­ures like W.E.B. Du Bois.” (Ter­rell became an activist in 1892 and lived to fight against Jim Crow seg­re­ga­tion in the ear­ly 1950s.)

The col­lec­tion includes “some 16,000 his­toric papers relat­ed to the women’s rights move­ment alone.” All of them have been dig­i­tal­ly scanned, and if you’re eager to dig into this for­mi­da­ble archive, you’re in luck. The Library of Con­gress is ask­ing for help tran­scrib­ing so that every­one can read these pri­ma­ry sources of demo­c­ra­t­ic his­to­ry. So far, reports Smith­son­ian, over 4200 doc­u­ments have been tran­scribed, as part of a larg­er, crowd­sourced project called By the Peo­ple, which has pre­vi­ous­ly tran­scribed papers from Abra­ham Lin­coln, Clara Bar­ton, Walt Whit­man, and oth­ers.

Rather than focus­ing on an indi­vid­ual, this project is inclu­sive of what is arguably the main engine of democ­ra­cy: large-scale social movements—paradoxically the most demo­c­ra­t­ic means of claim­ing indi­vid­ual rights. Enter the impres­sive dig­i­tal col­lec­tion “Suf­frage: Women Fight for the Vote” here, and, if you’re moved by civic duty or schol­ar­ly curios­i­ty, sign up to tran­scribe.

via Men­tal Floss

Relat­ed Con­tent:  

The Women’s Suf­frage March of 1913: The Parade That Over­shad­owed Anoth­er Pres­i­den­tial Inau­gu­ra­tion a Cen­tu­ry Ago

Odd Vin­tage Post­cards Doc­u­ment the Pro­pa­gan­da Against Women’s Rights 100 Years Ago

The Library of Con­gress Makes Thou­sands of Fab­u­lous Pho­tos, Posters & Images Free to Use & Reuse

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

How Ladies & Gentlemen Got Dressed in the 18th Century: It Was a Pretty Involved Process

We can iden­ti­fy most of the last few cen­turies by their styles of clothes. But it’s one thing to know what peo­ple wore in his­to­ry and quite anoth­er to know how, exact­ly, they wore it. We’ve pre­vi­ous­ly fea­tured videos that accu­rate­ly re-enact the whole process of of how sol­diers and nurs­es dressed in World War I, and how women got dressed in the four­teenth and eigh­teenth cen­turies. Today we go back again to the eigh­teenth cen­tu­ry with two videos from Nation­al Muse­ums Liv­er­pool, one that shows us how Euro­pean gen­tle­men got dressed in those days, and anoth­er that shows us how ladies did.

One obvi­ous way in which dress­ing points to changes over the past few hun­dred years: both the gen­tle­man and the lady require the assis­tance of a ser­vant. The gen­tle­man begins his day wear­ing his long linen night­shirt and a wrap­per over it, Japan- and India-inspired gar­ments, the nar­ra­tor tells us, that “reflect British inter­ests abroad.”

To replace them comes first a volu­mi­nous, usu­al­ly ruf­fled shirt; over-the-knee stock­ings held in place with breech knee­bands; occa­sion-appro­pri­ate shoe buck­les and cuf­flinks; option­al linen under­draw­ers; many-but­toned and buck­led knee breech­es; a waist­coat (whose top few but­tons remain open to reveal the shirt’s ruf­fles); a linen cra­vat; a buck­led stock; a coat on top of the waist­coat; and of course, a fresh­ly-dust­ed wig.

Get­ting clothes on for a day in the eigh­teenth cen­tu­ry was even more com­pli­cat­ed for ladies than for gen­tle­men, as evi­denced by the fact that its video requires two addi­tion­al min­utes to show every step involved. We begin with the shift, an under­gar­ment worn with­out knick­ers. Like the gen­tle­man, the lady wears over-the-knee stock­ings, but she ties them with rib­bon garters (at least for days not involv­ing much danc­ing). Over that, “a knee-length white linen pet­ti­coat worn for warmth and mod­esty,” and over that, a stay made using whale baleen. Pock­ets were added in the form of bags worn at the hips, but bags known to get lost if their ties came undone — hence the nurs­ery rhyme “Lucy Lock­et lost her pock­et.”

Prop­er eigh­teenth-cen­tu­ry female dress also required pet­ti­coats of var­i­ous kinds, a ker­chief, a stom­ach­er (often high­ly dec­o­rat­ed), more pet­ti­coats, a gown, a linen apron (with a bib pinned into posi­tion, hence “pinafore”), a day cap, and then anoth­er apron that “serves no pur­pose oth­er than to indi­cate the fine sta­tus of the indi­vid­ual wear­ing it.” Con­spic­u­ous con­sump­tion mat­tered even back then, but so did the painstak­ing cre­ation of the ide­al female fig­ure, or at least the impres­sion there­of. Not only do these videos show us just the kind of cloth­ing that would have been worn for that pur­pose and how it would have been put on, they also show us high­ly plau­si­ble atti­tudes pro­ject­ed by dressed and dress­er alike: the for­mer one of faint­ly bored expec­ta­tion, and the lat­ter one of resigned indus­tri­ous­ness tinged with the sus­pi­cion that all this can’t last for­ev­er.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Get­ting Dressed Dur­ing World War I: A Fas­ci­nat­ing Look at How Sol­diers, Nurs­ers & Oth­ers Dressed Dur­ing the Great War

How Women Got Dressed in the 14th & 18th Cen­turies: Watch the Very Painstak­ing Process Get Cin­e­mat­i­cal­ly Recre­at­ed

The Sights & Sounds of 18th Cen­tu­ry Paris Get Recre­at­ed with 3D Audio and Ani­ma­tion

The Dress­er: The Con­trap­tion That Makes Get­ting Dressed an Adven­ture

How to Make and Wear Medieval Armor: An In-Depth Primer

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include 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, on Face­book, or on Insta­gram.

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