Göbekli Tepe: The 12,000-Year-Old Ruins That Rewrite the Story of Civilization

We did­n’t have civ­i­liza­tion until we had cities, and we did­n’t have cities until we had agri­cul­ture. So, at least, goes a wide­ly accept­ed nar­ra­tive in “big his­to­ry” — a nar­ra­tive some­what trou­bled by the dis­cov­ery of ruins on Göbek­li Tepe, or “Pot­bel­ly Hill,” in south­east­ern Turkey. Appar­ent­ly inhab­it­ed from around 9500 to 8000 BC, the ancient set­tle­ment pre­dates the Pyra­mids of Giza by near­ly 8,000 years, and Stone­henge by about 6,000 years. Though it was once believed to be a site used for rit­u­al pur­pos­es only, lat­er research unearthed evi­dence that sug­gests it was host to a vari­ety of activ­i­ties we asso­ciate with urban civ­i­liza­tion, rather than what we usu­al­ly think of hunter-gath­er­er sites. Does it amount to rea­son enough to revise our very under­stand­ing of the his­to­ry of human­i­ty?

“Like Stone­henge, Göbek­li Tepe’s struc­ture includes cir­cles of T‑shaped lime­stone pil­lars, many of them fea­tur­ing etch­ings of ani­mals,” says YouTu­ber Joe Scott in the video above. These pil­lars are arranged into enclo­sures, which togeth­er con­sti­tute a site that “fea­tures archae­o­log­i­cal com­plex­i­ty that prob­a­bly would have been too advanced for hunter-gath­er­ers.”

Klaus Schmidt, the archae­ol­o­gist who led the exca­va­tions at Göbek­li Tepe between 1996 and 2014, believed that it was “a sanc­tu­ary and maybe a region­al pil­grim­age cen­ter where peo­ple gath­ered to per­form reli­gious rites.” But since his death, evi­dence of hous­es, a cis­tern, and grain-pro­cess­ing tools has turned up, indi­cat­ing “a ful­ly fledged set­tle­ment with per­ma­nent occu­pa­tion” well before the advent of farm­ing. This find­ing indi­cates that social and tech­no­log­i­cal inno­va­tions asso­ci­at­ed with ‘civ­i­liza­tion’ may have emerged long before the advent of agri­cul­ture, cities, or domes­ti­cat­ed ani­mals — under con­di­tions very dif­fer­ent from what his­to­ri­ans had pre­vi­ous­ly assumed. But as to the rea­son it was all built in the first place, this new infor­ma­tion has led to more ques­tions than answers.

One less than gen­er­al­ly accept­ed the­o­ry holds that Göbek­li Tepe was an astro­nom­i­cal obser­va­to­ry, and per­haps also a memo­r­i­al to a dev­as­tat­ing comet strike that occurred 13,000 years ago. Maybe it was “a last-ditch effort by a hunter-gath­er­er soci­ety to hang on to their van­ish­ing lifestyle as the world was tran­si­tion­ing to farm­ing.” That could have been the first large-scale tech­no­log­i­cal rev­o­lu­tion in human his­to­ry, but it cer­tain­ly would­n’t be the last, and as we here in the twen­ty-first cen­tu­ry con­sid­er the ruins of Göbek­li Tepe — most of which still have yet to be exca­vat­ed — we nat­u­ral­ly find our­selves think­ing about the long-term sur­vival prospects of our own civ­i­liza­tion. But the more recent dis­cov­ery else­where in Turkey of oth­er, even old­er ruins with a dis­tinct­ly urban struc­ture may also make us feel that our way of life isn’t quite as mod­ern as we’d imag­ined.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Explore the Ruins of Tim­gad, the “African Pom­peii” Exca­vat­ed from the Sands of Alge­ria

Watch Ancient Ruins Get Restored to their Glo­ri­ous Orig­i­nal State with Ani­mat­ed GIFs: The Tem­ple of Jupiter, Lux­or Tem­ple & More

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

How Civ­i­liza­tions Built on Top of Each Oth­er: Dis­cov­er What Lies Beneath Rome, Troy & Oth­er Cities

A Cul­tur­al Tour of Istan­bul, Where the Art and His­to­ry of Three Great Empires Come Togeth­er

Archae­ol­o­gists Dis­cov­er a 2,400-Year-Old Skele­ton Mosa­ic That Urges Peo­ple to “Be Cheer­ful and Live Your Life”

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

The Earliest Known Customer Complaint Was Made 3,800 Years Ago: Read the Rant on an Ancient Babylonian Tablet

Image via Wiki­me­dia Com­mons

The site Fast Com­pa­ny pub­lished an arti­cle that describes the “Com­plaint Restraint project,” an ini­tia­tive that aims to cre­ate a “pos­i­tive life by elim­i­nat­ing neg­a­tive state­ments.” It’s an admirable goal. Though most of us have a per­verse love of wal­low­ing in our misery—a human trait ampli­fied a thou­sand­fold by the internet—complaining rarely makes things any bet­ter. As in the Buddha’s para­ble of the “sec­ond arrow,” our grip­ing can make our suf­fer­ings dou­bly painful; as in the para­ble of the “poi­soned arrow,” it can post­pone or sub­sti­tute for the con­struc­tive actions we need to take in order to heal or improve our con­di­tion.

But it would be a mis­take to think that com­plain­ing is some­how a recent phe­nom­e­non, though we may hear more of it every day, all the time, from every quar­ter of the globe. The Bud­dhist arrow sto­ries are, after all, at least a cou­ple thou­sand years old; lamen­ta­tion more or less con­sti­tutes its own genre in Bib­li­cal lit­er­a­ture.

Even old­er still than these reli­gious sources is the first doc­u­ment­ed cus­tomer ser­vice com­plaint, a spe­cif­ic vari­ety of com­plain­ing that we might be for­giv­en for asso­ci­at­ing main­ly with a mod­ern, con­sumerist age—and one of the few kinds of com­plaints that can gen­er­ate pos­i­tive results.

Absent a Yelp app, the ancient Baby­lon­ian con­sumer in this case inscribed his com­plaint on a clay tablet—which now resides at the British Muse­um—some­time around 1750 B.C. The irate pur­chas­er here, Nan­ni, writ­ing to some­one named Ea-nasir, received a ship­ment of cop­per ore of an infe­ri­or grade, after some annoy­ing delay and in a dam­aged con­di­tion. In the trans­la­tion below from Assyri­ol­o­gist A. Leo Oppen­heim, Nan­ni vents his spleen.

Tell Ea-nasir: Nan­ni sends the fol­low­ing mes­sage:

When you came, you said to me as fol­lows : “I will give Gim­il-Sin (when he comes) fine qual­i­ty cop­per ingots.” You left then but you did not do what you promised me. You put ingots which were not good before my mes­sen­ger (Sit-Sin) and said: “If you want to take them, take them; if you do not want to take them, go away!”

What do you take me for, that you treat some­body like me with such con­tempt? I have sent as mes­sen­gers gen­tle­men like our­selves to col­lect the bag with my mon­ey (deposit­ed with you) but you have treat­ed me with con­tempt by send­ing them back to me emp­ty-hand­ed sev­er­al times, and that through ene­my ter­ri­to­ry. Is there any­one among the mer­chants who trade with Tel­mun who has treat­ed me in this way? You alone treat my mes­sen­ger with con­tempt! On account of that one (tri­fling) mina of sil­ver which I owe(?) you, you feel free to speak in such a way, while I have giv­en to the palace on your behalf 1,080 pounds of cop­per, and umi-abum has like­wise giv­en 1,080 pounds of cop­per, apart from what we both have had writ­ten on a sealed tablet to be kept in the tem­ple of Samas.

How have you treat­ed me for that cop­per? You have with­held my mon­ey bag from me in ene­my ter­ri­to­ry; it is now up to you to restore (my mon­ey) to me in full.

Take cog­nizance that (from now on) I will not accept here any cop­per from you that is not of fine qual­i­ty. I shall (from now on) select and take the ingots indi­vid­u­al­ly in my own yard, and I shall exer­cise against you my right of rejec­tion because you have treat­ed me with con­tempt.

It does seem that Nan­ni maybe took this poor ser­vice a lit­tle too per­son­al­ly. In any case, let’s hope he received some sat­is­fac­tion for the trou­ble it must have tak­en to inscribe this angry mes­sage.

Note: An ear­li­er ver­sion of this post appeared on our site in 2015.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Mark Twain Drafts the Ulti­mate Let­ter of Com­plaint (1905)

Hunter S. Thomp­son Calls Tech Sup­port, Unleash­es a Tirade Full of Fear and Loathing (NSFW)

Behold the Old­est Writ­ten Text in the World: The Kish Tablet, Cir­ca 3500 BC

Hear the Old­est Song in the World: A Sumer­ian Hymn Writ­ten 3,400 Years Ago

How to Write in Cuneiform, the Old­est Writ­ing Sys­tem in the World: A Short Intro­duc­tion

Hear the Ear­li­est Record­ed Cus­tomer Com­plaint Let­ter: From Ancient Sume­ria 1750 BC

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

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Was the Baghdad Battery Actually a Battery?: An Archaeologist Demystifies the 2,000-Year-Old Artifact

Image by Ironie, via Wiki­me­dia Com­mons

The aver­age Open Cul­ture read­er may well be aware that there is such a thing as Archae­ol­o­gy YouTube. What could come as more of a sur­prise is how much back-and-forth there is with­in that world. Below, we have a video from the chan­nel Arti­fac­tu­al­ly Speak­ing in which Brad Haf­ford, a Uni­ver­si­ty of Penn­syl­va­nia archae­ol­o­gist, gives his take on the so-called Bagh­dad Bat­tery, an ancient arti­fact dis­cov­ered in mod­ern-day Iraq. He does so in the form of a response to an ear­li­er video on the Bagh­dad Bat­tery from anoth­er chan­nel host­ed by a young archae­ol­o­gy edu­ca­tor called Milo Rossi. At some points Haf­ford agrees, and at oth­ers he has cor­rec­tions to make, but sure­ly both YouTu­bers can agree on the fas­ci­na­tion of the object in ques­tion. After all: an ancient bat­tery?

Even those of us with­out any par­tic­u­lar invest­ment in archae­ol­o­gy may find our curios­i­ty piqued by the notion that some long-van­ished civ­i­liza­tion had man­aged to har­ness elec­tric­i­ty. The name Bagh­dad Bat­tery was grant­ed in the first place by Wil­helm König, who was the direc­tor of the lab­o­ra­to­ry of the Nation­al Muse­um of Iraq in the nine­teen-thir­ties, when the object was orig­i­nal­ly dis­cov­ered.

Giv­en that it con­sist­ed of not just a ceram­ic pot but also a cop­per tube and an iron rod, all attached to one anoth­er with bitu­men (a sub­stance present in crude oil used today in asphalt), the idea of its being used for pow­er stor­age was log­i­cal, in its way, if also fan­tas­ti­cal­ly anachro­nis­tic. Not that König sug­gest­ed the Bagh­dad Bat­tery was used to pow­er, say, a grid of street­lights; rather, he sup­posed that it could have been involved in some kind of elec­tro­plat­ing sys­tem.

Unfor­tu­nate­ly for König’s hypoth­e­sis, none of the oth­er gild­ed arti­facts recov­ered from ancient Iraq, no mat­ter how fine their craft, were actu­al­ly elec­tro­plat­ed. More prac­ti­cal­ly speak­ing, the Bagh­dad Bat­tery has no means of con­nec­tion to a cir­cuit, a neces­si­ty to charge it up in the first place. As of now, the pro­fes­sion­al con­sen­sus holds that it must have been cer­e­mo­ni­al: a default, as Rossi frames it, when­ev­er archae­ol­o­gists throw up their hands at a lack of dis­pos­i­tive evi­dence about an arti­fac­t’s orig­i­nal pur­pose. Though Haf­ford acknowl­edges that ten­den­cy, he also lays out the rea­sons he believes the mys­ter­ies don’t go quite as deep as pop­u­lar­iz­ers tend to assume. Like any good YouTu­ber, archae­o­log­i­cal or oth­er­wise, Rossi respond­ed with anoth­er video of his own, in which he address­es Haf­ford’s crit­i­cisms, and also keeps the Bagh­dad Bat­tery — as well as its new­ly cre­at­ed name­sake cock­tail — fir­ing up our imag­i­na­tions a lit­tle longer.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Behold the Old­est Writ­ten Text in the World: The Kish Tablet, Cir­ca 3500 BC

20 New Lines from The Epic of Gil­gamesh Dis­cov­ered in Iraq, Adding New Details to the Sto­ry

How the Ancient Greeks Invent­ed the First Com­put­er: An Intro­duc­tion to the Antikythera Mech­a­nism (Cir­ca 87 BC)

The Advanced Tech­nol­o­gy of Ancient Rome: Auto­mat­ic Doors, Water Clocks, Vend­ing Machines & More

A Visu­al­iza­tion of the His­to­ry of Tech­nol­o­gy: 1,889 Inno­va­tions Across Three Mil­lion Years

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

See What the Original Mona Lisa Likely Looked Like

If you want to see the Mona Lisa in real life, your first thought may not be to head to the Pra­do. But accord­ing to a school of thought that has emerged in recent years, the Mona Lisa in Madrid has a greater claim to artis­tic faith­ful­ness than the one in Paris. That’s because researchers have dis­cov­ered com­pelling evi­dence sug­gest­ing that what was long con­sid­ered just anoth­er copy of the most famous paint­ing in the world was­n’t made after Leonar­do had com­plet­ed the orig­i­nal, but con­cur­rent­ly with the orig­i­nal, prob­a­bly by one of his stu­dents. Over half a mil­len­ni­um, in this view, the Prado’s Mona Lisa has retained the col­ors and details the Lou­vre’s has lost, result­ing in its preser­va­tion of Leonar­do’s inten­tions today.

Infrared pho­tog­ra­phy has even revealed, says the nar­ra­tor of the new Inspi­rag­gio video above, that both paint­ings “share the same changes in the orig­i­nal sketch. For years, it has been known that Leonar­do made small cor­rec­tions to the shape of the Mona Lisa’s hands, adjust­ments to the line of the eyes, and sub­tle mod­i­fi­ca­tions to the curve of the face,” the very same cor­rec­tions that were found in the new­ly exam­ined copy.

Unlike oth­er copies, the Prado’s ver­sion uses “incred­i­bly expen­sive pig­ments” such as lapis lazuli—imported from Afghanistan—for the sky. This only became evi­dent dur­ing the 2012 restora­tion, when the back­ground, long hid­den under a thick lay­er of black, was final­ly uncov­ered.

There­after, the Pra­do Mona Lisa was exhib­it­ed along­side the Mona Lisa at the Lou­vre in a tem­po­rary exhi­bi­tion. This gave the pub­lic the chance to see both how sim­i­lar they look, and how dif­fer­ent. Though unde­ni­ably La Gio­con­da, the copy does­n’t seem quite “right,” in large part because it has­n’t dete­ri­o­rat­ed in the man­ner or to the degree of the orig­i­nal. Leonar­do paint­ed it on a poplar wood pan­el that has giv­en way to count­less small cracks, and the lay­ers of yel­low var­nish added over the cen­turies have dark­ened to give the whole image a sepia tone. The result, of course, is the tex­ture and col­or­ing we’ve come to asso­ciate with the Mona Lisa by cease­less expo­sure to her in pop­u­lar cul­ture, even if we’ve nev­er seen any ver­sion hang­ing in any muse­um. If the Prado’s copy real­ly does reflect Leonar­do’s orig­i­nal artis­tic choic­es, we can put at least one hot­ly debat­ed mat­ter to rest: the lady real­ly did have eye­brows.

Relat­ed con­tent:

What Makes Leonardo’s Mona Lisa a Great Paint­ing?: An Expla­na­tion in 15 Min­utes

Did Leonar­do da Vin­ci Paint a First Mona Lisa Before the Mona Lisa?

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

Orig­i­nal Por­trait of the Mona Lisa Found Beneath the Paint Lay­ers of da Vinci’s Mas­ter­piece

An Immac­u­late Copy of Leonardo’s The Last Sup­per Dig­i­tized by Google: View It in High Res­o­lu­tion Online

A Chi­nese Painter Spe­cial­iz­ing in Copy­ing Van Gogh Paint­ings Trav­els to Ams­ter­dam & Sees Van Gogh’s Mas­ter­pieces for the First Time

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

“The Matilda Effect”: How Pioneering Women Scientists Have Been Written Out of Science History

Pho­to via Wiki­me­dia Com­mons

The his­to­ry of sci­ence, like most every his­to­ry we learn, comes to us as a pro­ces­sion of great, almost exclu­sive­ly white, men, unbro­ken but for the occa­sion­al token woman—well-deserving of her hon­ors but seem­ing­ly anom­alous nonethe­less. “If you believe the his­to­ry books,” notes the Time­line series The Matil­da Effect, “sci­ence is a guy thing. Dis­cov­er­ies are made by men, which spur fur­ther inno­va­tion by men, fol­lowed by acclaim and prizes for men. But too often, there is an unsung woman genius who deserves just as much cred­it” and who has been over­shad­owed by male col­leagues who grabbed the glo­ry.

In 1993, Cor­nell Uni­ver­si­ty his­to­ri­an of sci­ence Mar­garet Rossiter dubbed the denial of recog­ni­tion to women sci­en­tists “the Matil­da effect,” for suf­frag­ist and abo­li­tion­ist Matil­da Joslyn Gage, whose 1893 essay “Woman as an Inven­tor” protest­ed the com­mon asser­tion that “woman… pos­sess­es no inven­tive or mechan­i­cal genius.” Such asser­tions, Gage pro­ceed­ed to demon­strate, “are care­less­ly or igno­rant­ly made… although woman’s sci­en­tif­ic edu­ca­tion has been gross­ly neglect­ed, yet some of the most impor­tant inven­tions of the world are due to her.”

Over 100 years lat­er, Rossiter’s tena­cious work in unearthing the con­tri­bu­tions of U.S. women sci­en­tists inspired the His­to­ry of Sci­ence Soci­ety to name a pres­ti­gious prize after her. The Time­line series pro­files a few of the women whom it describes as prime exam­ples of the Matil­da effect, includ­ing Dr. Lise Meit­ner, the Aus­tri­an-born physi­cist and pio­neer of nuclear tech­nol­o­gy who escaped the Nazis and became known in her time as “the Jew­ish Moth­er of the Bomb,” though she had noth­ing to do with the atom­ic bomb. Instead, “Meit­ner led the research that ulti­mate­ly dis­cov­ered nuclear fis­sion.” But Meit­ner would become “lit­tle more than a foot­note in the his­to­ry of Nazi sci­en­tists and the birth of the Atom­ic age.”

Instead, Meitner’s col­league Otto Hahn received the acco­lades, a Nobel Prize in Chem­istry and “renown as the dis­cov­er­er of nuclear fis­sion. Meit­ner, who direct­ed Hahn’s most sig­nif­i­cant exper­i­ments and cal­cu­lat­ed the ener­gy release result­ing from fis­sion, received a few essen­tial­ist head­lines fol­lowed by decades of obscu­ri­ty.” (See Meit­ner and Hahn in the pho­to above.) Like­wise, the name of Alice Augus­ta Ball has been “all but scrubbed from the his­to­ry of med­i­cine,” though it was Ball, an African Amer­i­can chemist from Seat­tle, Wash­ing­ton, who pio­neered what became known as the Dean Method, a rev­o­lu­tion­ary treat­ment for lep­rosy.

Ball con­duct­ed her research at the Uni­ver­si­ty of Hawaii, but she trag­i­cal­ly died at the age of 24, in what was like­ly a lab acci­dent, before the results could be pub­lished. Instead, Uni­ver­si­ty Pres­i­dent Dr. Arthur Dean, who had co-taught chem­istry class­es with Ball, con­tin­ued her work. But he failed “to men­tion Ball’s key con­tri­bu­tion” despite protes­ta­tions from Dr. Har­ry Holl­mann, a sur­geon who worked with Ball on treat­ing lep­rosy patients. Dean claimed cred­it and pub­lished their work under his name. Decades lat­er, “the scant archival trail of Alice Ball was redis­cov­ered…. In 2000, a plaque was installed at the Uni­ver­si­ty of Hawaii com­mem­o­rat­ing Ball’s accom­plish­ments.”

Oth­er women in the Matil­da effect series include bac­te­r­i­al geneti­cist Esther Leder­berg, who made amaz­ing dis­cov­er­ies in genet­ics that won her hus­band a Nobel Prize; Irish astro­physi­cist Joce­lyn Bell Bur­nell, who dis­cov­ered the first radio pul­sars in 1967, but was exclud­ed from the Nobel award­ed to her the­sis super­vi­sor Antony Hewish and astronomer Mar­tin Ryle. A sim­i­lar fate befell Dr. Ros­alind Franklin, the chemist exclud­ed from the Nobel award­ed to her col­leagues James Wat­son, Fran­cis Crick, and Mau­rice Wilkins for the dis­cov­ery of DNA.

These promi­nent exam­ples are but the tip of the ice­berg when it comes to women who made sig­nif­i­cant con­tri­bu­tions to sci­en­tif­ic his­to­ry and were reward­ed by being writ­ten out of it and denied awards and recog­ni­tion in their life­time. For more on the his­to­ry of U.S. women in sci­ence and the social forces that worked to exclude them, see Mar­garet Rossiter’s three-vol­ume Women Sci­en­tists in Amer­i­ca series: Strug­gles and Strate­gies to 1940, Before Affir­ma­tive Action, 1940–1972, and Forg­ing a New World since 1972. And read Timeline’s Matil­da Effect series of arti­cles here.

Note: An ear­li­er ver­sion of this post appeared on our site in 2018.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Read the “Don’t Let the Bas­tards Get You Down” Let­ter That Albert Ein­stein Sent to Marie Curie Dur­ing a Time of Per­son­al Cri­sis (1911)

Women Sci­en­tists Launch a Data­base Fea­tur­ing the Work of 9,000 Women Work­ing in the Sci­ences

Marie Curie Attend­ed a Secret, Under­ground “Fly­ing Uni­ver­si­ty” When Women Were Banned from Pol­ish Uni­ver­si­ties

The Ency­clo­pe­dia of Women Philoso­phers: A New Web Site Presents the Con­tri­bu­tions of Women Philoso­phers, from Ancient to Mod­ern

Meet the Physi­cist Who Has Cre­at­ed 1600+ Wikipedia Entries for Impor­tant Female & Minor­i­ty Sci­en­tists

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

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The Gnostic Gospels: An Introduction to the Forbidden Teachings of Jesus

It would be impos­si­ble to under­stand West­ern civ­i­liza­tion with­out under­stand­ing the his­to­ry of Chris­tian­i­ty. But in order to do that, it may serve us well to think of it as the his­to­ry of Chris­tian­i­ties, plur­al. So sug­gests Hochela­ga cre­ator Tom­mie Trelawny in the new video above, which explains the Gnos­tic Gospels, the “for­bid­den teach­ings of Jesus.” As a sys­tem of beliefs, Gnos­ti­cism is a fair­ly far cry from the main­stream forms of Chris­tian­i­ty with which most of us are famil­iar today. But its sur­viv­ing texts may sound uncan­ni­ly famil­iar, despite also involv­ing out­landish-sound­ing ele­ments that seem to belong to anoth­er civ­i­liza­tion entire­ly. Gnos­tic teach­ings have long been con­sid­ered heresy by Chris­tians, but do they real­ly rep­re­sent just a dif­fer­ent evo­lu­tion­ary branch of the faith: anoth­er Chris­tian­i­ty?

Reli­gious schol­ars of many stripes have con­cerned them­selves with few mat­ters as inten­sive­ly as they have with theod­i­cy, that is, the mat­ter of how to square the notion of a good, omnipo­tent deity with the obvi­ous exis­tence of evil down here in the world. Since its loose coali­tion of beliefs came togeth­er in the late first cen­tu­ry, Gnos­ti­cism has pro­posed an ele­gant solu­tion: that the deity is not, in fact, good, or rather, that under the tran­scen­dent, unknow­able God is a much more poor­ly behaved “demi­urge” who dis­plays an indif­fer­ence, at best, to the lot of human­i­ty. In this view, our result­ing world is less a per­fect cre­ation than a cos­mic mis­take — a propo­si­tion that would account for cer­tain of its qual­i­ties we expe­ri­ence on the day-to-day lev­el, even if we have no par­tic­u­lar reli­gious pro­cliv­i­ties.

Thanks to the dis­cov­ery of Egyp­t’s Nag Ham­ma­di library in 1945, we can direct­ly access many of the teach­ings of the so-called “Gnos­tic Gospels.” They tell us, to make a few grand sim­pli­fi­ca­tions, that our real­i­ty is illu­so­ry and that we can only come to grasp the true nature of both it and our­selves through eso­teric learn­ing, gno­sis being the ancient Greek term for knowl­edge. This world­view may bring to mind that of cer­tain Greek philoso­phers, or indeed that of The Matrix, a near-oblig­a­tory ref­er­ence for a video like this. A quar­ter-cen­tu­ry on from that movie, it’s not hard to under­stand why it res­onat­ed with the siz­able-enough pro­por­tion of human­i­ty who feel alien­at­ed from who they real­ly are or what the world real­ly is — and who, any mil­len­ni­um now, would make rea­son­ably promis­ing can­di­dates to bring about a Gnos­tic revival.

Relat­ed con­tent:

3,500 Occult Man­u­scripts Will Be Dig­i­tized & Made Freely Avail­able Online, Thanks to The Da Vin­ci Code Author Dan Brown

Behold the Codex Gigas (aka “Devil’s Bible”), the Largest Medieval Man­u­script in the World

The Phi­los­o­phy of The Matrix: From Pla­to and Descartes, to East­ern Phi­los­o­phy

The Ancient Greeks Who Con­vert­ed to Bud­dhism

Dis­cov­er Thomas Jefferson’s Cut-and-Paste Ver­sion of the Bible, and Read the Curi­ous Edi­tion Online

How Our Depic­tion of Jesus Changed Over 2,000 Years and What He May Have Actu­al­ly Looked Like

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

Did Tintin Creator Hergé Collaborate with the Nazis? A Historical Investigation

The Adven­tures of Tintin may be a chil­dren’s com­ic series from mid-twen­ti­eth-cen­tu­ry Europe, but its appeal has long since tran­scend­ed the bound­aries of form, cul­ture, and gen­er­a­tion. In fact, many if not most seri­ous­ly ded­i­cat­ed fans of Tintin are in mid­dle age and beyond, and few of them can have avoid­ed ever con­sid­er­ing the ques­tion of his cre­ator’s activ­i­ties dur­ing the Sec­ond World War. Georges Remi, known by the nom de plume Hergéwas born to a low­er-mid­dle-class fam­i­ly in a Brus­sels sub­urb in 1907: utter­ly mun­dane begin­nings, per­haps, but ones that would lead to what the apoc­ryphal ancient Chi­nese curse calls inter­est­ing times, even for a young man whose inter­ests did­n’t run far past scout­ing and draw­ing.

After serv­ing in the Bel­gian army, explains his­to­ry YouTu­ber Mark Fel­ton in his new video above, Remi was hired by the con­ser­v­a­tive Catholic paper Le Vingtième Siè­cle to draw comics for its chil­dren’s sup­ple­ment Le Petit Vingtième. It was there that he became Hergé and cre­at­ed the boy reporter Tintin, whom the paper’s edi­tor asked to be sent to a fic­tion­al­ized Sovi­et Union in order to expose the evils of the Bol­she­viks. Pop­u­lar­i­ty came imme­di­ate­ly, and built up to the degree that an actor was hired to put his hair into a quiff and “return” by train to an appre­cia­tive crowd in Brus­sels upon the sto­ry’s con­clu­sion. There fol­lowed the fur­ther adven­tures of Tintin in the Con­go (at the time, a Bel­gian colony) and Tintin in Amer­i­ca, both of which have since come in for a great deal of crit­i­cism for their reliance on stereo­types.

Though very much his own artist, Hergé at this stage let the pol­i­tics of Tintin sto­ries be dic­tat­ed by high­er-ups. Con­ceived in response to Japan’s inva­sion of Manchuria, The Blue Lotus, from 1934, did offer him an oppor­tu­ni­ty to increase the real­ism of his art, ren­der­ing the look and feel of Chi­na as accu­rate­ly as his research could make pos­si­ble; he con­tin­ued to incor­po­rate large amounts of detail from all over the world into The Bro­ken Ear, The Black Island, and King Ottokar’s Scep­tre. Though that last deals with fic­tion­al Euro­pean coun­tries, it also clear­ly sat­i­rizes the inva­sive ten­den­cies of Hitler’s Ger­many — which would come for Hergé’s home­land in 1940, shut­ting down Le Petit Vingtième, putting him out of a job, and even req­ui­si­tion­ing his home.

Even­tu­al­ly, Hergé land­ed on his feet and joined Le Soir, Bel­gium’s largest French-lan­guage news­pa­per. Though he could pub­lish Tintin there, the Nazis had turned it into their ide­o­log­i­cal mouth­piece, a fact that did­n’t reflect well on Hergé after the Allied vic­to­ry. He found him­self black­list­ed and cat­e­go­rized with the thou­sands of Bel­gian col­lab­o­ra­tors who could receive the death penal­ty or life in prison, but an inves­ti­ga­tion into his case found him to be “a blun­der­er rather than a trai­tor” — shades of P. G. Wode­house mak­ing broad­casts about the lighter side of intern­ment for the Gestapo. His good stand­ing as a cit­i­zen and artist was even­tu­al­ly restored, though even today, his wartime activ­i­ties are occa­sion­al­ly called into ques­tion. Still, he was able to con­tin­ue Tintin’s adven­tures until he died in 1983, engag­ing in only the kind of col­lab­o­ra­tion he could do with his staff at Stu­dios Hergé.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Hergé Draws Tintin in Vin­tage Footage (and What Explains the Character’s Endur­ing Appeal)

How Andy Warhol and Tintin Cre­ator Hergé Mutu­al­ly Admired and Influ­enced One Anoth­er

Comics Inspired by Wait­ing for Godot, Fea­tur­ing Tintin, Roz Chast, and Beav­is & Butthead

How Dis­ney Fought Fas­cism with Pro­pa­gan­da Car­toons Dur­ing World War II & Avert­ed Finan­cial Col­lapse

How the Nazis Waged War on Mod­ern Art: Inside the “Degen­er­ate Art” Exhi­bi­tion of 1937

The Nazis’ 10 Con­trol-Freak Rules for Jazz Per­form­ers: A Strange List from World War II

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

Why Do Filmmakers Call The Battle of Algiers the Greatest War Movie Ever?: Watch It Free Online

Paul Thomas Ander­son­’s lat­est film, the loose Thomas Pyn­chon adap­ta­tion One Bat­tle After Anoth­er, serves up many a mem­o­rable scene. But for a cer­tain kind of cinephile, noth­ing — not the ter­ror­ist attacks, not the chas­es, not the swerves into askew com­e­dy — sticks in the mind quite so much as the moment in which Leonar­do diCapri­o’s stoned pro­tag­o­nist tunes in to a broad­cast of Gillo Pon­tecor­vo’s The Bat­tle of Algiers. First released in 1966 (and cur­rent­ly free to watch on YouTube in cer­tain regions), that pic­ture has now been a main­stay of film-stud­ies syl­labi long enough that one for­gets just how much it would have star­tled its ear­li­est view­ers, more than a few of whom had no idea whether they were watch­ing a war movie or gen­uine Alger­ian War news­reel footage.

Some of those view­ers includ­ed major film­mak­ers, not least Stan­ley Kubrick, who lat­er described all films as “false doc­u­men­taries,” and Pon­tecor­vo’s work as an espe­cial­ly impres­sive exam­ple there­of. Antho­ny Frewin, who worked as Kubrick­’s per­son­al assis­tant, remem­bers the direc­tor telling him that “I could­n’t real­ly under­stand what cin­e­ma was capa­ble of with­out see­ing The Bat­tle of Algiers. He was still enthus­ing about it pri­or to his death.”

The new Stu­dioBinder video at the top of the post also includes tes­ti­mo­ni­als from a host of oth­er auteurs includ­ing Wern­er Her­zog, Steven Soder­bergh, Oliv­er Stone, Alfon­so Cuarón, Spike Lee, Mira Nair, and Christo­pher Nolan.

Kathryn Bigelow — who, as the direc­tor of pic­tures like The Hurt Lock­er and Zero Dark Thir­ty, knows some­thing about spin­ning recent mil­i­tary con­flicts into com­pelling, real­is­tic thrillers — pulled The Bat­tle of Algiers from the shelves on her vis­it to the Cri­te­ri­on Col­lec­tion’s clos­et. She calls it “prob­a­bly my favorite movie of all time,” adding that “the metronome of ten­sion is almost insuf­fer­able, but I say that as a com­pli­ment.” A young Roger Ebert, in his con­tem­po­rary review of the film, warned that it “may be a deep­er film expe­ri­ence than many audi­ences can with­stand: too cyn­i­cal, too true, too cru­el and too heart­break­ing. It is about the Alger­ian war, but those not inter­est­ed in Alge­ria may sub­sti­tute anoth­er war.”

Such a “uni­ver­sal frame of ref­er­ence” is also com­mon to the oth­er high­lights of the Ital­ian neo­re­al­ist move­ment, which also include Rober­to Rossellini’s Rome, Open City, Vit­to­rio De Sica’s Bicy­cle Thieves, and Luchi­no Vis­con­ti’s The Earth Trem­bles, with their stark black-and-white cin­e­matog­ra­phy, their real, often still war-torn loca­tions, and their most­ly non-pro­fes­sion­al actors. Despite their ven­er­a­bil­i­ty, these films can remind even us twen­ty-first-cen­tu­ry view­ers who feel as if we’ve seen it all just how much cin­e­mat­ic poten­tial remains untapped. As Paul Thomas Ander­son puts it, “It’s always a good idea to watch The Bat­tle of Algiers again, just as a cin­e­mat­ic exer­cise to get you excit­ed” — no alter­ation of con­scious­ness required before­hand.

Relat­ed con­tent:

Stan­ley Kubrick’s List of Top 10 Films: The First and Only List He Ever Cre­at­ed

Fear and Desire: Stan­ley Kubrick’s First and Least-Seen Fea­ture Film (1953)

How Post­war Ital­ian Cin­e­ma Cre­at­ed La Dolce Vita and Then the Paparazzi

Ani­mat­ed Intro­duc­tions to Edward Said’s Ground­break­ing Book Ori­en­tal­ism

The Film Music of Ennio Mor­ri­cone (RIP) Beau­ti­ful­ly Per­formed by the Dan­ish Nation­al Sym­pho­ny Orches­tra Play: “The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly” & Much More

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

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