A Grad Student Asks Carl Sagan If He Believes in God (1994)

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Most sci­en­tists are pre­pared to answer ques­tions about their research from oth­er mem­bers of their field; rather few­er have equipped them­selves to answer ques­tions from the gen­er­al pub­lic about what Dou­glas Adams called life, the uni­verse, and every­thing. Carl Sagan was one of that minor­i­ty, an expert “sci­ence com­mu­ni­ca­tor” before sci­ence com­mu­ni­ca­tion was rec­og­nized as a field unto itself. In pop­u­lar books and tele­vi­sion pro­duc­tions, most notably Cos­mos and its accom­pa­ny­ing series Cos­mos: A Per­son­al Voy­age, he put him­self out there in the mass media as an enthu­si­as­tic guide to all that was known about the realms beyond our plan­et. More than a few mem­bers of his audi­ence might well have asked them­selves where does God fit into all this.

One such per­son actu­al­ly put that ques­tion to Sagan, at a Q&A ses­sion after the lat­ter’s 1994 “lost lec­ture” at Cor­nell, titled “The Age of Explo­ration.” The ques­tion­er, a grad­u­ate stu­dent, asks, “Is there any type of God to you? Like, is there a pur­pose, giv­en that we’re just sit­ting on this speck in the mid­dle of this sea of stars?”

In response to this dif­fi­cult line of inquiry, Sagan opens a more dif­fi­cult one: “What do you mean when you use the word God?” The stu­dent takes anoth­er tack, ask­ing, “Giv­en all these demo­tions” — defined by Sagan him­self as the con­tin­u­al hum­bling of human­i­ty’s self-image in light of new sci­en­tif­ic dis­cov­er­ies — “why don’t we just blow our­selves up?” Sagan comes back with yet anoth­er ques­tion: “If we do blow our­selves up, does that dis­prove the exis­tence of God?” The stu­dent admits that he guess­es it does not.

The ques­tion even­tu­al­ly gets Sagan con­sid­er­ing how “the word ‘God’ cov­ers an enor­mous range of dif­fer­ent ideas.” That range “runs from an out­sized, light-skinned male with a long white beard, sit­ting in a throne in the sky, busi­ly tal­ly­ing the fall of every spar­row,” for whose exis­tence Sagan knows of no evi­dence, to “the kind of God that Ein­stein or Spin­oza talked about, which is very close to the sum total of the laws of the uni­verse,” and as such, whose exis­tence even Sagan would have to acknowl­edge. There’s also “the deist God that many of the found­ing fathers of this coun­try believed in,” who’s held to have cre­at­ed the uni­verse and then removed him­self from the scene. With such a broad range of pos­si­ble def­i­n­i­tions, the con­cept of God itself becomes use­less except as “social lubri­ca­tion,” a means of seem­ing to “agree with some­one else with whom you do not agree.” Terms of that mal­leable kind do have their advan­tages, if not to the sci­en­tif­ic mind.

Relat­ed con­tent:

Carl Sagan, Stephen Hawk­ing & Arthur C. Clarke Dis­cuss God, the Uni­verse, and Every­thing Else

150 Renowned Sec­u­lar Aca­d­e­mics & 20 Chris­t­ian Thinkers Talk­ing About the Exis­tence of God

Hear Carl Sagan Art­ful­ly Refute a Cre­ation­ist on a Talk Radio Show: “The Dar­win­ian Con­cept of Evo­lu­tion is Pro­found­ly Ver­i­fied”

Bertrand Rus­sell on the Exis­tence of God & the After­life (1959)

Bertrand Rus­sell and F.C. Cople­ston Debate the Exis­tence of God, 1948

What Is Reli­gion Actu­al­ly For?: Isaac Asi­mov and Ray Brad­bury Weigh In

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.

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

Stand­ing atop the Acrop­o­lis in Athens as it has for near­ly 2,500 years now, the Parthenon remains an impres­sive sight indeed. Not that those two and a half mil­len­nia have been kind to the place: one of the most famous ruins of the ancient world is still, after all, a ruin. But it does fire up vis­i­tors’ imag­i­na­tions, fill­ing their heads with visions of how it must have looked back in the fifth cen­tu­ry BC, when it was a func­tion­ing tem­ple and trea­sury. One enthu­si­ast in par­tic­u­lar, an Oxford archae­ol­o­gy pro­fes­sor named Juan de Lara, has spent four years using 3D mod­el­ing tools to cre­ate a 3D dig­i­tal recon­struc­tion of the Parthenon at the height of its glo­ry, of which you can get glimpses in the video above and at the pro­jec­t’s offi­cial site.

Image by Juan de Lara/The Parthenon 3D

The mate­ri­als pro­mot­ing Parthenon 3D, as it’s called, empha­size one ele­ment above all: its almost 40-foot-tall stat­ue of the god­dess Athena Parthenos, bet­ter known mononymi­cal­ly as Athena. The work of the renowned sculp­tor Phidias, who also han­dled the rest of the struc­ture’s sculp­tur­al dec­o­ra­tion, it end­ed up cost­ing twice as much as the build­ing itself.

Though now long lost, the Athena stat­ue was well doc­u­ment­ed enough for de Lara to mod­el its every detail, down to the folds in her gold­en robes and the cracks in her ivory skin. Dur­ing the Pana­thenaic Fes­ti­val, which came around every four years, sun­light would enter the Parthenon at just the right angle to cause a super­nat­ur­al-look­ing illu­mi­na­tion of the god­dess against the sur­round­ing dark­ness.

Image by Juan de Lara/The Parthenon 3D

Of course, that effect was­n’t acci­den­tal. Even if we con­sid­er the cre­ation of the Parthenon to have been divine­ly inspired, we can best under­stand it as a work of man — and a metic­u­lous­ly thought-out work at that. For ancient Greek vis­i­tors, the illu­mi­na­tion of Athena would have been enhanced by the place­ment of roof aper­tures, reflect­ing water pools, and reflec­tive mate­ri­als, whose orig­i­nal incor­po­ra­tion into the space would come as a sur­prise to most mod­ern vis­i­tors. At present, Parthenon 3D offers the clos­est expe­ri­ence we have to a time machine set to the Parthenon as Phidias and archi­tects Ikti­nos and Cal­l­i­crates orig­i­nal­ly intend­ed. But as de Lara’s research notes, the build­ing also con­tained numer­ous incense burn­ers, so per­fect real­ism won’t be achieved until smells can go through the inter­net. Vis­it the Parthenon 3D site here.

Image by Juan de Lara/The Parthenon 3D

Relat­ed con­tent:

How the Parthenon Mar­bles End­ed Up In The British Muse­um

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

Robots Are Carv­ing Repli­cas of the Parthenon Mar­bles: Could They Help the Real Ancient Sculp­tures Return to Greece?

Explore Ancient Athens 3D, a Dig­i­tal Recon­struc­tion of the Greek City-State at the Height of Its Influ­ence

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

Artist is Cre­at­ing a Parthenon Made of 100,000 Banned Books: A Mon­u­ment to Democ­ra­cy & Intel­lec­tu­al Free­dom

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 “Dark Relics” of Christianity: Preserved Skulls, Blood & Other Grim Artifacts

Chris­tian­i­ty often man­i­fests in pop­u­lar cul­ture through cel­e­bra­tions like Christ­mas and East­er, or icons like lambs and fish. Less often do you see it asso­ci­at­ed with vials of blood and dis­em­bod­ied heads. Yet as the new Hochela­ga video above reveals, the most famed Chris­t­ian arti­facts do tend toward the grue­some. Take one par­tic­u­lar­ly renowned exam­ple, the Shroud of Turin: hear the name, and you imag­ine a cloth bear­ing the image of Jesus Christ. But think about it a moment, and you remem­ber that it’s the blood­stained wrap­ping of a cru­ci­fied body — that is, if the tales told about it are true in the first place.

As with any reli­gious relics, you have to decide for your­self what to believe about all of these. If you pay a vis­it to the Basil­i­ca of St. Antho­ny in Pad­ua, you’ll see on dis­play the pre­served jaw of that holy fig­ure — which does, at least, look like a real human jaw. In south­east­ern France, at the basil­i­ca of Saint-Max­imin-la-Sainte-Baume, you’ll find a skull pur­port­ed to be that of Mary Mag­da­lene.

And we cer­tain­ly can’t rule out that it real­ly is, spec­u­la­tive though the evi­dence may be. The sit­u­a­tion grows some­what more com­pli­cat­ed with the head of John the Bap­tist — or rather, the heads of John the Bap­tist, four of which have been claimed in dif­fer­ent places so far.

“Dur­ing the Mid­dle Ages, relics were in high demand, and there were always peo­ple will­ing to sup­ply them,” explains Hochela­ga cre­ator Tom­mie Trelawny. “It’s often joked that, if you gath­ered all the alleged frag­ments of the true cross, you’d have enough wood to build a small for­est.” Even the Shroud of Turin has come under unfor­giv­ing scruti­ny. Radio­car­bon dat­ing has placed it in the mid-four­teenth cen­tu­ry, imply­ing a forgery, but more recent X‑ray tests sug­gest that its linen was made in the first cen­tu­ry, between the years 55 and 74: close enough to what we under­stand as the time of Jesus’ bur­ial. Debates over the authen­tic­i­ty of all these arti­facts will con­tin­ue for cen­turies — and quite pos­si­bly mil­len­nia — to come, but their pow­er­ful embod­i­ment of both “the deeply dis­turb­ing and the haunt­ing­ly beau­ti­ful” won’t fade away any time soon.

Relat­ed con­tent:

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

The British Muse­um is Full of Loot­ed Arti­facts

Europe’s Old­est Intact Book Was Pre­served and Found in the Cof­fin of a Saint

Did Psy­che­del­ic Mush­rooms Appear in Medieval Chris­t­ian Art?: A Video Essay

The Real Sto­ry of East­er: How We Got from the First East­er in the Bible to Bun­nies, Eggs & Choco­late

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.

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

Whether or not you believe Jesus Christ is the son of God, you prob­a­bly envi­sion him (or, if you pre­fer, Him) in much the same way as most every­one else does. The long hair and beard, the robe, the san­dals, the beatif­ic gaze: these traits have all man­i­fest­ed across two mil­len­nia of Chris­t­ian art. “How­ev­er, these depic­tions don’t exact­ly match the pro­file of a first-cen­tu­ry Jew­ish car­pen­ter from the Mid­dle East,” says Hochela­ga host Tom­mie Trelawny in the new video above, an inves­ti­ga­tion into how our mod­ern con­cept of how Jesus looked came to be — and into what we can know about his real appear­ance.

First, we must turn to the Bible. In the King James Ver­sion, Rev­e­la­tion describes Jesus thus: “His head and his hairs were white like wool, as white as snow; and his eyes were as a flame of fire; and his feet like unto fine brass, as if they burned in a fur­nace; and his voice as the sound of many waters. He had in His right hand sev­en stars, out of His mouth went a sharp two-edged sword, and His coun­te­nance was like the sun shin­ing in its strength.” That’s it for the New Tes­ta­ment. As for the Old Tes­ta­ment, Isa­iah describes a fig­ure that could pos­si­bly be Jesus by cred­it­ing him with “no form nor come­li­ness; and when we shall see him, there is no beau­ty that we should desire him.”

This scant Bib­li­cal evi­dence hard­ly aligns with the high-pro­file depic­tions of Jesus we’ve all seen. For many around the world today, the “default rep­re­sen­ta­tion” is the down­right glam­orous 1940 por­trait Head of Christ by the Amer­i­can painter Warn­er Sall­man (a Chicagoan, inci­den­tal­ly, much like the new­ly elect­ed Pope Leo XIV). One could see that art­work as the cul­mi­na­tion of a fair­ly long his­to­ry of visu­al depic­tions of Jesus, which first became abun­dant in the Roman Empire of the fourth cen­tu­ry under Con­stan­tine. Accord­ing to Gre­co-Roman mythol­o­gy, “hav­ing long hair and a beard were sym­bols of divine pow­er.” Ear­ly Chris­tians thus “want­ed to present their god using sim­i­lar artis­tic con­ven­tions,” plac­ing Jesus in a league with the likes of Zeus.

That’s the basic look Jesus has in most rep­re­sen­ta­tions, from the botched Span­ish fres­co that became a meme to the cru­ci­fied Mr. Uni­verse in South Korea, where I live, to Andy Warhol’s Christ $9.98. And yet, accord­ing to the dic­tates of Leviti­cus, “you shall not round the cor­ners of your heads, nei­ther shalt thou mar the cor­ners of thy beard.” Trelawny takes this into account when attempt­ing to recon­struct the his­tor­i­cal Jesus, also not­ing that, since Jesus could only be iden­ti­fied by Judas’ kiss of betray­al, he must have looked much like all the oth­er men around him. The result, when all of this is fed into an arti­fi­cial-intel­li­gence image gen­er­a­tor, is very much an every­man, which may be as his­tor­i­cal­ly accu­rate as we can get. But then, each time and place cre­ates its own Jesus — and now, with AI, each of us can do the same for our­selves.

Relat­ed con­tent:

The Ten Ear­li­est Depic­tions of Jesus: How Art Visu­al­ized Jesus in the First Cen­turies After His Death

What Makes Caravaggio’s The Tak­ing of Christ a Time­less, Great Paint­ing?

How Leonar­do da Vin­ci Paint­ed The Last Sup­per: A Deep Dive Into a Mas­ter­piece

The Real Sto­ry of East­er: How We Got from the First East­er in the Bible to Bun­nies, Eggs & Choco­late

Intro­duc­tion to New Tes­ta­ment His­to­ry and Lit­er­a­ture: A Free Yale Course

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.

How a Papal Conclave Works, and Who Might Be the Next Pope

On Tues­day, the car­di­nals locked them­selves into the Sis­tine Chapel, offi­cial­ly begin­ning the con­clave to elect the 267th pope. First for­mal­ized by Pope Gre­go­ry X in 1274, the con­clave (a word derived from the Latin words cum clave, mean­ing “with a key”) fol­lows a high­ly script­ed process honed over the past 800 years. How the con­clave works, and how it came into being—all of that gets cov­ered in the Reli­gion for Break­fast video above. It’s host­ed by the reli­gious stud­ies schol­ar Dr. Andrew M. Hen­ry.

Below, you can also delve into the more recent his­to­ry of papal elec­tions. Cre­at­ed by Use­ful Charts, this video cov­ers every papal con­clave since 1958 and includes a pre­dic­tion for who the next pope will be once the white smoke ris­es. Who is the next like­ly pon­tiff? No spoil­ers here. You’ll have to watch the video to find out.

If you would like to sign up for Open Culture’s free email newslet­ter, please find it here. It’s a great way to see our new posts, all bun­dled in one email, each day.

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 

Take a 3D Vir­tu­al Tour of the Sis­tine Chapel & Explore Michelangelo’s Mas­ter­pieces Up Close

When There Were Three Popes at Once: An Ani­mat­ed Video Drawn in the Style of Medieval Illu­mi­nat­ed Man­u­script

Pope Fran­cis Set to Release a Rock/Pop Album: Lis­ten to the First Sin­gle

Pope John Paul II Takes Bat­ting Prac­tice in Cal­i­for­nia, 1987

 

Take a 3D Virtual Tour of the Sistine Chapel & Explore Michelangelo’s Masterpieces Up Close

Today, 133 car­di­nals from around the world enter the con­clave to deter­mine the next pope, dur­ing which they’ll cast their votes in the Sis­tine Chapel. Despite being one of the most famous tourist attrac­tions in Europe, the Sis­tine Chapel still serves as a venue for such impor­tant offi­cial func­tions, just as it has since its com­ple­tion in 1481. When its name­sake Pope Six­tus IV com­mis­sioned it, he also ordered its walls cov­ered in fres­coes by some of the finest artists of that peri­od of the Renais­sance, includ­ing San­dro Bot­ti­cel­li, Domeni­co Ghirlandaio, and Cosi­mo Rossel­li. He also made the unusu­al choice of hav­ing the cross-vault ceil­ing cov­ered by a blue-and-gold paint­ing of the night sky, ably exe­cut­ed by Pier­mat­teo Lau­ro de’ Man­fre­di da Amelia.

No longer do the car­di­nals vote for their next leader under the stars, nor have they for about half a mil­len­ni­um. Even if you’ve nev­er set foot in the Sis­tine Chapel, you sure­ly know it as the build­ing whose ceil­ing was paint­ed by Michelan­ge­lo, lying flat on a scaf­fold all the while (a pleas­ing but high­ly doubt­ful image in the col­lec­tive cul­tur­al mem­o­ry).

In fact, that mas­ter of Renais­sance mas­ters did­n’t touch his brush to the place until 1508. He’d been brought in by a lat­er pope, Julius II, after hav­ing first resist­ed the com­mis­sion, insist­ing that he was a sculp­tor first, not a painter. For­tu­nate­ly for Renais­sance art enthu­si­asts, not only did Julius II pre­vail upon Michelan­ge­lo, so, near­ly thir­ty years lat­er, did Paul III, who had him paint over the altar the work that turned out to be the Last Judg­ment.

In the video at the top of the post, his­to­ry-and-archi­tec­ture YouTu­ber Manuel Bra­vo (pre­vi­ous­ly fea­tured here on Open Cul­ture for his expla­na­tions of his­toric places like Venice, Pom­peii, the Cathe­dral of San­ta Maria del Fiore, and St. Peter’s Basil­i­ca, which was also touched by the hand of Michelan­ge­lo) nar­rates a 3D vir­tu­al tour of the Sis­tine Chapel. That for­mat makes it pos­si­ble to see not only its numer­ous works of Bib­li­cal art, by Michelan­ge­lo and a host of oth­er painters besides, from every pos­si­ble angle, but also the build­ing itself just as it would have looked in eras past, even before Michelan­ge­lo made his con­tri­bu­tion. The more you under­stand each indi­vid­ual ele­ment, the bet­ter you can appre­ci­ate this “ver­i­ta­ble Div­ina Com­me­dia of the Renais­sance,” as Bra­vo calls it, when next you can see it in per­son. That, of course, will only be after the con­clave fin­ish­es up: in a few hours, or days, or weeks, or maybe — a phe­nom­e­non not unex­am­pled in the his­to­ry of the church — a few years.

Relat­ed con­tent:

The Sis­tine Chapel: A $22,000 Art-Book Col­lec­tion Fea­tures Remark­able High-Res­o­lu­tion Views of the Murals of Michelan­ge­lo, Bot­ti­cel­li & Oth­er Renais­sance Mas­ters

Take a 3D Vir­tu­al Tour of the Sis­tine Chapel, St. Peter’s Basil­i­ca and Oth­er Art-Adorned Vat­i­can Spaces

The Vat­i­can Library Goes Online and Dig­i­tizes Tens of Thou­sands of Man­u­scripts, Books, Coins, and More

Michelangelo’s David: The Fas­ci­nat­ing Sto­ry Behind the Renais­sance Mar­ble Cre­ation

A Secret Room with Draw­ings Attrib­uted to Michelan­ge­lo Opens to Vis­i­tors in Flo­rence

Michelangelo’s Illus­trat­ed Gro­cery List

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.

A Japanese Zen Monk Explains What Zen Is Really About

Despite devel­op­ing in Asia, as the Chi­nese form of a reli­gion orig­i­nal­ly brought over from India and lat­er refined in Japan, Zen Bud­dhism has long appealed to West­ern­ers as well. Some of that owes to the spare, ele­gant aes­thet­ics with which pop­u­lar cul­ture asso­ciates it, and more to the promise it holds out: free­dom from stress, anx­i­ety, and indeed suf­fer­ing of all kinds. In the­o­ry, the Zen prac­ti­tion­er attains that free­dom not through mas­ter­ing a body of knowl­edge or ascend­ing a hier­ar­chy, but through direct expe­ri­ence of real­i­ty, unmedi­at­ed by thoughts, unwarped by desires, and undi­vid­ed by the clas­si­fi­ca­tion schemes that sep­a­rate one thing from anoth­er. That’s eas­i­er said than done, of course, and for some, not even a life­time of med­i­ta­tion does the trick.

In the inter­view clip above, Rin­zai zen monk Yodo Kono explains how he arrived in the world of Zen. Hav­ing come from a line of monks, he inher­it­ed the role after the deaths of his grand­fa­ther and his father. Already in his late twen­ties, he’d been work­ing as a physics teacher, an occu­pa­tion that — how­ev­er fash­ion­able the sup­posed con­cor­dances between advanced phys­i­cal and Bud­dhist truths — hard­ly pre­pared him for the rig­ors of the tem­ple.

“I entered a role com­plete­ly oppo­site to log­ic,” he remem­bers, “a world where log­ic does­n’t exist.” Think of the Zen kōans we’ve all heard, which demand seem­ing­ly impos­si­ble answers about the sound of one hand clap­ping, or the appear­ance of your face before your par­ents were born.

Advised by his mas­ter to stop try­ing to gain knowl­edge, skills, and under­stand­ing, the frus­trat­ed Yodo Kono began to real­ize that “Zen is every­thing,” the key ques­tion being “how to live with­out wor­ries with­in Zen.” That can’t be learned from any amount of study, but expe­ri­ence alone. Only direct­ly can one feel how we cre­ate our own suf­fer­ing in our minds, and also that we can’t help but do so. This leaves us no choice but to relin­quish our notions of con­trol over real­i­ty. In dai­ly life, he explains in the clip just above (also from the doc­u­men­tary Free­dom From Suf­fer­ing, about the vari­eties of Bud­dhism), one must be able to move freely between “the undi­vid­ed Zen world and the divid­ed world,” the lat­ter being where near­ly all of us already spend our days: not with­out our plea­sures, of course, but also not with­out won­der­ing, every so often, if we can ever know per­ma­nent sat­is­fac­tion.

Relat­ed con­tent:

A 6‑Step Guide to Zen Bud­dhism, Pre­sent­ed by Psy­chi­a­trist-Zen Mas­ter Robert Waldinger

What Is a Zen Koan? An Ani­mat­ed Intro­duc­tion to East­ern Philo­soph­i­cal Thought Exper­i­ments

Japan­ese Priest Tries to Revive Bud­dhism by Bring­ing Tech­no Music into the Tem­ple: Attend a Psy­che­del­ic 23-Minute Ser­vice

Exer­cise Extreme Mind­ful­ness with These Calm­ing Zen Rock Gar­den Videos

A Beat­box­ing Bud­dhist Monk Cre­ates Music for Med­i­ta­tion

Bud­dhism 101: A Short Intro­duc­to­ry Lec­ture by Jorge Luis Borges

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 Real Story of Easter: How We Got from the First Easter in the Bible to Bunnies, Eggs & Chocolate

Pop­u­lar cul­ture has long since claimed East­er as an occa­sion for trick­ster rab­bits, dyed-egg hunts, and marsh­mal­low chicks of unnat­ur­al hues — none of which are actu­al­ly in the Bible. Though that prob­a­bly does­n’t sur­prise you, you may not be aware of just how far the mod­ern hol­i­day has drift­ed from its tex­tu­al ori­gins. In the new Hochela­ga video above, that Youtube chan­nel’s Tom­mie Trelawny recounts first the Bib­li­cal sto­ry at the basis of all this, that of the death and res­ur­rec­tion of Jesus. Then he exam­ines how the lat­ter event has since been com­mem­o­rat­ed, an evo­lu­tion that has led to the East­er we know today.

“Jesus’ res­ur­rec­tion would have been cel­e­brat­ed in the very ear­li­est days of Chris­tian­i­ty,” Trelawny explains. “Ini­tial­ly, it was held on the feast of Passover, but even­tu­al­ly, it branched off into its own dis­tinct hol­i­day.” That ini­tial over­lap is reflect­ed in the resem­blance between Pesach, the Hebrew word for Passover, and the Span­ish and French names for East­er, Pas­cua and Pâques.

As for the Eng­lish word East­er itself, it res­onates with the name of “the Ancient Sax­on god­dess Ēostre, deity of spring and fer­til­i­ty.” Much as the Roman mid-win­ter fes­ti­val Sat­ur­na­lia may have inspired Christ­mas, could the pre-Chris­t­ian hol­i­day for Ēostre have inspired East­er?

To an extent, per­haps, though as Trelawny under­scores, East­er was very much derived from Passover. Yet its asso­ci­a­tions with spring­time go well beyond the time of year in which it occurs, not least in the form of all those eggs. In fact, “dec­o­rat­ed eggs are an ancient cus­tom that pre­dates Chris­tian­i­ty by many cen­turies.” Hav­ing stood as “a uni­ver­sal sym­bol for new life,” they also offered Chris­tians an eas­i­ly leg­i­ble “metaphor for Jesus’ sealed tomb, and crack­ing it open as a sym­bol of his res­ur­rec­tion.” As for the East­er Bun­ny, he has a prece­dent in the Ger­man­ic East­er Hare, who “judged chil­dren on whether they’ve been good or bad” — now soft­ened up, pre­dictably, after so many years in Amer­i­ca.

Relat­ed con­tent:

Down­load Beau­ti­ful Free Vin­tage East­er Cards from the New York Pub­lic Library

Stream Andrea Bocelli’s East­er Con­cert from Milan

A Map of All the Coun­tries Men­tioned in the Bible: What The Coun­tries Were Called Then, and Now

A Sur­vival Guide to the Bib­li­cal Apoc­a­lypse

Did the Tow­er of Babel Actu­al­ly Exist?: A Look at the Archae­o­log­i­cal Evi­dence

The Ark Before Noah: Dis­cov­er the Ancient Flood Myths That Came Before the Bible

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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