Tag Archives: history

November 30, 2012 · 10:56 am

Venice in America

Today is the Feast of St. Andrew the Apostle, brother of St. Peter and patron saint of many things, including fishermen, Scotland, and Russia.  However he is also the patron saint of one of the greatest and most significant architects of the modern age, Andrea Palladio, who was born on St. Andrew’s Day in 1508.  If you are not hugely interested in architecture, you may not be familiar with his name, but if you live in the Western world there is a reasonably good chance that the home you live in, or the civic buildings that make up the town where you live, were shaped and influenced by the ideas of this 16th century Venetian master.

Just as Jacobo Sansovino, whom I wrote about earlier this week, had a profound influence on the artists of his day, in convincing them that they were equaling or even surpassing the achievements of their ancient Greek and Roman forbearers, so too Palladio was a driving force in convincing architects that they could do the same.  Sansovino was himself a highly accomplished architect, of course, producing many beautiful and monumental structures in Venice between the 1530′s and 1560′s.  Palladio, who was a generation younger, had to bide his time while Sansovino held sway over the public taste of the capital, but eventually he became the head architect of the Venetian Republic after Sansovino’s death.

One of Palladio’s most influential contributions to the development of modern architecture and indeed modern living was in taking advantage of open spaces, rather than being afraid of them.  Keep in mind that in much of Europe from the fall of the Roman Empire in the West until the time of the Renaissance, most people lived together for protection, either in closely-packed walled towns, or in castles or other fortified structures in the countryside.  Foreign invaders or marauding neighbors bent on pillaging and destruction could sweep in at any moment, and there was safety in numbers.

What our eyes need to be trained to see is how different the world which Palladio created was from the times that had come immediately before it.  There is nothing of the fortress about a Palladian house.  There are no dark, thick walls designed for defensive purposes, with only interior courtyards to allow light and air.  Instead, his houses sit gracefully inside beautiful parks and gardens, surrounded by trees and flowers, green lawns and splashing fountains.

Nor were these houses gigantic, bloated structures, like the Baroque behemoths that were built to house the egos of absolute monarchs.  Rather, they were comfortable places to enjoy oneself with one’s family and friends by engaging in outdoor activities, reading, entertaining, or the like.  They are of course much larger than the average person’s home, but they are not overwhelmingly so.  The confidence with which these villas were built testifies to a similar spirit of self-confidence of the day that times were getting better, and that the darker ages of constant warfare between rivaling factions were becoming less frequent, at least in the Venetian Republic.

This in itself is a key component to the architecture which Palladio created.  His houses are built for aristocrats, but they are they are the aristocrats of a republic.  There was no hereditary king of Venice: the Republic was ruled by a Doge, an elected official whose powers were limited further and further as the centuries wore on.  While the Venetian Republic was not truly a representative democracy, in the sense that we would understand the term, it had a series of checks and balances in place to ensure that no one single individual or family could come to dominate the entire system.

Palladio’s ideas and methods were not just limited to a bunch of gondola-riding aristocrats half a millenia ago.  For in fact, many of the American Founding Fathers were hugely enamored of the Palladian way of living.  President Thomas Jefferson, for example, built his beloved estate Monticello, as well as the Virginia State Capitol building, and the main building of the University of Virginia, using principles derived from his own study of Palladio’s work.  James Hoban, the Irish-American architect of the White House, took his plans for the Executive Mansion directly from two Palladian-style country houses which had been built a few years earlier in Ireland.

Even today, Palladio’s legacy is all around us, not only as part of our visible history, but in continuing to influence architects who build homes and businesses, offices and churches by taking Palladio’s ideas and applying or re-interpreting them.  As is so often the case in these pages, we have here yet another example of why it is important to understand the cultural history of the West, something which the past forty-odd years of academically entrenched relativism has done such a bang-up job of trying to eradicate.  Over many centuries the ideas of this single Venetian architect have had a positive impact on both the look and livability of our homes, our public buildings, and indeed our cities.

Palladio understood that in order for contemporary society to succeed, it must be interconnected with the best aspects of the society which came before it.  He helped to radically change the way that his contemporaries lived by looking at how people had lived before, how they lived in his day, and figuring out he could bring together the best aspects of each.  In doing so, he succeeded in transforming not only a small Italian republic, but the lives of people in countless cities and towns large and small, all over the world.  His is but one example of why we should both study and try to understand our past, taking the lessons we learn there, and adapting them to the needs of the present.

Fratta

“La Badoera” Villa by Andrea Palladio (built 1556-1563)
Fratta Polesine, Italy

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September 14, 2012 · 11:43 am

Healing and the Ancients: How Sports Medicine Builds on the Past

Yesterday as I lay on a table at the physical therapist’s, with a big bag of ice between my knees and a gigantic pile of hot, damp towels on my thigh, it occurred to me how smart the Romans really were.  I have an old knee/ankle injury that has been acting up, and since the only remedy for it is a combination of targeted exercise and rest, it is to the physical therapist that one must go.  If like me you are at all interested in history, or enjoy watching historical entertainment like “Rome” or the old sword-and-sandal epics, you cannot help but see the parallels between what our ancestors were doing millenia ago to treat what we might loosely term “sports injuries”, and what still remain among the best practices to restore human health today.

Chances are that even if you have never visited one yet, most of you reading this will spend will end up spending at least some part of your life in a physical therapist’s clinic.  The reasons why a doctor sends you there will vary, but they are not just places for athletes.  It could very well be that you end up with a physical therapist because of athletic injuries of course, but it could also just as easily be because of disabilities, accidents, recovery from surgery or, in the fullness of time, old age taking its toll.  Generally speaking, when you go to such a clinic you will see a whole range of ages among the patients, from teenagers who have injured themselves playing football or running, to very elderly people who are recovering from joint replacements.

What I find interesting in such places is the combination of new technology with ancient, tried-and-true methods of encouraging healing.  For example, at the clinic I go to there are different exercise machines designed to work different parts of the body, safely, using weights and resistance, along with machines like treadmills, ellipticals, and stair climbers to get the heart rate up and joints moving.  Many of these machines have digital technology with computers on board, to create various timing and usage programs.  The therapists themselves walk about using laptop and pad computers as they take notes, and track the progress of their patients.

Yet there also implements and methods which are unchanged from very ancient times. These could include such things as throwing and catching a heavy, rubber ball, or using sturdy straps and ropes to stretch out cramped muscles, or subjecting oneself to manipulation by the therapist, that could come right out of a description from one of Pliny the Younger’s letters.  For example, one of my newest exercises to loosen up and strengthen my ankle involves scattering a handful of marbles on the floor, and then using only my toes to pick each of them up and drop them individually in a cup, while the therapist times my performance.  It feels like a positively antediluvian exercise.

There is always some element of physical therapy involving pain, which has not changed in centuries, either.  One goes through the experience of having things bent, pushed, and pulled out of joint for what seems like an eternity, and then one is rewarded by being frozen or cooked to death – or both, simultaneously, through the use of ice packs or heating pads.  Of course if the therapist likes to combine Eastern and Western methods, you may also be pricked all over with pins, or have hot rocks put all over you, and other strange things.

Professional athletes are quite used to this sort of treatment, of course.  Recently for example I saw a commercial where a group of Brazilian soccer players were in their physical therapists’ clinic after a match, sitting in individual galvanized metal bathtubs, and each was being covered with massive piles of ice cubes up to their chest to reduce inflammation in their legs.  While these methods obviously work, for those of us not accustomed to such treatment on a regular basis, with sports medicine seemingly alien to our experience of spending most of the day sitting down, one simply holds on for dear life until it is all over.

Perhaps it is the history nerd in me, but I must confess I do rather like the idea of having a connection to the distant past when I go to such places.  There is a sense that the accumulated knowledge of centuries is at work, so that there is relief and healing in the hands of the competent people who run these places.  Modern pharmaceuticals are indeed wonderful things, for they alleviate a great deal of suffering. Yet for “sports injuries” to our bones, nerves, and muscles, human interaction and the personal attention paid to each patient brought to bear by a good physical therapist provides a degree of relief through communication, based on an understanding that one size does not fit all. This is a refreshingly old idea, in a world constantly seeking novelty.

Wall painting of patients and therapists in Ancient Egypt (c. 2,300 B.C.)
Tomb of the Physician, Saqqara, Egypt

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August 29, 2012 · 11:39 am

The Man in the 5-Gallon Hat

The other morning while waiting on a Metro station platform, I glanced up over the edge of my newspaper and saw a very elderly man, well into his late 80′s or perhaps even into his early 90′s, as he came shuffling by on the platform.  He was dressed in that most paradoxical of garments, a light-colored summer suit made of some type of artificial fiber, from its cut looking to date from the days when such things first began to appear on the mass market.  It was the sort of material which was so thick, he would have been better off wearing wool flannel for breathability.

To go along with it, this gentleman wore a very simple bolo tie, along with cowboy boots.  Now one sees these things from time to time in Washington, particularly around political conventions or Presidential inaugurations, though not as often as one might in places like Dallas or Santa Fe.  On top of which, this fellow sported a white cowboy hat which was not quite as tall as the cowboy hat my father – a native Texan – used to plunk on my head when I was little, as we sat on the riding mower and rode around trimming the lawns at the house.

For some reason as I watched him I had the fancy that this elderly man had volunteered for and voted for LBJ in the 1960 Presidential primary, and again subsequently when LBJ ran in 1964.  Back then he would probably have been in his mid-to-late 30′s, and certainly the Washington he knew was completely different from the one which I now inhabit.  For one thing, of course, there was no Metro system at all, just a system of city trams and buses.

Since he had been born in the 1920′s, or so I was guessing, I imagined all he must have seen during that time period, in a period of really dramatic changes for the United States.  Perhaps he had fought in the Pacific in World War II, for example.  He might have seen Elvis in first appearances on television.  He saw the Civil Rights movement, the late Neil Armstrong, and countless other events which shaped our world.  How very far away all of that seemed from the fragile old man making his way along a subway platform.

One of the reasons why I enjoy spending time with the elderly is that they always have great stories to tell, which bring us closer to events, concepts, and experiences of the past.  We think we understand these things, from seeing pictures or film footage, but unless you have lived through such momentous events, they are difficult to fully grasp.  This is always a heavy burden on the professional historian who, if he is writing about long-dead people and places for example, has to use his imagination to the best of his ability, but will never quite get the details right.

Your relatives, neighbors, and acquaintances who are of advanced age are, to put it frankly, a great treasure which is slipping through your fingers even as you read this.  Great-Aunt Martha who is in her 90′s now will vividly remember what she experienced during the Great Depression, for example.  Nice old Mr. Nowak, whom you always end up chatting with in the grocery store, can tell you what it was like for him to cross the Atlantic on a ship for several days, as a refugee from Poland, worrying about being pursued by German U-Boats.  The elderly woman who sits across from you on the city bus almost every morning on your way to work or errands could give you a tale or two about what it was like living in your town well before you were born or moved there.

We have a holiday weekend coming up in the U.S., during which we will spend time with families and friends, saying an unofficial (meteorologically speaking) farewell to summer.  There will be picnics and barbecues and cook-outs, perhaps visits to the beach or to grandma’s, but unlike many holidays on Labor Day there are no real fixed national traditions which we must honor.  There are no concerts, decorations, fireworks, and so on that everyone feels compelled to join in on.

Given the lingering lethargy of a particularly warm summer, why not make a point of spending part of it talking to that relative or acquaintance about their own memories of the past?  You will no doubt learn a great deal, and make the other person happy even as you add to your own understanding of the world in which you live.  After all, who knows how many more summers you will be able to do so, before that man in the 5-gallon hat disappears permanently from view.


Portrait of Fred Martin by John Loengard
LIFE magazine archive

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April 25, 2012 · 11:54 am

Our Body of Work

Regular readers know that I often encourage you to look more closely at the environment you live in, and observe the details around you. This is part of your ongoing duty as an educated adult. I realize that a number of my readers are not Christians, let alone Catholics, but I hope you will bear with me in today’s post, and consider some of the points I raise herein about why it is so important to continue to educate yourself, if we are to preserve the body of Western culture which has been handed down to us as a priceless gift from previous generations.

The more you study subjects such science, architecture, literature, and so on, the more you realize that you are surrounded by reminders of our collective past. For example, if you give yourself a break with a Kit-Kat bar, you are eating something originally invented in England in the 1920′s, but named for a prominent London club of the 18th century. Or you might live in a town named for a Catholic saint, such as St. Louis, Missouri, or San Francisco, California. And since today is the Feast of St. Mark the Evangelist, he is a good jumping-off point for our consideration.

We can point to many works of art, musical compositions, schools, buildings, streets, and even entire towns named for this 1st century Jewish man, who became an important figure of the early Church. For example, Saint-Marc is an important coastal city in Haiti; Saint Mark’s Place is a popular tourist trap in the East Village in Manhattan; and the oldest military fort in the United States, the 17th century Castillo de San Marcos or “Castle of St. Mark”, is located in the city of St. Augustine, Florida – which of course is named for another Catholic saint. Bach wrote a Passion Oratario based on St. Mark’s Gospel, which composition sadly has been lost, while Irish composer Charles Wood wrote his own version while at Cambridge in the 1920′s.

For those of my readers who are not familiar with him, St. Mark was one of Jesus’ youngest disciples, a friend to St. Paul, and author of one of the Gospels. Although St. Mark was martyred in about 68 A.D. in the Egyptian city of Alexandria and buried there, in the 9th century his remains were stolen by a group of Venetian merchants and taken back to their city. The legends surrounding how this took place are interesting in and of themselves, but more importantly they created a narrative for Venice and for its empire, which was reflected in things such as city planning, public celebrations, music, literature, poetry, architecture, painting, sculpture, and so on.

As a result, there is probably a greater concentration of art related to St. Mark in Venice than in any single other city in the world. Not only is the city Cathedral, the Byzantine-Gothic style Basilica of San Marco, dedicated to him, as is the famous piazza or square in front of it, with its flocks of pigeons pooping all over the tourists, but he represents the Venetian Republic as well. Throughout Venice and in the territories which it used to control, the winged lion of St. Mark was used as the emblem of the old empire on the Adriatic, much as the bald eagle represents the United States, today.

In the books of Ezekiel and Revelation in the Bible, their respective authors wrote of heavenly visions involving four winged creatures which surround the throne of God. Christian interpreters of Scripture came to believe that these represented the four canonical Gospel writers. That which is believed to represent St. Mark, the winged lion, was chosen because St. Mark begins his Gospel with the voice of St. John the Baptist crying out in the desert, like the roar of a desert lion. Thus, Venice adopted this symbol of its patron saint as its own.

When it comes to Venetian art portraying St. Mark, the great master Tintoretto (1518-1594) is not one of my favorite painters, truth be told. I do not generally care for his work, since I often find his pictures too messy and busy, and his palette can sometimes be rather muddy. That being said, I recognize his importance in art history, both in the influence he had on the work of subsequent artists I do like, such as El Greco, but also in that he did paint some interesting works from time to time.

In the mid-16th century, Tintoretto produced a rather brilliant series of four paintings on scenes from the life of St. Mark for the Scuola di San Marco charitable institution, which of course was named for the saint.  One of the paintings from this series which has always fascinated me is Tintoretto’s portrayal of the stealing of the Evangelist’s body from its tomb in Alexandria.  It is a dramatic scene, but an example of how the artistic imagination can take a story and run with it, not seeking to portray reality but rather to explore different ideas and concepts in art, architecture, and science.

Rather than have the figures in the scene carrying a coffin or reliquary containing the bones of St. Mark, Tintoretto portrays them as carrying the full-sized body of the saint, who is looking rather buff despite being dead for over 800 years. Alexandria itself looks nothing like 9th century Egypt, and more like the stage set of an idealized city by the great Venetian Renaissance architect Andrea Palladio, a contemporary of Tintoretto’s – all perfect proportions, arcaded palaces, and vanishing sight lines. A further dramatic touch is provided by having the night sky split with threatening thunderstorms against a blood-red sky, including a rather spectacular display of lightning which is causing passersby to flee to the colonnades for shelter in what looks like a choreographed dance.

After considering all of the forgoing, the reader can see my point about why there is so much more to be seen in something like a painting than might first meet the eye. If you were to go to the Accademia and admire this painting, you might be able to appreciate it for what it is, and decide whether or not you like the picture based purely on aesthetics. However, a student of cultural history realizes that there is a great deal more at work here than simply the creation of an image. In this one piece one can point to all sorts of threads that led to its creation: The Bible, optics, linear perspective, anatomical study, Mediterranean trade routes, the decline of the Byzantine Empire, and so on.

This is why it is important not just to accept what you see at face value, but to take some time to think about what you are seeing. Otherwise, we reach the point where people wallow in their stupidity, being unwilling to acknowledge with humility that they have more to learn, rather than seeking to do their best to overcome it. We have been given a rich inheritance of human achievement, which will be lost if we do not study and preserve our culture for future generations, and by adding to it ourselves. Otherwise, the body of work which we hand on to them really will be putrid and decayed.


“The Theft of the Body of St. Mark” by Tintoretto (1548)
Gallerie dell’ Accademia, Venice

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April 13, 2012 · 10:50 am

Here Comes The Judge

The world in which we live in is becoming less and less formal as each decade proceeds. The fact that I did not have to wear a business suit to work today for example, despite being a member of the white-collar world, is something which my grandfather’s generation would have found unthinkable.  Yet even though for the most part Western society has become much more familiar and informal than previously, there are still vestiges of formality which remain in practice of which we should take note, and which I see as a good thing. At the same time we also have to be careful not to put a too-rosy glow on the past. Human society always needs to continue to try to do better, if indeed it is to continue at all.

Yesterday afternoon I was in court for some preliminary matters involving a case coming up for trial, and during the course of the meeting, the judge had to come in and out of the courtroom several times. As is customary, the other attorney and I stood and sat when she entered or left the room, or when she addressed us, or when we had to address her.  While this may sound a bit odd, even though I have conformed to this practice before a judge many times, there was something about it yesterday which particularly struck me, and touched my heart a bit.  Keep in mind that there is no law which mandates that we show this level of deference to the judge, and we are not doing it because of who she herself is, but rather out of respect for the law, which is what she represents.

There is something patently civilized in recognizing the fact that another is worthy of a physical demonstration of respect, which unfortunately has been watered down in contemporary society.  The feminist movement for example, left us in a quandary as to whether we should pull out a chair or hold a door open for a lady. And an increasing level of rude behavior and bad manners across the political spectrum appears to be de rigueur these days not only within the government, but also when government officials or foreign dignitaries are visiting a particular place.  In some cases it seems that new and social media are responsible for promoting a kind of public boorishness which has, frankly, little or nothing to do with exercising personal freedom, and everything to do with crass selfishness.

However this is not to say that in the past, everyone loved their neighbor as themselves and was generally well-behaved.  For example, if you are a fellow student of history you no doubt find it ironic, as I do, that people today complain about a lack of decorum in Congress.  The truth is that compared to how things used to be, shouting out “You lie!”, or wearing a hoodie on the floor of the House, is nothing compared to what some of the Founding Fathers got up to.

Congressman Matthew Lyon holds the dubious distinction of being the first member of the House of Representatives – though certainly not the last – to have ethics charges brought against him. In the winter of 1798, he  spit in the face of Congressman Roger Griswold, after Griswold had called him a scoundrel and referred to his dismissal from service during the Revolutionary War for cowardice, while they were in session.  Griswold later attempted to beat the tar out of Lyon with his cane on the floor of the House, and Lyon defended himself with a pair of tongs he grabbed from a fireplace in the chamber.  However before my European readers begin to think that this sort of behavior is an American one, allow me to point out that  American politicians are not the only persons who have sometimes lost their sense of office and dignity during the course of history.

Robert Harley, Earl of Oxford, served as 1st Lord of the Treasury – in effect, as Prime Minister – to Queen Anne toward the end of her reign.  Unfortunately, he did not seem to be able to rise to the dignity of his office, nor show the proper deference due to the monarch.  During a meeting of her Privy Council on July 27, 1714, we are told that the Queen complained that Lord Oxford had “neglected all business; that he was very seldom to be understood; that when he did explain himself she could not depend upon the truth of what he said; that he never came to her at the time she appointed; that he often came drunk; lastly, to crown all, that he behaved himself towards her with bad manners, indecency, and disrespect.”

Matters then came to a head when Lord Oxford and the Queen got into what an eyewitness described as a “personal altercation”, which went on and on until 2 o’clock in the morning.  At the end of what must have been an absolutely fascinating, if incredibly uncomfortable, battle of wills, the Queen had had enough.  She took back the White Staff, a kind of ceremonial mace which was the emblem of office traditionally given to her 1st Minister, and gave it to Lord Bolingbroke, dismissing Lord Oxford from her service.  The Queen died several days later and her successor, King George I, had Lord Oxford impeached for high crimes and misdemeanors, and imprisoned in The Tower of London for several years.

Civilization only works when its members agree that there are situations in which it is better to put others ahead of ourselves, whether because of the power they hold, or their age/infirmity, or their role in our society, and so on.  If there is no such deference, then it is an every-man-for-himself situation, and you eventually end up with utter chaos.  Look at what happened in places like Russia or Spain last century, when anarchy led to protracted Civil War, and you will find it not a pretty picture to be “liberated” from rules of decent behavior.

Of course, those who rail against conventions and hierarchies as somehow enslaving human beings and preventing freedom ought to consider the alternative: a world in which anyone can rob from you or physically abuse you, and against which actions you would have no recourse, unless you were physically capable of fending them off.  No rational person wants to live for any extended period of time in a society as strictly regimented as North Korea, I would wager, but on the other hand no rational person would want to live in the middle of a permanent war zone, either.  We are flawed creatures, with a spark of divinity veiled by an inherent tendency of all fallen creation to look out for itself, first.  This often leads to our treating others poorly, whether out of deliberate malice or out of careless disregard.

The rules which we have put in place with respect to how we behave in the course of our interactions are there to counteract our natural tendency to behave selfishly and badly toward one another.  Standing up when the judge comes into the room, or politely shaking hands with the President of the United States – even if you virulently disagree with his policies – is a way of demonstrating that you believe civilized behavior is not just an end unto itself: it is a means for keeping our civilization going.

All from the most highly placed to the most lowly find themselves in situations where they must defer to someone else in this way.  Even the Pope washes the feet of the faithful on Holy Thursday, just as you must wash your hands before appearing at someone else’s dinner table.  While we should avoid unnecessarily obsequious behavior, perhaps next time you find yourself interacting with another, it is worth considering whether you are behaving in a way which keeps our culture a civilized one, or whether you are chipping further away at its foundations.


“The Grey Eminence” by Jean-Léon Gérôme (1873)
Museum of Fine Arts, Boston

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