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Why Our Monuments Matter Why Our Monuments Matter
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ATHENS — In early September of 1904, Sigmund Freud visited Athens with his younger brother and went up to the Acropolis with its temple ruins and sculptures. The two were there almost by chance, at the insistence of an acquaintance they had visited in Trieste, Italy. ATHENS — In early September of 1904, Sigmund Freud visited Athens with his younger brother and went up to the Acropolis with its temple ruins and sculptures. The two were there almost by chance, at the insistence of an acquaintance they had visited in Trieste, Italy.
“A feeling of astonishment mingled with my joy,” Freud recalled. Then a strange thought crossed his mind, something that would intrigue him for the rest of his life. “When, finally, on the afternoon after our arrival I stood on the Acropolis and cast my eyes around upon the landscape, a surprising thought suddenly entered my mind: ‘So all this really does exist, just as we learnt at school,”’ Freud wrote 32 years later in one of his last works, “A Disturbance of Memory on the Acropolis.”“A feeling of astonishment mingled with my joy,” Freud recalled. Then a strange thought crossed his mind, something that would intrigue him for the rest of his life. “When, finally, on the afternoon after our arrival I stood on the Acropolis and cast my eyes around upon the landscape, a surprising thought suddenly entered my mind: ‘So all this really does exist, just as we learnt at school,”’ Freud wrote 32 years later in one of his last works, “A Disturbance of Memory on the Acropolis.”
Freud was 48 when he visited Athens, and he had already laid the foundations of psychoanalysis with “The Interpretation of Dreams,” which proposed that an unconscious part of our being has a decisive effect on our thoughts and actions. In his never-ending effort to analyze himself, and draw conclusions for the rest of us, Freud was intrigued by the way that a part of him could have doubted that the Acropolis existed, while another part looked on and wondered where that thought had come from.Freud was 48 when he visited Athens, and he had already laid the foundations of psychoanalysis with “The Interpretation of Dreams,” which proposed that an unconscious part of our being has a decisive effect on our thoughts and actions. In his never-ending effort to analyze himself, and draw conclusions for the rest of us, Freud was intrigued by the way that a part of him could have doubted that the Acropolis existed, while another part looked on and wondered where that thought had come from.
He concluded that while in school, he had not doubted the monument’s existence, but rather had believed that he would never visit it. Faced with reality, his mind rebelled and he was overwhelmed by “a feeling of derealization.”He concluded that while in school, he had not doubted the monument’s existence, but rather had believed that he would never visit it. Faced with reality, his mind rebelled and he was overwhelmed by “a feeling of derealization.”
But why this disturbance? What was this sense that “What I see here is not real” trying to defend Freud from? He finally figured it out: “It must be that a sense of guilt was attached to the satisfaction in having gone such a long way.”But why this disturbance? What was this sense that “What I see here is not real” trying to defend Freud from? He finally figured it out: “It must be that a sense of guilt was attached to the satisfaction in having gone such a long way.”
Standing on this great site of classical antiquity, Freud felt that he and his brother had surpassed their father, a businessman who had not gone to university and never traveled beyond Central Europe: “It seems as though the essence of success was to have got further than one’s father, and as though to excel one’s father was still something forbidden.”Standing on this great site of classical antiquity, Freud felt that he and his brother had surpassed their father, a businessman who had not gone to university and never traveled beyond Central Europe: “It seems as though the essence of success was to have got further than one’s father, and as though to excel one’s father was still something forbidden.”
The Acropolis still stands, a record of its city’s aspirations; the proud survivor of war, plunder and time, its wounds are its history. Built on the ashes of earlier temples destroyed by Persian forces in 480 B.C., the monuments of the Acropolis declared Athens’s ultimate triumph over the invaders and its leadership over other Greek city-states.The Acropolis still stands, a record of its city’s aspirations; the proud survivor of war, plunder and time, its wounds are its history. Built on the ashes of earlier temples destroyed by Persian forces in 480 B.C., the monuments of the Acropolis declared Athens’s ultimate triumph over the invaders and its leadership over other Greek city-states.
The Parthenon, dedicated to the goddess Athena, towers over a sea of visitors under an endless sky, much larger than it seems from afar. Over the centuries, the Parthenon was successively a church, a mosque and an ammunition store — which exploded after taking a hit in 1687 from a mortar shell fired by the Venetian forces that besieged Athens’s Ottoman occupiers.The Parthenon, dedicated to the goddess Athena, towers over a sea of visitors under an endless sky, much larger than it seems from afar. Over the centuries, the Parthenon was successively a church, a mosque and an ammunition store — which exploded after taking a hit in 1687 from a mortar shell fired by the Venetian forces that besieged Athens’s Ottoman occupiers.
The Acropolis came to stand as a symbol of Western civilization, as the very architecture of the democratic political system that still shapes our world. Without the Acropolis and its sculptures, it’s debatable, for instance, whether Greece’s war of liberation against the Ottoman Turks, which began in 1821, would have had the support that Europeans and Americans provided.The Acropolis came to stand as a symbol of Western civilization, as the very architecture of the democratic political system that still shapes our world. Without the Acropolis and its sculptures, it’s debatable, for instance, whether Greece’s war of liberation against the Ottoman Turks, which began in 1821, would have had the support that Europeans and Americans provided.
It was only natural that the Acropolis inspired some introspection in Freud. His whole frame of reference, like the tale of Oedipus, was ancient Greece and its myths, archetypes and tragedies. As he himself liked to observe, Freud excavated like an archaeologist through layers of consciousness, pursuing the secrets of the mind; he changed the way we see ourselves. Face to face with the marble evidence of the ancient world, he looked back into himself. It was only natural that the Acropolis inspired some introspection in Freud. His whole frame of reference, like the tale of Oedipus, was ancient Greece and its myths, archetypes and tragedies. As he himself liked to observe, Freud excavated like an archaeologist through layers of consciousness, pursuing the secrets of the mind; he changed the way we see ourselves. Face to face with the marble evidence of the ancient world, he looked back into himself.
This is a dialogue, a synthesis of ideas, that we can have only when the past survives. If the Parthenon had crumbled, if the works of Greek thinkers were lost, if Freud’s thoughts themselves had not been written down, or if his books had been eradicated in the Nazi maelstrom that destroyed so many people and ideas, what would our world be like today?This is a dialogue, a synthesis of ideas, that we can have only when the past survives. If the Parthenon had crumbled, if the works of Greek thinkers were lost, if Freud’s thoughts themselves had not been written down, or if his books had been eradicated in the Nazi maelstrom that destroyed so many people and ideas, what would our world be like today?
An answer can be found in Syria and Iraq. Mesopotamia, a cradle of world civilization — where agriculture developed, where the first cities were built and the wheel invented, where literature was written down and laws cast in stone — is ravaged today by psychopaths with armored trucks, swords and genocidal zeal. Living in an eternal present rooted in an imagined past, the militants are obsessed with destroying all that is unlike them.An answer can be found in Syria and Iraq. Mesopotamia, a cradle of world civilization — where agriculture developed, where the first cities were built and the wheel invented, where literature was written down and laws cast in stone — is ravaged today by psychopaths with armored trucks, swords and genocidal zeal. Living in an eternal present rooted in an imagined past, the militants are obsessed with destroying all that is unlike them.
In a matter of days, the fighters of the Islamic State in Iraq and Syria, or ISIS, uprooted one of the world’s oldest Christian communities and the followers of the even more ancient Yazidi faith. They systematically destroy ancient monuments and the shrines of other faiths and sects — as the Taliban did in Afghanistan.In a matter of days, the fighters of the Islamic State in Iraq and Syria, or ISIS, uprooted one of the world’s oldest Christian communities and the followers of the even more ancient Yazidi faith. They systematically destroy ancient monuments and the shrines of other faiths and sects — as the Taliban did in Afghanistan.
The brutality of ISIS defies not only modern civilization but also Islam itself. This is the mass delusion of people who have no frame of reference other than their self-justifying self-righteousness. They cannot stand before the treasures of the past and take the measure of themselves. For all their hyperbolic piety, their savagery precedes religion and civilization.The brutality of ISIS defies not only modern civilization but also Islam itself. This is the mass delusion of people who have no frame of reference other than their self-justifying self-righteousness. They cannot stand before the treasures of the past and take the measure of themselves. For all their hyperbolic piety, their savagery precedes religion and civilization.
This is where we all experience a “disturbance of memory.” In our age of global travel and trade, where technology and social media sweep us all up in the same narrative loop, it is almost impossible to reconcile the world’s progress of the past few decades with the remorseless hatred of the Islamic State. “It cannot be true,” we say to ourselves. “This is not how things were meant to be.”This is where we all experience a “disturbance of memory.” In our age of global travel and trade, where technology and social media sweep us all up in the same narrative loop, it is almost impossible to reconcile the world’s progress of the past few decades with the remorseless hatred of the Islamic State. “It cannot be true,” we say to ourselves. “This is not how things were meant to be.”
In Europe, we cannot reconcile recent decades of tranquillity with the millions of graves from two world wars over the past 100 years, nor with a passenger plane’s being shot out of the sky. The armies of the unemployed cannot fit with our expectation of ever greater prosperity.In Europe, we cannot reconcile recent decades of tranquillity with the millions of graves from two world wars over the past 100 years, nor with a passenger plane’s being shot out of the sky. The armies of the unemployed cannot fit with our expectation of ever greater prosperity.
The great dislocation of our time indicates just how frail our monuments, our books, our thoughts and principles can be. Still, they exist — and they are our guide and our shield. But if our symbols are lost, we will be no better than ignorant armies riding pickup trucks through the endless dust, where canals, dried and gone, once made the desert bloom.The great dislocation of our time indicates just how frail our monuments, our books, our thoughts and principles can be. Still, they exist — and they are our guide and our shield. But if our symbols are lost, we will be no better than ignorant armies riding pickup trucks through the endless dust, where canals, dried and gone, once made the desert bloom.
Nikos Konstandaras is the managing editor and a columnist at the newspaper Kathimerini.Nikos Konstandaras is the managing editor and a columnist at the newspaper Kathimerini.