At last, after the Olympics and a slew of unexpected chores and social engagements, I have been able to delve into the book I have been dying to read all this time: Jungle of Stone by William Carlsen. It is a biography of two remarkable men, John Stevens of New York and Frederick Catherwood of England, who were the first to chronicle (in the 1840's) the ruins of the ancient Maya and turn the scientific world on its head by showing that American Indians had reached the highest stages of civilization, when all had assumed such genius only existed in the Old World.
There will be much to talk about later, but first, these two things:
The author, going on information of our time, writes about the demographic demise of the Indians after Columbus, where disease stripped the two Western continents of perhaps 95% of the indigenous peoples, from roughly 100 million in 1491 to a mere 6 million by 1680. These figures are argued over to this day, of course, as there was never any census-taker for everyone in those times, but it is at least partly true - and it is the primary reason the Europeans so easily won the competition for land with the Indians. However, there is something the author does not note, which he should have, given his subject; the Mayans peaked and then vanished as a major civilization between 800 and 1000 AD - as would the ancestors of the Hopi in the Southwest at nearly the same time, as well as the mound builders of the Mississippi and the forerunners to the Incas (as well as the last great civilization in Mexico before the Aztecs arrived from the north a few centuries later). I have not done the necessary research for an ironclad case, but it seems that something very, very big happened around 1000 AD that deeply affected the populations of the Americas - most probably a violent or at least substantial change in the weather. Archaeologists speak of drought for the Anasazi and the Maya, but what of the others?
Whatever the case, it is clear that weather can take drastic turns very quickly without the aid of industrial pollution or any other man-made causes. This might be controversial now, but that is not my intention; rather, it is that civilizations float on an uncertainty that is beyond their control. Until recently, great civilizations were theocracies, run by the power of the gods. Perhaps they knew that all, including the might of empires, rests on the whim of a power beyond Man, and that finally, as the Aztecs and Mayans knew all too well, no amount of sacrifice could stop their own versions of judgement day from arriving, regardless.
The other point: who are these people, mostly men until very recently, who risked everything for discovery and adventure? While Catherwood has yet to be described (I am a third the way through the book) , we find that Stevens fit the typical bill of most who went before and came after him. Like Rasmussen and Sir Richard Burton, he was a man of extraordinary energy, and one also of the middle class, where at least a little extra money was available initially. More so, though, he was a man who felt constrained by modern Western society, unhappy with the stringent norms and professions of his day. Trained in law following his father's wishes, he was lucky enough to come down with a severe throat ailment, where the doctor prescribed "a Mediterranean climate." The Mediterranean was soon expanded to include Russia, then Egypt and the city of Petra, in a region then dominated by lawless Bedouins. That adventure made for a successful book, and from there, Stevens never looked back.
Even though he died of fever at 52, we know that he never had any regrets. He had lived life, not rolled along, as Jefferson Starship once sang, "waiting to die." And he had changed history.
That is not how most of us live. I am not sure that most of us live "lives of quiet desperation," but most seek security and long, comfortable lives. I do not mock this, for I would then currently be a hypocrite. But it is true: ultimately, there is no security and life truly is short. This does not mean that we have to burn the candle at both ends, or risk our lives in adventure, but it does mean that we should follow our calling as best we can, despite at least some risks.
I recall someone saying to another who was thinking of suicide: "hell, if that's the case, go on an adventure! Sail the seas and explore the darkest and most dangerous regions, for what have you got to lose?" In a longer view, this is the same for us all. It was thus that Jesus was able to say, "leave all and follow me." This is not everyone's calling, certainly, but the idea is relevant: in the advent of time, no-one is safe, and so all can be gambled. It is so not only for individuals, but also for the most formidable of civilizations, as we constantly learn from the likes of Stevens.
So it is that we have one - and only one - consolation for our distinctly human forethought on immanent death. Yes, it troubles and even plagues us; but it also frees us to do as we feel moved to do - from adventure to moral self-sacrifice. Even, it seems, the very shadow of death is somehow liberating, and sometimes, even good. FK
There will be much to talk about later, but first, these two things:
The author, going on information of our time, writes about the demographic demise of the Indians after Columbus, where disease stripped the two Western continents of perhaps 95% of the indigenous peoples, from roughly 100 million in 1491 to a mere 6 million by 1680. These figures are argued over to this day, of course, as there was never any census-taker for everyone in those times, but it is at least partly true - and it is the primary reason the Europeans so easily won the competition for land with the Indians. However, there is something the author does not note, which he should have, given his subject; the Mayans peaked and then vanished as a major civilization between 800 and 1000 AD - as would the ancestors of the Hopi in the Southwest at nearly the same time, as well as the mound builders of the Mississippi and the forerunners to the Incas (as well as the last great civilization in Mexico before the Aztecs arrived from the north a few centuries later). I have not done the necessary research for an ironclad case, but it seems that something very, very big happened around 1000 AD that deeply affected the populations of the Americas - most probably a violent or at least substantial change in the weather. Archaeologists speak of drought for the Anasazi and the Maya, but what of the others?
Whatever the case, it is clear that weather can take drastic turns very quickly without the aid of industrial pollution or any other man-made causes. This might be controversial now, but that is not my intention; rather, it is that civilizations float on an uncertainty that is beyond their control. Until recently, great civilizations were theocracies, run by the power of the gods. Perhaps they knew that all, including the might of empires, rests on the whim of a power beyond Man, and that finally, as the Aztecs and Mayans knew all too well, no amount of sacrifice could stop their own versions of judgement day from arriving, regardless.
The other point: who are these people, mostly men until very recently, who risked everything for discovery and adventure? While Catherwood has yet to be described (I am a third the way through the book) , we find that Stevens fit the typical bill of most who went before and came after him. Like Rasmussen and Sir Richard Burton, he was a man of extraordinary energy, and one also of the middle class, where at least a little extra money was available initially. More so, though, he was a man who felt constrained by modern Western society, unhappy with the stringent norms and professions of his day. Trained in law following his father's wishes, he was lucky enough to come down with a severe throat ailment, where the doctor prescribed "a Mediterranean climate." The Mediterranean was soon expanded to include Russia, then Egypt and the city of Petra, in a region then dominated by lawless Bedouins. That adventure made for a successful book, and from there, Stevens never looked back.
Even though he died of fever at 52, we know that he never had any regrets. He had lived life, not rolled along, as Jefferson Starship once sang, "waiting to die." And he had changed history.
That is not how most of us live. I am not sure that most of us live "lives of quiet desperation," but most seek security and long, comfortable lives. I do not mock this, for I would then currently be a hypocrite. But it is true: ultimately, there is no security and life truly is short. This does not mean that we have to burn the candle at both ends, or risk our lives in adventure, but it does mean that we should follow our calling as best we can, despite at least some risks.
I recall someone saying to another who was thinking of suicide: "hell, if that's the case, go on an adventure! Sail the seas and explore the darkest and most dangerous regions, for what have you got to lose?" In a longer view, this is the same for us all. It was thus that Jesus was able to say, "leave all and follow me." This is not everyone's calling, certainly, but the idea is relevant: in the advent of time, no-one is safe, and so all can be gambled. It is so not only for individuals, but also for the most formidable of civilizations, as we constantly learn from the likes of Stevens.
So it is that we have one - and only one - consolation for our distinctly human forethought on immanent death. Yes, it troubles and even plagues us; but it also frees us to do as we feel moved to do - from adventure to moral self-sacrifice. Even, it seems, the very shadow of death is somehow liberating, and sometimes, even good. FK
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