Once called the “Terrestrial Paradise,” Ayuthia, the old capital of Siam, fell rapidly into ruins after an attack by the Burmese in 1767. Also known as Krung Kao, “the old capital,” Ayuthia was the “Oriental Venice” for a few hundred years. It was built on the banks of the Meinam (Me Nam, meaning “mother waters”), or Chao Phrya (“Chief”), River, and it was once a resplendent city with more than 300 temples, many with golden spires or pagodas.
Ruins elicit different emotions, don’t they? We see Maachu Picchu, and we say, “This is just magnificent. What a glorious place!” Ruins also elicit sadness. We say, “How was all this glory lost? What happened to these people? They seem to have had everything.” So, we elevate the significance of ruins on two feelings: Wonder and pity, both touched by a bit of curiosity. What was it like to have lived in a “terrestrial paradise”?
Well, look around. What is it like? After all, some day in the distant future someone will look over the ruins of your cities and ask, “What happened?” Your coliseum will, like the one in Rome, stand in partial ruin; your theaters, like the amphitheaters of ancient Greece, will be empty. Someone will walk by, see the ruins and ask what you now ask about all the ruins of the ancient, medieval, and even more recent world. What happened?
“Not my city,” you say. “Not the gleaming towers of the twenty-first century. We’re here to stay. Look at our technology, our wealth, our industry.” True, you live in an age when technology has built the great towers in Dubai, Singapore, New York, and elsewhere. Earth gleams resplendently at night with the silver light from thousands of urban areas.
You’re here to stay, you argue. Your house, your apartment, your neighborhood, your town or city. But ruination comes in many forms. Ayuthia fell into ruin after an attack from the outside. Today’s slums fell into ruin by attacks from the inside.
Think of ruins again in light of Meadowcroft, the ancient site of inhabitants dated to a time before the last big ice sheets melted off North America. Visit Meadowcroft outside Avella, Pennsylvania, a small rural community where the rock shelter housed generations of unknown people for millennia. They didn’t do much building; the tale of their many lives lie in the ruins of artifacts buried in layers of soil that accumulated like the stuff in your garage. Time itself appears to ruin place, even a cave-like rock shelter used for thousands of years.
Want something to last? Make it your thoughts. We build our modern cities on the geometry of Euclid. We still read the philosophy of ancient Greeks, and if we want, we can sit on the chipped and worn steps of an ancient amphitheater while we discuss what Aristotle, Plato, or Sophocles wrote. Terrestrial paradises are fleeting entities. Better to build a paradise of the mind.
Ruins elicit different emotions, don’t they? We see Maachu Picchu, and we say, “This is just magnificent. What a glorious place!” Ruins also elicit sadness. We say, “How was all this glory lost? What happened to these people? They seem to have had everything.” So, we elevate the significance of ruins on two feelings: Wonder and pity, both touched by a bit of curiosity. What was it like to have lived in a “terrestrial paradise”?
Well, look around. What is it like? After all, some day in the distant future someone will look over the ruins of your cities and ask, “What happened?” Your coliseum will, like the one in Rome, stand in partial ruin; your theaters, like the amphitheaters of ancient Greece, will be empty. Someone will walk by, see the ruins and ask what you now ask about all the ruins of the ancient, medieval, and even more recent world. What happened?
“Not my city,” you say. “Not the gleaming towers of the twenty-first century. We’re here to stay. Look at our technology, our wealth, our industry.” True, you live in an age when technology has built the great towers in Dubai, Singapore, New York, and elsewhere. Earth gleams resplendently at night with the silver light from thousands of urban areas.
You’re here to stay, you argue. Your house, your apartment, your neighborhood, your town or city. But ruination comes in many forms. Ayuthia fell into ruin after an attack from the outside. Today’s slums fell into ruin by attacks from the inside.
Think of ruins again in light of Meadowcroft, the ancient site of inhabitants dated to a time before the last big ice sheets melted off North America. Visit Meadowcroft outside Avella, Pennsylvania, a small rural community where the rock shelter housed generations of unknown people for millennia. They didn’t do much building; the tale of their many lives lie in the ruins of artifacts buried in layers of soil that accumulated like the stuff in your garage. Time itself appears to ruin place, even a cave-like rock shelter used for thousands of years.
Want something to last? Make it your thoughts. We build our modern cities on the geometry of Euclid. We still read the philosophy of ancient Greeks, and if we want, we can sit on the chipped and worn steps of an ancient amphitheater while we discuss what Aristotle, Plato, or Sophocles wrote. Terrestrial paradises are fleeting entities. Better to build a paradise of the mind.
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