The Forum

I Ain’t Stupid

I just climbed out of the hot tub with the Fall Archaeology Odyssey in my hand. My attention was riveted by “Above Rome” (Field Notes, AO 01:04). I have walked those streets—prayed in the Roman Colosseum at night!

Almost a year ago, when the first issue arrived, I wrote on the invoice: “CANCEL: I already have too much to read!”

But this splendid publication now continues to come to my mailbox. I have finally come to my senses—I can never, never afford to be without this magazine, ever!

I enclose two gift orders—one for my orthopedic surgeon son, the other for my beautiful daughter!

I may be Norwegian—but I ain’t stupid!

A Bordello Is Not a Pleasure Palace!

I am very disturbed about an article in your Spring 1998 issue entitled “The Oldest Profession” (Field Notes, AO 01:02). You referred to a bordello as a “pleasure palace” and the actions that went on there as “going upstairs for dessert.” I thought Archaeology Odyssey was supposed to be an intellectual magazine, not a forum for chauvinist remarks. If my memory serves me correctly, these “palaces” were not so pleasurable for the women degraded in them, and “dessert” may often have entailed a good bit of violence.

Sinte Nicholas Is Coming to Town

We read your magazine cover-to-cover in the day or two after it arrives, and I love the idea of its going to a bimonthly (although a biweekly would be even better).

I notice one item that needs clarification. Julie Skurdenis’s article on Myra, Turkey (Destinations, AO 01:03) states that the name St. Nicholas was changed to Santa Claus in America. It actually comes from the Dutch name Sinte Claus; sinte is Dutch for saint and Claus is a contraction of Nicholas. It was brought to America by the early Dutch settlers and then corrupted to Santa Claus by the English who followed.

Thank you for the chance to be pedantic to someone other than my children.

Arab Medicine

A Distorted History?

Your article “A Cure for the Common Cold” (David W. Tschanz, Origins, AO 01:03) is illustrated with a picture of a pharmacy with extensive Hebrew writing below. The article, however, celebrates only the Arabic role in the development of medicine. There were many outstanding Jewish physicians in Moorish Spain yet the article does not mention their contribution to medicine even once. Can it be that this omission was more than accidental, since the article first appeared in Aramco World? I think you owe your readers a more comprehensive and less distorted history.

See the responses following Dr. Weissman’s letter below.—Ed.

What About Jewish Doctors?

While reading David W. Tschanz’s description of Arabic Medicine (see Origins, AO 01:03), I had an uncomfortable feeling, as if Hitler’s dream of Judenrein [Jew-free] had occurred prematurely. Tschanz notes scientific contributions of Greek, Byzantine, Nestorian, Christian, Persian, Indian, Chinese and Arab physicians to Arabic medicine, but takes no cognizance of the Jews in this select group.

Yet Jewish physicians, all apparently unknown to Tschanz, practiced with non-Jewish colleagues at enlightened caliphate courts in mutual cooperation. Earlier, Jewish doctors fleeing Roman Palestine took refuge in Arabia, bringing Greek and Roman expertise with them. Mohammed consulted a non-Muslim physician. After the Arab conquest, Christian and Jewish doctors indulged their skills until trained Arabs appeared. Averroes, brilliant philosopher and scientist, hid among the Jews when his opinions became politically unacceptable. Maimonides, the most famous of Jewish physicians, was appointed Saladin’s doctor in Cairo and formulated an ethical guide for his profession.

Of great import were the roles played by Jewish scholars and physicians, with their non-Jewish cohorts, in translating ancient scientific information. Knowledgeable in Greek, Latin, Syriac, Hebrew and Arabic, they rendered, early on, Greek and Roman texts into Arabic. The latter were subsequently translated into Latin for Christian Europe. Jewish physicians also brought Arabic medicine from Muslim Spain to the early European medical centers at Salerno and Montpelier.

Does Tschanz’s omission of the Jewish presence demonstrate a lacunar memory, or is he rewriting history for Arab fundamentalists? Perhaps Mark Twain was correct when he stated, “The very ink with which all history is written is merely fluid prejudice.”

We asked David Tschanz and Duke University professor Joseph Shatzmiller, author of Jews, Medicine and Medieval Society (Univ. of California Press, 1994), to respond to these letters.—Ed.

David W. Tschanz replies:

Charges of anti-Semitism, historical bias and other personal attacks aside, E. Weissman and Judith I. Freund do raise some interesting points.

To start with, my article was never intended to be a comprehensive survey of the entire corpus of medieval Middle Eastern medicine, only to highlight the role of medieval Muslim civilization in the transmittal of Hellenistic knowledge back to a West that was mired in intellectual stagnation. I made no attempt to provide a listing of who did what and what ethnic group they were from because they were all, for better or for worse, members of the same society—an immense amalgamation of peoples who forged an exceedingly vibrant culture. Despite the fact that the original title was “The Arab Roots of European Medicine,” the two highlighted principals, Al-Razi and Ibn Sina, were both Persians (Ibn Sina may have even been an Afghan) who considered themselves “Arabs” in the sense that they thought, worked and wrote in Arabic.

Dr. Weissman is correct in pointing out that Maimonides, a Jewish physician of the western caliphate noted for his philosophical insights, is absent. So also is Albucassis and dozens of others who might have been included as well. But as any writer can tell you, editors have a habit of limiting the number of words they want to publish on a subject. Given the space limitations that were placed on the piece and the narrow focus of the topic, I chose to concentrate on the eastern caliphate where the process began, and to focus on the roots and end product of what was in fact a multi-century transition involving hundreds of scholars throughout the Islamic world. These individuals were able to function so effectively because early Muslim rulers chose, for the most part, to adopt and adapt what they found, not remain separate from it. Ignoring these men to concentrate on Ibn Sina, Al Razi and the crucial role of the Nestorian Christian medical school at Jundishapur does not negate their importance. On the other hand, reading something sinister into this decision is the equivalent of criticizing an article on American history, given the same limited space, for emphasizing the Constitutional Convention, George Washington and Abraham Lincoln at the expense of Rutherford B. Hayes, Franklin Pierce and Franklin Delano Roosevelt.

As for the illustration with Hebrew writing, I too was puzzled by its selection.

[The illustration in the Summer issue, showing a 15th-century Hebrew translation of Ibn Sina’s Canon of Medicine, was indeed chosen by the editors, not by the author. This is one of numerous 15th-century (and later) translations of the work in Latin, Hebrew and other languages. Our purpose was to show that Ibn Sina’s Canon was used and reused very late in Western history. By showing a picture of a Hebrew edition, we celebrate—not disparage—the important contribution of Jewish scholarship—Ed.]

Joseph Shatzmiller replies:

It would have been nice to include Moses ben Maimon (Maimonides, 1135–1204 A.D.) in a survey of Arabic physicians in the Middle East. Medieval historians ranked him among the greatest of the great. Maimonides was trained in North Africa and practiced in Egypt—serving as physician to the first vizier of Saladin (and not Saladin himself). His medical writings—all in Arabic—were also archived in the Middle East. A few years ago, at a Paris Convention organized by UNESCO, scholars struggled with colleagues who considered Maimonides as an Arabic, not a Jewish, writer. My heart goes out, therefore, to the protest of Ms. Freund.

However, there is a “however”: Limited by space, Mr. Tschanz could not have mentioned every important physician; he thus omitted names of medical celebrities no less distinguished than Maimonides. It should also be noted that the Canon of Ibn Sina was translated into Hebrew some three generations after Maimonides left his world for a better one.

As someone who has spent years studying the history of Jewish doctors, it gives me pleasure to participate in the present exchange: I realize that out there are individuals with whom I share a deep passion for the subject.

Cappadocia

Tuff Luck

I particularly enjoyed the articles on the caves at Cappadocia (Robert G. Ousterhout, “The Cave-Dwellers,” and Veronica G. Kalas, “Monasteries? Heavens No,” AO 01:04). As a geologist/vulcanologist, I have always wanted to visit that part of Turkey and see those rock formations firsthand. The pictures accompanying the article were excellent.

Now that I have buttered you up, may I interject one small technical comment. The word “tufa” is used to describe calcareous (limey) hot spring deposits. Consolidated volcanic ash deposits such as those at Cappadocia are more correctly called “tuffs.” Perhaps because of the close similarity in the spelling of the two words, most hot springs deposits these days are called travertine rather than tufa.

Mr. Corcoran is correct. See the reply by Robert Ousterhout following Mr. Jones’s letter.—Ed.

What Happened to All That Rock?

Cappadocia’s rock-cut architecture is of special interest to me because my home is in the Black Hill country of South Dakota—not far from Mt. Rushmore and the Crazy Horse Mountain Memorial.

The four presidents immortalized in stone by sculptor Gutzon Borglum left a huge pile of detritus at the base of the carving. Borglum died before completing his work, and an argument has been raging for nearly a half century as to what to do with the loose material. It still lies where it fell during the carving.

There had to have been hundreds of tons of tufa dug out of the Cappadocia formations. My question is, What happened to the waste material? Is it still visible? Was it removed from the area? Or did it just erode into soil?

Robert G. Ousterhout replies:

We tend to think of Cappadocia as being a rock-cut settlement, but there must have been quite a bit of masonry architecture as well. Our survey at Çanli Kilise, for example, identified numerous masonry structures that were contemporaneous with the rock-cut ones. The big difference is that cut stone can be carried away and reused as settlement patterns change, while caves tend to stay in one place.

The volcanic landforms of Cappadocia are usually called tufa, but they are more correctly called tuff or compressed ash, as Ray Corcoran observes. Tufa usually refers to limestone deposits, such as those that were quarried for much of Rome’s architecture. Tuff, on the other hand, is volcanic—it is much softer and does not last as long. It is easily carved and will hold its shape for rock-cut architecture, but the soft tuff will deteriorate quickly when exposed to the elements. Consequently, masons were very selective about where they would quarry building stone and where they would create rock-cut interiors.

At Çanli Kilise we found two types of quarrying. The first, in an area of particularly hard tuff, was identified as a quarry for building materials. We were able to match this stone with that used in masonry churches up to a mile away. Standard quarrying practices were observed, with blocks removed in a step-like manner from the rocky slope. Within the caves, however, we found some unfinished rooms that revealed a different type of stone removal. Large, irregular blocks were isolated by carving around them from floor to ceiling; they were then removed, either whole or (more likely) in several pieces. The blocks still in place look like giant loaves of bread. If they were used after removal, it was probably for animal pens and other simple barriers, a few of which still survive. But much of this soft tuff would have deteriorated when exposed to the weather, eventually becoming part of the large fields of soft ash in the valley below. This is part of the process of erosion forming the arable land of Cappadocia, as in the cover photo of the Fall issue of Archaeology Odyssey, which shows vineyards growing below the fairy chimneys.

Inventing Time

Hexing the Circle

After reflecting on Origins, AO 01:04, I would like to suggest that the Babylonian sexagesimal system combines features of the decimal system (based on digit-counting) and a “hex” system based on the remarkably easy divisibility of a circle into sixths. After a circle is drawn with compass or dividers, it can be marked off into six equal arcs simply by “walking” the instrument around the circumference. Multiplying the decimal (10) by the hex (6) gives the sexagesimal (60). Because a year has 365 days, some ancient would have noted how close this is to 6 x 60 = 360. The “hexing” of the circle also accounts for another significant number—24—obtained by twice doubling the six arcs in the circle.

Don’t Blame the Babylonians

Although it is always cheering to see the sexagesimally-mobilized Mesopotamians get the blame they deserve for the 60-minute hour (Origins, AO 01:04), they are guiltless in the invention of the 24-hour day. That living fossil actually evolved out of Egypt’s decimally-oriented arithmetic and Egypt’s solar calendar.

The Egyptians anchored their calendar to the predawn reappearance of the star Sirius, an event that occurred close to the summer solstice. The Egyptian system of counting hours relied on a set of 36 stars, or decans, each of which, in sequence, also inaugurated a 10-day interval, or decade, with a predawn rising. Near the summer solstice, when the duration of daylight is greatest, the night was only long enough to accommodate the appearance of 12 decans, and the hours of the night were established as 12. Daytime hours were measured with shadow clocks, and in the earlier period, an affinity for decimals legislated 10 daylight hours.

Consideration for chronometric symmetry eventually prompted the Egyptians to add another pair of hours for dusk and dawn. All of these hours were variable in duration, throughout the year, until the 12th century B.C., when the system was regularized. According to Herodotus, the Babylonians also used this system and gave it to the Greeks. The 24-hour baton may have been passed to us from Babylon, but those Hanging Gardens were first cultivated with an Egyptian clock.

Ancient Life

Perpetuating Ugly Myths?

Your Fall issue represents everything I hope for in Archaeology Odyssey—except the tailpiece, Ancient Life, showing pictures of infants sitting miserably in training potties. The photos remind me of the stocks Puritans put sinners in. Particularly irksome are the gratuitous comments about infanticide in classical times.

Abandoning children to death on cold and desolate mountainsides (brrr!) has always been thought of as inhumane, by everybody. And rightly so. This unsubstantiated myth seems to have been perpetuated because of each successive writer’s ignorance and timidity (What! Question “the authorities?”) and his or her desire to have enough copy to fill a book.

Someday I will take a crack at the “historians” who repeat the myth that the Carthaginians sacrificed children in huge numbers. The evidence seems to be that cremated remains of many children of different ages have been found in jars buried in remote cemeteries. But you wouldn’t run an article about something like that without checking it out first, would you?

To stop the perpetuation of ugly myths, we asked the classicist J. Harold Ellens, of the University of Michigan and the Claremont Graduate School, in Claremont, California, to respond to Mr. Worcester’s letter.—Ed.

J. Harold Ellens replies:

I read with empathy Dean K. Worcester, Jr.’s letter about the horror of infanticide. But the data are overwhelming that what he calls the “myth” of infanticide in the ancient world was all too harsh a reality.

I have seen numerous child burial urns in Old Carthage and, whereas some deaths probably resulted from natural causes, the skeletal damage makes it clear that many were killed. Moreover, we know from historical records that the Romans forcibly stopped the Carthaginians’ cousins at Tyre from sacrificing children to the gods as late as the fourth century C.E., making child sacrifice illegal under the Pax Romana. (Earlier, however, the Romans were clearly not so kind: The Roman Law of the Twelve Tables forbade allowing deformed children to survive. During the reign of the twelve Caesars, infanticide not only was legal but was given open public support even by such a renowned philosopher as Seneca [c. 4 B.C.E.–65 C.E.].)

Such biblical narratives as the sacrifice of Isaac (Genesis 22), Jephtah’s sacrifice of his daughter (Judges 11), Ahaz’s sacrifice of children (II Chronicles 33) and Herod’s slaughter of the innocents (Matthew) indicate that child sacrifice was very much an issue even in the biblical community throughout its long history, to say nothing about the fact that the main metaphor in Christian tradition is God’s sacrifice of his own son. Infanticide, unfortunately, is as old as recorded history.

Motives for infanticide are not difficult to discern. In ancient Greece and Rome, in medieval China, and even in modern India, twins, female children, monstrous births, congenitally defective infants and economically unsupportable children of both sexes have been killed. Infanticide was permitted in China as recently as 1873. I have worked in India, where I regularly read in the daily newspapers about rural families in various northeastern provinces who killed their baby girls.

Nor is the West immune to the scourge of child-killing. In 1871 a contest was announced in Europe for the best essay on how to halt infanticide. The problem was of such intense concern that numerous essays were submitted by distinguished European educators, among them Johann Pestalozzi, who discussed 15 cases of which he was personally aware. Pestalozzi noted that children were being killed by the thousands in Europe at that time. Frederick the Great, King of Prussia between 1740 and 1786, abolished church penance for unmarried mothers because too many women sought to avoid the disgrace of penance by practicing infanticide.

Mr. Worcester should not be astonished by ancient infanticide. According to government statisticians, 70 million unborn children have been aborted, in America alone, over the last 40 years. Whatever position one takes on the political and moral issues regarding abortion, we should be honest enough to admit that we have in this way domesticated a certain kind of infanticide, for our own particular social reasons, in our own enlightened time.

Why is it difficult to acknowledge that the ancients also domesticated infanticide for their own special social, economic and religious reasons, in their time?

I Ain’t Stupid