Copyright by Ilan Vit 2012

The Dissertation Committee for Ilan Vit Certifies that this is the approved version of the following dissertation:

Heritage Revisited: An Examination of the Built Environment's Historiography, Preservation, and Meaning

Committee:

Christopher A. Long, Supervisor

Michael Holleran, Co-Supervisor

Miroslava M. Benes

Richard L. Cleary

Danilo F. Udovicki

Rabun M. Taylor Heritage Revisited: An Examination of the Built Environment's Historiography, Preservation, and Meaning.

by

Ilan Vit, Titulo de Arquitecto; Maestro.

Dissertation Presented to the Faculty of the Graduate School of The University of Texas at Austin in Partial Fulfillment of the Requirements for the Degree of

Doctor of Philosophy

The University of Texas at Austin May 2012 Dedication

This work has grown out of Love, from those who came before, and Hope, for those still to come. It is dedicated to my parents, Laura & Pedro, in gratitude for their unconditional support and loving care. They have given me life, more than once. May this work be a testimony to their kind effort!

Acknowledgements

This work benefitted from the richness of innumerable conversations, thoughtful suggestions, and outstanding courses experienced during my graduate studies at the University of Texas at Austin. There were several professors whose knowledge and friendship encouraged the pursuit of this work. First are those involved in the direction and reading of this manuscript: Christopher A. Long, Michael Holleran, Miroslava M. Benes, Richard L. Cleary, Danilo F. Udovicki, and Rabun Taylor. To each of them I owe the manifold expansion of my horizon: Chris helped me see the beauty of simplicity and clarity; Michael, the richness of preservation; Mirka shared her love for the Rome of Galileo and Borromini; Richard encoraged me to face modernity, head on; Danilo opened up the path for communicative action; and Rabun has taught me the precision of archaeology. This work would be nothing, without them. I also want to thank my dear friend Juan Miró, for the wonderful adventures and sites we visited together in the good company of his students and family. My years at Austin were encouraged by his unconditional support and friendship. Finally, there were other professors at UT, whose courses changed my understanding of the world. I am grateful for their vision, especially Thomas Pangle, Jim Hankinson, Bob Paterson, Fred Valdez, and David Stuart. This work was also instigated by the thoughtful and intimate relationships with professors, friends, and collaborators, back home in Mexico, especially Rogelio Rivero Chong, María Teresa Uriarte, Rubén Cabrera, Raúl Salas, Hugo Arciniega, Guillermo Bonfil, Luciano Cedillo, Cristobal Rendón, Xavier Hierro, Guillermo Espinosa, Pablo Rodríguez, Gil Carpinteiro, Miguel Muñoz, Jaime Moreras, Aurelio Nuño, Axel Arañó, José Miguel González, Roberto Rojas, Isaac Broid, Humberto Ricalde, and Carlos Mijares. Thank you all! v Heritage Revisited: An Examination of the Built Environment's Historiography, Preservation, and Meaning.

Publication No.______

Ilan Vit, PhD

The University of Texas at Austin, 2011

Supervisor: Christopher A. Long Co-Supervisor: Michael Holleran

The aim of this work is to understand how certain public buildings play an essential role in the evolution of cultural identity over time. Its main approach distinguishes the denotation of tangible heritage from the connotation of its intangible counterpart. These terms are not understood through semiotics, but, through phenomenology. In other words, meaning is not transmitted by an object; it is adjudicated by a subject. In this sense, the phenomenological experience of such buildings is divided in two: perception brings forth an initial denotation of some universal validity; while memories and dreams engender connotations that are rooted in specific spatiotemporal conditions. In this model, denotation stems from the tangible aspects of heritage, while connotation grows from its intangible dimension. To examine the interaction of these components over time, three case studies are surveyed: Rome's Pantheon, Teotihuacan's Sun Pyramid, and 's . Their examination begins with an analysis of their basic, primordial denotation, as "centers of power." This type of analysis is followed vi by a condensed history, which identifies the physical transformations that each building experienced over time. Lastly, a series of context companions present a horizon of expectations, from which multiple users at a given time may have received inspiration to elaborate different connotations of meaning. These sections are portrayed as "glimpses" of intellectual history and literary criticism. Their approach is mostly driven by Wilhelm Dilthey's theory of worldviews and Hans Robert Jauss's reception theory. Each case study suggests a different characterization of an overall historical outcome, associated with the

cultural evolution of specific groups: the Pantheon reflects some sense of continuity, for Western Civilization; the Sun Pyramid conveys an overwhelming sense of loss, for Mesoamerica; and Alhambra displays a pervasive sense of exclusion, for al-Andalus. The spirit behind these characterizations strives to understand the modalities in which heritage and cultural identity are shaped by the passage of time. Its goal is to increase our awareness about the fragility of the intangible heritage, when it is separated from its tangible substrate.

vii Table of Contents

List of Figures ...... x

INTRODUCTION ...... 1

ROME'S PANTHEON ...... 27

Part I: Condensed History ...... 27 A Homage to the Gens Iulia...... 33 A Temple to All the Gods ...... 38 Sancta Maria ad Martyres ...... 47 A New Iconography ...... 53 A Vision of Perfection ...... 59 Bernini's Restoration ...... 66 The Attic's Alteration ...... 72 The Monument's Isolation ...... 78 Modern Conservation ...... 86

Part II: Context Companion ...... 92 A Private Shrine ...... 97 An Imperial Temple ...... 106 A Catholic Church ...... 119

TEOTIHUACAN'S SUN PYRAMID ...... 132

Part I: Condensed History ...... 132 A Mesoamerican Sanctuary ...... 136 A Burnt Relic ...... 164 A Mythic Realm ...... 167 A Dormant Mountain ...... 178 A Modern Ruin ...... 189 A Resurgent Shrine ...... 195

viii Part II: Context Companion ...... 198 The Dictator's Pyramid ...... 207 The State's Pyramid ...... 215 The People's Pyramid ...... 227

GRANADA'S ALHAMBRA ...... 238

Part I: Condensed History ...... 238 A Rebel's Stronghold ...... 241 A Minister's Residence ...... 246 A Sultan's Palace ...... 254 An Emperor's Illusion ...... 282 A Soldier's Garrison ...... 288 An Architect's Masterpiece ...... 294

Part II: Context Companion ...... 306 Almohad Rationality ...... 310 Andalusi Orthodoxy and Mysticism ...... 323 Inquisitorial Intolerance ...... 340

CONCLUSION ...... 359

Bibliography ...... 386

ix List of Figures

Figure 1: Pantheon, plan at access level ...... 30

Figure 2: Pantheon, main façade, hypothetic view, without

the Hellenistic porch ...... 42

Figure 3: Pantheon, main façade, hypothetic view with

Hellenistic porch ...... 45

Figure 4: Pantheon, main façade, hypothetic view as an

early Catholic Church ...... 49

Figure 5: Pantheon, main façade, hypothetic view of its

worst period of conservation ...... 61

Figure 6: Details of Bernini's restoration ...... 68

Figure 7: Pantheon, main façade, hypothetic view,

after Bernini's restoration ...... 71

Figure 8: Detail of attic's restoration, by Terenzio ...... 90

Figure 9: Teotihuacan, site plan and hypothetic

reconstruction of its urban core...... 135

Figure 10: Cave beneath the Sun Pyramid, axonometric and plan...... 140

Figure 11: Precinct of the Sun Pyramid, site plan ...... 149

Figure 12: Sun Pyramid, façade, hypothetic reconstruction ...... 150

Figure 13: Zone 5-A, plan ...... 152

Figure 14: Zone 5-A, mural painting, "masked specialist" ...... 154

Figure 15: Zone 5-A, mural painting, "netted jaguar" ...... 155

Figure 16: Zone 5-A, mural painting, image with "fierce claws" ...... 157

Figure 17: Zone 5-A, mural painting, image with "splendorous aura" ...... 158

x Figure 18: Zone 5-A, mural painting, masked "bird-diver" ...... 160

Figure 19: Tepantitla, mural painting, a "place of abundance" ...... 163

Figure 20: Sun Pyramid, aerial view, after Batres's reconstruction ...... 190

Figure 21: Spring Equinox Festival, 2006 ...... 196

Figure 22: Alhambra, site plan, hypothetic reconstruction

of chronological sequence ...... 259

Figure 23: Yūsuf's throne room, plan ...... 264

Figure 24: Kumariṣ complex, view of central courtyard ...... 266

Figure 25: Yūsuf's throne room,details from entry arch ...... 269

Figure 26: Yūsuf's throne room, details of inscriptions

and ornament ...... 276

Figure 27: Yūsuf's throne room, section in perspective ...... 279

Figure 28: Riyāḍ complex, plan...... 280

Figure 29: Riyāḍ complex, east pavilion, restorations by

Torres Balbás and Contreras ...... 297

Figure 30: Partal, images of different stages of

deterioration and restoration ...... 301

xi INTRODUCTION

Charged with a spiritual message from the past, the monumental works of humanity remaining in our midst represent the living testimony of our secular traditions. As humanity increases its awareness about the unity of human values, these works become a common heritage…1

Since those words were written for the opening of the Venice Charter, the manner in which a building is charged with a spiritual message remains unclear. Many scholars

have tried to explain it through semiotics, hermeneutics, or phenomenology.2 In many ways, these terms ("charge" or "spiritual message") are associated with the meaningful content of all we inherit from the past. Yet none of these terms has been fully explained. This limited understanding affects our treatment of historical buildings and their meaning. Fortunately, the current effort of historic preservation to evolve from a practical discipline into a field of research–under the heading of heritage studies–offers a new perspective on these issues, since one of its topics of research could focus on the interplay of heritage, cultural identity, historical narrative, and political action. With this context in mind, the charter's terms may be redefined as follows: (1) the building as tangible heritage; (2) its message as intangible heritage; (3) and the act of "charging" as a product of complex social process. To some extent, the latter belongs to a primordial tendency to

1Venice Charter, opening lines (author's translation). For the original text in French, as well as the official translation, see http://www.international.icomos.org/charters/charters.pdf (accessed on January 2010). 2See, for example, Umberto Eco, "Function and Sign: The Semiotics of Architecture," in Rethinking Architecture: A Reader in Cultural Theory, Neil Leach, ed., 173-93, (New : Routledge, 1997); Donald Preziosi, The Semiotics of the Built Environment: An introduction to Architectonic Analysis, (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1979); Aldo Rossi, The Architecture of the City, trans. Diane Ghirardo and Joan Ockman, (Cambridge: The MIT Press, 1982); and Christian Norberg-Schulz, Genius Loci: Towards a Phenomenology of Architecture, (New York: Rizzoli, 1980). Cf. Gottfried Semper, "London Lecture of Autumn 1854: "On Architectural Symbols"," Harry F. Mallgrave, ed., RES 9(1985):61-7. 1 explain our standing in the world. In other words, how a society “constructs” a cosmovision or worldview. This need for an explanation of reality may trace back to the earliest expressions of mythopoeia.3 Unfortunately, the theoretical framework of historic preservation–mostly driven by deontological objectives–could have some difficulties with the ambiguities, elusiveness, and fragility of this type of intangible heritage. The transfer of certain strategies of conservation–particularly those concerned with objects–into this delicate

domain could bring some dangers. The difficulty to engage these abstract entities stems from the early stages of historic preservation, primarily guided by the principles of antiquarianism, philology, and archaeology. Most of its theoretical debates were focused on the definition of a proper methodology. The clash between conflicting theories of "restoration" and "conservation," which dominated most of the nineteenth century, was partially resolved with the rise of the Modern Conservation Movement (MCM) in the mid 1960s.4 After decades of relative success, its tenets have influenced the sensibility of the general public towards historical monuments, which, to some extent, has a hard time accepting change. In other words, we have become accustomed to allow the objects of the past to be ossified. This condition may be detrimental for the engagement of intangible heritage, since its “organic,” historical unfolding requires a more flexible approach. To

3For an initial approach to the massive literature on narrative, see Alan Dundes, ed., Sacred Narrative: Readings in the Theory of Myth, (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1984); Hayden White, The Content of the Form: Narrative Discourse and Historical Representation, (Baltimore: The Johns Hopkins University, 1990); David Carr, Time, Narrative, and History, (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1991); and Gary Fireman, Ted McVay, and Owen Flanagan, eds. Narrative and Consciousness: Literature, Psychology, and the Brain, (New York: Oxford University Press, 2003). 4The definition of the MCM may be found in Jukka Jokilehto, A History of Architectural Conservation, (Oxford: Butterworth-Heinemann, 1999), 8-13. For the development of historic preservation, see Raymond Lemaire, La restauration des monuments anciens, (Anvers: De Sikkel, 1938); Gustavo Giovannoni, Il restauro dei monumenti, (Rome: Cremonese, 1945); Jane Fawcett, ed., The Future of the Past: Attitudes to Conservation 1174-1974, (London: Thames and Hudson, 1976); and Cevat Erder, Our Architectural Heritage: From Consciousness to Conservation, trans. Ayfer Bakkalcioğlu, (Paris: UNESCO, 1986). 2 develop a more nuanced and sophisticated approach we could incorporate other fields of research, like philosophy, theology, political science, and certain types of philosophy of history. These fields have a better understanding of how the intangible legacies of humanity may be transmitted, renovated, and preserved over time. Thus, the treatment of each category of heritage (tangible and intangible) requires its own principles and methods. We should try to avoid imposing the standpoint of one category upon the other. Yet, how are we supposed to treat a tangible object that is somehow correlated with an intangible message? What is the nature of such correlation? How could the object and message be treated holistically? The answers to these questions may have a powerful effect on the main dictum of preservation. The problem is that messages have ways to resist the degree of fixation that an object may be able to attain. Moreover, the elusiveness of such ambiguous entities (messages) precludes any control over them. That is why they play such a decisive role in the constitution of identity and historical consciousness; which, in turn, have a profound effect on collective action. Consequently, their treatment demands great care. A clear challenge in this arena is the management of controversial interpretations, claiming ownership over messages to reshape and control the interplay between heritage, identity, narrative, and action. David Lowenthal highlights the complexity of these issues:

Recognizing the impact of the present on the past, we confront anew the paradox implicit in preservation. Vestiges are saved to stave off decay, destruction, and replacement and to keep an unspoiled heritage. Yet preservation itself reveals that permanence is an illusion […] We should not deceive ourselves that we can keep the past stable and segregated […] Whether we restore or refrain from restoring we cannot avoid reshaping the past […] When we realize that past and present are not exclusive but inseparable realms, we cast off preservation's self-defeating insistence on a fixed and stable past.5

5David Lowenthal, The Past is a Foreign Country, (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005), 410-2. 3 The history of buildings that we define as monuments illustrates how previous generations were constantly "reshaping the past." To some extent, they seem to have differentiated the object from their message and, consequently, recast the latter without destroying the former. Rome's Pantheon is a perfect example of such operation. In other cases the message is forgotten or lost with the passage of time, while the building remains almost untouched, awaiting the imposition of new messages. Teotihuacan's Sun Pyramid illustrates this condition. Another example reveals an entirely different situation. The

impeccable preservation of Granada's Alhambra obscures the fact that its message was systematically excluded from the public scene. The primary objective of this work is to examine the relation between the transformation of monuments and the evolution of their messages over time. It is a study of concrete objects (tangible heritage) and abstract meanings (intangible heritage). The approach is through the diachronic survey of the aforementioned buildings: the Pantheon, Sun Pyramid, and Alhambra. The survey identifies a series of physical transformations that could be equated with substantial changes of the intellectual landscape and constellation of beliefs (worldview), associated with the caretakers of those buildings.

The work is based on a series of nested objectives: (1) to illustrate how these monuments

were constantly changing over time; (2) to establish some consonance between these changes and certain transformations in the worldview of the caretakers of these buildings;

and (3) to examine the nature of the correlation between concrete physical change–as indexed by the fabric of these buildings–and broader transformations in the belief-system of their caretakers. If the nature of this correlation is clarified, the treatment of historical objects–as we receive them from the past–would need to be more flexible, since the engagement of those major cultural trends affecting, simultaneously, their tangible and intangible expression requires a holistic approach that could only stem from a more 4 sensitive disposition. The engagement of such a nuanced and complex correlation would benefit from a robust historical examination on a case-by-case basis. The questions concerned with monuments and their associated meaning ("spiritually charged messages") are fundamental to clarify the methodological approach of historic preservation and to define a clear area of study in the field of heritage studies. To address these issues, this work employs the semiotic notions of denotation and connotation, but from a different perspective. The latter could be characterized, to some degree, as a revised phenomenology.6 In other words, the common assumption that buildings have an intrinsic, communicative capability is brought into question. Buildings, by themselves, do not have a semiotic power. Whatever "messages" or meaning they may connote is, in fact, adjudicated by the human mind, through highly complex mental operations, as well as a dynamic interaction with other people in social events. The building is only a passive device that is activated by the rich, communicative power of language and art. The memory of previous experiences, in which complex narratives were broadcast in public events, enhances the mind's ability to associate meaning with certain buildings. The next part of the introduction explains, in more detail, how these assumptions will be used throughout this work.

6To revise one of the most robust versions of phenomenological reflection, i.e. Edmund Husserl's transcendental phenomenology, it is necessary to consider the challenges advanced by Jacques Derrida, among others, regarding the manner in which the subconscious interacts with the higher operations of consciousness, mostly those associated with the adjudication of meaning. Moreover, these revisions must follow current advancements in neuroscience and cognitive psychology. For a preliminary immersion to such a complex revision, see, among others, Rudolf Bernet, "Unconscious Consciousness in Husserl and Freud," in The New Husserl: A Critical Reader, Donn Welton, ed., 199-222, (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2003); James M. Edie, "Husserl vs. Derrida," Human Studies 13, 2(1990):103-18; Jacques Derrida, "Différance," in Margins of Philosophy, 1-28, (: The Press, 1982); Rick Grush, "How to, and How Not to, Bridge Computational Cognitive Neuroscience and Husserlian Phenomenology of Time Consciousness," Synthese 153, 3(2006):417-50; and Burt C. Hopkins, ed., Husserl in Contemporary Context: Prospects and Projects for Phenomenology, (Dordrecht: Kluwer Academic Publishers, 1997). 5 Denotation and Connotation

Many scholars have recognized the unique potential of certain buildings to convey meaning. Perhaps, one of the most poetic characterizations of such potential is suggested by Paul Valéry's distinction between buildings that "sing" from those that are

"mute."7 However, as provocative as this image may be, the nature of a building's semiotic power remains unclear. Some scholars see it as a communicative capability, present in the building itself. For them, the latter is a kind of "text," which may be decoded.8 Others recognize how meaning is conveyed by the human mind. For them, our tendency to impose meaning upon any kind of object extends to architecture.9 One way or another, the relation between buildings and their associated meaning is fundamental to understand why some of them (monuments, especially) receive so much attention throughout history. Certain buildings with a long, continued existence reflect complex processes of enculturation, stretching over vast periods of time.10 They seem to reflect a

7In "Eupalinos ou l'Architecte," Paul Valéry introduces the poetic image of "buildings that sing." The work, set up as a dialogue between Socrates and Phaedrus, examines how art is capable of creating an emotional response. Valéry's approach to architecture's semiotic potential appears in a passage where Phaedrus recollects a conversation he once held with Eupalinos. The latter asked Phaedrus: "Tell me (since you are so sensitive to the effects of architecture), as you walk around the city, have you not observed that among the buildings which populate it, some are mute; others speak; and others, the rarest, sing?" See "Eupalinos ou l'Architecte (1923)," in Oeuvres de Paul Valéry, (Paris: Éditions du Sagittaire, 1931), 91-2. 8See, among others, Paul Zanker, The Power of Images in the Age of Augustus, (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1990); Esther Pasztory, "Abstraction and Rise of a Utopian State at Teotihuacan," in Art, Ideology, and the City of Teotihuacan: A Symposium at Dumbarton Oaks, 8th and 9th October 1988, Janet C. Berlo, ed., 281-320, (Washington, DC: Dumbarton Oaks, Trustees for Harvard University, 1992); and José Miguel Puerta Vílchez, Los códigos de utopía de la Alhambra de Granada, (Granada: Diputación Provincial de Granada, 1990). 9See, for instance, Danilo Udovicki-Selb, "Between Formalism and Deconstruction: Hans Georg Gadamer's Hermeneutics and the Aesthetics of Reception," in The Education of the Architect: Historiography, Urbanism, and the Growth of Architectural Knowledge, Martha Pollak, ed., 239-66, (Cambridge: MIT Press, 1997). 10Aldo Rossi's theory of urban artifacts is a perfect example of such understanding. For him, certain public buildings (monuments) are "signs of the collective will as expressed through the principles of architecture." The term 'urban artifact' is a translation of the French, faite urbaine, which "implies not just a physical thing in the city, but all of its history, geography, structure, and connection with the general life of the city." His approach echoes a passage from Lewis Mumford: "Mind takes form in the city; and in turn, urban forms condition mind, for space, no less than time, is artfully reorganized in cities […] The city is both a physical 6 unique interaction between tangible and intangible heritage. When both categories are studied as constituents of a holistic expression of culture, we discover that certain elements play an active role, while others serve more like a passive reinforcement. Architecture belongs to the second group. Buildings transmit only a basic denotation, which tends to advance certain degrees of universality. For Umberto Eco, this type of denotation refers only to the building's function; while, for Mircea Eliade it is the manifestation of an archetype.11 Either way, an initial denotation has only a limited range

of communication. It is just a passive expression of culture, even though, it has the rich potential to trigger subsequent connotations. A building's "message" appears through such levels of connotation. It is introduced by the active participation of people, each with its own cultural background. One of the main reasons for selecting Edmund Husserl's phenomenology to reconsider the usage of denotation and connotation–from the perspective of human subjects–is associated with his appreciation of the correlation between the different layers of reality. In other words, how the ground of reality or (1) the world as it is–understood as a realm of concrete objects, which tends to be the concern of materialism–is correlated with (2) the world as perceived by the senses–that is, a realm of sensory data and phenomenal appearances, which constitutes the foundation for the empirical scrutiny of reality through consciousness, thus, becoming the domain of objectivism–which, in turn, is correlated with (3) the world as represented by the mind–that is, a realm of mental representations, originated by two, radically opposing, sources: consciousness and the

utility for collective living and a symbol of those collective purposes and unanimities." See Aldo Rossi, The Architecture of the City, trans. Diane Ghirardo and Joan Ockman, (Cambridge: The MIT Press, 1982), 22-4. 11See Eco, "Function and Sign," 1997; Mircea Eliade, The Myth of the Eternal Return: Cosmos and History, trans. Willard R. Trask, (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2005); and, idem, Patterns in Comparative Religion, trans. Rosemary Sheed, (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 1996). 7 subconscious, the former articulates sensory data with higher levels of abstraction, while the latter enhances memories and provides content for dreams; such dichotomy engenders the opposing views of idealism and subjectivism.12 To appreciate the dynamism of such a multilayered understanding of reality it is necessary to incorporate the psychological study of the subconscious,13 as well as the neurobiological study of consciousness.14 At the intersection of these fields, we begin to uncover the true complexity of the human mind. Within these boundaries, it is possible to characterize denotation as a mental operation under the full control of consciousness– given its direct reliance on logic and the senses–while connotation emerges from a rather ambiguous interaction between consciousness and the subconscious. The relationship between these opposing aspects of the mind seems to be determined by an almost "invisible boundary," a kind of membrane, filtering the symbolic content of dreams and memories towards higher levels of representation still controlled by consciousness. In this sense, the objectivity of denotation might be considered a public understanding of reality,

12See Edmund Husserl, Ideas Pertaining to a Pure Phenomenology and to a Phenomenological Philosophy, First Book, trans. F. Kersten, (The Hague: Martinus Nijhoff, 1983), 190-203; Klaus Held, "Husserl's Phenomenological Method," trans. Lanei Rodemeyer, in The New Husserl: A Critical Reader, Donn Welton, ed., 3-31, (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2003); Paul Ricoeur, A Key to Husserl's Ideas I, trans. Bond Harris and Jacqueline Bouchard Spurlock, Pol Vandevelde, ed., (Milwaukee: Marquette University Press, 1996); and Dan Zahavi, Husserl's Phenomenology, (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2003). 13See Freud, "Revision of the Theory of Dreams," in Complete Works, V. 22: New Introductory Lectures on Psycho-Analysis and Other Works, James Strachey, trans. & ed., 7-30, (London: Hogarth Press, Institute of Psycho-Analysis, 1975); Jung, "Approaching the Unconscious," in Man and his Symbols, C. G. Jung, ed., 1-94, (London: Aldus Books, 1964); Jacques Derrida, Speech and Phenomena: And Other Essays on Husserl's Theory of Signs, trans. David B. Allison, (Evanston: Northwestern University Press, 1973); and Daniel C. Dennett, Sweet Dreams: A Philosophical Obstacle to a Science of Consciousness, (Cambridge: The MIT Press, 2005). 14See Francis Crick, The Astonishing Hypothesis: The Scientific Search for the Soul,(New York: Simon & Schuster, 1995); Eugene D'Aquili and Andrew Newberg, The Mystical Mind: Probing the Biology of Religious Experience, (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1999); Gerald Edelman and Giulio Tononi, A Universe of Consciousness: How Matter Becomes Imagination, (New York: Basic Books, 2000); Owen Flanagan, The Problem of the Soul: Two Visions of Mind and How to Reconcile Them, (New York: Basic Books, 2002); and Eric Kandel, In Search of Memory: The Emergence of a New Science of the Mind, (New York: W.W. Norton, 2006). 8 while the subjectivity of connotation engenders a more private domain. Consequently, the methods and concerns of historic preservation would seem better prepared to deal with the public nature of denotation, while heritage studies could prepare a more nuanced and sensitive approach to engage the private aspects of connotation. When a primordial denotation is articulated with a series of nested connotations– each one increasing the complexity of signification–the result is called, in technical terms, a multileveled discourse.15 In many ways, the mythopoetic, theological, and historiographic narratives are some of the most sophisticated expressions of such multileveled discourse. To some extent, the communicative ploys of ancient metaphysics and modern science rely also on this type of discourse.16 Architecture's potential to transmit a "message" stems from a holistic use of media broadcasting a series of multileveled discourses in the public sphere. Its semiotic potential is activated by people who use buildings in a communicative manner, mostly in social events. These tend to be religious ceremonies, political rallies, popular festivals, etc. The actions performed in these events are loaded with sophisticated narratives and provocative symbols, conveying

15In Umberto Eco's "theory of codes," a multileveled discourse belongs to a pre-established codified convention, in which denotation and connotation are different levels of semiosis. For example, a red light at the intersection of two streets denotes a clear, simple message: stop! If such instruction conveys a subsequent message, at a higher level of abstraction; then, the secondary message is a phenomenon of connotative semiotics. For instance, by stopping at the red light, a driver accepts, implicitly, some tenets associated with the social contract and the standards of living in a civilized community. That is, most of us want share our lives with fellow citizens who value the lives of others. So, the red light's connoted message could be stated as follows: "I stop, because I cherish the life of others." Moreover, "By stopping, I recognize that now is the time for someone else to move forward." In this way, a simple, denoted message is articulated with a more sophisticated, connoted, message. This type of articulation could go on, expanding towards subsequent levels of semiosis. In theory, any simple message, articulated with higher levels of connotation, could turn into a highly complex discourse. According to Eco, "a single sign-vehicle conveys many intertwined contents and therefore what is commonly called a 'message' is in fact a text whose content is a multileveled discourse." See Eco, A Theory of Semiotics, (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1976), 54-7. 16See Fritjof Capra, The Tao of Physics: An Exploration of the Parallels between Modern Physics and Eastern Mysticism, (Boston: Shambhala, 2010), 17-52; and Jürgen Habermas, On the Logic of the Social Sciences, trans. Shierry Weber Nicholsen and Jerry A. Stark, (Cambridge: The MIT Press, 1988), 1-16. 9 multiple levels of connotation. Moreover, the key themes of such narratives are reinforced by the strategic placement of images, inscriptions, sculptures, and so on, scattered throughout the building. The artists who create such complementary media advance an intuitive, synthetic expression of such themes to reinforce the narrative.17 In this way, the richness of myths, epics, and revelations–all of them loaded with meaningful content–is transmitted simultaneously through multiple media. Language, art, and architecture come together, as a series of juxtaposed layers of communication, to produce an embracing, holistic, message. Architecture operates at a highly subliminal level, while language is mostly controlled by consciousness, although its effects on the subconscious are quite astonishing. That is why a semiotic approach to architecture is so limited. On the other hand, architecture cannot be isolated from the people who use it every day. It is an integral part of our cultural experience. However, it does not have the ability to become an active encoder; it is merely a passive receptor of human codes. As limited as this communicative function may be, it does play a fundamental (passive) role amidst social interaction. It is a silent and loyal companion. On the other hand, such a limited semiotic capability to encode basic information at the public realm enhanced the development of pre-industrial societies.18 To some extent, this capability emerged from other mechanisms of early communication. Recent

17See Fredric Jameson, The Political Unconscious: Narrative as a Socially Symbolic Act, (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1981); Mark Currie, Postmodern Narrative Theory, (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2011); and David H. Richter, ed. Narrative/Theory, (White Plains: Longman, 1996). 18The studies of Merlin Donald on the early stages of enculturation define public representational systems, as manifestations of a fundamental need to share knowledge, since: "Public systems are necessarily based on output (knowledge representations that cannot be 'expressed' in outputs stay locked inside the individual brain), and therefore involve the production systems of the brain." From the display of individual outputs of knowledge increases "the variability of behavior and thought, and this is manifest in an explosion of public culture." Gradually, architecture helped advance our cognitive capabilities, since "The earliest move in this direction was apparently in form of visual thinking, especially evident in the construction of analog models of time and space." See Merlin Donald, "Hominid Enculturation and Cognitive Evolution" in Cognition and Material Culture: The Archaeology of Symbolic Storage, Colin Renfrew and Chris Scarre, eds., 7-18, (Cambridge: McDonald Institute for Archaeological Research, Oxbow Books, 1998), 13. 10 discoveries in multiple fields of research, studying the development of the human mind, reveal that our current level of abstract thinking–driven by complex networks of neural connections–has been successfully transmitted by protein coded genes and a long process of enculturation that began almost 150,000 years ago, with the attainment of a maximum brain capacity.19 The innumerable public buildings that we find all over the world profusely covered with verbal inscriptions and visual imagery, built in the last 10,000 years, played a key role in the development of higher abstract thought. For millennia, societies all over the world used these buildings as public reservoirs of shared knowledge. Their complexity attests an increasing need to understand reality through visualization.20 Through the analysis of denotation and connotation, this work tries to illuminate the interaction between tangible and intangible heritage, as "two sides of the same coin." Moreover, it strives to clarify the correlation between changes in the treatment of material culture and transformations in systems of thought. The preliminary assumption is that such correlation stems from broader processes of historical evolution. With this in mind, the work surveys three case studies. Each one reveals different processes of cultural transformation: the Pantheon illustrates the evolution from Hellenic traditions to

19See Colin Renfrew, Toward and Archaeology of Mind, (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1982); Merlin Donald, A Mind So Rare: The Evolution of Human Consciousness, (New York: W. W. Norton, 2001), 252-69; Steven Mithen, "Looking and Learning: Upper Palaeolithic Art and Information Gathering," World Archaeology 19, 3(1988):297-327; Luca Cavalli-Sforza, Paolo Menozzi, and Alberto Piazza, The History and Geography of Human Genes, (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1994), 67-73;, Russell Bonduriansky and Troy Day, "Nongenetic Inheritance and Its Evolutionary Implications," Annual Review of Ecology, Evolution, and Systematics 40(2009):103-25; and Patrick Evans, Nitzan Mekel-Bobrov, Eric Vallender, Richard Hudson, and Bruce Lahn, "Evidence that the Adaptive Allele of the Brain Size Gene microcephalin Introgressed into Homo sapiens from an Archaic Homo Lineage," Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences of the of America 103, 48(2006):18178-83. 20See Johannes Fabian, Time and the Other: How Anthropology Makes its Object, (New York: Press, 2002), 105-23; Walter J. Ong, Ramus: Method and the Decay of Dialogue, (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1958); Frances A. Yates, The Art of Memory, (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1966); David C. Lindberg, Theories of Vision from Al-Kindi to Kepler, (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1976); Marshall McLuhan, The Gutenberg Galaxy, (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1962); and Edward R. Tufte, Envisioning Information, (Cheshire: Graphics Press, 1990). 11 Christianity, the Sun Pyramid reflects the history of Mesoamerica, and Alhambra illuminates the unfolding of al-Andalus. The correlation between the physical changes of these buildings and the transformations in the belief-systems of their societies indicate complex processes of enculturation. To these societies, these cherished buildings (Pantheon, Pyramid, and Alhambra) were "places of significance." They were important buildings in highly influential urban settlements, where religious and political power was concentrated. The prestige and mystique of these settlements (Rome, Teotihuacan, and

Granada) infused a sense of identity and belonging upon large, multi-ethnic populations, living in vast territories. During certain periods of hegemony (Antonine Dynasty, Tlamimilolpa Phase, and Nasrid Sultanate) the symbolic character of these buildings influenced their collective imagination. The symbolism of such characterization could have been the basis for their primordial denotation. Either as a temple, sanctuary, or royal complex, this characterization has some resonance with Eliade's notion of center (axis mundi), as well as Eco's functionality. Geometry–as the key enforcer of such a strict sense of order–is the backbone of such denotation. The geometrical arrangement of multiple architectural elements–each with its own hierarchical value, yet coming together as a coherent whole– is another manifestation of such denotation. These powerful expressions of order reinforce the complex philosophical, theological, and political connotations, associated that society's Weltbild, that is, "a coherent picture of the world." In this way, the Pantheon, Pyramid, and Alhambra echoed the main concepts, values, and beliefs that were articulated by the master narratives of their caretakers. These narratives were mostly concerned with the nature of the universe, the supernatural forces controlling it, and the manners in which humans could survive amidst an ever changing world.

12 The primordial denotation of these buildings as centers of power reflects a certain universality that could have transcended the boundaries of historical periods. So, while the denotation is universal, subsequent connotations–adjudicated by different groups appearing over time–are contingent on historical specificity. Each time a "new group" inherited such buildings, certain physical changes took place as well, because certain "triggers of connotation," like an ensemble of statues, some mural paintings, or ceilings covered with undecipherable inscriptions, no longer matched the ideology of the newcomers. These groups may be subsequent generations stemming from an extant people, but, with a different worldview or groups with a different ethnic origin. To some extent, these newcomers recognized the universality of the building's primordial denotation; however, they also realized that certain details required substantial modification to articulate new connotations.21 These physical transformations seem to emerge from a new horizon of expectations, rooted in a different worldview.22 The interplay between such horizons and a prevailing worldview is mostly driven by major trends of enculturation, because, as societies change their points of view, most of their public buildings–just like any relevant object that also advances a higher level of connotation amidst the collective imagination–also need to change.

21Donald Preziosi explains it, as follows: "One of the most striking aspects of architectonic codes induced by their formative media is a property of object-permanence. That is to say, architectonic formations manifest a permanence of 'broadcast' relative to other systems of signing such as verbal language and 'sign' language. An architectonic formation will continue to broadcast long after the more ephemeral transmissions of a speech act, whose traces remain in the auditory channel only momentarily. Thus any given architectonic formation may serve to 'contextualize' or 'ground' other kinds of semiotic formations, since its signal will 'decay' at a much slower rate than the latter." See his work, The Semiotics of the Built Environment: An introduction to Architectonic Analysis, (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1979), 6. 22For more on the concepts of "worldview" and "horizon of expectations," see Hans Robert Jauss, Toward an Aesthetic of Reception, (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2007); Wilhelm Dilthey, Dilthey's Philosophy of Existence: Introduction to the Weltanschauungslehre, (London: Vision, 1957); Hans-Georg Gadamer, Philosophical Hermeneutics, (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1976); and David K. Naugle, Worldview: The History of a Concept, (Grand Rapids: William B. Eerdmans, 2002); and William T. Jones, "World Views: Their Nature and Their Function," Current Anthropology 13, 1(1972):79-109. 13 By recognizing such network of interconnections–bringing together objects, buildings, narratives, and horizons of expectation, among others–we may come to realize the complex, holistic nature of culture. The latter challenges some of those objectives in historic preservation that try to maintain the fabric of historic monuments–just as we received from our ancestors–in a perpetual state of conservation. This condition produces some interference with the natural flow of culture, because if we allow its messages (meaning) to become a fixed set of connotations that no longer resonates with an evolving worldview, we enable the fossilization of our intangible heritage as well. To some extent, this condition resonates with that awkward notion that history has come to an end.23 In this case, the flow of time seems to be the target of ossification. This type of approach is detrimental to the organic nature of intangible heritage, flowing through constant evolution. This may be the reason why heritage tends to be at the center of most conflicts, as different factions claim its ownership in the battlefields of history. To some extent, preservation operates with some naiveté. One hand doesn't know what the other one is doing, since the tangible and intangible aspects of heritage are not treated holistically. Each is the purview of different specialists, sometimes employing dissonant methodologies and conflicting points of view. The empiricism of conservators, archaeologists, and historians conflicts with the idealism of politicians, theologians, and poets. Perhaps, if we understand better how these counterparts interact, we could bridge the gap and advance a more comprehensive approach.

23In Francis Fukuyama's controversial claim about the "End of History" he argued that democracy, free- market economy, and, by implication, Christianity, were the ultimate achievements of history. Hence, there was no need to seek new paradigms. See F. Fukuyama, "Reflections on the End of History, Five Years Later," History Theory 34, 2(1995):27-43. Cf. Timothy Burns, ed. After History? Francis Fukuyama and His Critics, (Lanham: Rowman & Littlefield, 1994); Jerald Hage and Rogers Hollingsworth, "Review: The End of History, or a New Crisis?" Contemporary Sociology 22, 2(1993):199-202. 14 History, Heritage, and Identity

The rise of the MCM to international supremacy was determined mostly by the aftermath of the Second World War. Before that time, only some European countries offered an institutional care for their "historical monuments." These experiences stem from different modes of historical consciousness. The worldwide popularity of historic preservation is only a recent phenomenon, based on that enduring interest in the past.24

While the legacy of history goes back to Herodotus and Thucydides (450s BCE) in the

West, as well as Sima Qian and Ban Gu (150s BCE) in the East, historic preservation is a much younger discipline. Although there are certain precedents–like edicts from Byzantine emperors to protect the monuments of Rome–the structure of preservation as a formal discipline was not fully attained until the late 1700s. Its current popularity was dramatically enhanced by iconic projects, like the relocation of the Egyptian temples of Abu Simbel and the cleaning of Michelangelo's Sistine Chapel ceiling. The legacy of preservation rests on equally important precedents, like the restoration of ancient sculptures and monuments in Rome (the Laocoön and Arch of Titus, for example). Gradually, preservation became a modern discipline, through the influence of philology and archaeology.25

24Philosophically, our enduring interest in the past belongs to primordial state of being, an awareness of time that informs historical consciousness. To some extent, our natural tendency for mythopoeia is an early expression that gradually acquires a more institutionalized expression, through elaborate funerary rites and the account of morally instructive epics. Later on, it advanced more sophisticated frameworks, like the legal protection of public assets and private inheritance. Until modern disciplines–such as philology, historiography, archaeology, and, more recently, preservation–gradually took over. Even though most of these efforts seem unrelated, they are brought together by a powerful force, a master narrative that is driven by politico-religious interests, firmly grounded on historical understanding. Jung identifies some continuity in these transformations, when he claims: "the more we uncover a seemingly unending web of archetypal patterns that, before modern times, were never the object of conscious reflection […] paradoxically enough, we know more about the mythological symbolism than did any generation before our own. The fact is that in former times men did not reflect upon their symbols; they lived them and were unconsciously animated by their meaning." See Jung, "Approaching the Unconscious,"1964, 69. 25See Salvador Muñoz-Viñas, Contemporary Theory of Conservation, (Oxford: Elsevier Butterworth- 15 Over time, preservation has been able to homogenize a wide array of techniques– like conservation, restoration, presentation, and interpretation–through a rigorous deontological apparatus. Its current popularity was foreseen by Alois Riegl in his work on the "Modern Cult of Monuments."26 Today, more than ever, the effects of such attitude impose a toll. While many people recognize the role of heritage in the constitution of identity, few recognize its commercial exploitation.27 During its short existence, historic preservation has been constantly redefining its objects of concern, as well as its theoretical frameworks. For some preservationists, the only, proper treatment for a historical object is conservation. This position is based on a rigorous scientific approach, striving to maintain "the-object-as-found." Its goal is to restrain the effects of time, by employing the latest scientific techniques. Other preservationists have a more flexible approach, trying to balance the historical circumstances in which the object was handed down by previous generations and its potentiality to recover its "original" appearance. This approach is characterized by a nuanced use of restoration, understood mostly as an artistic craft that employs a balanced mix of traditional and modern techniques.28

Heinemann, 2005); and Henry Cleere, ed., Approaches to the Archaeological Heritage: A Comparative Study of World Cultural Resource Management Systems, (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1984). 26See Alois Riegl, "The Modern Cult of Monuments: Its Character and its Origin," trans. Kurt W. Forster and Diane Ghirardo, in Oppositions Reader: Selected Readings from a Journal for Ideas and Criticism in Architecture, 1973-1984, K. Michael Hays, ed., 621-51, (New York: Princeton Architectural Press, 1998). 27The exploitation of heritage could be divided into several categories: (1) as real-estate asset, heritage serves as a prestigious "backdrop" for governmental or institutional activities; (2) as cultural asset, it becomes a national treasure; (3) as symbolic asset, it reflects religious and ideological beliefs; (4) as financial asset its worth increases over time; and (5) as tourist asset, it becomes a powerful attraction. On a darker side: (6) heritage tends to be characterized as an "obstacle" for progress; (7) in political confrontations, becomes a "seed for discord;" and, (8) given its expensive maintenance, turns into a heavy economic burden. But, the saddest aspect is its transformation into a commodity, alienated from its humane , severed from tradition. This assessment echoes Lowenthal's argument: "The crusade for cultural amnesia coincided with the rise of nostalgic time travel and the manipulation of history as a commodity; all three trends converge in the impulse to preserve."See his work, Past is a Foreign Country, 2005, 384. 28See Marie Berducou, "Introduction to Archaeological Conservation," in Readings in Conservation: Historical and Philosophical Issues in the Conservation of Cultural Heritage, Nicholas Stanley Price, M. Kirby Talley Jr., and Alessandra Melucco Vaccaro, eds., 248-59, (Los Angeles: The Getty Conservation Institute, 1996). For one of the most flexible and suggestive theories of restoration, see Cesare Brandi, 16 A series of recent advancements in preservation theory introduced heritage as a new category that has been able to surpass the narrow limitations of its original object of concern, the so-called "historical monument."29 As much as Riegl was able to expand this category to include things that went beyond the traditional notion of a memorial–either architectural or sculptural–preservationists remain mostly concerned with physical objects, such as paintings, manuscripts, statues, buildings, and so on. Only in recent years, the term "intangible heritage" has been used to include non-physical entities, like culinary traditions, religious festivals, traditional medicine, or cultural routes, among others. This expansion of preservation's object has been well received in most parts of the world. However, the initial revisions of the theoretical apparatus that have accompanied this welcomed transformation may not be sufficient to deal with the elusiveness, fragility, and nuances of the intangible heritage, before it suffers some of the damaging effects that historic preservation has brought upon its tangible counterpart. These unwarranted effects have been aptly analyzed by David Lowenthal and Françoise Choay, who criticize the transformation of heritage into a commodity and an object of narcissism.30 Given this context, it may be necessary to distinguish between the conservation of objects, as a responsibility for historic preservation, and the engagement of heritage, as the main core of heritage studies. If the former is a scientific discipline, the latter could

Teoria del restauro, (Roma: Edizioni di storia e letteratura, 1963); and idem, Theory of Restoration, trans. Cynthia Rockwell, Giuseppe Basile, ed., (Rome: Istituto centrale per il restauro, 2005). 29Salvador Muñoz-Viñas explains it as follows: "The category of conservation objects seems to have no limit: From paintings to rocking chairs, from buildings to garments, from statues to photographs, from motorcycles to corpses. From a theoretical point of view, this growth poses some problems, as it makes it even more difficult to find a rationale behind that category." See his work, Contemporary Theory of Conservation, 2005, 9 & 27-64. 30Choay's critique is incredibly sharp: "selective observation and treatment of the historical heritage no longer tends to create a dynamically assumed cultural identity, but appears to be replaced by passive contemplation and the cult of a generic identity, in which we may readily identify the signs of narcissism." See F. Choay, The Invention of the Historic Monument, trans. Lauren M. O'Connell, (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2001), 165. 17 establish a closer relation with the philosophical pursuits of the humanities. The goal is to avoid the reification of our intangible heritage. The latter should not be "preserved" like an object that responds to the aesthetic standards of a museum display.31 If we consider our intangible heritage as the ultimate ensemble of knowledge and genetic inheritance that has enabled us to become a global civilization, its greatest challenge ahead is to maintain enough flexibility to keep pursuing new paradigms. The latest stage in human evolution–that is, a globalized humanity facing the challenges of climate chaos, inequality, pandemics, as well as social, economic, and political instability–could be one of the hardest we have ever faced in history. Most of the challenges ahead could find better solutions through a multicultural effort that is willing to reassess its inherited ideologies, critically. Since the late 1800s some highly influential philosophers have encouraged historians to embrace the philosophic and artistic potential of their trade, without diminishing the scientific and analytic treatment of facts. Among them, Nietzsche and Husserl tried to debunk the epistemological claims of historicism. In their view, history could not be considered a rigorous science, much less, first philosophy, according to Aristotle's or Descartes' understanding of metaphysics.32 For Nietzsche, an examination

31To illustrate the potentiality of heritage, a passage from María Zambrano should suffice: "Ruins are the liveliest entities of history, because only that which survives its own destruction lives historically; in other words, what is left in ruins […] thus, ruins provide a point of identity between the life of an individual […] and history. A person is someone who survives the destruction of all there is in life, but, still holds to something that emerges from life itself, something that rises above these facts to acquire signification and turn itself into an image, an affirmation of everlasting liberty that breaks free from the imposition of circumstances, from the prison of situations […] The contemplation of ruins has always produced a unique fascination, only explainable if it held some kind of secret about life, about the tragedy that life contains […] about everything that is harbored at its core […] ruins produce a fascination that derives from their rareness: a tragedy, lacking an author. A tragedy whose sole author is time; nobody made it, it made itself […] Through ruins, the perspective of time appears before ourselves […] stretching out to reach us and, then, continuing to move forward. The life of ruins is indefinite, and like no other spectacle, it awakes in the spirit of anyone who contemplates them, the impression of infinity, moving through time." See her work, El hombre y lo divino, (Mexico City: Fondo de Cultura Económica, 1986), 251-2. 32Husserl argued that: "Historicism takes it position in the factual sphere of the empirical life of the spirit. 18 of the past is a fruitful means to comprehend life, when it follows one of three possible modes of historical understanding.33 Each mode enforces its own way of surveying and interpreting the past. The monumental mode is primarily concerned with the deeds of "great men," the antiquarian mode strives to establish the authoritative genealogy of tradition, and the critical mode seems unable to accept the past as a sequence of events that does not offer an alternative. The difference between the last two is illustrated by the opposing views of Gadamer and Habermas, regarding the role of tradition. The first mode

is represented by the need of many politicians to learn from their predecessors, the second one is illustrated by the Talmud and Hadith Scholarships in Judaism and Islam, and the third one seems like the perfect antidote to withstand the traumatic events of the twentieth century, because the other two seem untenable at this point. Only a critical assessment of its legacy will provide the necessary freedom to move forward. The debate between Gadamer and Habermas about the nature of historical consciousness enables the development of a flexible engagement of intangible heritage. For Gadamer, the effects of history are intractable, they cannot be reversed. In his view, the passage of time invests a powerful legitimacy to all we inherit from the past. The authoritative effects of history cannot be challenged. For Habermas, this approach is

To the extent that it posits this latter absolutely, without exactly naturalizing it (the specific sense of nature in particular lies far from historical thinking and in any event does not influence it by determining it in general), there arises a relativism that has a close affinity to naturalistic psychologism and runs into similar skeptical difficulties […] The science of history, or simply empirical humanistic science in general, can of itself decide nothing, either in a positive or in a negative sense […] Still, historical reasons can produce only historical consequences. The desire either to prove or to refute ideas on the basis of facts is nonsense−according to the quotation Kant used: ex pumice aquam […] What may still lead the historicist astray is the circumstance that by entering vitally into a historically reconstructed spiritual formation, into the intention or signification that is dominant in it as well as the ensembles of motivations that belong to it, we not only can understand its intrinsic sense but also judge its relative worth." See Husserl, "Philosophy as a Rigorous Science," in The Essential Husserl: Basic Writings in Transcendental Phenomenology, Donn Welton, ed., 22-6, (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1999), 24-6. 33See Nietzsche, "On the Utility and Liability of History for Life," in Unfashionable Observations, trans. Giorgio Colli and Mazzino Montinari, 83-168, (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1995). Nowadays, we might add at least two other modes: the materialist-quantitative and the idealist-qualitative. 19 unacceptable. The emancipation of the present from such oppressive effects is only possible by an enlightened historical consciousness that is firmly grounded on critical reason. To understand the historical unfolding of the present, a diachronic examination of the past sheds light on those events and circumstances that have shaped our current state of affairs.34 Few historians have thoroughly reconfigured their craft under the influence of these philosophical considerations. At the most their management of quantitative data and

qualitative assessment is distinguished more carefully. Yet, their extraction of data is still driven by an empirical mindset, which, in the end, determines the whole enterprise. Not even the savvy restatement of such philosophical concerns, advanced by Hayden White or Jacques Derrida, has dented the quantitative basis of most contemporary historians. To some extent, their craft is suspended in a paradox.35 By extension, preservation maintains a positivistic approach to the conservation of historical objects. This position is appropriately rooted in its relationship with archaeology. So, there are no reasons to criticize their position, at least not in this sense. Yet, the emerging field of heritage studies could veer off towards a more philosophical understanding of the past, since it is trying to engage the intangible realm of dreams and aspirations. The engagement of heritage needs its own theories and methods, because it is not dealing with objects, but with subjects. By incorporating communicative action as one of its pillars, we could collaborate in workshops to understand the connotations of a common heritage, through dialogue. The goal is to prevent the ossification of our intangible heritage.36

34For more on the Gadamer/Habermas debate, see Purushottama Bilimoria, "Toward Revisioning Ricoeur's Hermeneutic of Suspicion in Other Spaces and Cultures," in Space, Time, and Culture, eds. David Carr and Cheung Chan-Fai (Dordrecht: Kluwer Academic Publishers, 2004), 89-110; and Robert Piercey, "Ricoeur's Account of Tradition and the Gadamer:Habermas Debate," Human Studies 27, 3(2004), 259-80. 35See, especially, David Carr, Phenomenology and the Problem of History: A Study of Husserl's Transcendental Philosophy, (Evanston: Northwestern University Press, 1974). 36See Habermas, The Theory of Communicative Action, (Boston: Beacon Press, 1981); Erica Avrami, 20 The first step toward this type of dialogue is to know ourselves, that is, to develop a robust historical understanding that enables us to comprehend our current state of affairs. Antonio Gramsci argued in his Prison Notebooks that "the starting-point of critical elaboration is the consciousness of what one really is, and is 'knowing thyself' as a product of the historical process to date, which has deposited in you an infinity of traces without leaving an inventory." Edward Said used this passage as the starting point for his survey of that system of thought, known as "Orientalism." Accordingly, a detailed

exhibition of its history would offer a path for resistance. Said's work simply followed Gramci's conclusion: "it is imperative at the outset to compile such an inventory."37 The study presented here is inspired by this sensible approach. By tracing the correlation of historical objects and their associated, intangible connotations, this study strives to illustrate the potentiality of such inventories, as a preliminary step towards multicultural dialogue. The delicate work of reassessing our inherited ideologies should be performed in person, once the inventories are at hand. If knowledge is accepted as the greatest intangible heritage of humanity, the manner in which we construe its history is essential. Its careful revision may help us strengthen a truly human-global-identity. It should be relatively clear how historiography construes identity. Thus far, our definitions of history, heritage, and identity–through narrowing ethnic and religious categories–have

Randall Mason, and Marta de la Torre, Values and Heritage Conservation, Research Report, (Los Angeles: The Getty Conservation Institute, 2000); and Marta de la Torre, ed., Assessing the Values of Cultural Heritage, Research Report, (Los Angeles: The Getty Conservation Institute, 2002 ). 37Gramsci, as quoted in Edward Said, Orientalism, (New York: Random House, 1994), 25. In recent decades, other historians, philosophers, and activists have conducted diachronic surveys of certain subjects to advance a contemporary response to their effects. For instance, Elise Boulding, Cultures of Peace: The Hidden Side of History, (Syracuse: Syracuse University Press, 2000). This work surveys traditions of peace, overlooked by most historians, arguing that their divulgation may increase our potential for peace. Mohammed Abed al-Jabri offers a similar approach for the modernization of Islamic thought. His survey of Andalusi philosophy tries to invigorate the use of rational analysis to transpose Islamic tradition to modernity. See his work, The Formation of Arab Reason: Text, Tradition and the Construction of Modernity in the , (London: I. B. Tauris, 2011). 21 created only distrust, division, and conflict. But, if we truly embrace the stage of a globalized humanity, we need a renewed understanding of our heritage that could help us elaborate a collective identity. Recent advancements in molecular biology and genetics prove that anatomically modern humans stem from a single branch of evolution, which took place almost 40,000 years ago.38 The ideological connotations conveyed by our religious and political narratives have only 10,000 years, at the most. If we recognize them as a cherished legacy, whose content may have expired, their effects could be

softened through a critical reassessment. In Husserl's last effort to explain his phenomenological approach to reality he tried to restore the value of historical understanding. The spirit of the work presented here is deeply rooted in this provocative passage:

Our task is to make comprehensible the teleology in the historical becoming of philosophy […] and at the same time to achieve clarity about ourselves, who are the bearers of this teleology […] We are attempting to elicit and understand the unity running through all the projects of history that oppose one another and work together in their changing forms […] we are attempting ultimately to discern the historical task which we can acknowledge as the only one which is personally our own. This we seek to discern not from the outside, from facts, as if the temporal becoming in which we ourselves have evolved were merely an external causal series. Rather we seek to discern it from the inside. Only in this way can we, who not only have a spiritual heritage but have become what we are thoroughly and exclusively in a historical-spiritual manner, have a task which is truly our own. We obtain it not through the critique of some present or handed-down system, of some scientific or prescientific "Weltanschauung" […] but only through a critical understanding of the total unity of history–our history. 39

38See Cavalli-Sforza et al., History and Geography of Human Genes, 1994; Spencer Wells, Deep Ancestry: Inside the Genographic Project, (Washington: National Geographic, 2006); Michael F. Hammer and Stephen L. Zegura, "The Human Y Chromosome Haplogroup Tree: Nomenclature and Phylogeography of its Major Divisions," Annual Review of Anthropology 31(2002):303-21; and S. T. Sherry, M. A. Batzer, and H. C. Harpending, "Modeling the Genetic Architecture of Modern Populations," Annual Review of Anthropology 27(1998):153-69. 39Husserl, The Crisis of European Sciences and Transcendental Phenomenology: An Introduction to Phenomenological Philosophy, trans. David Carr, (Evanston: Northwestern University Press, 1970), 70-1. 22 Approach and Method

To discern the possibility of such historical unity or continuity, running through the case studies presented in this work, each of them is divided in two. The first part begins with an analysis of the building's primordial denotation. It is followed by a condensed history, tracing the building's physical change as it evolves through distinct historical periods. Each case study reflects its own rhythm of transformation, as well as different types and degrees of data, keeping record of its cultural evolution. The second part is presented as a "context companion" concentrated on shorter ranges of time, trying to represent the intellectual atmosphere and prevailing constellation of beliefs, from which a common–relatively well educated–individual could have received inspiration and influence to elaborate some personal connotations associated with the building's primordial denotation, either consciously or subconsciously. To sketch the principal themes of such abstract landscape, these secondary chapters compile some of the most representative writings of each period, suggesting an illustration of "shared" beliefs, values, aspirations, and so forth. In this way, these chapters follow Dilthey's theory that the worldview of an era may be uncovered in the works of philosophers, theologians, and poets. Nowadays it would be necessary to include scientists, politicians, journalists, artists, media personalities, etc. The intention of such dichotomy is to distinguish the scope and data necessary to revise the boundary between historic preservation and heritage studies. The first part of each case study deals with the materials that are relevant to the former. The second part is intimately related with the latter, albeit heritage (tangible and intangible) should be considered a holisitc phenomenon. By separating the analysis of denotation–as the responsibility of historic preservation–from that of connotation–relegated to the purview

23 of heritage studies–this work tries to differentiate how objects respond to the passage of time, in contrast with the experience of abstract entities, such as knowledge, beliefs, customs, and so on. Hopefully, this work may even suggest the possibility of an intersection, in which buildings and messages could be treated holistically. The first part of each case study presents a detailed account of the building's entire history, so that, in the end, we may evaluate the degree of continuity present in its current state of affairs. On the other hand, the second parts are more intimate. They are personal, preliminary sketches, which may trigger further debate. In the Pantheon's case, it focuses on three stages: (1) the Late Republic, this section illustrates the intellectual atmosphere in which Agrippa erected a temple to honor the gods protecting his friend and ally, Augustus; (2) Trajan's and Hadrian's transition after the fall of the Flavians, this section evaluates the conditions that may have influenced the monumental refurbishment of Agrippa's building; and (3) the so-called "Middle Ages," this section delves into some key notions of Christian theology, which may have resonated with the Pantheon's primordial denotation. The entire chapter explores certain indications of continuity in the transition from polytheism to monotheism, as indexed by the physical transformations of a highly influential building in Christendom. On a different note, the Pyramid's companion has to focus on a more recent stretch of time, because the legacy of Mesoamerica does not have the same level of continuity that is relatively easy to indentify in Western Civilization. This condition precludes a clear visualization of the past. Consequently, instead of illustrating the period of Teotihuacan "splendor," the chapter examines the intellectual atmosphere that influenced archaeological research in Mexico, during most of the twentieth century. The chapter strives to understand how a series of new connotations were juxtaposed to that mysterious site. It begins with the exploration of the so-called "Sun Pyramid" in 1907. 24 From this point, the chapter identifies contrasting speculations about Teotihuacan's and Mesoamerica's past, in three stages of influence: (1) by French Positivism and its determination to produce a secular state; (2) by a new generation of intellectuals, deeply shaken by a revolutionary ethos and the construction of an authoritarian state, using archaeology to shape the national identity; and (3) by a popular effort trying to attain a new spirituality. Alhambra's companion reveals an entrenched confrontation between religious

orthodoxy and mystical heterodoxy, which kept continuously reappearing in the history of al-Andalus, until the Christian Reconquista "overflowed" it with the ruthlessness of the Inquisition. To recognize why a short period of Naṣrid hegemony was able to erect the alluring palaces of Alhambra, it is necessary to understand the evolution of such a dramatic religious confrontation. Thus, the chapter is also divided in three periods of domination: (1) the instauration of an Almohad illustrates the rise of rational theology as the basis for discrimination and repression; (2) the hegemony of the Naṣrid Dynasty reveals the potentiality of a regime that is not threatened by religious liberty and mystical cooperation; and (3) the imposition of the Inquisition reflects an exact opposite to the previous stage. This chapter strives to illustrate the threatening effects of a long- lasting heritage eluding a critical assessment. In many ways, these transformations–associated with the treatment and engagement of heritage–reflect how a paradigmatic change of worldview entails a new horizon of expectations from which new narratives are able to emerge. In turn, these paradigmatic changes are rooted in more powerful processes of enculturation. As societies change their propositional attitudes, their cultural expressions undergo substantial change, as well. The dynamics of such interaction is the subject matter of this study. By studying the Pantheon, Sun Pyramid, and Alhambra it strives to understand 25 better the ideological substrates of Christianity, Mesoamerica, and al-Andalus. Each case study portrays a different story, associated with the evolution of a particular cultural identity, through a constant manipulation of their heritage. The legacy of those

civilizations stems from different experiences: (1) the West displays a relatively high degree of continuity; (2) Mesoamerica shows a stark level of dissolution and,

consequently, re-invention; and (3) al-Andalus portrays the systematic exclusion of its legacy from its homeland, pushed into a perpetual state of exile. These characterizations

emerge from a holistic vision of heritage, in which tangible and intangible entities construe a unitary compound that is firmly rooted in the worldview of people living in specific spatiotemporal conditions. With these parameters in mind, the study presented here strives to offer an alternative understanding of heritage. The first part of each case deals with the physical treatment of objects (tangible heritage), while the second part sketches a glimpse of that universe of ideas, values, traditions, and so on (intangible heritage), which inhabit the personal realm of dreams and beliefs. Consequently, the first part presents only the evolution of diverse treatments defined by conscious denotation, while the second part illustrates the complex transformations of subconscious connotation. The interplay between them suggests why heritage is so important for the development of cultural identity, as a means for the successful adaptation of our species. However, it also shows how divisive it is, when unwarranted legacies are left unchecked. If we seek a better understanding and engagement of heritage, the dynamics of denotation and connotation could help us recognize, collectively, how to shape the future without losing contact with the past. An inventory of such intricate dynamics is only the first step.

26 ROME'S PANTHEON

Part I: Condensed History

Relic of nobler days, and noblest arts! Despoiled yet perfect […] to him who treads Rome for the sake of ages, Glory shades Her light through thy sole aperture40

Ei mihi, qualis erat, quantum mutatus ab illo [Oh, how he looked! How changed, alas] 41

To illustrate the continuity of heritage in the Pantheon's history this chapter is divided into nine sections, after we examine the building's primordial denotation. The first couple of sections are devoted to its Roman past (late Republic and early Empire), a second set surveys its "Medieval" period (from the 600s to 1200s), and the remaining sections stretch from the Renaissance to Modernity. Even though the term "medieval" is

entrenched in much controversy,42 it is a useful characterization to envision the Pantheon's continuity, because it represents the stage of maximum deviance from its Roman appearance. In other words, this stage reflects the peak of its Catholic appearance. Afterwards, the building entered a process of gradual restoration, striving to reverse the latter and recover the former. This process required the participation of multiple generations, stretching from the early Renaissance until the present day. The process is sanctioned, more or less, by recognizing a particular degree of continuity, linking their heritage with that of their Roman ancestors.

40Lord Byron, Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, 147. 41Vergil, Aeneid, 2.274. 42For a glimpse of how the "Middle Ages" has turned into a politically incorrect term, see Régine Pernoud, Those Terrible Middle Ages! Debunking the Myths, trans. Anne Englund Nash, (: Ignatius Press, 2000); and Norman F. Cantor, Inventing the Middle Ages: The Lives, Works, and Ideas of the Great Medievalists of the Twentieth Century, (New York: William Morrow & Co, 1991). 27 Even though the Pantheon's history is well documented, nearly every aspect of its early history is subject to debate. For centuries, people took its main inscription at face value, considering Marcus Agrippa as its "author" or, more accurately, its patron. Certain investigations from the 1800s adjudicated its patronage to Emperor Hadrian. However, a reexamination of the data points to his predecessor, Trajan. These circumstances pose serious questions, related to the building's originality, its location, orientation, and the possible participation of Apollodorus of , making such decisive traits. In this sense, Rodolfo Lanciani's allegory of the Pantheon as "the Sphinx of the Campus Martius" remains valid, because "in spite of its preservation, it remains inexplicable from many points of view."43 As much as these issues require further clarification, the Pantheon's primordial denotation–as a center of power–is not affected by such elusive circumstances. To some extent, the clarity of its spatial arrangement, the majesty of its scale, and the surprise of its oculus are universal. They are not bound to a specific cultural hubris or a particular historical consciousness. They transcend the spatiotemporal boundaries defining the cultural baggage of its visitors. Clearly, the urban landscape has changed, affecting the approach of an ancient devotee, through its elongated courtyard (temenos) and triumphal arch (Arcus Pietatis).44 However, the emotion experienced at its entrance–stimulated by the tantalizing dome, its quadrilateral coffers, and the circular opening at its summit–is universal. The Pantheon's primordial denotation is rooted in this emotional experience and the connotations it triggers.

43See Rodolfo Lanciani, The Ruins and Excavations of Ancient Rome, unabridged facsimile of the edition by Houghton, Mifflin & Co., Boston, 1900, (Adamant Media, 2006), 473. 44See Mary Boatwright, Hadrian and the City of Rome, (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1987), 33- 62. 28 The Pantheon's denotation starts with its sheer presence and scale. The gigantic cylinder with its dome and Hellenistic porch commands attention as soon as it enters our range of vision. Late in Hadrian's reign, its presence dominated the urban landscape of the Campus Martius. From the wide open space of the Saepta Iulia, the massive building loomed over surrounding structures of lesser height. Drawings from the mid 1400s reveal how such a disproportionate condition remained for many centuries. In many ways, its majestic dome, peaking over the rooftops, appeared like a charismatic actor amidst a

play.45 Such towering presence engenders certain expectations, associated with its interior. Moreover, by the Antonine period the visitor approached it through an architectural complex that diminished the cylinder's presence. The Pantheon's entrance was located at the north end of an enclosed precinct, whose main access was controlled by an entrance pavilion (propylea). The central court was surrounded by a relatively tall portico. Its main axis articulated the pavilion with a moderate triumphal arch and the Hellenistic porch. The courtyard limited lateral views of the Pantheon's cylindrical mass. To some extent, the entire complex conveyed the "traditional" appearance of a temenos. However, as the visitor traversed the Pantheon's porch, it was clear that the building was not traditional at all. Right at its threshold, the surprise was absolute. Even though the space they encountered was reminiscent of certain halls in a public bath, its scale and décor was unique. The axiality of the preceding complex found a suitable counterbalance at such a majestic central space, calling its attention to the heavens, literally. At the intersection of the north-south axis with the center of this space the dynamism of its longitude turned vertical. From this point forward, the experience of ancient and modern visitors does not differ all that much. The surprising presence of the

45See the panoramic views of Bergomense and Münster Sebastian, among others, in Clemente Marigliani, Le piante di Roma delle collezioni private, (Rome: Provincia di Roma, 2007), 113-28. 29 oculus is universal. In many ways, the transgression of such a fundamental opposition in architecture (outside/inside) is not associated with a specific cultural filiation or historic period. In this sense, the emotional experience of surprise transcends these boundaries. A similar condition affects our experience of such a highly ordered space.

Figure 1: Pantheon, plan at access level.

The articulation of multiple architectural elements into a harmonious unit substantiates the Pantheon's primordial denotation as a center of power. A first impression of its interior displays a "perfect" symmetry. Yet, it gradually unveils its nuanced distinctions. The building's interior is subdivided by the main axis, traversing from north to south to end up in an apse. The latter is formed by a half cylinder and a quarter sphere (exedra). In this sense, the interior is divided in two. Each half displays a series of secondary apses, dividing the entire circular plan into sixteen equal parts.

30 However, the process of subdivision is not simple. It is more like a gradual sequence of bisection. First, the circle is divided in two by the main axis (north-south). Then a second one (east-west) divides it in four. The latter ends up in secondary apses on each side. They are also exedrae; but, their front is subdivided into three sections with two monolithic Corinthian columns to support part of the architrave that runs across the entire space. Only the entrance and main apse interrupt it from completing a full circle. In this way, each half circle is also divided in two by this second set of apses.

Then, a third stage of bisection distributes four rectangular recesses space, two on each side of the secondary apses. These recesses introduce a secondary set of axes, rotated 45 degrees from the original set. So, while the first one established a north, south, east, and west orientation, the second one incorporated the northeast, northwest, southeast, and southwest. The hierarchical differentiation between the secondary apses and these recesses is determined by their footprint (semicircular and rectangular, respectively). In this way, they latter have less depth. A fourth stage of bisection introduces eight shrines (aediculae), addorsed to the inner surface of the cylinder. Once again, to establish hierarchy, the pair of shrines flanking the entrance and the main apse (north and south) have rectilinear pediments, while does flanking the secondary apses (east and west) have segmented pediments. These nuanced ploys of differentiation are ruled by a clear use of geometry. Simple forms, basically squares and circles, establish not only a powerful sense of hierarchical order, but they also purport a refreshing atmosphere of nuanced flexibility. Thus, the Pantheon transmits a unique conflation of homogeneity and heterogeneity. In addition to the surprising transgression of outside-inside, the building suggests the unification of another set of opposites. The visitor perceives subconsciously how multivariate entities constitute a single unit. Their experience oscillates between the pluralism of a holistic vision and the individuality of its constituents. 31 These sensations are triggered by different geometric patterns displayed on its floor, walls, and ceiling, all playing with two basic shapes (circular and quadrilateral) and seven colors.46 The grid on the floor displays red circles embedded in yellow squares and white squares contained by red marquees. The latter seem to "hover" above the homogeneous white surface that covers the entire floor. The marble veneers on the walls present also a playful display of circles and rectangles, amidst Corinthian pilasters, architraves, and cornices. The attic's level presents a series of sunken-niches that are

aligned with the Pantheon's subdivision into sixteen parts. Above it, a second cornice articulates the dome with its cylindrical. Once again, the juxtaposition of squares and circles is sharp. The quadrilateral coffers echo the grid on the floor, while their arrangement into horizontal rings and vertical ribs emphasizes the dome's hemisphere. The hierarchical value of the circle attains full expression with the oculus. An image of heaven is framed by a circle at the summit of a dome that covers a central space. In this way, the Pantheon's denotation stems from such a careful use of geometry, engendering a series of complex emotional relations, through the perception of inner and outer space, the interaction between the whole and its parts, and the symbolic articulation of the four regions and four corners of the world. These denotations seem to resonate with the traditional consecration of space. In Eliade's terms, these "place-making traditions" tried to consolidate a particular manifestation of the divine (hierophany), by employing the "principles of cosmology underlying orientatio and geomancy."47

46These colors are conveyed by different materials: Pentelic marble (white), granite (grey), pavonazzetto (light, creamy white with purple streaks), porphyry (red), verde antico and basalt (green), giallo antico (golden yellow), and bigio africano (purple). See Kjeld de Fine Licht, The Rotunda in Rome, (Jutland Archaeological Society, 1966), fig. 133. For more on the ancient use of marbles, see Gabriele Borghini, ed., Marmi antichi, (Rome: Leonardo-De Luca, 1992). 47See Eliade, Patterns Comparative Religion, 1996, 369. Livy offers a detailed account of how these notions articulate the rituals of foundation, performed originally when Romulus was crowned and repeated by Numa Pompilius to recreate "the augury which sanctioned the founding of the city." According to Livy, Numa "was solemnly conducted by an augur […] to the Citadel, and took his seat on a stone facing south. 32 In many ways, our need to establish a relation with supernatural forces begins with the consecration of space. This act enables further interaction with such entities. The Pantheon's primordial denotation is grounded on those ancient metaphysics that associated the emergence of life with the dialectics of binary oppositions: order/chaos, passive/active, sacred/profane, feminine/masculine, etc. The interaction of opposites construes a specific "picture of the universe." But, before we examine the cultural landscapes from which these successive connotations may have surfaced, it is important

to survey the Pantheon's condensed history.

A Homage to the Gens Iulia

Nearly every single aspect of the Pantheon's early period is controversial. Its religious function is unclear. Its architectural typology is hard to visualize. Few reliable sources describe some parts of the building. The name and number of its deities is also unknown. These issues are highly scrutinized and debated. A clear visualization of its spatial scheme is essential for further speculation. Did Agrippa's building serve as a precedent for the Pantheon's majestic rotunda? To what extent did the reconstruction, made in the early 100s, replicate an original scheme? None of these questions have conclusive answers. Even after several archaeological explorations, made throughout the late 1800s and the entire 1900s, these issues remain unsolved. That is why Lanciani's characterization holds valid. The Pantheon is an enigma, defying scientific scrutiny.

The augur seated himself on his left […] After surveying the prospect over the City […] he offered prayers and marked out the heavenly regions by an imaginary line from east to west; the southern he defined as "the right hand," the northern as "the left hand." He then fixed upon an object, as far as he could see, as a corresponding mark, and […] offered this prayer: "Father Jupiter, if it be heaven's will that this Numa Pompilius, whose head I hold, should be king of Rome […] signify it to us by sure signs within those boundaries which I have traced." See Livy, History of Rome, 1.18; cf. Cicero, De natura deorum, 2.3. 33 On the other hand, some reliable facts purport a "skeleton" to guide us through the building's history. The earliest mention of an edifice bearing such name comes from the Arval Brethren. According to their log, the brotherhood gathered "in Pantheo," sometime in 59 CE.48 The richest source of data comes from Pliny's Natural History. The reliability of this source is based on Pliny's constant reference to Agrippa's commentaries on geography.49 So, the term "Pantheon" may have been used by Agrippa himself, although, for Adam Ziolkowski it is more like a nickname.50 In contrast, Duncan Fishwick sees it as a Pantheum Augustum or Augusteum.51 Finally, Agrippa's dedication of a building to honor the gods protecting the Gens Iulia, in 25 BCE, comes from Cassius Dio. His commentaries on the Pantheon are essential; unfortunately, the conditions in which we received this work make it an extremely delicate source of information.52 The problem with Dio's account stems from an unclear combination of facts. Because some of them seem to belong to Agrippa's period, while others correspond to the building he knew in the early 200s CE. Embedded in this mélange, Dio advances a suggestive interpretation, reflecting his own connotations.

48See Acta Fratrum Arvalia of 59 CE, as reported by De Fine Licht, Rotunda in Rome, 1966, 183; cf. Frederick Shipley, Agrippa's Building Activities in Rome, (St. Louis: Washington University, 1933). 49For the Pantheon references in Pliny's Natural History see 9.8.119-22; 34.13; & 36.4.38. For Agrippa's influences on Pliny and Strabo, see Jean-Michel Roddaz, Marcus Agrippa, (Rome: Ècole Française de Rome, 1984), 567-91. 50See Adam Ziolkowski, "Was Agrippa's Pantheon the Temple of Mars in Campo?" Papers of the British School at Rome 62(1994):261-78. 51For Duncan Fishwick the combination of cult and honorary statues may have enabled Agrippa to present the building as an informal version of a heroon (a monument honoring a hero), devoted to Augustus, just like the Philippeum at Olympia or the Caesareum at Alexandria. See his work, "The Statue of Julius Caesar in the Pantheon," Latomus 51, 2(1992):329-36; and idem, "The Temple of Caesar at Alexandria," American Journal of Ancient History 9, 2(1984):131-4. 52Dio's Roman History was compiled in eighty books; but, only eighteen remained intact. The rest were transmitted as an epitome by Ioannes Xiphilinos, a monk who compiled them for the Byzantine Emperor Michael VII Dukas, around the 1070s CE. Dio's extremely important passage on the Pantheon belongs to such epitome. This may be the reason why Konrat Ziegler qualified its information as seltsam und rätselhaft ("strange and enigmatic"). For the Pantheon's dedication in 25 BCE, see Cassius Dio, Roman History, 53.27.1-2. Ziegler's commentary may be found in Lise M. Hetland, "Dating the Pantheon," Journal of Roman Archaeology 20(2007):95-112, n. 2 on p. 95. 34 After these achievements in the wars Augustus closed the precinct of Janus, which had been opened because of these wars. Meanwhile Agrippa beautified the city at his own expense. First, in honor of the naval victories he completed the building called the Basilica of Neptune and lent it added brilliance by the painting representing the Argonauts. Next he constructed the Laconian sudatorium […] Also he completed the building called the Pantheon. It has this name, perhaps because it received among the images which decorated it the statues of many gods, including Mars and Venus; but my opinion of the name is that, because of its vaulted roof, it resembles the heavens. Agrippa, for his part, wished to place a statue of Augustus there also and to bestow upon him the honor of having the structure named after him; but when the emperor would not accept either honor, he placed in the temple itself a statue of the former Caesar and in the ante-room statues of Augustus and himself. This was done, not out of any rivalry or ambition on Agrippa's part to make himself equal to Augustus, but from his hearty loyalty to him and his constant zeal for the public good; hence Augustus, so far from censuring him for it, honored him the more.53

Even though the passage is highly unclear, it is a key description to envision the Pantheon's iconography and symbolism. The problem with this passage is its historical confusion, which cannot be clearly attributed to Dio or Xiphilinos. The key phrase, "my opinion of the name is that, because of its vaulted roof, it resembles the heavens," seems to be associated with the building's appearance after its utter reconstruction, in the early

100s CE. The author (Dio or Xiphilinos?) may have taken the building's inscription at face value. The sentence "M • AGRIPPA • L • F • COS • TERTIVM • FECIT" (Marcus Agrippa, son of Lucius, three times Consul, made it) was identified as a clear adjudication of patronage. In this way, the truth is obscured by the inscription's riddle. Moreover, the account is severely challenged by historical distance, since it reports events that took place two hundred and fifty years before Dio's time. But, to make matters worse, it could have been Xiphilinos–thirteen hundred miles away and a millennium apart–who misconstrued the account. It may have been a confusion built on top of another.

53Dio, Roman History, 53.27. The passage is from Earnest Cary's translation, based on a previous version by Herbert B. Foster, which may be found in Dio's Roman History, v. IV, The Loeb Classical Library, (London: William Heinemann, 1917). 35 The passage seems unable to differentiate three stages of transformation, affecting

Agrippa's architectural ensemble in the Campus Martius, stretching from 25 BCE until the

mid 100s CE. The ensemble suffered serious damages during the great conflagration of

80 CE. Later on, the Pantheon was partially destroyed by lightning in 110 CE. The enigma in Dio's passage stems from the simple fact that he reported the first event in his own survey.54 Thus, he may have assumed that its subsequent reconstruction produced an exact replica of Agrippa's building. But the passage has other problems, especially

concerning the original ensemble. For instance, he ascribes details of one building to another, like the location of the Argonauts painting in the Basilica of Neptune. He misconstrues the relationship of certain buildings that were not contemporary with the

Pantheon, like the sudatorium, built in 19 CE.55 On the other hand, Pliny's account of Agrippa's Pantheon offers many details. For instance, "among the supporting members […] there are Caryatids that are almost in a class of their own," just like "the figures on the angles of the pediment, which are, however, not so well known because of their lofty position." These elements were carved by a famous sculptor, Diogenes of Athens (36.38). Another interesting detail reports that "the capitals of the pillars […] were […] of Syracusan metal" (34.13). Agrippa's interest in the public display of art is attested by paintings and sculptural ensembles placed in the porticoes of the Saepta Iulia. On the east side there was an image of Meleager and the

54Dio, Roman History, 66.24. For the lightning strike, described as "Pantheum Romae fulmine concrematum" see Orosius, Historiae adversum paganos, 7.12.5. 55For a proper sequence of Agrippa's ensemble, see Shipley, Agrippa's Building Activities, 1933; Gugliemo Gatti, "Il Portico degli Argonauti e la Basilica di Nettuno" in Atti del III Convegno Nazionale di Storia dell'Architettura, Roma, 9-13 ottobre 1938, XVI, (Rome: Carlo Colombo, 1940), 61-73; Ferdinando Castagnoli, "Il Campo Marzio nell'antichità," Atti della Accademia Nazionale dei Lincei, Anno CCCXLV, Serie Ottava, Memorie, 1 (1948):93-193; Filippo Coarelli, Il Campo Marzio, (Rome: Quasar, 1997); Lanfranco Cordischi, "Basilica Neptuni in Campo Marzio," Bollettino di Archaeologia 5-6(1990):11-33; Connie Rodriguez, "The Porticus Vipsania and Contemporary Poetry," Latomus 51, 1(1992):79-93; and Edmund Thomas, "The Architectural History of the Pantheon in Rome from Agrippa to Septimius Severus via Hadrian," Hephaistos 15(1997):163-86. 36 Hunt of the Calydonian Boar. On the west side two ensembles (Chiron and Achilles; Olympus and Pan) accompanied a painting of the Argonauts (36.4).56 As much as these brief glimpses allow us to imagine the embellishments of Agrippa's building, its actual structure remains obscured by subsequent transformations. After the great fire, Domitian commissioned its reconstruction. However, it is uncertain to what extent did he maintain its original scheme.57 Afterwards, this building was destroyed by lightning, although the extent of damage is unclear.58 Many scholars assume that any subsequent reconstruction

followed the common tradition of replicating the original building. If this is true, the extant Pantheon with its majestic rotunda and problematic porch were somehow suggested by Agrippa's predecessor. This assumption is highly controversial, given the nature of the archaeological evidence. In many ways, the explorations of the 1800s clarified the chronological sequence. Unfortunately, they pose challenges of their own. Each campaign uncovered new portions of data: Carlo Fea exposed part of the podium from Trajan's period (1804); Rodolfo Lanciani liberated the Pantheon's south side, unearthing remains of a large hall, identified as the Basilica of Neptune (1882); Luca Beltrami and Pier Olinto Armanini explored beneath the pronaos and rotunda (1892); and Giuseppe Cozzo returned to these areas of exploration, trying to clarify the data uncovered so far (1928). Among them, the

56For Cordischi the image of the Argonauts may have been a painting by Cydias of Cynthos, a famous Greek artist from the mid 300s BCE, or a fresco inspired by it. Later on, the painting may have been acquired by Agrippa. See Cordischi, "Basilica Neptuni," 1990, 14. According to Pliny (35.40), the orator Hortensius bought it for 144,000 sesterces. The Saepta's west side was identified as the porticum argonautarum by Gatti, "Il Portico degli Argonauti,"1940. 57The sources provide only a simple list of the affected buildings: "Domitianus […] hoc imp. multae operae publicae fabricatae sunt […] gentem Flaviam, Divorum, Iseum et Serapeum, Minervam Chalcidicam, Odium, Minuciam veterem, stadium […] templum Vespasiani et Titi […] et Panteum." See Calendar for the year 354 CE, edited by Theodor Mommsen, Chronica Minora I (= Monumenta Germaniae Historica. Auctores Antiquissimi IX (1892)), 146, as quoted by De Fine Licht, Rotunda in Rome, 1966, 182. 58According to Orosius, "Pantheum Romae fulmine concrematum," see his work, Historiae adversum paganos, 7.12.5. 37 work of Beltrami and Armanini offers the most important findings.59 Their results illuminate the conditions in which the reconstructions of the early 100s affected the previous structures erected by Agrippa and restored by Domitian. These results will be examined in the next section. Meanwhile, it may be safe to assume that Agrippa's building was some type of religious structure articulated to the rest of his architectural ensemble in the Campus Martius, as homage to the gods protecting the ancestors of his dear friend Augustus, the Gens Iulia.

A Temple to All the Gods

Many contemporary scholars are engaged in a fierce debate concerning the influence of Agrippa's building on its subsequent reconstruction, commissioned by Trajan in 110 CE–perhaps constructed by Apollodorus of Damascus–and finished by Hadrian in the early 120s. The debate swivels around the original form of Agrippa's building and its relation with the circular plan of its successor. Did Agrippa's building have a large, circular space, covered with some type of roof partially open? To what extent did the archaeological remains uncovered by Beltrami substantiate this possibility?60 Or, was the

59A useful compilation of these campaigns may be found in Giovanni Belardi, ed., Il Pantheon: Storia, Tecnica e Restauro. Ministerio per i Beni e le Attività Culturali, (Rome: BetaGamma, 2006), 51-67. For a detailed summary of Beltrami and Armanini's work, see De Fine Licht, Rotunda in Rome, 1966, 172-9; cf. William Loerke, "Georges Chédanne and the Pantheon," Modulus 15, no. 1 (1982): 40-55. The original publication of these fundamental explorations was made by Luca Beltrami, Il Pantheon: La struttura organica della cupola…, (Milan: U. Allegretti, 1898). 60For Lanciani, the results of Beltrami's excavations were "rather disappointing: they have led only to greater confusion and uncertainty." See his work, Ruins and Excavations, 2006, 480. In contrast, De Fine Licht saw them as "the primary archaeological sources for our knowledge of older buildings." Yet, "it was a great pity for the presentation of the material that the architect Armanini, who no doubt had gained the best knowledge and understanding of the material obtained, was taken off the job and died before publication." As a consequence, "several of the drawings are not used to the best textual advantage. The text itself is often too brief and ambiguous, and sometimes refers to drawings which are not included. In some cases unexplained drawings make reliance on the text problematic." See his work, Rotunda in Rome, 1966, 172. Loerke concluded that the "excavations, difficult and incomplete, did not yield an unequivocal view of Agrippa's Pantheon. Publication of the findings in 1898 included no ground plan of Agrippa's sanctuary, 38 circular plan introduced by Trajan, Hadrian, and Apollodorus? The debate offers two options: (1) it was a "T-shaped" building–in other words, a temple with a cella barlongue–that was completely separated from the Basilica of Neptune by a plaza; or (2) it was a "proto-rotunda" structure–in other words, a temple whose central space was a circular hypaethral cella–articulated with the "T-shaped" building, which functioned as a propylea. An important difference between these options is their orientation. The first one sees Agrippa's building facing south (inwards) towards the Basilica of Neptune, while the second one sees it facing north (outwards) towards the Mausoleum of Augustus.61 The debate is mostly concerned with the scant remains uncovered beneath the porch and rotunda, which included a thick stratum of tuff (1.20 m tall) that may have been covered with some kind of stone pavement. The stratum was extremely hard; it could only be perforated with a drill. Nevertheless, it was possible to explore a small area below, where they uncovered layers of highly compressed alluvial clay. Unfortunately, the conditions were very difficult: they were excavating in very small galleries, stagnated by a rising level of water, guided only by candlelight, and trying to drill, manually, through 1.20 m of extremely hard tuff. It is easy to understand why Beltrami did not pursue the excavations further. In the end, they only excavated a small portion of the

and the ensuing uncertainty has […] negative effects. It has blocked satisfactory analysis of the design of Hadrian's Pantheon," producing a "mistaken reading" of the uncovered remains. See his work, "Georges Chédanne," 1982, 41. 61For option one, see Lanciani, Ruins and Excavations, 2006, 481; Shipley, Agrippa's Building Activities, 1933), 61-5;De Fine Licht, Rotunda in Rome, 1966, 174-8; Heinz Kähler, Der Römische Tempel, (Berlin: Mann, 1970), 41; Pierre Gros, Aurea Templa: Recherches sur l'architecture religieuse de Rome à l'époque d'Auguste, (Rome: Ècole Française, 1976), 146-7; Coarelli, "Il Pantheon, l'apoteosi de Augusto," 1983, 41; and Roddaz, Marcus Agrippa, 1984, 265. For option two, see Loerke, "Georges Chédanne," 1982, 50; Thomas, "Architectural History of the Pantheon," 1997, 171; Pieter Broucke, "The Pantheon of Agrippa and the Mausoleum of Augustus," Abstract of paper presented at the 101st Annual Meeting of the Archaeological Institute of America, American Journal of Archaeology 104, 2(2000):336; Giuseppe Lugli, The Pantheon and Adjacent Monuments, trans. John Tickner, (Rome: Bardi, 2002), 14-5; and Penelope Davies, Death and the Emperor: Roman Imperial Funerary Monuments From Augustus to Marcus Aurelius, (Austin: University of Texas Press, 2004), 140. 39 surface (less than 10%).62 To some extent, the hypothesis of a proto-rotunda relies on the scant evidence of this layer of tuff. However, the presence of a large paved area beneath the extant rotunda does not necessarily imply the existence of a large circular hall. For Lanciani this area was "a circular space open to rain," because its "pavement slopes from the center towards the circumference, like the lower floor of the arena of the Colosseum."63 In contrast, De Fine Licht argues the slope may be a deformation caused by the rotunda's weight.64 Giuseppe Lugli strengthens the idea of a proto-rotunda, by over-emphasizing the presence of two fragments of pavonazzetto found in situ above the layer of tuff. In his view, "the hypothesis of an open courtyard is also to be excluded, in view of the marble-tile paving that was adopted for places not subjected to the inclemency of the weather."65 Hence, Agrippa's or Domitian's building may have included a conical wooden structure. In this scenario, the latter had a rudimentary version of the oculus. Giovanni Carbonara returns to the open court hypothesis, given the drainage system beneath the rotunda.66 In the end, these rival interpretations reflect what analytic philosophers call "the undetermination of theories by data."67 On the other hand, a recent study by Lise Hetland clarifies the construction sequence of the extant Pantheon. Her study reevaluates the data from its brickstamp collection, revealing that large portions of the rotunda and intermediate block were

already under construction by 115 CE (that is, two years before Trajan's death). Three brickstamps found in situ in the rotunda's outer shell, between the first and second

62See Beltrami, Pantheon, 1898, 38; cf. Belardi, Il Pantheon, 2006. 63See Lanciani, Ruins and Excavations, 2006, 481. 64See De Fine Licht, Rotunda in Rome, 1966, 173. 65See Lugli, Pantheon, 2002, 14-5. 66See Giovanni Carbonara, "Il Pantheon: Alcune riflessioni di restauro e un cenno sullo stato degli studi," in Belardi, Pantheon, 2006, 35. 67See Rom Harré, One Thousand Years of Philosophy: From Rāmānuja to Wittgenstein, (Malden: Blackwell, 2000), 208-9. 40 cornices (17.50 m above ground), bear Consular dates for the years 114 and 115.68 So, if Domitian's reconstruction of Agrippa's building was destroyed in 110, it is safe to assume that in the next five years Trajan's engineers were able to clear the debris, make the necessary excavations for a new foundation, fabricate a thick layer of tuff to enhance the subsoil's resistance (1.20 m thick), build a foundation ring of concrete composed of "travertine fragments in layers in a mortar of lime and pozzolana" (7.30 m wide and 3.70 m tall), and erect a concrete wall with "alternating layers of travertine fragments and

lumps of tufa […] used as caementae in a mortar of lime and pozzolana" (6.10 m wide and 13.10 m tall). These laborious operations constituted the rotunda's first stage of construction. Furthermore, the trabeated systems of the exedrae, located inside the building, must have been completed by this time as well. Clearly, it was a vast amount of work undertaken in a relatively short period of time.69 Hetland's study divides the data from seventy brickstamps into four groups,

according to their location: (A) rotunda's exterior; (B) rotunda's interior; (C) intermediate

block and pronaos; and (D) dome. Each group reveals three time periods: (1) Trajanic,

which may have ended around 115; (2) a transition, lasting between Trajan's death and

Hadrian's return to Rome in 118; and (3) Hadrianic, which may have ended around 124. With such data at hand, it is possible to speculate on the building's construction sequence and its timing. The rotunda's first stage may have been finished by 117, given that 65% of the brickstamps in the first group belong to periods one and two (40% for period one). In the second group the picture is similar, 75% of the brickstamps represent these periods as well (50% for period one). Even though the intermediate block has an independent foundation, its construction seems to have been partially concurrent with the rotunda,

68See Hetland, "Dating the Pantheon," 2007, 98 & table 1A. 69All quotations on the Pantheon's construction come from De Fine Licht, Rotunda in Rome, 1966, 89-96. 41 since 80% of its brickstamps belong to these periods (60% for period one). The completion of the rotunda and dome may have lasted until 124, given that 85% of the dome's brickstamps belong to periods two and three (60% for period three).

Figure 2: Pantheon, main façade, hypothetic view, without the Hellenistic porch.

In sum, the Pantheon's construction began with Trajan and it did not end until Hadrian returned to Rome. Consequently, its design could be attributed to Trajan's most important architect, Apollodorus of Damascus, even though Hadrian may been involved as well. Some speculation on another problematic passage by Dio suggests an awkward relation between the architect's death and a discussion with Hadrian, which may have been related to the Pantheon's dome:

42 Now Hadrian […] first banished and later put to death Apollodorus […] The reason assigned was that […] once when Trajan was consulting him on some point about the buildings he had said to Hadrian, who had interrupted with some remark: "Be off, and draw your gourds. You don't understand of these matters." (It chanced that Hadrian at that time was pluming himself upon such drawing.)70

This hypothetic confrontation between Apollodorus and Hadrian over the Pantheon does not seem unreasonable at that point in time. However, the former's expertise, in contrast with the latter's dilettantism, must have entailed the necessary knowledge to visualize the construction process for a concrete dome of such magnitude.71

The brilliant use of coffers provided a much needed reinforcement for a wooden centering that may have been suspended from a series of external cranes, instead of a central tower. The pattern of vertical ribs and horizontal rings, imprinted on the dome's inner surface, may have been its principal characteristic, providing sufficient strength and flexibility for the centering, as well as a means to control the different types of concrete mixtures diminishing the dome's weight. The centering may have been a complex system of wooden trusses, acting as ribs, while the coffers provided horizontal reinforcement. Once the entire system had been assembled with the aid of cranes, distributed along the

70See Dio, Roman History, 69.4.1-2. According to Anthony Birley, "No one seems to be able to believe this story. As far as the timing is concerned, it would make sense in about 135 or 136. That Apollodorus was actually executed may be questioned." See his work, Hadrian: The Restless Emperor, (London: Routledge, 2001), 283; cf. William MacDonald, The Architecture of the Roman Empire, (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1965), 129-37; and Adnan Al Bounni, "Apollodoro di Damasco," in Tra Damasco e Roma: L'architettura di Apollodoro nella cultura classica, Fiorella Festa-Farina, ed., 4-5, (Rome: L'Erma di Bretschneider, 2001), 4. 71MacDonald thinks the discussion took place in Rome, either in 104-5 or 107-9. For him, the topic may have been Trajan's Forum or his Baths, even though "Hadrian was governor of Lower Pannonia during part of the latter period, when in any event the buildings would have been well along and consultation less necessary." He also explains that the term κολοκύτας (pumpkins or curcubita in Latin) are a sarcastic reference to the gored or umbrella-shaped domes, prominent in Villa Adriana. See MacDonald, Architecture Roman Empire, 1965, 131-5. If the discussion was about the Pantheon, it may have taken place in Rome, after its destruction in 110, before Hadrian left for Athens. All of them (Trajan, Hadrian, and Apollodorus) were in Rome at the time. See Birley, Hadrian Restless, 2001, 64-6; and Roberto Paribeni, Optimus Princeps: Saggio sulla storia e sui tempi dell'Imperatore Traiano, (Messina: Casa Editrice G. Principato, 1926), v. I: 310. 43 perimeter of the rotunda, the cranes may have been removed, allowing the system to function as a cantilevered ring in suspension.72 Another controversial aspect in the Pantheon's history is associated with the Hellenistic porch, which could be attributed to Hadrian. Given the low quality of its craftsmanship, reflected by its sloppy articulation with the brick massing of the intermediate block, most scholars assume it was done rather hastily. It is even possible that the porch was not part of an "original" scheme. Some scholars believe its shortcomings may be attributed to technical issues, associated with raising tall columns in a reduced area. Other scholars see it as a problem of supply, imposed by the desire to dedicate the building close to Hadrian's return. Once again, the archaeological data is insufficient to elucidate the reasons for such a careless solution. An indication of such untidiness is attested by the pediments of the intermediate block and the porch. As they stand today, they are not properly articulated, one is higher than the other.73

72For more on the complex forces and processes affecting the dome's centering, see Rabun Taylor's analysis of the disadvantages of a central tower and his brilliant hypothesis on a suspension system. R. Taylor, Roman Builders: A Study in Architectural Process, (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2003), 190-211. Regarding the design and elevation of such wooden armature, see the famous treatise on siege engines, Poliorcetica, attributed to Apollodorus; cf. Giangiacomo Martines, "Note di tecnica su Apollodoro di Damasco," in Festa-Farina, ed., Tra Damasco e Roma, 2001, 20-30; and P. H. Blyth, "Apollodorus of Damascus and the Poliorcetica," Greek, Roman, and Byzantine Studies 33, 2(1992):127- 58. A structural analysis of the Pantheon's dome shows that the use of stepped rings on the extrados and the distribution of radiated slices (the vertical axis of the coffers) at the intrados allow it to withstand considerable tension and stress: "the stepped rings induced higher, rather than lower, critical stresses in an uncracked dome model. But by allowing the model to crack freely, a salutary effect was caused by the rings. The cracked model closely simulated the behavior of the actual dome, which was discerned as to act structurally as an array of arches. In fact, the configuration of the dome seems to indicate that the builders understood this–which points to the conclusion that late Roman architectural development was not so closely tied to structural innovation as has been generally believed." This conclusion suggests that the Pantheon's builders had enough experience to allow the dome to crack. See Robert Mark and Paul Hutchinson, "On the Structure of the Roman Pantheon," The Art Bulletin 68, 1(1986):24-34. 73To get an idea of the rival theories explaining this articulation, see Taylor, Roman Builders, 2003, 115- 32; Mark Wilson-Jones, Principles of Roman Architecture, (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2000), 199-212; and Paul Davies, David Hemsoll, and Mark Wilson-Jones, "The Pantheon: Triumph of Rome or Triumph of Compromise?" Art History 10, 2(1987):133-51. 44

Figure 3: Pantheon, main façade, hypothetic view with Hellenistic porch.

To complicate matters further, the porch could have been added later, perhaps by the Severan rulers, since the main architrave bears a second inscription written in two lines. The first one reads: Imp. Caes. L. Septimius Severus Pius Pertinax Aug. Arabicus Adiabenicus Parthicus maximus pontiff. max. trib. potest. X imp. XI cos. III p. p. procos. et; the second one directly below states: Imp. Caes. M. Aurelius Antoninus Pius Aug. trib. potestat. V cos. procos. Pantheum vetsutate corruptum cum omni cultu restituerunt. The statement raises serious questions about what they meant by a "corrupted" state of deterioration. There is not enough evidence to determine the extent of their intervention. Again, there is much speculation, but not enough facts. Some scholars suggest they just added the attic's ornamentation, while others think they added the new porch. The scant

45 evidence suggests they just repaired the dome, perhaps overreacting to its structural cracking. Maybe a less experienced group of engineers could have misread this natural reaction, prompting the emperors to erect a large scaffolding to restore the dome. Such a large-scale intervention may have been a good pretext to add a new inscription.74 Regardless of who built it, the Hellenistic porch became the Pantheon's main façade. For a long period of time it must have been fully decorated with bronze and marble statues, strategically placed atop its roof, the tympanum, and stairway. Mary

Boatwright reports a study by Gugliemo Gatti on the tympanum's decoration, assuming it was built by Hadrian. For Gatti, the iconographic motif may have been an eagle emerging from a civic crown cast in bronze.75 Another piece of data suggests there was a major sculptural group atop the intermediate block. Lanciani reports the discovery of some fragments from a bronze quadriga, which may have stood in that spot, during a series of excavations made in the mid 1400s.76 As much as these debates may seem to suggest a lack of continuity between the people of the late Republic, the Antonines, and the Severans, it is highly probable that none of them saw a disruption in the continuity of their historical unfolding. For the Roman People, the political transitions from one regime to the next did not affect their

74The second inscription on the Pantheon's porch may be found in CIL 6.896. The scant evidence, suggesting they only worked on the dome, comes from Hetland's study. Only four brickstamps from the reign of Septimius Severus were found in situ: two in the pavement next to the intermediate block, toward the west side, and the other two, at the internal part of the dome, in one of its ribs. See Hetland, "Dating the Pantheon," 2007, 101-2. As already mentioned the dome may have been designed to accept certain degrees of cracking. So, it is possible that inexperienced engineers did not understand its structural behavior. Thus, they might have tried to fill the cracks and restore its original appearance. In recent decades, the cracks reappeared, prompting new processes of restoration. Alberto Terenzio's diagrams of such cracks are an important document for the dome's behavior. See Belardi, Il Pantheon, 2006, figs. 4a & 4b, on pp. 120-3. For more on the Severan intervention, see Gene Waddell, Creating the Pantheon: Design, Materials, and Construction, (Rome: "L'Erma" di Bretschneider, 2008); cf. Thomas, "Architectural History of the Pantheon," 1997. 75See Boatwright, Hadrian and Rome, 1987, 42-55. 76See Lanciani, "Del Pantheon," In Notizie degli scavi di antichità comunicate alla R. Accademia dei Lincei, August, pp. 340-61, (Rome: Coi Tipi del Salviucci, 1881), 262 & 267. 46 cultural continuum. The controversial debates affecting the modern community of archaeologists and historians are mostly concerned with the details of such transitions.

The overall picture of continuity is rarely contested. The population of the mid 200s CE had no reasons to experience a historical distantiation with their ancestors, during the Republic. For them it was the same people simply coming along with the flow of time. Yet, this "natural" process of enculturation would soon be seriously threatened by the arrival of a new system of beliefs. Interestingly enough, the Pantheon's primordial

denotation would allow it to make the transition with the same "natural continuity." Dio's interpretation would remain valid for many generations to come. Its symbolic potential would transcend the barriers of time, maintaining a "charismatic" role in the imagination of those who try to understand the inner workings of the universe.

Sancta Maria ad Martyres

The next stage in the Pantheon's history reflects a unique process of cultural transference, enabling the continuity of heritage for many people in this part of the world. It was a dual process: the Christianization of Rome and the Romanization of Christianity. It involved all streams of culture, enforcing multivariate forms of adaptation. Gradually, all sectors of society negotiated the adoption of new customs and beliefs with those they inherited from their ancestors. In this sense, continuity was a gradual achievement, entailed by the effort of multiple generations mediating the impact of a dramatic paradigm shift. The Pantheon is a testimony of such metamorphosis. Its transformation into a Catholic church was part of a larger process of enculturation. In the beginning, Christians were like an "underground" network of congregations, striving to survive amidst discrimination and persecution. Originally, the members of the church gathered in

47 tituli–meeting places that resembled a modern community center. By 312 CE, after the victory at the Milvian Bridge, there were at least 25 tituli-churches in Rome. According to Richard Krautheimer, one of them was a "plain, barnlike hall, set aside for worship only."77 At that time, the population in the empire was around fifty or sixty million. Christians may have amounted to ten percent. Krautheimer states that "as much as a third of Rome's population may have belonged to the Church or sympathized with it."78 Although Constantine's benefaction entailed a substantive change for the political dimension of the Church, its impact on society grew slowly. By the late 370s, the clergy was able to enforce tremendous changes in the religious practices of the empire, under the rule of Gratian in the West and Theodosius in the East. The new policy relied on a principle of religious jurisprudence: "that the magistrate is, in some measure, guilty of the crimes which he neglects to prohibit, or to punish."79 Equipped with such principles and St Ambrose's reference to Josiah's zeal for the destruction of idolatry, the fate of "Paganism" was sealed. The process against the religious customs of large populations across the empire began with some edicts by Constantius II. By the mid 350s all "heathen temples" were ordered to close by imperial mandate. According to Libanius and

77See Richard Krautheimer, Rome: Profile of a City, 312-1308, (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2000), 18-21; cf. Torgil Magnuson, The Urban Transformation of Medieval Rome, 312-1420, (Stockholm: Suecoromana VII, 2004), 51-4. 78For James Carroll, "When the power of the empire became joined to the ideology of the Church, the empire was immediately recast and reenergized, and the Church became an entity so different from what had preceded it as to be almost unrecognizable."See his work, Constantine's Sword: The Church and the , a History, (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 2001), 171. For the population estimates see idem, 166; cf. John D. Durand, "Historical Estimates of World Population: An Evaluation," Population and Development Review 3, 3(1977):253-96. Magnuson calculates between 15,000 and 20,000 Christians at Rome, during Constantine's reign. See his work, Urban Transformation, 2004, 51. 79Regarding the Church's political and religious policies, Carroll states: "Christian theology evolved in such a way that primary emphasis was given to the Church as the community of the saved. The affirmation that all who were baptized in Christ had access to God came to be understood exclusively–that only those who were baptized could be saved. This notion underwrote Christianity's aggressive program of proselytizing, which lead to the Church's steady growth, but it also was the source of offense taken by Roman pagans who regarded such a theology as an intolerable violation of a necessary religious tolerance." See Carroll, Constantine's Sword, 2001, 169. 48 Ammianus Marcelinus, the emperor gave away these temples as gifts, "just as one might give away a dog or a horse."80 By 383 things got worse, when Gratian decided to take away all the privileges of temples and priests, as well as confiscating their revenues. By the early 390s, Valentinian and Theodosius tried to eliminate the essence of ancestral heritage, by forbidding all sacrifices, even private or domestic. The Roman Empire had finally adopted Christianity as its official state religion.

Figure 4: Pantheon, main façade, hypothetic view as an early Catholic Church.

80See Rodolfo Lanciani, The Destruction of Ancient Rome: A Sketch of the History of the Monuments, (Adamant Media, 2005), 34-5. One of the most influential edicts, striving to modify religious observance, was introduced by Theodosius I (379-395), see Cunctos populous, 380, Cod. Theod. 16.1.2. For more on the empire's Christianization, see Geoffrey Barraclough, The Medieval Papacy, (New York: W. W. Norton, 1979), 19-25; Thomas Bokenkotter, A Concise History of the Catholic Church, rev. ed., (New York: Doubleday, 2005); Michael Grant, The Fall of the Roman Empire: A Reappraisal by Michael Grant, (London: The Annenberg School Press, 1976); and Richard Lim, "Christian Triumph and Controversy," In Late Antiquity: A Guide to the Postclassical World, G. W. Bowersock, Peter Brown, and Oleg Grabar, eds., 196-218, (Cambridge: The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 1999). 49 Amidst such turmoil, the Pantheon's history did not record the details of its transformation into a church. The Liber Pontificalis provides only a brief notice of the request donation by Pope Boniface IV from Emperor Phocas in the early 600s.81 Given the scarcity of information it may be safe to assume that as soon as the Pope took over its management, the building did not require a major refurbishment, at least not enough to enforce its report. In compensation of such lack of details, the historical record offers many accounts of its consecration by Pope Boniface. But, before going through some of

these materials, it is important to emphasize the political context of the donation, because for decades Roman Popes clashed with their counterparts in Constantinople as well as the emperor. During this period, the Empire at Byzantium struggled with social unrest and financial instability, generated by a debilitating policy of subsidies to maintain their enemies at bay. The military antagonism with the Persian Empire was a constant threat. The next generation after Justinian saw an emperor lose his mind, another assassinated, given his "uncontrolled liberality," and a third fall prey to a military coup d'état.82 The man responsible for that coup d'état was Phocas, a popular centurion that was called him an "impudent centaur" by the ancient historian Theophylact for his depraved and sadistic nature. John Norwich describes him as "debauched, drunken and almost pathologically cruel." In many ways, this period was a nadir of Byzantine hegemony. With his rise to power some fundamental policies were reversed, like maintaining peace with the Persians and supporting the Monophysites.83 These changes diminished the

81See The Book of Pontiffs (Liber Pontificalis), (Liverpool: Liverpool University Press, 1989), 60-4; cf. Ferdinand Gregorovius, History of the City of Rome in the Middle Ages, (London: G. Bell & Sons, 1903- 12), vols. 1 & 2; Christian Hülsen, Le chiese di Roma nel medio evo: Cataloghi e appunti, (Florence: L. S. Olschki, 1927); and Alessandra G. Gidobaldi and Federico Guidobaldi, eds., Ecclesia urbis: Atti del congresso internazionale di studi sulle chiese di Roma, IV-X secolo, Roma, 4-10 settembre 2000, (Vatican City: Pontificio Istituto di Archeologia Cristiana, 2002). 82See John J. Norwich, Byzantium: The Early Centuries, (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1989), 272-9; and Michael Grant, From Rome to Byzantium: The Fifth Century AD, (London: Routledge, 1998). 83Before Phocas became emperor, the state stopped persecuting Monophysites, even though Rome's policy 50 confrontation with Rome. Given such favorable circumstances, Pope Boniface took advantage of the new emperor's piety to make the special request. The Liber Pontificalis states that he "asked the emperor Phocas for the temple called the Pantheon, and in it he made the church of the ever-virgin St Mary and all martyrs; in this church the emperor presented many gifts."84 According to some scholars, the Roman papacy had been seeking the Pantheon's ownership for a long time.85 Perhaps, they recognized the universality of its primordial denotation as a center of power and its potentiality to engender a new set of connotations. Certain historical accounts of its consecration, like that of Venerable Bede, reflect a belief in symbolic action (magic) as a transformative power capable of transforming the Roman temple into a Catholic church:

This is the Boniface […] who by earnest suit obtained of the emperor Phocas a temple at Rome to be granted to the Church of Christ, which temple of ancient time was called Pantheon, as it were to stand for all the gods: out of which temple this Boniface casting forth all filthiness made a church therein in the honor of the holy mother of God and all the martyrs of Christ beside; that the army of devils being shut out thence, the army of martyrs might have a memorial.86 demanded their elimination. In this period, the Patriarch of Constantinople used the "Ecumenical" title, implying he was above the papacy. Pope Gregory the Great responded immediately with letters asking for the removal of the title. But the Patriarch kept using it. In return, Gregory claimed it was "a clear indication that the age of the Antichrist was at hand." This level of confrontation ended with Phocas. See Norwich, Byzantium, 275; cf. Bokenkotter, Concise History, 2000, 97-109; and Walter Ullmann, A Short History of the Papacy in the Middle Ages, (London: Methuen, 1972), 142-72. 84 See Book of Pontiffs, 1989, 62. 85Susanna Pasquali emphasizes the importance of the Pantheon's conversion. It was not only the first imperial property to undergo such a religious transformation, but it was also at the heart of the habitato–that is, Rome's most densely populated area during the Middle Ages, occupying the entire Campus Martius. See her work, Il Pantheon: Architettura e antiquaria nel Settecento a Roma, (Modena: Franco Cosimo Panini, 1996), 24-5; cf. Lanciani, Destruction of Rome, 2005, 110; and Krautheimer, Rome, 2000, 72. On the other hand, Magnuson states that Ss. Cosma and Damiano and Sta. Maria Antiqua became churches by Pope Felix IV (526-530). Yet, none of them became a titulus church, they were just diaconia. He also thinks it is possible that the Pantheon was already used as a church prior to Boniface's request of donation. See Magnuson, Urban Transformation, 2004, 61. 86See Maria Fabricius Hansen, The Eloquence of Appropriation: Prolegomena to an Understanding of Spolia in Early Christian Rome, (Rome: "L'Erma" di Bretschneider, 2003), 249; cf. T. Buddensieg, "Criticism and Praise of the Pantheon in the Middle Ages and the Renaissance," In Classical Influences on European Culture A.D. 500-1500, R. R. Bolgar, ed., 259-67, (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1971), 259. 51 Other accounts, like those of the Mirabilia Urbis Romae or by the celebrated mystic Hermann of Fritzlar, reflect similar ideas about the pope's ability to purify the building from its "pagan" worship.87 The reference to an "army of martyrs" was enhanced by Cardinal Cesare Baronio in the late 1580s. In his Martyrologium Romanum, the cardinal explained that the pope's consecration had been "perfected" by transferring "twenty eight charts filled with remains of martyrs, collected from the cemeteries on the city's outskirts. The remains were deposited on the Pantheon's interior, placed beneath the

floor of the new church."88 The scale of such operation is unclear, although Lanciani confirms its possibility, explaining that since the late 530s it was common to remove human remains from cemeteries on the countryside and transfer them to Rome.89 Regarding the Pantheon's case, Krautheimer claims that the actual transfer of remains could not occur before 682, because Romans were not yet influenced by the Eastern custom of venerating martyrs' relics, transmitted by immigrants fleeing the expansion of Islam, and the aversion of Pope Gregory the Great to open a martyr's burial. According to Krautheimer "The refugees carried to Rome Eastern relics, feasts, and customs: besides the head of Saint Anastasius, they presumably brought that of Saint George […] and the manger of Christ," as well as a custom that took deep roots in Western Christendom, that is, the transfer of martyrs' bones, or "Relics ex ossibus, customary in the East."90

87According to the Mirabilia, "In Saint Peter's Paradise is a basin […] In the middle of the basin is a bronze Pine Cone that […] covered over the statue of Cybele, mother of the gods, in the opening of the Pantheon." For Hermann of Fritzlar, "The Roman's false God, the Devil, took the pine cone away from the top of the church […] carried it in front of St Peter's […] and the hole in the church where the pine cone was still remains open and nobody wants to close it." See Francis Nichols, ed., The Marvels of Rome: Mirabilia Urbis Romae, (New York: Italica Press, 1986), 22-3; and Buddensieg, "Criticism and Praise," 1971, 260. 88For this account, see Pasquali, Il Pantheon, 1996, 24-5. 89In 537, the siege of Vitiges encouraged many people to perform such undesirable operation. In 648 and 682, their scale increased dramatically. By the early 800s, when Pope Paschal I transferred "innumerable" remains to Rome, it was a well-accepted custom. See Lanciani, Destruction of Rome, 2005, 115-6. 90See Krautheimer, Rome, 2000, 90. 52 Archaeological research partially confirms the veracity of these claims. The explorations of Beltrami reinforce the existence of human remains beneath the rotunda. The works of Antonio Muñoz for the rehabilitation of Raphael's tomb confirm these practices, as well. Beltrami found a considerable number of cists with human remains. The discovery of two large spaces–around 60 square feet in surface–and a third one–a small niche filled with human remains–is relatively high, considering he only explored less than 10 percent of the rotunda's footprint. Muñoz reports also a large cist behind

Raphael's sarcophagus in the southeast aedicule.91 The problem is that none of these materials were properly analyzed to assess their historical provenance. They may have been placed there in the times of Pope Boniface IV or those of Cardinal Baronio. In many ways, the Pantheon's transformation of into a Catholic church did not entail major physical alterations until the late 1200s.

A New Iconography

Even though the pace in which the Pantheon attained the appearance of a Catholic church is relatively unclear, one thing is certain, by the end of the 1200s all its Roman iconography had been replaced by a Christian counterpart. For instance, the shrines between the apses and recesses no longer displayed Olympian deities. They were now occupied by Christian saints. The large statues that must have occupied the main apse gave way to an altar and ciborium. The most interesting aspect of these transformations is that the building's primordial denotation was not affected. To some extent, it was reinforced. The clarity of its hierarchical order was now occupied by a simpler metaphysical model. Instead of multiple deities sharing power over the universe, now a

91See Beltrami, Il Pantheon, 1898, 39-40; Belardi, Il Pantheon, 2006, figs. 10-8; and Antonio Muñoz, "La decorazione medievale del Pantheon," Nuovo Bullettino di Archeologia Christiana 18(1912):25-35. 53 single deity was accompanied by a hierarchical structure of angels, saints, and martyrs. However, the interaction between this transcendent layer of reality and its material counterpart remained the same. The continuity of heritage is attested by the transfusion of Neoplatonic metaphysics into Christianity. The system of thought that Plotinus was able to synthesize from the enduring legacy of Hellenism was "organically" absorbed by the new cosmovision. That is why the Pantheon was able to incorporate its new imagery without suffering a major physical intervention.

Scattered information suggests that the process of transformation was rather slow. For instance, Pope Benedict II (684-5) gave the Pantheon "an altarcloth of purple with a cross and chevrons and four gold-buttoned studs, with a very fine border all of silk."92 Clearly, there was already a Christian altar on site. A similar situation stems from the information that Pope Hadrian I (772-95) renovated the ciborium, changing its location and adding silver coverings. By the mid 800s, the ciborium was replaced or restored again, by Pope Gregory IV (827-54). Some discoveries by Muñoz confirm these interventions, like a series of fragmented columns and cornices found next door in the Basilica of Neptune.93 Hence, the Pantheon had an altar and ciborium since the early 700s, presumably in the main apse. Perhaps the most significant item of this period–still preserved today–is an icon of a Virgin and Child. It is an original encaustic panel that may belong to its initial consecration. It is reminiscent of those religious influences brought from the East. The icon may have been placed at the main apse.94 The loss of its "pagan" iconography might have been gradual as well. By 1023 the large hall next door, known as the Baths of Agrippa at the time, had a kiln where ancient

92See Davis, Book of Pontiffs, 1989, 79. 93See Muñoz, "La decorazione medievale," 1912, 31. 94Idem, 27-8 & fig 3; cf. Krautheimer, Rome, 2000, 72, 90-1 & fig. 77; and Gianfranco Ruggieri, Guide to the Pantheon, (Rome: Editoriale Museum, 1994), 22 & fig. 27. 54 marble was burnt to produce lime for the construction industry. Clearly, it was an excellent location, almost at the center of the habitato. Its surplus of marble statues must have been an important asset in this area. Krautheimer describes how easy it was for the Bishop of Winchester (the brother of King Henry II of England) to buy as many ancient sculptures as he pleased during a business trip to Rome, between 1145 and 1150. The loss of heritage stretched far back to those waves of invasion by Alaric's Germanic armies in 410, Geiseric's Vandal hordes in 455, and Ricimer's Gothic troops in 472. The emperors of Constantinople also collaborated, like Constans II, who pillaged the dome's original gilded, bronze sheeting during his official visit to Rome in 655.95 To make matters worse, the Pantheon became a stronghold during the long and arduous struggle for Papal supremacy. By the late 900s, Roman families like the Tuscolani or Crescenzi had literally taken over the papacy. This period is known as the Adelpapsttum or Familienpapsttum (the "nobility popes"). In sharp contrast, their predecessors were easily identified as wise, mystical men, mostly old individuals with a charismatic religious background, which justified their right to occupy the throne of St Peter.96

95For the kiln and Henry's visit, see Krautheimer, Rome, 2000, 187-9. For the pillaging of the dome's sheeting, see Paulus Diaconus, De Gest. Langob., 5.11; and Anastasius, Liber Pontificalis, 136; cf. Frank Moore, "The Gilt-Bronze Tiles of the Pantheon," American Journal of Archaeology 3, 1(1899):40-3. Lanciani offers a detailed account of such loss of heritage in his work, Destruction of Rome, 2005. 96For a detailed examination of the ascendancy and power of these Roman families, like the Tuscolani or Crescenzi, see Federico Marazzi, "Aristocrazia e società (secoli VI-XI)," in Roma Medievale, André Vauchez, ed., 41-70, (Rome: Gius, Laterza & Figli, 2006); and Sandro Carocci and Marco Vendittelli, "Società ed economia (1050-1420)," in idem, pp. 71-116. According to Marazzi Rome was divided into twelve or fourteen districts protected by these noble families and their militias, during the 700s and 800s. Each was identified by their bandus or insignia and their fortresses. Even though these families controlled the city, the papacy still was responsible for the exercitus romanus (see pp. 49-50). Around 1050, the Crescenzi fortified the Mausoleum of Augustus, while the Conti de' Marsi occupied "le Terme d'Agrippa, dietro la Rotonda," that is, the Basilica of Neptune. See Carlo Fea, Annotazioni alla memoria sui diritti del principato sugli antichi edifizj publici sacri e profani, (Rome: Lazzarini, 1806), 10. By the end of the 1800s the Crescenzi still had a large palatial complex next to the Pantheon and Santa Maria sopra Minerva. To isolate the Pantheon as a free-standing monument they had to "cut away one half of the Crescenzi and the Aldobrandini palaces." See Lanciani, Ruins and Excavations, 2006, 486. 55 The popes were also fighting the emperors in Constantinople. To strengthen their position, the papacy supported powerful chieftains trying to inherit the legacy of Rome's Western provinces. Over time they created the Holy Roman-Germanic Empire. Gradually, the papacy was entrenched in complex confrontations with powerful agents, like the emperors Heinrich IV (1080s) and Frederick Barbarossa (1150s). These confrontations ended with the kidnapping of the papacy to Avignon, by King Philip the Fair of France, in 1305. Although, to some extent, the sack of Rome by Charles V in

1527 and Napoleon's occupation in 1805 are extensions of such ideological, political, and militaristic clashes to control the spirit of Christendom.97 During these turbulent times, the Pantheon remained under the care of the Church of Rome. Yet, it was still used as a fortress, when Rome was under siege. During the reign of Pope Innocent III–shortly after the infamous sack of 1086, by the Norman troops of Robert Guiscard–many churches and ancient bath halls were also used as fortresses. In 1087, the Pantheon became the stronghold of Guiberto di Ravenna, during his fight with Pope Victor III. The chronicle of such events declared: "Guibertus vero haeresiarcha non magis ab incaepta perversitate cessavit; imo se apod S. Mariam ad Martyres, quam rotundam dicunt, incastellavit. Dominus autem Papa in Insulam, quae inter duos pontes sita est, se recepit."98 According to Carlo Fea, the whole city fell into anarchy from the end of this period until the popes came back from Avignon. It was practically civil war. The city fragmented into several fortified districts.99

97For more on these confrontations, see Bokenkotter, Concise History, 2005, 121-84; Barraclough, Medieval Papacy, 1979, 40-54; Ullmann, Short History, 1972, 20-32 & 182-5; and Ferdinand Gregorovius, Rome and Medieval Culture: Selections from History of the City of Rome in the Middle Ages, trans. Gustavus W. Hamilton, (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1971), 89-258. 98The quote may be loosely translated as "Guiberto a true heretic in the highest degree, who is eagerly prone to perversity; took hold of S. Maria ad Martyres, which is called the Rotonda, and made it a fortress. Our Lord the Pope was forced into the Island, which is between the two bridges, where he drew back." See Fea, Annotazioni, 1806, 10. 99Jean Flori characterized the end of the 900s as a turbulent time. The natural and social orders were in 56 As much as Rome's population supported Heinrich IV and his anti-pope Clement III, the papacy was able to restore their confidence. Krautheimer qualified this period as a "New Rebirth of Rome." Many churches were refurbished. Romanesque bell-towers sprang everywhere, colorful mural paintings portraying Christian narratives, and those celebrated decorations in opus sectile (Comatesque) became almost ubiquitous. Churches like S. Maria in Cosmedin or Ss. Quattro Coronati are perfect examples of this era.100 The Pantheon received much attention in this time. Its renovation produced a completely new

appearance, which could be labeled as a truly "medieval character." As we examine the details of such renovation, it will become clear just how different it was from the building we now today. During this period the Pantheon strayed farthest from its image of a Roman Temple devoted to All the Gods. Instead of the classical aesthetics of marble statues the building showcased a belfry, ciborium, icons of the Madonna, mural paintings of saints, tombstones of Roman noblemen, etc. Much of the ornamentation uncovered by Muñoz belongs to this period (late 1200s). According to Lugli, a large bell-tower was erected on top of the porch.101 Most of the secondary apses and recesses were covered with mural paintings. An astonishing fragment from the east apse showed Christ seating on a throne, making the sign of blessing with his right hand, while the left one covered the Virgin's head. At the opposite side of the throne, a white bearded saint held a book in his hand. Another painting– perhaps less ancient–on the northeast recess represented "the Coronation of the Virgin." Also a majolica vitrified in white represented the "Ascension of the Virgin." It is unclear

turmoil. There were abnormal rains, conflagrations, flooding, and epidemics. Much of the people's reaction was against the church, which had no other choice but to raise its own armies, since local chieftains were not protecting them. In fact, the latter were the first to raid abbeys and parishes. See "L'Église et la Guerre Sainte: de la "Paix de Dieu" a la "croisade," Annales: Histoire, Science Sociales 47, 2(1992):453-66, 455. 100See Fea, Annotazioni, 1806, 11-4; and Krautheimer, Rome, 2000, 161-202. 101See Lugli, The Pantheon, 2002, 46. 57 how many more walls were covered with murals expressing different themes associated with the Mother of God, but, it seems likely that the whole intervention tried to strengthen the building's advocation to her.102 The intervention included also a schola cantorum (singers' precinct) for the main apse. According to Tod Marder, its walls had a mural of Saints Rasius and Anastasius flanking Pope Boniface IV. The main altar was covered by a new octagonal ciborium on four porphyry columns with foliated capitals, surrounded by a marble railing with a low frieze and colonnettes.103 Most of these elements were decorated in opus sectile. Lastly, there were two tombstones of noble Romans. One of them was Pietro Angelo de Melle.104 In sum, these architectural and decorative elements produced a new iconography, which in appearance implied a disruption with the continuity of a classical heritage. But, in essence, the new iconography was only different in appearance. Its overarching metaphysical model did not alter its core. The Pantheon remained a building that was able to denote a highly structured model of the universe and a connotation of those forces controlling its inner-workings. Yet, as time moved on, these elements were gradually dismantled, so that a more overt sense of continuity could be manifested. The Pantheon was ready to become a testing ground for the ideals of the Renaissance. The correlation between Venus and the Virgin would soon become an explicit connotation.

102See Muñoz, "La decorazione medievale," 1912. For an image of the "Coronation of the Virgin" see Ruggieri, Guide Pantheon, 1994, fig. 35. 103See Tod Marder, "Specchi's High Altar for the Pantheon and the Statues by Cametti and Moderati," The Burlington Magazine 122, 922(1980):30-40, 30. Pasquali has diagrams of the ciborium and railing, as well as an engraving by G. Tiburtio Vergelli da Recanati and Pietro Paolo Girelli, illustrating these elements. See her work, Il Pantheon, 1996, figs. I, III, & VII, pp. 16-7. 104Similar tombstones still cover the floors of S. Maria in Aracoeli today. The Pantheon may have had more than two. Beltrami did find proper tombs with full skeletons. Some of the drawings from this investigation reproduced in Belardi's work show a clear distinction between cists with remains of martyrs and tombs from later times. See Belardi, Il Pantheon, 2006, figs. 11-8. For an image of the tombstone of Pietro Angelo de Melle see Arnold Nesselrath, "Impressionen zum Pantheon in der Renaissance," In Pegasus 10, Berliner Beiträge zum Nachleben der Antike, Horst Bredekamp and Arnold Nesselrath, eds., 37-84, (Berlin: Brandenburgische Akademie der Wissenschaften, 2002), fig. 8. 58 A Vision of Perfection

One of the sharpest goals of the Renaissance was to clarify the degree of continuity that existed between Christendom and the Romano-Hellenic legacy. This project involved all layers of culture. To some extent, the origins of modern philology, historiography, and archaeology could be traced back to this era. Its overall intention was to identify the authoritative sources of evidence, harnessing such continuity. The Pantheon was an essential case study for this project. On one hand, its geometric potency and the clarity of its structure were paradigms of classical rationality. On the other hand, its symbolism was full of potential. It embodied an actual manifestation of the divine, just as Michelangelo seems to have suggested, when he stated "dal primo cornicione in giù disegno angelico e non umano," which may be translated as, "up to the first cornice the design is angelic and not human."105 In many ways, the long process of restoration, striving to recover a "classical appearance" for the Pantheon, began with such statements and a series of reconstructive drawings. It is a perfect example of how visualization becomes materialization, over time. A perfect example of the former appears in Serlio's opening chapter "On Antiquities," which stated: "Of all the ancient buildings that can be seen in Rome, in my estimation the Pantheon, as a single body, is actually the most beautiful, most complete and best conceived." The reason for such praise is that "although it has many 'members,' those 'members' are well proportioned to the body that whoever sees such correspondence feels great satisfaction."106

105Michelangelo's quote, as recorded by Cipriano Cipriani in Cod. barb. 1066 c., may be found in Lanciani, "Del Pantheon," 1881, 255. 106See Serlio, Tutte l'opere d'architettura, 3.4. Palladio agreed with such assessments, claiming: "Among all the temples that are to be seen in Rome, none is more celebrated than the Pantheon, now called Ritonda, nor the remains more entire; since it is to be seen almost in its first state as to the fabric, but stripped of the statues, and other ornaments." See his work, I quattro libri dell'architettura, 4.22. 59 In many ways, these celebrated architects were expressing their reaction to the Pantheon's primordial denotation. However, the most astounding aspect of such reaction stems from the extreme clarity of its geometrical scheme, because its physical conditions at the time were in their worst state of conservation ever. So, their descriptions and drawings, portraying the building's primordial denotation, are in fact a product of their imagination, or in more technical terms, they emerge from a phenomenological reflection. Their drawings depict an ideal Pantheon, envisioned by strategic survey and

extrapolation of its geometric clarity. On the other hand, the Pantheon's utter state of disrepair is attested by two

anonymous drawings from the early 1400s, which share many details: (1) the porch had lost three columns on its east side, as well as a large section of its roof, including the entablature and part of the tympanum; (2) a series of commercial stalls were added to the front row of columns in the porch; the stalls were added to a retaining wall that had to be added to prevent people from falling down to the original floor of the porch, which laid more than eight feet below; (3) two multistory buildings were also added to the east side

of the porch; the commercial stalls stretched in front of these buildings; (4) the Basilica of

Neptune became also dwelling and commercial spaces; (5) the Romanesque belfry was still atop the porch, however, it was now flanked by two tower-like extensions, raising from the intermediate block. Furthermore, from reports of subsequent restorations, it is possible to add that (6) large surfaces of the rotunda's exterior brick wall were

considerably eroded; (7) vast extensions of the rotunda's marble floor had been stripped

away; and (8) most of the interior marble facings were darkened by mold, fungus, and the watermarks of multiple floods.107

107One of the anonymous drawings is in the Louvre, 11029 Cabinet des Dessins, according to De Fine Licht, Rotunda, 1966, fig. 233 & p. 328; the other one is in the Archivio Fotografico Soprintendenza per i Beni Architettnonici e per il Paesaggio di Roma, negative no. 2934, according to Belardi, Il Pantheon, 60

Figure 5: Pantheon, main façade, hypothetic view of its worst period of conservation.

Without a doubt, the Pantheon never looked as bad as it did in this period. From that moment forward, the restoration of its former splendor became a multigenerational project of "titanic" proportions. Since then, the Pantheon would never been neglected again. For many popes it became a personal task, guided by the authoritative advice of celebrated scholars and master-architects. The project's continuity and systematization began with the so-called "Renaissance Popes."108 To some extent, the project began with

2006, fig. 6 on p. 49. See also Heemskerck's drawings in Tod Marder, "Alexander VII, Bernini, and the Urban Setting of the Pantheon in the Seventeenth Century," The Journal of the Society of Architectural Historians 50, 3(1991):273-92, figs. 2-3. 108The long line of influential families providing some of the most powerful popes in history starts with the Colonna or Farnese. In the next two centuries, the papacy would host two Borgia, four Medici, two Della Rovere, and two Piccolomini. Nepotism and intermarriage assured their dynamic ascendancy. After a couple of decades, some of these families were at the center of complex webs of intermarriage. By the end of the 1700s, the Medici were tied to the Colonna, Altemps, Salviati, Altieri, Chigi, and Borghese. For more on the Medici and their influence on papal politics see George L. Williams, Papal Genealogy: The 61 the restoration of the dome's sheeting in 1417 and lasted until the attic's decoration was utterly modified in 1747. During this period, it would be easier to make a list of the few popes who did not participate in this project. The first pope to concentrate his attention on the Pantheon's restoration, since the papacy returned from Avignon, was Martin V (Oddone Colonna, 1417-31). His first step was extremely logical, a repair of the dome's lead sheeting.109 His successor Eugene IV (Condolmiere, 1431-47) removed the commercial stalls from the main façade. This work was accompanied by an archaeological exploration, which uncovered two Egyptian lions of grey granite, inscribed with hieroglyphs, fragments of a bronze quadriga, and a large porphyry basin. The lions and basin were displayed in front of the Pantheon, as a public monument. A popular uprising in the reign of Pope Eugene damaged the Pantheon's lead sheeting. Consequently, Nicholas V (Parentucelli, 1447-55) had to restore it again, in 1454.110 Afterwards, Innocent VIII (Cibo, 1484-92) embellished the Christian furnishings, such as the main altar, ciborium, railings, and so on. This operation is one of the first cases in which the pretext of improvement enabled the pillaging of fine

Families and Descendants of the Popes, (Jefferson, NC: McFarland, 1998), especially table VIII on p. 56; cf. Charles L. Stinger, The Renaissance in Rome, (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1998); and D. S. Chambers, Popes, Cardinals and War: The Military Church in Renaissance and Early Modern , (London: I. B. Tauris, 2006). 109See Francesco Cerasoli,"I restauri del Pantheon dal secolo XV al XVIII," Bulletino della Commissione Archeologica Comunale di Roma 37(1909):280-9, 280; cf. Lugli, The Pantheon, 2002, 48. 110Subsequent restorations provide some interesting facts on their duration and cost, even though they lack a clear description of the work. For instance, under the direction of a skilled engineer, marble cutter, and bronze sculptor, Master Varrone d'Agnolo di Belferdino of Florence, an unknown work of restoration amounted to 300 gold ducats. To repair the entire roof of the porch, Pope Paul II (Barbo, 1464-71) required 300 planks of chestnut, 10,000 boards, and 13,100 tiles for the grand price of 300 florins. See Lanciani, "Del Pantheon," In Notizie degli scavi di antichità comunicate alla R. Accademia dei Lincei August, pp. 340-61, (Rome: Coi Tipi del Salviucci, 1881), 262, 267, & 352. For an idea of the economic value of a florin, the inheritance that the father of Cosimo de' Medici had to share with his four brothers amounted to 800 florins. In contrast, when he was ready for marriage, he rejected a dowry of the same amount. Looking ahead for possible lawsuits incurred by usury, he put aside 50 lire di piccioli (silver coins) for each of his five sons. Both actions reflect just how much his status of living had been raised in the course of a lifetime. See Tim Parks, Medici Money: Banking, Metaphysics, and Art in Fifteenth-Century Florence, (New York: W. W. Norton, 2005), 9-19. 62 materials. In this occasion, the porphyry columns and marble capitals of the ciborium were changed for shafts of grey granite as well as "mediocre bases and capitals," albeit the railing was improved with six porphyry columns, a marble cornice, and a frieze with porphyry inlays. The railing used the pope's coat of arms as its key ornament. This is the first notice of such propaganda in the Pantheon's history.111 After this period of so much attention, the Pantheon was displaced by more ambitious projects, like the urban renewal of Julius II (della Rovere, 1503-13) and the completion of the new basilica of St Peter's by Leo X (de' Medici, 1513-21). The renovation of Rome's cityscape included the regularization of the area in front of the Pantheon, which became a proper plaza. The space was widened to improve the building's views.112 The next decade (the 1520s) brought tremendous change all over Europe. The confrontation between the leaders who controlled the politics of the earthly realm and those who commanded the heavenly armies of religious faith reached a crisis of gigantic proportions. Luther called the pope "Antichrist." The path of salvation had gone astray. Its maladies were attested by "pilgrimages of all kinds, a superstitious cult of relics […] a semimagical and materialistic view of the efficacy of the mass," which gave "the impression that heaven was something you could buy, like anything else."113 The Church even sold indulgences for souls in purgatory. The money was poured into a bottomless pit. These conditions triggered the worst schism in Christendom, since Constantinople had broken free in the early 1200s. Amidst such turmoil, Rome was sacked once again, in 1527. For Louis Hamilton, the ideological underpinning of this campaign, by Charles V,

111See Lanciani, "Del Pantheon," 1881, 285. 112See Giorgo Simoncini, Roma: Le transformazioni urbane nel Cinquecento. I, Topografia e urbanistica da Giulio II a Clemente VIII, (Florence: Leo S, Olschki, 2008), 25, 38, & 489. 113See Bokenkotter, Concise History, 2000, 214. 63 resonated with similar motivations during the previous siege of 1084. Their intentionality was deeply concerned with the symbolic control of Rome's legacy.114 Hamilton's hypothesis might explain why the Pantheon did not suffer major damage during any of these attacks. As a symbol of Romanitas, it commanded respect. According to many sources, other churches were not exempt from pillaging and vandalism, even though after the second sack, Paul III (Farnese, 1534-50) had to restore the pavement of the porch. However, the most enduring transformations after this

troublesome decade were more symbolic than physical. This time, change was driven by the creation of a religious group, "The Confraternity of Saint Joseph of the Holy Land," as well as Raphael's decision to be buried at the Pantheon. Since he became chief architect of St Peter's and commissario delle antichità his passion for Santa Maria della Rotonda (Pantheon) was well known. After his terrible accident and his realization of imminent death, he requested to be buried in such place, providing 1,500 ducats to restore the southeast aedicule so it could receive his sepulcher. An endowment of 600 ducats assured its maintenance and services to commemorate his death. Sixteen years after Raphael's death, his dear friend Baldassare Peruzzi requested to be buried next to him.115 Shortly after, Father Desiderio Adiutorio established the new confraternity, "to organize a public cult around the relics which he had brought back from his pilgrimage to the Holy Land." According to Susanna Pasquali, the relics were "boxes containing, earth and

114"Both of these attacks on the city were the result of tensions between the papacy and the emperor; both occurred during periods of religious reform; and both are associated with European 'renaissances.' These three coincidences go a long way to explaining the intersection of symbolic and political tensions that resulted in the military contestation of Rome itself." See Louis Hamilton, "Memory, Symbol, and Arson: Was Rome "sacked" in 1084?" Speculum 78, 2(2003):378-99, 379. 115See Susanna Pasquali, "From the Pantheon of Artists to the Pantheon of Illustrious Men: Raphael's Tomb and its Legacy," In Pantheons: Transformations of a Monumental Idea, Richard Wrigley and Matthew Craske, eds., 35-56, (Burlington: Ashgate, 2004), 35-6. For more on Raphael's role as commissioner of antiquities, see Cevat Erder, Our Architectural Heritage: From Consciousness to Conservation, trans. Ayfer Bakkalcioglu, (Paris: UNESCO, 1986), 77; and David Karmon, The Ruin of the Eternal City: Antiquity and Preservation in Renaissance Rome, (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011). 64 stones, which he believed 'the Lord had walked upon'." Father Desiderio was also canon of the Collegiate Church of Santa Maria della Rotonda. By 1543, the confraternity was constituted as a society of laymen, observing certain religious practices and acts of charity. Its meeting place would be the Pantheon itself.116 The confraternity was soon enlarged by the prestige of its members, such as Antonio da Sangallo the Younger, Giovanbattista da Sangallo, Jacopo Meleghino, and Perino del Vaga. For Pasquali, the entire project may have been driven by these artists. If her intuition is right, these Renaissance masters were able to recognize the source of continuity, which traversed centuries of neglect to restore the grandeur of their trades. For them, the Pantheon was a symbol of such continuity. It represented the triumph of classical aesthetics, literally remerging through their work. The confraternity was authorized "to bury inside the church any of its members who requested it, even if this was not their parish church." Soon enough, the struggle for recognition that characterizes this type of men enhanced the prestige of an edificium toto terrarum orbe celeberrimum. The list grew rapidly with the inclusion of Perino del Vaga (1547), Bartolomeo Baronino (1554), and Jacopo Barozzi da Vignola (1573). When Taddeo Zuccari died, his brother commissioned a bust and plaque emphasizing the proximity of Raphael's tomb.117 This type of symbolic valuation prepared the groundwork for the most ambitious attempt to restore the Pantheon's Romanitas. The classical continuity of Christendom was ready to materialize under the skillful craftsmanship of Gianlorenzo Bernini.

116The relics were placed on an altar in the northwest exedra. The confraternity met in a series of rooms in the upper levels of the intermediate block. See Their statute was simple, they were "a confraternity of chosen, outstanding, men who, as far as the beauty of said temple is concerned, should be able to obtain the respect of all Romans and foreigners who came to see and delight in said temple."See Pasquali, "Pantheon of Artists," 2004, 36-8. Some photographs of these rooms may be found in De Fine Licht, Rotunda, 1966, figs. 65, 72 & 74; and Belardi, Il Pantheon, 2006, 71-80, especially the photographs on p. 78. 117According to Pasquali, "Vasari drew attention to this juxtaposition, in a way which suggests that he recognized that the location of Raphael's tomb in the Pantheon had established it as the most appropriate place for worthy artists to be buried." See her work, "Pantheon of Artists," 2004, 36-8. 65 Bernini's Restoration

To some extent, the Pantheon's appearance, almost as it stands today, began to take shape in the late 1500s. In many ways, its praised state of conservation is the product of Bernini's effectiveness, since the building had not been well preserved, but effectively restored. In this sense, the continuity of heritage was not a byproduct of history, but the laborious effort of many generations. The Pantheon's restoration by Bernini is equivalent to the translation of Plato's dialogues by Marsilio Ficino or the recovery of mythological themes by Sandro Botticelli. They all form part of a wider process to establish the desired continuity. For many scholars Bernini's work on the Pantheon constitutes a paradigm of modern conservation.118 Unfortunately, his involvement with the building reflects the double standard (respect/abuse) that is so characteristic of his age.119 Not for nothing, his contemporaries coined the infamous phrase quod non fecerunt barberi fecerunt Barberini! ("What the barbarians did not do the Barberini did!") To scorn his protector's decision to

118For instance, Jokilehto identifies how this work influenced another fundamental precedent of modern conservation (the Arch of Titus), through a letter by Guy de Gisors, a French architect in charge of Rome's renewal during the Napoleonic occupation. The letter insists that the restoration of the Arch should follow Bernini's work on the Pantheon, because "instead of making shutters, shores and props […] all the collapsing parts of historic buildings should be reconstructed at least enough to give an exact idea of their original form and proportions, doing it either in stone or in brick, but in such a way that the reconstruction exactly outlines the parts that it is supposed to define." See Jokilehto, History Architectural Conservation, 1999, 38-9 &81-5; cf. Carlo Perogalli, Monumenti e metodi di valorizzazioni, (Milan: Libreria Editrice Politecnica Tamburini, 1954). Moreover, Bernini's work on the Pantheon is a perfect example of what Marie Berducou defined as conservation-restoration, in other words, a successor of the 1900s "scientific restoration." See her work, "Introduction to Archaeological Conservation," In Readings in Conservation: Historical and Philosophical Issues in the Conservation of Cultural Heritage, Nicholas Stanley Price, M. Kirby Talley Jr., and Alessandra Melucco Vaccaro, eds., 248-59, (Los Angeles: The Getty Conservation Institute, 1996). 119For Choay the double standard is expressed in "this ambivalence of the popes, which resembles duplicity [and] announces an important dimension of the Western discourse on patrimonial conservation and protection in general […] Whether appealing to reason or sentiment, the latter will often become the conscience of the demolisher and the support of demolition. In linking the notion of antiquities to that of their preservation, and in thus putting the concept of destruction out of bounds, the popes and their advisors found an ideal form of protection whose purely discursive nature serves, at a par with gestures, to mask and authorize the real destruction of those same antiquities." See Choay, Invention Historic Monument, 2001, 23 & 39. 66 dismantle the original bronze ceiling from the central nave of the Pantheon's porch. The work commissioned by Urban VIII (Barberini, 1623-44) included also the demolition of the Romanesque belfry. According to "a meeting of the inner body of the Congregation of the Fabric [St Peter's Basilica]" a number of winches had to be "shared out so that work can go properly at the Rotunda."120 It was an engineering maneuver of some consideration. The structural elements were quite large and heavy. To appreciate its scale, Alberti's description should suffice: "In the portico of Agrippa there remain to this day trusses composed of bronze beams 40 feet in length: you do not know what to admire more about it, the vast cost or the ingenuity of the builder."121 The reaction to the Pantheon's pillaging may have been just a pretext to show popular discontent. However, the pope's effort to appease his subjects backfired as well. The replacement of the Romanesque belfry with two small bell-towers, at both ends of the intermediate block's roof, was also ill-received. They were called, mockingly, orecchie d'asino ("the ass's ears"). Many scholars insist they were not designed by Bernini, but by a young Borromini, still under the wing of Carlo Maderno.122 While this issue is still unresolved, one thing is certain: Bernini dismantled the bronze ceiling for the bargain price of ten scudi. So, why would preservationists like Perogalli or Jokilehto see his work on the Pantheon as a paradigm of modern conservation? The answer is simple. After this unfortunate episode, Bernini was able to conduct a gradual process of

120See Francesco Quinterio, "A Catalogue Raisonné including Previously Unpublished Documents," in Franco Borsi, Bernini, trans. Erich Wolf, (New York: Rizzoli, 1984), 355. 121See Alberti, On the Art of Building, 6.11. According to Lanciani the entire structural system weighed 450,251 pounds (9,374 of the nails alone). Ninety one percent of it was used for casting eighty cannons, worth 67,260 scudi. See Lanciani, Excavations and Ruins, 2006, 482-3. For more on the bronze ceiling, see De Fine Licht, Rotunda, 1966, 48-58. 122Borsi bases this argument on drawings found at the Albertina Collection, in Vienna. To him, these drawings are "for the elevation of a slightly different campanile […] with some debt to Maderno–whose manner is recognizable in the soberness of the form–and probably inspired by the chapel of Palladio's Villa Barbaro." See Borsi, Bernini, 1984, 26-7. 67 rehabilitation that reflects outstanding levels of creativity, flexibility, and effectiveness. The result was a veritable reemergence of the building's "original" appearance. The process began with Urban VIII and continued with Alexander VII (Chigi, 1655-67).

Figure 6: Details of Bernini's restoration.

The first operation provided a new column for the Pantheon's main façade. This operation enabled Bernini to complete the pediment's form. For the first time, after two hundred and seventy years since an earthquake may have destroyed this part of the building, its façade looked complete once again.123 Bernini also concentrated on the eroded areas of the rotunda's outer wall. The brickwork had relatively large and deep cavities produced by the loss of its original finishing, either plaster of marble facings. Bernini's solution for this problem was masterful. He seems to have been against the use of new bricks, whose well defined appearance would stand out against the extant bricks,

123A cryptic statement from Flavio Biondo suggests the Pantheon was damaged by an earthquake: "La stupenda lambia di questo tempio ossendo e dal tempo, e da terremoti aperta, & atta a gire in ruina." The reference da terremoti aperta may be equated with the report of an earthquake in 1349. The eastern columns may have fallen as a result of the belfry's reverberation. See Flavio Biondo, Roma restaurata, 1.3.64, as quoted by Lanciani, "Del Pantheon," 1881, 284-5; cf. Magnuson, Urban Transformation, 2004, 134. 68 since their edges had been softened by the passage of time. So, the new bricks were designed to "look old." The edges of their external face were systematically modified to give the impression of natural erosion. Four delicate impressions were made along the edge of each brick's rectangular face, making an irregular perimeter. His goal was to produce the appearance of an aged material. The effect is equivalent to the so-called rigatino, a technique used for the restoration of paintings. It fulfills two important, yet highly contradictory, desires. First, the new element that will be used to fill a lacuna must

blend in with the overall aesthetics of its context. Second, on a closer look, it has to stand out and emphasize it is not original. Bernini's brickwork fulfilled both conditions. The reason for so much praise stems from this creative approach to restore unity and continuity, without debilitating the historical authenticity of the original and the new materials. This approach is visible in the new columns for the façade. Although the capital of the first column he replaced was highly recognizable–because its style is completely different from the original Corinthian capitals–Bernini decided to incorporate the Barberini's coat of arms in place of the flos abaci. It was a subtle, yet sophisticated mechanism of propaganda. But, at the same time, it acts as a dating device, indicating the time of intervention. So, by incorporating a small, unobtrusive ornament Bernini was able to leave an historical record. When he replaced the other columns, under Pope Alexander, he repeated the same ploy. This time, the Chigi's emblem, "three mountains and a star," replaced the Barberini's "three ascending bees."124 The result of these operations proved how the rehabilitation of an ancient monument required a skillful combination of renovation and restoration. It is an extremely delicate combination, in which artistic creativity and historical connoisseurship interact dynamically, without falling prey to a

124The shafts and capitals of these columns were uncovered beneath the plaza in front of the church of S. Luigi de'Francesi. Originally, they may have been isolated columns, displaying images of Victory. See Lanciani, "Del Pantheon," 1881, 270-4 & 289-90. 69 prescribed objective. The building in question establishes its own parameters. In this way, Bernini advanced a fundamental precedent for the sophisticated approach that we now call conservation- restoration.125 During the reign of popes Urban and Alexander another highly important operation affected the way we experience the Pantheon today. It was a rather complex engineering project to resolve differing heights between the Pantheon's level and its surrounding urban fabric.126 The former constitutes the lowest level in the Campus

Martius; hence, it was always prone to flooding. So, it was necessary to lay down drainage pipes for the plaza in front of the Pantheon. It was the first serious project to solve a long-standing problem. The excavations unearthed important archaeological remains. Parts of the ancient temenos were uncovered, including the bases of some columns from its portico. They also found marble slabs from its pavement and a decorated frieze.127 When Pope Alexander finished the rehabilitation of the plaza, the new level was almost equal to the original floor of the ancient temenos. The porch recuperated its original height, which for centuries had been partially buried. In a way,

125Berducou explains "the appearance somewhat recently of the expression conservation-restoration as a referent to the ensemble of technical interventions we have been discussing [consolidation, stabilization, cleaning, and de-restoration]" implies "conservation in the larger sense and restoration in the restricted sense, conforming to the Anglo-Saxon vision [as opposed to the Latin understanding of restauro, which is intimately linked with conservation]." This new term has "the advantage of clearing up certain ambiguities and can be translated without much misunderstanding from one language to the another […] to indicate the comprehensiveness and modernity of the subject: It is first and foremost a matter of ensuring the durability and integrity of cultural property, of allowing for its study and preservation […] But it is also a question of striking a balance between the social usefulness of this property, transmitted by the revelation and enhancement of its 'message'–aesthetic, historical, or other–and the constraints imposed by its conservation." See Berducou, "Introduction to Archaeological Conservation," 1996, 253-5. 126Drawings by Martin van Heemskerck show a staircase of at least twelve or fifteen feet high, connecting these levels. See Tod Marder, "Alexander VII, Bernini, and the Urban Setting of the Pantheon in the Seventeenth Century," The Journal of the Society of Architectural Historians 50, 3(1991):273-92, figs. 2-3; cf. Lanciani, "Del Pantheon," 1881, 286. 127According to archpriest Cipriani, the pavement of the temenos was found 25 Roman palms (5.57 m) beneath the plaza's level. The pavement was composed of marble slabs of 10 x 12 palms (2.23 x 2.67 m). The frieze displayed a festoon with two candelabra, whose "pagan" décor was modified with stucco to provide a more Christian iconography. See Lanciani, "Del Pantheon," 1881, 265, 273 & 287-9. 70 while the city grew around it, the Pantheon remained like an anchor, tied down to the

level of the second century CE. Finally, the plaza was embellished with a gorgeous fountain by Giacomo della Porta. The original design did not obstruct the Pantheon's view; the Egyptian obelisk was added much later. It was a low, horizontal mass, occupying most of the plaza. It was probably designed to impede the spread of the commercial stalls that for centuries had occupied this place.128

Figure 7: Pantheon, main façade, hypothetic view, after Bernini's restoration.

Unfortunately, the desires of this period to improve the Pantheon's physical appearance had a "darker side." The impulse to innovate began to grow out of control. Pope Alexander was partially obsessed with the Pantheon's renovation. He wanted to

128See Magnuson, Urban Transformation, 2004, 134. 71 "ravvivare l'ornato della cupola" ("bring more life to the dome's ornament"), as part of an ambitious plan to transform the building into his mausoleum. The project may have been drawn in the workshop of Bernini or Fontana. It was an enhanced version of the original decoration, improved with a series of high-relief stuccoes in each coffer. The alternating

motifs were variations of the Chigi's coat of arms: (1) three mountains and a star, (2) three

mountains without the star, and (3) the star alone. The area around the oculus would be decorated with a giant inscription bearing the pope's name. There was even a design to

cover the oculus with a skylight.129 Fortunately, the project stopped with the pope's death. Even though, it opened the gate for more daring projects. Soon enough a series of doubts about the Pantheon's "authenticity" would trigger a disastrous intervention.

The Attic's Alteration

The next stage in the Pantheon's history is highly problematic. It reflects the dangers of an overconfident sense of continuity. Over time, many scholars began to develop an attitude that could only be explained by paraphrasing what Edward Said defined as Orientalism. In many ways, this system of thought affects how a specific group approaches "the Other." In this case, historical distance pushed the Romans of the high Renaissance to consider the Romans of the late Republic as a group ("the Other") that cannot represent itself, but had to be represented by someone else. In other words, by the time of the Enlightenment, some intellectuals knew better how the Pantheon must have been originally designed. Their understanding of the past superseded whatever the

129The famous paintings of Gian Paolo Panini reflect the advancement of the pope's project. Krautheimer presents several drawings by Borromini and others, reflecting the pope's intention to appropriate ruins for his self-presentation and aggrandizement. There is a curious project for the Pyramid of Cestius (fig. 81). See Richard Krautheimer, The Rome of Alexander VII, 1655-1667, (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1985), 104-9; and Tod Marder, "Bernini and Alexander VII: Criticism and Praise of the Pantheon in the Seventeenth Century." The Art Bulletin 71, 4(1989):628-45. 72 ancients actually did in the past. This condition is perfectly illustrated by the scholarly debates around the attic's decoration. Their abstract idealizations became concrete materializations, when some bureaucrats decided to take action under the auspices of a power vacuum. It is a perfect example of how ideas become reality, over time. Since the publication of Serlio's work in 1540, many scholars and architects, like Palladio, Louis de Montjosieu, Antoine Desgodetz, and Carlo Fontana, believed that the original building–constructed during the late Republic, according to them–had been severely modified through the passage of time. The source of doubt was the array of porphyry pilasters decorating the attic's level, which disrupted the geometric distribution of Corinthian columns below and the coffers above. For them, this lack of proper articulation transgressed the authority of Vitruvius. Moreover, the semicircular arch of the main apse interrupted the logical distribution of these pilasters. Clearly, this condition must have been the product of a careless intervention that was ignorant of the proper rules of classical architecture, grounded on Vitruvian principles. No precedent was known for such "abomination." Renaissance intellectuals could not understand the nature of such an improper solution. Palladio, for instance, thought the apse was added later on, when the Pantheon became a church. In his view, early Christians–relatively ignorant in matters of classical architecture–were responsible for this awkward intervention. Fontana, on the other hand, thought the pilasters were added later, by a "decadent regime," like the Antonines. The original scheme, "perfect" in its geometrical design, could not have allowed such a clumsy solution. For him, all the apses must have been identical, that is, their semicircular arches would have been exposed. But, later on they were modified with the addition of a marble covering, which included the array of porphyry pilasters.130

130For the opinion of these architects, see Pasquali, Il Pantheon, 1996, 12-14; William C. Loerke, "A Rereading of the Interior Elevation of Hadrian's Rotunda," The Journal of the Society of Architectural 73 The possibility of correcting these "atrocities" emerged suddenly, amidst a series of projects devoted the Pantheon's interior. By the early 1700s, the latter was in a relatively high state of disrepair. The marbles were considerably damaged by constant flooding. In the last two thousand years, the Campus Martius suffered major inundation at least every quarter century.131 Most of the ancient marbles were partially eroded and covered with mold. The main altar was also damaged by a terrible landslide, which caused havoc throughout the city in 1700. Thus, Pope Clement XI (Albani, 1700-21)

ordered the restoration of the Pantheon's interior in 1705. The project was accepted after some cleaning procedures were tested. A papal chronicler recorded a comment, which stated that he building, now a "cadavere nudo di ornamenti" ("a cadaver stripped of ornament") could become a temple "vestito di preziosissimi marmi" ("dressed in exquisite marbles").132 Unfortunately, by this time the care of monuments in Rome had engendered a complex web of administrators, bureaucrats, and technicians, which complicated the execution of such projects. The new altar was executed by Giovanni Antonio Tedeschi under the supervision of the architect Alessandro Specchi. Originally, Pope Clement wanted to "modernize" its appearance. First, he commissioned the famous sculptor Pierre Le Gros the Younger to replace "portions of the stucco and marble gloria surrounding the assumption relief." But, shortly after, he asked sculptor Angelo DeRossi to design a bas-relief "that was certainly meant to replace the fifteenth century majolica." Finally, Specchi designed a new altar and tribune for the schola cantorum. In the end the effect was the same: all the elements

Historians 49, 1(1990):22-43; and Christiane L. Joost-Gaugier, "The Iconography of Sacred Space: A Suggested Reading of the Meaning of the Roman Pantheon," Artibus et Historiae 19, 38(1998):21-42. 131One of the worst inundations was on December 1598, when the Tiber rose 12.86 meters. Similar inundations took place in 1637, 1660, 1668, and 1702. Undoubtedly, the systematization of the front plaza diminished the Pantheon's risk of inundation. However, by the early 1700s, the damage had already been done. See Lanciani, Ruins and Excavations, 2006, 10-2; and Pasquali, Il Pantheon, 1996, 37. 132See Pasquali, Il Pantheon, 1996, 37-42. 74 from the Pantheon's "medieval era" were eliminated. The ciborium, altar, and railing were dismantled. The majolica and some remains of murals were replaced by a new decorative pattern, emulating an array of coffers. The new altar was raised by a series of steps, which occupied a large surface around the main apse, stretching almost to the center of the rotunda.133 Each aedicule became a Christian shrine, also accompanied by a series of steps. When all the "medieval" furnishings were dismantled, it became clear that most of had been recycled from ancient marbles.134

As the construction of the new altar and the marble cleaning was under way, more specialists and committees became involved. By the end of these projects, the offices of the "Architect of the Roman People" (ARP), under the auspices of the Senate of Rome based on the Capitol, and its Vatican counterpart, the "Architect of St Peter's Fabric" (ASPF), were deeply involved. As well as the new Congregazione dei Virtuosi al Pantheon (Congregation of Virtuous Men at the Pantheon), an extension of the old Confraternity of St Joseph, which had a strong association with the influential Accademia di San Luca, (St Luke's Academy). At the center of the web was the Chapter of the Canons, a unit from the ecclesiastic organization based at the Pantheon.135 The path which led to the atrocious alteration of the attic's decoration was enabled by the bureaucratic disputes between all these entities. Their confrontation was determined by the adjudication of responsibilities and resources.

133For more on these works, see Marder, "Specchi's High Altar," 1980, 30-1. 134According to an account reported by Pasquali, "[la pergula] altrettante are rotonde di Dèi diverse tutte consimili, e nelle quali fra gli encarpi si mirava una infinità di simboli, di falsi numi […] al di sotto di ciascuna colonne, basi e piedistalli si presentavano quindi suppliti da riconoscibilissime are del Pantheon pagano." See Pasquali, Il Pantheon, 1996, 41. 135For more on the sophisticated bureaucracy of the Vatican, see Robert J. Araujo and John A. Lucal, "A Forerunner for International Organizations: The Holy See and the Community of Christendom: With Special Emphasis on the Medieval Papacy," Journal of Law and Religion 20, 2(2004-5):305-50; Christopher M. S. Johns, "Papal Patronage and Cultural Bureaucracy in Eighteenth-Century Rome: Clement XI and the Accademia di San Luca," Eighteenth-Century Studies 22, 1(1988):1-23; and Jokilehto, History Architectural Conservation, 1999, 75-87. 75 While the Vatican funded the religious activities of the Canons, the Capitol was responsible for the physical maintenance of the Pantheon. Even though the altar and marble cleaning were almost finished, the inertia of restoration was dramatically enhanced by the fateful collapse of a small piece of lead, which used to hold the decorations of the coffers. The piece had been big enough to kill a person! The Canons requested immediate action from Pope Benedict XIV (Lambertini, 1740-58). But, according to a new administrative reorganization, the matter was now the responsibility of the Senate of Rome. However, neither the ARP nor the Fabbriciere di Campidoglio (the Capitol's Master Builder) had enough experience to construct the type of scaffolding that was necessary to repair the Pantheon's inner dome. So, they requested one of the famous mobile scaffoldings created by Master Zabaglia for the consolidation of St Peter's dome. Monsignor Costanzi, Economo e Segretario della Fabbrica (the Fabric's Curator and Secretary) argued that although the scaffolding was mobile it could not be disassembled. So, the Canons convinced some of his disciples to design a scaffolding to remove all the lead pieces. Two years later the young engineers signed a contract for 600 scudi. However, they had to rectify their approach after the Capitol's architects criticized their decision to anchor the scaffolding on the dome and not consider its subsequent restoration. The new contract was for 1,670 scudi, which the Capitol could not afford. So, the Vatican took over. Cardinal Girolamo Colonna, Pro-Maggiordomo di Palazzo (First Major-domo of Palace), disbursed the funds and supervised the work. By the end of February 1756, the project was almost finished. The engineers received 1,400 scudi "for labor and the scaffolding" and another 1,300 scudi for "restoring the structure."136

136Meanwhile, Pope Benedict emitted a secret bull (Ad Summi Sacrorum) to give the major-domo full responsibility over the Pantheon's care. The Capitol was excluded. It is unclear why the bull remained secret for a whole year. See Pasquali, Il Pantheon, 1996, 69-106. 76 At some point along the process, bureaucrats from all sides began to discuss the "attic's decoration." An exchange between architect Casali, Sotto-foriere dei Sacri Palazzi (the Under-boss of the Holy Palace) and Bargellini, Fiscale di Campidoglio (the Capitol's Fiscal), expressed their interests with the "restoration of the Rotunda." Someone, somewhere–amidst such web of bureaucratic aspirations–decided it was finally the right time to rectify the awkward decoration of the Pantheon's attic. Even though its authenticity was in doubt, no one–at least, in the last two hundred years–dared to take

matters into their own hands. But now, someone–amidst desktops filled with the paperwork of lawyers and accountants–had the audacity to "do things right." It is not clear who actually made the decision. Yet, as Pasquali rightly characterizes the condition of the ecclesiastic bureaucracy at the time, it was the product of "una macchina acefala" ("a headless machine"). In 1756, Pope Benedict had fallen ill. He remained secluded in the Quirinal Palace, while Cardinal Gonzaga, his Secretary of State–responsible, among other things, of the Vatican's art policy–also fell ill, suffering an attack of apoplexy. To make matters worse, the Capitol's architects were replaced by the office of the Holy Palace. Architect Salvatore Casali and his subalterns, Ferdinando Fuga and Paolo Posi, were now in charge. It was under their watch that the attic was finally altered.137 In 1806, Carlo Fea attributed the responsibility of these affairs to Paolo Posi. His words–filled with harsh judgment–described the deed as "la barbarie imperdonabile di aver distrutto l'attico antico, per portar via tanti preziosi marmi" (the unforgivable barbarity of having destroyed the ancient attic, to gain so many precious marbles). The

137The porphyry pilasters and their capitals and bases, probably of Pentelic marble, were dismantled. The sunken-windows were enlarged, framed, and crowned with alternating triangular and segmented pediments. The marble veneers–mostly verde antico, pavonazzetto, and giallo antico–were replaced with plaster, emulating different marbles. Clearly, it was, once again, the pillaging of ancient resources. The sculptural elements were executed by Andrea Blasi and the false marbles in intonaco were made by Giovanni Angeloni and Giacomo Marini. See Pasquali, Il Pantheon, 1996, 74-6; and De Fine Licht, Rotunda, 1966, 114-26, especially fig. 133. 77 accused was an "architetto nefando, temerario e presuntuoso" (a vile and presumptuous architect, full of temerity).138 Who knows how Fea came up with an indictment just for a single individual? In this scenario, Posi seems more like a scapegoat. The responsibility to prevent such act rested on a vast network of institutions: the Vatican, Capitol, Canons, Congregation, and Accademia. No one tried to stop this work, while under way. But, it's even more painful to recognize that the "intellectual authors" of this crime were Serlio, Michelangelo, Palladio, and many more luminaries from the architectural discipline. The executioners were "simple bureaucrats," materializing the ideas of those "great men of history." Nowadays it is unimaginable to attempt a de-restoration of such atrocity. In part, it is precluded by the axiomatic dogma of modern conservation, which cries: "Don't touch it! Respect the manner in which we received the building from our ancestors." It is unfortunate how we fall prey to the limitations of our own narratives.

The Monument's Isolation

With the advent of the Enlightenment the continuity of heritage became a tug of war between passionate romantics and rational positivists. The gradual modernization of Europe–and by extension, the rest of the world–was driven by that potent historical phenomenon, which Eric Hobsbawm calls the dual revolution.139 Everything changed! Although for some people, the continuity was unbroken. Men like Napoleon Bonaparte or Immanuel Kant saw their undertakings as a natural extension to the accomplishments of men like Julius Caesar or Aristotle. Yet, the effects of this period and its dual revolution were unparallel. For the first time in history, the entire world was affected by a single

138Fea's indictment comes from Pasquali, Il Pantheon, 1996, 106. 139See Eric Hobsbawm, The Age of Revolution 1789-1848, (New York: Vintage Books, 1996). 78 corpus of social, economic, and political processes. The world would never be the same again! Some of its most enduring effects is the creation of a centralized state apparatus, uniform court and tax systems, a conscripted army, an effective separation of Church and State, a reduction of the nobility's advantages, and most importantly the Code Napoleon, "which stressed legal equality and property rights; abolition of the seigniorial system; elimination of internal tolls and the formation of national markets; secularization of Church property; and the introduction of secondary education."140

Amidst such dynamic transformations, the symbolism of Rome was still essential for the strategic game of world domination. Like Heinrich IV and Charles V before him, Napoleon saw it clearly. His plans for the Eternal City were part of a more ambitious project to forge an Italian Nation and the creation of a new dynasty.141 When his first son with Marie Louise–Archduchess of Austria, daughter of Francis II, the last Holy Roman Emperor–was born, Napoleon gave him the title "King of Rome." Napoleon seems to have been obsessed with the grandeur of antiquity, even though he recognized the potential of modernization. He was equally interested to recover the splendor of the past and create a vision for the future. Both dimensions (past and future) had equal symbolic power in his designs for a Grand Empire. The scientific regiment accompanying him to Egypt is a perfect example of such balanced approach.142 During the Napoleonic occupation of Rome, the Pantheon was subject of two key operations, trying to crystallize the dreams of the self-crowned emperor. The first one

140For more on Napoleon's modernization of Europe, see Alexander Grab, Napoleon and the Transformation of Europe, (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2003), IX-XIII & 1-18. 141For the Italian reception of Napoleon, see Raymond Grew, "Finding Social Capital: The French Revolution in Italy." Journal of Interdisciplinary History 29, 3(1999):407-33; Michael Broers, "The Myth and Reality of Italian Regionalism: A Historical Geography of Napoleonic Italy, 1801-1814," The American Historical Review 108, 3(2003):688-709; and Susan Nicassio, Imperial City: Rome, Romans and Napoleon, 1796-1815, (Welwyn Garden City: Ravenhall Books, 2005), 195. 142For more on Napoleon's interest in scientific advancement and antiquities, see Nina Burleigh, Mirage: Napoleon's Scientists and the Unveiling of Egypt, (New York: Harper, 2007). 79 was highly symbolic. It sought to transform the building into the "Hall of Great Men." The second one was utterly materialistic. It aimed to isolate the building from all its historical accretions, so it could be appreciated like a precious jewel in a glass case. His hold over Rome's symbolic value was executed through systematic renovation and restoration. In 1809, two years after annexing Rome to the French Empire, he decreed the provision of a million francs each year to embellish the city.143 In many ways, this period could be characterized as the golden age of restoration in Rome, through the active participation of the Accademia di San Luca. It was a period dominated by the towering figures of Carlo Fea, a lawyer and archaeologist, acting as Commissario delle Antichità (Commissioner of Antiquities) and Antonio Canova, the famous neo-classical sculptor, serving as Ispettore delle Belle Arti (Inspector of Fine Arts). The Accademia was celebrated for its works on the Colosseum and the Arch of Titus, under the guidance of its members Giuseppe Camporesi, Giuseppe Valadier, and Raffaele Stern.144 Their success was grounded on the balanced combination of theory and craftsmanship, as well as collaboration with French authorities, such as Guy de Gisors and Louis-Martin Berthault. For decades, the Académie Française sent envois and pensionnaires to learn from Rome how to embellish Paris. It was a process of scientific and artistic rigor.145 The operations on the Pantheon–one intangible, the other tangible–were driven by this successful collaboration of Italian and French specialists. The first one was promoted

143See Marita Jonsson, La cura dei monumenti alle origini: Restauro e scavo di monumenti antichi a Roma 1800-1830, (Stockholm: Paul Åströms, 1986), 41-50; cf. Ronald T. Ridley, The Eagle and the Spade: Archaeology in Rome during the Napoleonic Era, (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992). 144See Jokilehto, History Architectural Conservation, 1999, 75-87; cf. Ronald T. Ridley, The Pope's Archaeologist: The Life and Times of Carlo Fea, (Rome: Quasar, 2000). 145The French students would spend their time in archaeological sites, the Academy's library, and taking courses with professors like Antonio Nibby, perhaps "the finest scholar of Roman antiquity and topography at the time." See Roberto Cassanelli, Massimilano David, Emidio de Albentiis, and Annie Jacques, eds., Ruins of Ancient Rome: The Drawings of French Architects Who Won the Prix de Rome 1786-1924, trans. Thomas M. Hartmann, (Los Angeles: The J. Paul Getty Museum, 2002). 80 by Antonio Canova. It was based on a previous project, which in turn was brought forth by the aura of prestige that surrounded the Congregation of Virtuous Men. A rather ambitious project by Cardinal Del Giudice in previous years had already tried to fill the Pantheon with busts of "illustrious men," to accompany Raphael and his prestigious cohort of geniuses. In many ways, Canova's new project sought to counterbalance the Christian iconography, by incorporating the images of artists and scientists that were representative of an "Enlightened Age."146 The project strived to create a new layer of

meaning. The Pantheon's symbolism would change once again, at the expense of few minor interventions. The new layer stemmed from a paradigm shift in Western Civilization. The world was on the verge of modernization and the Pantheon was coming along for the ride. In less than a century, the building would become an object of scientific research and archaeological exploration, while its political dimension would simply keep incorporating extra layers of signification. The second operation was more like a ruthless surgical extirpation. Its objective was the complete isolation of the Pantheon from its "unwarranted" historical accretions. In many ways, it was a kind of "purge" striving to "purify" history. Clearly, it was a manipulation of the past to present a new version of its unfolding. Oddly enough, this approach reflects the abuses of an overconfident sense of rationality and logic, which dominated the intellectual landscape of the age. The man in charge was Guy de Gisors.

146By the end of the 1700s the Pantheon's oval niches–most of them empty, since Cardinal del Giudice commissioned their construction–were gradually occupied by busts of famous men. Around 1780 foreign diplomats renewed the idea of using the Pantheon as a mausoleum for celebrated artists. Nicolas de Azara, representative of the Spanish Crown at the Vatican, requested that a bust of painter Anton Raphael Mengs (1728-79) be placed in close proximity to those of Raphael and Carracci. J. B. Séroux, resident in Rome while writing his famous Histoire de l'art, commissioned a bust of Nicolas Poussin (1594-1665). Afterwards, Johannes Friedrich Reiffenstein, provided a bust of J. J. Winckelmann (1717-68), but, given its size it must have been placed on a niche, in one of the exedrae. By this time, the people's anger at the building's alteration was slightly attenuated by the idea of the Pantheon as a "Hall of Illustrious Men." See Pasquali, "Pantheon of Artists," 2004, 43-5. 81 His plan was to demolish all adjacent buildings, so the Pantheon could be appreciated in all its glory at the center of a rectangular square, roughly 100 m long by 60 m wide, with a narrower extension stretching to the front of the church of Santa Maria Maddalena.147 The execution of both projects ran concurrently. Canova was able to install busts of Dante, Torquato Tasso, Michelangelo, Palladio, Correggio, Titian, and Paolo Veronese. Later on, he included images of other people, mentioned in Vasari's Lives of the Artists. He even tried to place a bust of Galileo, but ecclesiastic censorship

prevailed.148 Cardinal Ercole Consalvi, the most influential politician in the court of Pope Pius VII (Chiaramonti, 1800-23), paid close attention to Canova's project. One way or the other, the Pantheon was gradually losing its religious aura as a fresh, secular spirit swept across Europe. Stendhal saw it clearly: "Sooner or later it will no longer be known as a church […] It would be a sublime museum."149 In many ways, these men shared a similar vision. Rome's Pantheon would evolve like the Parisian church of Ste-Geneviève, housing the "Great Men of France." In the end, Canova's project gradually dissipated, just like Napoleon's ambition to liberate Europe from the tyranny of its nobility froze in the desolate steppes of Russia. St Helen would only bring nightmares of a lost empire. In the fallen emperor's words, written at the end of his days, we find echoes of nostalgia:

It will take me 20 years, I said in 1805, at the Council of Lyons, to create the Italian nation. 15 had sufficed; all was ready; I waited only for the birth of a second son, in order to take him to Rome, and proclaim the independence of the peninsula, from the Alps to the Ionian Sea, and from the Mediterranean to the Adriatic.150

147For drawings of this project, see Jonsson, Cura dei monumenti, 1986, 72-4, especially fig. 37. 148It is important to emphasize that many busts in Canova's project were of men persecuted by the Church, like Tasso or Galileo. Thus, the project seems to reveal a desire to erode the Church's control over the scientific community. In essence, those great artists and thinkers are vindicated by Canova's appropriation of the Pantheon. For more on this subject, see John McCromick and Mairi MacInnes, eds., Versions of Censorship: An Anthology, (Chicago: Aldine, 1962); 149See Pasquali, "Pantheon of Artists," 2004, 49. 150Napoleon Bonaparte, as quoted by Nicassio, Imperial City, 2005, 215. 82 Amidst such context, certain pensionnaires focused on the Pantheon, trying to understand better its history, structural originality, and symbolism. In many ways, the contemporary scientific approach to this building, trying to unravel its enigmatic constructive sequence is deeply rooted in the advancement of this age. Even though some of their analytical methodologies trace back to Alberti or Palladio, their systematic approach shaped our modern understanding of the Pantheon. The work of Achille Leclère and Georges Chédanne, in conjunction with their Italian counterparts, like Beltrami and

Armanini, opened important areas of research, still pursued today. Some of the fiercest debates currently aimed at illuminating its complex history stem from their findings. Their approach questioned the legitimacy of the building's main inscription. They were able to identify its several stages of construction, which raised serious questions about the historical records and their facts. In this period, the value of archaeological evidence began to acquire its legitimacy as the proper means to understand the past. The work of these men strengthened its authority. The building's survey by Achille Leclère, reproduced in large, highly detailed drawings, has been an invaluable resource to understand the assemblage of its complex structure, as well as a testimony of its state of conservation at the time. Published versions of these drawings served as a modern update to the reproductions in Serlio's or Palladio's surveys, which influenced architects across the world since the early 1600s.151 The investigations of Georges Chédanne refocused the issue of the building's patronage, shifting it from Agrippa to Hadrian. The controversy of such claims triggered one of the

151An excellent reproduction of Leclère's drawings may be found in Cassanelli, et al., Ruins of Ancient Rome, 2002. The accuracy and detailing of these drawings is only surpassed by the modern techniques of laser scanning. For a report on the Pantheon's survey, using this technique, see Nikolaos Theocharis, "How the Bern Digital Pantheon Model can Answer 'Nagging Questions' about the Pantheon," in The Pantheon in Rome: Contributions to the Conference, Bern, November 9-12, 2006, Gerd Graßhoff, Michael Heinzelmann, and Markus Wäfler, eds., 187-95, (Bern: Universität Bern, Wissenschaftstheorie und Wissenschaftsgeschichte, 2009). 83 building's most important explorations since the Renaissance. A team lead by Luca Beltrami inspected the building from top to bottom, trying to clarify, once and for all, many questions about the building's authorship, its construction methods, and the innumerable stages of transformation. Although Chédanne's superb illustrations and Armanini's detailed technical drawings depict the uncovered remains with some clarity; their interpretation remains problematic even today. Contemporary scholarship remains entangled in debate. The evidence from Beltrami's publication is inconclusive. It is

unable to clarify fundamental questions: Who built it? How was it modified during the classical period? What type of building was it supposed to replace? Many scholars today cannot believe that Hadrian is not its author, just as scholars from the late 1800s could not accept that Agrippa was not its patron. Nowadays, there is a complex debate on the typology which may have influenced the construction of the outstanding rotunda by the early 100s. There is even a radical proposal claiming that Vitruvius built the Pantheon, just as we know it today. It would not be surprising to find someone who might still insist that Agrippa is the author of the rotunda's concrete dome. Back in the late 1800s most educated Romans thought that was the case. Chédanne's and Beltrami's investigations, adjudicating the building's patronage to Hadrian's, had a slow reception.152 Meanwhile, the Pantheon was gradually isolated from its historical accretions. In 1804, Fea demolished the constructions on the porch's east, unearthing part of the building's plinth. In 1853, Minister Camillo Jacobini demolished the remaining structures, up to the palace Vettori-Bianchi. By 1875, the Commune of Rome doubled the

152For a detailed examination of Chédanne's participation in the explorations of the late 1800s, see William Loerke, "Georges Chédanne and the Pantheon: A Beaux-Arts Contribution to the History of Roman Architecture." Modulus 15, 1(1982):40-55. Chédanne's truly, outstanding drawings may be found in Cassanelli, et al., Ruins of Ancient Rome, 2002, figs. 107 & 110. For Armanini's drawings see Beltrami, Pantheon, 1898. While, The outrageous hypothesis on Vitruvius authorship may be found in Colette de Callatay van der Mersch, Vitruve: L'architect du Panthéon, (Leuven: Peeters, 1999). 84 length of Via della Rotonda, which required the partial demolition of the Crescenzi and Aldobrandini palaces. Finally, in 1881, Lanciani liberated the rotunda's south, unearthing the Basilica of Neptune. These works were part of a comprehensive refurbishment to celebrate the Pantheon's latest acquisition. The remains of King Vittorio Emmanuelle were deposited in one of the Pantheon's secondary exedrae. According to Lanciani, the decision received the "unanimous vote of the Nation."153 The event marks the end of an era. With the creation of a centralized state, the Pantheon's destiny would no longer be directly influenced by popes, emperors, "barbarian" pillagers, or foreign collectors. From that moment forward, its care was now the purview of Ministers of Education, Inspectors of Culture, and Town Mayors. The maintenance and physical care of its fabric would soon become the labor of modern conservation. The purple gowns and golden tiaras would be replaced by white robes and academic titles. It was the dawn of our age, a time in which religious buildings became cultural assets, an era dominated by commercial interests and international tourism. The concern over these buildings, the so-called World Heritage Monuments, has overrun the public confrontation for the control of its symbolism by an abusive competition to exploit them as a "brand," a product whose spiritual value has been systematically alienated, severing its roots from a living heritage. Now more than ever, its continuity is in great danger.

153For a detailed examination of these campaigns of isolation, see Lanciani, "Del Pantheon," 1881, 255-6. 85 Modern Conservation

In many ways, Napoleon's project left a blueprint for the unification of Italy, which included the modernization of the state and its inevitable emancipation from the restraining forces of the nobility and the Church. In time, Garibaldi–and Mussolini, later on–would follow Napoleon's roadmap. For both of them, the physical control of Rome's urban environment and by extension its symbolic connotation served as a powerful force to consolidate a National identity. The restoration of the Colosseum was just as important

as the characterization of Dante as the "Greatest Italian Genius."154 Most of these subtle operations in the craftsmanship of a cultural heritage fell under the responsibility of a new "Tsar of Culture," the Minister of Public Instruction. One of the first towering figures to hold this office was Guido Baccelli.155 This minister was responsible for the demolition of the orecchie d'asino. In some degree, his policies continued Napoleon's vision of a modern city, in which ancient ruins emerged "purified" from the chaos of a recent past. The goal was to systematically remove their obstructive accretions to let their "light shine on." This policy crossed over into the early 1900s. It was part and parcel of Mussolini's obsession with urban renewal. In his address of 1930, "La nuova Roma," this policy was part of its main theme:

154For a detailed chronology of how Italian Fascism rose to power, see A. William Salomone, Italy from the Risorgimento to Fascism: An Inquiry into the Origins of the Totalitarian State, (Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1970), 497-52. To understand Mussolini's strategic use of urbanism, see Federico Caprotti, Mussolini's Cities: Internal Colonialism in Italy, 1930-1939, (Youngstown, NY: Cambria, 2007), 3-29 & 75-80. For a survey of Rome's urban renewal, between the late 1880s and early 1920s, see Leonardo Benevolo, Roma oggi, (Rome: Laterza, 1977). 155An anecdote from the inauguration of an exhibition, showcasing Chédanne's and Armanini's drawings, illustrates the character of this man. Armanini, excited by the discovery of Hadrian as the Pantheon's patron, accompanied the Minister through the exhibition, telling him about the importance of such conclusion. Bacelli interrupted Armini, when he realized the political implications of dismissing Agrippa's patronage. The Minister's outburst may have also been triggered by his association with a recent restoration of the inscription, which clearly stated Agrippa's patronage. These reasons may have underscored Bacelli's answer: "Yet I have placed in bronze letters on the frieze of the Pantheon AGRIPPA FECIT; until I shall be with Minerva, vivaddio! Hadrian has nothing to do with it!" See Loerke, "Chédanne," 1982, 48. 86 If Rome must appear marvelous to all the people of the world: vast, ordered, mighty, as it was in the days of the first empire of Augustus […] You will continue to liberate the trunk of the great oak of everything that still oppresses it. You will create open space around the Augusteo, the Theater of Marcellus, the Campidoglio, the Pantheon. Everything from the period of decadence must disappear. Within five years, the mass of the Pantheon must be visible from Piazza Colonna across a grand passageway. You will also liberate the majestic temples of Christian Rome from parasitic and profane constructions. The millenary monuments of our history must tower like giants in a necessary solitude. 156

While the task was clear, its political implications were not so clear. History

would be revised, so that "everything from the period of decadence" could be eradicated. The question is: who decides what is decadent and what is "pure" or decent? Clearly, these are muddy waters, infested with notions of eugenics or the desire to eradicate "degenerate art." Their understanding and presentation of history was selective, aiming to control the people's identity through the manipulation of these cultural values. Mussolini seems to have aspired to become a new Augustus, the founder of a new "Roman Empire." So, to establish this connection, the historical memory of his people had to be purified.

That is why many things had to go! The preservation of Church legacy was also fundamental, since it was a powerful ally against a common enemy: the soulless atheism of anarchy. "Family, Fatherland, and God" were the proper antidotes to control the "spread" of Communism. The analogy to a health problem was essential, since ideas spread like disease. That is why all remnants from an unwarranted past had to be uprooted. Otherwise, they would reappear and disperse their toxic beliefs. Given this context, the isolation (purification) of ancient buildings was essential.157

156See Richard Etlin, Modernism in Italian Architecture, 1890-1940, (Cambridge: The MIT Press, 1991), 392. 157For the analogy of ideas spreading like viruses, see Dan Sperber, "The Epidemiology of Beliefs," in The Social Psychological Study of Widespread Beliefs, Colin Fraser and George Gaskell, eds., 25-44, (New York: Oxford University Press, 1990). 87 In the Pantheon's case, Specchi's altar was completely removed and reassembled in reduced form to diminish its presence. The flights of steps leading to the main altar and the secondary altars were eliminated. The pavement was restored. The porch, finally with an absolute Roman appearance, was illuminated at night. The entire building was completely liberated from any added structures. Yet, Gisors' plan, echoed in Mussolini's address, was not executed in its full extension. This was a very fortunate development, since the Pantheon's environs would retain the atmosphere of an "organic" development

over time. If Mussolini had his way, the Pantheon would be like Augustus's Mausoleum, an ancient ruin "floating" in a timeless vacuum. It would be surrounded by modern buildings devoid of any historical empathy. In a way, the war saved the Pantheon's fate. This was the first time that war actually saved the building from a worse future, instead of being its principal harbinger of change.158 On a more positive note, the Pantheon was subject to a beneficent restoration under the supervision of Alberto Terenzio in this period. His work on the dome's interior is widely praised. His documentation on the dome's structural system, constructive process, and state of preservation–as it stood by the end of the 1930s–is simply outstanding. The restoration was a technical success, allowing further investigation on the dome's composition. The removal of plaster to consolidate the dome's cracks enabled a detailed inspection of its fabric, not only by Terenzio,159 but Lugli as well.160 Their

158For the transformation of Specchi's altar, see Marder, "Specchi's High Altar," 1980, passim. The reference to the other transformations suffered during this period see Belardi, Pantheon, 2006, 140-2. 159Terenzio's description of the dome's structure is an essential testimony. For that reason, here is a summarized view: "La cupola, impostata sull'ultimo cornicione interno, è stata costruita su una centinatura semisferica…che portava le forme dei lacunari. Anche nella vòlta la muratura è tessuta a corsi orizontali ed è così costituita: dall'imposta, per un'altezza di m. 11,75, da laterizio minuto con i soliti ricorsi di bipedali; per un'ulteriore altezza di m. 2,25 da tufo e laterizio a corsi alternati, con due spianamenti di bipedali ravvicinati; per la parte rimanente da tufo e scoria vulcanica leggerissima, sempre a ricorsi alternate […] L'occhio è formato da un grande anello (diametro m. 9) di bipedali legati, disposti a piattabande […] La cupola è coperta prima di semilateres disposti a squame, poi da uno strato di opus signinum che costituice la parte impermeabile della vòlta, attualmente rivestita anche di piombo. Il peso della cupola è ripartito 88 findings uncovered the use of brick arches to reinforce the lowest levels of the dome. They also provide key information about the dome's efficient use of different types of concrete in superimposed rings, employing lighter aggregates as the dome approaches the oculus. In this way, the latter may be a structural solution to reduce the dome's section and weight at the most difficult spot to withstand gravity. The oculus is the natural extreme of such logic. It is the complete absence of mass. Terenzio was also responsible for a rather disappointing solution for the attic's alteration. He restored a small portion of its original decoration. The operation illustrates a new framework, advancing the theories of scientific restoration. One of its main concerns was the respectful acceptance of the manners in which history handed down this type of monument. In the Pantheon's case Terenzio tried to find a middle ground between acceptance and correction. The idea was to provide visitors with enough information to reconstruct "mentally" the original conditions that were utterly modified by previous generations. Part of the theoretical baggage of this approach did not allow Terenzio to reconstruct the entire attic, a solution that would have resonated with the building's sugli otto grandi piloni, vuoti all'interno, mediante robuste vòlte di scarico in bipedali: fatto caratteristico del Pantheon è appunto la costruzione degli archi e delle vòlte unicamente in bipedali." See Alberto Terenzio, "Pantheon," in Enciclopedia Italiana di Scienze, Lettere ed Arti, pp. 212-4, (Rome: Istituto della Enciclopedia Italiana fondata da Giovanni Treccani, 1935), 213. 160Lugli provides more details on the Pantheon's dome: "La vòlta del Pantheon […] offre l'esempio più perfetto di vòlta che si conosca per la razionale applicazione dei vari materiali. Assegnata ai tufi litoidi la funzione di maggiore resistenza negli strati di base, a mano a mano che si procede verso l'alto aumenta la percentuale di materiale leggero: cappellaccio, tufo giallo semilitoide, pomici e scorie vulcaniche." He also explains how brick arches reinforce both the drum and dome. This custom may be traced back to the so- called temple of Mercury at Baiae: "Il grande tamburo cilindrico, dello spessore di circa m. 6,20 è svootato nell'interno da una alternanza di nicchie e cappelle, così da apparire costituito quasi da una gabbia di grossi pilastri, collegati fra loro da archi e sferoidi. Entra in funzione l'arco di scarico in serie, innestafo nel pieno spessore della parete, a proteggere dal peso superiore e della spinta retrostante il vuoto delle nichie interiori." According to Lugli the reinforcment with brick arches comes from the annular vaults of theatres and amphitheatres: "Si è accennato alla introduzione di archi in laterizio nella muratura cementizia del Pantheon. Prima che nelle cupole, il principio di rinforzare e imbrigliare la massa di calcestruzzo con nervature di mattoni si era già avuto nelle vòlte anulari dei teatri e anfiteatri, in corrispondenza con i pilsatri esterni delle arcate sostruttive." See Giuseppe Lugli, La tecnica edilizia Romana: Con particolare riguardo a Roma e Lazio, vol. I, (Rome: Presso Giovanni Bardi, 1957), 439 & 666-7. 89 history since its first restoration by Bernini. If we read this history carefully, we should realize that the building has been gradually trying to recover an absolute "Roman appearance." To respect the attic's alteration as a historical fact goes against a natural tendency that was established by innumerable generations more than five hundred years ago. The result of Terenzio's restoration is rather confusing, only those visitors who possess enough knowledge about the building's past understand why this section of the attic is so different from the rest.161

Figure 8: Detail of attic's restoration, by Terenzio.

161For more on Terenzio's restoration see the report published in Alberto Terenzio, "La restauration du Pantheon de Rome," Mouseion, 6, 20(1932):52-7. 90 In recent years Giovanni Belardi conducted one of the most comprehensive restorations since Terenzio. Meanwhile, the building remained under the constant care of "Superintendents" passing its dossier like physicians in a hospital. Belardi's publication offers substantial reports on the operations carried out by his predecessors.162 In many ways, the Italian experience with this level of care for ancient buildings has become a standard of professionalism across the world. The compilation of reports, carefully providing all the details of its necessary treatments and operations, assures continuity in the building's conservation. It is essential to maintain these standards, as well as a constant monitoring of its structural behavior. Advancements in laser scanning, computer assisted draftsmanship, and three-dimensional modeling enable such monitoring. The Pantheon today is already a subject for most of these innovative techniques.163 As we reach the end of the Pantheon's history, we uncover a certain aura that is reminiscent of those preposterous claims of Francis Fukuyama, broadcasting the "End of History." There was no need to attempt an alternative move forward. The paradigm was fixed. Humanity had reached the ultimate plateau of achievement, through the consolidation of democracy, free market economy, and Christianity. In many ways, the dogmatism of modern conservation, driven by its deontological axioms, resonates with the spirit of such claims. In their view, the so-called monuments, such as the Pantheon, should never change again. The manner in which we received them from history must be withheld for years to come. Who would dare change the course of history? Who could justify a profound modification of the status quo? Who has the temerity to transform the Pantheon today? Is it possible to envision a different future?

162See Valentina Pouchain, "Indagini archivistiche e conoscitive svolte dalla SBAA (1925-2003)" in Belardi, Pantheon, 2006, 139-51. For a detailed report of the latest campaigns in the restoration of the dome and all the marble facings of the interior, see the same work, pp. 173-262. 163See Theocharis, "Bern Digital Pantheon Model," 2009. 91 Part II: Context Companion

May the Muses be the inspirers of my song!164

though Harpocrates with his finger make a sign to me to be silent.165

After reviewing the Pantheon's condensed history–that is, a survey that could be characterized as an inventory of denotation or, in other words, a sequence of interventions that did not modify its essence–it is now possible to examine its companion, an inventory of connotation. In this chapter the notion of continuity is viewed through the lens of the intangible. By now, it should be relatively clear–at least at an intuitive level– how some of the Pantheon's most distinctive transformations were influenced by major historical processes, one way or another. For instance, there should be little doubt that the imagery of the Holy Virgin, incorporated in the 1200s, had some correlation with important processes of enculturation taking place not only in Rome, but in most parts of Europe. It was a period in which the School of Chartres and the University of Paris had a profound influence on the European thought and its system of beliefs. Another example is Canova's project from the early 1800s, aiming to transform the Pantheon into a "Hall of Illustrious Men." Both cases reflect the influence of major cultural forces. The former reflects the thrust of what soon became the Renaissance, while the latter reveals a profound influence from the Enlightenment. In many ways, the Pantheon's innumerable transformations were always in tune with its primordial denotation, as a center of power. The incorporation of murals or busts–even the scola cantorum or the tombs of Italy's modern kings–did not affect its

164Apollonius Rhodius, Argonautica, 1.23. 165Varro, On the Latin Language, 5.57. 92 basic denotation. In fact, they rely on it. Their participation reinforces its character as a center of power, rooted in the presentation of a highly ordered space. In this manner, its history unveils several variations of the Pantheon's primordial denotation. Its physical transformations preserved the "essence" of its fundamental character. That is why we feel comfortable with recognizing some degrees of continuity. The evidence corroborates its permanence, almost like an empirical fact that could be measured quantitatively. In this sense, the first stage of signification (denotation) stems from perception. It

does not rely on the involvement of other levels of consciousness. In contrast, subsequent stages of signification (connotation) emerge from levels that are relatively inaccessible to empirical scrutiny. This type of research is closer to psychology or neurobiology, than it is to archaeology or philology. It is dominated by the interplay of behavior and belief. The challenge to its scientific examination stems its origin: a subjective state of affairs. In other words, while denotation may be objective, connotation is clearly more subjective. So, it is impossible to adjudicate certainty in this area of research. Evidence offers no categorical conclusiveness. It is impossible to "prove" how someone reaches a particular set of connotations. In Freudian terms, not even the subject can fully identify their origin or symbolism.166 Even though this issue impedes the strict scientific examination of a horizon of expectation or a constellation of beliefs, there are other methods to attempt a better understanding of their participation in our social affairs. In this sense, it is important to distinguish between the classical methods of social science and

166For Jung: "Man […] never perceives anything fully or comprehends anything completely […] No matter what instruments he uses, at some point he reaches the edge of certainty beyond which conscious knowledge cannot pass […] even when our senses react to real phenomena, sights, and sounds, they are somehow translated from the realm of reality to that of the mind. Within the mind they become psychic events, whose ultimate nature is unknowable […] the unconscious aspect of any event is revealed to us in dreams, where it appears not as a rational thought but as a symbolic image." Jung, "Approaching the Unconscious," 1964, 21-3; cf. Freud, "Revision Theory of Dreams," 1975; and Paul Churchland, "Folk Psychology and the Explanation of Human Behavior." Philosophical Perspectives 3(1989):225-41. 93 ethnomethodology. The reductionism of the former is ameliorated by the interactionism of the latter.167 As limited as the scientific scrutiny of such intangible entities may be, there is no reason to avoid "sketching" their existence and the manner in which they influenced the long processes of enculturation over time. The context companions of each case study have this objective. They are mere sketches of literary or intellectual history. They rely on Wilhelm Dilthey's theory of worldviews, which purports that given era leaves traces

of the narratives driving its prevalent worldview, through the works of statesmen, theologians, philosophers, and poets, among others.168 These works present different versions of its systems of thought and constellation of beliefs. In a more technical terminology, the latter represent a series of propositional attitudes, which "trickle down" through all levels of society.169 These propositional attitudes are subconsciously represented in works like Hesiod's Theogony or a speech by Cicero that includes "a lengthy mythological excursus on the rape of Proserpina." In Dilthey's view, the distinction between a theological, philosophical, or poetic worldview echoes the tripartite theology of Varro. To Denis Feeney, the latter was an "influential model, the product of long-standing debates and prejudices […] developed in the Hellenistic period and applied

to Rome by Varro in the 40s BCE."170

167See William Jones, "World Views: Their Nature and Their Function," Current Anthropology 13, 1(1972):79-109; cf. Paul ten Have, Understanding Qualitative Research and Ethnomethodology, (London: Sage, 2004). 168See Dilthey's Philosophy of Existence: Introduction to the Weltanschauungslehre, trans. William Kluback and Martin Weinbaum, (London: Vision, 1957); cf. David K. Naugle, Worldview: The History of a Concept, (Grand Rapids: William B. Eerdmans, 2002), 82-97. 169See Paul Churchland, "Eliminative Materialism and the Propositional Attitudes." The Journal of Philosophy 78, 2(1981):67-90. 170See Denis Feeney, Literature and Religion at Rome: Cultures, Contexts, and Beliefs, (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998), 15-6. For more on Varro's approach, see Augustine, City of God, 6.6- 8; cf. Pierre Boyancé, "Sur la théologie de Varron," in Études sur la religion romaine, Pierre Boyancé, ed., 253-82, (Rome: École Française de Rome, 1972). 94 In many ways, the interplay between the actors of this tripartite structure advances a "template" that each member of society adapts into a more personal worldview. It is a participatory process, in which myriad versions of the master narrative enable the constitution of a cultural identity for the group. Clearly, ancient statesmen saw the world differently, in contrast with the rationalizations or speculations of philosophers, and more so, with the passionate descriptions of poets. The pragmatism of the first is directly opposed to the luxurious freedom of the others. However, all three share a common ground, when they talk about Zeus or the order of the universe, although each has different concerns when addressing these issues. Statesmen may have worried about piety and its influence on patriotism. Philosophers might have been more concerned with the inconsistency of anthropomorphized deities, altering their countrymen's ability to understand "reality." And poets may have struggled to create the proper atmosphere to enhance the opportunity of love to conquer strife. Yet, all of them shared a cultural baggage, which resonated almost "universally" with most of their fellow citizens. Cicero, Posidonius, or Ovid may have advanced different visions of the universe, but, when they talked about Apollo, "as the lord who strikes from afar," or the god who claims that "the lyre and the curved bow shall ever be dear to me," their interlocutors would have recognized most of these references quite easily.171 With this context in mind, the Pantheon's context companion sketches the cultural background from which certain themes may have been accessible for an "average" user to elaborate a higher level of signification suggested by the building's primordial denotation. A central issue in this chapter relates with the building's name and shape as "triggers" of subsequent connotations, assuming that anyone who knew the building–during the

171See Homer, Iliad, 1.1 or 1.345; and idem, Hymn 3 to Apollo, 3.131. 95 second century CE–would have been stimulated by these factors. The attraction of its large, central space, covered by a gorgeous dome, equated with its presentation as an abode for all the gods, must have triggered innumerable connotations. Its allusion to the shape and order of the universe, as a highly structured domain, may have been one of its most common connotations. This generic statement would have advanced innumerable variations substantiated by different cultural backgrounds. This chapter addresses the most suggestive connotations reflecting a degree of continuity over long periods of time.

The chapter follows three stages: the late Republic, the early Empire, and the transition from the late Middle Ages to the early Renaissance. The first one prepares the ground to address the main issue. That is, what aspects of the Romano-Hellenic background inspire the generations of Trajan and Hadrian to reconstruct Agrippa's building in such fashion (a domed rotunda). Perhaps, it was only an intuitive response to its "nickname" (Pantheon). Thus, the chapter's main issue could be restated as follows: How did Agrippa's building–immersed in a "sea" of connotations–inspire Trajan's generation to build such a majestic rotunda? Was it a response to the concept "Pantheon"? Clearly, these concerns engender a series of theological and philosophical questions that must be framed in their proper historical context. Their relevance carries our brief sketches of connotation from one stage to the next. Each section revises the potential of certain works of poetry, philosophy, and theology to answer a series of nested questions, traversing this particular stretch of time. The questions follow a particular train of thought: Who are the gods? What is their nature? How are they involved in the control and function of the universe? What is the shape and order of the universe?

A Private Shrine

96 The point of departure is Dio's account, which indicates that among all the images of gods in the Pantheon, those of Venus and Mars stood out. Then, he explains that Agrippa included later a statue of Divine Caesar inside and two outside (Augustus and himself). Presumably, the last pair was honorary, while the others were cult statues.172 Now, why would Dio only single out Venus and Mars? Is it fair to assume that they were "originally" chosen by? The most common explanation for Dio's account assumes that he was describing the Pantheon as it stood in his own time, although his writing tries to

convey the tenor of a historical report. The problem is that he also knew the building had been reconstructed at least once. So if Dio was aware of its reconstruction, then it seems highly probable he thought that its patron deities did not change at all. It is also well known that the Temple of Mars Ultor, at the Forum Augustum, gave precedence to the same deities.173 In this sense, one of the most reliable pieces of data, surrounding the mystery of Agrippa's building, could be the powerful juxtaposition of Venus and Mars, as well as their triangulation with Divine Caesar, suggesting the divine lineage of Augustus, regardless of what type of religious structure the building may have been. The aim of this section is to show that this juxtaposition of deities may have been enough to trigger the construction of the rotunda almost a hundred years later. The juxtaposition had innumerable connotations for most Romans. They crossed social and political boundaries. The prestige of Venus and Mars–as a couple–not only had a powerful effect on educated Epicureans, Stoics, or Academics, but also stimulated the imagination of Rome's populace. For most individuals with a lesser inclination for

172Such distinction is carefully argued by Duncan Fishwick. See his work, "The Statue of Julius Caesar in the Pantheon," Latomus 51, 2(1992):329-36. 173See Paul Zanker, Forum Augustum: Das Bildprogramm, (Tubingen: E. Wasmuth, 1968); idem, The Power of Images in the Age of Augustus, trans. Alan Shapiro, (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1990); and Alessandro Barchiesi, "Learned Eyes: Poets, Viewers, Image Makers," in The Cambridge Companion to the Age of Augustus, Karl Galinsky, ed., 281-305, (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2005). 97 philosophical speculation, the most available reference would have been Homer's account of their sexual indiscretions as the tempestuous pair was caught up in a magic net by a jealous husband. This mythic expression of betrayal, as it is presented in the Odyssey, raises a strong sense of empathy. Just imagine a young beautiful bride–married to a crippled metal smith obsessed with his work–choosing a young, reckless warrior as her lover. In many ways, the story is an archetype of adultery.174 A subsequent level of connotation would have been equally received among many

Romans. Venus and Mars represented the ultimate divine origin of the Roman People. The juxtaposition of these deities gave precedence to their distinctive ethnic roots. To some degree, Romans saw themselves as a people forged by the mixture of immigrants with a local population. By juxtaposing these deities, both lines claimed divine descent. On one hand, the immigrants saw themselves as descendents of mythic Troy. Their lineage stemmed from an immortal deity (Venus) and a mortal man (Anchises). The escape from Troy and the heroic effort to bring their heritage to a new land was accomplished by Aeneas, the product of that relation between goddess and man. On the other hand, the local population saw their origins in another encounter between a mortal being and an Olympian deity. According to popular legend, a princess (Rhea Silvia) gave birth to twins (Romulus and Remus) from an immortal god (Mars).175 Augustus triangulated these origins through his adoptive father, Julius Caesar, who on one hand

174See Homer, Odyssey, 8.266-369. For more on the archetypal study of mythology, see Jung, The Integration of the Personality, trans. Stanley M. Dell, (New York: Farrar & Rinehart, 1939); cf. idem and Carl Kerény, Essays on a Science of Mythology: The Myth of the Divine Child and the Mysteries of Eleusis, trans. R. F. C. Hull, (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1969); and Friedrich Wilhelm Joseph von Schelling, Historical-critical Introduction to the Philosophy of Mythology, trans. Mason Richey and Markus Zisselsberger, (Albany: State University of New York Press, 2007). 175Vergil's Aeneid is the strongest source claiming ancestral descent from Venus. See also Karl Galinsky, Aeneas, , and Rome, (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1969). Regarding the descent from Mars, see Varro, De lingua latina, 5.144-6. See also John Scheid, Romulus et ses Frères: Le collège des Frères Arvales, modèle du culte public dans la Rome des empereurs, (Rome: École Française de Rome, 1990). 98 claimed descent from Venus, while on the other shared the same title of pater patriae with Romulus.176 At the center of the Forum Augustum, the son of Divine Caesar appears as the driver of a quadriga atop a pedestal bearing the title "Father of the Fatherland." The theme articulating these connotations is simple; it is associated with the archetype of parental protection. Thus, the juxtaposition of Venus and Mars not only signaled the divine origin of all Romans, but its source of protection. A passage from Macrobius's Saturnalia corroborates this essential connotation:

It is said that it was the intention of Romulus to name the first month after his father Mars and the second after Venus the mother of Aeneas and thus to make the beginnings of the year the special care of these deities, from whom Rome traced her origin−since today too in our sacred rites we call Mars our "father" and Venus our "mother."177

These connotations, rooted in the legacy of Hellenic mythology, may have been accepted almost "universally" by many Romans. The source was prestigious enough to be contested. Homer was still recognized as the greatest poet of all. Only those "crazy" philosophers questioned his authority, regarding the "true" nature of the gods and their control of the universe. A good source to envision how Romans of the late Republic may have tried to answer these questions is Cicero's On the Nature of the Gods. This work, presented as a dialogue between three statesmen–each representing a different school of thought–was originally conceived as a pedagogical tool to promote philosophy among his fellow countrymen. Caius Velleius represented the Epicureans, Quintus Lucilius Balbus the Stoics, and Caius Aurelius Cotta the Academics. The latter appears as pontiff, in the

dialogue, a position he held after 80 BCE. The other two are less well known, but, it is

176For Caesar's claim of descent from the Marcii Reges–and by extension Venus herself–as well as the adjudication of the title pater patriae, see Suetonius, Caesar, 6 & 76. 177Macrobius, Saturnalia, 1.12.8. 99 safe to assume they represent men of substance (that is, members of the senate). Cicero also appears in the dialogue, but, solely as an observer. In this way, Cicero's work is a relevant "testimony" of a politician's worldview from the late Republic. Moreover, it is an assessment of how philosophy approaches a fundamental issue–that is, how the cosmological narrative interacts with the understanding of the self, the nature of the gods, their control over the universe, and the manner in which social and political action are determined individually. Most civilized nations in antiquity seem to have recognized, at

least to some degree, the relevance of this interplay in the constitution of identity.178 At the beginning of his work, Cicero stresses the relevance of this interplay when he argues that his work is "an inquiry which is ennobling in the recognition which it affords of the nature of the soul, and also necessary for the regulation of religious practices (1.1)." In this way, the clarification of a group's cosmovision (master narrative) has a two-fold intention. First, it illuminates how humans see themselves, that is, the nature of their soul–for Cicero there seems to be a relation between the latter and the nature of the gods. Secondly, it affects the religious customs of the group, since it is the foundation for their notions of piety, justice, benefaction, and so on.179 These extremely powerful connotations are associated with the interconnected spheres of social, intellectual, and legal interaction, among others. Cicero highlights this connection, as well: "when piety towards the gods is removed, I am not so sure that good faith, and

178For more on this work, see the introduction of Francis Brooks in his translation of De natura deorum, (London: Methuen, 1896); cf. Andrew Dyck's version, (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003). 179A passage from Caesar's Gallic War reflects a similar understanding. In it he explains some Druidic customs. "They are said there to learn by heart a great number of verses," which enable them to "discuss and impart to the youth many things respecting the stars and their motion, respecting the extent of the world and of our earth, respecting the nature of things, respecting the power and the majesty of the immortal gods." In the same passage, Caesar makes reference to manner in which this information affects their preparedness for war. Since, "They wish to inculcate this as one of their leading tenets, that souls do not become extinct, but pass after death from one body to another, and they think that men by this tenet are in a great degree excited to valor, the fear of death being disregarded." See Caesar, Gallic War, 6.14. 100 human fraternity, and justice, the chief of all the virtues, are not also removed (1.2)." This is one of his major concerns against the positions of certain philosophers and poets, who not only explain the existence of the gods as allegorical, but sometimes claim their inexistence. Be that as it may, the juxtaposition of Venus and Mars was also suggestive to many philosophers and poets. While they used it to address different issues, their main concerns were still rooted in the needs of "simple," less educated people. This condition

may be the reason why Agrippa's building was so successful in the long run. Its principal deities were able to convey innumerable connotations–each with its own level of sophistication–among multivariate sectors of society. Just by bringing together Venus and Mars, Agrippa was able to stimulate the imagination of people with apparently antagonistic worldviews. So, as a merchant or craftsman tried to come to terms with his wife's infidelities–as an afterthought suggested by his encounter with the Olympian couple–a lawyer or a general may have struggled to understand why peace was so difficult to attain. For an educated citizen, the juxtaposition of Venus and Mars could have inspired the allegoric connotation of Love and Strife. Lucretius began his celebrated work On the Nature of Things pledging his eternal allegiance to the powerful goddess: "Mother of Romans, delight of gods and men, […] since it is you alone who govern the birth / And growth of things […] I ask you to befriend me as I try / To pen these verses." In these lines the poet asks for her benefaction, so he may explain her potentiality to end war. In a masterful use of symbolism, Lucretius equates her with Love and Peace, while Mars represents War and Strife.

101 In the meantime let the savage works of war Rest easy, slumbering over land and sea. For you alone can bless us mortal men With quiet peace; Mars, potent of arms, holds sway In battle, but surrenders at your bosom, Vanquished by the eternal wound of love.180

Some scholars see in this work the influence of Empedocles's poem, On Nature. In this sense, the Olympian deities are "held to be refigurations of the Greek poet's Love and Strife, who in his system are the two fundamental forces in the universe."181 By introducing this powerful set of connotations, Lucretius offered the primal symbolism to construct a "message of peace." Clearly, the Roman population was exhausted by the trans-generational collapse of the Republic, manifested in a perpetual state of civil war. Since the time of Marius and Sulla, Rome had been struggling to maintain a viable political system to manage their growing influence across the Mediterranean. Lucretius's poem–equipped with the provocative philosophy of Empedocles–tried to identify the manner in which Rome's turmoil could be appeased: Love is the only force capable of conquering Strife. Allegorically, the struggle between War and Peace lies within! It is rooted in the "genetic" constitution of the Roman People, since the confrontation between these forces is represented by the clash of their mother (Venus) and father (Mars). They carry the struggle in their own blood. Clearly, this interpretation may be too extreme for these connotations, given its reliance on a more sophisticated philosophical speculation, available only to small groups of the Roman elite. But intercommunication among this group was essential to appease society as a whole. Even if only a minority was able to concoct such elaborate

180Lucretius, De rerum natura, 1.29-35. 181Lowell Edmunds, "Mars as Hellenistic Lover: Lucretius, De rerum natura 1.29-40 and its Subtexts," International Journal of the Classical Tradition 8, 3(2002):343-58, 345. 102 connotations, it was enough to set this type of message in motion, so that, later on, it could gradually trickle down among other levels of society.182 The success of Augustus's Age was driven by a collective effort to prevent the collapse of Rome's social and political systems. The educated elite not only shared a concern to maintain the ideals, values, and customs of the Republic, but also to enhance their efficacy. They required a proper balance of restoration and renovation. Augustus proved himself as the right leader to accomplish this balance.183 At the dawn of this transition, there were several works

from highly influential thinkers striving to preserve the Republic's legacy. Some of them suggested manners in which its heritage could be renovated, as well. By the end of the Civil Wars, the common theme running through most of these works claimed that the catastrophe had been caused by a loss of piety. Consequently, it was imperative to restore traditional piety through the proper observance of ancient rituals. Works like Cicero's On the Republic or Livy's History of Rome tried to preserve– at least in written form–the Republic's ancient customs, traditions, and its memory. Varro's broad encyclopedic project, conceived as a systematic investigation of Roman cosmology, ideology, linguistics, and so on, was a foundation for the preservation of its ancient legacy. The influence of this titanic effort on subsequent generations will be addressed later on. Beyond those politicians providing key works of history, ethnology, linguistics, and so on, the poets gave a passionate voice to the same concerns. Horace, for instance, echoed the people's recognition that something had gone awfully wrong:

182Barchiesi provides a superb example of how educated Romans seem to have been accustomed to sophisticated interpretations. He uses Ovid's Fasti and the Forum Augustum to illustrate how the elite were "viewers who were also readers." See his work, "Learned Eyes," 2005. 183This characterization of Augustus's success as an ingenious combination of restoration and renovation comes from a long tradition devoted to the study of this age, particularly during the period of Pope Alexander VII. See Krautheimer, Rome of Alexander VII, 1985; and Stinger, Renaissance in Rome, 1998. Perhaps the clearest appreciation of how restoration and renovation complemented each other to shape the future, in Augustus's own time, was the restitution of ancient rites and the creation of the emperor cult. See Ittai Gradel, Emperor Worship and Roman Religion, (New York: Oxford University Press, 2002). 103

Your fathers' guilt you still must pay, Till, Roman, you restore each shrine, Each temple, 'moldering in decay, And smoke-grimed statue, scarce divine.184

The response was overwhelming! After the victory at Actium, Augustus and most of his associates poured out their resources to rebuild Rome. The scale of the intervention was overwhelming. The propaganda machine presented Augustus as the re-founder of Rome. Agrippa's architectural ensemble at the Campus Martius played a major role in this effort. The Saepta Iulia was one of its crowning achievements. Its iconography confronted the mythic adventures of Meleager and Jason, through visual imagery, strategically placed at the east and west porticoes of its large open space. Without too much effort, many people would have recognized an insinuation of the Olympian couple, worshiped at the Forum Augustum and Agrippa's so-called "Pantheon." It was an

interesting play of opposites: Meleager represented a terrestrial adventure, the hunt for the Calydonian boar, while Jason represented an oceanic adventure, the voyage of the Argo. Mars and Venus would have come to mind easily. While the former is an ancient agrarian deity, intimately linked to war, the latter is a youthful goddess emerging from the sea.185 Both deities also played important roles in each adventure. While Jason retrieved the "golden fleece" with the help of Venus, Meleager was the son of Mars. Once again, the references may be subtle; perhaps, only available to certain people; but, to some extent, they were always ready at hand.

184Horace, Carmina, 1.2. 185The Arval Brethren used to call Mars, "Marmar," a name that seems to refer to his protection of fields and herds. A study on the symbolism of Vesta claims that Romans may have "regarded the death of men in battle as a form of sacrifice to Mars for prosperity; this may well account for the idea that grass, which was consecrated to Mars, was produced from human blood." See Ronald Syme, Some Arval Brethren, (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1980), 2, 22, 107-8; and K. R. Prowse, "The Vestal Circle," Greece & Rome 14, 2(1967):174-87, 184. For more on the cult of Venus in Rome, see Robert Schilling, La religion romaine de Vénus: Depuis les origins jusqu'au temps d'Auguste, (Paris: E. de Broccard, 1954). 104 It is unclear just how influential Agrippa's "Pantheon" may have been at the time. The historical record only mentions it occasionally, beyond Pliny or the log of the Arval Brethren. As already mentioned, Pliny's references come from his use of Agrippa's Commentaries on geography.186 Any other mention is clearly referring to the Pantheon, as reconstructed by Trajan and Hadrian. In this sense, Agrippa's "Pantheon" may have been unimportant to those outside his circle. Ziolkowski's characterization of that term as a "nickname" may be quite accurate.187 Clearly, this condition changed over time. The reason may have been simple. As the new political model–grounded on the figure of the princeps–increased its acceptance among the elite, Agrippa's homage to Augustus at the Campus Martius may have turned into a veritable shrine. In many ways, the triangulation of the Olympian couple with Divine Caesar may have been considered one of the first manifestations of the Emperor's Cult in Rome, which by the end of the Julio-Claudian period was an essential component for the constitution of the empire across the Mediterranean.188 Fishwick's argument that Agrippa's building was a veiled heroon devoted to Augustus could explain why the Pantheon became so important for subsequent generations. As a Pantheum Augustum it would have included other deities protecting the Gens Iulia. In Lucan's Pharsalia, Caesar rallies their support, as he tries to cross the Rubicon, but is stopped by the Goddess Roma:

186For more on the use of Agrippa's Commentaries by Pliny and Strabo, see Jean-Michel Roddaz, Marcus Agrippa, (Rome: Ècole Française de Rome, 1984), 567-91. 187See Adam Ziolkowski, "Was Agrippa's Pantheon the Temple of Mars in Campo?" Papers of the British School at Rome 62(1994):261-78. 188 For more on the key role of the Emperor's Cult, throughout the empire, see Gradel, Emperor Worship, 2002; and Duncan Fishwick, The Imperial Cult in the Latin West: Studies in the Ruler Cult of the Western Provinces of the Roman Empire, 3 vols., (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1987-2005). To understand the role of the Goddess Roma in this politico-religious context, see Ronald Mellor, ΘΕΑ ΡΩΜΗ: The Worship of the Goddess Roma in the Greek World, (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck and Ruprecht, 1975). 105 O Thunderer, as you gaze down at the great walls of Rome from your temple beside the Tarpeian Rock; and you, Household-gods of the Julian clan, whose images my ancestor Aeneas saved from burning Troy; and you, Romulus, our founder, mysteriously elevated to Heaven as the God Quirinus; and you, Latin Juppiter, in your shrine on the Alban Mount; and you, Vesta, whose sacred fire our virgins tend; and you, too, Goddess of Rome, whose power equals that of any major deity–favor my enterprise!189

Dio's first interpretation about the name of Agrippa's building reinforces Fishwick's hypothesis, assuming it acquired this name "because it received among the images which decorated it the statues of many gods, including Mars and Venus." If the building had multiple images reflecting different hierarchies within the Roman cosmology, then those of Venus and Mars may have been singled out because they were the largest. But, the key question is: what cosmological structure did the building try to convey? Is it the structure of the universe in general or the protecting deities of the Gens Iulia? And, most importantly, do we have enough evidence to make the distinction? Dio's second interpretation seems appropriate for the building as we know it, since for him the

Pantheon received this name because "its vaulted roof […] resembles the heavens."190

An Imperial Temple

The transition from one political model to the next explains why it was imperative to construct such a monumental building. The legitimacy of a new dynasty (Antonine) required the enhancement of a possible sense of continuity with the Julio-Claudian regime. Once again, the restoration was accompanied by renovation, since the first building only recognized Augustus as a hero, protected by certain deities, while the

189Lucan, Pharsalia, 1.180-200. 190Dio, Roman History, 53.27. 106 second one legitimized the rule of the Roman Emperors as a fundamental constituent of the divine control over the universe. Thus, the first model engenders a second more powerful model. The transition may have been rooted in the former's connotations, associated with Agrippa's "humble" homage to the hero Augustus. The "monumental" response to these connotations seems to have been developed over time, growing in strength to influence the generation of Trajan, Hadrian, and Apollodorus. One way or another, the archaeological evidence does not reflect an equal degree of monumentality in

Agrippa's version. The larger-than-life response, by Trajan's generation, could have been suggested by Domitian's previous enlargement.191 As the symbolic power of the emperor cult grew, the relevance and prestige of Agrippa's "Pantheon" may have increased

dramatically. At the dawn of the second century CE, a new generation of rulers may have been motivated to construct a gigantic space covered by a dome as a direct response to those powerful connotations. The nested questions presented at the beginning of this chapter are intimately linked with these connotations. Their decision to build a temple that could be rightfully envisioned "as the abode of all the gods" required a spatial scheme of universal acceptance. In many ways, the Pantheon's most famous characteristic–its circumscription of a perfect sphere or, in other words, a large central space, covered by a dome, whose footprint is equal to its height– assured that desirable universality. Its connotation was intimately associated with the shape of the universe. Nearly every single school of thought in Cicero's work recognized the majesty of the sphere as a clear manifestation of the divine. Even the Epicureans with

191Excavations by Eugenio La Rocca at the Pantheon's north side uncovered fragments of a staircase facing north. Given their level, they seem to belong to a subsequent stage of intervention, probably under Domitian. See his work, "Pantheon (Fase pre-Adrianea)" in Lexicon Topographicum Urbis Romae, Eva Margerita Steinby, ed., v. 5 (Addenda et corrigenda), 280-2, (Rome: Quasar, 1999), especially fig. 111 on p. 369; cf. Armanini's drawings in Beltrami, Pantheon, 1898. 107 their serious doubts about the relevance of the gods in human affairs recognized the powerful symbolism of the sphere, as a speech by Velleius suggests:

no fabricator and builder of the world, like the god from Plato's Timaeus; no prophetic beldame like the πρόνοια of the Stoics (whom in our own language we may call providence); no world itself, either, endowed with mind and sensation, a round and glowing and whirling deity […] the prodigies and marvels of philosophers who do not reason but dream. Why, by what manner of means could Plato, your pet authority, have beheld the construction of this great work, the construction with which he represents the world as being put together and built by God? How was so vast a fabric set about? What were the agents employed in it? On the other hand how could air, fire, water, and earth have been obedient and submissive to the architect's will?192

The passage reflects some references that could be equated with Empedoclean or Stoic metaphysics. A recent study of the former by Oliver Primavesi clarifies the manner in which this Pre-Socratic philosopher explained the interaction of Love and Strife as the major forces that shape and guide the universe. For Empedocles, the latter was governed by the eternal interaction of multiple cycles. Each was dominated by one of those forces. It was a cyclical alternation guided by two opposite movements. The first one, dominated by Love (philotes), transformed the "many" into the "one." The second one, dominated by Strife (neikos), transformed the "one" into the "many." The first process of transformation begins from a state of complete separation. The four elements (air, fire, water, and earth), understood as the primal matter of everything that exists in the universe, are in complete separation. The transition to their complete unity is caused by a "centrifugal expansion of Love–starting at the center of the universe." The final stage of

192Cicero, De natura deorum, 1.8. 108 this movement towards unification is achieved when "the four elements in their entirety form one single living being, the Sphairos."193 The second movement, dominated by the rule of strife, begins with the destruction of the Sphairos, leading to the complete separation of the elements. This state of separation produces "four homogeneous masses characterized by Plutarch as a radical anticipation of the Aristotelian and Stoic doctrine of separate natural places for the elements."194 That is, the terrestrial globe is located at the center of the universe and is

surrounded by three concentric, spherical layers of water, air, and fire. This model is deeply rooted in the earliest account for the constitution of the universe by Anaximander. But, in his view, "The earth's shape is curved, round, like a stone column." That is, a cylinder, not a sphere. However, the cylinder is located at the center of a sphere, which contains the heavenly bodies: "The stars come to be as a circle of fire separated off from the fire in the cosmos and enclosed by dark mist."195 These ideas were enhanced, later on, by Stoic philosophers. In the Empedoclean model, the sphere plays an equally important role, at both ends of the cycle. To some extent, one of them is full of life and unity, while the other is a motionless state of separation. The most interesting aspect of the dichotomy is that "the Sphairos is capable of emotions," although "his anthropomorphic representation is

193Both quotations may be found in Oliver Primavesi, "Empedocles: Physical and Mythical Divinity," in The Oxford Handbook of Presocratic Philosophy, Patricia Curd and Daniel W. Graham, eds., (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008), 252-3. 194Primavesi, op. cit., 253. 195Both quotations are from a fragment by Anaximander, reported in Hyppolytus, Refutation, 1.6.3-5. Aristotle thinks that Anaximander's vision of the earth as a flat cylinder resting on water may have been influenced by his countryman, Thales. Thus, "Some, like Anaximander […] declare that the earth is at rest on account of its similarity. For it is no more fitting for what is established at the center and equally related to the extremes to move up rather than down or sideways. And it is impossible for it to make a move simultaneously in opposite directions. Therefore, it is at rest of necessity." See Aristotle, On the Heavens, 2.13, 295b11-16. 109 explicitly rejected."196 As its name indicates, this "ball-shaped" entity is capable of bringing life as a whole through the manifold mixture of the elements. Empedocles may be the earliest source in Western Civilization to pronounce a mystical dictum whose resonance is almost universal: "All is One." The Stoics also shared the idea that the universe is a single, living entity. On the other hand, when the cycle unwinds into a lifeless stage of separation, the homogeneous, non-interactive, masses are also arranged as an ordered set of concentric spheres. So, at both ends of the spectrum–that is, life and death–the sphere is a perfect shape of containment. Some scholars associate the Empedoclean model with Pythagorean thought–especially the tetractys–as well as some tenets in Parmenidean and Heraclitean thought–such as the preponderance of the sphere and the cyclical creation and destruction of the universe, respectively.197

196Primavesi, op. cit., 253. 197The tetractys is a mathematical model representing a monistic universe. According to Sextus Empiricus, "The tetractys is a certain number, which being composed of the four first numbers produces the most perfect number, ten. For one and two and three and four come to ten. This number is the first tetractys, and is called the source of ever flowing nature since according to them [the Pythagoreans] the entire cosmos is organized according to harmonia, and harmonia is a system of three concords−the fourth, the fifth, and the octave−and the proportions of these three concords are found in the aforementioned four numbers." See his work, Against the Mathematicians 7.94-5. The tetractys is visualized through an equilateral triangle, confromed by pebbles or coins. At the top there is a single unit. The second tier has two (a 1:2 proportion). The next tier has three units (2:3), and the last one four (3:4). Thus, the unit at the top represents the source from which all properties "trickle down" through a structured system of proportions and ratios. Later on, Plotinus would call them "emanations." For more on the relation of Empedoclean with Pythagorean thought, see Carl A Huffman, "The Pythagorean Tradition," in The Cambridge Companion to Early Greek Philosophy, A. A. Long, ed., 66-85, (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999). In his usual enigmatic poetry, Parmenides claimed that only one of the two basic forms typically identified by philosophers was right: "the ethereal fire of flame, / mild, very light, the same as itself in every direction, / but not the same as the other; but that other one, in itself / is opposite−dark night, a dense heavy body." See Simplicius, Commentary on Aristotle's Physics, 145.1-146.25. The Empedoclean connection with Heraclitean thought may be found, for example, in the latter's: "Things taken together are whole and not whole, ‹something which is› being brought together and brought apart, in tune and out of tune; out of all things there comes a unity, and out of a unity all things." See [Aristotle], On the World, 5.396b20 = 22B10; cf. "What is opposed brings together; the finest harmony (harmonia) is composed of things in variance, and everything comes to be in accordance with strife." See Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics, 8.2, 1155b4. Later on, the Heraclitean doctrine on the harmonization of opposites was incorporated into Stoic metaphysics. For more on the former, see Daniel W. Graham, "Heraclitus: Flux, Order, and Knowledge," in The Oxford Handbook of Presocratic Philosophy, Patricia Curd and Daniel W. Graham, eds., 169-88, (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008). 110 For Stoic philosophers the universe was also a single, living organism, governed by an all-encompassing divine reason. According to Diogenes Laertius, the Stoics thought that the "whole cosmos is a living being, ensouled and rational, having as its ruling principle aether."198 The origin of this cosmovision was mostly rooted in Heraclitus. According to the latter, "this world-order (kosmos), the same for all, no god nor man did create, but it ever was and is and will be: everliving fire." Daniel Graham indicates that in this passage the term cosmos appears for the first time, as an attempt to

emphasize how the universe functioned as a well-ordered being.199 The Heraclitean model of the universe saw a passive, stationary, cosmocentric earth enveloped by an active, unstable fire-sphere containing the heavenly bodies.200 In this way, the creation of all that exists in the universe was ruled by the harmonization of opposites: the passive elements (earth and water) were brought to life by the active elements (fire and air). Fecundity arose from a "creative fire that proceeds systematically to the creation of the cosmos encompassing all the seminal principles (spermatikous logous) according to which everything comes about by fate (sic)." Consequently, life comes forth through some "sort of seed, which possesses the principles of all things and the causes of all things that have occurred, are occurring, and will occur–the interweaving and ordering of which is fate, knowledge, truth, and a certain inevitable and inescapable law of the things that exist."201 Later Stoics, like Seneca, equated those metaphysical principles with an almost monotheistic theology. For them, the active principle, known as pneuma (a mixture of

198Diogenes Laertius, Lives and Opinions of Eminent Philosophers, 7.139. 199Heraclitus's quote and its explanation may be found in Graham, "Heraclitus," 2008, 170. 200See Robert B. Todd, "Cleomedes and the Problems of Stoic Astrophysics," Hermes 129, 1(2001):75-8. 201See Michael J. White, "Stoic Natural Philosophy (Physics and Cosmology)," In The Cambridge Companion to the Age of Augustus, Brad Inwood, ed., 124-52, (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2003), 137. 111 fire and air), was recognized as a living entity in itself. With this in mind, Seneca claimed: "what else is in nature but god and divine reason infused into the whole universe and each of its parts?" In another passage he is even more explicit: "this whole in which we are contained is one and is god; we are both his associates and his limbs." A third quote reflects a notion that, later on, will be a key principle in gnosticism: "god, the ruler of the universe, surely unfolds himself toward the outside, but nonetheless returns inside himself from all directions."202 Here, Seneca suggests that the presence of the divine

could be understood as a sphere. This notion resonates with a celebrated esoteric dictum, which stated that "God is an infinite sphere whose center is everywhere, whose circumference is nowhere."203 At this point, it is unnecessary to review the influential works of Plato and Aristotle to find similar trains of thought supporting the teleological primacy of the sphere. In the former's Timaeus and the latter's On the Heavens–recognized as the sources for this issues in the Academic and Peripatetic schools, respectively–we would find similar praises to the worthiness of the sphere as the most perfect shape in the universe. In this way, the most representative philosophical schools rooted in the Classic traditions grounded some of the most influential beliefs in Rome about the shape and order of the universe. Nearly all of them praised the symbolism of the sphere. Its prestige was overwhelming, its connotations were polysemic. Maybe that is the reason why so many people celebrated the Pantheon's circumscription of a "perfect sphere" within its

202All quotations may be found in Aldo Setaioli, "Seneca and the Divine: Stoic Tradition and Personal Developments," International Journal of the Classic Tradition 13, 3(2007):333-68, 337-8. 203An early version of this poetic and provocative statement appears in Empedocles. He may have been referring to the Sphairos, when he claimed: "But equal to itself on all sides, and wholly without limit, a rounded sphere, exulting in its circular solitude." See Stobaeus, Selections, 1.15.2. The quotation describing a sphere of divine presence, whose center is everywhere and its limits are nowhere, was attributed to the mythic figure of Hermes Trismegistus, in the so-called Book of Twenty Four Philosophers. See Hermetica: The Greek Corpus Hermeticum and the Latin Asclepius in a New English Translation, with Notes and Introduction, Brian P. Copenhaver, ed. & trans., (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1992), xlvii. 112 majestic rotunda. The preponderance of this form as a manifestation of the divine was universal. A wonderful passage from Ovid's Metamorphoses shows its poetic resonance in the mindset of Roman intellectuals:

Before the ocean and the earth appeared− before the skies had overspread them all− the face of Nature in a vast expanse was naught but Chaos uniformly waste. […] But God, or kindly Nature, ended strife− he cut the land from the skies, the sea from land, the heavens ethereal from material air; and when were all evolved from that dark mass he bound the fractious parts in tranquil peace. The fiery element of convex heaven leaped from the mass devoid of dragging weight, […] The earth more dense attracted grosser parts and moved by gravity sank underneath; , […] And when this God−which one is yet unknown− had carved asunder that discordant mass, had thus reduced it to its elements, that every part should equally combine, when time began He rounded out the earth and molded it to form a mighty globe.204

The Pantheon was not the only building across the Mediterranean to circumscribe a sphere in its inner space. A specific typology of round buildings may have awarded a special consideration to this characteristic. According to Georges Roux, in Classic and Hellenistic times, only a few round buildings were properly called tholos. The rest were described simply as cylindrical constructions whose shape followed the path of a circle. Only the round buildings at the Athenian Agora, Delphi, Epidauros, and Magnesia on Meandros were properly identified as tholoi.205 Vitruvius's description of monopteral,

204Ovid, Metamorphoses, 1.5-50. 205Roux's analysis suggests that the roof's shape may have determined the tholoi category, because the aforementioned buildings had "parasol-shaped" roofs. The Athenian tholos was also called "Skias," a term linked with σκιάδειον (skiadeion) meaning "sunshade or parasol." Thus, tholoi may have been identified by their conical roofs, since their wooden armature resembled the radiating framework of a parasol or, more 113 circular temples seem to inadvertently prescribe the tenets of tholoi: "the columns upon the stylobates are constructed of a height equivalent to the diameter taken between the outer edges of the stylobate walls."206 In this way, the building is a cylinder, whose interior contains a perfect sphere. At the time of the Pantheon's reconstruction, the largest round building in the Mediterranean was the Arsinoeion of Samothrace.207 Its fame was only surpassed by the tholoi of Epidauros and Delphi, as well as the Philippeum at Olympia. Most of these buildings were also able to enclose a "perfect sphere" within their inner chambers.208

simply, their outer shape looked like a straw hat. See George Roux, "Structure and Style of the Rotunda of Arsinoe," in Samothrace 7: The Rotunda of Arsinoe, James R. McCredie, George Roux, Stuart M. Shaw, and John Kurtich, eds., 92-230, (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1992), 177-80. For their reception in Rome, see Jane C. Reeder, "Typology and Ideology in the Mausoleum of Augustus: Tumulus and Tholos." Classical Antiquity 11, 2(1992):265-307. 206Vitruvius, The Ten Books on Architecture, 4.8. His prescription may have been taken from a book by Theodorus of Phocaea, the architect of the Asclepieion at Epidauros. 207The rotunda of Arsinoe did not contain a "perfect sphere." Its diameter (66' 3.5") was slightly bigger than its counterpart in Epidauros. However, the Arsinoeion did not have a single structural element inside. The enclosure of marble ashlar masonry had considerable height (24' 4"). Above this level, its authors may have tried to suggest a hint of the tholoi typology. To gain the widest space possible–determined by the longest beams available–the building eliminated the traditional inner-ring of columns. So, to compensate this loss, they were only depicted as a gallery, constituted by half Corinthian columns inside and Doric pilasters outside. This gallery may be a direct precedent to the Pantheon's attic. See Stuart M. Shaw, "Description and Reconstruction of the Rotunda of Arsinoe," revised and completed by Phyllis Williams Lehmann and James R. McCredie, in Samothrace 7: The Rotunda of Arsinoe, James R. McCredie, George Roux, Stuart M. Shaw, and John Kurtich, eds., 29-91, (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1992); cf. Reeder, "Typology and Ideology," 1992, 278-80. 208Since antiquity, the tholos in the Sanctuary of Asclepius at Epidaurus was considered the most beautiful edifice of its kind. By far it was the largest of them all. Its outer diameter (66' 2") had a ring of Doric columns whose total height was half the diameter. Inside the enclosure contained a second ring of columns. There is insufficient data to determine the roof's structure or its height, but it is possible that the inner ring's diameter was equal to its height. The tholos at the precinct of Athenea Pronaia in Delphi had a stylobate whose diameter (44' 9") was equal to the height of its external Doric columns. The inner chamber was enclosed by Corinthian columns attached to the inner perimeter of the wall, trying to gain as much space as possible. The Philippeum is a smaller building. The diameter of its stylobate (45' 8") contained only an outer ring of Ionic columns and a small enclosure. To maximize its inner space, the cella insinuated the traditional inner ring of columns with pilasters, made with half Corinthian columns. See Roux, "Structure and Style," 1992, 186-94 & 205-11; and William B. Dinsmoor, The Architecture of Ancient Greece: An Account of its Historical Development, (New York: Biblo and Tannen, 1973), 234-7. 114 For people with a less philosophical or poetic outlook, the Pantheon must have been a clear-cut and fairly simple building. It served a practical function. It was the most adequate place to offer sacrifices and obtain signs from "All the Gods." For these people, the building's primordial denotation would have suggested less sophisticated connotations. They probably recognized the ambivalence of its inside-outside transgression, indexed by the large oculus at the center of the dome. This condition may have enabled sacrifices to the hypaethral deities of the heavens inside the dome. For these

people the gods were not allegorical representations of natural forces, they were actual beings. To some degree, they express that particular relationship with heritage that Nietzsche calls antiquarian, with some hints of the monumental mode as well.209 That is, their relation with tradition is unquestionable. The latter is a stable, assuring fact of life. They have no need to assess their beliefs critically, like a philosopher or a poet might suggest. In this way, there is some consonance between the tripartite structures of Varro, Dilthey, and Nietzsche. From this standpoint, the Pantheon did not entail a highly complex meaning. It was simply the abode of all the gods. Its ordered arrangement of exedrae and aediculae denoted the hierarchical distribution of the gods and their responsibility for the well-being of different aspects of the universe. Probably the best source to imagine which deities may have occupied those spaces would have been Varro's Antiquities of Human and Divine Things. This work was a fundamental source for St Augustine's City of God. Feeney sees it as the Latin counterpart to the Greek compendium On the Gods by Apollodorus.210 With these works

209For Nietzsche "History, so far as it serves life, serves an unhistorical power, and thus will never become a pure science like mathematics." Given this agenda, there are three modes to approach the past: "History is necessary to the living man in three ways: [1] in relation to his action and struggle, [2] his conservatism and reverence, [3] his suffering and his desire for deliverance." Nietzsche labeled these attitudes as monumental, antiquarian, and critical. See his work, "Utility and Liability of History,"1995, §2. 210Feeney, Literature and Religion, 1998, 77-8. 115 at hand, it is possible to imagine different groupings of gods inside the Pantheon. Given the spatial dimension of an exedra, six or seven statues of different sizes could have been in display. Perhaps, one or two large statues occupied the central space–framed by the large Corinthian columns–flanked by a medium size statue on each side, and three small ones in the niches on the back wall. Each exedrae could have represented different regions of the world, each one ruled by its own divine couple. In this way, the heavens may have been represented by Jupiter and Juno; the earth by Pluto and Proserpina; and the sea by Neptune and Salacia.211 Each couple may have been accompanied by less important deities, properly related to their area of influence. On the other hand, the Pantheon's deities may have followed the individual display of Olympian deities. That is, each exedrae was occupied by a central figure, like Venus for instance, while the remaining area would have been filled by her entourage, like her son Eros or her favorite lover Adonis, and so on. Once more, Augustine's work may offer some clues. He often enlists twenty principal deities, twelve male and eight female: Janus, Jupiter, Saturn, Genius, Mercury, Apollo, Mars, Vulcan, Neptune, the Sun, Orcus, Father Liber, Earth, Ceres, Juno, the Moon, Diana, Minerva, Venus, and Vesta. Undoubtedly, the most important pair was

211The idea that a divine couple ruled over specific regions of the world may have been rooted in an ancient belief that Walter Burkert characterized as hieros gamos:"Especial curiosity has always been aroused by a number of allusions to the secret climax of a festival in sexual union, a sacred marriage, hieros gamos. In fact, as far as Greece is concerned, the evidence is scanty and unclear […] A tradition of sacred marriage exists in the Ancient Near East: the Sumerian king is the lover of the Great Goddess and betakes himself to the temple of the goddess to consummate his marriage ceremonially […] Quite different in kind is the idea of the marriage of the Sky Father with the Earth Mother in the thunderstorm. With burlesque grandeur the Iliad portrays how Zeus and Hera unite at the summit of Mount Ida, veiled in a golden cloud from which glistening drops fall to the earth." See Walter Burkert, Greek Religion, (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1985), 108. The deities of heaven, earth, and sea come from a passage in Augustine's City of God, which explains that the heavens are constituted by Jupiter (higher air or aether) and Juno (lower air). Similar explanations are given for the earth and sea. The passage, probably inspired by Varro's work, suggests that each region is dominated by a male and female force, perhaps, following the Stoic criteria of active and passive forces required for the creation of primal stuff. See Augustine, City of God, 4.10. 116 Jupiter and Juno, since according to Vergil's Eclogues, also often quoted by Augustine: "The whole universe is full of Jupiter."212 This notion resonates with Seneca's cosmovision. Yet, is it safe to assume that Jupiter and Juno occupied the main apse? Or, was it awarded to Venus, Mars, and Divine Caesar? Again, there is not enough evidence to solve these questions. Furthermore, it is also possible that the display of cult statues in the Pantheon was prone to change, if a political or religious situation demanded a special arrangement. There are examples of deities protecting political adversaries that were

publicly disfavored, so they might withdraw from the confrontation. For instance, when Augustus fought Sextus Pompeius–a man claiming to be Neptune's son–the statue of the Lord of the Sea did not form part of the official parade at the Circus Maximus, until the conflict was resolved.213 With this in mind, the Pantheon's deities (around sixty images of different sizes) may have accepted some change from time to time. It is also possible that in key moments the juxtaposition of certain deities would have been used to suggest specific connotations, advancing a particular agenda. In these circumstances, the use of the so- called "personifications" may have been essential. In the reigns of Trajan and Hadrian, the skillful use of these personifications–like Pax (Peace), Concordia (Concord), Felicitas (Happiness), or Aequitas (Equality), among many more–enabled the dissemination of highly sophisticated political discourses, through the allegorization of human ideals.214 Hadrian mastered the assemblage of such multileveled discourses, with the employment of these "abstractions." His messages–circulating across the empire in coins–were crafted

212See Augustine, City of God, 4.9-11. 213See Suetonius, Divus Augustus, 16. 214To some extent, the use of allegorizations in political discourse traces back to Socrates and Aristophanes. The former's interest in questions like "what is justice?" and the latter's comic display of War cooking a dish of human flesh are perfect examples. For more on this subject, see Tzvetan Todorov, Theories of the Symbol, (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1982); and Dan Sperber, Rethinking Symbolism, (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1974). 117 by simple juxtapositions suggesting specific political actions, like Tellus Stabilita (Stabilized Earth) or Libertas Restituta (Restored Liberty).215 Feeney stresses the potentiality of juxtaposing these abstractions with Olympian deities: "Neither category of divinity supersedes the other: at moments of crisis and innovation the state sets up new divinities from each category." For instance, when Hannibal's invasion seemed imminent in 215 BCE, the state established two new cults for Mens (Intelligence) and Venus of Eryx at the Capitoline, simultaneously.216

In many ways, the Pantheon was a perfect "stage" to advance this type of discourse. The clarity of its spatial scheme, the careful display of its structural arrangement, and the spectacular presence of its dome, allowed it to become a neutral model of the universe, stimulating myriad connotations in the imagination of different people. For some, the floor pattern–with its superb arrangement of squares and circles displaying four colors: white, red, grey, and yellow–could have represented the basic elements and their ability to create matter. To others, it may have been just a colorful display of power–that is, the capability of the State to bring precious marbles across the Mediterranean. The attic's decoration could have resonated with the mythopoeia of people who remembered the punishment of Ixion, spinning eternally in the fiery wheel of heaven.217 Others, with an astronomical sensibility, may have seen the ecliptic plane and the zodiac. In sum, the Pantheon's outstanding use of geometry suggested myriad connotations, each equally valid. The clarity of its primordial denotation seems to have been proportionally indirect to the complexity of its subsequent connotations.

215See Jean Beranger, "La notion du principat sous Trajan et Hadrien," in Les empereurs romaines d'Espagne, Actes du Colloque International organisé à Madrid du 31 mars au 6 avril 1964, A. Piganiol and H. Terrasse, eds., 27-40, (Paris: Centre National de la Recherche Scientifique, 1965), 31-2. 216See Livy, History of Rome, 22.9.10 & 10.10, as referred to in Feeney, Literature and Religion, 1998, 91. 217The wheel "stopped momentarily when Orpheus played his music." See Pseudo-Apollodorus, Epitome of the Bibliotheca, 1.20; Hyginus, Fabulae, 33 & 62; and Ovid, Metamorphoses, 12. 118 Even though it is impossible to know what the building might have meant to Trajan or Hadrian, it is possible that its shape and function was motivated by their desire to establish a direct continuity with Agrippa and Augustus. Their motivation may have grown from the worldview that those men were able to advance, bringing forth the Emperor Cult for a people that used to live under a Republic. The success of this transition lies in the ability to instill an equal sense of restoration and renovation in the establishment of continuity. The transition from Republic to Empire relied on the rhetoric

of this narrative. People accepted the stabilization of the earth and the restoration of liberty as the necessary means to attain such a desirable continuity. These ideas were "floating around" in the minds of different people. They were part of a collective intentionality. The skillful rhetoric of Lucretius or Hadrian only allowed them to become central themes in a master narrative. Its message reflects the continuity of centuries of poetic imagination, stretching back to Empedocles or Heraclitus. The next stage of transformation in the Pantheon's history reflects an equal ability to restore and renovate their continuity.

A Catholic Church

One of the most distinctive characteristics of the "Medieval" mindset was the notion that Christendom was a community of believers dispersed across the land, wandering in a constant state of pilgrimage. Their movement through an ungodly land was guided by a "mental map," representing a network of holy places associated with

specific manifestations of the divine or in Eliade's terminology, hierophanies.218 Augustine's City of God is a clear expression of such mindset. At the opening of this

218See Eliade, Patterns in Comparative Religion, (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 1996), 1-37. 119 work, he indicates that its main task was to defend "the glorious City of God against those who prefer their own gods to the Founder of that City." For Augustine, the term "City" meant a community of believers living "in this world of time," as a "stranger among the ungodly, living by faith."219 The non-believers, mostly identified as "pagans," lived in the "City of Man." The wandering community awaited, patiently, the return of Christ, hoping that a pious life would permit their eternal souls to rejoin their lord at the end of time. Since, "those two cities are interwoven and intermixed in this era, and await

separation at the last judgment."220 Among the innumerable sites in this network of holy places some buildings had tremendous prestige, like the Holy Sepulcher in Jerusalem or Hagia Sophia in Constantinople. The Pantheon, now a church devoted to the Holy Mother of God and all the martyrs of Christ, was an important place of worship. The mental map of Medieval Christendom awarded a special symbolism to Rome and its own network of holy sites. The spatial network was also carefully interwoven with a cycle of sacred time. So, certain places were extremely important at certain moments. Thus, time and space had a religious rhythm. In many ways, the sacredness of this spatiotemporal network was deeply rooted in Roman tradition. The Pantheon illustrates perfectly how one tradition was transposed into the next, as the Mirabilia Urbis Romae suggests:

After many ages Pope Boniface, in the time of Phocas[…] seeing that such a marvelous temple, dedicated to the honor of Cybele, mother of the gods, before which Christian people were often stricken by devils, prayed to the emperor to grant this temple to him so that, as it was dedicated to Cybele, mother of the gods, on the Calends of November, he might consecrate it to the Blessed Mary, every-virgin, who is the mother of all the saints, on the Calends of November. Caesar granted this to him, and the pope with whole Roman people on the Calends of November dedicated the temple

219See Augustine, City of God, 1.0 (i.e., the preface). 220Idem, 1.35. 120 and ordained that on that day the Roman pontiff should sing mass there, and the people should take the body and blood of Our Lord as they did on Christmas. On the same day all the saints with their mother, Mary ever- virgin, and the heavenly spirits should have a festival, and throughout the churches of the world the dead would have a sacrifice for the ransom of their souls.221

Augustine's City of God was extremely influential in the consolidation of such spatiotemporal sensibility. The latter was an ideal means to reconstitute (religatio) the link with the divine. In many ways, this system of thought is partially influenced by Varro's lifetime work, delivered in his Antiquities, On the Latin Language, On the Cult of the Gods, On the Roman People, and On Philosophy. His overall approach seems to have influenced Augustine's conception of time and space, since it enabled a comprehensive view of Rome. By interweaving data from multiple fields of knowledge (theology, linguistics, prosopography, philosophy, etc.), he was able to convey a visualization of Rome's essence. This achievement must have been the result of his position as chief librarian of Rome's first public library.222 His Antiquities "were organized around the institutions of the state, treating the priestly colleges, shrines, and festivals of Rome in twelve books, before arriving at the gods for the final three."223 It was an encyclopedic masterpiece, synthesizing the information on all the Roman deities, their specializations, and the locations of their temples across the city. Cicero's appraisal of such work reflects his profound gratitude: "When we were like strangers abroad and lost in our own city, your books led us back home, so to speak, so that at last we were able to recognize who and where we were."224

221Nichols, Marvels of Rome, 1986, 22-3. 222See Benedetto Riposati, "M. Terenzio Varrone: L'Uomo e lo scrittore," In Atti del Congresso Internazionale di studi Varroniani, Rieti, Settembre 1974, v. I, 59-89, (Rieti: Centro di Studi Varroniani, 1976), 65. 223See Feeney, Literature and Religion, 1998, 77-8. 224Cicero, Academica posteriora, 9. For more on Varro's influence on the worldview of the late Republic, 121 With the aid of Varro's work, an educated Roman was able to "construct" a mental map of the city's network of holy places. As a map it brought forth the basic information to determine the proper location and the right time for worship. Since the Varronian encyclopedia not only compiled the names, specialties, and ritual cycles of each deity, but also their place on earth and their time of worship. The compendium provided raw data to construct a mental map correlating divine and human affairs. It surveyed rituals, traditions, beliefs, etc. It was an ambitious chart of everything that was sacred for the Roman People. By tracing the origin of their deities, beliefs, rituals, customs, and words, he was able to offer a comprehensive view of Roman identity. It was a titanic effort to preserve the intangible heritage of his people, by the end of the Republic.225 His work complemented similar efforts by Cicero, Livy, Tacitus, Vergil, Horace, Ovid, and all those intellectuals trying to maintain the essence of an ancestral system that was coming to an end, right before their eyes. Augustine recognized the importance of Varro's lifetime work. That is why he relied on it to debunk the polytheistic mindset.226 see Pierre Gros, Aurea Templa: Recherches sur l'architecture religieuse de Rome à l'époque d'Auguste, (Rome: Ècole Française, 1976); and Andrew Wallace-Hadrill, Rome's Cultural Revolution, (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008). 225Galinsky saw the Varronian influence on the Augustan Age, as follows: "Knowledge was power [...] professional experts had increasingly begun to replace Roman aristocrats as purveyors of knowledge […] Religion (with an obvious connection to the calendar) is a prime example: the polymath Varro's compendium on Human [i.e. Roman] and Divine Antiquities was a landmark and not by coincidence dedicated to pontifex maximus Julius Caesar. Similarly, law and public speaking passed from the realm of the nobles to that of professionals at Cicero's time, and the shift of authority over that all-controlling entity, language, began even sooner. The list does not end here, but one more of its facets deserves mention […] That is the construction and reorganization of the cityscape of Rome. It is one of the dominant images of the period […]the result was a city that was under control because, in contrast to its late Republican predecessor, it was clearly known." See his introduction for The Cambridge Companion to the Age of Augustus, Karl Galinsky, ed., 1-12, (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2005), 3-4; cf. C. Koch, "Der altrömische Staatskult im Spiegel augusteischer und spätrepublikanischer Apologetik," in Religio: Studien zu Kult und Glauben der Römer, C. Koch, ed., 177-99, (Nuremburg, 1960). 226Harald Hagendahl described Varro as "the most productive writer in the Latin tongue." In Augustine's vast literary corpus, he is usually the main source, "not only as regards pagan religion, where he comes in the first place, but also in many other fields of learning." See his work, Augustine and the Latin Classics, 122 Yet, as usual, influence runs on both directions. In many ways, Varro's masterful interweaving of religious cycles and the spatial distribution of temples is highly reminiscent of those itineraries of pilgrimage and compilations of data, known as martyrologia. Their usage to "construct" an equally suggestive vision of Christendom prevailed from the early Middle Ages to the height of the Renaissance. Similar juxtapositions of language, tradition, and holy sites are present in the Einsiedeln Itinerary (810s), the Mirabilia Urbis Romae (1140s), the Martyrologium Romanum of Cesare

Baronio (1586), and the Historia delle stazioni di Roma of Pompeo Ugonio (1588). These works could be characterized as trans-generational collaborations constructing a mental map that emulates those of ancient Romans. This custom reflects a strong sense of continuity between the spatiotemporal sacredness of antiquity and Christianity. This sensibility towards the divine could be seen as a peculiar state of mind, created by a unique process of mediation. The latter made a distinction between reality (here on earth) and inner experience (inhabitation in the heavenly city). This state of mind created a permanent state of symbolic connotation. Keith Lilley explains it very well. The medieval city "was understood as a scaled-down world–a microcosm–linking city and cosmos in the medieval mind." In this view, the "urban landscapes were inscribed with symbolic form through their layout on the ground." For instance, a Carolingian image of Heavenly Jerusalem depicted Christ–as the Lamb of God–at the centre of the city. The latter was "protected by a circle of walls (12 concentric rings representing the disciples of Christ) and four gates (for the evangelists) at each cardinal point." Once again, the quincunx or mandala pattern provides a symbolic representation of a perfectly divine structure. Its geometrical scheme echoes the Pantheon's form and its primordial denotation. In the

Acta Universitatis Gothoburgensis, (Stockholm: Almqvist & Wiskell, 1967), 589. 123 Carolingian depiction, "Jerusalem represented the history of the world, its past, present and future, and its cardinal-orientated circular form signified the cosmic order."227 Perhaps the most representative work of this particular state of mind is Dante's Commedia, in which pilgrimage is equated with spiritual or mystical progress. Its point of departure is the allegorical crisis of middle-age. It is a spiritual wandering through Hell, Purgatory, and Paradise, searching for meaning in life. The first couple of regions, traversed under the guidance of Vergil, lead the main character (Dante himself) to heaven

by the hand of his Beatrice. The entire journey is driven by the experience of love. John Demaray puts it clearly when he states that the narrative is driven by "a longing of love to overcome error and sin in this life." It tries to find "as a pilgrim the true pathways to the holiest temples in the holiest cities," where the "overwhelming yearning of love" may be able "to transcend this mortal realm of suffering and death to rise through spiritual pilgrimage to a vision of Beatrice in heaven."228 In this interpretation, Demaray echoes the mental map of spatiotemporal sacredness, guiding those pilgrims who are trying to attain spiritual "comfort." In this sense, physical travel engenders spiritual growth, enabling pilgrims to reach the ultimate presence of the divine. In mystical terms, the latter is a profound state of ecstasy. Multiple accounts of these

227All quotations come from Keith D. Lilley, "Cities of God? Medieval Urban Forms and Their Christian Symbolism," Transactions of the Institute of British Geographers, New Series, 29, 3(2004):296-313, 296 & 300. For more on the articulation of sacred sites and saints or martyrs, see Alan Thacker, "Rome of the Martyrs: Saints, Cults and Relics, Fourth to Seventh Centuries," in Roma Felix: Formation and Reflections of Medieval Rome, Éamonn Ó Carragáin and Carol Neuman de Vegvar, eds., 13-50, (Aldershot, Hampshire: Ashgate, 2007); and Judith Adler, "The Holy Man as Traveler and Travel Attraction: Early Christian Asceticism and the Moral Problematic of Modernity," in From Medieval Pilgrimage to Religious Tourism: The Social and Cultural Economics of Piety, William H. Swatos, Jr., and Luigi Tomasi, eds., 25- 50 (London: Praeger, 2002). 228See John G. Demaray, "Dante and the Book of the Cosmos," Transactions of the American Philosophical Society, New Series 77, 5(1987):1-114, 1-2. For more on Dante's influence and universality, see Gregory B. Stone, Dante's Pluralism and the Islamic Philosophy of Religion, (New York: Palgrave, 2006); Teodolinda Barolini, The Undivine Comedy: Detheologizing Dante, (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1992); and John Saly, Dante's Paradiso: The Flowering of the Self, An Interpretation of the Anagogical Meaning, (New York: Pace University Press, 1989). 124 mystical states suggest a peculiar relation with specific architectural elements, strategically located in many buildings throughout Christendom, like the rose-windows of Gothic cathedrals or the painted domes of Renaissance churches. These elements may have stimulated visions of ecstasy and vice versa. Many accounts of such visions of ecstasy unveil a strong resonance with the philosophical arguments advancing the primacy of the sphere. Their poetic language transposes some of the metaphysical tenets associated with the divinity of the sphere into the symbolism of the rose. To some degree, the Presocratic Sphere became the Scholastic Rose. The latter became an image describing the luminous presence of a celestial order, encircling the core of divine agency with a far reaching hierarchy of heavenly beings. This image of a luminous rose–advanced mostly through literary and philosophical means–was also depicted in the colorful arrangements of glass windows or the enhanced luminosity of painted domes. In this way, the passivity of architectural denotation is substantially enhanced by the activity of "spiritual" connotations.229 The continuity of rose symbolism from antiquity to this era is simply outstanding. In the Hellenic tradition, the rose was associated with Venus and her handmaidens (the Three Graces). In Christianity, the Virgin is known as "the rose without thorns" (that is, sinless). In a broader context, a red rose symbolized martyrdom and a white one purity. Roses in the apron of a woman are attributes of Elizabeth of Hungary. When drops of blood from St Francis touched the ground, they turned into roses. In a mystical venue, "the rose may be either the chalice into which Christ's blood flowed, or the

229See Helen J. Dow, "The Rose-Window," Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes 20, 3/4(1957)248-97; Christiania Whitehead, Castles of the Mind: A Study of Medieval Architectural Allegory, (Cardiff: University of Wales Press, 2003); Mary J. Carruthers, The Book of Memory: A Study of Memory in Medieval Culture, (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008); and Miguel Asín Palacios, "El símil de los castillos y moradas del alma en la mística islámica y en Santa Teresa." Al-Andalus 11, 2(1946):263- 74. 125 transfiguration of those drops of blood." They are symbols of Christ's wounds. "A Rosicrucian symbol depicts five roses, one at the center and one on each of the four arms of the Cross. This conjures images of the Grail or else the 'Heavenly Rose' of the Redemption." In this image, the center of the cross represents the center of Christ (that is, the Sacred Heart). Once again, geometry denotes the symbolism of the center as a quincunx or mandala.230 In the Pantheon's case, the rose as a luminous presence may have been intimately associated with the dome and its circumscribed sphere. Its primordial denotation–still recognized as an axis mundi–incorporated a new connotation: a Vision of Paradise. The perception of its ordered space was still associated with the shape and order of the universe; yet, it was now linked with a vision of the Holy Trinity or the Virgin, encircled by apostles, saints, martyrs, and angels. It was no longer a vision of basic elements (earth,

230For Jean Chevalier and Alain Gheerbrant, the rose in the West is compared to the lotus in the East, "both being very close to the wheel in symbolic terms. This aspect is, in any case, familiar in India where triparasundari, the Cosmic Rose, is used as a point of comparison with the Divine Mother's beauty." Each tradition awarded different symbolic connotations. (1) For the Hellenistic Mysteries: "roses and the color pink became the symbol of rebirth because of the semantic kinship between the Latin words rosa (rose) and ros, meaning 'dew' or 'rain'[…] In The Golden Ass, Apuleius regained his human shape by eating a garland of roses given to him by the high priest of Isis." The rose-bush "is an image of the born-again, just as dew is a symbol of rebirth." (2) In Christendom, "Angelus Silesius takes the rose for an image of the soul, as well as of Christ who leaves his mark upon it. The Golden Rose, which the Pope used once to bless on the fourth Sunday of Lent, was a symbol of his 'spiritual power and teaching,' but doubtless a symbol of resurrection and of immortality as well." (3) In Islam, the rose garden was a place of contemplation, as a poem by the mystic, Sa'dī of Shiraz, states: "I shall pluck roses from the garden, but I am drunk with the scent of the rose-bush." Christian mystics saw it "as a commentary upon the Rose of Sharon in the Song of Solomon." Abd al-Qadir Jīlānī "compares scars with roses and attributes a mystic meaning to them." (4) In Alchemy: "Whether white or red, roses were the favorite flowers of alchemists, who often entitled their treatises The Rosary of the Philosophers. White roses, 'like lilies, were linked to the white stone, the objective of the first stage of the Work, while the red rose was associated with the red stone, the objective of the second stage. Most of these roses have seven petals, each petal relating either to a metal or an operation of the Work'." See J. Chevalier and A. Gheerbrant, A Dictionary of Symbols, trans. John Buchanan-Brown, (Oxford: Blackwell, 1994), 813-5. "For alchemists, the entire process of psychic transformation takes place sub rosa (under the rose). Denoting silence, the phrase purportedly originated in the story of Eros' gift of a rose to Harpocrates, the god of silence, in grateful recognition of his discretion regarding the illicit amours of Eros' mother Aphrodite." See Ami Ronnberg and Kathleen Martin, eds., The Book of Symbols: Reflections on Archetypal Images, (Cologne: Taschen, 2010), 162-5. 126 water, air, or fire) arranged into concentric spheres, gradually turning into unity by the influence of love. Now, the model was driven by an overwhelming presence of God, identified as a luminous center (oculus), surrounded by a heavenly militia (coffers). An account by Elizabeth of Schöanu illustrates the structural pattern in this vision of ecstasy:

On the Sunday night following the festival of St. James (in the year 1153), drawn from the body, I was borne into an ecstasy. And a great flaming wheel flared in the heaven. Then it disappeared, and I saw a light more splendid than I was accustomed to see; and thousands of saints stood in it, forming an immense circle; having palms and shining crowns and the titles of their martyrdoms inscribed upon their forehead. From these titles, as well as from their pre-eminent splendor, I knew them to be the Apostles. At their right was a great company having the same shining titles. At the left of the Apostles shone the holy order of virgins, also adorned with the signs of martyrdom, and behind them another splendid band of maidens, some crowned. Below it was another circle of great brilliancy, which I knew to be of the holy angels. In the midst of all was a Glory of Supreme Majesty, and its throne was encircled by a rainbow. At the right of that Majesty I saw one like unto the Son of Man, seated in glory; at the left was a radiant sign of the Cross. At the right of the Son of Man sat the Queen of Kings and Angels on a starry throne circumfused with immense light.231

In mystical circles, this experience was characterized as a Vision of Paradise, which implied a momentary fusion of the mystic's soul with the divine. Their allegorical association with the rose had a long tradition. Barbara Seward indicates that even though Dante's conception of Paradise, as a single rose, appears to be one of his most creative innovations, "both the heavenly and earthly Paradises had long been conceived of as gardens filled with roses." Moreover, this flower "had also been the traditional flower of martyred saints." Since the mid 300s, it "had been associated as well with Christ, the supreme martyr of Christianity." Later on, the first attribution of the rose to the Holy

231See, Frederick B. Artz, The Mind of the Middle Ages: An Historical Survey, A.D. 200-1500, (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1980), n. 6 on p. 498. 127 Virgin was advanced "by her twelfth-century devotee, St Bernard. And Mary's rose was the spiritual counterpart of the carnal rose of love for earthly woman, celebrated throughout medieval lyrics and romances and given most notable expression in the Roman de la Rose."232 These connotations may have been consciously transposed to the Pantheon's symbolism when Cesare Baronio consecrated the building to the Madonna della Rosa, in his Martyrologium Romanum of 1586. With this work, Baronio tried to clarify a previous

set of symbolic connotations, associated with the extant network of station churches in

Rome established since the mid 300s CE. Through a systematic revision of Christian historiography and a revaluation of ancient symbolism, Baronio established a new set of connotations for the spatiotemporal network of sacred sites in Rome.233 The Pantheon's consecration to that particular manifestation of the Holy Virgin on March 13th transfused a long mystical tradition associated with martyrdom, the veneration of a Mother Goddess, and the vision of an ordered universe, ruled by a benevolent force, located at the center. It was no coincidence that all these connotations were conflated by the symbolism of the Pantheon. It was a natural location to maintain the continuity of all these traditions, and beliefs. It was a perfect place to envision those mystical speculations about the nature of the divine, crystallizing a millenary tradition.234

232All quotations are from Barbara Seward, "Dante's Mystic Rose," Studies in Philology 52, 4(1955):515- 23; cf. Theodore Silverstein, "Dante's Heavenly Rose: An Analogue or a Borrowing?" The Harvard Theological Review 42, 2(1949):149-54; and Robert A. Holland, "Dante's White Rose of Paradise," The Sewanee Review 13, 4(1905):385-400. Regarding Dante's mysticism, see Joanna M. Sciortino Nowlan, "Dante and the Mystical Tradition: The Sphere of the Sun," in Dante and His Literary Precursors: Twelve Essays, John C. Barnes and Jennifer Petrie, eds., 261-88 (Portland: Four Courts Press, 2007). 233For Baronio's influence on the renewal of Rome's network of station churches, see Pasquali, Il Pantheon, 1996, 24-8. To identify his particular relation with certain intellectual circles deeply interested in the esoteric knowledge of antiquity and the influence of Marsilio Ficino's translation of the Corpus Hermeticum on his Martyrologium, see Brian Curran, The Egyptian Renaissance: The Afterlife of Ancient Egypt in Early Modern Italy, (Chicago: Chicago University Press, 2007), 89-99 & 282. 234The adjudication of ancient round buildings for the veneration of the Virgin and her company of Christian martyrs received special attention from Krautheimer. They were known as memoriae or martyria. 128 Dante's Commedia epitomizes the poetry of these visualizations. Its expression of mystical love reflects a strong continuity with Presocratic and Stoic beliefs. Ovid's vision of a single living entity–allegorically represented as a globe–is also present in this work. Love is more than a vehicle to attain a vision of ecstasy; it is the ideal means for the spiritual realization of life. These notions reverberate with the Empedoclean belief that "All is One," when Love conquers Strife. The temporal arc connecting these beliefs from the early 600s BCE to the late 1400s CE reveals a high degree of continuity. Few cultures in history have maintained such continuity. Dante's words preserve and innovate some of the most important ("deep-core") beliefs in Western Civilization. The transmigration of the Presocratic Sphere to the Scholastic Rose is a testament such outstanding continuity:

From matter's largest sphere, we now have reached the heaven of pure light, light of the intellect, light filled with love, love of true good, love filled with happiness […] Above, on high, there is a light that makes apparent the Creator to the creature whose only peace lies in seeing Him. The shape which that light takes as it expands is circular, and its circumference would be too great a girdle for the sun […] And as a hill is mirrored in waters at its base, as if to see itself−when rich with grass and flowers−graced, so, in a thousand tiers that towered above the light, encircling it, I saw, mirrored, all of us who have won return above.235

The earliest dedication of a Roman mausoleum to St Mary−with niches in its peripheral walls and an opaion in its vault−was at Daurade in Toulouse. The mosaics decorating its vault represented "the Virgin leading prophets, apostles, evangelists, archangels, patriarchs, the tribes of Israel and its martyrs towards the Savior." See Krautheimer, "Sancta Maria Rotonda," in Arte del primo millennio, Atti del II convegno per lo studio dell'arte dell'alto medio evo tenuto presso l'Università di Pavia nel settembre 1950, Edoardo Arslan, ed., 21-7, (Turin, 1953), 22. Cf. idem, "Introduction to an 'Iconography of Mediaeval Architecture'," Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes 5(1942):1-33. 235Dante, Paradiso, 30.038-117. 129 This vision of a heavenly rose that sparks from a pool of water seems to be a lyric ploy to describe something that, in essence, is pure light. The manner in which this splendorous radiance reveals a fractal structure is compared to the petals of a perfect rose. Subsequent layers of symbolism step forth, as Dante play with a chromatic sequence of roses appearing and disappearing. At the center of the rose, resides the divine: "There, near and far do not subtract or add; / for where God governs with no mediator, / no thing depends upon the laws of nature." The next stanza is full of sublime juxtapositions: "Nel giallo de la rosa sempiterna, / che si digrada e dilata e redole / odor di lode al sol che sempre verna, [Into the yellow of the eternal Rose / that slopes and stretches and diffuses fragrance / of praise unto the Sun of endless spring]." The translation misses the beauty of Dante's description of the rhythm of breathing, since the terms digrada e dilata indicate that the aroma, praising the warmth of a perpetual state of spring, arises from the expansion and contraction of this "eternal Rose." The passage is immersed in Stoic metaphysics. The chromatic symbolism in the transition from a "lake" of sparkling light (red) into a resplendent "perennial rose" (yellow) reflects a belief in spiritual progression, as the last stage in the sequence implies the attainment of spiritual perfection (white):

So, in the shape of that white Rose, the holy legion was shown to me−the host that Christ, with His own blood, had taken as His bride. The other host, which, flying, sees and sings the glory of the One who draws its love, and that goodness which granted such glory, just like a swarm of bees that, at one moment, enters the flowers and, at another, turns back to that labor which yields such sweet savor, descended into that vast flower graced with many petals, then again rose up to the eternal dwelling of its love.236

236Dante, Paradiso, 31.001-12. 130 These passages from Dante's Commedia reveal the limitations of architecture as a semiotic agent when it is in contrast with the richness of language. The latter is the ultimate vehicle of communication. Architecture is not. However, the spatial and geometrical schemes of certain buildings seem to act as "templates" for complex visualizations. In this way, architecture participates only as a passive agent, when imagination takes over. The Pantheon's structure and Dante's rose symbolism are a case in point. The dome with a circle of light at its loftiest position echoes the vision of ecstasy

in which the ultimate expression of the divine is envisioned as a luminous presence at the center of a circular pattern. The concentric array of coffers resonates with the encircling armies of angels, saints, and martyrs. Dante's words reverberate with the spatial scheme, structural arrangement, and ornamental programme of this building with the same freedom as it does with others like Hagia Sophia or Notre-Dame de Chartres. The quality of these buildings enhances the visions of ecstasy included in the master narrative of Christianity. The strength of any religious sermon or political speech will always be enhanced when they are delivered in any of these buildings. In fact, the enduring permanence of architecture enables the continuity of master narratives, as they are transmitted from one generation to the next. Words and buildings collaborate in the constitution of cultural identity. They enable the transmission of heritage through a dual pathway (tangible and intangible), each with different capabilities to establish communication (passive and active). A building needs the active participation of human imagination. The building is only a foundation. The permanence of its primordial denotation sometimes allows the continuity of highly complex narratives. The Pantheon is just an example of these fortunate conditions. It is the product of a particular combination of historical processes, enabling a rather positive continuity of heritage. Unfortunately, other buildings and cultures did not have the same fortune. 131 TEOTIHUACAN'S SUN PYRAMID

Part I: Condensed History

Y todo esto pasó con nosotros. / Nosotros lo vimos […] era nuestra herencia una red de agujeros. / Con los escudos fue su resguardo, / pero ni con escudos puede ser sostenida su soledad.237

Como una pintura / nos iremos borrando. Como una flor, / nos iremos secando.238

The first example of the terrible loss of heritage in this case study is attested by the simple fact that all the names we use to describe its people, city, and buildings are not original. They were given by a different people, speaking a foreign language. The city was never called Teotihuacan by its own citizens. Its principal monument was not known as "Sun Pyramid." All these names stem from interpretations made by the Aztec, almost a full millennium after the city was abandoned. The loss of heritage is double, because the legacy of these interpreters would also be systematically destroyed by the Spanish Conquest of Mesoamerica. Since this period, the study of Teotihuacan has been entangled in a serious historiographic paradox. Its main obstacle resides at the intersection of high degrees of indeterminacy in the archaeological evidence, the loss of continuity in the worldview of most Mesoamerican peoples, and the need to attain a significative connection with its enigmatic heritage. Teotihuacan lies at the center of this paradox.

237"And all this came to pass upon us. We saw it […] our inheritance was like a net full of holes. With shields it was protected; but, shields cannot help us withstand its solitude." Cantares mexicanos, fol. 7r, translated by Miguel Léon-Portilla, in Antigua y nueva palabra: Antología de la literatura mesoamericana, desde los tiempos precolombinos hasta el presente, Miguel León-Portilla and Earl Shorris, eds., (Mexico City: Aguilar, 2004), 230-1. 238"Like a painting / we shall fade away. Like a flower, / we shall wither." Cantos de Nezahualcóyotl, "Somos mortales," translated by Miguel Léon-Portilla, in Antigua y nueva palabra, León-Portilla and Shorris, eds., 2004, 193. 132 Once again, part of the problem arises from the permanence of a primordial denotation, mostly associated with its principal monument, the so-called "Pyramid of the Sun."

The city reached a pinnacle of political and cultural influence by the mid 500s CE. Almost three centuries later, the city vanished, almost without a trace, from the historical record. It is unclear how much of its legacy was incorporated by other groups occupying

the Central Highlands by the late 900s CE. For them, the city's past was already a mystery. There is no direct link between these "newcomers" and the ancient inhabitants.

The continuity was broken. The same phenomenon happened again by the late 1200s. The new settlers were constituted by multiple waves of Aztec migration. The Mexica were the last group to descend upon the Central Highlands. Their speculations on previous cultures dominate our understanding of Teotihuacan in the last half millennium. Only with the recent aid of archaeology we have been able to question their assumptions. Yet, there still are innumerable unresolved issues, concerning the ethnic origin and cultural filiation of its "original" founders. This condition poses serious limitations for higher interpretations, because as René Millon rightly points out, "how truly distinctive and unusual Teotihuacan society and its culture were and how much Teotihuacan differed from its predecessors, contemporaries, and successors."239 To recognize the primordial denotation of Teotihuacan as a whole and the Sun Pyramid in particular, it is necessary to visualize the scale of the city. At the time of its height more than 125,000 inhabitants lived in 2,000 multi-household compounds, occupying almost 20 square kilometers. Its urban fabric followed an orthogonal grid, articulated by a main axis, which the Aztec called Miccaotli ("Avenue of the Dead"). It has a north-south orientation with a 17 degree deviation east-of-north. The civic and

239See René Millon, "Teotihuacan Studies: From 1950 to 1990 and Beyond," In Art, Ideology, and the City of Teotihuacan: A Symposium at Dumbarton Oaks, 8th and 9th October 1988, Janet C. Berlo, ed., 339-419, (Washington, DC: Dumbarton Oaks, Trustees for Harvard University, 1992), 371. 133 religious core occupies the upper half of the axis, protected by a system of elevated platforms, heavy walls, and the reconfiguration of many rivers. At the north end, a large plaza and pyramid face south. Given this orientation, the Aztecs thought it must have been consecrated to a lunar cult (Metztli itzacual). The largest structure, located further down the axis and facing west, was identified as a solar cult (Tonatiuh itzacual). These interpretations provide the names "Moon Pyramid" and "Sun Pyramid," respectively. The city may have been revered as a holy place, given its crystallization of a perfect order. Its urban scheme had a powerful interaction with the landscape, which seems to have implied an articulation of human affairs with the supernatural forces controlling the universe. Throughout Mesoamerica the structure of the universe is visualized as a center surrounded by four regions and four corners. Each inhabited by different forces or deities. The quadripartite structure of space is interlocked with the cycles of sacred time. As the latter moves forward, it traverses each region. The movement of time through space engenders different types of influence over human affairs. This particular understanding of life seems to have been universally accepted by all Mesoamerican peoples. It has even survived among contemporary groups of Mexican "Indians."240 Certain images by Wirarika (Huichol) Indians display a quadripartite vision of the universe that is highly reminiscent of a passage from the Popol Vuh:

Having laid out the lines and parallels of heaven and earth, a perfect ending was given to all, dividing it in parallels and weathers. All being laid out in order, a square divided in four sections was achieved, as if everything had been measured with a rope, producing four corners and four sides.241

240See Alfredo López-Austin, Tamoanchan, Tlalocan: Places of Mist, (Niwot: University Press of Colorado, 1997); and Fernando Benítez, Los indios de México, (Mexico City: Ediciones Era, 1967). 241Popol Vuh: Antiguas historias de los indios quiches de Guatemala, trans. Albertina Saravia E., (Mexico City: Editorial Porrúa,1965), 1; cf. Kathleen Berrin, "Art of Being Huichol," Natural History 88, 8(2004):68-75; and Susana Eger Valadez, "How Huichol Ceremonies Balance the World," in Huichol Art and Culture: Balancing the World, Melissa S. Powell and C. Jill Grady, eds., 79-88,( Santa Fe: Museum of New Mexico Press, 2010) 134

Figure 9: Teotihuacan, site plan and hypothetic reconstruction of its urban core.

The spatial scheme of Teotihuacan is a perfect crystallization of such vision. Its main axis aligns a huge mountain on the north (Cerro Gordo) with the Moon Pyramid, and a small depression surrounded by small hills next to a large mountain on the south (Cerro Patlachique). The Sun Pyramid located on the east side of the Avenue is also aligned with a small mountain on the west (Cerro Malinal). From every quadrant of the city, the presence of these massive elements, the Sun Pyramid and Cerro Malinal, seems equal. Thus, the urban grid was interlocked with the landscape by these axes. The city's center was ruled by a cross interconnecting these "powerful" elements: Moon Pyramid and Cerro Gordo (north), Sun Pyramid (east), Cerro Patlachique (south), and Cerro

135 Malinal (west). Their presence in the city established a strong sense of order, rooted in the actual form of the landscape. If we accept the astronomical hypotheses for the awkward deviation of its main axis, Teotihuacan was also interlocked with sacred time. The alignment of the Sun Pyramid with the sunset of August 13th suggests a possible with the celebration of New Year by other Mesoamerican peoples. These hypotheses are also rooted in Aztec mythopoeia, which may have superimposed some oral traditions surviving the enigmatic collapse of Teotihuacan with its mysterious ruins.242 Yet, as provocative as these connotations may be, they are pure speculation. Unfortunately, the transmission of Teotihuacan's legacy was seriously disrupted from the historical unfolding of subsequent peoples. This condition produced an irreversible loss of heritage.

A Mesoamerican Sanctuary

The ancient city we now call Teotihuacan became a highly influential center, probably a religious-mercantile sanctuary, whose culture profoundly affected the rest of

Mesoamerica by the mid 400s CE. Its main pyramid may have been considered one of the most important "shrines" of the entire region, attracting pilgrims from territories beyond the Central Highlands. In many ways, Teotihuacan inherited this role from previous civilizations located in the Basin of Mexico. The primacy of this region is awarded by the self-sufficiency of its natural resources.243 The earliest occupation of the Basin dates back

242See R. Millon, "The Place Where Time Began: An Archaeologist's Interpretation of What Happened in Teotihuacan History," Teotihuacan: Art From the City of the Gods, Kathleen Berrin and Esther Pasztory, eds., 17-43, (San Francisco: Thames and Hudson, Fine Arts Museums of San Francisco, 1993); David Drucker, "The Shorter Day of the Year at Teotihuacan and the Solution to the Problem of the Orientation of the Ancient City and the Location of its Major Structures," Paper presented at a joint meeting of the Consejo Nacional de Ciencia y Tecnología and American Association for the Advancement of Science, 1973, (n.d.); and Vincent Malmström, Cycles of the Sun, Mysteries of the Moon: The Calendar in Mesoamerican Civilization, (Austin: University of Texas Press, 1997). 243See William Sanders, "Ecological Adaptation in the Basin of Mexico: 23,000 B.C. to the Present," in Supplement to the Handbook of Middle American Indians, V. I, Archaeology, Victoria R. Bricker and 136 to 23,000 BCE, in certain places like Tlapacoya, a small mountain on the southeast edge

of the central lakes. As early as 1,500 BCE this area was already occupied by almost 2,500 individuals, while the Teotihuacan Valley was practically uninhabited. However,

by 650 BCE, this Valley had a small population of hunter-gatherers (ar. 700 people) mining obsidian, one of the most important resources in Mesoamerica. They were marginalized groups on the fringe of an agricultural system occupying the south of the Basin. This area was controlled by Cuicuilco, an urban settlement with 5,000 inhabitants

by 650 BCE. By the late 300s, the city had 10,000 people, while Teotihuacan had almost 4,000. The latter's demographic explosion may have been driven by their long-range trade of obsidian, which may have complemented their incipient agricultural system. Some of their obsidian artifacts may have reached the large Olmec site of San Lorenzo in the Gulf of Mexico.244 It is unclear what triggered Teotihuacan's urban revolution. Archaeological data

shows that by 150 BCE a settlement of 4 km² was inhabited by 5,000 individuals. At that time, Cuicuilco had more than 20,000 people, concentrated in a large urban settlement equipped with many public buildings. The main monument was a circular pyramid, a truncated cone (a diameter of 112.50 m at the base and 18 m high). It had a ramp oriented

Jeremy Sabloff, eds., 147-197, (Austin: University of Texas Press, 1981), 148-9; and Atlántida Coll- Hurtado, México: Una visión geográfica, V. II: Textos de carácter general: Temas selectos de geografía de México, (Mexico City: Instituto de Geografía de la UNAM and Plaza y Valdés, 2000). 244Chemical analyses of obsidian from San Lorenzo show that a small percentage of artifacts came from the Teotihuacan Valley. See Robert H. Cobean, James R. Vogt, Michael D. Glascock, and Terrance L. Stocker, "High-Precision Trace-Element Characterization of Major Mesoamerican Obsidian Sources and Further Analyses of Artifacts from San Lorenzo Tenochtitlan, Mexico," Latin American Antiquity 2, 1(1991):69-91. By 600 BCE, the urban centers of Tlaxcala also had vast quantities of obsidian from Teotihuacan. See David M. Carballo, Jennifer Carballo, and Hector Neff, "Formative and Classic Period Obsidian Procurement in Central Mexico: A Compositional Study Using Laser Ablation-Inductively Coupled Plasma-Mass Spectrometry," Latin American Antiquity 18, 1(2007):27-43. For more on the exploitation, manufacture, and trade of obsidian in Teotihuacan see Michael W. Spence, "Obsidian Production and the State in Teotihuacan," American Antiquity 46, 4(1981):769-88. For their interaction with the Olmec, see Christopher A. Pool, Olmec Archaeology and Early Mesoamerica, (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2007), 92-105, 179-84, & 205-10. 137 two degrees north-of-east, facing the majestic volcanoes Iztaccíhuatl and Popocatépetl. Cuicuilco controlled the best agricultural area of the entire Basin, given its higher rainfall and soil fertility. Its proximity to the sweet water lakes increased its sources of nourishment. But, the benefit of these advantages came to an end, when a small volcano

(Xitle) erupted in 50 CE. More than 160 km² of land was covered with lava. The entire settlement was destroyed. It was a catastrophe!245 By that time, Teotihuacan had grown considerably. George Cowgill estimates that

around "1 BCE the city covered about 8 km² and probably had a population of 20,000 to 40,000."246 The settlement was located on the southwest piedmont of Cerro Gordo. The southbound flow of several rivers towards the Basin nurtured a small are of intense agricultural production. One of them, the River San Juan, was a natural boundary for the protection of the incipient city. A small hill (Cerro Malinal) provided some protection as well. The settlement's location, with its back against Cerro Gordo, did not affect the exploitation of the fertile lands on the south. There are few remains of any public structures with a clear religious function from this period. Only a few, relatively small, earthen mounds–faced with irregular uncut stones and cobbles set in mud mortar–were uncovered in the last couple of decades.247

245See Byron Cummings, Cuicuilco and the Archaic Culture of Mexico, Social Sciences Bulletin, vol. 4, no. 8, (Tucson: University of Arizona, 1933), 12 & 26-31; Daniel Schávelzon, La pirámide de Cuicuilco: Álbum fotográfico, 1922-1980, (Mexico City: Fondo de Cultura Económica, 1983); and Evelyn Rattray, Teotihuacan: Cerámica, cronología y tendencias culturales / Teotihuacan: Ceramics, Chronology and Cultural Trends, (Mexico City: Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia, University of Pittsburgh, 2000), 357. 246See George Cogwill, "State and Society at Teotihuacan, Mexico," Annual Review of Anthropology, 26(1997):129-61, 133. 247See René Millon, Bruce Drewitt, and James A. Bennyhoff, "The Pyramid of the Sun at Teotihuacán: 1959 Investigations," Transactions of the American Philosophical Society, 55, 6(1965):1-94, 34; cf. R. Millon, Urbanization at Teotihuacán, Mexico. Volume One: The Teotihuacán Map, Part One: Text, (Austin: University of Texas Press, 1973). 138 It is also unclear if the famous cave beneath the Sun Pyramid was already in use, at the time. "The cave, together with others in the valley, was formed about one million years ago by lava flows which created bubbles that remained as subterranean caves and often served as outlets of springs."248 Archaeological research in this cave has been unable to determine the extent of its natural origin or its modification by early Teotihuacanos. It may have been entirely carved out for the construction of the Pyramid. The cave begins with a stairway carved directly into the bedrock, descending seven meters underground. At the bottom there is a tunnel, one hundred meters long. Across the tunnel there are multiple walls, defining a sequence of "chambers." Near the mid-point, two large chambers open up to a central space. At the end of the tunnel there is a larger space with a quadrilateral scheme that is defined by four lobules. The footprint of the entire cave resembles a four-petal-flower. There are traces of a drainage system made with interlocking stones. According to Millon, "water was brought into the cave and artificially made to flow through drain channels." Moreover, there were remains of "charcoal in great abundance, sometimes in fire pits, sometimes from smaller fires." Jeffrey Altschul found "offerings of fragments of iridescent shell surrounded by enormous quantity of tiny fish bones."249 The cave was mostly used throughout the first century CE. In the beginning, the cave may have been an isolated shrine amidst agricultural fields. A couple of earthen mounds, like the one described

248See Doris Heyden, "Caves, Gods, and Myths: World-View and Planning in Teotihuacan," in Mesoamerican Sites and World-Views: A Conference at Dumbarton Oaks, 16th and 17th October 1976, Elizabeth P. Benson, ed., 1-39, (Washington, DC: Dumbarton Oaks, Trustees for Harvard University, 1981), 3; and idem, "An Interpretation of the Cave underneath the Pyramid of the Sun in Teotihuacan, Mexico," American Antiquity 40, 2(1975):131-47. 249See Millon, "Teotihuacan: City, State and Civilization," in Bricker and Sabloff, Supplement Handbook American Indians, 1981, 198-243, 231-4. For a survey of the cave, see George T. Baker Hall III, Hugh Harleston Jr., Alfonso Rangel, Matthew Wallrath, Manuel Gaitán, and Alfonso Morales, "The Subterranean System of the Sun Pyramid at Teotihuacan: A Physical Description and Hypothetical Reconstruction," Paper delivered at the XLI Congreso Internacional de Americanistas, Mexico City, 1974, (Mexico City: Grupo Uac-Kan, 1974). 139 above, were located at the entrance of the tunnel and above the four-petal-chamber. Unfortunately, these structures were highly disturbed with the construction of the Pyramid in the early 100s.

Figure 10: Cave beneath the Sun Pyramid, axonometric and plan.

The importance of the cave and its earthen mounds is essential to understand Teotihuacan, not only as a major urban settlement, but as a mythic place. The connotations associated with the cave seem to have resonated with powerful concepts, in the Mesoamerican worldview. The cave's alignment–indexed by the earthen mounds– marks the sunset of two extremely important days in the agricultural cycle of Mesoamerica (April 30th and August 13th).250 The first date marked the arrival of the rainy season, the second the harvest. Time was "bundled" in packages of 13 days

250Vincent Malmström explains how the art of "mastering celestial mechanics" allowed different peoples in Mesoamerica to develop a highly sophisticated system for time-keeping. His study traces back the its evolution since the early Olmec to the Aztec, explaining how the latter came up with a ritual calendar of 260 days and a solar calendar of 360+5 days. According to him, the point of origin of this sophisticated system may have been linked to the zenithal passages of the sun at the Soconusco region (latitude 14.8º N), which coincide with the dates of April 30th and August 13th (separated by 260 days). The second zenithal passage may have been more auspicious in the part of Mesoamerica, since the night before the canopy of the rain forest is "electrified" by a meteor shower, called the Perseid. See his work, Cycles of the Sun, 1997, 43-105. 140 (trecena). The lapse of time between April and August had eight trecenas (104 days), while the period between August and April had twenty trecenas (260 days). The cycle was divided in two. The first period was devoted to the active maintenance of the fields.

The second period allowed the land to recuperate its fertility. By the late 200s CE, the alignment of the cave–measuring an approximate deviation of 15º 30' from the cardinal points–became the regulating axis of the city's urban fabric.251 The entire grid was ruled by the "Avenue of the Dead," a perpendicular axis to the cave's alignment. In a relatively short period of time, the city incorporated tens of thousands of people to occupy almost 2,000 residential compounds, all of them regulated by these axes. Teotihuacan's urban revolution was probably grounded on the effective reception of a large migration of people from the Central Highlands, after a series of volcanic eruptions may have shaken the ideological foundation of its inhabitants. The symbolism of the Sun Pyramid may have been associated with some type of explanation and consolation for these tragic events. Its construction began in the early 100s CE, shortly after the eruptions of Xitle and the mighty Popocatépetl. The latter devastated an area of 50 km² in the Tlaxcala-Puebla Valley. It must have been a period of panic and despair. The unaffected settlements in the Teotihuacan and Cholula regions attracted its survivors. Almost instantly, their social and urban structures were radically transformed.252 The newcomers brought with them high levels of urban culture. Some of the most representative traits of the Classical Teotihuacan Style (300-900s CE), like the famous

251See Malmström, Cycles of the Sun, 1997, 43-105; Anthony F. Aveni, Skywatchers: A Revised & Updated Version of Skywatchers of Ancient Mexico, (Austin: University of Texas Press, 2001), 49-94 & 222-34; Ivan Šprajc, "Astronomical Alignments at Teotihuacan, Mexico," Latin American Antiquity 11, 4(2000):403-15; and Ilan Vit-Suzan, "Principios de urbanismo en Mesoamérica," Revista de la Universidad de México, Nueva Época, 22(2005):74-85. 252See Millon, Urbanization at Teotihuacán, 1973; and Cogwill, "State and Society," 1997. 141 talud-tablero or the huehuetéotl fire censers ("old-man" effigies) came from the earlier settlements of Tlalancaleca in Tlaxcala and Cuicuilco in the Basin of Mexico.253

By the end of the first century CE, the Sun Pyramid and the first stage of the Avenue of the Dead were probably finished.254 The massive structure was connected with an older monument (Moon Pyramid) at the north end of the Avenue. The latter may have been the traditional shrine of the city before its demographic explosion. It had already been re-constructed three times. The earliest structure was very small, a quadrilateral platform of 23.50 m on each side. It was located at the center of a structure that contemporary archaeologists call an abutted platform (plataforma adosada).255 Teotihuacan's "pyramid-style" is usually conformed four superimposed quadrilateral platforms (truncated pyramids), a central stairway, and an abutted platform. The latter is decorated with talud-tableros, which combine two forms: a short truncated pyramid, and a quadrilateral volume with marquees on all facades. Another important trait of this typology, present in most buildings of public relevance, is their location on the east side of a plaza or a larger architectural complex and the alignment of their main stairway

253The cultural relation between the Basin of Mexico and the Tlaxcala-Puebla Valley, at the time of Teotihuacan's expansion, has not been fully analyzed. It may shed some light on a possible Olmec filiation. Explorations by Ángel García Cook in Tlalancaleca reveal a high level of civilization, by the late 300s BCE. So far, the site has the earliest talud-tableros in the region, as well as "old-man" burners and multiple stelae with images that resemble the glyphs from La Ventilla, in Teotihuacan. The site also had calendric stones with "a decoration of flowers with four petals radiating from a central circle." See his work, "The Historical Importance of Tlaxcala in the Cultural Development of the Central Highlands," in Bricker and Sabloff, Supplement Handbook American Indians, 1981, 244-76, especially pp. 248-62 & figs. 8-8 to 8-19. The four-petal-flowers remind Teotihuacan murals and Monument 3 in La Blanca, Guatemala. See Michael Love and Julia Guernsey, "Sociedad y estilo en la costa del Pacífico en el Preclásico medio," In Olmeca: Balances y perspectivas. Memoria de la primera mesa redonda, María Teresa Uriarte and Rebecca B. González Lauck, eds., 89-111, (Mexico City: Instituto de Investigaciones Estéticas, UNAM; CONACULTA, INAH; Fundación Arqueológica del Nuevo Mundo, Brigham Young University, 2008), 103-5 & fig. 6. 254See Robert Eliot Smith, A Ceramic Sequence From the Pyramid of the Sun, Mexico, (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1987), 257-9; cf. Millon, "Teotihuacan Studies," 1992, 382-93. 255See Saburo Sugiyama and Leonardo López Luján, eds., Sacrificios de consagración en la Pirámide de la Luna, (Mexico City: CONACULTA-INAH, Museo del Templo Mayor, and Arizona State University, 2006), 11-52. 142 facing west. This typology is easily identified in many sites beyond Teotihuacan, like Kaminaljuyu or Tikal in Guatemala.256 The abutted platform had great importance in most sites, since they usually contain large amounts of offerings and burials.257 In the case of the Sun Pyramid, it marked the entrance to the underground cave. Unfortunately, it was highly disturbed in ancient times, probably by Aztec looting. On the other hand, the abutted platform of the Moon Pyramid remained practically untouched. In recent decades, its exploration revealed a complex constructive sequence and a sophisticated system of offerings and sacrifices. Most of them were related with its earliest stages and the Pyramid's stairway. The re-constructions seem to have followed intervals of fifty years–perhaps, more accurately, cycles of fifty two years–starting in the early 100s until the late 400s. Each stage enlarged the overall mass of the Moon Pyramid, maintaining the abutted platform as an "anchor." In this way, the building grew on its northern side. Clearly, the location of the abutted platform was considered a sacred spot. While the offerings from the Moon Pyramid offer a wealth of data, the Sun Pyramid is practically silent.258 Several explorations from the early 1900s reveal a sequence of constructive stages for its abutted platform as well. However, the offerings had already been lost. This is another clear example of Teotihuacan's loss of heritage.

256See Ignacio Marquina, Arquitectura Prehispánica, (Mexico City: Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia, 1990); George Kubler, The Art and Architecture of Ancient America: The Mexican, Maya, and Andean Peoples, (New York: Penguin Books, 1984); and María Teresa Uriarte and Claudia Brittenham, eds., Pre-Columbian Architecture in Mesoamerica, (New York: Abbeville Press, 2010). 257For an excellent compendium of Teotihuacan burials and offerings, see Martha Sempowski and Michael Spence, Urbanization at Teotihuacan, Mexico. Volume One, The Teotihuacan Map. Part Three: Mortuary Practices and Skeletal Remains at Teotihuacan, Mexico, (Salt Lake City: University of Utah Press, 1994). 258To identify the disproportionate evidence from Teotihuacan's monuments, compare the following works: for the Sun Pyramid see Millon et al., "Pyramid of the Sun," 1965; for the Moon Pyramid see Sugiyama and López Luján, Sacrificios de consagración, 2006; and for the Quetzalcóatl Pyramid see Saburo Sugiyama, "Burials Dedicated to the Old Temple of Quetzalcoatl at Teotihuacan, Mexico," American Antiquity 54, 1(1989):85-106. 143 The first archaeological exploration of the Sun Pyramid was conducted by Leopoldo Batres in the early 1900s. This pioneering work was severely challenged by the lack of a robust knowledge-base, scant historical records, and an incipient philological tradition. Simply, there were not enough studies to guide his exploration, reconstruction, and interpretation of archaeological evidence. The materials he uncovered posed serious questions. Batres did not have a point of comparison to guide his interpretations. Yet, some of his instinctive reactions were quite sensible.259 One of them reflects an innate understanding of Mesoamerican traditions dealing with the periodic superposition of constructive stages. This insight allowed him to speculate the existence of an earlier stage beneath the rubble and vegetation that covered the Pyramid for more than a millennium. Unfortunately, the structure he uncovered was just the nucleus of the Pyramid. Its original façade had been lost forever. The building we see today is the modern consolidation of an ancient fill. Few original fragments were actually uncovered by Batres. His preliminary assumption may have backfired, because the operations he carried out to uncover a "pristine" early stage obliterated the information that may have been dispersed throughout the rubble he systematically removed. Data on possible stucco decorations or mural paintings may have been part of the rubble he simply discarded. One of his most important discoveries was a complex ritual offering, associated with the Pyramid's consecration in the mid 100s CE. Unfortunately, he did not properly examine and register the archaeological context of these offerings. His descriptions are scant. He may have felt uncomfortable to describe the findings in detail. Moreover, the

259For more on the relevance of Batres's pioneering work, see Ignacio Bernal, A History of Mexican Archeology: The Vanished Civilizations of Middle America, (London: Thames and Hudson, 1980), 142- 59; Peter Tompkins, Mysteries of the Mexican Pyramids, (New York: Harper and Row, 1976), 185-225; and Daniel Schávelzon, La conservación del patrimonio cultural en América Latina: Restauración de edificios prehispánicos en Mesoamérica, 1750-1980, (Buenos Aires: Instituto de Arte Americano e Investigaciones Estéticas "Mario J. Buschiazzo" and the Universidad de Buenos Aires, Facultad de Arquitectura, Diseño y Urbanismo, 1990), 47-66. 144 archaeometric advancements of the age did not provide more data of the osseous materials. In a memoir presented at the XV International Congress of Americanistas, he described this ritual as "The Macabre Myths in the Pyramid of the Sun:"

In each angle of the four bodies of the pyramid, I uncovered the skeleton of a boy that seemed to have been six years old, squatted and looking towards the direction marked by each of those angles.260

According to Pedro Armillas and Ignacio Marquina, the main structure at the

Citadel, the so-called Pyramid of Quetzalcóatl had similar offerings.261 From this point

forward this structure will receive a more neutral label, Feathered Serpent Pyramid (FSP). Given this data, both structures (Sun Pyramid and FSP) had offerings of children in the four corners of each platform. Their bodies faced outwards, in diagonal. The children consecrating the Sun Pyramid may have been part of a more complex ensemble of sacrifices, although the evidence is lost. The consecration of the FSP in the early 200s had an extremely sophisticated ensemble, discovered in the mid 1980s. Its wealth of data, just like that of the Moon Pyramid, sheds some light on Teotihuacan's enigmatic cosmovision.262 They compensate the loss of heritage in the Sun Pyramid. The sacrifices the fifth stage of the Moon Pyramid reveal a unique resonance with the primordial denotation of Teotihuacan's urban scheme and a possible relation with its connotation of "divine powers" residing at the four regions of the universe. These rituals of consecration

260Leopoldo Batres, Teotihuacán: Memoria que presenta Leopoldo Batres, Inspector General de los Monumentos Arqueológicos de la República Mexicana al XV Congreso Internacional de Americanistas…, (Mexico City: Fidencio S. Soria, 1906), 22. 261See Pedro Armillas, "Teotihuacán, Tula y los Toltecas: Las culturas post-arcáicas y pre-aztecas del centro de México. Excavaciones y estudios, 1922-50," Runa 3, 1-2(1950):37-70, 44; and Ignacio Marquina, "Arquitectura Prehispánica," Memorias del Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia, No. 1, (Mexico City: Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia, 1951), 87. 262See Alfredo López Austin, Leonardo López Luján, and Saburo Sugiyama, "The Temple of Quetzalcoatl at Teotihuacan: Its Possible Ideological Significance," Ancient Mesoamerica 2(1991):93-105; and Karl Taube, "The Temple of Quetzalcoatl and the Cult of Sacred War at Teotihuacan," RES: Anthropology and Aesthetics 21(1992):53-87. 145 show a recurrent pattern for the array of offerings (humans, animals, and artifacts). The data and context from the Moon Pyramid and FSP were superbly recorded and published. Analyses of oxygen-isotope ratios in skeletal phosphate of human offerings reveal a custom that is very different from its counterparts in the rest of Mesoamerica. In most places, particularly Maya or Zapotec, human remains in public monuments are commonly associated with the burial of nobility. In Teotihuacan human remains seem more like high ranking prisoners offered as acts of consecration. Unfortunately, the loss of heritage from the Sun Pyramid challenges our ability to advance a solid interpretation. Its visualization is based on analogy with the findings from the Moon Pyramid and FSP. A comparison of their offerings suggests they were conceived as an ensemble, ruled by the quadrilateral symbolism of the universe. Nearly every single building in Teotihuacan is governed by a quadripartite scheme ruled by the axis of the great avenue. Yet, each building has its own orientation: the Sun Pyramid and FSP are in the east facing west; the Moon Pyramid is in the north facing south. In this sense, these structures are urban artifacts articulated by a sacred model of time and space. Their interlocked alignments with the landscape are associated with a time-keeping system. The manipulation of time and space was masterly directed to synchronize human activities with the agricultural cycle. One of the most fascinating offerings in the Moon Pyramid

(fourth construction stage, ar. 250 CE) reveals a powerful use of symbols to express their sacred model of the universe. This version seems to resonate with other Mesoamerican traditions, recognizing an abstract view of the world as a flat, quadrangular surface arranged into four regions, four corners, and a center. Clearly, the model is inspired by the movement of celestial bodies. Once more, it is the universal denotation of "the center"

146 (axis mundi, quincunx, or mandala). In this case, the spatial scheme is interlocked with cyclical time, which the Aztec called tonalpohualli and the Maya tzolk'in.263 The offering of the Moon Pyramid's fourth stage illustrates their model of the universe. It was located at the intersection of the first abutted platform and the mass of its main body, along the north-south axis. It was placed in a quadrangular pit (3.50 x 3.50 x 1.50 m), aligned with the city's grid. It included a single human sacrifice: a male foreigner between 40 and 50 years of age, decorated with ear plugs and a collar of green stones. He was in a seating position, with his hands tied behind the back. He was located near the mid-point of the east wall, facing west. Just like the Sun Pyramid is in the east facing west. In this sense, the offering echoed the urban fabric, awarding its most important place to a man looking straight into the sunset. Both elements (man and building) may have shared an equal symbolic value. He may have been interred alive. Just like the two pumas and wolf that were placed in wooden cages inside the pit. The pumas were in the north, the wolf in the south. At the center, they placed a series of anthropomorphic figures of obsidian and greenstone on top of a large pile of conch shells, obsidian blades and arrow heads. The offering included also many birds: nine royal eagles, a prairie hawk, a crow, and an owl. Each corner had one or two birds, accompanied by obsidian blades, ceramics, and shells. One of these birds was placed near the human sacrifice, which also received important ceramic artifacts, like two water jars commonly known as Tláloc-jars (Aztec-Rain-God). The southeast and southwest corners

263See Miguel León-Portilla, Códices: Los antiguos libros del nuevo mundo, (Mexico City: Aguilar, 2003), 65-74 & 228-50; and Gabrielle Vail and Anthony Aveni, eds., The Madrid Codex: New Approaches to Understanding an Ancient Maya Manuscript, (Boulder: University Press of Colorado, 2004); cf. Alfonso Caso, "¿Tenían los Teotihuacanos conocimiento del Tonalpohualli?" in Memorias y Revista de la Academia Nacional de Ciencias Antonio Alzate 55, 7-9(1942):237-57; and Ilan Vit-Suzan, "El patio central teotihuacano: Un modelo del universo," Tezontle: Boletín del Centro de Estudios Teotihuacanos 16/17(2005):6-9. 147 also have this type of jars. Halfway between the central pile and the human remains there was a very important ensemble of large obsidian blades, arranged as an eight pointed star. The entire offering reflects the unique manner in which the entire city, including its main monuments and innumerable residential compounds, are all part of single entity ruled by a highly symbolic pattern. It is almost like a fractal! The city repeats over and over again the same geometric pattern at all scales. Beginning with its urban scheme, continuing with the spatial arrangement of its large architectural ensembles, its residential

compounds, and last, but not least, its offerings and burials. To some extent, every single creation in Teotihuacan is ruled by the sacred quadripartite structure of the universe. One of its most common iconographic motifs, the four-petal-flower, may be its ultimate abstraction. The continuity of this pattern across innumerable Mesoamerican traditions is attested by its early presence in Olmec sites (Monument 3 in La Blanca, Guatemala) and its pictographic depiction in late codices (Madrid or Féjerváry-Mayer).264 In Teotihuacan, this sacred model of the universe is mostly crystallized in mural paintings. The precinct of the Sun Pyramid is a perfect example of such crystallization. It also illustrates the fractal transposition of the quadripartite urban scheme, at a smaller scale.265 One of the residential compounds within the precinct reveals a subsequent change of scale. The precinct is completely surrounded by a tall and narrow platform.

264The first folio of the Féjerváry-Mayer and folios 75-76 of the Madrid Codex are discrete variatations of the tonalpohualli (260 day cycle). Their geometric arrangement displays the complex interlock of time and space. Their geometry is almost identical: a square connected with four trapezes on each side and four lobules on each corner. The arrangement includes a full 260 day cycle, through dots along the perimeter of the trapezes and lobules. The dots are arranged in trecenas. Each one is preceded by one of the twenty "astrological" signs, belonging to one of the four regions of the universe. The 20 signs are distributed into 4 groups of 5 signs. The allocation of an "astrological" sign (monkey, lizard, knife, house, etc.) to a trecena implies the influence from one of these regions. See León-Portilla, Códices, 2003, 65-74 & 228-50; idem, “El Tonalámatl de los Pochtecas,” Arqueología Mexicana 18(2005), 8-14; and Vail and Aveni, Madrid Codex, 2004. 265For another example of a large architectural ensemble, see Matthew Wallrath, "Calle de los Muertos Complex: A Possible Macrocomplex of Structures near the Center of Teotihuacan" In Teotihuacan: Onceava mesa redonda, vol. 1, 113-22, (Mexico City: Sociedad Mexicana de Antropología, 1966). 148

Figure 11: Precinct of the Sun Pyramid, site plan.

The entrance is through a plaza articulated to the great avenue by a double stairway, since the plaza and avenue have the same level. The plaza is almost a perfect square, slightly longer on its north-south axis. At the center there is a platform facing west, flanked by a small pyramid on each side facing towards the center of the plaza. The backdrop is a majestic, frontal view of the Sun Pyramid. Its main attraction must have been the abutted platform, perhaps entirely covered with three-dimensional sculptures like those in the FSP. Furthermore, the pyramid may have been covered with some mural paintings. Each platform may have included elaborate altars, huge incense burners, and most importantly a majestic temple at the top. The abutted platform was also accompanied by symmetrical temples on either side. Its main façade was covered with three-dimensional representations of felines, perhaps pumas, jaguars, or a local wild-tiger called océlotl in Náuatl. Some fragments of these magnificent sculptures were uncovered 149 by Batres. They were almost eight feet tall, seating on their backs and flashing their paws in a somewhat aggressive gesture. These sculptures alternated with a rather enigmatic emblem, which some scholars identify as a "bundle-of-years." It is an enigmatic depiction of geometrical figures, whose interpretation is an unsubstantiated projection of Aztec symbolism.266

Figure 12: Sun Pyramid, façade, hypothetic reconstruction.

The rich iconography in one of the residential compounds inside the precinct, the so-called "Sun's Compound" or Zone 5-A, is a fundamental source of information on a possible set of connotations associated with the Sun Pyramid. The thematic variety of its iconographic programme is outstanding. The mural paintings of Teotihuacan represent

266See Hasso von Winning, La iconografía de Teotihuacán: Los dioses y los signos, 2 vols., (Mexico City: Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México, 1987). 150 the richest source of information concerning the cosmovision of its inhabitants.267 Unfortunately, they are extremely hermetic and enigmatic. Their symbolism is highly abstract. Some scholars even see it as an incipient system of codification. However, they are not glyphs based on a linguistic system, like those of the Maya or Zapotec.268 The iconography of Teotihuacan is also very different. They did not depict absolute rulers, like the Maya or Zapotec, who provided images of crowning ceremonies or the inspection of captives. They did not use glyphs to record names, titles, dates of ascent, dynasty chains, and so on. In Teotihuacan, there is nothing similar. Kingship was either silent or non-existent. It is a profound anomaly. Many scholars are baffled by such inconsistency. Part of the problem is that instead of analyzing the forward projection from an Olmec origin, Teotihuacan is studied by a backward projection of Aztec customs, beliefs, mythology, etc. Clearly, an attempt to understand Teotihuacan's Olmec filiation is quite problematic. However, it could open a new line of research.269

267To recognize the difference between Teotihuacan iconography and the rest of Mesoamerica, see the collection by Beatriz de la Fuente, ed., La pintura mural prehispánica en México, (Mexico City: Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México, 1995-2012); cf. George Kubler, The Iconography of the Art of Teotihuacan, Studies in Pre-Columbian Art and Archaeology, 4, (Washington, DC: Dumbarton Oaks, Trustees for Harvard University, 1967); and Arthur G. Miller, The Mural Painting of Teotihuacán, (Washington, DC: Dumbarton Oaks, Trustees for Harvard University, 1973). 268See Langley, Symbolic Notation, 1986; cf. Joyce Marcus, Mesoamerican Writing Systems: Propaganda, Myth, and History in Four Ancient Civilizations, (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1992). 269Hopefully, a few examples may illustrate the potential of this line of research. Mostly, because there is no linguistic evidence of Náuatl speaking peoples in the Central Highlands before the second millennium CE. Moreover, Teotihuacan iconography resonates with its Olmec counterpart, like the presence of child- like-figures. The offerings in the Moon Pyramid have several statuettes that could be seen as Teotihuacan versions of the innumerable child-like-figures held by Olmec "priests" or "shamans" depicted in San Lorenzo (Monument 14), La Venta (Altars 4 and 5), "el Señor de las Limas," or the Arroyo Pesquero Axes. Some of them depict individuals coming out from an arcuate space, holding a child in their hands. Could these images have some connection with Teotihuacan's cave and its rituals? Did the Teotihuacan "priests" come out of the cave holding a child-like-figure? Could these elements be associated with fertility? For more on the Olmec monuments, see John E. Clark and Mary E. Pye, eds., Olmec Art and Archaeology in Mesoamerica, (Washington DC: Yale University Press, 2000); John E. Clark, "Teogonía olmeca: Perspectivas, problemas y propuestas," in Uriarte and González Lauck, Olmeca: Balances y perspectivas, 2008, 145-84; Miguel Covarrubias, Indian Art of Mexico and Central America, (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1957); and Peter D. Joralemon, A Study of Olmec Iconography, Studies in Pre-Columbian Art and Archaeology, 7, (Washington, DC: Dumbarton Oaks, Trustees for Harvard University, 1971). 151

Figure 13: Zone 5-A, plan.

The iconography of Zone 5-A suggests a particular strain of connotations, which may stem the primordial denotation of Teotihuacan as a whole and the Sun Pyramid in particular. Perhaps the only site that parallels this capability to suggest such connotations is Tepantitla.270 The craftsmanship in this nearby residential compound is highly reminiscent of its counterpart in Zone 5-A. The spatial arrangement of the latter recreates the city's urban scheme. The distribution of its chambers and porticoes is carefully articulated by a network of open spaces, ranging from large courtyards to small light- wells. The combination of enclosed and open spaces–usually mediated by porticoes–is closely balanced to a 1:1 proportion. This balanced combination of spaces is governed by

270See Esther Pasztory, The Murals of Tepantitla, Teotihuacan, (New York: Garland, 1976); María Teresa Uriarte, "The Teotihuacan Ballgame and the Beginning of Time," Ancient Mesoamerica 17(2006):17-38; and idem, "Imagenes de Tepantitla," in Muros que hablan: Ensayos sobre la pintura mural prehispánica, Beatriz de la Fuente, ed., 257-66, (Mexico City: El Colegio Nacional, 2004). 152 the city grid. All of them are quadrilateral. The large courtyards are usually conformed by four platforms on each side, as well as four secondary chambers on each corner. The stairways, leading to a portico and chamber on top of each platform, face towards the center of the courtyard. Each platform is an isolated unit, leaving the four corners unarticulated. Clearly, this architectural scheme is a three-dimensional representation of the symbolic patter on the universe, defined by four regions, four corners, and a center. Nearly every residential compound of high status in Teotihuacan, like Zacuala,

Yayahuala, or Tetitla, reflects a variation of this spatial scheme.271 The main courtyard in Zone 5-A is a perfect example of this architectural model. It is the compound's point of entry. Each corner communicates with different areas: the southwest controls the main access; the northeast communicates to a second courtyard, possibly the compound's main chambers; and the other two corners lead to single

chambers, each with its own portico. The main courtyard had murals in three spaces: (1) a portico atop the south platform, depicting half-starfishes, each inside a triangular space

delineated by an undulating wave filled with green discs; (2) an isolated chamber, at the northeast corner, where one of the most sophisticated murals was found; and (3) the portico of an isolated chamber, on the northwest corner, next to corridor leading to a second unit of rooms. The murals in the last portico are fragmentary. Few details are discernible, like butterflies alternating with a quincunx motif.272

271See Esther Pasztory, Teotihuacan: An Experiment in Living, (Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 1997); Linda Manzanilla, ed., Anatomía de un conjunto residencial teotihuacano en Oztoyahualco, 2 vols., (Mexico City: Instituto de Investigaciones Antropológicas, Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México, 1993); and Michael Spence, "Tlailotlacan, a Zapotec Enclave in Teotihuacan," In Art, Ideology, and the City of Teotihuacan: A Symposium at Dumbarton Oaks, 8th and 9th October 1988, Janet C. Berlo, ed., 59- 88, (Washington, DC: Dumbarton Oaks, Trustees for Harvard University, 1992). 272For more on these murals, see Miller, Mural Painting, 1973, 75-88; and De la Fuente, La pintura mural prehispánica: Teotihuacan, 2001, V. 1:53-79. 153

Figure 14: Zone 5-A, mural painting, "masked specialist."

The mural in the isolated chamber is a masterpiece! It portrays a frontal figure representing a masked "specialist" wearing a headdress with a central motif of a four- petal-flower flanked by emblems of "bundle-years" on each side. The height of this figure could be divided in three parts: first, from top to bottom, the headdress; second, the individual's face covered by a mask, earplugs, and some sort of carapace covering the rest of the head; and third, a truly enigmatic motif. The latter seems to be some sort of circular emblem, decorated with concentric bands and feathers. Two symmetrical pathways flow from the center. They display miniature footsteps moving outwardly. Two "bundle-year" signs accompany the scrolls on each side. The mural is quite long. It has two of these masked "specialists" surrounded by notational signs that seem to float on a vacuum like free-floating icons. Some of these signs have names, like "knot," "shell," "cacao bean," "four-petal-flower," and "three-tiered-mountain," to name just a few.273

273James Langley defines a notational sign as a "non-prejudicial solution" to move forward in the debate on Teotihuacan's writing system. "The concept is intrinsic to written communication and noncommittal as to the kinds of signs involved." For him, the criteria of identification require that: (1) it must be compact and 154 The main unit of rooms around the second courtyard had several murals. Beginning with the corridor that connects the unit with the main courtyard, its murals depicted a reclined feline (known as a "netted jaguar") embracing a large plant filled with flowers that seem to pour out a liquid filled with "eyes." It is almost a psychedelic image. The scene is surrounded by a marquee decorated with four-petal-flowers. From the center of each of flower emerges a different thing, like a bivalve shell, sea conch, or fruit. In another version of the same mural, further down the corridor, the feline is surrounded by butterflies, birds "singing," and isolated drops of a mysterious liquid that displays an "eye." The notion of singing or talking in Teotihuacan is conveyed by an undulating scroll coming out of a character's mouth. It is known as vírgula de la palabra (speech- virgule). Sometimes, it is decorated with flowers, suggesting a flowery speech (poetry).

Figure 15: Zone 5-A, mural painting, "netted jaguar."

self-contained and must approximate to a standard conventionalized form; (2) it must be divorced from its natural context; and (3) it must form part of a visual pattern compatible with the transmission of verbal messages. See Langley, Symbolic Notation, 1986, 12. 155 The courtyard in this unit is a perfect square. The north room has a large portico with a mural depicting two "warriors" in profile. They are dressed with an elaborate headdress, representing the head of a bird. The beak is so large that the warrior's face fits inside perfectly. These "bird-men" have "goggles" over their eyes. They hold a menacing "obsidian sword" with a hooked tip, piercing an object that most scholars identify as a "bleeding heart." The west room has a portico with felines similar to those of the east corridor. It seems that this theme had some importance, since it appears twice on the east and west porticoes. Its profusion suggests an "atmospheric" theme for the entire unit. Its early presence in the corridor suggests a kind of guardianship, protecting the innumerable images of nature's bounty. The murals on the other porticoes (north and south) reinforce this theme of guardianship, given their militaristic depictions. Perhaps, the south portico displayed the most enigmatic image in Teotihuacan iconography, uncovered so far. It is a frontal figure. The image is so abstract and symbolic that even defies a clear description. It seems to be partially based on a "human" form. That is, the figure wears a headdress, but instead of hands it has "fierce claws." It does not have a face, not even a mask. At the spot where the face should be, there is an image of pure abstraction.274 Beneath the headdress there is a large circular emblem rotating in a clock-wise direction, surrounded by "feathers." Its asymmetry produces a sharp contrast with the rest of the composition. To some extent,

274Many scholars identify most of Teotihuacan's frontal images as representations of a "Great Goddess." The mural in the south portico is considered one of her depictions, as a "Terrible Mother." These interpretations are extremely controversial. For some scholars she is the supreme deity of Teotihuacan. Cowgill surveys these positions, recognizing that Teotihuacan's level of abstraction precludes any identification of gender. However, he still accepts the existence of a Female Goddess. See Cogwill, "State and Civilization," 1997, 149-50; cf. Janet Berlo, "Icons and Ideologies at Teotihuacan: The Great Goddess Reconsidered," in Art, Ideology, and the City of Teotihuacan: A Symposium at Dumbarton Oaks, 8th and 9th October 1988, Janet C. Berlo, ed., 129-168, (Washington, DC: Dumbarton Oaks, Trustees for Harvard University, 1992). For more on abstract images in Teotihuacan, see Esther Pasztory, "Abstraction and Rise of a Utopian State at Teotihuacan," in Berlo, Art, Ideology, and Teotihuacan, 1992, 281-320. 156 the emblem suggests the power of movement. It may be another expression of the quincunx model, since at the center of the emblem there is a circle and a rectangle interlaced with figures that resemble a "knot," on each corner. Behind the emblem, there are two bands making a diagonal cross. Beneath the emblem, the fierce claws of this figure seem to have the power to create a flow of some liquid that is filled with "goodies:" shells, masks, squashes, nose pendants, hands, and circular beads (perhaps cacao beans or seeds). The image is truly mysterious! It suggests multiple interpretations.

However, there is not enough contextual information to venture any further. The marquee on the edge of the mural offers more clues, since it represents an undulating path filled with footprints and a series of aquatic beings, some of them coming out of shells.

Figure 16: Zone 5-A, mural painting, image with "fierce claws."

157 The mural in the south room–behind the portico with the image just described– suggests a further aquatic connotation. The mural depicts a large central figure, conformed by a shell and one of those aquatic beings. Around the shell there is a lobulated band with a radiating pattern, which could only be described as a "star-like- pattern" or a "splendorous aura." Two hands emerge from the bottom of the band. The entire image is surrounded by an undulating collar, flowing from these hands. The image is amidst a series of rippling bands in diagonal, suggesting an aquatic environment that is inhabited by shells, fish, turtles, starfish, and a stork. The animals coming out of the shells seem to be "smiling," while a turtle and a fish have flowery-speech-virgules.shells, conchs, fish, turtles, starfish, and a stork. The animals coming out of the shells seem to be "smiling," while a turtle and a fish have flowery-speech-virgules.

Figure 17: Zone 5-A, mural painting, image with "splendorous aura." 158 So far, the murals in these southern rooms show remarkable representations of aquatic themes. It is important to remember that the vast lake-system at the center of the Basin was south of Teotihuacan. The distribution of imagery in the compound seems to represent actual geographical conditions, since the southern rooms depict the bounty of the lakes. In other words, the unit seems to be representing some sort of symbolic map. In abstract form, the quadripartite model of sacred space enables each residential compound in Teotihuacan to represent the significant characteristics of the world, in concrete form.

Archaeological research shows that each compound reflects different corporate activities. Most of them used the same spatial scheme. Yet, each compound had its own imagery. In this way, groups with different social, ethnic, and political backgrounds represented their own identity through a common spatial scheme, grounded on its potential to connote different views of the world. By standardizing an external architectural typology, the system enabled the representation of inner cultural diversity. The city had a homogeneous civic appearance, protecting a heterogeneous core of beliefs, values, and customs. Another iconographic theme was uncovered in the most private rooms of the entire compound. There are two variations on separate rooms. The location and orientation of both rooms suggests they may have been the living quarters for the most important members. Each of these murals depicts an individual in a "bird-costume" plunging down from thick foliage. These individuals wear masks that are highly reminiscent of those uncovered by Sigvald Linné in the early 1900s.275 The masked faces of these individuals are contained by the wide open beak of a huge bird. In other words, the headdress depicts a bird. Furthermore, their extended arms have wings, decorated with yellow starfish in a blue band. The feathers are conformed by parrots or cockatoos.

275See Sigvald Linné, Archaeological Researches at Teotihuacan, Mexico, (Tuscaloosa: University of Alabama Press, 2003); cf. with his other work, Mexican Highland Cultures: Archaeological Researches at Teotihuacan, Calpulalpan, and Chalchicomula, (Tuscaloosa: University of Alabama Press, 2003). 159 The plunging effect is enhanced by the upside-down position of their bodies. Their feet are located above the head and a large circular emblem, decorating their lower back. The emblem portrays starfish in a lobulated band. Above it, a "bird's tail" is constituted by feathers emanating from two profiles of what seem to be royal eagles or owls. In sum, the entire image depicts a "bird-man" plunging down from the sky.276 The background is also filled with symbols and notational signs. The rest of the compound may have been fully painted, as some scattered fragments suggest. They depict rattle snakes, "goggled-eye-

butterflies," starfish, and felines and canids seating on their hind legs.

Figure 18: Zone 5-A, mural painting, masked "bird-diver."

276The images of these plunging "bird-men" are highly reminiscent of the Olmec cave paintings in Oxtotitlan, Guerrero. The theme in Mural 1 is very similar to the one uncovered in Zone 5-A. The Oxototitlan mural depicts an individual in profile, whose silhouette seems to blend with the image of a large bird. Clearly, the mural conveys some connection between a human being and a bird. The individual's arms have feathers. The heads of the bird and the individual are almost conflated into a single head. See David C. Grove, The Olmec Paintings of Oxtotitlan Cave, Guerrero, Mexico, Studies in Pre-Columbian Art and Archaeology, 6, (Washington, DC: Dumbarton Oaks, Trustees for Harvard University, 1970). 160 The murals from the residential unit of Zone 5-A suggest a particular set of connotations that may be cautiously transposed to a general description of Teotihuacan's cosmovision. Considering the compound's location, it is reasonable to assume its inhabitants were select members of the elite, entrusted with the religious affairs of the Sun Pyramid. Their influential cosmovision may have guided Teotihuacan's master narrative. Unfortunately, given the conditions in which history disrupted the transmission of Teotihuacan's heritage, it is impossible to go beyond a "sketch" of a basic denotation.

This may be the only survivor of Teotihuacan's enigmatic legacy. The basis of the sketch is the sacred spatiotemporal model which synchronized human rituals with the cycles of supernatural influences. In other words, the people of Teotihuacan seem to have relied on "symbolic action," performed in a miniature version of the universe, so they could mediate the effects of such influential forces, inhabiting the different regions of the universe. The possibility of symbolic action required the transformation of certain individuals into agents of those forces, adopting some of the distinctive traits which characterized those "magical beings," ruling over each region of the universe. In this way, a specific set of rituals, performed at the proper platform, wearing the right costume, may have been enabled them to secure the benefaction of those "mighty beings." Thus, individuals with "bird-costumes" may have secured the beneficial influence of the northern region, while those with "feline-costumes" the east and west, and "aquatic- costumes" the south. Perhaps, it would be more accurate to understand these actions as a process of identity-transformation, instead of someone wearing a costume. Ritual transformed the specialist a bird, feline, or aquatic being.277

277Since the Olmec period, the most powerful specialists (healer or shaman) were associated with jaguars. In the times of the Aztec and large part of the New Spain, this type of transformation was known as nahualism, an elaborate version of totemism. Sahagún explains that a nahualli is "bruxo" (wizard). These men were able to transform into different animals. It was part of their special power. See Sahagún, Historia general, 10.9. In popular beliefs powerful nahualli become jaguars at night. This tradition has been 161 The overwhelming presence of felines, birds, canids, and reptiles in Teotihuacan iconography suggests an array of specialists. The multiethnic basis of Teotihuacan's cosmopolitanism may have required different specialists, responding to contingent regions of influence. The display of four types, each associated with a different set of forces controlling different parts of the universe, would have enabled a master narrative of some universality, boasting absolute control over nature and assuring nourishment for all. The elite's understanding of time and space, grounded on sophisticated knowledge inherited from multiple generations of sky gazers, enabled Teotihuacan to create the perfect urban system to "dominate" nature. Their mechanisms for time-keeping and space-control (the pyramids themselves) may have been the foundation of their narrative. Teotihuacan's fame may have been rooted in this powerful rhetoric. Its innumerable specialists could have been seen as powerful individuals capable of becoming agents of those forces of nature, regulating the order of the universe. The offering in the Moon Pyramid reveals the symbolism of four species (felines, birds, canids, and reptiles) that were prominent in burials and offerings across the city, both public and privates. In this way, a common quadripartite scheme, displaying a more specific iconography, enabled the sophisticated permutation of binary oppositions within a four-part-system. The symbolism of the Sun Pyramid may have been associated with the east and west. The feline sculptures in the abutted platform corroborates their display in the east and west porticoes of Zone 5-A. Their role as guardians of nature's bounty suggests that the Sun Pyramid may have been associated with "a place of abundance" or a region of "perennial fertility." Zone 5-A has many scenes filled with free-floating "treasures"

associated with Olmec and Maya rulers, given the ubiquitous presence of jaguar pelts. See David Freidel, Linda Schele, and Joy Parker, Maya Cosmos: Three Thousand Years on the Shaman's Path, (New York: Perennial, 2001). A famous Olmec painting from Oxtotitlan seems to convey similar beliefs. In it, a jaguar emerges from an ithyphallic man, see Grove, Olmec Paintings of Oxtotitlan, 1970, fig. 13. 162 surrounding felines, aquatic beings, and plunging birds. The Sun Pyramid may have represented that ideal region, so masterfully depicted in Tepantitla, a realm dominated by a huge mountain and bountiful rivers, in which people swim in the rivers, enjoy the fruits of gorgeous plants, and engage in games of all sorts, while butterflies cross the sky. It is a "paradise"!278 The Sun Pyramid with its underground cave may have been a tangible expression of this intangible realm. Teotihuacan's fame and power could have been grounded on its assurance of wellbeing, shared by a multiethnic society, under the watchful eye of powerful specialists managing the welfare. However, all this came to an end, abruptly and mysteriously, between the late 600s and the mid 700s CE. The collapse of the city entailed an irreversible loss of heritage. Mesoamerica would never be the same, after the Fall of Teotihuacan.

Figure 19: Tepantitla, mural painting, a "place of abundance."

278See Alfonso Caso, "El paraíso terrenal en Teotihuacán," in Homenaje a Alfonso Caso: Obras escogidas, (Mexico City: Patronato para el fomento de actividades culturales y de asistencia social a las comunidades indígenas, 1996), 27-35. 163 A Burnt Relic

The end of Teotihuacan is an enigma. The archaeological data is inconclusive. The speed of collapse is unparalleled. To make matters worse, the evidence from other sites in the Central Highlands and across Mesoamerica suggests a cataclysmic sequence of events transforming their social, economic, and political structures. Some indications suggest that the collapse of the Maya and Zapotec were correlated with Teotihuacan's mysterious end. Why would so many important sites suffer simultaneous collapse? What combination of factors could have brought them down so quickly? Even though there are more questions than answers, one thing is certain: a unique period of cultural advancement, commonly known as "Classic Mesoamerica," came abruptly to an end. It is also unclear how much of its legacy was able to endure. In the end, the loss of heritage is hard to quantify. There are no points of comparison, given the previous and subsequent

stages of loss. Unfortunately, Mesoamerica has accumulated a serious amount of loss.279 The scant evidence of Teotihuacan's collapse reflects a relative weakening of its socio-political system. There was a substantial decrease in the supply of foreign goods, mostly from the Maya region and the Gulf Coast, where Teotihuacan's political, economic, and cultural influence was highly diminished. Conversely, it still had a strong relation with the southern regions of Puebla, Morelos, and Guerrero. It is unclear how it

279Some scholars use a chronology that tries to follow these stages of high cultural development and their subsequent periods of abrupt collapse. To characterize the existence of large networks of exchange and influence, the former are labeled as a "Horizon." Mesoamerica experienced three periods of cultural buoyancy, associated with an Olmec, Teotihuacan, and Aztec influences; thus an Early, Middle, and Late Horizons. Two "Intermediate Periods" characterize the anarchy and turmoil of the first and second collapse. Undoubtedly, they represent dramatic stages in the loss of heritage. See Esther Pasztory, Middle Classic Mesoamerica: AD 400-700, (New York: Columbia University Press, 1978); William Sanders and Barbara Price, Mesoamerica: The Evolution of a Civilization, (New York: Random House, 1968); Richard Blanton, Stephen Kowalewski, Gary Feinman, and Laura Finstein, Ancient Mesoamerica: A Comparison in Three Regions, New Studies in Archaeology, (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1993); and David Carrasco, ed., The Oxford Encyclopedia of Mesoamerican Cultures: The Civilizations of Mexico and Central America, vol. 1, (New York: Oxford University Press, 2001). 164 happened, but, during this period of decline, the civic and religious structures in Teotihuacan were violently destroyed. The huge pyramids and most of the structures in the Avenue of the Dead were systematically set on fire. Yet, to complicate matters further, most of the city remained occupied for one hundred and fifty years. By the mid

700s CE, a new ceramic type was introduced at the site. It was a foreign tradition, completely different from its local counterpart, almost seven hundred years old. This evidence suggests the development of a new urban society, living around the damaged

core of the ancient city.280 It is unclear why these inhabitants chose to "preserve" or neglect those ruined structures. Was it driven by the desire to remember a fateful event or just a lack of resources? It is also unclear who burnt these structures. Some scholars think it was part of a foreign invasion, while others see a huge ritual by Teotihuacan's elite, either celebrating the completion of a new era or the last attempts to reverse a series of unsuccessful policies. During the mid 700s, the urban fabric of the ancient city gave hospice to a new group, whose ceramic complex is known as Coyotlatelco. Evelyn Rattray sees them as "newcomers." Their settlement spreads all over the Basin of Mexico. Guadalupe Mastache and Robert Cobean identify Tula as their possible point of origin, during Teotihuacan's decline. According to them, "there was very little direct continuity between Early Classic Teotihuacan and the beginnings of Tula." Furthermore, "key processes in the development of the Toltec state began in the Tula region Coyotlatelco populations." The latter "were people from the Bajío and the northern periphery of Mesoamerica."

280See Richard Diehl, "A Shadow of its Former Self: Teotihuacan during the Coyotlatelco Period," Mesoamerica After the Decline of Teotihuacan A.D. 700-900, Richard Diehl and Janet Berlo, eds., 9-18, (Washington, DC: Dumbarton Oaks, Trustees for Harvard University, 1989), 165 Their ceramic complex suggests the arrival of an "elite group from the north or west."281 Rattray sees a strong resemblance between the early Coyotlatelco types and Xochicalco's ceramic complex, although, the resemblance faded away over time.282 It is important to consider that Teotihuacan's domination of the Central Highlands was gradually challenged by certain burgeoning centers: Cacaxtla (Puebla-Tlaxcala), Tula (Hidalgo), and Xochicalco (Morelos).283 Thus, it is possible that the newcomers may have occupied Teotihuacan after armies from those centers sacked the legendary city, burning its civic

core. Teotihuacan's decline may have increased through environmental challenges. Studies in paleo-ethnobotany suggest some ecological exhaustion of their natural environment. According to Emily McClung de Tapia, a pioneer in this line of research, argues that the "weakened giant" may have turned into "easy prey," after their sources of nourishment were severely diminished.284 The end of Teotihuacan's hegemony may have affected other sites across Mesoamerica, which may have also exhausted their ecological environments. The collapse of a wide exchange network–articulated by powerful sites, like Monte Albán, Tikal, and Teotihuacan–may have triggered the rise of certain alliances between burgeoning sites, scattered on the network's periphery. As those powerful sites deteriorated, their socio-economic and politico-religious structures may have required

281See Alba Guadalupe Mastache and Robert Cobean, "The Coyotlatelco Culture and the Origins of the Toltec State," in Diehl and Berlo, Mesoamerica After the Decline, 1989, 49-67, especially pp. 64-5; and Richard Diehl, "Tula," in Bricker and Sabloff, Supplement Middle American Indians, 1981, 277-95, 279. 282See Evelyn Rattray, "Evidencia cerámica de la caída del Clásico en Teotihuacan," in El auge y la caída del Clásico en el México central, Joseph Mountjoy and Donald Brockington, eds., 77-85, (Mexico City: Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México, 1987), 83. 283See Millon, "The Last Years of Teotihuacan Dominance," in The Collapse of Ancient States and Civilizations, Norman Yoffee and George Cowgill, eds., 102-64, (Tucson: The University of Arizona Press, 1988); and Richard Diehl and Janet Berlo, eds., Mesoamerica After the Decline of Teotihuacan A.D. 700- 900, (Washington, DC: Dumbarton Oaks, Trustees for Harvard University, 1989). 284See Emily McClung de Tapia, "Investigaciones arqueobotánicas en Mesoamérica y Centroamérica," Anales de Antropología 22(1985):133-57; and idem and Julia Pérez, Agricultura y modificación del paisaje en Teotihuacan: Temporada 1999, (Mexico City: Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia, 2000). 166 some redefining. Even at the intimate level of private customs, these changes are weakly registered by the archaeological data. In the end, Teotihuacan's legacy was "up for grabs." It may have been received by those burgeoning sites, performing its "final execution." Others may have profited indirectly, like El Tajín in the Gulf of Mexico or a renewed civilization in Cholula. Meanwhile, Tula and Chichén Itza began to fill the vacuum, left behind by the collapse of those giants. The collapse of Teotihuacan produced an irreversible loss of heritage. The pathways of its legacy were disrupted. Its enigmatic past became the stuff of dreams. Its descendants may have preserved its essence in oral traditions, which may have inspired new expressions of Mesoamerica's rich mythopoeia.

A Mythic Realm

George Cowgill explains that Teotihuacan "is in a challenging twilight zone for direct historical approaches," since it is "close enough to the 1500s to make it wasteful to neglect evidence from later societies, yet distant enough to make it unsound to project ethnohistoric data uncritically." The problem with such data stems from the ethnic origin of its producers, which are relatively a foreign people. "Linguistic evidence suggests that Nahua speakers were absent or at least not influential in the Basin of Mexico before the decline of Teotihuacan." The transition from the previous age to the next entails "the possibility of significant ethnic discontinuity [and] the uncertainties of direct historical projections."285

Using knowledge from the 1500s to understand Teotihuacan is neither impossible nor easy and it is best to proceed piecemeal, case by case. Many Teotihuacan images have no obvious later counterparts. Others do but must be used cautiously; meanings and clusters of meanings may have shifted.286

285All quotations are from Cowgill, "State and Society," 1997, 131-3. 286Ibid. 167

When the Mexica reached the Central Highlands, Teotihuacan had already been abandoned for more than half a millennium. They were a Chichimeca tribe, emigrating south from the western flank of the Rocky Mountains. These tribes are generically known as Aztec, given their common traits: Náuatl as their language and Aztlán as their mythic origin.287 When they saw Teotihuacan, its majestic ruins were completely covered with vegetation. In their view, the "pyramid is like a small hill, only it is made by hand." According to the informants of Fray Bernardino de Sahagún, "it is not incredible to say that they were made by hand, since back then there were still giants in many places."288 Fray Juan de Torquemada corroborates the belief in giants, as the earliest inhabitants of Mesoamerica. Though, his informants did not think they were responsible for the construction of Teotihuacan. For them, the city was built by the legendary Toltec.289

The Mexica began to emigrate in the late 1200s CE. Their city, Mexico- Tenochtitlan, may have been founded around 1345. The uncertainty arises from a sad and simple fact, most of their historical records, maps, tributary documents, and calendars, to name just a few, were systematically destroyed after the war of conquest. Most of the data was recorded later, by Spanish friars and Indian informants. The transmission of data is deeply embedded in the complex processes of Christianization. Thus, the modern understanding of an Aztec worldview is mediated by a peculiar relation between these

287See Linda Manzanilla and Leonardo López Luján, eds., Historia antigua de México. Volumen III: El horizonte Posclásico y algunos aspectos intelectuales de las culturas mesoamericanas, (Mexico City: CONACULTA-INAH, Instituto de Investigaciones Antropológicas, UNAM, Miguel Ángel Porrúa, 1995). 288See Códice Matritense de la Real Academia de la Historia, textos de los informants de Sahagún, fol. 195 r., as quoted in Miguel León-Portilla, De Teotihuacán a los Aztecas: Antología de fuentes e interpretaciones históricas, (Mexico City: Instituto de Investigaciones Históricas, UNAM, 1971), 62-3. 289See Juan de Torquemada, Monarquía Indiana. De los veinte y un libros rituals y monarquía indiana, con el origen y guerras de los indios occidentals…, 1.13-4. For more on this type of record, see León-Portilla, Toltecáyotl: Aspectos de la cultura náhuatl, (Mexico City: Fondo de Cultura Económica, 1980), 132-3. For an introduction to the vast literature on Mesoamerican mythology, see Alfredo López-Austin, The Myths of the Opossum: Pathways of Mesoamerican Mythology, (Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press, 1993); and Michel Graulich, Myths of Ancient Mexico, (Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 1997). 168 individuals, based on a model of conqueror/conquered. The Indian informants were elders from the Aztec elite, educated in the calmécac or telpochcalli (institutions of higher education for warriors and priests). To some extent, these documents should be handled carefully as products of a complex "cultural interbreeding" (mestizaje cultural). They conflate Western historiography with an enduring Mesoamerican tradition, which used to reinforce oral transmission with pictograms. This system was partially transcribed into a foreign language, as its system of thought was severely modified. Its "originality"

was partially lost in translation, even though its content represented the ultimate advancements of Aztec knowledge. It was transmitted by tlamatinime (wise men). In their own words, these individuals were seen as "a light […] a thick torch that produces no smoke." Furthermore, "the black and red ink, the codices belong to him […] He, himself, is writing and wisdom, he is the path, a trustworthy guide for others."290 It is important to emphasize that the sources we use today are modern translations of original documents, produced by the informants. For instance, Fray Bernardino's masterpiece, Historia general de las cosas de la Nueva España, has a Náuatl text, a free translation in Spanish, and images. The original translation was consciously designed to avoid censorship. In contrast, the works of other friars, like Toribio Motolinía, Diego Durán, or Juan de Torquemada, were only Spanish transcripts. Their versions are deeply imbued with Western terminology. A similar problem arises from the new generation of Indian converts. Although they were members of the Aztec elite, their work may have embedded in a complex process of self censorship as well as an inner-struggle between their heritage and the desire to become loyal Christians. It is also important to keep in mind the pervasive influence of the Spanish Inquisition, which persecuted idolatry,

290See Miguel León-Portilla, Toltecáyotl: Aspectos de la cultura náhuatl, (Mexico City: Fondo de Cultura Económica, 1980), 132-3. 169 superstition, and blasphemy with the "purifying" power of fire. There was no room for false beliefs. Thus, the chronicles of early converts–like Fernando de Alva Ixtlilxóchitl, Hernando Alvarado Tezozómoc, or Chimalpahin Cuauhtlehuanitzin–should be handled with extreme caution. Even though, their understanding of Aztec cosmology would have been unparalleled, flowing naturally from a continued oral tradition. Moreover, we cannot dismiss the influence of the historical context upon their historiographic enterprise. Clearly, they were trying to save the heritage of a people that was tragically disappearing before their very eyes. In less than a hundred years, ninety percent of the Indian population had been decimated. It is one of the saddest genocides in history.291 At the start of the 1600s, the survivors may have wished to die as well. Alcoholism wrought large, while was gradually destroying their spirit. Amidst these calamities, some of their leaders tried to preserve their heritage in writing. Their narrative seems to have been deeply affected by the catastrophe. It is hard to imagine an "objective" approach, grounded on a rigorous method of "self-distancing." Their account of mythic heroes, resisting divine cycles of destruction and renewal, seems to be preoccupied with preserving a legacy while renovating its potential for future inspiration. The work of Fray Bernardino is, by far, the best source on the Aztec worldview, around the period of the Emperor Moctezuma Ilhuicamina, who among other interesting customs instated a ritual pilgrimage to Teotihuacan, every twenty days. The Emperor and his entourage offered sacrifices the "Unknown Gods of Teotihuacan."292 In Teotihuacan's

291Jonathan Kandell reports these gruesome facts, as follows: "There were between twelve and twenty-five million Indians in Mexico before the arrival of the Spaniards, according to estimates based on tribute rolls, archaeological evidence, and eyewitness accounts […] Yet only about 1.2 million Indians were alive a hundred years after the Conquest–a fatality rate of at least 90 percent." He characterizes this catastrophe as "unmatched by any other people in history–including the victims of twentieth-century genocide." See his work, La Capital: The Biography of Mexico City, (New York: Random House, 1988), 149. 292Francisco del Paso y Troncoso, Papeles de la Nueva España, vol. 4, p. 222, as quoted in Heyden, "Caves, Gods, and Myths," 1981, 22. 170 relación geográfica (a document commissioned by the Charles V describing his possessions in the New World) the remains of the ancient city were reported as the Oráculo de Monteçuma (Moctezuma's Oracle). The document includes a schematic depiction of Teotihuacan's pyramids and its main avenue. The region had been considerably repopulated in Aztec times.293 Archaeological evidence reveals a moderate intervention in the precinct of the Sun Pyramid, which may be associated with Moctezuma's period. Unfortunately, the reports of these explorations remain undisclosed. The remains unearthed by Eduardo Matos are a series of isolated rooms atop low platforms, which may have served for those monthly rituals. One of the rooms is a temazcal (a ritual steam-bathing-room). These structures are on the Pyramid's north side, next to the gigantic "U-shaped-platform," surrounding the entire precinct. It is also possible that the Mexica established a shrine in the northeast corner of the main plaza in front of the Pyramid. A unique sculpture was uncovered in this area.294 Its iconography seems more reminiscent of a Mexica style. The

293See Doris Heyden, "An Interpretation of the Cave underneath the Pyramid of the Sun in Teotihuacan, Mexico," American Antiquity 40, 2(1975):131-47, fig. 12. For more on the "Geographic Relations" see René Acuña, ed., Relaciones geográficas del siglo XVI, (Mexico City: Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México, 1985); and Howard F. Cline, "Relaciones geográficas of Spain, New Spain, and the Spanish Indies: An Annotated Bibliography," in Handbook of Middle American Indians, 12: Guide to Ethnohistorical Sources, Part 1, idem, ed., 370-59, (Austin: The University of Texas Press, 1972). 294According to a report by Robert Chadwick, the large sculpture was uncovered near the north platform of the main plaza in front of the Sun Pyramid. The sculpture was buried in a pit that required the partial destruction of the plaza's original concrete floor. This condition suggests that the sculpture was deliberately buried after the plaza was finished. Chadwick presents a document from the 1600s CE, in which a sculpture identified as Mictlantecuhtli (the Aztec "Lord of the Underworld") was still visible atop the plaza's north platform: "en un llano que se encuentra delante del dicho cu [Sun Pyramid] estaba otro cu más pequeño de tres estados en alto en el cual estaba otro ídolo poco menor que el primero, llamdo Mictlantecuhtli, que quiere decir 'señor del infierno;' este estaba buelto hacia el primero asentado sobre una peña grande quebrada de una bara en cuadra en todas partes." Its iconography allows its identification as "Lord of the Underworld." Chadwick offers other documents to corroborate the possibility that the sculpture was added after the collapse of ancient Teotihuacan. Following these sources, he concludes that the sculpture may have been in use still by the mid 1500s CE. In my opinion, the sculpture could have been deliberately buried in that period to preserve it, since Christian priests were destroying "Pagan Idols" across the country at the time. See Manuscrito de la Dirección de Monumentos Prehispánicos, 1974, Ref. B/311.42 (z 52-1)/1 Pirámide del Sol, 1963-1964, (Zona 5-B), Robert Chadwick, Depto. de Arqueología, Universidad de 171 sculpture has the shape of a large disk, depicting a skull inside a circle that is surrounded by a radiating pattern. The skull shows a human tongue coming out from its open jaws. The motif resembles parts of the famous "Aztec Calendar," also known as Piedra del Sol (Sun's Stone). It is possible that the Mexica brought this sculpture as a humble offering to the Sun, whose rebirth in Teotihuacan gave life to a new era dominated by the Aztec, at least according to their myths. Aztec cosmovision centered on a peculiar belief, the cyclic destruction of the world. It may have resonated with other groups across Mesoamerica, particularly the Toltec. At the time of the Spanish conquest, the Aztec saw themselves as inheritors of a sophisticated culture, whose legacy stretched far back into the past. According to Fray Juan de Torquemada, the Toltec gave them "news about the creation of the world and how its inhabitants perished by flood." Their knowledge was recorded in "paintings and histories."295 Miguel León-Portilla identified a unique term, commonly at the beginning of Aztec records or annals, implying a clear notion of historiographic responsibility. The Náuatl term tlapializtli means "the act of preserving or storing something." In a work by the celebrated chronicler, Tezozómoc, an important paragraph states the importance of this term: "In truth these words are to-pializ (tli)," meaning "what is our responsibility to preserve." The rest of the paragraph claimed:

[…] so it is for us as well, for our children, our grandchildren, those who have our blood and color, those who will come out from us, it is for them that we leave this behind, so that they, when we are already dead, will preserve it too.296

Alberta, Calgary, Canada. Libro I, 1-34. Manuscript kept at Archivo Técnico de la Coordinación Nacional de Arqueología e Historia, INAH, Mexico City. 295Torquemada, Monarquía Indiana, 1.14. 296León-Portilla, Toltecáyotl, 1980, 15. 172 The Aztec claimed an important legacy, which in fact they could have inherited from the Toltec. It was knowledge about the creation and destruction the world in four previous eras. According to sophisticated computations, the Toltec knew how many times the Sun had been created, destroyed, and reborn. Cyclic regeneration was controlled by "supernatural forces." Given these conditions, the Aztec system of thought was deeply concerned with understanding how to stop the imminent destruction of their world–or at least to postpone it indefinitely. Teotihuacan was at the center of these fateful concerns,

since, according to their myths, the birth of the Fifth Sun had taken place in that mysterious site. The creation of this era had been accomplished by the self-sacrifice of certain deities. Consequently, it was essential to pay tribute to such humble deed, by continuously emulating this act of self-sacrifice. The Aztec saw it as a mission to preserve the world. By understanding the mechanics of cyclic destruction, they could stop it forever. Their inherited mythology revealed how the "nature" of each Sun influenced the manner of its destruction. Their approach was grounded on historical understanding, almost a historically enlightened consciousness. They did not accept a destiny in which humanity has no chance of intercession. They saw themselves as the "People of the Sun" (Fifth Sun), arresting the destruction of the world. Their mission was universal. The solution was a perpetual offering of blood, either taken from themselves or others. Their offerings would keep the Fifth Sun in perpetual movement. No sacrifice, no movement. It was simple. The Aztec had to repeat, infinitely, the original self-sacrifice of the Gods, which took place in Teotihuacan. According to Fray Bernardino's informants, the Fifth Sun emerged after a long period of darkness. The Gods gathered at Teotihuacan to determine: "Who will be responsible for illuminating the world?" Two volunteers stepped forward, Tecuciztécatl and Nanahuatzin. The latter was nicknamed el bubosito ("he who is filled with buboes"). 173 The first deity volunteered freely, but the "little bubonic one" was forced to follow suit by his fellow deities, since no one else wanted to sacrifice themselves. After their selection, they made penitence for four days. Then, they started a huge bonfire. Tecuciztécatl offered precious goods into the fire: rich feathers instead of flowers; balls of gold instead of hay; thorns made with precious stones instead of maguey thorns; he did not run those thorns through his body to offer blood, instead he offered thorns of red coral; and, finally, his incense was of the greatest quality. Conversely, Nanahuatzin offered bundles of green reeds, balls of hay, thorns with his own blood, and, instead of incense, he offered some of his buboes into the fire. After these sacrifices, the Gods built "towers that were like mountains," so the two deities could make penitence. Once again, they fasted for four days atop their artificial mounds. Fray Bernardino explains that these "mountains" were those that could still be seen in "the town of Sanct Juan, known as Teutihuacan."297 After penitence, the Gods gathered around the fire. The volunteers were embellished. The bonfire burned for four more days. Then Gods made two groups around the fire. The volunteers faced each other at the head of each group. The honor of jumping first was given to Tecuciztécatl. Four times he tried, but, his courage failed him miserably. He was frozen with fear. The Gods cried: "Come on, then, Tecuciztécatl, jump into the fire!" The rules did not allow a fifth attempt. So, it was Nanahuatzin's turn. He closed his eyes, accepted his fate, and jumped into the fire. As his body started to burn, squeaks and creaks were heard. As Tecuciztécatl saw the heroism of such deed, he jumped into the fire as well. Suddenly, an eagle plunged into the fire–and that is why eagles have "blackened feathers." An ocelot (field tiger) also stepped into the fire, but, it did not burn, only got scorched–that is why ocelots have black stains. From these events

297All information and quotes come from Sahagún, Historia general, 7.2. 174 emerged a term to identify the bravest warriors, known as a cuauhtlocélotl ("eagle-tiger"). So far, the account unveils the symbolism of certain elements that resonate with Teotihuacan cosmology, for instance, the pairing of opposites in groups of two and four, designating deities or days of penance, as well as the symbolic power of birds and felines. These examples illustrate that enduring essence of intangible heritage, which López- Austin characterizes as "deep-core" beliefs. After these entities had entered the fire, the Gods were on their knees, awaiting

the rise of Nanahuatzin as a New Sun. Suddenly, from the east emerged a glorious, radiating disk. It was the birth of a new era. Soon after, a bright moon (Tecuciztécatl) appeared, but the Gods recognized the impropriety of accepting his existence. So, when a rabbit passed nearby, one of them threw it against the moon to smash its face. Consequently, his light diminished considerably–and that is why the moon has a stain with the shape of a rabbit. Yet, the new celestial bodies did not move! The Gods were appalled. Something had to be done. Their decision was unanimous. They would sacrifice themselves to provide eternal motion for the sun and moon. But, their sacrifice was not enough: "And they say that even after the Gods were killed, the Sun did not move. And, then, the wind started to blast and blow with much strength. He made it move so that it could go along its path […] after the Sun started to move the Moon followed." With this story of creation the Aztec Age was born.298

298The role of "air" as an archetypal force of creation reflects a fascinating echo with Stoic pneuma (breath) and the Bible's ruah (spirit). In these cases, air is a "divine force" circumnavigating the sky. It is also equated with human breath. In Stoic metaphysics the combination of air and fire (pneuma) not only constitutes the ultimate sphere of the universe, but dwells in the interior of all creatures. Pneuma is a single living organism. The Spirit of God (ruah elohim) floating above the waters, before order transformed chaos, almost has the exact same qualities. Aztec metaphysics may have given an equal role to ehecatl (fierce winds). In front of the Great Temple of Tenochtitlan, there was a majestic round building with a tall conical roof devoted to Ehecatl-Quetzalcoatl, a being that metaphorically floated in the sky as a serpent with feathers. For many Mesoamerican peoples this type of being was also responsible of creation. 175 This version of creation may have stemmed from Toltec mythology, claiming that the world had already been created and destroyed four times. Aztec cosmovision was built upon this legacy. A source, known as the Legend of the Suns, describes how these previous eras came to an end. It was discovered by Lorenzo Boturini in the late 1730s. It is described as a text "written in Náuatl, and in European paper by an anonymous author." A similar source, the Anales de Cuauhtitlán, corroborate the data on this "legend." In many ways, this cyclical notion of renewal resonates with archaeological

evidence, which testifies the rise and fall of powerful civilizations in strategic regions. To some degree, the survival of such legends in the oral tradition may have an underlying historiographical veracity. For instance, chroniclers from the Central Highlands may have intuitively recognized the rise and fall of Olmec sites like Tlatilco or Cuicuilco, followed by the Classical sites of Teotihuacan and Cholula, the Toltec site of Tula, and finally the Aztec site of Tenochtitlan. Yet, their understanding was not archaeological, it was mythopoeic.299 The Aztec could not distinguish a Toltec trait from its Teotihuacan counterpart. The pathways of transmission were broken. To some extent, each period recreated its own culture, in such degree, that continuity was intermittent, although some its essence was able to survive. Mexican archaeology did not establish a clear chronology until the mid 1960s. A close examination of the Legend of the Suns suggests that the notion of "Gods" participating in the cyclical recreation of the world was preceded by natural forces with some anthropomorphic intentionality. As already mentioned, the use of such terminology

299A commentary from the informants of Fray Bernardino suggests that each time the Aztec uncovered archaeological evidence, they could not recognize any authorship beyond the Toltec: "Those footprints left by the Toltec […] not only appear at Tollan Xicocotitlan, / but in many other places one may find / what their ceramics were, their pots, / their grinding stones […] One may uncover them everywhere, / they appear all over the place, / because the Toltec in truth were widely dispersed and went through multiple places." See León-Portilla, Toltecáyotl, 1980, 30. Even though they could not distinguish between Teotihuacan and Toltec remains, their historiography was undoubtedly based on an incipient archaeology. 176 could be a suspicious influence of Christianization, since the notion of a "divine" self- sacrifice appears only with the birth of the Fifth Sun. The Legend of the Suns was recorded on May 22nd, 1558. According to its computations, the First Sun was created

2,513 years before that day in 955 BCE, under the name nahui ocellotl (4 tiger). It lasted

676 years, from 955 to 279 BCE. In it, people ate chicome malinalli (pine cone seeds). It ended when humanity was eaten by tigers over a thirteen-year-period. Then, the First Sun just disappeared. The Second Sun, named nauhuecatl (4 wind), lasted 364 years, from

279 BCE to 85 CE. People ate matlactlomome cohuatl (mesquite fruits). In the end, humanity was swept away by heavy winds, which uprooted houses and trees as well. It happened in a single day. Humans became female monkeys, as the Second Sun was eliminated by those strong winds. The Third Sun, named nahui quiyahuitl (4 rain), was

born in 85 CE. It lasted 312 years, from 85 to 397 CE. People ate chicome tecpatl (wheat seeds that grow on water). Humanity was destroyed by a rain of fire. It also happened in a single day. Humans became hens, as the Third Sun was destroyed in the blaze of fire. The

Fourth Sun was born in 397 CE, under the name nahui atl (4 water). It lasted 676 years,

from 397 to 1073 CE. During this period, humans ate nahui xochitl (flowers). Everything was destroyed by a flood, which lasted 52 years; the mountains disappeared, humans became fish. The end of the Fourth Sun was simply described as "the heavens sank."300 The mechanics of cyclic creation and destruction seemed clear. The nature of each era determined its own destruction. The Sun-Wind ended with a blast of wind, the Sun-Water with flooding. Consequently, the era of ollintonatiuh (Sun-Movement) would end in a motionless state. The Mexica tried to prevent this catastrophe with a "simple"

300The summary comes from the translation by Primo Feliciano Velázquez, Códice Chimalpopoca, Anales de Cuauhtitlan, y Leyenda de los Soles, (Mexico City: Instituto de Investigaciones Históricas, UNAM, 1975); cf. León-Portilla, Los antiguos mexicanos a través de sus crónicas y cantares, (Mexico City: Fondo de Cultura Económica, 1983). 177 antidote: they would recreate perpetually the Gods' original sacrifice at Teotihuacan. It was a clear mission. It required a perennial "crop of captives" that could be continuously offered to prevent the destruction of their age. "As long as the Mexica remained faithful to such destiny, the sun and earth would outflank death […] Thus, in the framework of a cyclic universe, the Mexica introduced a new concept: the idea that the Sun of Movement could be extended indefinitely."301 In many ways, the symbolism of Teotihuacan as the point of origin, attests to their recognition of its primordial denotation as a center of power. Yet, it equally reveals the considerable loss of its "original" connotations. The Aztec advanced a new set of connotations so the site could become part of their own worldview. But all this came to an end in 1521. Their sun did not stop moving. Instead, their heritage became hostage of a rather motionless enculturation, as a new ethos of self- sacrifice was imposed on their beliefs.

A Dormant Mountain

Everything changed with the arrival of the "First Twelve." Mesoamerica would never be the same after a mysterious group of shoeless men, dressed in rags, crossed the entire region from Veracruz to Tenochtitlan in 1524. "Warring Conquistadors" approached them humbly to kneel down and kiss the hands of these strange men. They were Franciscan Friars, sent by Emperor Charles V to save the wretched souls of these poor Indians.302 Hernan Cortés requested their aid. The maverick adventurer was a

301León-Portilla, Toltecáyotl, 1980, 155. 302The arrival of the Twelve Franciscans states that: "The Indians walked behind them, just as children will follow someone who brings them some novelty, and they marveled to see the friars wearing such ragged clothing, so different from the elegance and ostentation they seen in the Spanish soldiers. They said to one another: 'Who are these men who are so poor?' […] they kept repeating a word of theirs, saying, 'motolinea, motolinea.' One of the fathers, […] asked […] what this word meant […] The Spaniard answered: 'Padre, motolinea means 'poor'[…] from that time forward, Fray Toribio always called himself 'Fray Toribio Motolinea'." The account reveals the tremendous impact of these austere monks on the Indians' 178 devout Christian. The enterprise of conquest had a spiritual underpinning, as the instructions from the Governor of Cuba, Diego Velázquez de Cuéllar, attest:

Bear in mind from the beginning that the first aim of your expedition is to serve God and spread the Christian faith. You must not, therefore, permit any blasphemy or lewdness of any kind, and all who violate this injunction should be publicly admonished and punished. It has been said that crosses have been found in that country. Their significance must be ascertained. The religion of the natives, if they have one, must again be studied and a detailed account of it made. Finally, you must neglect no opportunity to spread the knowledge of the True Faith and the Church of God among those people who dwell in darkness.303

With these principles in mind, the "Spiritual Conquest" of the New World began in the early 1520s. They reflect the dark intolerant spirit of the Inquisition. Most of these men were raised in a country that was fully committed to the extermination of foreign beliefs. Decades of ideological confrontation and persecution were engrained in the minds of these men.304 The military arm of this intervention was obsessed with the

understanding of European politics: "When [the Twelve] got to Mexico, the governor, accompanied by the Spanish gentlemen and Indian nobles who had been gathered for the occasion, went forth to receive them. And kneeling on the ground, one by one the governor kissed each of their hands. Pedro de Alvarado did likewise […] the Indians followed suit, and in imitation of the Spaniards they too kissed the friars' hands. Such is the power of the example of one's superiors." See Fray Jerónimo de Mendieta, "The Spiritual Conquest," in The Mexico Reader: History, Culture, Politics, Gilbert M. Joseph and Timothy J. Henderson, eds., 114-21, (Durham: Duke University Press, 2002), 115-6. 303See Robert Ricard, The Spiritual Conquest of Mexico: An Essay on the Apostolate and the Evangelizing Methods of the Mendicant Orders in New Spain, 1523-1572, (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1966), 16. 304Even Ricard in his unapologetic and Eurocentric outlook recognized the imprint of the Inquisition on the mindset on those friars entrusted with the "Spiritual Conquest" of Mexico. In his own words: "The missionaries, the reader is reminded, came from a country that had always been particularly touchy about orthodoxy, one that had shown a profound horror of heresy, one in which the Inquisition had gone farther than elsewhere, one in which a king, Philip II, who came to the throne during the spiritual conquest of New Spain, wished to be the champion of the true faith in the world. Finally, the period with which we are concerned coincided with the Counter Reformation in Europe; the Twelve Apostles landed in Mexico [only] four years before the condemnation and revolt of Luther; and the Council of Trent was sitting from 1545 to 1563." See Ricard, Spiritual Conquest, 1966, 35; cf. Antonio Garrido Aranda, Moriscos e indios: Precedentes hispánicos de la evangelización en México, (Mexico City: Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México, 1980); Henry Kamen, The Spanish Inquisition: A Historical Revision, (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1998); and Joseph Pérez, Breve historia de la Inquisición en España, (Barcelona: Crítica, 2003). 179 spiritual dimension of this endeavor. It was a quixotic adventure, built upon the illusions of a "priestly-warrior-class," which brought an immense payoff.305 Bible and Sword were its weapons of choice. According to Robert Ricard, Cortés "always carried on his person an image of the Virgin Mary, to whom he was strongly devoted; he prayed and heard Mass daily; and his standard bore these words: Amici, sequamur crucem, et si nos fidem habemus, vere in hoc signo vincemus." The reference to Constantine's victory is clear, as these words reveal their powerful rhetoric: "Friends, let us follow the cross, and if we

have faith, truly by this sign we shall prevail."306 Religion galvanized the adventure. It provided the rationalization of a "just war." It was a Holy Mission. Of course, as all wars, there was also some money involved. But, material reward seems to have been just a logical consequence of their sacrifice. Their motivation was the spread of Christianity. Cortés was obsessed with it. Sometimes it entailed the reckless gamble of their lives. In most sites, his military force was gravely outnumbered. Yet, he would smash the images of the Indian deities, demanding a cleaning of their temples to eliminate traces of their sacred, sacrificial blood and replace their "false idols" with a cross. Sometimes, the priests accompanying the troops told him that these measures were unwise. In Tlaxcala, Fray Bartolomé de Olmedo said: "It is not just, for us to convert them by force, and it would be useless for us to repeat what we did

305Many passages from the famous "Cartas de Relación" by Cortés reflect his dreams of grandeur. The narrative is usually construed in terms of "historical battles" won by "mythic figures." The reconquista of Spain is a constant reference. For instance, "The said city [Tlaxcala] is so big and admirable that […] it is much bigger than Granada and much stronger and with so many good buildings and with so much more people than that which Granada had at the time it was won […] Finally, among them there are all kinds of good order and police, and they are reasonable and organized people, so much so that the best of Africa is no match." Regarding the city of Churultecatl, he claimed that "it is the most beautiful city out of Spain, because it is full of towers and very flat, and I certify to your highness that I counted from a mosque four hundred and thirty-something towers amidst the city, and all of them are of mosques." See the Second Letter, dated October 30, 1520, in Hernán Cortés, Cartas de Relación, (Mexico City: Fondo de Cultura Económica, 1994), 41 & 45. 306Ricard, Spiritual Conquest, 1966, 15. 180 at Cempoala. Our warnings are enough."307 Unfortunately, the policy of this wise and sensible man would not last long. Less than seven years after the Fall of Tenochtitlan, Fray Juan de Zumárraga, the first bishop of Mexico, enforced an official policy of absolute intolerance against the heritage of Mesoamerica. In 1531, he wrote proudly in a letter to the Emperor about his personal involvement in the destruction of 500 temples and 20,000 idols. A year later, Fray Martín de , boasted similar claims. Ricard reports that Motolinía, Sahagún, Durán, Mendieta, Dávila Padilla, and Burgoa "also

wrote of the destruction of manuscripts."308 In less than three generations, the Indian population was not only severely decimated, but their heritage had also been systematically destroyed. These conditions explain the dark rhetoric of words presented in a public colloquium:

Let us die now, / let us perish, / since our Gods are already dead [… ] And, now, / are we going to destroy the way of life of the Chichimec, Toltec, Acolhua and Tecpaneca? / Listen, our lords, do not make something to our people / that will bring misfortune, something that will make it perish. / It is already enough that we lost, / that you took away / that you impeded our form of government. / If we remain in these conditions, / we shall remain only as slaves.309

The oratorical skill of this statement of surrender is undeniable. The clarity of its political understanding reveals a sophisticated philosophical outlook. They were trying to request a cultural, regional autonomy, within the model of vassalage. Their main concern was the preservation of their heritage. Yet their request was not accepted. They were not

treated as an honorable enemy, who may retain its identity, even after total defeat.310 The

307Ibid., 18. 308Ibid., 37. 309León-Portilla, Toltecáyotl, 1980, 33. 310León-Portilla has devoted most of his carrier to compile, translate, and explain the nuances of Aztec philosophy, in works like his, La filosofía náhuatl: Estudiada en sus fuentes, (Mexico City: Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México, 1993). In a similar approach, Tzvetan Todorov argued that "The calmecac is in fact a school of interpretation and speech, of rhetoric and hermeneutics. Thus every precaution is taken 181 permanence of these unresolved conditions, until the present day, is attested by the uprising of Maya peoples in Chiapas, claiming: "Land and Freedom, Justice and Law […] these were our demands during the long night of five hundred years. Today, they are our exigency!"311 Since the establishment of the New Spain, land disputes were the center of confrontation. According to Enrique Florescano: "perhaps the violence that most affected the Indians was that exercised over the lands of their communities, because it was land that gave cohesion and order to all of indigenous life."312 A document for the foundation of a town, offers the rationale for bequeathing the land by an Indian noble:

It is known that the man Cortés […] was authorized to come to divide up our lands […] he will point to us lands that will form new villages. Now, as for us, where will they throw us? [...] I agree to form here a village, at the foot of this hill […] And I agree to build a temple of worship where we shall place the new God that the Castilians have brought us […] What shall we do, my children? [...] It is best that we reduce our boundaries […] What difference does it make that we used to have more land! But this is not because of my will; only because I do not want that my children be killed, there is no more than this bit of land and on this land we shall reside, ourselves and our children after us. And we shall work no more than this land, to see if they will not kill us.313

So much for the spiritual dimension of Cortés's endeavor! Unfortunately, the people of Mesoamerica were accustomed to similar treatments, by the Aztec Empire.

for students to become fine speakers and good interpreters." The correlation of rhetoric and governance was as clear for them, as it was for Socrates, Xenophon, or Julius Caesar. The phrase "to speak well and to govern well" in the Relación de Texcoco illustrates such clarity. Given this context, Todorov claims that "an overdetermined world will necessarily be an overinterpreted world as well." See his work, The Conquest of America: The Question of the Other, (New York: Harper Perennial, 1984), 64-79. 311These words, expressed by Subcomandante Marcos in the late 1990s, gave voice to the long-lasting demands of indigenous peoples in Mexico. The continuity of their poetic-reasoning stretches from the words of Fray Bernardino's Informants to those of Subcomandante Marcos. In both cases, "Westerners" gave voice to a unique way of thinking. See Subcomandante Marcos, The Other Campaign = La otra campaña, (San Francisco: City Lights, 2006); and idem, Questions and Swords: Folktales of the Zapatista Revolution, (El Paso: Cinco Puntos Press, 2001). 312See Enrique Florescano, "The Colonial Latifundio," in Joseph and Henderson, Mexico Reader, 2002, 131-41, 131. 313Ibid., 132. 182 Their methods of oppression were equally ruthless. That is why several groups joined the Spaniards to fight against the Aztec. The latter were just as cruel and materially driven as the former. The Aztec mechanism for territorial domination was even worse. Local temples were destroyed. Their idols were taken away as "hostages" to a "sacred pen," in the precinct of the Great Temple of Tenochtitlan. In it, all these foreign Gods were publicly displayed as "captives."314 Their tax collectors were corrupt, abusive, and unscrupulous. For instance, the Tlaxcalteca, one of those groups which supported the

Spaniards, was under constant siege. They were routinely attacked, as military training for the Aztec. Their youth was considered a "flowery field," constantly plucked for sacrifice. In this sense, the Spaniards' savagery was at least more civilized.315 The controversial work of Ricard, The Spiritual Conquest of Mexico, reveals another long-term phenomenon in Mexican history. One of the biggest challenges faced by the Mendicant Orders–entrusted with the "salvation" of native souls–was their constant clash not only with high officials in Rome, but among themselves. The battle was for territorial autonomy. Franciscans, Dominicans, and Augustinians were in no mood to share the "bountiful crop of souls." A letter to Viceroy Luis de Velasco from a Dominican friar, Alonso de Montúfar, claimed that the other religious orders "act as if they were disposing of their own vassals! And sometimes they even confront each other

314Sahagún, Historia general, appendix of book 2. 315León-Portilla and Todorov agree on some terrifying similarities between Aztec and Spanish domination. "The Spaniards burn the Mexicans' books in order to wipe out their religion; they destroy their monuments in order to abolish any memory of a former greatness. But a hundred years earlier, during the reign of Itzcoatl, the Aztecs themselves had destroyed all the old books in order to rewrite history in their own fashion." Todorov, Conquest of America, 1984, 60. In like fashion, the Aztec elite chose a similar strategy after their victory over Azcapotzalco in 1428. According to the Códice Matritense de la Real Academia, the Mexica argued: "It is inconvenient to let the people see these paintings [codices]. Those who are our subjects, men from the common people, will go to waste and the land will become crooked, because there are many lies stored in them and lots of people have mistaken them for false gods." See León-Portilla, Toltecáyotl, 1980, 65-6. 183 with battalions of Indians!"316 These confrontations reveal that since the early days of the New Spain, each time a social class strove for power, their first step was to agitate the Indians. The wars of Independence and Revolution were built on this premise. Miguel Hidalgo y Costilla, "Padre de la Patria" (Father of the Fatherland), raised an Indian army under a banner of the Holy Virgin of Guadalupe. In the end, they were used as cannon fodder to attain a Creole independence from Spain. Twenty years later, the consummation of the independence maintained equal deegres of misery, inequality, and abuse of

Mexican Indians. A hundred years later, history would repeat itself. The armies of Carranza and Obregón would annihilate the Indian forces of Villa and Zapata. Two hundred years later, the Drug Wars employ, once again, Indian peasants as crop growers and ground troops. They are hostages of a multimillion dollar enterprise. This could be the final battle for the survival of Mesoamerican heritage. During the last two hundred years, while these historical processes unfolded, the ancient city of Teotihuacan was a silent witness to the fall of its traditions. The pyramids of the Sun and Moon would remain dormant for more than twelve hundred years, awaiting the shovels of thousands of Indians to bring them back to life, at the dawn of the twentieth century. But, before this transformation took place, Teotihuacan suffered the intolerance of Zumárraga's spiritual conversion. The legacy of Mesoamerica was subject to three policies, deeply rooted in the experience of the Inquisition: (1) the destruction of idols; (2) the dismantling and recycling of temples; and (3) the relocation of Indian populations and the usurpation of their land. All three had a profound impact on Teotihuacan. Cortés was partially opposed to the first two, at least in some strategic regions, where the "preservation" of certain temples and idols could serve as memorials

316See Ricard, Spiritual Conquest, 1966, 243. 184 of conquest. He was particularly interested in saving the Great Temple of Tenochtitlan. Clearly, these ideas were driven by a policy of self-aggrandizement. The majesty of that structure would be a testament to the heroism of his endeavor. But, the priests saw it quite differently. For them, the destruction of all religious items was essential. Just like in Spain, only fire could purify the "heretical pestilence." It was a matter of spiritual health, to counteract an epidemiology of beliefs. As Ricard seems to justify, "a missionary is not an antiquarian." To him, their "attitude is only a proof of logic and conscience."317 Today,

these words have a tinge of Eurocentric rationalization of colonialism, which is no longer acceptable. Be that as it may, the simple fact is that the tangible substrate of Mesoamerican heritage was systematically destroyed in less than half a century. Oddly enough, its intangible counterpart was partially tolerated. Festivals, pilgrim sites, language, certain customs, and multiple socio-economic structures were more or less accepted. This is Mexico's most valuable heritage. The systematic destruction of temples, idols, and manuscripts was officially established by Charles V in the Recopilación de Leyes de los Reynos de las Indias. This compendium demanded the absolute extirpation of idolatry. In 1537, the emperor received notice that the temples were not yet dismantled. His response was clear, "they should be demolished, but quietly, and that the stones should be used for building churches." Once again, the pervasive spirit of the Inquisition shows itself. Secrecy was its most important asset. Dismantle them, "quietly."318 The implementation of these policies had devastating effects on Teotihuacan:

317See Ricard, Spiritual Conquest, 1966, 36-7. For the intentions of Cortés "to establish a museum" and Ricard's characterization of this idea as "madness," see the same pages. 318Ricard, op. cit., 38. 185 this town [San Juan Teotihuacan] has notable memories of ancient idolatry, like so many of its hand-made hills, which in their infidelity served as temples […] In these places there is still today some huge, stone idols, especially one that is lying next to the main hill, people say that this idol was brought down by orders of […] Zumárraga.319

The idol in question is one of the largest sculptures ever found in Teotihuacan. Nowadays it is housed at the National Museum of Archaeology in Mexico City. Some scholars believe it is a clear representation of Teotihuacan's "Great Goddess." For some years, before the sculpture was taken to Mexico City, Emperor Maximilan had it raised and preserved in situ, so that local people could see it with pride. The emperor was the second son of Archduke Franz Karl of Austria, who became a Mexican Monarch in 1864, with support of Napoloen III and the Mexican conservative party. By the early 1900s, an American crew of surveyors reported that the sculpture was still in place, near the Pyramid of the Moon. They described it as a "great idol nearly 18 feet high which [the locals] named the moon." Furthermore, around this structure there "were many others, in the largest of which were six other idols called the 'Brethren of the Moon' to all of which the priests of Montezuma, the Lord of Mexico, with the said Montezuma came to offer sacrifices, every twenty days." William H. Holmes saw it as well. He thought it "probably lies where it was left by the followers of Zumárraga, and bears unmistakable evidence of the heavy hand laid by European fanatics." He identified another stone sculpture, next to the central platform at the plaza in front of the Moon Pyramid. He described it as follows: "The whole surface has been battered with hammers or scaled off by fire, so that all the salient features are destroyed."320

319Joaquín García Icazbalceta, Nueva colección de documentos para la historia de México, "Cartas de Religiosos," 1539-94, as quoted in Chadwick, Pirámide del Sol, 1974, 33. 320All quotes come from William H. Holmes, "The Monoliths of San Juan Teotihuacan," American Journal of Archaeology 1, 4(1885):361-71. According to G. Mendoza, Anales del Museo Nacional de México 1(1878):225, "At present [1878] this god stands upright at the base of one of the many mounds that still remain in that vast city," (Holmes, op. cit., 366). Moreover, "in 1880, Desiré Charnay visited this spot, 186 Teotihuacan's most enduring alteration was imposed by the third policy. The entire population of Teotihuacan's Valley was forced into a new territorial organization. By the late 1500s, King Felipe II ordered the concentration of dispersed Indian populations into a series of new villages. The intention was to accelerate the process of Christianization and appropriation of land. Ricard offers some details reported by Fray Alonso de Montúfar, regarding the problem of Indian dispersion. In a memorial sent to the royal bureaucracy, Montúfar explained that some convents had only two priests in

charge of a territory of 30 leagues (ar. 170 km) in diameter, populated by an average of 100,000 "souls." Clearly, "the legions of Christ" were vastly outnumbered by so many "infidels."321 The solution was simple. Concentrate all of them around the new convents. Today, we can assess the catastrophic effects of such policy. One of Mesoamerica's most ingenious processes of cultural adaptation to a complex geographic condition–that is, the dispersal of population over large extensions of land for agricultural purposes–was dissolved in less than a single generation. Two viceroys, Archbishop Moya de Contreras (1584-5) and Luis de Velasco II (1589-95), tried to implement this policy, but, they were persuaded by experienced priests to postpone its implementation given its serious consequences. Unfortunately, a more zealous bureaucrat, unfamiliar with the region's circumstances, Viceroy Gaspar de Zúñiga y Acevedo (1595-1603) carried out the King's instructions. During this period, two major settlements occupied the immediacies of Teotihuacan's ancient, urban core. These new villages were named San Juan Teotihuacán and San Martín de las Pirámides. Both names reveal the powerful presence of the ancient settlement in the people's mind. But, the reference was more substantial than abstract. The entire villages were constructed with stones quarried from the ancient site. Some

photographed the statue, and examined the cave before which it stands. He states that formerly it lay prone upon the ground, and that Maximilian had it set upon its feet" (ibid., 366). 321See Ricard, Spiritual Conquest, 1966, 243. 187 buildings show, with certain pride, the iconographic reliefs still preserved on certain stones. A series of small hamlets were associated to the jurisdiction of both settlements. Once the agricultural land was free, large territories were appropriated by Spanish colonizers. Their labor force was constituted by Indians, indoctrinated with Christian beliefs at the new towns. Each day they walked back to their original fields to work as slaves under the watchful eye of their legal custodians (encomenderos).322 These conditions of exploitation prevailed, more or less intact, since the dawn of

the New Spain up to the Porfiriato. It was a constant source of unrest. In many ways, the country's political dynamic was dictated by ingenious strategies to manage such inequality. To some degree, the Revolution's highest achievement−the instauration of a party dictatorship−had a Machiavellian system of appeasement, based on entitlements and repression. The period between the wars of Independence and Revolution were characterized by constant warfare. Brief periods of peace were established by generals with an iron-fist, striving to attain absolute power. Such were the cases of Agustín de Iturbide, Antonio López de Santa Anna, Benito Juárez, and Porfirio Díaz. The Conservatives even imported a legitimate monarch, a European nobleman, Archduke Ferdinand Maximilian Joseph of Austria, who ironically was a Liberal. These alluring characters brought some "color" to Mexico's tragic history, characterized by the systematic discrimination of a great civilization that was almost driven to extinction. The re-emergence of their past, through archaeology, brings a glimmer of hope, suggesting its possible renewal. Our modern worldview could learn a lot from their poetic cosmovision.

322For more on these transformations see the third part of volume one, "La Población Colonial," in Manuel Gamio, ed., La población del Valle de Teotihuacán: Representativa de las que habitan las regions rurales del Distrito Federal y de los Estados de Hidalgo, Puebla, México y Tlaxcala, 2 vols., (Mexico City: Secretaría de Agricultura y Fomento, Dirección de Antropología, 1922), especially pp. 378-93. According to this work, the new town of San Juan Teotihuacán had 1,600 tributaries (ar. 8,000 individuals), while Acolman had 1,990 tributaries (ar. 9,950 inhabitants) in 1580. The latter had a large Franciscan Monastery for the Christianization of the Indian population across the region. 188 A Modern Ruin

The man responsible for the resurgence of Teotihuacan's Sun Pyramid was Leopoldo Batres. He is an extremely controversial figure in Mexican archaeology. The positive and negative aspects of his career produce high degrees of polarization. On one hand, he is the first modern archaeologist trying to understand Mesoamerica, through direct archaeological exploration. Most of his interventions were driven by a scientific hypothesis, which could be tested by the critical analysis of uncovered materials. Moreover, his findings were published and presented in international symposia, some of them organized by him. Batres was also the first archaeologist to develop some national policies for the protection of heritage. In 1894, he promoted a decree in the National Congress to prevent the alienation of "ruins." In 1896, another decree for the protection of archaeological remains turned into law, stating they were national property. Moreover, any exploration which uncovered prehispanic materials could not privatize or monopolize its findings. Finally, in 1902, he surveyed the government's assets, including "prehispanic monuments." In sum, these efforts−inspired by the French model which emerged from the Revolution's havoc−strengthened Mexico's awareness of its own cultural legacy and the need to protect it through a substantial involvement of the state. In this sense, Batres's early dedication to protect Mexico's heritage constitutes a direct precedent of INAH (Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia). On the other hand, Batres's dark side is equally terrifying. According to certain sources−which may be characterized as unfounded rumors, spread by Batres's opponents−this man tended to incarcerate forgers, while he gave away ancient codices as presents to foreign ambassadors. He was also accused of plagiarizing William Holmes's drawings, as well as placing a well known looter and hotel owner, Benito Lacroix, as custodian of Palenque. According to the latter

189 the site was founded by Japanese Buddhists. Lacroix's descendents exploited their position until 1925, when Frans Blom expelled them from the site. While he devoted most of his energy to protect ancient monuments, he never tried to help the indigenous peoples.323

Figure 20: Sun Pyramid, aerial view, after Batres's reconstruction.

Amidst such controversies, Leopoldo Batres is considered the "father" of Mexican archaeology, for better or worse. In 1889, he spent nine months moving a gigantic sculpture, the so-called "Teotihuacan's Water Goddess" (22.50 tons), from its location on site to Mexico City. An entire battalion under his command was required to move the

323For more on the life, work, and influence of Batres, see Schávelzon, La conservación del patrimonio, 1990, 48-9; Bernal, History Mexican Archaeology, 1980, 142-59; Tompkins, Mysteries Mexican Pyramids, 1976, 185-225; and Augusto Molina Montes, La restauración arquitectónica de edificios arqueológicos, (Mexico City: Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia, 1975). 190 sculpture fifty miles. Similar maneuvers had been performed for other important monuments in Palenque, Alvarado, and Tepatlaxco, in southern Mexico. These materials are now safely kept in Mexico City's Museum of Anthropology. Batres was also a pioneer in the organization of massive projects of exploration and "restoration" (reconstruction). The Sun Pyramid was the epitome of such activities. With all its defects and misinterpretations, it constitutes one of the most cherished monuments in Mexico. The unearthing of its ruinous mass, concealed by centuries of muffled remembrance,

required a brave and sensitive spirit, pushed by dreams of grandeur. Only a thick cover of vegetation stood in his way. He just needed a small army of excavators and some years of hard labor to fulfill such a historical mission of monumental proportion. Batres knew well the implications of his pursuit. It was history on the making. On the other hand, the challenge was more complex than he ever imagined. His preliminary hypothesis was simple. Beneath the heavy mass of earth−which covered the ancient remains after twelve centuries of continuous erosion−he should find an early version of the Sun Pyramid, in pristine conditions. The hypothesis was partially substantiated by other cases, throughout Mexico, where ancient structures were systematically buried by the fill of more recent structures. To some extent, the enlarged version of an extant shrine was an indirect strategy of "preservation." Since, the original structure remained inside the new one. In symbolic terms, its original power was retained by the new construction. Batres assumed this custom was universally implemented all over Mesoamerica, throughout its history.324 He was more or less right. However, Teotihuacan's Sun Pyramid was an exception confirming the rule. He did not uncover a

324According to Batres's hypothesis, "that mass, in the form of an abrupt hill, barely showed the vague shape of a quadrilateral pyramid with four bodies through its silhouette. Regardless of the deformity of such construction, I held the belief, as I told my superiors, that after eliminating the layer of destruction I would find another construction identical to the one that was destroyed, yet relatively well preserved." See Batres, Teotihuacan Memoria, 1906, 12. 191 "pristine" substructure. The pyramid seems to have been transformed only superficially. Its subsequent stages of transformation were destroyed by gradual erosion, which give it the appearance of an artificial mountain. Batres's first task was the complete elimination of that thick cover of vegetation, which included several trees of considerable size. The vegetation (ten feet deep) covered the devastated remains of the ancient monument. His strategy to uncover the ancient remains was quite innovative−instead of working downwards, as recommended by custom−he first tried to find the building's footprint. So,

he started to excavate at the bottom, trying to uncover one of its corners. The pyramid's silhouette suggested "una pirámide cuadrangular de cuatro cuerpos [a quadrilateral pyramid of four bodies]." Once he was able to find the lower platform's southwest corner, he tried to follow the original shape upwards. The strategy seemed infallible. However, the pyramid's façade proved more challenging. Today we know that most buildings in Teotihuacan, as well as other Teotihuacan-style-buildings in Mesoamerica gave more importance to the abutted platform than to its massive background. Just as the Moon Pyramid revealed, the abutted platform received a more complex ritualistic programme than the rest of the structure. Unfortunately, Batres did not have the benefit of this knowledge. At the Sun Pyramid, Batres was not able to recognize the importance of the abutted platform. He also did not recognize its devastation; perhaps, the product of Aztec excavations looking for ancient offerings. He only consolidated its highly disturbed fill, giving it an awkward new massing. It became a slanted platform, deviated several degrees from the pyramid's orthogonal axes. For decades, many scholars speculated on such deviation, advancing innumerable astronomical observations to explain such awkward orientation. Nowadays, it seems clear that the original façade was similar to the FSP. The abutted platform of the

192 Sun Pyramid displayed three dimensional sulptures of "powerful animals" (felines) and enigmatic motifs serving as "proto-glyphs" or mnemonic devices. Batres also misunderstood how the pyramid's original platforms were constituted before their cumulative erosion. The latter eliminated the evidence to visualize properly the main façade. The original structure had four truncated pyramids superimposed on top of each other. Given this massing and its subsequent deterioration, he only found scant evidence at the bottom of each platform. The fragments of the upper edges accumulated

at the bottom. So, while the lower parts were relatively well preserved, the upper ones were completely destroyed. Given his inexperience with buildings of such magnitude, he did not devote enough time to analyze the removed materials, accumulated at the bottom of each platform. In those masses of rubble may have been the evidence for the pyramid's appearance. However, in his model of a pristine substructure, the accumulated rubble was only an obstacle, which may have been removed quickly and carelessly. The result was a terrible loss of information. If we inspect the front façade of the second platform, today, seeing it from the furthest corner of the platform, looking towards the center, it is easy to identify a clear difference in the angles of inclination. At the lowest point we see the original fragments with a certain angle of inclination and above it, the surface reconstructed by Batres, has a different inclination. Less than a sixth or eighth of the total height has the "original" inclination. Thus, the reconstructed volume of each platform has less mass than its original counterpart. It is a cumulative condition. The evidence from the upper platforms was lost, a long time ago. As a result of these conditions Batres had no evidence to visualize the pyramid's "original" façade. To make matters worse, he decided−and no one really knows why−to subdivide the third body in two. At the upper part of that platform, he made a cut to create a new ambulatory. That is why the pyramid now has five bodies, instead of four. 193 His "innovative designs" went even further, none of them based on archaeological evidence. The main stairway was also subdivided in two, at the same platform. The decision may have been driven by a large space, which may have been the remains of an offering pit. Since he had gone so deep into the pyramid's fill−losing so much of the original outer surface, at this level−he may have stumbled on a pit that may have been looted by the Toltec or Aztec, back in the late 1100s or early 1300s CE. One way or another, Batres had lost the ground under his feet, at that point. The pyramid's façade had to be invented; it could no longer be uncovered. And that is exactly what he did. The design seems to have been inspired by the most fashionable style of the time. For a highly Frenchified aristocracy, the solution may have been inspired by Les Arts Décoratifs or "Art Deco," spreading from Paris to the rest of the world. The drawings for the new façade might have suggested a more figurative treatment, trying to emulate "a face." Since the vertical surfaces of stone−prominent in the stairways and the new ambulatory−have a different reaction to light as opposed to the slanted surfaces of the platforms. The result insinuates the presence of eyebrows and nostrils. One way or another, Batres's ungrounded decisions created a new image for a faceless monument. His intervention created a new icon of Mexican identity, which now seems timeless and sacred.325

325See "Entrevista con Eduardo Matos, (Primera parte)," Arqueología Mexicana 1, 1(1993):31-4; cf. Schávelzon, La conservación del patrimonio, 1990, 62-5 & 170-8; Ignacio Bernal, Teotihuacan: Descubrimientos y reconstrucciones, (Mexico City: INAH, 1963); and Rubén Cabrera Castro, "Architectural Restoration at Teotihuacan: An Historical Analysis," in In Situ: Archaeological Conservation, Proceedings of Meetings, April 6-13, 1986, Mexico, Miguel Ángel Corzo and Henry Hodges, eds., 176-85, (Los Angeles: INAH and J. Paul Getty Trust, GCI, 1987). 194 A Resurgent Shrine

Since these interventions in Teotihuacan, its role in Mexican culture, politics, and popular imagination has been as gigantic as the object itself. Almost with the rhythm of ritualistic cycles, each new generation adds different layers of connotation, intervention, and exploitation. After the Revolution, the Citadel and its inner temple−devoted to serpents and aquatic creatures−was immediately associated with Quetzalcóatl ("The Feathered Serpent"). This mythic figure, perhaps a deified hero from a Toltec era, had a fundamental role in the creation of life in Aztec mythology. But, there are no indications that such ensemble of beliefs was prominent in Teotihuacan times. Later on, his legendary prestige was masterly exploited by Cortés and the mendicant orders, who tried to impose Christianity as a fateful destiny, prophesized by the mythic return of Quetzalcóatl. Subsequent generations, fighting for the country's independence, would also try to appropriate this figure to raise an indigenous army, by advancing an incipient Mexican identity. When the Partido Revolucionario Institucional (PRI) reached its height of power, the figure would rise again, symbolically representing Mexico's Presidential "Monarchy." He was commonly associated with the cyclical reincarnation of this mighty warrior-god. The President was seen as an Aztec Tlatoani (Emperor). So, to enhance this connotation in the public's mind, the state spent monumental amounts of money to reconstruct any Mesoamerican settlement. Teotihuacan was the crown jewel. During the Olympic Games of 1968, showcasing the successful modernization of Mexico, Teotihuacan played a major role. The entire "Avenue of the Dead" was reconstructed. At the backdrop of this axis, the Moon Pyramid received special attention. Three decades later, when Mexico signed a free-trade agreement with the United States and Canada, Teotihuacan received again large sums of money.

195

Figure 21: Spring Equinox Festival, 2006.

Each of these stages had its own towering figure, just like Batres. The entire history of PRI left an imprint in Teotihuacan's archaeology. Each project reflects a continued national policy for the appropriation of Mexico's legacy.326 The list of scholars collaborating with the state in such endeavors is quite long. Manuel Gamio, Ignacio Bernal, or Eduardo Matos are some of its most representative collaborators. Each generation had its own approach, sometimes influenced by scientific concerns, others by social consciousness. Yet, there is a constant thread in their approach: none of them has

326See Luis Vázquez León, El Leviatán arqueológico: Antropología de una tradición científica en México, (Leiden: Research School CNWS, 1996); cf. Stephen Haber, "The Worst of Both Worlds: The New Cultural History of Mexico," The Hispanic American Historical Review 79, 2(1999):307-30; idem, "Anything Goes: Mexico's "New" Cultural History," Mexican Studies / Estudios Mexicanos 13, 2(1997):363-83; Roger Bartra, The Cage of Melancholy: Identity and Metamorphosis in the Mexican Character, (New Brunswick: Rutgers University Press, 1992); and Subcomandante Marcos, Conversations with Durito: Stories of the Zapatistas and Neoliberalism, (New York: Autonomedia, 2005). 196 been able to prove "scientifically" the parameters of a Mesoamerican worldview from which a reliable set of connotations may be associated with the basic denotation of its tangible heritage. Since Batres first tried to anchor his speculations on archaeological evidence, a conundrum emerged: the manner in which history transmitted the legacy of Mesoamerica, through centuries of neglect and abuse, precludes higher signification. The amount of loss, accumulated along the way, is staggering. To resolve this unsettling condition the historiographical narrative relies on an awkward use of "religious" or

"magical" rhetoric. Each time an interpretation is cornered by uncertainty, a way out appears through the advancement of a symbolic narrative.327 Over time these narratives have chosen a Toltec, Aztec, and now Olmec filiation, proving the inconclusiveness of interpretations trying to explain such a hermetic and polysemic heritage. Its presence lies only in the deferred presence of ruined cities, swarmed by thick impenetrable jungles or insinuated mirages in desert valleys. But, mostly it is located in the imagination of an orphan people who intuitively knows that their ancestors were a great people. The effect of these narratives on the Mexican people has turned these ruined sites into veritable, resurgent shrines. They trigger the religious fervor of a people that still feels relatively uncomfortable in Roman Catholicism.

327Since the early days of Batres, the "scientific" reports of many explorations include some rhetoric with a "spiritual" flavor. One example from Batres himself may suffice: "I cleared the terrain of all vegetation at the base of the Sun Pyramid … it was important to possess the scientific facts related to the monument's situation, and with that enable the methodic process of excavation, in conditions of solidity and security, so that the sacred interests that were going to be unraveled could be performed safely [emphasis added]." See Schávelzon, La conservación del patrimonio, 1990, 64. 197 Part II: Context Companion

Those who die are those who do not understand; those who live will understand it.328

As with the Moebius strip, there is neither inside nor outside […] otherness is not there, beyond, but here, within: otherness is ourselves. Duality is not something added, artificial, or exterior: it is our constituent reality.329

The reception of Mesoamerica's legacy is entangled in a paradox, driven by a terrible loss, associated with the potential of heritage to provide signification to cultural identity. The paradox arises from two premises. First, when a people surveying their past uncover the remains of great civilizations, they assume certain levels of continuity with these predecessors. Second, when the cultural background (worldview) that could substantiate higher connotations for this heritage has suffered a considerable loss of continuity, the interpretation of its tangible components cannot go beyond a basic denotation. The paradox arises from the loss of continuity and the need to provide higher levels of signification for a heritage that clearly belongs to them, but they cannot understand its meaning any more. There are many examples of this condition. The extreme case is our limited understanding of prehistoric peoples. The paradox increases because we refuse to engage just a basic denotation. In other words, a people surveying the past are determined to understand the symbolic dimension of their heritage. They strive to attain higher connotations. In this sense, the paradox could be restated as follows: first, as a particular corpus of heritage increases its temporal distance from a particular point in time, its interpretation becomes more difficult; second, as the cultural identity of a specific group increases its dependency on such corpus, the adjudication of

328Chilam Balam de Chumayel, 9. 329Octavio Paz, The Other Mexico: Critique of the Pyramid, (New York: Grove Press, 1972), 75. 198 meaning becomes more important. The conflation of both premises engenders a gradual crisis of identity, because the group in question cannot accept the level of abstraction entailed by metaphoric interpretation. They want the clarity and accuracy of its metonymic counterpart.330 But the latter is unattainable in this case, because the group lost the direct pathways to their past. They have lost their continuity. That is the paradox. In Mesoamerica's case, contemporary generations have "intuitively" overrun the paradox, by "reinventing" the connotations that could bring their heritage back to life.

This chapter sketches the origins of this phenomenon in the last hundred years, surveying certain debates for the instauration of a specific political agenda. The resurgence of the Mesoamerican worldview, through the spiritual concerns of a modern middle class of mestizo origin, is the product of a long process of enculturation. One of its earliest expressions was the conflation of mythic figures (Quetzalcóatl-St Thomas), by Creole intellectuals fighting a war of independence. It reappears in the utopian aspirations of Maximiliano and Carlota to forge a "Mexican Empire." It is equally present in the positivism of Gabino Barreda, as well as the efforts of Gamio and Vasconcelos. These stages of enculturation gave engendered a new phenomenon, known as Mexicanidad, a "spiritual" movement associated with the popularity of the Spring Equinox Festivals. This phenomenon illustrates how intangible heritage moves through time. It is expressed by massive gatherings in archaeological sites across Mexico on March 21st. The background of the attendees is rich and diverse, transcending social, economic, and educational boundaries. It is a popular re-embracement of Mesoamerican heritage. It is driven by the master narratives of the last fifty years, intuitively responding to the aforementioned paradox. The latter has been a silent player in the political discourse of

330The distinction between these terms is examined in the conclusion of this work. 199 the last century. It is a complex issue, imbued with the "psychological" animosity of a multiethnic people. Octavio Paz expressed the complexity of these issues in his celebrated work, The Labyrinth of Solitude, which unveils a profound resentment, rooted in the archetypes of betrayal and abuse.331 The ancestral couple (La Malinche and Cortés), symbolizes Mexico's painful inter-breeding. Over time, its cultural identity keeps struggling with these issues. That is why most Mexicans have a critical understanding of their past.332 The complexity of these issues increases when the opposing views of

liberals and conservatives try to overrun the paradox. Both positions have a paternalistic approach to the indigenous communities. Their unresolved demands are at the heart of the matter! They represent the country's greatest heritage. They constitute our last chance to maintain some contact with the rich legacy of Mesoamerica. Unfortunately, the country has not been able to construct a political system that truly restores their dignity, giving them real opportunities for advancement. The Mexicanidad movement is a grass-roots response to this political vacuum. It is driven by the desire to retrieve the "original" connotations of a worldview that was radically transformed by the imposition of Christianity, modernity, and globalization. To some extent, it is a political and cultural response to the paradox. The latter poses serious limitations to the potentiality of connotation, associated with the archaeological retrieval of a tangible heritage. Although archaeology clarifies many questions, it is seriously limited with the unraveling of meaning. Teotihuacan offers a clear example. In 1907, Batres characterized the infant burials of the Sun Pyramid as "macabre sacrifices." By the late 1980s, scientific studies revealed high levels of infant mortality in the city throughout

331See Octavio Paz, The Labyrinth of Solitude and Other Writings, (New York: Grove Press, 1991); cf. Guillermo Bonfil Batalla, México profundo: Una civilización negada, (Mexico City: Random House Mondadori, 2005); and idem, Pensar nuestra cultura: Ensayos, (Mexico City: Alianza, 1991). 332The importance of a "critical" understanding of the past is examined in the conclusion of this work. 200 its history.333 These studies change our understanding of these offerings. Instead of a "sinister execution" they seem more like "pleads for help." Unfortunately, it is difficult to distinguish one option from the other. Consequently, we are left in doubt. A rational, scientific mind may be able to accept these levels of uncertainty, but a passionate, poetic mind would find it intolerable, because most of our identity is invested in understanding the meaning of heritage. It is not a distant object of study; it is part of our "flesh and blood." That is why heritage tends to be in the frontline of cultural

confrontations. Mexico's popular response, today, stems from innumerable efforts to explain a past that was severely disconnected from the present. All those majestic sites, reflecting the strong denotation of civilization, cannot provide higher connotation. Yet, their descendants still recognize certain threads of continuity. The painful paradox emerges from a past whose meaning is archaeologically inaccessible to a people who suffer a serious disruption from their past. In a popular characterization of history, that is what differentiates "winners from losers." The former have the privilege to preserve their heritage and identity, while the latter struggle to survive in a world that discriminates and disrupts their legacy. To illustrate these conditions the chapter examines the intellectual debates of three periods: (1) the positivist efforts to create a modern, secular state; (2) the liberal and conservative responses to post-revolutionary conditions; and (3) the heterogeneous connotations grounding the new "spirituality" of Mexican society.

333See, especially, Rebecca Storey, Life and Death in the Ancient City of Teotihuacan: A Modern Paleodemographic Synthesis, (Tuscaloosa: University of Alabama Press, 1992). 201 The Dictator's Pyramid

Teotihuacan's history began, to some extent, in the early decades of the 1900s. By that time, the site had attracted enough attention to encourage systematic exploration. The philosophical outlook, grounded on the primacy of reason, enabled distantiation from its mythic dimension. It was an age of profound ideological confrontations: Protestantism v. Catholicism, Liberalism v. Conservatism, Deism v. Secularism. Randall Collins sees a positive aspect, since: "Toleration and secularization occurred not because any of the strong factions desired it, but because these forces exhausted themselves through their

conflict."334 The motivation to reconstruct the Sun Pyramid stems from the ideological value that liberals and conservatives awarded to the country's prehispanic legacy, as part of Mexico's modernization. This context explains the policies of Porfirio Díaz to become a historical figure of international stature, attracting foreign investment and assuring peace. Batres was responsible for the archaeological work and its interpretation. It was part of an ambitious strategy to showcase Mexico as a country with a proud past. The Sun Pyramid proved beyond doubt that Mexico had already attained high standards of civilization. Its reconstruction testified the capability of Don Porfirio to restore those levels of accomplishment. It gave universal stature to the Porfiriato.335 The role of prehispanic beliefs in the consolidation of a national identity had already been recognized in the early efforts for independence. Creole intellectuals, inspired by the French Revolution, had already tested the cohesive power of affirming an

334See Collins, Global Theory, 2000, 594 & 600-13. 335Mauricio Tenorio and Aurora Gómez argue that the international reception of Porfirio Díaz has not been sufficiently studied. See their work, El Porfiriato, (Mexico City: Centro de Investigación Docencia Económicas, Fondo de Cultura Económica, 2006), 18. Some works reveal the potential of this area of study. See Gene Yeager, "Porfirian Commercial Propaganda: Mexico in the World Industrial Exhibitions," The Americas 34, 2(1977):230-43; and Mauricio Tenorio Trillo, Artilugio de la nación moderna: México en las exposiciones universales, 1880-1930, (Mexico City: Fondo de Cultura Económica, 1998). 202 autochthonous identity. By the mid 1800s, the works of Montesquieu, Voltaire, and Comte had profound influence on the Mexican elite.336 The intelligentsia saw rationality as a path for emancipation. Independence required an enlightened class, rooted in local traditions. Their greatest obstacle was the duopoly of Crown and Church. The legacy of the Indians was seen as a mighty fountainhead, capable of creating a new identity, opposed to the Peninsular Aristocracy. Men like Fray Servando Teresa de Mier or Carlos María de Bustamante saw in Quetzalcóatl and the Virgin of Guadalupe the potentiality to fuse autochthonous and Christian beliefs. They would create a truly distinctive, Mexican identity. Since the Aztec hero-deity had already been associated with St Thomas the Apostle, while the Lady of Guadalupe had absorbed the Aztec Goddess Tonántzin. Both icons were ideal conflations of Mesoamerican and Christian beliefs. By the mid 1800s, liberals and conservatives recognized the powerful symbolism of these amalgams. The only policy that literally tore them apart was the liberal obsession to dismantle the ecclesiastical infrastructure. The infamous Ley Lerdo, one of the most important liberal reforms (established in 1856) not only expropriated church lands, but the last ejidos as well. The latter were Indian systems of land tenure, in which relatively large territories belonged to a single community. Each extended family owned and worked individual parcels of land. Yet, large scale challenges, like fixing the irrigation canals or access roads, were solved collectively. It was a hybrid system of cooperation. As soon as liberals expropriated ejidos, many Indian communities supported the

336 See François-Xavier Guerra, Modernidad e independencias: Ensayos sobre las revoluciones hispánicas, (Mexico City: MAPFRE, 1992); David A. Brading, The Origins of Mexican Nationalism, (Cambridge, UK: Center for Latin American Studies, 1985); Hugo Achugar, "Foundational Images of the Nation in Latin America," in Building Nineteenth-Century Latin America: Re-Rooted Cultures, Identities, Nations, William G. Acree Jr. and Juan Carlos González Espitia, eds., 11-31, (Nashville: Vanderbilt University Press, 2009); Jean-Pierre Bastian, "Una ausencia notoria: La francmasonería en la historiografía mexicanista," Historia Mexicana 44, 3(1995):439-60; and idem, "Jacobinismo y ruptura revolucionaria durante el porfiriato," Mexican Studies / Estudios Mexicanos 7, 1(1991):29-46. 203 conservatives in the War of Reform. Shortly, the war became an international affair. By the mid 1860s, the liberals received financial support from the United States, while the conservatives were reinforced with 30,000 French soldiers.337 Since the War of Independence until the present day, Mexico has endured constant warfare under the hands of powerful caudillos (military chieftains) and the perpetual clash of liberals and conservatives. Only two periods of "relative peace" were enforced by the regimes of Juárez-Díaz (1870 - 1910) and PRI (1920 to 1990). So, after

two centuries of independence, Mexico has only been in peace half the time. Such instability stems from a series of unresolved inequalities. Through most of its history, Mexico has not been able to support its indigenous population. The combination of two factors keeps pushing them to intermittent violence: (1) the expropriation of communal land by the State and (2) the neglect of spiritual guidance by the Church. These conditions persist after half a millennium. Those periods of peace were grounded on relative improvements through financial aid and the repression of any uprising, right from the start. Clearly, this policy does not solve the problem. It merely neutralizes the symptoms. It is an unsustainable method of appeasement. Amidst this political environment, the constitution of national identity played a key role in the enforcement of appeasement. During the French occupation–supported by the alliance of conservatives, Napoleon III, and the Hapsburgs–the prehispanic legacy inspired the creation of a New Mexican Monarchy. The authors of such radical experiment were Ferdinand Maximilian Joseph and Marie Charlotte Amélie Léopoldine.

337For more on the Ley Lerdo and its disastrous effects on the Indians, see Michael C. Meyer, William L. Sherman, and Susan M. Deeds, The Course of Mexican History, sixth ed., (New York: Oxford University Press, 1999), 359-70; cf. Frank Tannenbaum, The Mexican Agrarian Revolution, (New York: Macmillan, 1929); George M. McBride, The Land Systems of Mexico, (New York: American Geographical Society, 1923); and Eric van Young, "Mexican Rural History since Chevalier: The Historiography of the Colonial Hacienda," Latin American Research Review 18, 3(1983):5-61. 204 Their romantic idealism encouraged the belief that Mexico could become an "alternative" state. They thought their experience and knowledge as members of a most prestigious royal lineage could bring the best of Europe into the New World. They saw it as an opportunity for a fresh start, purging the old tradition from its atavism.338 Maximilian wanted a New Hapsburg Empire, stretching from Río Grande to Río de la Plata. His brother Ludwig Viktor was going to marry a Brazilian Princess. It was a utopian dream of quixotic proportion. Ironically, his vision for a New Mexican Empire was based on the

same ideals of an enlightened secularism. He saw liberals as natural allies. Most of his policies betrayed the principles of his conservative allies. Yet, "by attempting to find a middle ground between the liberals and the conservatives, he succeeded only in alienating both."339 The polarization of Mexican politics was so extreme that the system could not tolerate an enlightened moderate. Be that as it may, the French occupation left a profound, positivist influence on liberals and conservatives alike. Rationalism became a perfect antidote for chronic anarchy. In his famous speech, Oración civica, Gabino Barreda argued that Mexico would only move forward if the principles of "Liberty, Order, and Progress" were fervently incorporated to civic life. These tenets echoed the principles of Comte and French Deism. This influence came from a close friend, Pedro Contreras Elizalde, a

338Maximilian's aspirations are attested in comments like this one: "I found the country far better than I expected […] and the people far more advanced than supposed at home. Our reception was cordial and sincere, free from all pretence and from the nauseating official servility which one very often finds in Europe […] The so-called entertainments of Europe, such as evening receptions, the gossip of tea parties, etc., etc., of hideous memories, are quite unknown here, and we shall take good care not to introduce them." See Meyer et al., Course of Mexican History, 1999, 380-1. 339Moreover, "Hoping to attract some liberal support to his government he not only refused to return church lands, re-establish Roman Catholicism to the exclusion of all other creeds, and decree education a church monopoly, but, when he found himself in a financial squeeze similar to that of his republican predecessors, he even levied several forced loans against the church." However, the liberals saw his regime as "A monarchy, supported by foreign arms and headed by a foreigner," so, "it was their duty as honorable citizens to overthrow it." Ibid. 205 direct disciple of Comte and the first Mexican Positivist. In 1867, Barreda founded the National Preparatory School in Mexico City. It was one of the first experiments in positivist education across the world. Pierre Laffite's Revue Occidentale praised it as a unique pedagogical experiment. The curriculum was grounded on the strict use of logic, proposed by the renewed approach of Alexander Bain and John Stuart Mill. For Barreda, scientific advancement required the logical use of reason. The curriculum sought to educate an emerging middle class. Future generations would bring a renewed state of

civilization. Reason would be its engine. For William Raat, "Catholicism did not adjust properly to the new scientific and philosophical ideas," that is why "Comte's philosophy presented itself to the popular mind as an opposition to traditional religion and the reactionary forces supported by the Church."340 Education was the frontline of modernization. Ironically, positivism had a profound influence on Don Porfirio's conservatism. In many ways, his policies were driven by liberal and secular ideals. A silent companion of the positivist agenda was the so-called detached indigenismo. It is commonly defined as a paternalistic approach to the Indian Question. Its socio-political outlook was as old as the Conquest. Thus, Fray Bartolomé de las Casas was the first indigenista. In many ways, this approach suffers from that denial of coevalness threatening modern anthropology.341 David Brading identifies the origin of these policies in the Creole mobilization against the New Spain. It runs through the First

340See William D. Raat, El positivismo durante el Porfiriato (1876-1910), trans. Andrés Lira, (Mexico City: Secretaría de Educación Pública, 1975), 13. For more on the positivist approach to education, during the Porfiriato, see Walter Beller, Bernardo Méndez and Santiago Ramírez, El positivismo mexicano, (Mexico City: Universidad Autónoma Metropolitana, Xochimilco, 1973); William Raat, "Ideas and Society in Don Porfirio's Mexico," The Americas 30, 1(1973):32-53; Mílada Bazant, Historia de la educación durante el Porfiriato, (Mexico City: Colegio de México, 1993); Mary K Vaughan, The State, Education, and Social Class in Mexico, 1880-1928, (DeKalb: Northern Illinois University Press, 1982); and Mílada Bazant, ed., Debate pedagógico durante el Porfiriato, (Mexico City: Secretaría de Educación Pública, 1985). 341See Johannes Fabian, Time and the Other: How Anthropology Makes its Object, (New York: Columbia University Press, 2002). 206 Empire of José de Iturbide. It even reaches the liberal and conservative confrontations of the 1800s. In the periods of Juárez's Reform and Maximilian's Empire, the image of "the abused Indian" played a fundamental role in the constitution of national identity. The actual abuse of Indians was not important. It was just a symbol to foster national unity.342 In the acclaimed novel, La navidad en las montañas, Ignacio Manuel Altamirano "attacked forced (the leva), urged the development of a new educational system, and denounced the clergy for its failure to meet the real needs of the Mexican community." The spiritual abandonment by the Church was a bitter supplement of economic neglect by the State. In the early 1840s, a previous generation witnessed the national debate between a political giant, Melchor Ocampo, and the clergy of Michoacán. "The issue–the refusal of a local curate to bury the body of a penniless peón because the widow could not pay the sacramental fees–became a cause célèbre and was used effectively by Ocampo to demonstrate the ineptitude and decadence of the ecclesiastical effort."343

342See David Brading, The Origins of Mexican Nationalism, (Cambridge, UK: Center for Latin American Studies, 1985). For the paternalism of Mexican Indigenismo, see William Raat, "Los intelectuales, el positivismo y la cuestión indígena," Historia Mexicana 20, 3(1971):412-27; and T. G. Powell, "Mexican Intellectuals and the Indian Question, 1876-1911," The Hispanic American Historical Review 48, 1(1968):19-36. For the social context of the Indian Question, see Jean-Pierre Bastian, "La estructura social en México a fines del siglo XIX y principios del XX," Revista Mexicana de Sociología 51, 2(1989):413-29; David Brading, "Manuel Gamio and Official Indigenismo in Mexico." Bulletin of Latin American Research 7, 1(1988):75-89; Bonfil Batalla, México profundo, 2005; and Arturo Warman, Los indios mexicanos en el umbral del milenio, (Mexico City: Fondo de Cultura Económica, 2003). For an Indian perspective see Comisión Episcopal para Indígenas (CEI), 500 años de evangelización en México (Consulta Indígena), Cuadernos Estudios Indígenas, no. 3. Mexico: CENAMI, 1987). 343All quotes come from Meyer et al., Course of Mexican History, 1999, 359 & 410. Regarding the spiritual carelessness of the Mexican Church, Eduardo Blanquel recognizes its poor response to new spiritual needs, during the political re-organization of the 1920s. The author emphasizes how certain changes in the socio-economic structure produced a new spiritual consciousness: "That is why, when the Church, unable to understand the country's change, tried to close the path for freedom of conscience and wider education, she was left almost alone." See Cosío Villegas et al., Historia mínima de México, 1974, 147-8. For the economic neglect of Indian populations, during the Porfiriato and PRI, see Tenorio Trillo and Gómez Galvarriato, El Porfiriato, 2006, 48-9; Ernesto Álvarez Nolasco, Historia mínima del PRI: Luces y sombras de quien quiere retornar al Palacio Nacional, (Mexico City: Agencia Promotora de Publicaciones, 2009); and Pablo Escalante Gonzalbo, Bernardo García Martínez, Luis Jáuregui, Josefina 207 The disproportionate adjudication of resources for the retrieval of archaeological remains was another source for a detached indigenismo. The primacy of tangible heritage over its intangible counterpart has only been questioned recently. In the study of Mesoamerica, the former received greater attention after the expeditions of Alexander von Humboldt catapulted this type of legacy to international prestige. His interests were extremely broad, collecting data from multiple fields of science, including Mesoamerican archaeology, philology, and iconography. His publications, Essai politique sur le

Royaume de la Nouvelle Espagne and Vues des cordillères et monuments des peuples indigènes de l'Amérique, complemented the celebrated study from an exiled Mexican Jesuit, Francisco Javier Clavijero. Together they aroused a European fascination for the exotic history of "Ancient Mexico." According to von Humboldt:

From the close of the last century [the 1700s] a happy revolution has allowed us to change our way of perceiving the civilization of other peoples [...] my studies of the natives of America are appearing in an age when we no longer take to be without merit whatever does not conform to the style of which the Greeks have left us such perfect examples.344

The aspirations of Maximiliano and Carlota–as they wanted to be known in Mexico–were influenced by this innovative attitude. Their utopian dreams were based on the rational fusion of autochthonous and allochthonous traditions. Their vision of a new order gave equal standing to Mesoamerican and European customs. The small army that Napoleon III sent to support their instauration included a "Commission Scientifique,"

Zoraida Vázquez, Elisa Speckman Guerra, Javier Garciadiego, and Luis Aboites Aguilar, Nueva historia mínima de México, (Mexico City: Colegio de México, 2006), 262-302. 344See Ignacio Bernal, A History of Mexican Archaeology: The Vanished Civilizations of Middle America, trans. Ruth Malet, (London: Thames and Hudson, 1980), 101; Laura D. Walls, The Passage to Cosmos: Alexander von Humboldt and the Shaping of America, (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 2009); Ursula Thiemer-Sachse, Alexander von Humboldt e il "Museo Historico Indiano" di Lorenzo Boturini Benaducci, (Alexandria: Edizioni dell'Orso, 2002); and Robert van Dusen, The Literary Ambitions and Achievements of Alexander von Humboldt, (Bern: H. Lang, 1971). 208 inspired by his uncle's Egyptian Campaign.345 To some extent, the potential of its heritage gave modest ground to emulate Napoleon's methodology for the control of history to substantiate his claim of power. The Commission would systematically survey the land, searching for archaeological sites and extracting precious objects. These activities were dutifully reported and archived. One of its most accomplished explorers, Claude Joseph Désiré Charnay, received substantial funds from Napoleon III's Minister of Fine Arts, Eugène-Emmanuel Viollet-le-Duc. He photographed many ruins with a novel device, a camera obscura.346 While members of the Commission explored Mexico, Maximilian established a free press, declared amnesty to all political enemies, and created an independent administration for a National Museum, entirely devoted to Pre- Hispanic Antiquities.347 Teotihuacan received special attention. An independent group of scientists was entrusted with the site's first topographical survey. Under the direction of Ramón Almaraz, they measured the archaeological remains and made a reliable map, including the adjacent towns, as well as a longitudinal section across the "Avenue of the Dead." It was the first time that the site was addressed in purely scientific terms. However, they also stumbled for the first time with the difficulty of juxtaposing empirical data with unsubstantiated interpretations. Although their work as engineers differed from the customary explanations of philologists, their interpretations were rather fanciful. For instance, when Charnay described the Sun Pyramid, his first statements were extremely logical: "The areas of major destruction show an inclination of 31 to 36

345For more on the French Scientific Commission, see Bernal, History of Mexican Archaeology, 1980, 103-19; and Roberto Gallegos Ruiz, José Roberto Gallegos Téllez Rojo, and Miguel Gabriel Pastrana Flores, eds., Antología de documentos para la historia de la arqueología de Teotihuacan, (Mexico City: Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia, 1997), 188-271. 346See Désiré Charnay, Ciudades y ruinas americanas: Mitla, Palenque, Izamal, Chichén Itza, Uxmal. Recogidas y fotografiadas por Désiré Charnay. Con un texto de Viollet-le-Duc, (Mexico City: Imprenta Literaria, 1866). 347See Meyer et al., Course of Mexican History, 1999, 139 & 379. 209 degrees, while those that still maintain a concrete revetment have an inclination of 47 degrees." Subsequent statements lack the same sobriety: "At the top of the highest temple there was a temple with a statue of the Sun, made from a single block of stone. The statue had a hole in the chest, where a planet of pure gold was placed."348 This information is pure fabrication, perhaps, triggered by the expectations of his superiors. Thus, the report combined "hard" facts, obtained though empirical observation, with "soft" fantasies inspired by philological exegeses. In their view, Teotihuacan's past was based on the assumptions of early chroniclers, such as Torquemada, who identified the city as the greatest achievement of Toltec civilization. In many ways, Batres's outlook was shaped by the influence of the French Scientific Commission. His superior, the Minister of Education, Justo Sierra, was also imbued with French secularism and positivism. The regimes of Juárez and Díaz were driven by the mantra of "Order and Progress," assuring foreigners to invest in the modernization of the country. Appeasement was essential. The engine of modernization was the railroad.349 Ironically, its network enabled the free movement of Revolutionary troops with amazing speed. It is difficult to assess the overall effects of the Porfiriato. Its ubiquitous characterization as a military dictatorship is somewhat questionable. Recent studies reveal a rather small police force of 15,000 soldiers and 2,000 rurales (rural soldiers). It was a stark decrease from the forces that remained after the French occupation. In the late 1870s, around 80,000 soldiers roamed the countryside in search of work and food. Meanwhile, the population grew at an amazing rate, from 8.5 million in

348See Gallegos Ruiz et al., Antología de documentos, 1997, 252-3. 349In 1860, Mexico had only 150 miles of tracks, while the US had 30,000. After the Porfiriato, it increased to 19,000 miles. Trade expanded from 50 to 300 million pesos. Exports surpassed imports. The economy was substantially improved. A burgeoning industrial complex across the country was interconnected by the railroad. See Meyer et al., Course of Mexican History, 1999, 436; and Sandra Kuntz Ficker and Paolo Riguzzi, Ferrocarriles y vida económica en México, 1850-1950: Del surgimiento tardío al decaimiento precoz, (Mexico City: El Colegio Mexiquense, UAM, Ferrocarriles Nacionales de México, 1996). 210 the 1870s to 15 million in 1910. Annual growth quadrupled in less than a generation. Mexico City and the state capitals grew even faster. So, how could such a small police force maintain peace over a large population? Clearly, there was something more than pure repression.350 Public education gave further support to the strategies of appeasement. Díaz was internationally praised as a statesman of grand stature. Thomas Carlyle and Otto von Bismarck characterized his non-democratic regime as a paradigm of nineteenth century

politics. The Ministry of Public Instruction controlled a large apparatus for the self- promotion and aggrandizement of the dictator. It was a tool of international propaganda.351 Laudatory works and the pavilions for universal exhibitions were commissioned by this Ministry. In 1905, Justo Sierra assumed control, given his international prestige. Díaz was seventy five years old. The country prepared a monumental celebration for its first century of independence. The dictator's life achievements had to be glorified. It was the perfect situation to crystallize his legacy. Don Porfirio had framed his public image in historical terms since the very beginning. When Juárez entered Mexico City, he withdrew to his country estate, publicizing his heroic retreat as that of a "Mexican Cincinnatus." His regime was molded on current ideas of Hero Worship, championed by Voltaire, Carlyle, and–stretched to a calamitous extreme–Nietzsche. A speech from 1904 unveils the positivist underpinning of his appeasement strategy:

350See Tenorio Trillo and Gómez Galvarriato, Porfiriato, 2006, 48; Cosío Villegas et al., Historia mínima, 1974, 119; and Meyer et al., Course of Mexican History, 1999, 451. 351See Mílada Bazant, ed., Debate pedagógico durante el Porfiriato, (Mexico City: Secretaría de Educación Pública, 1985); Mary K. Vaughan, The State, Education, and Social Class in Mexico, 1880-1928, (DeKalb: Northern Illinois University Press, 1982); Moisés González Navarro, Sociedad y cultura en el Porfiriato, (Mexico City: Consejo Nacional para la Cultura y las Artes, 1994); and Anthony Bryan, The Politics of the Porfiriato: A Research Review, (Bloomington: Latin American Studies Program, Indiana University, 1973). 211 the opinion that most of the civilized world now shares about the arrival of this Republic to a path of ensured progress, peace, and legal order is justified; it is well known that these causes, assisted by good judgment, have assured such a favorable condition in Mexico's history.352

"Order and Progress" were the foundations of a pax porfiriana. Its achievement was a historical. The entire "civilized world" recognized the agency of Don Porfirio. Logic, mentioned as buen juicio ("good judgment"), was at the center of any decisions. Díaz was the enforcer of a logical process of appeasement. Years later, a pax priista would be grounded on similar bases. After decades of chaos, peace settled in, yet neither

Díaz nor PRI were able to foresee the dramatic disenchantment of a burgeoning middle class, utterly isolated from power. Both regimes controlled all the levers. They dismissed the necessary conditions for sustainable pax. To them, the exploitation of lower classes (Indians, peasants, workers, miners, etc.) was invisible. Both regimes would eventually collapse, given their inability to share power. After relative periods of appeasement, the chronic illnesses that remain since the Aztec and the New Spain resurfaced almost immediately, challenging the future of this country.353 The constant exaltation of national identity was essential for these strategies of appeasement. Sierra's acute historical understanding allowed him to exploit the potentiality of the country's legacies.354 As long as the people have something to hold on, even though it may be just an illusion, peace will endure. The Porfiriato is a perfect example of how the exploitation of intangible heritage strengthens popular appeasement.

352See Raat, El positivismo durante el Porfiriato, 1975, 21-2. 353The collapse of the Porfiriato is well summarized in Cosío Villegas et al., Historia mínima, 1974, 124- 50; cf. Joseph and Henderson, eds., Mexico Reader, 2002, 335-427. For the end of PRI, see Álvarez Nolasco, Historia mínima del PRI, 2009. 354Sierra's opus magna, México: Su evolución social ("Mexico: Its Social Evolution") was a historiographic synthesis, based on Hegel's philosophy of history. To some extent, Sierra might be compared to Benedetto Croce, a generation later. Their careers reflect the transition from history to politics, grounded on a sophisticated historical understanding. For an excellent work on Sierra's life and work, see Claude Dumas, Justo Sierra y el México de su tiempo 1848-1912, 2 vols., (Mexico City: UNAM, 1986). 212 It gave an aura of hope, a collective sense of purpose. Through culture, the Ministry of Education created a unique horizon of expectation to fulfill the historical mission of the dictator. The reconstruction of the Sun Pyramid was a fundamental piece of these strategies. Sierra was the mastermind of this operation. His use of archaeology gave precedence to the corporate alliance between the state and the academic community. Batres was the executor of Sierra's vision. According to the former:

The Secretary of Public instruction himself, Justo Sierra, envisioned the works of exploration and repairs for the monuments of Teotihuacan, emphasizing that a higher effort should be given to uncover beneath the "immense mass of earth" the true architecture of the Sun Pyramid, so it may be consolidated.355

The pyramid was ready for the centennial celebrations. It was presented at an international congress of Americanists. Eduard Seler, professor at the Berlin University and director of the American Division of the Königlichen Museum für Völkerkunde, was the guest of honor. His work gave footing to Mesoamerican studies in Europe. With funds from the Duc de Loubat, he published facsimiles of key codices (Aubin, Borgia, and Fejérváry-Mayer). He inspired a first generation of scholars, represented by William Holmes, Alfred Maudslay, and Zelia Nuttall, among others. Their contributions cannot be sufficiently emphasized. Yet, they are also partially responsible for advancing the paradox, by superimposing some unsubstantiated connotations.356 For the 1910 celebration, a special train was prepared to take the attendants from Mexico City to the "Pyramids." After their visit, a banquet was given at a nearby grotto. According to Batres, Sierra revealed the source of motivation for the pyramid's reconstruction:

355See Leopoldo Batres, "Memoria en extracto de las exploraciones llevadas a cabo por mandato oficial en las ruinas de Teotihuacán, durante los años de 1905 a 1911, y que fue sometida a la docta Sociedad Mexicana de Geografía y Estadística," Boletín de la Sociedad Mexicana de Geografía y Estadística, Quinta Época, 9, 1(1919):253-61. 356For more on this influential generation of Americanists, see Bernal, History of Mexican Archaeology, 1980, 142-59; and Schávelzon, La conservación del patrimonio, 1990, 67-83. 213 In 1910, Sierra himself gave news of a commentary from the Duc de Loubat during a trip to Paris, who insisted that the zone around Teotihuacan should be explored and their monuments should be consolidated, since those works would unearth a "veritable Mexican Pompeii." When the Secretary returned to Mexico, he submitted the proposal to Porfirio Díaz, who accepted it immediately.357

"A veritable Mexican Pompey"… the Duc de Loubat was right on the mark! Over time, Teotihuacan has unveiled a past just as intriguing as that of Pompeii. His management of the politics of culture echoes our current understanding of soft power. The site's potential was so clear, that Sierra and Díaz saw it immediately. Prosper

Mérimée and Viollet-le-Duc had already proven the efficacy of heritage preservation to

create a national identity after the French Revolution.358 At last, Mexico was ready to embrace the full legacy of Mesoamerica. Many talented artists tried to synthesize the tenets of that ancient legacy within a Christian and Modern worldview. The composer, Gustavo E. Campa, wrote an opera based on Nezahualcóyotl, entitled Le Roi Pòete. Saturnino Herrán exhibited an amazing large-scale painting, in which a "dissolving" image of a Crucified Christ was juxtaposed to Coatlicue, the Aztec Mother Goddess. Gerardo Murillo and Carmen Mondragón became Dr. Atl and Nahui Ollin (Doctor Water and Sun of Movement). Their vanguardism captivated the imagination of an entire generation. Dr. Atl devoted large part of his life to create a utopian city, perched on the outskirts of Iztaccíhuatl, where philosophers and artists could establish the foundations of a new era.359

357See Claudia Guerrero Crespo," Historia de la arqueología mexicana a partir de los documentos del Archivo General de la Nación," (bachelor's thesis, Escuela Nacional de Arqueología e Hisotria, ENAH, n.d.), 141. For more on the celebrations, see Gallegos Ruiz et al., Antología de documentos, 1997, 336-8. 358For more on the French experience in heritage preservation, see Cevat Erder, Our Architectural Heritage: From Consciousness to Conservation, trans. Ayfer Bakkalcioglu, (Paris: UNESCO, 1986), 113- 63. 359For more on the cultural explorations of the late 1900s, see Meyer et al., Course of Mexican History, 1999, 459; Sergio Sánchez Hernández, Fuentes para el studio de Gerardo Murillo, Dr. Atl, (Mexico City: UNAM, Coordinación de Humanidades, 1994); and Manuel Toussaint, Saturnino Herrán y su obra, (Mexico City: Instituto de Investigaciones Estéticas, UNAM, 1990). 214 The State's Pyramid

The period of PRI's domination could be characterized by the diametrically opposed views of Manuel Gamio and José Vasconcelos. In many ways, their work not only illustrates the opposition of liberals and conservatives, but they also represent different manners to supersede the paradox left behind by the vacuum of connotation, associated with the heritage of Mesoamerica. During seventy years of domination, PRI controlled the internal confrontation of both camps. Its national policies oscillated between a paternalistic view for the modernization of the Indians' way of life and an overreaching view for the dissolution of Indian populations by the "melting pot" of a modern a middle class. Over time, these policies were partially dismissed, after the implementation of palliative reforms, assuring relative states of complacency. As long as Indians had enough funds to attend their small parcels of land, they remained in peace. Any uprising was systematically and efficiently repressed. After 1968, PRI learned how to enforce selective repression and strict control of the media. In many ways, the contemporary movement searching for a new spirituality stems from early attempts for political emancipation, exercised by the student movement of 1968. In the Revolution's aftermath, a new breed of intellectuals emerged from the positivist tradition. Most of its tenets remained. There was a pervasive distrust of ecclesiastic influence over public education. Rationality and historical understanding were still considered basic tools to shape the Nation's future. The Indian Question became a major issue in the national debate. Even though Gamio and Vasconcelos tried to solve it from opposing standpoints, they shared a common ground in their positivist secularization. Even the conservatism of Vasconcelos did not envision ecclesiastic

215 participation in national politics.360 Apparently, the Revolution had successfully consolidated the long process of secularization that began in the mid 1700s. Unfortunately, PRI's collapse in 2000 revealed that the conservative alliance with the Church and its values had been momentarily kept in check. In the last decade, Mexico has seen the resurgence of that old confrontation between liberals and conservatives, precluding Mexico's advancement since its independence from Spain. The political spectrum remains bitterly divided, without a sensible synthesis to move forward.

Meanwhile, the people's understanding of Mesoamerica's heritage remained elusive. Teotihuacan was still identified as a "ceremonial center," built by the prestigious Toltec. Yet, the center of attention remained elsewhere. The Mexican intelligentsia was primarily concerned with solving the "Indian Revolt." Once the urban class attained power, the rural mob had to be controlled. Their function as cannon fodder for the Revolution had been accomplished. Now, the Revolution required constitutional legitimacy. Its legal custodians, Venustiano Carranza and Álvaro Obregón, had to appease its true leaders, Emiliano Zapata and Francisco Villa. The country's problems would be solved by the rule of law, not anarchic bandits. Gamio and Vasconcelos agreed on this matter. Once more, the Indian population required appeasement. The Constitution of 1917 maintained some key decisions from its predecessor of 1857, like the expropriation of Indian lands by the State.361 Gamio recognized the political implications

360See Roger Bartra, The Cage of Melancholy: Identity and Metamorphosis in the Mexican Character, (New Brunswick: Rutgers University Press, 1992); Ángeles González Gamio, Manuel Gamio: Una lucha sin final, (Mexico City: Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México, 1987); Luis A. Marentes, José Vasconcelos and the Writing of the Mexican Revolution, (New York: Twayne, 2000); and José Vasconcelos and Manuel Gamio, Aspects of Mexican Civilization, (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1926). 361See Alan Knight, "Peasants into Patriots: Thoughts on the Making of the Mexican Nation." Mexican Studies / Estudios Mexicanos 10, 1(1994):135-61; idem, "The Mexican Revolution: Bourgeois? Nationalist? Or Just a 'Great Rebellion'?" Bulletin of Latin American Research 4, 2(1985):1-37; and Alexander S. Dawson, "From Models for the Nation to Model Citizens: Indigenismo and the 'Revindication' of the Mexican Indian." Journal of Latin American Studies 30, 2(1998):279-308. See also 216 of this policy, which justified the right of the Zapatistas to keep fighting for their land. Since then, their ideals epitomize the Indian demand to recover their land or at least to attain regional autonomy.362 Gamio's vision provided a foundation for Official Indigenismo, instated by the New Mexican Government.363 Hs first experiment on the exercise of soft power entailed a cultural response for these political conflicts. It was implemented at Teotihuacan, through a new organism, the Direction of Anthropology. The entire project was rooted in

Gamio's education, influenced by the positivist curriculum of Barreda's Preparatory School, as well as studies in archaeology at Columbia University, under the guidance of Franz Boas. Back home, his explorations in San Miguel Amantla were the first, truly scientific excavations in Mexico, employing a stratigraphic analysis. This experience earned him an important support from the Ministry of Agriculture. They funded his exploration and restoration of the gigantic complex, known as the Citadel, in Teotihuacan. These works uncovered a fantastic structure, which he called "The Pyramid of Quetzalcóatl." It was a success! Gamio made an important publication with photographs, technical drawings, and clear descriptions of the findings. It was purely scientific. The publication did not advance any type of interpretation. It was a simple presentation of facts.364

Articles 27 and 123 of the 1917 Constitution, on land tenure, and an essay by Plutarco Elías Calles, entitled "Mexico Must Become a Nation of Institutions and Laws," both in Joseph and Henderson, Mexico Reader, 2002, 398-402 & 421-5, respectively. 362See Héctor Díaz-Polanco, Autonomía regional: La autodeterminación de los pueblos indios, (Mexico City: Siglo XXI, 1996). 363See David Brading, "Manuel Gamio and Official Indigenismo in Mexico," Bulletin of Latin American Research 7, 1(1988):75-89; Manuel Gamio, Hacia un nuevo México: Problemas sociales, (Mexico City, 1935); and Martin S. Stabb, "Indigenism and Racism in Mexican Thought: 1857-1911," Journal of Inter- American Studies 1, 4(1959):405-23. 364See the section devoted to the Prehispanic population in Manuel Gamio, ed., La población del Valle de Teotihuacán: Representativa de las que habitan las regions rurales del Distrito Federal y de los Estados de Hidalgo, Puebla, México y Tlaxcala, 2 vols., (Mexico City: Secretaría de Agricultura y Fomento, Dirección 217 A second publication popularized his findings. It was designed as a tourist guide, so visitors could see for themselves what the ancient peoples had accomplished. David Brading sees Gamio's approach as an argument against the racist and supremacist views characterizing the nature of those ancient inhabitants as savages: "It was no longer possible for radicals to dismiss the native past as a story of barbarism, still less for American anthropologists to rank the Aztecs as superior Iroquois." Moreover, "the sheer imposing scale of the ceremonial center in itself evoked comparison with the pyramids of

Egypt and thus restored the old Creole insistence on the grandeurs of native empire as the enduring glory of Mexico."365 Over time, Gamio's political ambition began to grow. An important work (Forjando Patria) addressed the Indian Question from a unique perspective. To some degree, it resonates with the controversial arguments of Vasconcelos (La raza cósmica).366 Both agreed on a key argument. They saw the Indians as obstacles for the modernization of Mexico. Gamio tried to solve it from a materialist perspective, while Vasconcelos had an idealist outlook. Yet, both agreed on the solution: these "backward peoples," so culturally diverse, straggled behind, impeding the agile ascent to modernization. They would have to be dragged into a forceful and quick adaptation. Their crude traditions required systematic modification, so they could be "integrated" with the New Nation. Gamio engaged the problem as a true scientist. By that time he had the full backing of the State. His approach was ingenious. He organized a multidisciplinary team of scientists to study a specific region (its people, past, economy, social structures, customs, etc.), so they could advance a holistic strategy of integration.

de Antropología, 1922); cf. Manuel Gamio, Arqueología e indigenismo, Eduardo Matos, ed., (Mexico City: Secretaría de Educación Pública, 1972). 365See Brading, "Manuel Gamio and Official Indigenismo," 1988, 78. 366See José Vasconcelos, The Cosmic Race / La raza cósmica, trans., intro., and ed., Didier T. Jaén, (Los Angeles: University of California, Davis, 1979). 218 However, it would not be generated from the inside-out or the bottom-up; it would be imposed from above. The methodology of Western science would solve the Indian Question.367 The experiment was executed in Teotihuacan. It included the creation of schools and health clinics, the construction of bridges and town halls, as well as the formation of crafts and trades. It was social engineering at its best! Amidst these improvements, there was also an intention to impose slowly (subconsciously) the indoctrination of a new worldview. Brading criticizes Gamio's position on this matter:

"the survey concluded that religion was a necessity for the Indians, since it provided the only ray of light in the otherwise 'animal life of these men'." The harsh words in this quote are from Gamio himself. Moreover, "Gamio did not recommend a frontal assault on the Church. Instead, he merely suggested that the government should intervene to lower fees charged for religious rites and seek means to encourage the clergy to marry." These suggestions were driven by a more subversive objective: "he recommended that 'other religious faiths and other clergy, such as Protestantism and its pastors, should be implanted in the region and that regional Masonic lodges and other civic associations should be organized'." For Brading, these efforts were like those of "a pathologist analyzing the physical decay of the patient." Finally, the survey proved that "the natives that now inhabit the Valley of Teotihuacan belong to a race which is physiologically decadent."368 It is hard to assess the result of Gamio's work, under this light. His method

367Clearly, the imposition of modernity upon large populations that still engages reality from a mythic worldview is an unsound enterprise. The process becomes a political nightmare. Modernization should emerge organically through consensus, not imposition. For more on these issues, see Stephen Haber, "The Worst of Both Worlds: The New Cultural History of Mexico," The Hispanic American Historical Review 79, 2(1999):307-30; and Charles R. Hale, "Cultural Politics of Identity in Latin America," Annual Review of Anthropology 26(1997):567-90. cf. CEI, 500 años de evangelización, 1987; and Arturo Warman, Movimientos indígenas contemporáneos en México, (Mexico City: Centro de Investigaciones Interdisciplinarias en Humanidades, UNAM, Miguel Ángel Porrúa, 1993). 368All quotations are from Brading, "Manuel Gamio and Official Indigenismo," 1988, 84 & 86. His analysis of Gamio's approach is based on the latter's, La población del Valle de Teotihuacán, in which he stated that: "The extension and intensity that folk-loric belief exhibits in the great majority of the 219 of improvement was very successful, while his intentions were highly questionable. Undoubtedly, his approach must be seen under the light of an age trapped in the supremacist theories of Nietzsche's will to power. It was an age of eugenics, as tools of modernization and colonialism. The work of Vasconcelos is affected by the same worldview. Its origins in Mexico trace back to the spread of Free-Masonry. The emancipation of Latin-America after the French Revolution was mostly driven by these lodges. In that period, the split between English and French Deism influenced opposing lodges, pursuing different types of secularization.369 One of them was closer to the traditional values, associated with Catholicism, while others reinforced the approach of Protestantism. The split seems to underlie the opposing views of Gamio and Vasconcelos. The latter made it explicit in his Cosmic Race. His arguments, infused with Social Darwinism and Nietzscheanism, explain "the long struggle" between Latin and Anglo-Saxon civilizations for world domination. For Vasconcelos the new stage of confrontation would be spiritual. At that point, the advancement of the New World had been driven by their "struggle to secularize the world." Like Vico's or Hegel's synthetic philosophy of history, Vasconcelos examined the history of the American Continent as a continuous "battle" between these opposing factions, created by the White Race. To some degree, Vasconcelos was repeating an old tune from Don Porfirio's Positivists. On many occasions, Sierra argued that the alliance of France and Mexico would counterbalance the effects of Anglo-Saxon domination.370

population, eloquently demonstrates the cultural backwardness in which that population vegetates. This archaic life, which moves from artifice to illusion and superstition, is curious, attractive and original. But in all senses it would be preferable for the population to be incorporated into contemporary civilization of advanced, modern ideas, which, if stripped of fantasy and traditional clothing, would contribute in a positive manner to the conquest of the material and intellectual well-being to which all humanity ceaselessly aspires." Brading, op. cit., 86. 369See Collins, Global Theory, 2000, 594-613. 370See Vasconcelos, Cosmic Race, 1979, 56-7. Claude Dumas reports multiple comments by Justo Sierra, reflecting a similar outlook, in official visits to Paris or pompous ceremonies in Mexico, attended by the 220 Vasconcelos saw a positive byproduct from the domination of the world by the White Race, because it provided the conditions for the Final Fusion of All Races. In his view, the Yellow, Red, Brown, Black, and White Races were on a straight path to absolute fusion. Thus, the manner in which Latin Christianity (Catholicism) forged a Brown Race (the indigenous people of the American Continent) would become an important precedent to create the spiritual basis for a "New Age Race." From this strange understanding of history, he claimed:

The days of pure whites, today's conquerors, are as numbered as those of their antecessors. As they fulfilled their destiny to mechanize the world, they provided, without knowing, the basis for a new period, the period for the fusion and mixture of all peoples. The Indian has no other door towards the future but that of modern culture, no other path than that cleared already by the Latin Civilization […] The advantage of our tradition is its major access to sympathy toward strangers. This implies that our civilization, with all its defects, might be the chosen one to assimilate and convert into a new type all men […] History's mandate is clarified with the abundance of love that enabled the Spaniards to create a new race with Indians and Blacks.371

Even though his rhetoric is highly disturbing–like that "sympathy towards strangers" that seems to forget the intolerance of the Inquisition–it is important to recognize its powerful resonance with the spiritual heterogeneity in the Mexicanidad movement. If this message is rephrased in a politically correct narrative, it would not be

so different from Kant's cosmopolitanism or Derrida's multiculturalism.372 Even his criticism on the ideological residues at the heart of secularization has great potential to

French Ambassador. For example, at a French Commercial School, he gave a speech in "perfect French," emphasizing the country's profound allegiance to the French heritage. The speech highlighted the importance of having institutions to disseminate "Latin Ideals," against the invasion of "Anglo-Saxon Ideologies." See Dumas, Justo Sierra, 1986, v. 2:152. 371Vasconcelos, Cosmic Race, 1979, 56-7. 372See, for instance, Immanuel Kant, Toward Perpetual Peace and Other Writings on Politics, Peace, and History, (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2006); and Jacques Derrida, On Cosmopolitanism and Forgiveness, (New York: Routledge, 2001). 221 offer a neutral version of secularism. In many ways, the recent explorations for an "alternative" spirituality in Mexico cannot be fully understood without this unique precedent. That generation of student protesters pouring into the streets of Mexico City in 1968 was partially inspired by this worldview. The student mobilization rapidly incorporated demands from workers, peasants, housewives, Indians, and other groups completely segregated from power. Over time, the same mixture of people changed their desire for an alternative political system into a spiritual struggle. In this sense,

Vasconcelos was absolutely right! In the end, the struggle for emancipation starts in the realm of ideas. That is why the concerns to preserve our tangible heritage are gradually shifting to the engagement of our intangible heritage. By the early 1960s, the master narrative of PRI was imbued with a scientific discourse, which appropriated Mexico's heritage as the basis of a more equitable state. It was a period of intense debate and creativity. Archaeological research was clarifying the Mesoamerican chronology. A new generation of social scientists and activists were engaging the Indian Question more seriously. Mexico was going through a second stage of modernization. Yet, the mirage of equality dissipated on a dark day in Tlatelolco. It was October 2nd, 1968. The ruthless massacre was triggered by international pressure. Mexico was celebrating the Olympic Games, amidst a dangerous stage of the Cold War.373 The massacre left a profound mark on the soul of an entire generation. The defeat was hard to accept. However, the desire to create a "different type of world" did not disappear. In many ways, this effort is part of a gradual transformation that continues in the streets of Seattle, the squares of Cairo, and the immediacies of Wall Street.

373See Daniel Cazés, ed., Memorial del 68: Relato a Muchas Voces, (Mexico City: LaJornada Ediciones, 1993); Javier González Rubio, ed., México, 30 años en movimiento, (Mexico City: Universidad Iberoamericana, 1998); and Elena Poniatowska, "The Student Movement of 1968," in Joseph and Henderson, eds., Mexico Reader, 2002, 555-69. 222 By the mid sixties, the study of Mesoamerica produced an extremely creative approach in world anthropology. The work of Alfonso Caso, Miguel Covarrubias, Alberto Ruz, Pedro Armillas, Laurette Séjourné, Paul Kirchhoff, and Eric Wolf, among others, revolutionized the field. The entire country was under the "microscope." Material remains appeared everywhere, suggesting widespread civilization. Its rich multicultural diversity was beginning to emerge. Major sites, like Teotihuacan, Monte Albán, Palenque, and Chichén Itzá received substantial funds to reconstruct their monuments and retrieve "precious objects." Both objectives were driven by the interests of a burgeoning tourist industry, as well as the political discourse forging national identity. Our understanding of Mesoamerica made a quantum leap in those years. Covarrubias established a promising method of iconographic analysis, anchored in Olmec origins. Kirchhoff defined the region as a cultural area. Ruz discovered the first Maya royal tomb. Caso became the first director of INAH (Instituto Nacional Antropología e Historia).374 Since then, this powerful institution controls the exploration and preservation of Mexican heritage. Caso also retrieved a unique gold offering from Monte Albán. Nowadays, official copies of this offering are sold in Mexico's most fashionable hotels, airports, and museums. A large industry for the commercialization of heritage blossomed in a country that was ready to present itself in the Olympic Games (1968) and World Cup (1970). Once again, Teotihuacan was at the center of these policies of aggrandizement. Finally, the vision of Duc de Loubat was fulfilled. Teotihuacan emerged as a veritable "Mexican Pompeii." This vision was accomplished by the largest project of archaeological reconstruction ever attempted by the Mexican Government. The administrations of Miguel Alemán and Adolfo López Mateos represent the ultimate

374For more on these "giants" of Mexican Anthropology, see Bernal, History of Mexican Archaeology, 1980, 160-88. The history of INAH may be found in Julio César Olivé Negrete and Bolfy Cottom, eds., INAH: Una historia, 2 vols., (Mexico City: CONACULTA, INAH, 1995). 223 achievements of PRI. The state had successfully controlled the country's impulse towards Communism. The expropriation of the oil industry by Lázaro Cárdenas had been a bulwark of national sovereignty. His successors convinced the nation that before "sharing wealth" it was essential to "construct wealth." So, it would be a matter of patience. PRI restored investor confidence by advancing a logical process: first creation, then distribution. By the late 1960s, the model seemed to work perfectly.375 The country had a gigantic system of social security, IMSS (Instituto Mexicano del Seguro Social) and a

new campus for UNAM (Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México). The industrial complex was fully modernized. The model seemed impeccable, Capitalism produced Social Justice. At last, the Revolution had fulfilled its promise. However, the illusion dissipated in Tlatelolco. Clearly, the model was not producing real equality. The distribution of wealth was in fact selective, mostly driven by special interests and corruption. Ideological domination by official propaganda was a serious threat to freedom. Student movements across the world intuitively recognized these dangers. It was more than a matter of dollars and cents, bread or land. A new consciousness was on the rise. It did not accept ideological repression. Unfortunately, these demands were "easily" squashed, not only in Mexico City, but in Paris, Prague, Kent State, etc. The López Mateos administration promoted cultural development with a specific goal in mind. Mexico needed a robust international image to increase economic growth. Teotihuacan was a key player in this strategy. The efforts of Díaz-Sierra-Batres gave it international status that was enhanced by those of Calles-Boas-Gamio. Eduard Seler had already claimed that Teotihuacan was "property of the human race." Eighty years later

375See Cosío Villegas et al., Historia mínima, 1974, 135-79; Meyer et al., Course of Mexican History, 1999, 616-704; Álvarez Nolasco, Historia mínima del PRI, 2009; and Carlos Fuentes, "The Formation of the Single-Party State," and Daniel Cosío Villegas, "Mexico's Crisis," both in Joseph and Henderson, Mexico Reader, 2002, 426-7 & 470-81. 224 UNESCO reiterated this claim. By the mid sixties, INAH received almost limitless resources to reconstruct the "Avenue of the Dead" and the Moon Pyramid. The project, under the direction of Ignacio Bernal, would connect the monuments reconstructed by Batres and Gamio with the pyramid at the end of the avenue. The project had a similar model of collaboration to the one implemented for the creation of UNAM's new campus. The entire guild of archaeologists and conservators collaborated under the leadership of a council of experienced individuals, just like architects and engineers organized themselves for the UNAM campus. Both projects attracted popular interest and admiration. They were a media bonanza. The tunnels in the Sun Pyramid were re- examined and surveyed. The underground cave became a news magnet. The public was fascinated with the idea that the pyramid was built atop an ancient, mysterious cave.376 The immense collection of artifacts retrieved from innumerable sites across the country, since the dawn of the New Spain until Maximilian created the first museum of antiquities, were destined for a new modern structure. The National Museum of Anthropology in Mexico City attracted also national attention. Before the inauguration, a gigantic stone idol, known as the "Museum's Tláloc," was transferred from its original site in the outskirts of Mexico City to its new location in Paseo de la Reforma. His arrival was full of drama. Tláloc, "The Lord of Rain and Thunder," arrived triumphantly in a huge tractor-trailer, escorted by police cars and news teams, while the "heavens poured

376See Ignacio Bernal, Teotihuacan: Descubrimientos y reconstrucciones, (Mexico City: INAH, 1963); Schávelzon, conservación del patrimonio, 1990, 170-88; Augusto Molina Montes, La restauración arquitectónica de edificios arqueológicos, (Mexico City: INAH, 1975), 56-74; Rubén Cabrera "Architectural Restoration at Teotihuacan: A Historical Analysis," in In Situ: Archaeological Conservation, Proceedings of Meetings, April 6-13, 1986, Mexico, Miguel Ángel Corzo and Henry W. M. Hodges, eds., 176-85, (Los Angeles: INAH, J. Paul Getty Trust, GCI, 1987); and Luis Vázquez León, El Leviatán arqueológico: Antropología de una tradición científica en México, (Leiden: Research School CNWS, 1996). The latter's critique resonates with the work of Philip Kohl and Clare Fawcett, "Archaeology in the service of the state: theoretical considerations," in Nationalism, Politics, and the Practice of Archaeology, Philip Kohl and Clare Fawcett, eds., 3-20, (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 1995). 225 their eyes out."377 The entire country was captivated by his entrance. The legacy of Mesoamerica was at the center of attention. A media-blitz exploited the symbolism of such event. Mexico had finally created a government that was just as powerful as those mythic deities. The Aztec Empire resurged in PRI. The Museum's most impressive hall, at the end of a beautiful courtyard, was devoted to Aztec culture. Its central piece was the Aztec Calendar, located on a raised platform and illuminated like an opera stage. The building echoed a specific historiographical narrative: the Aztec Empire was the epitome

of Mesoamerican civilization; PRI was its legitimate heir. Amidst this environment of cultural politics, Teotihuacan's interpretation as the Toltec capital was seriously questioned. Accordingly, new hypotheses strengthened its Aztec filiation. It is impossible to determine how the official narrative influenced this approach, but scholars offering these interpretations may have received official backing more easily. Certain works conflated these hypotheses. For instance, Laurette Séjourné saw Teotihuacan as the Toltec Capital under the light of Aztec Cosmovision.378 This model of interpretation had already been used by Seler. In many ways, the latter combined principles of Classical philology with modern hermeneutics. To him, the ancient sources, like the few original codices, the ethno-historical surveys by the Spanish chroniclers, and the accounts of early converts, like Alva Ixtlilxóchitl, Chimalpahin, or Muñoz Camargo enabled a scientific interpretation of Mesoamerican remains. To some extent, philology led to archaeology. But, this model no longer makes sense, given the actual chronology. The contemporary knowledge base amassed by linguistics,

377See Pedro Ramírez Vázquez, The National Museum of Anthropology, Mexico: Art, Architecture, Archaeology, Anthropology, (New York: Abrams, 1968); and idem, El Museo Nacional de Antropología: Gestación, proyecto y construcción, (Mexico City: Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia, 2008). 378Some of the most influential works by Laurette Séjourné are Teotihuacan: Capital de los Toltecas, (Mexico City: Siglo Veintiuno, 1994); El lenguaje de las formas en Teotihuacán, (Mexico City: Siglo Veintiuno, 1966); Burning Water: Thought and Religion in Ancient Mexico, (Berkeley: Shambhala, 1976); and El universo de Quetzalcóatl, (Mexico City: Fondo de Cultura Económica, 1984). 226 paleodemography, ethnobotany, etc., reveals a complex multiethnic interaction over three millennia. So, the adjudication of an Aztec cosmovision to any group in the Central Highlands prior to the early 1100s seems untenable. The possibility of a conclusive interpretation of Mesoamerica's legacy increases with the difficulty to understand the Olmec cosmovision. Since, the latter seems to be the cradle of later civilizations. Teotihuacan cannot be fully understood without clarifying its possible Olmec filiation.379 These conditions produce a vacuum of meaning that demands clarification, given the

abuse of Mesoamerican heritage by the state to forge national identity. These conditions engender a popular response trying to fill the vacuum by any means necessary.

The People's Pyramid

The Spring Equinox Festivals that take place in several archaeological sites across Mexico, every 21st of March, reflect a unique response to the underlying spiritual needs posed by this vacuum of connotation. They stem from the aforementioned paradox and the historical contexts surveyed in previous sections. These "religious festivals" represent a new worldwide phenomenon: postmodern neo-paganism. Its origins and agents of change are relatively unclear. But, one thing is certain: it is a response to many unresolved issues brought forth by modernity and the dislocation of tradition. In Mexico, this phenomenon found expression since the mid 1990s, when thousands of people from all sectors of society swarmed archaeological sites to celebrate the Spring Equinox. My account of these events resembles an "ethnographic sketch." These sketches are based on a series of personal experiences: for two years (2006-7), I was part of Teotihuacan's

379See Millon, "Teotihuacan Studies," 1992; and George Cowgill, "What We Still Don't Know About Teotihuacan," in Teotihuacan: Art from the City of the Gods, Kathleen Berrin and Esther Pasztory, eds., 117-25, (San Francisco: Thames and Hudson, The Fine Arts Museums of San Francisco, 1993). 227 management team, under the leadership of Rogelio Rivero Chong; I was also part of a group of young urbanites in contact with members of a Wixárika (Huichol) community from San Andrés Cohamiata, through the intercession of Guillermo Espinosa, former director of INI (Instituto Nacional Indigenista);380 and I was born and raised in Mexico City, so, the emergence of this social and spiritual movement is part of my own history. Some of the underlying beliefs and customs in the Mexicanidad movement are suggested by two episodes from my tenure in Teotihuacan. The first one is representative

of certain rituals taking place on any given Sunday at the site. During a routinely morning walk through an area where the ancient remains are still covered by vegetation, a small group of people was performing a ritual. Most of them were dressed in white, with a red bandana or belt. This attire may be considered a ceremonial garb of Mexicanidad. The officiant, recognized as shaman or curandero (healer), began the ceremony with these words: "just like our ancestors, the Aryans did it, we now offer…" The identification of Mesoamerican ancestors as Aryans was unexpected. To some extent, there were other items in the ceremony that seemed relatively "out of place," given the historical context of Mesoamerica. These items, carefully placed on a white cloth on the ground, were an incense burner for copal, a crucifix, a conch shell, jícaras (dry gourds cut in half), candles, and eucalyptus branches. It was a perfect mixture of Mesoamerican and Catholic artifacts. The ceremony also combined principles of shamanic and sacramental rituals. Its aim was to purify and cleanse the group from future sickness, bad luck, and harmful influences. The shaman used these articles to exorcise all evil around this group, assuring its future welfare. In many ways, the execution of this ceremony in Teotihuacan increased its possibility of success, because the group recognize its primordial denotation

380For more on this community, see Guillermo Espinosa, "Memories of Tatewarí," in People of the Peyote: Huichol Indian History, Religion, and Survival, Stacy B. Schaefer and Peter T. Furst, eds., 433-47, (Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press, 1996). 228 as a "ceremonial center of great power," radiating a positive energy that shaman is able channel. Thus, the vacuum of connotation is filled by a unique mixture of symbols, some related to Mesoamerican "deep-core" beliefs, while others seem extraneous. The second episode reflects similar beliefs. It was reported by a student, Ingrid Jiménez, volunteering for the Spring Equinox of 2006. She met an old woman of humble origins, possibly Indian, who was carrying a sick young woman, perhaps mentally ill, to the top of the Sun Pyramid, hoping that its "healing powers" might cure her. Most people believe that the pyramid increases its power on March 21st, at noon, when the sun is at its zenith. This episode is highly illuminating. Since the attitude of this woman reflects a popular belief that used to be associated only with the Virgin of Guadalupe, as the primary healer of Mexico. Now the pyramid shared some of this responsibility. For centuries, she protected her ailing "sons and daughters," just like a Great Mother taking care of all her children.381 To some extent, Mexicanidad reflects some disappointment with Christianity. The phenomenon is broad. While the group in the first episode represents an urban middle class, the woman in the second one represents a low rural class. Some of the founders of this movement belong to an upper, middle class, associated with the cultural support for Free Tibet and the Dalai Lama. The heterogeneity of these sources could not be any richer! At the center of this movement stand Antonio Velasco Piña and his acclaimed novel, Regina: 2 de octubre no se olvida, published in 1987.382 The novel displays an ambitious assemblage of beliefs from multiple origins (biblical, Buddhist, medieval chivalry, Mexican nationalism, hippie culture, and so on). It is a product of the 1960s. It

381See Erich Neumann, The Great Mother: An Analysis of the Archetype, trans. Ralph Manheim, (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1963). 382See Velasco Piña, Regina: 2 de octubre no se olvida, (Mexico City: Jus, 1987). 229 strives to create a new mythology. Its ability to instill a baby boomer ideology on a popular movement is quite interesting. Regina, its main character, is portrayed as the resurrected spirit of Cuauhtemoc, a "spiritual warrior" returning to bring balance to the forces of "good and evil, light and darkness." To fulfill this task, she is going to perform self-sacrifice at Tlatelolco on October 2nd, 1968. She will be accompanied by "the four guardians of tradition." In many ways, the author seems to be searching for some meaning amidst a senseless tragedy.383 At a symbolic level, the sacrifice, not only of

students, but broad sections of society as well, brought spiritual awakening. Regina's self-sacrifice opened the pathways of the earth's magical energy, now flowing freely in Mexico. Finally, it could be controlled by religious leaders who are "spiritually pure." Those pathways were the majestic Popocatépetl and Iztaccíhuatl. Their anthropomorphic characterization as a divine couple stems from Mesoamerican cosmology. Yet, in this novel, their powerful canalization of mystical energy can only be "re-awakened" by the spiritual giants of Tibet.384 Thus, the heroine's birth−portrayed as a conflation of the Second Coming of Christ and Buddhist reincarnation−is announced to her parents at the Sera Monastery in Tibet, by Lama Tschandzo Tschampa, who saw the signs revealing the arrival of "an Avatar." In symbolic terms, the parents reincarnate the ancestral couple, Cortés y La Malinche, since the father is Richard Teucher (a German from Wiesbaden) and the mother is Citlali Pérez (a woman with a deep indigenous root). That is why, the enigmatic beauty of Regina, a.k.a. La Reina de México, included dark skin and blue eyes.385

383For more on the student movement, see Carolina Verduzco and Ileana Chávez, eds., México, genocidio y delitos de la humanidad: Documentos fundamentals, 1968-2008, (Mexico City: Comité 68 Pro Libertades Democráticas, 2008); and Arturo Ramírez, Palabra de CGH: El testimonio de los huelguistas, (Mexico City: Ediciones del Milenio, 2000). 384By coincidence, Regina's author is associated with Casa-Tibet, a cultural center in Mexico City that seems to be part of the Dalai Lama's strategy to stand against the Chinese takeover of Tibet. 385See Velasco Piña, Regina, 1987, 16-23. 230 In a second book, El despertar de Teotihuacan, Velasco Piña revisits her last days before the self-sacrifice at Tlatelolco. The book is brief and easy to read, clearly designed for mass divulgation. In it, Teotihuacan is described as "a machine that manages cosmic energies." According to the author, the site had a deeper history, unacknowledged by celebrated archaeologists, mentioned by name, such as Gamio, Bernal, Acosta, and Séjourné. The latter is portrayed as a "reincarnated teotihuacana," because she knew where to uncover magnificent pieces. The book claims that Teotihuacan was restored many times in the past. That the buildings we now see were restored at the dawn of the Common Era. A dialogue between Regina and a "guardian of tradition," answered the question "Who made that restoration?" with "The same ones that are trying to do it now, the Olmec. In that time, just like today, the conditions were auspicious to reactivate the chakra of Mexico so that four new cultures could be created." According to Velasco Piña, the Aztec transformed Teotihuacan into an "incredible machinery capable of capturing and taking advantage of some of the most powerful cosmic energies, not only for the benefit of humanity but for the entire planet as well."386 The combination of spiritual concepts and religious beliefs not only resonate with a generation that "experimented" with drugs in the 1960s, but also with many people that still harbor a deep belief in animism. Notions like "adjusting your vibrations to those of the place" or the engagement of "different levels of consciousness" sound more like lyrics by the Beach Boys or the Doors. Yet, most of the people going to archaeological sites on March 21st have no clue of what it meant to be "groovy," "hip," or knew "how to dig it." The social and spiritual phenomenon−which may be partially traced to these works by Velasco Piña and a series of media stunts by the Dalai Lama−spread like wildfire in a

386See Velasco Piña, El despertar de Teotihuacan, (Mexico City: Jus, 1994), 10-8. 231 country eager to find meaning for a legacy that lost its voice a long time ago. It responded to unfathomable spiritual needs, unsatisfied by an ossified religion, whose obsessive demand for tithes and the display of grandeur clashed with the struggle of a people whose heritage had been displaced by the "long night of five hundred years." The conflation of Tibetan and Mesoamerican beliefs took center stage when Televisa decided to support a highly attractive event, organized by Casa-Tibet, with a national broadcast. Raúl Velasco, the conductor of a high rating program called Siempre

en Domingo, showed profound devotion to these "new age" beliefs. The main event was a ceremony by the Dalai Lama to "unleash" Mexico's power to control the flow of cosmic energies through one of the "Earth's chakras." The ritual took place on July 3rd, 1989, atop the Sun Pyramid. This ritual would have to be repeated several times, so the "pathway" could open up completely. The Dalai Lama was accompanied by members of Mexicanidad and Casa-Tibet, all dressed in white, a "color characteristic to the Olmec," according to Velasco Piña.387 The event was a media success! The next year, when emissaries of the Dalai Lama returned to Teotihuacan on March 21st, 1990, all hell broke loose. Thousands of people climbed the pyramid on all sides, trying to be part of the ceremony. All these people, aroused by an intense emotional energy and an excited imagination, spent the rest of the day eating and drinking at the local restaurants. It was an economic bonanza. It became clear that the event could be maximized. So, the next year, Televisa enhanced its exploitation. That year attracted the largest crowd in the history of Spring Equinox Festivals. The strangeness of such hybrid (Tibetan and Mesoamerican) should not come as a surprise. There are many examples in Mexican history with similar intentions. A brief

387Idem, 46. 232 examination of two examples may suffice. The first one is the conflation of Quetzacóatl with St Thomas the Apostle by a Creole Franciscan, Agustín de Betancurt, who created a new layer for these myths to justify the country's independence. David Brading explains it with some irony: "After all, Christ had commanded the gospel to be preached to all nations: why should America have been denied its natural light? How else explain Indian legends of a bearded white god or the astonishing similarity between Indian rituals and beliefs and Christianity?"388 Diego Velázquez de Cuéllar had already instructed Cortés to

investigate the rumors "that crosses have been found in that country."389 For Todorov the exploitation of Quetzacóatl−portrayed as a foreigner that is venerated like a deity and after his expulsion threatens to return and punish the Indians for their misbehaving−is an utter fabrication, made after the conquest to dominate the entire population. Since "an overdetermined world will necessarily be an overinterpreted world as well."390 Clearly, the best way to control a people is through their own beliefs. People with a mythological worldview accept a terrible fate, when it is sanctioned by myth. In this sense, the spiritual conquest was grounded in hermeneutic competence. Their dexterity to read symbols, understand their meaning, and exploit their influence over political action, enabled the conquest of Mesoamerica.391 The second example conflates the Aztec Great Mother the Christian Holy Virgin. Yet, their chosen manifestation, the Virgin of Guadalupe, reflects a simple rationale,

388See Brading, Origins of Mexican Nationalism, 1985, 12. 389See Ricard, Spiritual Conquest, 1966, 16. 390See Todorov, Conquest of America, 1984, 64. 391Fray Servando Teresa de Mier used the myth of Quetzalcóatl-St Thomas once again to argue that Mexico had an autochthonous source of Christianity. Consequently, it did not need religious supervision from the Old World. See Brading, Origins of Mexican Nationalism, 1985, 24-31. For more on Quetzalcóatl, see Alfredo López-Austin, Hombre-Dios: Religión y política en el mundo náhuatl, (Mexico City: Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México, 1998); and Enrique Florescano, Quetzalcóatl y los mitos fundadores de Meosamérica, (Mexico City: Taurus, 2004). 233 accompanied by a rather perverse foundation, because the cult of this dark skinned incarnation of the Virgin Mary comes from a shrine in Spain (Guadalupe, Extremadura) that was associated with the uprooting of heresy from the , since the earliest battle against Arianism.392 The cult of Santa María, Madre de Dios acquired a military connotation when Christian noblemen strived to recover their lands from Muslim invaders. Since the earliest battles, Holy Mary became a patron for the reconquista. The victory at Covadonga by Don Pelayo in 718 was attributed to La Vírgen de las Batallas.

Along with Santiago Matamoros, they protected the chivalric orders of Christian Spain. The original cult statue in the convent of "Our Lady of Guadalupe" in Extremadura is known as La Virgen Morena, given the color of her skin, probably attributed to her "Byzantine Appearance." According to legend, the statue, originally carved by St Luke the Evangelist, was buried in Byzantium to protect it from looting. Afterwards, it was taken to Rome by Gregorius Magnus. In Rome the statue proved miraculous, saving the city from grave pestilence. Pope Gregory gave it to his dear friend Leander, Bishop of Sevilla. Along the way, the statue kept performing miracles. When St Isidore took it by sea, a terrible storm menaced to drown everyone on board, but the statue saved them all. At their arrival in Hispalis, the statue stopped another episode of pestilence. The miraculous statue remained there until Muslim invasion. Then, it was taken to a place of hiding (Guadalupe). It did not resurface until the region was recovered by Christian

392See Richard Nebel, Santa María Tonantzin Virgen de Guadalupe: Continuidad y transformación religiosa en México (Mexico City: Fondo de Cultura Económica, 1995), 39-56. For more on Tonantzin- Guadalupe see Miguel León-Portilla, Tonantzin Guadalupe: Pensamiento náhuatl y mensaje cristiano en el "Nican Mopohua," (Mexico City: El Colegio Nacional, Fondo de Cultura Económica, 2000); Edmundo O'Gorman, Destierro de sombras: Luz en el orígen de la imágen y culto de Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe del Tepeyac," (Mexico City: Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México, 1986); Ena Campbell, "The Virgin of Guadalupe and the Female Self-Image: A Mexican Case History," in Mother Worship: Theme and Variations, James J. Preston, ed., 5-24, (Chapel Hill: The University of North Carolina Press, 1982); and Louise M. Burkhart, "The Cult of the Virgin of Guadalupe in Mexico," in South and Meso-American Native Spirituality: From the Cult of the Feathered Serpent to the Theology of Liberation, Gary H. Gossen and Miguel León-Portilla, eds., 198-227, (New York: Crossroad, 1993). 234 armies. A new convent housed the miraculous statue. Since then, it became one of the most important shrines for anyone seeking her protection to slain the "infidel invaders."393 Given this context, the conflation of such advocation with a deity that is supposed to become a "Protecting Mother" for the new nation of Mexico entails a "dark side." It includes a perverse association with the persecution of heretics and infidels. The image that is supposed to transmit a necessary comfort to the Indian people, who see in her a

representation of their Ancestral Goddess, has an entirely different connotation to the conquering heroes. To them, she reassures their struggle to purge earth from all heresy. It is perverse double connotation, using her as a source of comfort, almost like a numbing drug, while at the same time encouraging persecution.394 The polyvalence of this image illustrates how the archetype of the Great Mother oscillates between terror and protection. The oppressors feel secure, given the divine justification of persecution. The oppressed accept their fate, expecting at least some maternal comfort to withstand their condition. This line of interpretation echoes the superb analysis of untranslatable term (la chingada), by Octavio Paz. To some degree, Mexicans live with an awkward feeling that they are hijos de la chingada. In this context, this enunciation may be loosely translated as "the sons of someone that has been abused." The term suggests the Aztec sought refuge in a Mother Goddess that was not considered a legitimate parent. Their militaristic pantheon,

393See Nebel, Santa María Tonantzin, 1995, 39-56. 394In some sense, the double identification with the cult of Guadalupe, both from the Peninsulares as well as Indigenous castes, is illustrated in a passage by Brading: "The feastday of Our Lady of Guadalupe was a great national celebration. The ceremonies of Tepeyac were atended by the Viceroy, the Archbishop, the Audiencia, and most of the leading dignitaries of the capital. It was customary for Creole preachers to dwell upon the peculiar glory of Mexico, chosen by the Virgin Mary for her special protection. However, by the 1790s public taste−at least among the official elite−was increasingly scornful of the florid rhetoric hitherto deemed appropriate for such occasions." See Brading, Origins of Mexican Nationalism, 1985, 27. The gradual ideological change in the Virgin's symbolism reflected the transition from a Spanish Colony spreading Christianity to end Paganism, towards an Independent Nation who increasingly wanted to highlight its autochthonous origins. 235 displayed at the precinct of the Great Temple of Tenochtitlan was primarily dominated by an all-male-cast of divine-hero-warriors. Huitzilopochtli, Tláloc, Quetzacóatl, and Tezcatlipoca were powerful deities, bringing chaos and destruction to all the enemies of the Aztec. They had the power to cast people away to la chingada−in this sense, the term means something like "hell." But after the conquest, it became clear that those gods were vanquished, that the Spanish deity was even more powerful. Consequently, their defeat turned everyone into hijos de la chingada−in this sense, the term suggests treason by a

female deity. Just like La Malinche or any woman bearing children to the Spaniards, the Great Mother betrayed the Aztec. However, as Nigel Davies rightly points out, Mesoamerica is a place where gods are easily restored. In this way, a new deity personified the need for a "Protecting Mother," re-emerging at the right time to bring comfort to her ailing children. The polysemic nature of symbols that emerge from an enduring mythopoeia has always an all-inclusive capability. Mexico illustrates perfectly the ability of symbols to be restored, because their connotations are always half empty or half full. They usually need allochthonous complements to make them whole again.395 The Mexicanidad movement and the Spring Equinox Festivals grow from this historical condition. They stem from the constant need to transfuse its ancient traditions to a new era. They are successful mechanisms of adaptation, whose guidance and direction fall into the hands of intellectuals with profound historical understanding and hermeneutic sensibility. It is driven by the successful engagement of symbols, rhetorical persuasion, and the manipulation of spiritual needs. One of the key reasons for such spiritual thirst in Mexico is deeply associated with the deferred presence of its

395See the entire chapter "Hijos de la Malinche" (The Malinche's Sons) in Paz, El laberinto de la soledad, 2004, 72-97. A selection from this chapter is also in Joseph and Henderson, eds., Mexico Reader, 2002, 20- 7. For Nigel Davies comment, see Alfredo López-Austin, Los mitos del tlacuache: Caminos de la mitología mesoamericana, (Mexico City: Alianza Editorial Mexicana, 1990), 37. 236 Mesoamerican legacy. The need to supply higher connotations for a worldview that was gradually dismantled over time is simply too important to be unattended. Common people cannot approach this issue with the "cool distance" of positivist science and its empirical scrutiny of the past. To them, it is a vital need, trying to fill a void, generated by a terrible sense of emptiness emerging from the recognition of a great past that is unnervingly silent. The presence of majestic places like Teotihuacan, Monte Albán, or Tulum makes it even harder, because they are tangible testaments of their rich heritage.

For them, our deficient understanding of their past is just unbearable. Who built these magnificent places? What did they believe in? How much of their legacy has been really transmitted to subsequent generations? A sober look into history reveals that these questions have co clear answers. Their response will never be reassuring. In fact, it is quite the opposite. But this level of uncertainty, which may be acceptable to a scientific mind, is unbearable for a people who have invested so much of their identity on this grandiose legacy. The meaning of heritage for lay people cannot be determined by the same principles of a scientific examination of history, because it involves their dreams and aspirations. These connotations belong to an intangible heritage that demands a different approach. They require a more nuanced understanding of rationality, an approach that is easily dismissed by the "harshness" of rigorous science, like those of psychology or poetry. Denotation, as a product of perception and consciousness, may be more accessible to scientific scrutiny. But, connotation, as "a child of the Subconscious," is closer to the symbolic realm of memories and dreams. They should be treated as such.

237 GRANADA'S ALHAMBRA

Part I: Condensed History

How like me you are, far away and in exile, In long separation from family and friends. You have sprung from soil in which you are a stranger; And I, like you, am far from home.396

I shall return in the end to the beginning, just as in describing a circle the leg of the compass returns to the beginning when it reaches the end.397

The history of Alhambra unveils a process of enculturation that cannot be easily characterized as a clear example of exclusion. On one hand, the heritage from which it emerged had a strong continuity with its predecessors, especially the Umayyad and Almohad. This condition was not so different from the Pantheon's case. Yet, on the other hand, that heritage was systematically excluded from its "natural" continuity in the Iberian Peninsula. Hence, a state of loss that is not so different from the Sun Pyramid. The exclusion of heritage represents a breaking point in the history of this region. It displays a major shift in "the tectonic plates of history." Given this context, the royal citadel that used to be known as al-Madīna al-Ḥamrāʾ symbolizes the dramatic moment of inflexion, in which the heritage of a rich multicultural society was excluded to enforce an artificial homogeneity. The richness of this unique place in time, that Muslims used to call al-Andalus, Christians Hispania, and Jews Sepharad, was utterly excluded from the

396Fragment from a poem by ʿAbd al-Raḥmān ibn Muʿāwiya ibn Hisham, the Umayyad prince who took refuge in al-Andalus after the fall of the Caliphate in Damascus. The poem commemorates the plantation of the first Middle Eastern date palms in Cordoba. See David L. Lewis, God's Crucible: Islam and the Making of Europe, 570-1215, (New York: W. W. Norton, 2008), 195. 397Ibn al-ʿArabī, Meccan Revelations, 60.27-9, as quoted by Fritz Meier, "The Mystery of the Kaʾba: Symbol and Reality in Islamic Mysticism," in The Mysteries, Joseph Campbell, ed., 149-68, (New York: Pantheon Books, 1955), 158. 238 development of a new nation. The mystique of chivalry and romance, instilled by most recollections of this legendary place, remain engulfed with the nostalgia of paradise lost. Multiculturalism is a dramatic victim in this historical unfolding. It took centuries to amass and decades to disappear. The history of Alhambra before the moment of exclusion reflects a remarkable continuity with previous eras. The vast extension of the Naṣrid citadel grew out of a rather small fortress, whose origins could trace back to Carthaginian times. The

astonishing presence of muqarnas in the halls of the Mešuār, Kumariṣ, and Riyāḍ complexes cannot be fully appreciated without understanding the philosophical underpinnings of the Almohad regime. But, most importantly, the use of poetry, as means to create a unique state of mind in Alhambra's users and visitors, stems from a long tradition transcending many historical and cultural boundaries. Before Ibn Zamrak made reference to Solomon's "crystal palace," Ibn Gabirol had already used the same source to celebrate a previous construction atop the Sabīka hill. Poetry played a fundamental role in the tribal politics of the Arabian Peninsula long before the arrival of Islam. The Umayyad of Cordoba had already used poetic inscriptions in public buildings to broadcast official propaganda. In this sense, Alhambra is a direct heir of the cultural traits developed in the Iberian Peninsula by a multicultural society. The quality of its magnificent palaces represents one of the highest watermarks of a cultural legacy that is still present in the Madrasas Bou Inania and Attarine in Fās, the palace of Pedro I in the Alcázar de Sevilla, and a small synagogue in Cordoba. Most of these buildings share a common typology, grounded on the clear use of geometry. Their spatial schemes exploit the vitality of quadrilateral courtyards and the hierarchical distribution of eight different spaces along their perimeter. This type of arrangement is another example of that archetypal denotation we have identified in 239 previous chapters, that is, the manifestation of "centers of power." Alhambra's majesty stems from a strict use of geometry to subdivide basic shapes into eight parts around a center. This type of pattern not only determines the spatial arrangement of large architectural complexes or its innumerable halls and courtyards, but every surface covered with rich ornamentation as well. Their main expression is characterized by the eight-point-star and the octagon, defined as a figure that emerges from the rotation of two squares. The ubiquity of these patterns throughout Alhambra reflects a particular set of

connotations that stretch back to the rational mysticism of Ibn Masarra. These connotations allude to the sovereignty of God, exercising his divine mandate (kun) from his seat of power in heaven, that is, from God's Throne (ʿarš). The persistence of such theological understanding, stretching from the of Cordoba into the Naṣrid Sultanate of Granada, attests the remarkable continuity in the region known as ǧazīrat al-Andalus.398 But, the continuity was severely disrupted with the successful recovery of the Iberian Peninsula by its Christian inhabitants. Their reconquista enforced the systematic exclusion of all its non-Christian inhabitants. This process of exclusion has its own history in the region. It did not emerge ex nihilo. It is a terrifying case, revealing the manners in which heritage becomes a tool for spiritual warfare. The aim of this chapter is to provide a historical background to examine this unique process of continuity, its moment of inflexion, and the subsequent exclusion of heritage. Alhambra is a perfect vehicle to visualize the detailed transformations of these highly complex processes.

398The etymology of this term is rather obscure. According to Lewis, the land that the local nobility gave to the Visigoths were called sortes Gothica ("lands allotted to the Goths," in Latin), which they expressed as landa-hlauts ("land lots," in guttural translation). Its pronunciation was al-Andalus. In modern Arabic, the word ǧazīra means indistinctively island or peninsula. So, ǧazīrat al-Andalus could be loosely translated as "the peninsula of the Gothic land lots." See Lewis, God's Crucible, 2008, 111 & 118; and Hans Wehr, A Dictionary of Modern Written Arabic, (Arabic-English), (Ithaca: Spoken Languages Services, 1994), 123. 240 A Rebel's Stronghold

The earliest mention of a fortification in Granada is through a poem. According to al-ʿAblī, the troops of the Umayyad Amir ʿAbd al-Raḥmān II (822-52) took refuge in a fortification called al-Qalʿa l-Ḥamrāʾ ("the fort that is red") from the rebellious people of the province of Gharnāṭa (Granada). The term Alhambra stems from this particular wording.399 The term qalʿa or ḥiṣn usually designates a military fortification. In this case it may have been a refurbished structure, originally built atop the Sabīka hill by Visigoths, Romans, or Carthaginians. It may have been a rather small structure, located at the western edge of a thin spur protruding from the Sierra Nevada. The spur has a surface of 142,000 m² and 60 m above the River Darro. It exerts command of an extremely fertile valley, known as al-Faḥṣ or "La Vega de Granada."400 The small structure may have been a precursor of the complex we now call Alcazaba. According to Ibn al-Ḫaṭīb, an earlier version of Alcazaba was enlarged by a Berber rebel, Sawwār ibn Ḥamdūn al-Qaysī, in the early 900s. The region around the small settlements of Granada and Elvira was occupied by several Berber tribes and the descendants of Syrian ǧunds (armies) sent from Damascus to appease an overwhelming Berber revolt across the in the mid 700s.401 Ibn Ḥamdūn led an uprising against the Umayyad Amir ʿAbd Allāḥ (888-912). He also fortified other sites across the region, like Wādi Aš, Muntiša, Baṣta, and Jaén.402

399See Antonio Fernández Puertas, The Alhambra I: From the Ninth Century to Yūsuf I (1354), (London: Saqi Books, 1997), 177. 400See Antonio Malpica Cuello, La Alhambra de Granada, un estudio arqueológico, (Granada: Universidad de Granada, Junta de Andalucía, Consejería de Cultura, Patronato de la Alhambra y el Generalife, 2002), 47-55; and Antonio Enrique, Tratado de la Alhambra hermética, (Granada: Port Royal, 2005), 11-26. 401According to Joaquín Vallvé, the survivors of that calamitous mission took refuge in Ceuta, after a series of terrible defeats. Their leader Balǧ Ibn Bišr Ibn ʿIyāḍ al-Qušayrī crossed the straits with 10,000 men. This influx of Muslim colonizers produced civil war across the peninsula. A noble Visigoth solved the problem by dispersing the newcomers across the mountains of Granada and the southern coast. Each ethnic group settled in a different area: the ǧund from Damascus went to Ilbīra (Granada City); those from Emesa (Ḥimṣ) to Sevilla; from Qinnasrīn to Jaén; the Jordanians to Rayya (Málaga); Palestinians to Šaḏūna 241 The rebellion was part of a larger problem of inequality across the Islamic Commonwealth. It was rooted in racial discrimination, precluding local populations from sharing power with the Arab elite. In this sense, Ibn Ḥamdūn was trying to solve a problem of political stratification and territorial segregation. To some extent, these conditions were subtly inspired by the Qurʾān itself. The social fabric of al-Andalus was extremely complex. The power structure belonged to a minority, known as baladiyyūn. Their identity was awarded by claims of descent from "original Arab conquerors." By the mid 900s, their numbers may have been around 180,000 individuals. Beneath were the muwalladūn. They were identified as converts or clients, directly controlled by the former class. At the height of the Umayyad Caliphate, their number may have risen to a grand total of 2,800,000 people.403 A third class of citizens, mostly constituted by autonomous communities of Christians and Jews, was able to maintain its customs and beliefs by paying a head tax (ǧizya). These peoples were called dhimmis. Finally, the lowest echelon was given to the saqaliba. They were the slave class, mostly and sub- Saharan Africans. Clearly, the balance of power entailed a high degree of inequality, based on racial criteria and repression, enforced primarily by Berber troops.404

(Cádiz); and Egyptians to Tudmīr (Murcia). See Joaquín Vallvé, "España en el siglo VIII: Ejército y sociedad," Al-Andalus 43, 1(1978):51-112, 91-3. 402See Fernández Puertas, Alhambra, 1997, 177; and Malpica Cuello, Alhambra, 2002, 47-9. 403This data belongs to categories of historical demography under grades C & D, as established by John Durand. In this sense, it is a relatively unsubstantiated estimate trying to illustrate an argument. It is not "hard" evidence, rooted in historical censes or records. See John D. Durand, "Historical Estimates of World Population: An Evaluation," Population and Development Review 3, 3(1977):253-96; cf. Thomas H. Hollingsworth, Historical Demography, (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1976). The basis for these estimations may be found in Leonard Harvey, Islamic Spain 1250-1500, (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1990), 5-9; and Leopoldo Torres Balbás, "Extensión y demografía de las ciudades hispanomusulmanas," Studia Islamica 3(1955):35-59. 404Some baladiyyūn claimed descent from the rashidūn, the four "rightly guided" Caliphs. This claim assured the highest echelons of power. In a country where most of the Muslim population was composed of converts and clients, such claims guaranteed insurmountable levels of power. Most of them came from Yemen and south Arabia. No Berber or Andalusi could match these claims. Hence, they were in a state of apartheid. Lewis explains this problem as follows: "It even seemed that Allah had slipped a subtle qualifier about community status into the eighth sūra: 'They too are your brothers; although according to the Book of 242 The political unrest of the mid 900s was also driven by an enduring confrontation between the baladiyyūn, which constantly threatened the political stability of a central government. The uprising of Ibn Ḥamdūn took advantage of these conditions to attain more power for Andalusi . Although they shared some power with the elite, they were treated as second class citizens. Their role as a repressive force was not enough. The rebellion of Ibn Ḥamdūn foreshadows the rise of Kingdoms, as well as those of and Almohad . It even gave precedence to the meteoric rise of the

Banū l-Aḥmar or Banū Naṣr (the Naṣrid Dynasty), who repeated most of its key demands and maneuvers to attain power. According to Ibn al-Ḫaṭīb, Ibn Ḥamdūn "fortified madīnat al-Ḥamrāʾ by night, and the flame shone for the of al-Faḥṣ."405 It is unclear what kind of structure did he build. The only reference comes from a couple of poems recorded by Ibn Ḥayyān, a historian from the mid 1000s. These sources represent a rhetorical exchange of threats between the Umayyad Court and the rebels of Granada, as they prepared for a long siege atop the Sabīka. The first poem came from the official scribe in the court of Cordoba:

Their houses are desolate and empty, tempestuous winds twist ad blow around them. They are preparing their own doom at al-Ḥamrāʾ fortress, and from it disaster will return upon them, / just like their parents suffered when our spears and cutting swords fell upon them.406

The power of such words encouraged a lyric approach to life. They aroused the proper frame of mind to engage in epic battle. Thus, poetic duels preceded military confrontations. Consequently, the rebels answered:

God those who are bound by ties of blood are nearest to one another." See Lewis, God's Crucible, 2008, 202. 405See Malpica Cuello, Alhambra, 2002, 47. 406Idem, 48. 243 Our houses are inhabited and not deserted and our fortress is a protection against oppression. / In it we have glory and future triumph; your defeat shall come out of it […] Come close to her for a battle that is going to leave your sons and wives with grey hair.407

Poetry has played a fundamental role in the tribal politics of Arabia, long before the advent of Islam. The beauty of words, structured by a proper metric and rhyme, was essential to flaunt the prestige of a tribe, praising the heroism of its leaders or preparing its member for battle. Before the age of the Qurʾān, the qaṣīda (ode) reigned supreme. There were hosts of poets "erupting all over northern Arabia, from to Yemen and from the fringes of Iraq to the borders of Egypt" using a common language, which did not reflect local dialects. It was "an extremely complex and refined poetic art."408 The tradition had at least a hundred and fifty years of history, spreading across a vast territory. Amidst so many tribes, accustomed to conflict and segregation, there was an intangible heritage providing some cohesion. It was the respectful observance of a four-month-truce allowing safe passage to the holy sanctuaries. The most important one was Mecca. "Around the religious sites themselves, there was a 'protected area' (ḥimā) or 'holy area' (ḥaram), in which neither the spilling of blood nor the apprehension of criminals was permitted."409 The annual celebrations at the Kaʾba ("cube") included a poetry competition. The best poem was embroidered with golden thread on black silk. It became a drape with superb calligraphy covering the sacred cube. It was a great honor. Nowadays, the tradition has barely changed. Instead of a poem, the drapes display a passage from the Qurʾān. According to Ibn Rashīq, the value of a poet was very high:

407Ibid. 408See Arieh Loya, "The Detribalization of Arabic Poetry," International Journal of Middle East Studies 5, 2(1974):202-15, 202. 409See Helmut Gätje, The Qurʾān and its Exegesis: Selected Texts with Classical and Modern Muslim Interpretations, (Oxford: One World, 1996), 2. 244 when there appeared a poet in a family of the Arabs […] feasts would be got ready, the women of the tribe would join together in bands, playing lutes […] the men and the boys would congratulate one another, for a poet was a defense to the honor of them all, a weapon to ward off insult from their good name and a means of perpetuating their glorious deeds and of establishing their fame forever.410

The Umayyad Caliphs of Damascus exploited this tradition of poetry to disseminate their political narrative. According to Suzanne Pinckney Stetkevych, it was a means to establish political authority. It became the essential vehicle of courtly protocol. In her view, the Umayyad gave precedence to the qaṣīdat al-madḥ (the panegyric ode)

because they saw its potentiality to encode and transmit an ideology of empire. Some of its topics–like the departed mistress, the abandoned campsite, or the desert journey–were transfused into a new discourse. To support this argument, she quotes Gian Biagio Conte: "such a code allows a community to consolidate its historical experiences, conferring sense on them, until they become an exemplary system that is recognized as the community's new cultural text or scripture." Moreover, the epic code "is the medium through which society takes possession of its own past and gives that past the matrix value of a model."411 For Ibn Rashīq poetry was like a "weapon to ward off insult." By the mid 600s, the use of "ornamental speech" was central for Muslim politics. The Umayyad Prince that took refuge in al-Andalus brought it with him. For his antecessors, this tradition allowed the preservation of racial and cultural 'urūbah ("Arabicity"). According to Pinckney Stetkevych "there is a mythic concordance established via the qasida between present Umayyad rule and the past power of the Banu Umayyah and the Qurashis generally in pre-Islamic Mecca."412

410Ibn Rashīq, as quoted in Loya, "Detribalization," 1974, 206. 411See Suzanne Pinckney Stetkevych, "Umayyad Panegyric and the Poetics of Islamic Hegemony: Al- Akhṭal's 'Khaffa al-Qaṭīnu' (Those that dwelt with you have left in haste)," Journal of 28, 2(1997):89-122; cf. Gian Biagio Conte, The Rhetoric of Imitation: Genre and Poetic Memory in Virgil and Other Latin Poets, (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1986). 412Pinckney Stetkevych, "Umayyad Panegyric," 1997, 95. 245 A Minister's Residence

The next stage in Alhambra's history is intimately tied to the rise of the so-called Taifa Kings. These "petty kingdoms" emerged from the aftermath of the Umayyad collapse. They benefitted from the geography of the Iberian Peninsula. Each region was dominated by a local family deeply rooted in regional lineages of power, controlling different tribes and clienteles. They were almost corporate entities with some autonomy. They were known as mulūk al-ṭawā'if (kings of factions). Each stemmed from different ethnic origins. There were Andalusi, Berber, and Slavic . This period introduced the notion of "autochthonous" identity, proudly boasting its multicultural origins. Certain families embraced Arabic cultural identity, even though their lineages traced back to Roman or Visigoth origins. The boundaries between baladiyyūn and muwalladūn began to dissipate. A truly Andalusi identity began to take shape. Families like the Banū Hūd, Banū Qasī ("Sons of Casius"), and Banū Mardanīš ("Sons of Martínez"), became part of the new nobility. There were two types of Berber taifas, those made by "old Berbers" and those by "newcomers." Even some of the saqaliba were able to emancipate and create

Slavic Taifa.413 By 1000 CE, most of these petty kingdoms were fighting each other. The political landscape was in constant flux. Amidst such turmoil, the Zīrid Berbers of Granada were able to dominate the richest region of al-Andalus. Sevilla, the city controlling this region was under constant threat from this burgeoning dynasty.414 In 1038, Bādīs ibn Ḥabūs al-Muẓaffar al-Nāṣir (1038-73) survived a perilous transition of power with the aid of an "awkward" ally, Shmuel ben Yosef ha-lēvī, a

413See María Jesús Viguera Molíns, Los Reinos de Taifas y las invasiones Magrebríes (Al-Andalus del XI al XIII), (Madrid: MAPFRE, 1992); cf. Kennedy, Muslim Spain, 1996, 30-124; Vallvé, Califato de Córdoba, 1992; and Arjona Castro, Historia de Córdoba, 2010. 414See Viguera Molíns, Reinos Taifas, 1992, 13-22, & 103-11; Andrew Handler, The Zirids of Granada, (Coral Gables: University of Miami Press, 1974); and Kennedy, Muslim Spain, 1996, 130-53. 246 Jewish scribe and tax-collector that became the minister of finance and vizier of his father, Ḥabūs ibn Māksan (1019-38).415 Such an alliance between a Berber king and a Jewish minister was unprecedented. Their enemies saw it as anathema. After the death of Ḥabūs, his local and foreign opponents tried to eliminate the entire clan. Yet, the political shrewdness of Shmuel saved Bādīs, not only from internal conspiracies, but from external invasion as well. The Jewish vizier was a masterful diplomat and a ruthless general. The last member of the Zīrid clan, ʿAdb Allāḥ ibn Buluggīn (1073-90), described the vizier as a man gifted with "an intelligence and docility that was a perfect match for the age in which those men had lived."416 ʿAdb Allāḥ wrote these words in exile, after the Almoravid took Granada and brought an end to the Zīrid Dynasty. The complexity of Shmuel's life precludes clear assessment. He emerged from humble origins. His family lost everything with the collapse of the Umayyad Caliphate. He took refuge in Málaga. His linguistic capabilities gave him command of Arabic, Latin, Romance, and Berber. He was also passionately driven to theology, philosophy, and poetry. He made a copy of the entire Bible in Hebrew. At the end of his life, he was recognized as a sage, Talmudist, and poet. His historical environment made him also a warrior. Many of his poems have military themes and descriptions of battle. They fuse an Arabic style with Jewish themes, like the "strong hand of God" as the source of victory. His Messianic determinism was clear product of that age. The Christian calendar had just celebrated the first millennium. Jewish communities also recorded the first millennium

415See Eliyahu Ashtor, The Jews of Moslem Spain, 2 vols., (Philadelphia: The Jewish Publication Society of America, 1973), v. 2:41-189; and Frederick P. Bargebuhr, The Alhambra: A Cycle of Studies on the Eleventh Century on Moorish Spain, (Berlin: De Gruyer, 1968). 416 See Evariste Leví-Provençal and Emilio García Gómez, El Siglo XI en 1ª persona: Las "Memorias" de "Abd Allāh, último Rey Zīrí de Granada destronado por los Almorávides (1090), (Madrid: Alianza Editorial, 1982), 3.15. 247 since the fall of Jerusalem. A couple of decades later, the founder of the Almohad movement, Ibn Tūmart, would also claim to be the Mahdī (Messiah).417 Frederick Bargebuhr saw this period as an age of "renascence." In his view, Shmuel and his son Yosef may have tried to create a Jewish taifa in Granada. For Antonio Malpica Cuello and Antonio Fernández-Puertas it is an exaggeration. As usual, the archaeological and philological data cannot clarify the dispute. Yet, one thing is certain, by the end of Bādīs's life, Shmuel was a powerful man in southern al-Andalus.

He even had the temerity to publish an Arabic treatise criticizing the Qurʾān. In his view, the source of divine revelation reflected several inconsistencies and contradictions. In many ways, it was a response to similar criticisms of the Torah by Ibn Ḥazm.418 Clearly, he must have been aware of the dangers posed by such treatise. His life was at stake! It was either a reckless, suicide attempt or a calculated gamble. Either way, this act of defiance could have encouragement the utter recklessness of his son Yosef. Eventually, the entire Jewish community of Granada would pay dearly for the latter's irresponsible bid for power. The treatise was a direct affront to the most cherished principle of Muslim theology, the belief that the transmission of the Qurʾān from Archangel Gabriel to Prophet Muḥammad is the most important miracle in history. It is the source of divine revelation. Everything else stems from this tenet.419

417See Américo Castro, Aspectos del vivir hispánico: Espiritualismo, mesianismo, actitud personal en los siglos XIV al XVI, (Santiago de Chile: Cruz del Sur, 1949). 418See Miguel Asín Palacios, Abenházam de Córdoba y su Historia Crítica de las Ideas Religiosas, 5 vols., (Madrid: Real Academia de la Historia, 1929); José Miguel Puerta Vílchez, Historia del pensamiento estético árabe: Al-Andalus y la estética árabe clásica, (Madrid: Akal, 1997), 471-585; Miguel Cruz Hernández, Historia del pensamiento en el mundo islámico 2: El pensamiento de al-Ándalus (siglos IX- XIV), (Madrid: Alianza, 1996), 359-93; and Emilio García Gómez, "Polémica religiosa entre Ibn Ḥazm y Ibn al-Nagrīla," Al-Andalus, 4(1936):1-28. 419Divine revelation stems from the Qurʾān as a "matchless miracle" (mu'jiz). According to sūra 12:1-3, "These are the signs of the clear Book. We have sent it down as an Arabic Qurʾān; perhaps you will understand." Baiḍāwī explains it as follows: "We have sent it down to you as something that is composed in your own language or can be recited in your own language, so that you will be able to understand it and grasp its meanings." See Gätje, Qur'ān and Exegesis, 1996, 52-3. 248 Yosef became the Zīrid vizier after his father's death in 1056. He was twenty one years old. Shmuel groomed him to inherit this position with great advantages. He convinced King Bādīs to allow his son Yosef to become the personal secretary of the crown prince, Buluggīn. Shortly, these young men clashed for absolute power. Yosef and his father may have devised a risky strategy to take advantage of an ailing father and an inexperienced son. They even tried to make an alliance with the Zīrid's most bitter enemies, the ʿAmirid of Almeria. Their dreams of independence may have been stimulated by the sheer scale of the Jewish community of Granada. By that time, it may have been the largest in the entire Iberian Peninsula. After King Ḥabūs re-founded Granada, it became known as "the town of the Jews" throughout al-Andalus.420 Over time, Yosef's ambition may have gotten out of control. The prestige of his father may have obfuscated his vision. By the end of his life, Shmuel ha-Nāgīd had become a renowned figure across the Mediterranean. When he died, Jewish communities in North Africa, Egypt, and Baghdad held religious services in his honor.421 Unfortunately, Yosef did not inherit the same ability and caution that enabled his father to become one of the most powerful statesmen in Jewish history.422

420See Malpica Cuello, Alhambra, 2002, 50-2. 421See Leví-Provençal and García Gómez, Siglo XI, 1982, chapters 3-4; Ashtor, Jews of Moslem Spain, 1973, V. 2:152-60; and Handler, Zirids of Granada, 1974, 47-72. One of Shmuel's most celebrated victories against Abū Ŷaʾfar was presented as a modern (mid 1000s) re-enactment of Purim. Shmuel commissioned a series of meguilot that were dispatched to Fustat, Baghdad, and other regions in the Middle East. See A. Scrolls Analogous to That of Purim, with an Appendix on the First ,מגלות .Neubauer, "Egytpian Fragments .The Jewish Quarterly Review 8, 4(1896):541-61 ",נגידים 422According to Ashtor "Joseph was unhappy at home." His marriage "was unsuccessful. Though Rabbi Nissīm's daughter was indeed learned and possessed fine qualities, she lost Joseph's favor after the first raptures of the honeymoon evaporated. Now having a taste for the sensuous pleasures, Joseph, an exceptionally handsome person, became obsessed with his passions. Tall, shapely women excited him; his tiny wife–'the midget,' as he called her–could not gratify him. He became a bitter and troubled man […] Gradually Joseph's conduct reflected his mood. When he controlled his desires, his resentment exploded in harsh, coarse language directed at innocent people." Ashtor, Jews of Moslem Spain, 1973, v. 2:164-5. 249 At some point, Yosef seems to have realized that he needed a fortress to fulfill his ambitions. Did he intend to follow the path of Ibn Ḥamdūn? Was he preparing a coup d'état? It is unclear what kind of fortification did he commission atop the Sabīka. He could have simply reoccupied the old fortress, perhaps left untouched since the late 900s, because there are no archaeological traces of such refurbishment. Subsequent alterations by the Naṣrid may have obliterated these traces. According to Malpica Cuello, Yosef may have ordered the construction of a fortified causeway to raise water from the Darro, the coracha (carapace).423 The controversy around this fortress stems from the lack of archaeological evidence and an abundance of philological sources, which seem to describe a series of palaces that could easily be mistaken with the appearance of Alhambra today. These sources are panegyric odes by Ibn Gabirol (Avicebron) devoted to Yosef ha-Nāgīd. They praise the constructions built atop the hill. Some of his descriptions are highly reminiscent of the muqarna-domes and the lions-fountain in the Riyāḍ complex, as it stands today:

Go forth my friend and friend of the heavenly stars / Go forth with me and let us lodge in the villages [. . .] Let us walk in the shade of the vines and yearn to see faces lighted with grace. / In the palace high above all its surroundings are built of precious stones; / Built to rise from a firm foundation, its walls fortified with towers [. . .] The buildings are built and decorated with openwork; intaglios and filigrees [. . .] The dome is like the Palanquin of Solomon, hanging above the rooms' splendors, / That rotates in its circumference, shining like bdellium and sapphire and pearls. / Thus it is in the daytime, while at dusk it looks like the sky whose stars form constellations [. . .] And there is a full "sea," matching Solomon's Sea, yet not resting on ox; / But there are lions, in phalanx on its rim, seeming to roar for prey–these whelps, / Whose bosoms are like wells that gush spurts up from their mouths like streams. / And there are hinds embedded in the channels hollowed out as water spouts, / To sprinkle the plants in the beds and to shed on the lawns clear waters.424

423See Malpica Cuello, Alhambra, 2002, 18. 424See Bargebuhr, "The Alhambra Palace of the Eleventh Century," Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes 19, 3/4(1956):192-258, 198-9. For more on the philosophical and poetic stature of Ibn Gabirol see 250 These descriptions raise many puzzling questions, particularly regarding the fountain. Is it possible that the Riyāḍ complex, built by the Naṣrid Sulṭān Muḥammad V (1354-91), was just a refurbishment of Yosef's palace? Bargebuhr seems to have thought so. Yet, the archaeological evidence does not support this hypothesis.425 There are other intriguing coincidences. Many poetic inscriptions in the complex, composed by Ibn Zamrak, make reference to legendary constructions by King Solomon as well.426 The endurance of these poetic themes is a perfect example of the continuity and multiculturalism of al-Andalus/Sepharad. It is even possible that the famous Naṣrid scriptorium kept records of the panegyric odes by Ibn Gabirol. This intangible heritage may the source of continuity. However, there is also an interesting hypothesis regarding the actual lion sculptures from the "palace" of Yosef ha-Nāgīd, which may have been located inside the fortress that later became the Naṣrid Alcazaba. According to

his one of his masterpieces, "The Kingdom's Crown," in Israel Davidson, ed., Selected Religious Poems of Solomon Ibn Gabirol, (Philadelphia: The Jewish Publication Society of America, 1974); as well as work, The Fountain of Life, Fons Vitae, (New York: Philosophical Library, 1962); cf. Ángeles Navarro Peiro, Literatura hispanohebrea, (Madrid: Ediciones del Laberinto, 2006), 188-208; and Cruz Hernández, Historia pensamiento, 1996, v. 2:396-400. 425Malpica Cuello claims that the archaeological explorations in Alhambra "do not allow us to know practically anything about its stratigraphy nor the materials unearthed so far." See his work, Alhambra, 2002, 18. For more on the urbanization of Alhambra, during Yosef's period, see Leopoldo Torres Balbás, "La Alhambra de Granada del siglo XIII," Al-Andalus, 5(1940):155-74. 426Perhaps, the most influential reference connecting the imagination of both periods (Yosef and Muḥammad V) was the Temple of Solomon in Jerusalem and its "Brazen Sea."It is well established that the Lions Fountain in the Riyāḍ complex is heavily inspired by that famous fountain. It is also well known that Ibn Zamrak makes multiple references to Solomon's "crystal palace" in the same complex. For Islam Solomon created unique structures because he had magic control over nature and supernatural spirits (jinn): "And [We subjected] the wind for Solomon […] We made a fountain of molten brass [Brazen Sea?] flow for him, and some jinn worked under his control with his Lord's permission. If one of them deviated from Our command, We let him taste the suffering of the blazing flame. They made him whatever he wanted−palaces, statues, basins as large as water troughs, fixed cauldrons." Qur'ān 34:12-3; cf. Kings I, 7:23-36. For more on Solomon's Temple, see Judah David Eisenstein, "Temple in Rabbinical Literature," Jewish Encyclopedia 12(1916):92-7; James Fergusson, The Temples of the Jews and the Other Buildings in the Haram Area, (London: J. Murray, 1878); Joseph Gutmann, The Temple of Solomon, (Missoula: Scholars Press, 1976); Helen Rosenau, Visions of the Temple, (London: Oresko Books, 1979); Stanely Tigerman, The Architecture of Exile, (New York: Rizzoli, 1988); and María Jesús Rubiera, La arquitectura en la literatura árabe, (Madrid: Libros Hiperión, 1988). 251 Bargebuhr, these lions could be the original sculptures from Yosef's fountain, given the Islamic aversion for representational art.427 This hypothesis is also grounded on the risky employment of stylistic analysis. Both arguments (aversion and style) could be easily questioned, given the relative abundance of representational art during the Almohad period and the possible persistence or resurgence of ancient styles.428 Yet, in this case, the hypothesis still maintains some validity, because the Naṣrid were proud adherents to the most rigorous school of law across the Maghreb, the Mālikī. Thus, it is possible that

Muḥammad V and Ibn Zamrak would have preferred to recycle some old sculptures, instead of breaking the law.429

427According to Sir Keppel Creswell, the aversion to representational art did not stem from Muslim theology but from the radicalization of the Mosaic Second Commandment by Jewish converts to Islam. Muslim rulers hardened their opinion on this subject "toward the end of the eight century." The Umayyad Caliph Yazīd II of Damascus banned representational art, under the advice of Jewish converts. Sir Keppel also insists that part of the problem was related with ancient beliefs of "black magic," i.e., the use of images (statuettes) of human beings to inflict pain. So, "My conclusion, therefore, is that the prohibition against painting did not exist in early Islam, but that it grew up gradually, partly as a result of the inherent temperamental dislike of Semitic races for representational art, partly because of the influence of important Jewish converts, and partly because of the fear of magic." See K. Creswell, "The Lawfulness of Painting in Early Islam." Ars Islamica 11/12(1946):159-66. 428There are many examples of Almohad Art depicting lions in tapestries, wooden boxes, and sculptural reliefs. At the entrance of Alhambra's Alcazaba there was a superb relief still on site in the times of Owen Jones. The relief depicts a series of lions devouring deer in a forest. See Fernández Puertas, Alhambra, 1997, 191, plate 4; cf. Titus Burckhardt, Moorish Culture in Spain, (New York: McGraw-Hill, 1972). 429A famous Spanish scholar, Manuel Gómez Moreno, reinforced Bargebuhr's hypothesis on the antiquity of the extant lions. See his work, El arte español hasta los Almohades, a volume of the collection Ars Hispaniae, III, 273, as reported by Bargebuhr, Alhambra: Cycle of Studies, 1968, 24. According to Torres Balbás: "These lion sculptures belong […] to an extraordinarily archaizing current of Oriental art, with roots in remote times. Confronted with the Hittite lions of Tell Ḥalāf of the second millennium B.C. in the Museum of Charlottenburg, and others in Constantinople, they would be ascribed to the same artistic cycle." Torres Balbás as quoted in Bargebuhr, Alhambra: Cycle of Studies, 1968, 176. It is well known that the first Umayyad Caliph in Cordoba, ʿAbd al-Raḥmān III al-Nāṣir, had excellent relations with the Emperor Romanos II Porphyrogennetos in Constantinople. The exchange of specialists and treatises between them is a perfect example of such collaborations. The famous case of the Treatise of Pharmacopeia, by Pedanius Dioscorides, sent by the latter in 948, exemplifies such collaborations. The treatise was interpreted and adapted to al-Andalus by the Jewish physician Hasday ibn Ŝaprūt and the Christian monk Nicholas. See Arjona Castro, Historia de Córdoba, 2010, 53-5; and Ashtor, Jews of Moslem Spain, 1973, v. 1:161. 252 The infringement of the law had terrifying consequences on Judgment Day. Even though, the main argument against representational art does not come from the Qurʾān itself, but from ḥadīṯ (tradition). Bargebuhr's hypothesis on the recycled lions circumvents the dangers of creations that cannot come to life. To understand this claim it is important to examine the reasoning behind this ḥadīṯ. The prohibition to create images comes from a peculiar interpretation of a key Qurʾānic passage by al-Buḫārī. In it, the voice of an angel explains to the Virgin Mary the divine mechanism that will enable her son to cure, give life, and transmit revelation:

This is how God creates what He will: when He has ordained something, He only says, "Be," and it is. He will teach him [Jesus] the Scripture and wisdom, the Torah and the Gospel, He will send him as a messenger to the Children of Israel: "I have come to you with a sign from your Lord: I will make the shape of a bird for you out of clay, then breathe into it and, with God's permission, it will become a real bird.430

From this passage, al-Buḫārī argued that on Judgment Day, God would punish the creators of any image that was not given life. Only God has that power. So, on Judgment Day, any image-maker would be expected to perform the miracle of giving life. But, since this power can only be attained through divine intervention, those who tried to impersonate God's power would be punished for not being able to fulfill their promise of life.431 In this sense, it may be possible to assume that anyone at the Naṣrid Court would have felt safe to recycle the sculptures that someone else created in the past. This hypothesis may clarify the consonance between Ibn Gabirol and the palaces of Alhambra. Yet, the consonance unveils the profound continuity and sympathy of multicultural groups sharing a common heritage. Unfortunately, these traditions were systematically

430Qur'ān, 3:47-9. 431See Puerta Vílchez, Historia pensamiento estético, 1997, 91. 253 expunged so that some of its branches could be excluded from the Iberian Peninsula. Its cultural development would never recover the potential of such multiculturalism.

A Sultan's Palace

The next stage in the evolution of Muslim communities in the Iberian Peninsula brought forth a unique system of government that for a short while was ruled by a group of "mystical leaders." This stage represents a high watermark of a spiritual undercurrent in the history of al-Andalus. It constitutes a bright, shining moment in which the state was intimately allied with its traditional opponents, the rational mystics and ascetics wandering the countryside, sharing their emancipated vision of Islam. The beauty and fascination of the ornamented spaces of Alhambra is the product of such alliance. It is the result of collective intentionality, grounded in the successful collaboration of a sensible ruler, a diplomatic mastermind, a mystic sage, and a multitalented young scribe.432 Their collaboration enabled the appeasement of a highly competitive environment, constantly threatened by conspiracy and anarchy. The public architecture they created was part of a successful process of political stabilization. Their master narrative filled every surface of a rich ensemble of monumental halls, wide open spaces, and lush gardens. These

432John Searle explains this notion with a simple thesis: "There really is such a thing as collective intentional behavior that is not the same as the summation of individual intentional behavior." The articulation of individual and collective intentionality is illustrated by the performance of an orchestra or a football team. In these cases, diverse "I-intentions" follow a common "we-intention" triggered by the desire to cooperate, i.e., a "primitive phenomenon" whose "capacity to engage in collective behavior requires something like a preintentional sense of 'the other' as an actual or potential agent like oneself in cooperative activities." Yet, "one might object, 'surely this sense of others as cooperative agents is constituted by the collective intentionality.' I don't think so. The collective behavior certainly augments the sense of others as cooperative agents, but that sense can exist without any collective intentionality, and what is more interesting, collective intentionality seems to presuppose some level of sense of community before it can ever function." Thus, we reach a final thesis: "Collective intentionality presupposes a Background sense of the other as a candidate for cooperative agency; that is, it presupposes a sense of others as more than mere conscious agents, indeed as actual or potential members of a cooperative activity." See his work, Consciousness and Language, (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2002), 90-105. 254 ensembles reflect the continuity of multiple traits of Andalusi culture, like the Umayyad's use of public inscriptions or the Almohad's theological underpinning for muqarna- structures. This shining moment in Andalusi history was produced by a second branch of the ruling dynasty that emerged from the Banū l-Aḥmar or Banū Naṣr. The new branch, known as al-Dawla al-Ismāʿīliyya al-Naṣriyya, provided a pair of rulers (father and son) that was able to secure the survival of the Sultanate of Granada for years to come. The

father, Abū l-Haǧǧaǧ Yūsuf, was surrounded by that successful group of collaborators: Abū l-Nuʿaym Riḍwān, prime minister (ḥāǧib); ʿAlī Ibn al-Ǧayyāb "vizier of the pen and sword" (dhū l-wizāratyn); and Lisān al-dīn Ibn al-Ḫaṭīb, scribe (kātib). Unfortunately, his successor, Abū ʿAbd Allāḥ Muḥammad al-Ġani bī-llāḥ, was not able to maintain the alliance with the mystical brotherhoods that his father relied upon. The new dhū l- wizāratyn, Ibn Zamrak, exploited a conservative swing back to power, so that he could persecute his mentor, Ibn al-Ḫaṭīb. In the long run, this polarization and a lack of meaningful purpose in the Naṣrid elite would disintegrate the security attained by Yūsuf and his enlightened collaborators. The Banū Naṣr rose to power amidst the chaos and turmoil of the Almohad collapse. Their popular support was grounded on their allegiance to a distinctive Hispano-Muslim identity. As Almohad administrators lost control of the land, a series of petty chieftains fought over the spoils. Soon enough, the Naṣrid represented the Andalusi opposition to Berber Islam.433 Their leader, a man simply known as al-Šayḫ (the Chief),

433The first man to advance such opposition was Muḥammad Ibn Yūsuf Ibn Hūd, a descendent of the famous Banū Hūd of Zaragoza. In the summer of 1228, he rebelled under the black banner of the ʿAbbasid. In many ways, the Naṣrid founder copied his bid for power. His rhetoric attracted popular support, claiming a dignified Andalusi lineage and swearing allegiance to the acknowledged inheritors of the Prophet. His powerful laqab: al-Mutawakkil ʿalā-llāḥ (the one who relies on God), illustrated such traits. By the early 1230s the Naṣrid clashed with Ibn Hūd to control the Guadalquivir basin and the mountains of Granada. In the end, al-Šayḫ won thanks to his unscrupulous alliance with Fernando III el Santo. See Arié, L'Espagne 255 had the support of Córdoba, Sevilla, and Jaén. However, his austere and strict manner did not go well with the sensibility and refinement of such citizens. Meanwhile, the Reconquista had finally reached the Guadalquivir basin. The Naṣrid had to take refuge in the mountains of Granada. Their weakened position was strengthened by the pragmatism of Al-Šayḫ, who swore allegiance to the powerful King of Castilla, Fernando III el Santo. With this maneuver he sealed the fate of Iberian Muslims. From that moment forward, there were two options, immigration to the harsh environment of Granada or in

Christian lands as mudaŷŷan or mudéjar ("those who pay tribute"). The survival of an incipient Muslim state in Granada depended on its vassalage to Castilla. This condition would keep it entangled in uncertainty, amidst a complex web of diplomatic and military alliances. The political landscape was extremely complex, but al-Šayḫ was a masterful player in this delicate "games of chess." His crude tactics, ingenious negotiations, and military genius paid off.434 For more than two decades, Granada was in peace, a period in which the new state was built from scratch. To celebrate these accomplishments he received an honorary kunya (title) Abū ʿAbd Allāḥ ("Father of God's Servant") and a glorious laqab (epithet) al-Ġani bī-llāḥ ("He who attains victory through God").435 musulmane, 1973, 52-8; and Harvey, Islamic Spain, 1990, 20-31. For the relevance of the Banū Hūd in the history of al-Andalus, see Kennedy, Muslim Spain, 1996, 134-8. 434For example, he followed Christian armies to attack fellow Muslims in Sevilla or Murcia, while arousing the rebellion of mudejares in Christian territories. With the Almohad and their successors, the Marīnid, he did the same. He would offer allegiance and support for their military campaigns, while he would take advantages to conquer some of their ports in the Iberian Peninsula. It was a constant process of changing allegiances and conjuring peace treaties to make the enemy lower its guard. See Arié, L'Espagne musulmane, 1973, 61-8; Harvey, Islamic Spain, 1990, 20-41; and Maya Shatzmiller, The Berbers and the Islamic State: The Marīnid Experience in Pre-Protectorate , (Princeton: Marcus Wiener, 2000). Given this political environment, it is no wonder that all these leaders loved to play chess. See Johan Weststeijn and Alex De Voogt, "Saʿīd b. Ǧubayr: Piety, Chess and Rebellion," Arabica 49, 3(2002):383-6; Jenny Adams, "Pieces of Power: Medieval Chess and Male Homosocial Desire," The Journal of English and Germanic Philology 103, 2(2004):197-214; and Antony J. Puddephatt, "Chess Playing as Strategic Activity," Symbolic Interaction 26, 2(2003):263-84. 435The full name of this austere and harsh man was Abū ʿAbd Allāḥ Muḥammad b. Yūsuf b. Naṣr Ibn al- Aḥmar al-Ġani bī-llāḥ. By the end of the 1220s, he was the local chieftain of Arjona. His rise to power could be attributed to his pragmatism and opportunism. The last refuge for Hispano-Muslims in Spain was 256 In this period he refurbished the old fortress atop the Sabīka, as well as the creation of a defense system for the entire hill, which relied on an Almohad typology. The latter, known as torres albarranas, were massive protruding towers articulated to a thick defensive wall.436 The royal household was based at Alcazaba. Its location provided a perfect connection with the city bellow and the old Zīrid fortress on the opposite hill, the Albaicín.437 This type of defensive tower, used as an elite residence, became a key typology to fortify the entire Sabīka. The isolated architectural complexes, commonly

known as "palaces," employ these towers to create a "princely pavilion" that was also known as a qalahurra. There are many examples of these complexes and pavilions, like the Dār al-Mamlaka l-Saʿīda (Generalife), al-Burṭula (Partal), Bahw al-Naṣr (Machuca), and the Qalahurra of Abū l-Ǧuyūš Naṣr (Peinador de la Reina). These independent units strategically distributed to protect the enceinte illustrate a fundamental Naṣrid custom. Each ruler constructed a new set of residential and administrative complexes. The families of the Andalusi elite required independence between generations.438 Alhambra's defense relied also on a sophisticated water system, articulated by a series of agricultural terraces. It allowed the citadel to be completely self-sustaining. The irrigation and water supply was based on the strategic control of the Darro's source and

painfully "carved out" by this man, during the turmoil of the Almohad collapse. To some extent, the harshness of this man enabled a large group of survivors to take refuge in the mountainous region of Granada. See Rachel Arié, L'Espagne musulmane au temps des Nasrides (1232-1492), (Paris: E. de Boccard, 1973), 55-64; and Harvey, Islamic Spain, 1990, 20-40. 436For more on this typology, see Arié, L'Espagne musulmane, 1973, 234; Henri Basset and Henri Terrasse, Sanctuaires et forteresses almohades, Collection Hespéris, no. 5, (Paris: Institut des Hautes- Études Marocaines, 1932), 337-88; and Leopoldo Torres Balbás, Artes almoravide y almohade, (Madrid: Instituto de Estudios Africanos, Instituto Diego Velázquez del Consejo Superior de Investigaciones Estéticas, 1955). 437For more on the architecture of Alcazaba, see Fernández Puertas, Alhambra I, 1997, 181-234; and Malpica Cuello, Alhambra de Granada, 2002, 47-96. 438For more on Andalusi lineages and customs, see Joaquín Vallvé, "Sobre demografía y sociedad en al- Andalus (siglos VIII-XI)." Al-Andalus 42, 2(1977):323-40; and Pierre Guichard, Structures sociales "orientales" et "occidentales" dans l'Espagne musulmane, (Paris: Mouton, 1977). 257 gravity. Securing the water supply would enable the citadel to withstand a long siege. Key nodes of the infrastructure were garrisons for guards and caretakers of the system.439 Once the aqueduct entered the citadel, it went underground running from east to west at the crest of the hill. This underground waterway determined its main road, known today as "Acequia Real de la Alhambra" (Alhambra's Royal Waterway). From it, a series of secondary channels, always running downhill, supply a network of aljibes (small reservoirs), located in the main courtyards of residential compounds. The channels also bifurcated into smaller networks of irrigation, supplying the agricultural terraces on the northeast. The opposite side was less inclined, allowing dense urbanization, while the terracing of the northeast enabled intensive agriculture. They provided Alhambra with self-sustaining nourishment. Their main crops could have been grains, nuts, and fruits, while the aljibes may have served for pisciculture. Archaeological explorations have uncovered underground silos, water reservoirs, wells, and a highly complex network of irrigation channels. Clearly, the citadel was designed as a military stronghold that could withstand long sieges.

439The system was structured by a central spine, a sāqiya (aqueduct). The Darro's source, located on higher ground east of the enceinte, was modified by a dam. From that point a single channel flowed downstream towards Torre del Agua, a structure with "an old concrete irrigation regulator." Along the way, the aqueduct has "shallow pools or wells […] to clean the water and allow the dross to settle." The system also captured rainwater, by modifying its adjacent slopes "through conduits made of lime, oil and esparto grass (sulāqa; Spanish zulaque), to direct the water to the sāqiya and also to prevent erosion on the hillside." Before the aqueduct entered the citadel, the water supply was enhanced by a sophisticated collection system, next to the Generalife. It was an extramural reservoir, "dug out and built 16 m above the level of the entering sāqiya, in order to place it within the hard natural ground […] where it could withstand the constant pressure of the water with the minimum of masonry reinforcement." The reservoir's outer wall was buttressed by a large terrace. It was equipped with a "deep rectangular well" holding a wooden waterwheel (dūlāb or nāʿūra, noria in Spanish). Water accumulated in this well, so the waterwheel could raise it again to supply Alhambra. Clearly, it was a strategic reservoir, designed to withstand long sieges and the possibility that the enemy could close the water source, upstream. The waterwheel had a complementary system that relied on beasts of burden. All quotes are from Fernández Puertas, Alhambra I, 1997, 193-5; cf. Malpica Cuello, Alhambra de Granada, 2002, 11-6. 258

Figure 22: Alhambra, site plan, hypothetic reconstruction of chronological sequence. 259 Alhambra's history displays a clear sequence of additions, commissioned by rulers that were able to secure lasting periods of peace. There are two major stages of construction, determined by fifty years of peace, each. The first one by al-Šayḫ and his son al-Faqīh (the Theologian) came to an end, when Muḥammad III, a bellicose and religious zealot, managed to unite all of Granada's neighbors against him. The delicate balance of power, always on the verge of cataclysm, was tragically disrupted by his ideological pursuits. The second period of peace was masterly achieved by the ḥāǧib

Riḍwān and the rise of the second Naṣrid branch. The diplomatic skill of this generation secured the longest period of peace in the entire history of Granada. The gorgeous structures of the Mešuār, Kumariṣ, and Riyāḍ complexes are the tangible expression of their peaceful policies.440 Their superb use of ornament, filled with suggestive connotations, enabled them to broadcast a master narrative that explained the divine origin of the Sultan's sovereignty, acting as the terrestrial source of all bounty, blessings, and peace. The first isolated complex outside Alcazaba was built by Muḥammad II (1273- 1302). He also finished the defensive wall, encircling the entire hill. His residential complex was located at the highest ground. Its architectural scheme resembled the Generalife, also built in this period. It is composed of a main pavilion and secondary spaces around an elongated central courtyard. The pavilion is a multilevel tower preceded by a perpendicular hall and a portico. The arrangement could be characterized as a "T- shaped-scheme." Unlike the Generalife, the pavilion was not placed at the courtyard's end; it was located at the center of its long side. The complex was aligned to the citadel's

440This work tries to use names for the architectural complexes in Alhambra that may be more accurate than the traditional ones: Mešuār (Mexuar), Kumariṣ (Myrtles Court and Hall of the Ambassadors), and Riyāḍ (Lions Court and Hall of the Two Sisters). See Fernández Puertas, Alhambra I, 1997; and Malpica Cuello, Alhambra de Granada, 2002. 260 main road. The pavilion protruded outwardly−like an albarrana tower−towards the north terraces. This arrangement became the residential typology for the Naṣrid elite. Muḥammad III (1302 - 1309) built a very similar complex nearby. It was later known as "Palacio de los Abencerrajes." He also built the citadel's main mosque. It was strategically located at the intersection of the residential sector on the east side and the administrative and civic sector on the west. It occupied a large esplanade, built at the center of the hill, separating the royal palaces and agricultural terraces in the east from

the military compound on the west. The esplanade was also preceded by a lower, open space that used to serve as a military plaza for official ceremonies.441 The main mosque occupied the esplanade's east side. It was replaced by the Church of "Santa María de la Alhambra" after the Fall of Granada. The typology and scale of the main mosque is unknown. However, given the layout of its neighboring constructions and Naṣrid customs, it is safe to speculate that its typology could have been analogous to Almohad Mosques, like those in Tinmal, Fās, or Marrākuš. Alhambra's main mosque seems to have occupied an area of 60 x 40 m. Its orientation is given by the royal cemetery (rawḍa), built by Ismā'īl I (1314-1325). Given these measurements, the mosque in Tinmal could help us imagine its counterpart in Alhambra. The former has a footprint of 48 x 43 m. Its main axis, connecting the entrance with the qibla wall, is perpendicular to the rectangle's long side. The entrance leads directly to an open court of 24 x 16 m, flanked by two slender hypostyle halls. The prayer hall has nine naves parallel to the main axis and a transversal nave, parallel to the qibla wall. The central nave is slightly wider than the rest. Even though Alhambra's mosque may have followed a similar arrangement, most of its details would have been reminiscent of the great

441See Malpica Cuello, Alhambra de Granada, 2002, 25-32; cf. Leopoldo Torres Balbás, Ciudades Hispanomusulmanas, (Madrid: Ministerio de Asuntos Exteriores, Dirección General de Relaciones Culturales, Instituto Hispano-Árabe de Cultura, 1971). 261 structures in Fās (Qarawîyin) or Marrākuš (al-Kotobîyîn). On the southeast of Alhambra's main mosque, Muḥammad III also built a lavish public bath house.442 The rise of the second Naṣrid Dynasty was forced by a calamitous sequence of events, triggered by the regime of Muḥammad III. In short, this man and his ambitious vizier, Ibn al-Ḥakīm al-Rundī, were responsible for destroying the peaceful environment that their predecessors worked so hard to attain. The bellicose policies of these men pushed the Naṣrid State to imminent collapse. The incipient kingdom secured peace

through the efforts of al-Šayḫ (forty years) and al-Faqīh (thirty years), at the heavy cost of 300,000 maravedis per year. The stable diplomacy, achieved by those pragmatic statesmen, fell apart when Muḥammad III took Ceuta. To counterbalance these delicate circumstances, the Naṣrid elite acted fast. The solution was simple: the Sultan would be deposed, the vizier executed, and a new branch risen to power. The mastermind of these operations was a Christian convert, called Riḍwān.443 However, the stabilization of such political turmoil stretched over twenty four years (the entire regimes of Naṣr, Ismāʿīl, and Muḥammad IV). Lasting peace was not fully attained until a charismatic leadership, like that of Yūsuf I (1333-1354) and his outstanding collaborators, rose to power. In many ways, the buildings we now admire in Alhambra are the result of this successful process of appeasement. They are tangible expressions of the new branch's exercise of soft power. The master narrative, controlling a sophisticated ensemble of connotations, was carefully designed by Yūsuf, Riḍwān, Ibn al-Ǧayyāb, and Ibn al-Ḫaṭīb.

442The support for these speculations comes from the typological analysis of mosques on al-Andalus and the Maghreb. See Torres Balbás, Ciudades Hispanomusulmanas, 1971; and, idem, Artes almoravide y almohade, 1955. The data of Tinmal's mosque comes from Basset and Terrasse, Sanctuaires et forteresses almohades, 1932, 1-24. 443See Arié, L'Espagne musulmane, 1973, 198-212; María Jesús Rubiera Mata, Ibn al Ŷayyāb: El otro poeta de la Alhambra, (Granada: Junta de Andalucía, Consejería de Cultura y Medio Ambiente, Patronato de la Alhambra y Generalife, 1994), 39-44; and Antonio Fernández Puertas, "The Three Great Sultans of al-Dawla al-Ismā'īliyya al-Naṣriyya Who Built the Fourteenth-Century Alhambra: Ismāʿīl I, Yūsuf I, Muḥammad V (713-793/1314-1391)," Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society, 7, 1(1997):1-25. 262 In many ways, their decision to build a new architectural complex was driven by the desire to broadcast their success and secure its continuity. Its centerpiece was an imposing throne room that would display the divine underpinning of Yūsuf's sovereignty. It would enhance his ability to command support and loyalty. The new structure was carefully designed to denote power, through a careful manipulation of emotions, as visitors moved through the spaces of the new Kumariṣ complex, reflecting on the suggestive connotations inspired by innumerable poetic inscriptions. This direct means of

communication is articulated by long inscriptions strategically placed at eye level, as well as shorter messages in isolated medallions and "free-floating" words interwoven in a lush ornamental programme. The result of these masterful strategies of rhetorical persuasion produced that architectural masterpiece we know as "Alhambra." Given the complexity of these strategies and the limitations of space in this work, we are only going to revise, in detail, the denotation and connotation of the Kumariṣ complex, built by Yūsuf. Its successor, the Riyāḍ complex of Muḥammad V, undoubtedly a masterpiece, would require more space to explain its denotation and connotation. Hopefully, our examination of the "throne room" in the Kumariṣ complex illustrates the complexity of its successor. The throne room is a perfect square (11.30 m on each side) with a total height of 18.22 m (a ratio of 1:1.6). It is the central space of a heavy masonry tower constructed with thick walls: 2.75 m (east & west), 3.20 m (north), and 4.70 m (south). Its point of entry sequence is determined by a longitudinal axis, coming from an open courtyard south of the tower. The alcove (al-qubba) in front of the entrance is embedded in the thickness of the north wall. Its inscriptions suggest it was reserved for the Sultan's throne.444 The entry sequence created a sense of gradual approximation to the

444The longer inscription in this alcove, by Ibn al-Ḫaṭīb, is reminiscent of a laudatory genre known as qasida sulṭāniyya: "Tongues of blessing, prosperity, happiness, and friendship salute you each morning and evening, through me. / That is the exalted dome and we are her daughters, yet I possess greater dignity and 263 Sultan. This sensation was stimulated by series of spaces: first the courtyard itself, then a lofty portico, and finally an elongated antechamber, called Barakah Hall. The axis, traversing these spaces, stretches 36.60 m towards the entrance of the complex. The presence of the massive tower dominates the entire complex, since its very entrance.

Figure 23: Yūsuf's throne room, plan.

The visitor must have approached Kumariṣ from the esplanade in front of Alhambra's main mosque. Its entrance pavilion framed a view of the inner courtyard– probably with more vegetation than it has today–dominated by the verticality of the

excellence above those of my lineage. / I am like the heart among the limbs, since I am in the middle of them, and at the heart resides the strength of the spirit and the soul." On the west: "Although my companions are like the Zodiac signs of that heaven [the dome], only I–not them–receive the honor of possessing a sun. / My Lord–Allāḥ's favored, Yūsuf–dressed me with unparalleled robes of glory and excellence. / And has turned me into the throne of his empire; may his eminence be upheld by the Lord of Light, holding the celestial throne!" See Jules Goury and Owen Jones, Plans, elevations, sections, and details of the Alhambra…, (London: Owen Jones, 1842), text associated with plates VII & XXXVI. 264 massive tower. The pool at the center of the courtyard provided an unobstructed view of the tower, flanked by lush vegetation. At this point, the contrast of the tower's verticality with courtyard's horizontality may have brought some theological connotations, as suggested by the first inscription at eye level: "Announce the true believers that divine help and ready victory [are reserved] for them."445 The tower may have suggested that such help came from above, while its reflection in the pool insinuated that above and below are ruled by the same force (see Figure 24). Inscriptions, "suspended" in rich ornamentation, evoked the hierarchy of such helpful force: "There is no Deity but Allāḥ," "Muḥammad is His messenger," and "Glory to our Lord Abū ʿAbd Allāḥ." The first inscription is written in Kufic, while the other two in Nasḫīd-Ṯulūṯ. The use of distinct calligraphies may have theological implications, because the first type had a hieratic character, given its original use for the Qurʾān only. The second one was a popular script across the Maghreb.446 Thus, the rhetoric of these inscriptions seems to distinguish the different agents in this structure of power, beginning with God, its messenger, and the Sultan. The latter is in fact Muḥammad V, bearing the honorary kunya that most Naṣrid rulers used to honor their founding father, al-Šayḫ.447 The contrast between the tower and

445The translations of all the inscriptions used in this work are based on two sources: Goury and Jones, Plans, elevations, 1842; and Emilio Lafuente Alcántara, Inscripciones árabes de Granada: Precedidos de una reseña histórica y de la genealogía de los Reyes Alahmares, (Granada: Universidad de Granada, 2000). 446For more on the theological connotations of Kufic and Nasḫīd-Ṯulūṯ calligraphies, see Yasser Tabbaa, The Transformation of Islamic Art During the Sunni Revival, (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 2001); Yūsuf Maḥmūd Ghulām, The Art of Arabic Calligraphy, (Lafayette, CA: Yūsuf Maḥmūd Ghulām, 1982); and Annemarie Schimmel, Calligraphy and Islamic Culture, (New York: New York University Press, 1984). 447Given the berberization of al-Andalus after the Almoravid and Almohad Caliphates, the rise of a Hispano-Muslim identity relied on the recovery of its Arabic origins. That is, their descent from the first waves of colonizers, led by Mūsā Ibn Nuṣayr and Balǧ Ibn Bišr. That is why the Naṣrid boasted a prestigious lineage that supposedly stretched back to the mythic figure of Saʿd Ibn ʿUbāda, Šayḫ of the Ḫazraǧ. The inscriptions at the entrance pavilion of Kumariṣ claimed: "Truly, through my Lord Ibn Naṣr, Allāḥ has ennobled his servants. / Because he made him the descendant of Saʿd Ibn ʿUbāda the chief of the tribe of Ḫazraǧ." This tribe protected the Prophet during his flee to Medina. See Isaac Hasson, "Contributions à l-étude des Aws et des Ḫazraǧ," Arabica 36, 1(1989):1-35; and Eric Vallet, "L'historiographie rasūlide (Yémen, VIIe-IXe/XIIIe-XVe siècle), Studia Islamica 102/3(2006):35-69. 265 the courtyard was experienced through a lofty portico, whose enigmatic presence was mirrored not only by the pool at the center of the courtyard, but by its "twin brother" at the opposite side. These architectural elements are passive reinforcements of a message that is transmitted by the active agency of words. Their influence over personal beliefs and political action is rooted in the same words that people repeat every day in prayer. Thus, memory of lived experiences accompanies the visitor through the spaces of the Kumariṣ complex.448

Figure 24: Kumariṣ complex, view of central courtyard.

The emotional energy increases as the visitor traverses the complex. Each of its different spaces offers a distinct stimulation of the senses and the imagination, through

448Repetitive prayer and meditation instills a powerful sense of belonging and deafferentation, see Eugene D'Aquili and Andrew B. Newberg, The Mystical Mind: Probing the Biology of Religious Experience, (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1999), 47-120. For their role in Islamic prayer and education, see Helen Boyle, "Memorization and Learning in Islamic Schools," Comparative Education Review 50, 3(2006):478- 95; and Dale F. Eickelman,"The Art of Memory: Islamic Education and its Social Reproduction," Comparative Studies in Society and History 20, 4(1978):485-516. 266 contrasting uses of light, color, texture, and, most importantly, inscriptions. At the entrance pavilion, the first view of the tower is framed by a series of aligned thresholds. A similar experience will reappear at the end of the courtyard, as the visitor faces the Barakah Hall and throne room. Before reaching this point, the courtyard's brightness is accentuated by the use of white marble in the floor and lime plaster in the walls. The emotional dynamism of this space is engendered by its reflection of light.449 The presence of water and vegetation in strict geometrical delimitations suggests a stewardship over

Creation.450 Twin porticoes link this realm of controlled nature with its source of control, the tower at the end of the courtyard. Since the visitor entered the complex, its main façade was fully illuminated. The play of light and shadow in the portico's façade contrasted sharply with the tower's smooth façade, given the former's decoration with a high-relief sebka, that is, a surface divided by a grid of interlocked lozenges, filled with organic decoration and free-floating words. It is important to specify at this point that the entire courtyard was refurbished by Muḥammad V (1362-1391). Hence, the inscriptions in the entrance pavilion and the north portico were written by Ibn Zamrak, while the rest belong to his mentor Ibn al-Ḫaṭīb.451

449A beautiful passage from sūra 93 illustrates the poetry of brightness in is grounded on: "By the morning brightness and by the night when it grows still, your Lord has not forsaken you, nor does He hate you, and the future will be better for you than the past." In the throne's alcove Ibn al-Ḫaṭīb paraphrases this passage, claiming: "By the sun and its rising brightness; by the moon when she followed him; by the day when he showed its splendor […] there is no Deity but Allāḥ." Later, Ibn Zamrak restated this symbolism in the Riyāḍ complex: "And there is splendorous marble, spreading its brightness, and clarifying what used to be covered in darkness." See Lafuente Alcántara, Inscripciones árabes, 2000, 130. 450In the lions-fountain, Ibn Zamrak links God's control over nature with the Sultan's control over his warriors, stating: "In truth, what is [this water on the fountain] but a cloud that pours down its current upon these lions? / Like the Caliph's hand, when it appears in the morning, pouring its gifts over the lions of war." See Lafuente Alcántara, Inscripciones árabes, 2000, 122-3. 451The relationship between these men was entangled in fierce political competition. In the end, Ibn al- Ḫaṭīb lost his life, as conservatism took over the the mysticism of the previous generation. For more on this transition, see García Gómez, Ibn Zamrak, 1975; Rubiera Mata, Ibn al Ŷayyāb, 1994; Cruz Hernández, Historia pensamiento, 1996, 633-6; and Alexander Knysh, Ibn ʿArabi in the Later Islamic Tradition: The Making of a Polemical Image in Medieval Islam, (New York: State University of New York Press, 1999), 172-6. 267 The approach to the throne room goes through seven thresholds. Three of them have niches surrounded with rich ornament and long inscriptions (See Figure 25). Those in the entrance pavilion and Barakah hall are by Ibn Zamrak, the rest by Ibn al-Ḫaṭīb:

[Pavilion and hall, east side] I am a glorious monument for prayer: my direction is the direction of happiness. You may see this vase like a man standing on his feet, fulfilling the observance of prayer. And, as soon as he has finished, he is ready to repeat it again. Through my Lord Ibn Naṣr, Allāḥ has ennobled his servants. Since, he made him the descendant of Saʿd Ibn ʿUbāda, Šayḫ of the Ḫazraǧ.

[Idem, west side] I am like the nuptial array of a bride, endowed with all beauty and perfection. Look at this vase and you will know the truth of my words. Contemplate my tiara carefully: you will find it resembles the halo of the full moon. Ibn Naṣr is the beautiful and radiant sun of this orb.452

[Idem, next to the niches] Praise Allāḥ, the only one. I shall remove any harm posed by the evil eye from Yūsuf, by saying five times: I take refuge in the Lord of the Morning Brightness; thank Allāḥ.

[Throne Room entry arch, east side] Praise Allāḥ. I have advantage over the most beautiful with my ornament and tiara, and all the stars of the zodiac bow lovingly to me. The vase in me is like a devout man, who at the sanctuary's kiblah prays full of tenderness to Allāḥ. My generous actions, which provide relief to those who are thirsty and aid to those who are helpless, are safe against the injury of time. As if I had taken the liberality from the hand of my Lord Abūl-Haǧǧaǧ. Do not allow anything to keep it from shinning like a splendorous moon in my sky, as long as the moon continues to shine amidst the darkness of night. [Idem, west side] The fingers of my craftsman carved delicately my tracings, once the jewels of my crown were ordained. I resemble a wife's throne; I even surpass it, since I assure the couple's happiness. He who comes to me, suffering of thirst, shall find pure, fresh, and sweet water, without any mixture. As if I was the rainbow when it appears, and my Lord Abūl-Haǧǧaǧ was the sun. Do not allow his residence to become insecure, keep it as long as the House of Allāḥ is a place of pilgrimage.453

452Lafuente Alcántara, Inscripciones árabes, 2000, 95-7; and Goury and Jones, Plans, elevations, 1842, plates VII & XXXVI. 453Idem. 268

Figure 25: Yūsuf's throne room, details from entry arch.

Notice that the building "speaks" as a female in first person singular present indicative active.454 Her words are full of magic power or, in technical terms, they are "performative utterances."455 Their author, Ibn al-Ḫaṭīb, was not only a connoisseur of

454Alhambra's anthropomorphism, as a living female entity speaking directly to her visitors, is a common trait in Islamic architecture. There are many examples of buildings or cities speaking in a "female's voice," like the Madrasa Bou Inania in Fās, claiming: "I am a place of knowledge, come closer so you may learn." A famous romance describing a conversation between a Christian knight and a Muslim nobleman, illustrates the notion that Granada may become a bride of the former, who asks: "What castles are those? Tall and splendorous they are!" The latter responds: "It was Alhambra, Lord, and […] The other was Granada, Granada the noble one]." Then, the Christian knight makes his advance: "Granada, if you wished it so, I would marry you / As pledge and dowry, I would give to you Cordoba and Sevilla." Finally, she answers: "I am married King Don Juan, married and not widow. / The Moor who possesses me, has great love for me." See Arié, Reino Naṣrí, 1992, 65. For a modern version of this romance listen to the recording no. 15, in the CD Bridges of Song: Music of the Spanish Jews of Morocco, by Voice of the Turtle, (Somerville: Titanic, 1990). 455John Austin explains the nature of a performative or operative utterance, as an act produced by speech: "in saying what I do, I actually perform the action." In his examination of such unique ways of using language to perform acts, he emphasized that "language develops in tune with the society of which it is the language. The social habits of the society may considerably affect the question of which performative verbs are evolved and which, sometimes for rather irrelevant reasons, are not." See his work, "Performative 269 poetry; he knew very well how to charge words with powerful connotations. Their location was essential, because niches have deep signification in Islam, according to the Qurʾān: "God is the Light of the heavens and earth. His light is like this: there is a niche, and in it a lamp." The latter is contained in "a glass like a glittering star" fuelled with oil from "a blessed olive tree from neither east nor west." The next phrase prefigures the ultimate Ṣūfī goal: "God guides whoever He will to his Light."456 The relevance of these mystical notions will be clarified in Alhambra's context companion. Finally, as visitors entered the throne room, their first stop would have been at the threshold, given the high ornamentation and profuse calligraphy of the entry arch (See Figures 5 & 6). To some extent, the arch reflects a miniature version of the entire symbolic programme of the throne room. It is almost like an intuitive expression of fractal theory. The principle of self-similarity, as introduced by Benoît Mandelbrot, clarifies the symbolic echoing of the throne room and its entry arch.457 The latter displays one of the most enticing examples of Naṣrid ornamentation: a long Kufic inscription turns into ornamental embroidery, filled with cartouches of sensuous inscriptions in Nasḫīd-Ṯulūṯ that seem to float on a

Utterances," in The Philosophy of Language, A. P. Martinich, ed., 105-14, (New York: Oxford University Press, 1990), 106 & 111. 456Qurʾān 24:35, āya al-Nur (Light). Two works by Ibn al-Ḫaṭīb reveal his complex understanding of poetry and mysticism: Kitāb al-Siḥr wa-l-Šiʿr ("Book of Magic and Poetry") and Rawḍat al-taʿrīf bi-l-ḥubb al-šarīf ("Garden of Instruction in Noble Love" or "Garden of the Mystical Knowledge of Divine Love"). The relevance of these works will be explained below. At this point, it is important to emphasize their implicit references to Ibn Sīnā, especially those associated with the mystical notions around the "Lord of Light." The Rawḍat reflects a direct influence of Ibn Sīnā's commentaries on āya al-Nur in his Risāla fī iṯbāt al-nubuwwāt (Essay to Establish the Proof of the Prophecies). See Miguel Cruz Hernández, Historia del pensamiento en el mundo islámico 2: El pensamiento de al-Ándalus (siglos IX-XIV), (Madrid: Alianza, 1996), 635. For more on the magical protection of thresholds, see Sir James Frazer, Folk-lore in the Old Testament, (London: Macmillan, 1919), v. 3:1-18; and Edward Westermarck, Pagan Survivals in Mohammedan Civilization, (London: Macmillan, 1933). 457See Benoît Mandelbrot, Gaussian Self-Affinity and Fractals: Globality, the Earth, 1/f Noise and R/S /, (New York: Springer, 2002); Manfred R. Schroeder, Number Theory in Science and Communication: With Applications in Cryptography, Physics, Digital Information, Computing, and Self-Similarity, (New York: Springer, 1997); and Gerald Edgar, Measure, Topology, and Fractal Geometry, (New York: Springer- Verlag, 2008). 270 background of swirling vegetation; above, a cantilevered frieze made with muqarnas springs from a series of columns creating a miniature portico that is also filled with Kufic inscriptions and vegetation; on either side, two arches with intrados delicately carved in stucco contain a full blown assemblage of muqarnas. This ensemble of ornament is a forerunner of the astonishing façade in the so- called Mirador de Lindaraja. Its predecessor in the throne room's threshold is a crowning achievement of Ibn al-Ǧayyāb and Ibn al-Ḫaṭīb. Its inscriptions reflect the essence of power in Islam. From top to bottom, they state: "Praise Allāḥ for the benefits of Islam" (N-Ṯ), "There is no Conqueror but Allāḥ" (N-Ṯ), "Extended Bliss" (N-Ṯ+ K), "Glory to our Lord Abūl-Haǧǧaǧ may Allāḥ provide him with great help" (N-Ṯ), and "There is no Conqueror but Allāḥ" (K). The first inscription is highly idiomatic. It is a performative It .(ﺍﻞﺤﻩﺪ ﺍﷲ) utterance that fuses all those words into a single formula: al-Ḥamdu lillāḥ

458 457F They are concrete acts of.(הלליה) resonates with its Hebrew counterpart, hallĕlūyāh praise. Thus, the first inscription praises God for providing "a final and clear message" (divine revelation). The next inscription is also formulaic. It is the Naṣrid motto, a powerful expression that recognizes God as the sole Victor. The expression conveys also gratitude for their role in the preservation of al-Andalus. In this sense, the laqab of their founding-father has double symbolism. Its display as a coat of arms allowed them to (ﻭﻻ ﻏﺎﻞﺐ ﺍﻻ ﺍﷲ) flaunt their prestigious lineage. The motto Wa-lā gālīb illa Allāḥ transmits all these connotations with equal clarity. It is their source of power–an

458For more on the symbolic power of words, see Karin C. Ryding, "The Alchemy of Sound: Medieval Arabic Phonosymbolism," in Humanism, Culture, and Language in the Near East: Studies in Honor of Georg Krotkoff, Asma Afsaruddin, and A. H. Mathias Zahniser, eds., 155-63, (Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 1997); Guy Trevoux, Lettres, chiffres et dieux, (Monaco: Éditions du Rocher, 1979); and Louis Massignon, Essai sur les origines du lexique téchnique de la mystique musulmane, (Paris: Geuthner, 1922). Annemarie Schimmel devotes an entire chapter to examine the relation of calligraphy and mysticism, studying certain works of the Persian Ṣūfī poet, Molla ʿAbdur Raḥmān Jāmī, explaining the secrets of words, like basmala or nasta ʿlīq. See Schimmel, Calligraphy, 1984, 77-114. 271 extension of religious piety–and a testament of their prestigious genealogical

459 credentials.458F The third inscription is a good example of their multi-faceted use of performative utterances. The chosen words seem to reflect popular beliefs in magic,

460 associated with Andalusi Ṣūfī Saints.459F The inscription is presented also as a motif charged with profound symbolism: the first word, written in Kufic characters, means the second one in Nasḫīd-Ṯulūṯ means "Extended," al-mataṣlah ;(ﺍﻞﻐﺒﻂﺔ) Bliss," al-ġiḅta" The letters of the first word encircle the second one, creating a single vision of .(ﺍﻞﻩﺘﺼﻞﺔ)

"Extended Bliss." As already stated, each calligraphic style had different connotations. Kufic may be equated with a heavenly realm, while Nasḫīd-Ṯulūṯ is more earth bound. The latter represents the popular speech parlance, not divine language. These words are at the center of the assemblage. The source for their performative utterance is above and below, enforcing specific descent: bliss comes down from God; the Sultan spreads it over the world. The bounty of their partnership is disseminated by Alhambra. She extends bliss to all her visitors. It is the result of the Sultan's allegiance with God. The building is its vehicle of transmission. The next element in entry arch is one of the most distinctive traits of Islamic Architecture: an assemblage of muqarnas. This unique device creates three-dimensional entities of extreme aesthetic value. In Alhambra, they are ubiquitous. Their first usage seems to be in Yūsuf's throne room. Here, they play a specific role. In the entry arch, they

459The Naṣrid galiba in Kufic or Nasḫīd-Ṯulūṯ is not only displayed all over Alhambra, but in coins, coffers, and vases, as well. See Virgilio Martínez Enamorado, "'Lema de príncipes:' Sobre la gāliba y algunas evidencias de su uso fuera del ámbito nazarī," Al-Qanṭara 27, 2(2006):529-50; and José Miguel Puerta Vílchez, Los códigos de utopía de la Alhambra de Granada, (Granada: Diputación Provincial de Granada, 1990). 460Early Ṣūfī Saints in al-Andalus were famous for performing miracles. See Maribel Fierro, "The Polemic about the 'karāmāt al-awliyā' and the Development of Ṣūfism in al-Andalus (Fourth/Tenth-Fifth/Eleventh Centuries)," Bulletin of the School of Oriental and African Studies, University of London 55, 2(1992):236- 49; and A. M. Mohamed Mackeen, "The Early History of Sufism in the Maghrib Prior to Al-Shādhilī (d. 656/1258)," Journal of the American Oriental Society 91, 3(1971):398-408. 272 create an arcuate surface between two arches. Yasser Tabbaa has successfully argued that muqarnas also have profound symbolism. They are intimately related with the Ašʿāri principles of time-atomism. Their theological implications influenced the Almohad cosmovision. The details of these associations will be examined in the next chapter. At this point, it is only necessary to assert that Alhambra's use of muqarnas–mostly in vaulted ceilings and arches–suggests a direct link with time-atomism. These assemblages seem like a mirage, a miniature landscape of architectural profiles cascading from a central motif, located at the keystone. The latter is usually constituted by an octagonal vault, decorated with an eight-point-star and a conch. Its symbolism may be directly associated with God's Throne (ʿarš). The assemblage of muqarnas cascading from it may represent the emanation of the divine mandate (kun), according to Ibn Masarra.461 Thus, Alhambra's ceilings represent the constant creation of the world, through indivisible atoms, emanating from God's Throne. The largest Qurʾānic inscription in Yūsuf's throne room substantiates these assumptions. The symbolic programme of the entire complex may have been grounded on this passage, especially as Riḍwān or Ibn al-Ǧayyāb would have interpreted its implications. Their goal may have been to provide an architectural expression of its theological foundations. The inscription is located in a tall frieze below the vaulted ceiling (See Level 5 in Figure 13). It is a selection from Sūra 67, al-Mulk ("Sovereignty" or "Control").

461For Cruz Hernández, Ibn Masarra's Neoplatonism may be summarized as follows: "Divine mandate (kun) emanates from the throne (ʿarš), which is supported by four angels; it personifies the universal mind, the ancient logos; from it, through successive emanations, proceed the two worlds (celestial and terrestrial) as well as all things, either spiritual or material." See Cruz Hernández, Historia pensamiento islámico, 1996, 347. For more on his philosophy, see Miguel Asín Palacios, The Mystical Philosophy of Ibn Masarra and His Followers, (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1994). 273 Exalted is He who holds all control in His hands; who has all power over all things; who created death and life to test you [people] and reveal which of you does best–He is the Mighty, the Forgiving; who created the seven heavens, one above the other […] For those who defy their Lord We have prepared the torment of Hell […] they will confess their sins […] But there is forgiveness and a great reward for those who fear their Lord though they cannot see Him […] He knows the contents of every heart […] Are you sure that He who is in Heaven will not send a whirlwind to pelt you with stones? […] When they see it close at hand [Judgment Day], the disbelievers' faces will be gloomy, and it will be said, 'This is what you were calling for.' Say, 'Just think–regardless of whether Allāḥ destroys me and my followers or has mercy on us–who will protect the disbelievers from an agonizing pain? Say, 'He is the Lord of Mercy; we believe in Him; we put our trust in Him. You will come to know in time who is in obvious error.

God's sovereignty is dramatically associated with the Final Judgment. In other passages, God will be sitting in His Throne on that fateful day: "The angels will be on all sides of it and, on that Day, eight of them will bear the throne of your Lord above them" (69:17). Similar references are mentioned twice in the Qurʾān (39:75 & 40:7). However, God's Throne is mostly associated with Creation. Sūra al-Mulk briefly mentions the creation of the seven heavens. The formulaic phrase: "[God] then established Himself on the Throne" appears seven times (7:54; 10:3; 13:2; 20:5; 25:59; 32:4; & 57:4). In sum, God's Throne appears at the beginning and end of time. Maybe that is why Ṣūfī mystics used it to describe their ultimate goal: "Find a Way to the Lord of the Throne." This particular phrasing appears five times (21:22; 40:15; 43:82; 81:20; & 85:15).462 The architectural representation of these connotations stems from the throne room's spatial scheme: a perfect cube crowned by a hemisphere composed by three truncated pyramids. The use of squares suggests their desire to control nature, because

462Another Qurʾānic inscription in Yūsuf's throne room makes reference to God's Throne. It is strategically placed in a private prayer room on the east side of the hallway separating the Barakah Hall and the throne room. Its richly decorated façade presents some passages from Sūra 2, al-Baqara ("the Cow"): "His throne extends over the heavens and the earth; it does not weary Him to preserve them both." It is important to mention that the next āya (verse) begins with the famous phrase: "There is no compulsion in religion." To some extent, these inscriptions provided some guidelines to the relation with non-believers. 274 unlike circles or triangles, they emerge from human rationalization.463 Squares enable a strict control of land to benefit agriculture. That may be why quadrilateral precincts aligned to the cardinal points are so common in preindustrial societies. The Kumariṣ tower is no exception. It is a perfect example of Eliade's "Symbolism of the Center." It is a clear denotation of power, striving to control the world in symbolic terms. Yūsuf's throne room is a square perfectly aligned to the cardinal points. Its main axis starts at the entrance pavilion (south), goes through the courtyard, and traverses seven thresholds

before reaching the alcove where Yūsuf used to sit on his throne (north). A transversal axis at the center of the room articulates a pair of secondary alcoves, probably assigned to the ḥāǧib or wazīr (west) and the dhū l-wizāratyn or raʾīs (east).464 A series of smaller alcoves align with another set of axes rotated 45 degrees. By employing this new set of axes, the designers were following the most influential scheme in Islamic art, that is, the eight-point-star inscribed in an octagon. The star is generated by two squares, one orthogonal and a second one rotated on a 45 degree angle.465 With this context in mind, the throne room's denotation of power, portraying the axis mundi, is grounded on a direct connection between God's control over Creation and the Sultan's sovereignty over Granada. Thus, the throne room is divided in two: a cube at

463Early abstractions of triangles may have been inspired by the bifurcation of branches and rivers, the shape of certain mountains, groins of bipeds, etc. Circles may have been suggested by the shape of eyes, full moon, lakes, etc. Squares are not so easily found in nature. They stem from abstract thought, from the interplay of points, lines, and surfaces. These conditions might explain that famous episode in which Socrates's jogs the memory of a "slave boy" to prove the immortality of the soul through recollection, by going through a mental experiment associated with the subdivision of squares. See Plato, Meno, 81d-86d. For more on geometry and nature, see Matila Ghyka, Esthétique des proportions dans la nature et dans les arts, (Monaco: Editions du Rocher, 1987); and idem, Le Nombre d'or: Rites et rythmes pythagoriciens dans le développement de la civilisation occidentale, (Paris: Gallimard, 1937). 464The inscriptions in the central alcove of the west wall (the Sultan's right hand) states: "He whose words are good and whose deeds are glorious / Use few words in your salutation." The other alcoves have only the typical inscriptions for capitals and inscribed sebkas. See Lafuente Alcántara, Inscripciones árabes, 2000, 95-7. 465 For more on the throne room's geometry, see Fernandez Puertas The Alhambra I, 1997, figs. 16-24. 275 the bottom represents the terrestrial world; a hemisphere above represents the celestial world; and God's Throne at very top of Creation. The latter is also represented as a quincunx. It is a quadrilateral chair supported by four pairs of angels. According to time- atomism, God is constantly recreating the world through indivisible units of matter, from this center of power. It is a model of Neoplatonic emanations, cascading through all the layers of Creation. The throne room represents this model through horizontal layers of ornament, each displaying different motifs and inscriptions. The bottom of the cube has a wainscot with mosaics of enameled terracotta. The rest is covered with plaster, carved in bas-relief. The hemisphere is a wooden ceiling, topped by a small dome of muqarnas.

Figure 27: Yūsuf's throne room, section in perspective.

276 The iconographic programme of the entire room employs multiple types of

ornament: (1) geometric patterns depicting "stars," like those of the wainscot or ceiling;

(2) grids of lozenges (sebka) delineated in arabesque forms filled with "lush vegetation;"

and (3) calligraphy. Sebkas may be organic or geometric. Some of them are based on Kufic words that turn into a repetitive motif. As a whole, the entire programme depicts a world full of stars and vegetation. While the hemisphere portrays a "starry sky," the cube represents an environment of "lush vegetation" protected by a semitransparent veil of

embroidered arabesques displaying "free-floating words" of praise and poetry. Alhambra seems almost like a building that strives to dissolve its materiality and turn into a mirage, a garden beneath the stars. The mirage is full of theological and political connotations. In Yūsuf's throne they are triggered by five types of carving combining six genres of inscription (See Figure 28):

(1) Qurʾānic passages; (2) laudatory formulas, praising God; (3) laudatory formulas,

praising the Sultan; (4) performative utterances; (5) the Naṣrid motto; and (6) poetry. From top to bottom (Level 5), the first type broadcasts a Qurʾānic inscription dealing with God's Throne, Creation, and Judgment Day. It is part of a supporting eave made with muqarnas. Below (Level 4), the second type portrays the gālība (Naṣrid motto) in repetitive fashion. This level delimits the boundary between the hemisphere and the cube. Given the vertical superposition of horizontal layers in a cubic space, some of them– mostly those with inscriptions–act as rings, spinning around a virtual pole at the center of the of the cube' base (the axis mundi itself). In contrast, the layers with geometric arrangements produce a stronger sense of depth. One of them (Level 3), has windows with colored glass, framed by piers decorated with sebkas devoid of words. Below, there is a layer with inscriptions, praising Yūsuf for the first time: "Glory to our Lord the Sultan, the bellicose king Abūl-Haǧǧaǧ, may his victories be glorious" (N-Th). Once 277 again, the structure of power is clearly established: first God; then, the Ancestors (through the gālība); and finally, the Sultan. The next layer below is filled with large octagons containing eight-point-stars. It is one of those alternating layers that provide depth. At this point, it is important to consider the room's polychromy, since there may have been a chromatic strategy to distinguish each of these different layers. The colors in the ceiling seem to have resonated with those of the mosaics, at the lowest level. A study by Darío Cabanelas shows that the ceiling was dominated by reds and greens in different gradations.466 Clearly, the use of complementary colors enhanced their ability to create depth. The mosaics below prove their efficacy. Their use of black and white pigments to delineate basic shapes, like the octagons or the boundaries between layers, accentuates this condition. Thus, the interior of the throne room was more like a woven textile. The use of regulatory tracing to subdivide major surfaces that are filled with different motifs is reminiscent of the design strategies of multiple textiles across the Maghreb.467 Finally, the first layer in a comfortable sightline (Level 2) displays oval cartouches with Kufic inscriptions that turn into a weaving ornament and circular medallions with the gālība (N-Ṯ). The inscriptions thank God for many bounties, each ending with the formula: "since everything comes from Allāḥ." The layer below is a masterpiece. It is an inscribed sebka charged with a performative utterance. It is a relatively tall layer (1.20 m high) divided into four rows.

466See Darío Cabanelas, "La antigua policromía del techo de Comares de la Alhambra." Al-Andalus 35, 2(1970):423-52; and idem, El techo del Salón de Comares en la Alhambra: Decoración, policromía, simbolismo y etimología, (Granada: Patronato de la Alhambra y el Generalife, 1988). 467See Bruno Barbatti, Berber Carpets of Morocco: The Symbols, Origin and Meaning, (Paris: ACR Édition, 2008); Gebhart Blazek, "White Giants: Carpets of Beni Ouaraïn and Related Moroccan Nomadic Tribes," The International Journal of Oriental Carpets and Textiles 94(1996):69-74; and Deutsches Textilmuseum Krefeld, Zarte Bande aus Marokko, Gewebe der Berber, Sammlung Lucien Viola. Stickerein der Städterinnen, Sammlung Tamy Tazi, (Krefeld: DTK, 2000). 278

Figure 26: Yūsuf's throne room, details of inscriptions and ornament.

279 They combine three interlacing motifs to produce an undulating effect of great dynamism. Each motif displays a single word: Allāḥ (K), Sovereignty (N-Ṯ), and Blessing (K). The first two are placed only in the lowest row, from which the entire

stems from the (ڊﺭﮐﺔ) woven pattern" emerges. The word "Blessing," BaRaKaH" interlacing extensions of the words located in the lowest row. The upper rows repeat almost like a chorus the word "Blessing." The calligraphic display of its characters breaks

the word in two [BR + KH]. But, the second part is portrayed like the image in a mirror

[HK - BR - KH]. The result is hypnotic. It is like a cloud of infinite blessings, hovering above Alhambra's visitors. The chorus of blessings rises from God's Sovereignty.

Figure 28: Riyāḍ complex, plan.

280 With this exegesis in mind, it is possible to imagine the richness of connotations that occupy Alhambra's most fascinating complex, the Riyāḍ. Unfortunately, there is not enough space to go over its infinite details. Hopefully, a brief sketch will suffice. This complex represents the epitome of that unique alliance between a powerful state and a community of mystics. This masterpiece, by Muḥammad V and Ibn Zamrak, represents the crystallization of a long Andalusi tradition of rational mysticism, rooted in the teachings of Ibn Masarra and Ibn al-ʿArabī. These enduring traditions reached the Naṣrid

Dīwān al-Inšāʾ (State Secretariat) through Ibn al-Ǧayyāb and his protégé Ibn al-Ḫaṭīb, under the watchful eye of their charismatic leader, Yūsuf I. The Riyāḍ Complex is the ultimate fulfillment of a "state of mind" that could only be characterized as a rational mysticism. It is full of those poetic tropes that fascinated Andalusi people since the early days of the Umayyad, like Solomon's power over supernatural spirits, the archetype of the bride as a mystical union with the divine, the illusion of crystal palaces, and the belief in divine emanations articulating reality with its creator, to name just a few. The Riyāḍ complex with its astonishing muqarna-domes, the quality of its poetic inscriptions, and the geometric intricacy of its spatial scheme, crystallized a dream of Andalusi grandeur. Its essence stems from its quadripartite arrangement, articulating a circular basin full of water standing on twelve lions that look into the cardinal points, as the vital liquid flows gently into four majestic domes. Two of them are perfect hemispheres, each contained by a pyramid that is supported by thin columns delimiting the cubic space of an airy pavilion. The other two are highly complex assemblages of muqarnas contained in large quadrilateral halls that receive water from the central fountain, flowing through open channels towards a circular basin at the center of the hall. The outside pavilions also have circular basins on the floor. The fountain and its quadripartite distribution of water is another expression of the Neoplatonic model of 281 emanations displayed in Yūsuf's throne room. The continuity of these philosophical connotations in al-Andalus stretches back to the influential worldviews of Ibn Masarra or Ibn Gabirol. They exemplify the endurance of a common tradition. Sadly, the richness of such cross-fertilization was systematically excluded, as Christianity eliminated the bearers of such multiculturalism. From that moment forward, the connotative power of these spaces was forced into silence, turned into "sensual ornament." It no longer had meaning. It was just the reminder of a culture that had been successfully uprooted from this land. It was the end of al-Andalus and Sepharad. Their heritage dissipated like the winds across the Mediterranean.

An Emperor's Illusion

The Fall of Granada and the Discovery of America are breaking points in World History. They took place, almost simultaneously, in the fateful year of 1492. This era brought the devastating processes of colonization. In many places, "westerners" attained absolute power over large populations. The era enhanced the notion that certain peoples were destined to become the "winners of history." The cultural exclusion of its "losers" and the ownership of their heritage were basic tools of domination. Alhambra, after the Fall of Granada, is a perfect example of these conditions. The citadel was divided among the loyal servants of Fernando e Isabel, just like booty after a heist. The best palaces (Mešuār, Kumariṣ, and Riyāḍ) were taken by the Catholic Kings. They were simply known as "Casas Reales." Alcazaba remained a military stronghold. The palace of

Muḥammad II was given to an order of Franciscan monks. Don Juan Chacón, the Crown's official in Murcia (adelantado), received the "Palacio de los Abencerrajes." And the large complex of Yūsuf III, just above the Partal pavilion, was given to the new

282 governors of Alhambra, the Counts of Tendilla. Other houses of some stature were awarded to military heroes, like Álvaro de Luna. The main mosque was destroyed and replaced by a church devoted to the Holy Virgin.468 The Naṣrid citadel became a prized jewel, reflecting God's victory over the infidels. The site had a new connotation. It was a "war trophy." Yet, for that generation its architectural style did not seem foreign. It was still part of their cultural background. The Castilian Court associated this style with the highest luxury of power, given its

resonance with the Alcazar of Sevilla. Even the new emperor, Charles V, recognized Alhambra's majesty. The first time he visited the citadel in the company of his new wife, Isabel de Portugal, "he saw with great curiosity the ancient buildings, the Moorish works, and the ingenious use of water and the site's strength, and the town's might," but, "if he showed great pleasure from all the cities in his kingdom, for this one in particular he had great care."469 On the other hand, he did not recognize it as a legitimate constituent of his heritage. He seems to have been mostly interested in its political value, which could be exploited through several media. His grandparents had already recognized the importance of its symbolism. So much so, that they abandoned their original mausoleum in the monastery of San Juan de los Reyes in Toledo and commissioned a new Royal Chapel in Granada.470 The latter began in 1505, a year after the Queen's death. Both structures (Toledo and Granada) are prime examples of Gótico Isabelino. Master architects from

468See Malpica Cuello, Alhambra de Granada, 2002. 469See Pedro Galera Andreu, "El palacio de Carlos V: La idea arquitectónica," In El palacio de Carlos V: Un siglo para la recuperación de un monumento, 13-66, (Granada: Junta de Andalucía, SOGEFINSA, Patronato de la Alhambra y Generalife, Comares Editorial, 1995), 16. 470The inscription at the foot of the Catholic Kings, in their Royal Chapel at Granada, reads: "mahometice · secte · postratores · et · heretice · pervivacie · extinctores · fernandus · aragonum · et · helisabetha · castellevir · et · uxor · unanimes · catholici · appellati · marmoreo · clauduntur · hoc · tumulo." Which could be loosely translated as: "Vanquishers of Muhammad's Sect and Conquerors, Extinguishers of Heretics, Fernando of Aragón and Isabel of Castilla, married as husband and wife, called 'The Catholics,' are buried in this marble tumulus." 283 northern Europe−mostly French and Flemish−played a major role in the development of this style. The masterpieces in Toledo and Granada were designed by Juan Guas and Enrique Egas.471 Nowadays, the Royal Chapel in Granada exhibits the sword and standard that King Fernando wore, when Boabdil bequeathed the keys of the Alhambra. According to an imperial decree by his grandson, Charles V:

There shall be a procession each year in perpetuity the next Sunday after the New Year for the perpetual memory of the day in which this City of Granada was won, it will begin in the Main Church (Cathedral) and it will be lead by the standard with which the city and kingdom was conquered and won, and the sword of the Catholic King and a crown placed on top of the sword's cross and a scepter with another crown on top in memory of the Catholic Queen.472

The ritual procession is full of symbolism, representing the agents of those famous deeds. Their connotative power suggests that Charles recognized the conquest of Granada as a defining moment in his family's bid for power. The prestige of his grandparents, the Catholic Kings, allowed a series of strategic marriages. Their sons, Juan and Juana, married the sons of the most powerful man in Europe, the Holy Roman Emperor of the German Nation, Maximilian I from the House of Habsburg. But, more than prestige, it was also economic power. The campaign against Granada sealed the alliance between Castilla and Aragón, which finally unified Spain under a single crown. The funds that such unification brought to the young Duke of Burgundy enabled him to buy the support of the German princes to anoint him as the new emperor, Carolus V.473

471See Fernando Chueca Goitia, Historia de la arquitectura española: Edad antigua y edad media, facs. ed., (Ávila: Fundación Cultural Santa Teresa, Diputación de Ávila, Colegio Oficial de Arquitectos de Madrid, Universidad de Coruña, 2001), 599-603 & 618-23. 472Partial transcription from the "Cédula Real de Carlos V ordenando los estatutos y constituciones para el buen gobierno y mayor culto de la capilla real kept in Archivo de la Capilla Real de Granada, leg. 1, p. 18. 473See José M. Delgado Barrado, ed., Carlos V y el fin de una época (1500-1558), (Jaen: Universidad de Jaén, 2003); Manuel Fernández Álvarez, El imperio de Carlos V, (Madrid: Real Academia de Historia, 2001); and Fernando Chueca Goitia, ed., Carolus V Imperator, (Barcelona: Lunwerg, 1999). 284 To maintain the unification of the country the Spanish court was itinerant. The new emperor commissioned a "proper European apartment" for the Casas Reales de la Alhambra," adjacent to his favorite spaces in the Riyāḍ complex. The apartment would suffice, while a major project to construct a new palace was underway. The esplanade next to the church of Santa María de la Alhambra was cleared to allow the construction of a monumental edifice. Its scale would be directly proportional to the grandeur of its occupant and the importance of the site, as a symbol of God's Victory. The task was

entrusted to Don Luis Hurtado de Mendoza, second Count of Tendilla. The result was one of the first Renaissance buildings in Spain. The selection of this "modern style" has many implications. It is important to remember that Charles was born in Burgundy. His great grandfather had a tremendous influence over the young prince. Their outlook was a perfect expression of the worldview that Cervantes ridiculed in "El Quijote." He used to ask his secretaries to read out loud the stories of Sir Gawain and Lancelot to the boy. His regime was strived to recreate "legendary" times. Their imagination was driven by the deeds of the neuf preux ("the prevalent nine"), the great heroes of the past: Hector, Caesar, Alexander, Joshua, David, Judah Maccabee, Charlemagne, and Godfrey of Bouillon. The aspirations of this royal household were driven by such dreams of grandeur, since childhood. The list lacks a tenth hero, a position that must have inspired each new generation to dream of completing the list. Clearly, this heritage is not imbued with the humanist ideals of the Renaissance. They reflect knightly aspirations, centered on fame and glory attained through battle. Charles was brought up by a militaristic vision of messianic proportions.474 Their

474A passage from Américo Castro illustrates the persistence of Messianic obsessions in the Castilian court. For instance, Prince Juan was idolized as a "returning Christ." Castro explains that "the bachelor Palma, who compares the mystical marriage between Spain and Prince Don Juan with that of Christ and his Church, says that King Fernando came 'to free the peoples of Castilla […] just like the Apostle says: 'we no longer are the sons of servitude, but the sons of the Free Jerusalem, that exists above." See his work, 285 historian, Chastellaine, explained the Duke's date with destiny as follows: "The Prince's glory depends on pride and facing the highest dangers; the most important abilities in battle converge on a straight point we call pride."475 At the end of his life, secluded in a far away monastery, his sense of pride must have persecuted his wretched soul. It is a perfect example of how people fall prey to their own narratives. Given the parameters of his aspirations, his actual deeds were no match to the legendary achievements of those "ghosts of empire." Given this heritage, why would Charles select a "Renaissance Style"

for his palace in Alhambra? According to Cammy Brothers, the origin of this influence may have been Don Luis, the Count of Tendilla, because his "family had connections with Italy and helped to introduce the Italian Renaissance style to Spain." His father, Iñigo López, the first Count of Tendilla lived in Florence before coming back to Granada to act as Alhambra's Governor. His cousin, Don Rodrigo Vivar y Mendoza built "the first Renaissance courtyard in Spain."476 These precedents explain why Don Luis selected an Italian-trained-painter, Pedro Machuca, to design the emperor's new palace. Moreover, the emperor's decision could have been triggered by more basic instincts. His competition with the pope over the control of Christendom may have been a political motivation for this stylistic predilection. Manfredo Tafuri identifies a direct influence of Villa Madama, the famous suburban residence built for Pope Leo X's (Giovanni de' Medici, 1513-22) in Monte Mario. This project involved some of the most

Aspectos del vivir hispánico: Espiritualismo, mesianismo, actitud personal en los siglos XIV al XVI, (Santiago de Chile: Cruz del Sur, 1949), 25. 475See Federico Chabod, Carlos V y su imperio, trans. Rodrigo Ruza, (Mexico City: Fondo de Cultura Económica, 2003), 21. 476After Don Rodrigo received the Moorish fort of "La Calahorra," as reward for his participation in the reconquista, he used a copy of the Codex Escurialensis to guide his refurbishment of the fort. Don Rodrigo acquired the copy in his trip to Rome in 1508 "to obtain approval for his marriage and upon his return he began renovations of the courtyard of La Calahorra." See Cammy Brothers, "The Renaissance Reception of the Alhambra: The Letters of Andrea Navagero and the Palace of Charles V," Muqarnas 11(1994):79-102, 86-7. 286 celebrated artists of the Renaissance: the plans were by Raphael, the construction by Sangallo the Younger, and the decorations by Giulio Romano and Baldassare Peruzzi.477 A drawing known as "Planta Grande del Archivo General de Palacio" reveals that the original plan for the Alhambra palace was extremely ambitious. The gigantic building would have had a series of secondary structures, stretching like "long arms" on either side, occupying most of the esplanade. The scale of the project not only tried to compete with Villa Madama, but also tried to exclude the presence of the Naṣrid palaces as well.

The gigantic structure was strategically placed in front of the citadel's new entrance. The Moorish buildings were out of sight. The Palace of Charles V in Alhambra foreshadows the megalomaniac scale of the Escorial. Its symbolism emerges from the political and cultural landscapes during the early Renaissance. Its geometrical scheme reintroduces the notion of a primordial denotation, obsessed with power, now emerging from a different worldview. To some extent, it is the product of heritage confrontations. The classical view of power and perfection confronts its counterpart in Islamic thought. The result testifies how "advanced" cultures take over their "backward" enemies.478 The geometric scheme of Charles's palace is charged with classical connotations, restored by the Renaissance. A "circle inside a square" is reminiscent of Vitruvius's speech on symmetry, in which a proportioned human body fits inside a circle and a square.479 Both projects (Villa Madama and Charles's palace) reflect these aspirations of perfection. They also resonate with Hadrian's "Teatro Marittimo." The dimensions of its outer cylinder are not only identical to the Pantheon's footprint, but

477See Manfredo Tafuri, "El Palacio de Carlos V en Granada: Arquitectura "a lo Romano" e iconografía imperial," Cuadernos de la Alhambra 24(1988); idem, Interpreting the Renaissance: Princes, Cities, Architects, (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2006); and Earl E. Rosenthal, The Palace of Charles V in Granada, (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1985). 478Since this moment forward, many interventions in Alhambra could be interpreted as materializations of the system of thought that Said called "Orientalism." See the introduction and conclusion of this study. 479See Vitruvius, Ten Books on Architecture, 3.1.3. 287 to Charles's palace as well. Conversely, the latter's Royal Chapel reflects an entirely different tradition. Its symbolism could be seen as a "Gothic articulation" between the "old style" of the Moors and the "new style" of the Renaissance. Its shape and location were determined by the emperor himself. It is an octagonal hall that functions almost like a ball-and-socket joint. It was the most important space in the palace, originally conceived as a structure of three levels. As most of the building, it was never finished. Only the crypt, with its superb stone vault and spiral staircases, reflects the grandeur of a

space that sought to emulate the Chapel of the Condestables in the Cathedral of Burgos or the Royal Chapel in Granada. The grandiloquence of his ambition did not match his leadership. His Alhambra palace remained just as empty as his promises to save Christendom from the Ottoman and Lutheran threats. Neither was ever fulfilled.480 The palace was just a façade, a "smoking mirror," like the rhetoric of those battles between the Popes, Habsburgs, and Ottomans to win the "hearts and minds" of Europe. Yet, the rhetorical power of symbols is meaningless without real action. In the end, this period was only able to claim absolute ownership over Alhambra's heritage. Their past was excluded by obstruction. The emptiness of the massive palace became its new façade.

A Soldier's Garrison

After this period of so much attention, Alhambra was gradually abandoned, suffering a slow decay that was accelerated by the Napoleonic invasion of Spain. The collapse of the Spanish Crown forced the noble families still living in the Naṣrid citadel

480Many European Princes saw in Charles the perfect candidate to challenge Papal supremacy and the Ottoman threat. Although he was a devout Catholic, his armies sacked Rome in 1527. His propaganda machine clashed with Suleymān "the Magnificent" for the title of "Caesar." Both confrontations superseded his ability to lead Europe into a new age. The end of his reign triggered an anti-climax of Spanish domination. It is unclear why he bequeathed power, at a time in which the world seemed to belong entirely to him. See Chabod, Carlos V, 2003, 11-43 & 114-26. 288 to seek refuge elsewhere. The new inhabitants could not maintain the lavish palaces. By the late 1800s, Alhambra was in utter disrepair, after three centuries of neglect and a terrible occupation. At the beginning of this period, some local uprisings may have triggered its damage. During the reign of Felipe II, Alhambra was still an excellent fortress controlling southern Spain. It was the perfect headquarters to protect the southern network of ports connecting with the Mediterranean. By the time of Napoleon's invasion, Andalusia was "the largest, most populous, and wealthiest Spanish province."481 Its security was entrusted to the Capitanía General de Granada by the Catholic Kings, under Íñigo López de Mendoza, first Marquis of Mondéjar and second Count of Tendilla.482 Since the Naṣrid Sultanate, the region relied on the growth of silk worms and the manufacture of silk products. This industry survived until the late 1700s, until Napoleon's invasion gave it a final blow. With the rise of the Spanish Crown, Berber, Turkish, and Protestant corsairs threatened the southwest Mediterranean. Granada's Captaincy became its first line of defense. Among its many responsibilities, the Captain General served also as Alhambra's Mayor. Over time, the Mendoza family was eclipsed by local politics and turmoil in Felipe's court. In 1569, the third Marquis of Mondéjar, Don Luis Hurtado de Mendoza, lost the title of Captain General. To make matters worse, Granada was engulfed by a morisco uprising in 1568. Felipe's response was total deportation and repopulation.483 This may have been the most systematic policy to uproot and exclude the Andalusi way of life. Centuries of traditional farming customs were displaced forever. Amidst such vacuum of power Alhambra entered a gradual, but

481See Alexander Grab, Napoleon and the Transformation of Europe, (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2003), 129. 482See José Contreras Gay, "La defensa de la frontera marítima," in Historia del Reino de Granada III: Del siglo de las Crisis al fin del Antiguo Régimen (1630-1833), Francisco Andújar Castillo, ed., 145-78, (Granada: Universidad de Granada, El Legado Anadalusí, 2000), 155-6. 483See Antonio Jiménez Estrella, Poder, ejército y gobierno en el siglo XVI: La captianía general del Reino de Granada y sus agentes, (Granada: Universidad de Granada, 2004). 289 constant, process of decay. After two centuries of abandonment, the Napoleonic war pushed Alhambra into utter ruin. Napoleon was forced to invade Spain in 1808, after some miscalculations dissolved the Franco-Spanish alliance against England and Portugal. He personally led a large portion of the Grande Armée (200,000 men), trying to salvage the situation. Spain had a strategic role in his plan for world domination. The flow of silver from the Americas could balance the French budget. Since the early 1790s, France relied on the

"monies 'confiscated' by General Napoleon Bonaparte from the Italian States." Moreover, "to the Revolutionaries, war fed war."484 The Spanish fleet was a key asset. In 1794, it still "possessed 79 ships of the line, compared to France's 76 and England's 115. Furthermore, 25 percent of Spain's fleet was composed of first-rate ships of the line, which exceeded eighty guns."485 However, Napoleon's naval aspirations vanished after Trafalgar. The rest of the war would be on land. The pretext to enter Spain was the expulsion of English forces from Portugal. In 1807, General Junot arrived with 25,000 men. In the following months, the force was gradually increased. By March 1808, Spain was occupied by an army of 100,000 soldiers. Their movement caused havoc. Their deficient supply of resources and food made them restless. Their needs were satisfied though pillaging. The soldiers became accustomed to rape, murder, and looting. Thus, a maneuver that should have been swift and "painless," turned into a nightmare. To make matters worse, Napoleon toppled the Spanish Bourbons, replacing them with his brother Joseph. This decision triggered a guerilla war that became a "Spanish Ulcer," an illness

484See Frederick C. Schneid, Napoleon's Conquest of Europe: The War of the Third Coalition, (London: Praeger, 2005), 11; cf. Sir Charles Oman, A History of the Peninsular War, 8 vols., (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1908); Ronald Fraser, Napoleon's Cursed War: Spanish Popular Resistance in the Peninsular War, (London: Verso, 2008); and Emilio de Diego, España, el infierno de Napoleón: 1808-1814 una historia de la guerra de independencia, (Madrid: La Esfera de los Libros, 2008). 485See Schneid, Napoleon's Conquest, 2005, 15. 290 from which he never recovered. The removal of the royal family, the clash against the Church, and the abuse of common people, unleashed a patriotic and religious fervor against his troops.486 During the occupation, Alhambra suffered considerable damage, as Spanish, Allied, and French armies took over the citadel. The Naṣrid palaces were almost obliterated during the Napoleonic retreat in 1812. According to urban legend, a heroic combatant risked his life to disable explosive charges set to destroy the palaces, after the

French troops retreated. The story seems more like a popular exaggeration of certain facts. They only partially destroyed the defensive towers on the southeast of the enceinte. The decision seems more like a tactical maneuver to erode the site's defense, in case they had to retake Alhambra. One way or another, the effect was the same. They weakened the only place in the fortress that could be taken by a frontal assault with artillery. The conditions in which most of these events took place are unclear.487 There are practically no records of this period in Alhambra's history. There are few details about the actual damage it suffered during the occupation. Consequently, what follows is just a brief, hypothetic sketch based on some facts. As King Joseph tried to impose a liberal regime in Spain, Andalusia remained in opposition. General Dupont tried to appease the region with the second corps (24,430 soldiers), after the Madrid uprising of May 2, 1808. Large parts of the corps were raw troops, less than a third had real battlefield experience. Their descent on Andalusia was rather chaotic: they had troubles of communication; their artillery moved slowly across rugged terrain; there were many deserters; and local partisans fought guerilla warfare. The entire campaign was decided at Bailén, north of

486See David Gates, The Spanish Ulcer: A History of the Peninsular War, (New York: W. W. Norton, 1986), 50-9 & 263-87; Oman, Peninsular War, 1908, v. 3:103-52; de Diego, España infierno de Napoleón, 2008, 216-53 & 332-46; and Grab, Napoleon and Europe, 2003, 118-42. 487See Gabriel Lovett, Napoleon and the Birth of Modern Spain, (New York: New York University Press, 1965). 291 Granada. The coordination of several independent juntas, particularly Sevilla, Córdoba, and Granada, gave Napoleon's Great Army a taste of defeat. "Bailén was the first surrender by an imperial army, signifying the end of the myth of Napoleonic invincibility. It stimulated the Spaniards to stiffen their resistance, encouraged the British to increase their military force in the Peninsula, and, in 1809, helped to inspire the Austrians to confront Napoleon yet again."488 The Hero of Bailén was a Swiss general, Theodor Reding de Biberegg,

commander of the Spanish Fourth Division, known as the "Army of Granada." It was organized in two sections (8,200 + 6,000), a cavalry regiment (670), and an artillery regiment (130) with six guns. Alhambra must have been their main headquarters. Yet, it is hard to determine how many soldiers it accommodated. If Reding used the Naṣrid defensive system, he may have subdivided his troops to occupy its network of military fortresses at Baza, Jaén, Martos, Cabra, Bobastro, Málaga, and Almería. Even Alhambra had a series of satellite bastions to reinforce its defense: the Mawrūr Castle ("Torres Bermejas"), St Elena's Castle ("Silla del Moro"), Aceituno Castle ("Hermita de San Miguel el Alto"), and Bāb Ilbīra (Elivra's Gate), among others. After Napoleon took over the entire country, the man in charge of Andalusia, General Horace-François Sebastiani de la Porta, "placed a garrison of 1,500 men in the Alhambra."489 Sebastiani and Reding had similar armies under their command: 10,125 men in five divisions and 11,550 in four divisions, respectively. Even their battalions were almost identical, around eighteen each. Hence, it may be safe to assume that Reding's distribution of forces across Granada would have been replaced by Sebastiani. On the other hand, it is also possible to imagine

488Grab, Napoleon and Europe, 2003, 130; cf. de Diego, España infierno de Napoleón, 2008, 233-53; and Schneid, Napoleon's Conquest, 2005, 25-36. According to David Gates, Napoleon characterized the affair as "the unhappy business of Bailén," see Gates, Spanish Ulcer, 1986, 50-6. 489Oman, Peninsular War, 1908, V. 3:150. For more on Reding's and Sebastiani's armies see de Diego, España infierno de Napoleón, 2008, 539 & 572; and Gates, Spanish Ulcer, 1986, 481-95. 292 that in certain moments of crisis, large parts of the army would be called back to defend Alhambra. With this in mind, the site was under siege at least twice. These battles would have required substantial armies, between 3,500 and 5,000 men plus artillery. Over time, the permanence of Sebastiani's 1,500 men must have caused severe damage to the citadel. According to Fernández Puertas, the upper levels of the large defensive gate known as Bāb al-Ghudur ("Puerta de los Siete Suelos"), were destroyed by Sebastiani in 1812. Consequently, its original, monumental scale was severely diminished. Subsequent

restorations did not recover this character. This is a good example of the occupation's devastating effects. The aqueduct that crosses "the Generalife parallel to the Paseo de las Adelfas and Paseo Alto de los Cipreses, and then descends to cross over to the Alhambra" was also severely damaged. In his view, "they hoped to blow up the Alhambra, and partially succeeded."490 As already mentioned, their strategic reduction of Alhambra's fortification may have just entailed the dismantling of military barracks, water reservoirs, and watch towers. Finally, the occupation was the final blow in a long process of deterioration. The next stage in Alhambra's history tried to reverse these conditions through different types of restoration. Even though its actual state of destruction is unclear, it is indirectly reported in the diaries of restoration. In the end, the site we now call Alhambra is more the product of those subsequent attempts to "recover" its original grandeur, than anything else.

490See Fernández Puertas, Alhambra, 1997, 193, 301 & 309. 293 An Architect's Masterpiece

Perhaps one of the most common reactions after visiting Alhambra today could be characterized by an expression of surprise: "The site is so well preserved!" However, few people would realize that such state of preservation has slightly more than a century of existence. It is the product of intensive restorations, performed since the mid 1800s until the present day. In fact, Alhambra could be studied as an "experimental laboratory of preservation." This long-lasting process has implemented varying types of restoration ("artistic" and "scientific"), as well as new techniques of conservation, de-restoration, interpretation, and presentation. These technical terms represent the gradual evolution of

such a young discipline, known as preservation.491 The modern recovery of Alhambra went through multiple periods of intervention. The first one, from the 1840s up to the 1860s, was undertaken by José Contreras and his son Rafael; the second one, during the late 1910s, was directed by Modesto Cendoya; and the third one, between the mid 1920s until the late 1930s, by Leopoldo Torres Balbás. Without too much exaggeration, nearly every single space of the Naṣrid citadel required a major intervention to make it "appear" as if time had no effect on its state of conservation. Nearly all the original pavements were destroyed. Large sections of the mosaics had to be fabricated from scratch. Innumerable plaques of plaster, covered with intricate ornament or elaborate calligraphy, were replaced. Almost every roof had to be reconstructed, sometimes without clear historical precedents.

491To understand how these terms apply to archaeological conservation, see Marie Berducou, "Introduction to Archaeological Conservation," in Readings in Conservation: Historical and Philosophical Issues in the Conservation of Cultural Heritage, Nicholas Stanley Price, M. Kirby Talley Jr., and Alessandra Melucco Vaccaro, eds., 248-59, (Los Angeles: The Getty Conservation Institute, 1996), 253-4. To identify their evolution within the historical development of preservation, see Jukka Jokilehto, A History of Architectural Conservation, (Oxford: Butterworth-Heinemann, 1999), 213-43; and Cevat Erder, Our Architectural Heritage: From Consciousness to Conservation, trans. Ayfer Bakkalcioglu, (Paris: UNESCO, 1986), passim. 294 Over time, the expertise of an entire guild of local historians, philologists, archaeologists, restorers, and conservators has accumulated enough knowledge to maintain an "accurate" appearance, which most of us associate with the Naṣrid past. However, the fulfillment of such state of affairs took a long time and several miscarriages. To illustrate the development of such process, this section will examine some of its most exemplary cases. One of them reflects the difficulty of "restoring" a structure that is representative of a culture whose historical continuity was lost. In this case, the people performing the restoration have to surpass many obstacles, mostly associated with cultural prejudice, simply to understand the nature, essence, or stylistic sensibility of those people who built the structure they are trying to restore. The problem arises from historical and cultural distance, established by circumstances in which the restorers inherited their object of restoration. The structure in question is the celebrated Riyāḍ complex. First, restored by Rafael Contreras, then, modified (de-restored) by Torres Balbás. The first intervention is representative of the so-called "artistic restoration," while the second one belongs to its intellectual opponent, "scientific restoration." In many ways, this confrontation is an index of a more complex clash between Romantic Idealism and Enlightened Materialism.492

492Practically any survey on the history of conservation (or preservation) devotes a large section on the confrontation between "restorers" and "conservators," prevalent during the late 1800s and early 1900s. Each approach has been characterized by the ideas and work of Viollet-le-Duc and Ruskin, respectively. See Jokilehto, History of Conservation, 1999, 101-211; Erder, Our Architectural Heritage, 1986, passim; Françoise Choay, The Invention of the Historic Monument, trans. Lauren M. O'Connell, (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2001); Raymond Lemaire, La restauration des monuments anciens, (Anvers: De Sikkel, 1938); Jane Fawcett, ed., The Future of the Past: Attitudes to Conservation 1174-1974, (London: Thames and Hudson, 1976); Stephan Tschudi-Madsen, Restoration and Anti-restoration: A Study in English Restoration Philosophy, (Oslo: Universitetsforl, 1976); and Sir Sydney Colvin, Restoration and Anti-restoration, (London, 1877). 295 The earliest interventions in Alhambra were conducted by the Contreras family. The site's restoration, throughout most of the 1800s, was entrusted to sequence of father to grandson (José, Rafael, and Manuel, respectively). Their overall approach is representative of the positions concentrated under the label of "artistic restoration." Schematically, this position has been defined as an interest to provide a historical object with a homogeneous, pristine appearance. The term "artistic" indicates that aesthetic considerations prevailed over historical data. That is, the intervention was designed to

present the object as a "complete" entity, extending the same level of craftsmanship and quality of materials−present in extant fragments−upon those new elements that are supposed to replace its missing pieces. In essence, the major concern of this approach was to erase the effects of time. Their goal was to present the historical object as if the original constructors had just finished their work. In other words, the object's transformation over time−indexed by the loss of certain parts, its varying degrees of deterioration, and the incorporation of several additions−was effectively reversed into an "original" condition. Alois Riegl characterized this approach as a predilection for "newness value." The charge against it, by the opposing view, was that most of the time, their goal for a homogeneous, aesthetically pleasing appearance required a creative intervention, trying to solve the loss of data, imposed by the passage of time. In this sense, their approach lost its loyalty to historical accuracy. That is why their opponents characterized their approach as "scientific." In their view, it was better to leave an object incomplete or with a heterogeneous, aesthetically unpleasing appearance, before re- inventing history. Riegl characterized this approach as a predilection for "age value."493

493See Alois Riegl, "The Modern Cult of Monuments: Its Character and its Origin," trans. Kurt W. Forster and Diane Ghirardo, in Oppositions Reader: Selected Readings from a Journal for Ideas and Criticism in Architecture, 1973-1984, K. Michael Hays, ed., 621-51, (New York: Princeton Architectural Press, 1998). 296

Figure 29: Riyāḍ complex, east pavilion, restorations by Torres Balbás and Contreras.

Over time, the second approach gained traction, becoming the official policy of modern conservation. Its ultimate goal is to preserve the historical object "just-as-found" or as "time-handed-it-down." However, in practice, the execution of such noble objectives proved hard to achieve. The theoretical approach of Cesare Brandi, published in the mid 1960s after several years of practice, could be seen as a conciliatory position between both tendencies. Its key principle requires the sensible recognition of l'unità potenziale dell'opera d'arte ("the potential unity of the work of art"). In essence, the goal

297 is to employ scientific criteria with artistic creativity.494 The restoration of the Partal, by Torres Balbás during the 1920s, foreshadowed the sophisticated approach of Brandi. Only the famous restorations of the Arch of Titus or the Pantheon in Rome−respectively performed by Giuseppe Valadier and Bernini−display equal levels of creativity and respect for the original fabric, while recuperating the full presence of the past. The work of Torres Balbás at Alhambra has the same level of accomplishment. At a very important reunion held in 1919, the National Congress of Architects, at

Zaragoza, Torres Balbás explained the principles of an innovative approach to the restoration of monuments in Spain: "to conserve the buildings just as they had been handed down to us, preserve them from ruin, support them, consolidate them, always with the outmost respect for the ancient work; never complete them nor remake its extant fragments."495 This attitude encouraged certain authorities to replace Modesto Cendoya,

494Cesare Brandi's Teoria del restauro is one of the most provocative studies on this subject during the last century. Its importance resides in the employment of Aristotle's notions of actuality and potentiality to explain how we could treatment heritage, which is handed down as a fragmented object with multiple additions or alterations. Its key methodological step is to identify l'unità potenziale dell'opera d'arte. To understand this type of appreciation one has to recognize the historical stages of an inherited object: (1) its moment of creation and a first period of usage; (2) the long-term process which brought the object to its present state; and (3) the moment in which the object undergoes a modern intervention. The identification of a "potential unity" implies a complex process of discrimination. Each case is unique. It requires a thoughtful consideration of all the object's values, i.e., historical, aesthetic, functional, social, etc., to achieve a properly balanced intervention. Such evaluation delimits the extent of any intervention. At a higher level, the notion of potentiality suggests the possibility of a limited intervention which enables a common user to create a "mental image" of what the object was in the past; the way it looked, how it was used, what did it mean for previous generations, etc. So, the process is a creative operation, dealing with intangible components, which need to be crystallized in a physical intervention. The result may only be evaluated through experience. See Cesare Brandi, Teoria del restauro, (Roma: Edizioni di storia e letteratura, 1963); cf. idem, Theory of Restoration, trans. Cynthia Rockwell, Giuseppe Basile, ed., (Rome: Istituto centrale per il restauro, 2005). 495Carlos Vílchez Vílchez, La Alhambra de Leopoldo Torres Balbás: Obras de restauración y conservación, 1923-1936, (Granada: Comares, 1988), 34. For more on the role of Torres Balbás in the history of conservation, see Julián Esteban-Chapapría, "The Conservation of Spain's Architectural Heritage: A Balance of Three Crucial Decades, 1929-1958," Future Anterior 5, 2(2008):35-52; Alfonso Muñoz, La vida y la obra de Leopoldo Torres Balbás, (Sevilla: Junta de Andalucía, Consejería de Cultura, 2005); and Julián Esteban, La conservación del patrimonio español durante la II Republica (1931-1939), (Barcelona: Fundación Caja de Arquitectos, 2007). 298 the former architect in charge of Alhambra, and to allow Torres Balbás to put his ideas into practice. The work of Cendoya (1907-23), with a more "neutral" approach, had been an excellent transition from the "fantasizing" interventions of Rafael Contreras. Unfortunately, his timid approach allowed further decay. At that time, the "Special Commission for the Conservation of Alhambra" had a comprehensive project−designed by Ricardo Velázquez Bosco−to improve the citadel's state of preservation. Torres Balbás was the right man for such a complex work. His historical understanding and technical comprehension of Islamic architecture enabled him to raise the standard of restoration at Alhambra. At the very beginning he stated:

There are those who pretend to reestablish Alhambra to its mediaeval condition. Such stand implies the reversal of time over past centuries, remaking what time changed or destroyed, to eliminate the additions incorporated by the passage of time, since the period of Contreras, who attempted to "restore the singular arabesques […] to reveal lost inscriptions […] to reestablish the monument, which laid almost completely sunken, to the characteristic condition of its notable antiquity […] This task is absurd and totally unattainable, for multiple reasons: the absolute impossibility to know such primitive disposition […] Which Alhambra are we supposed to reestablish? The one which existed in the mid 1300s, the early 1400s, or the one that Boabdil bequeathed to the Catholic Kings in 1492?496

In reality, the only building that existed at that time was a fragmentary survivor of all those periods of Naṣrid history, deeply transformed by Carolus V and Felipe II, severely damaged by the Napoleonic wars, and utterly modified by the Contreras Family. Yet, Torres Balbás was able to bring into the foreground, those scattered fragments of Alhambra into a comprehensive whole, imbued with the deferred presence of a Naṣrid past. As work on the Partal advanced, he may have realized that some of the rhetoric in his theoretical approach limited his actions. So, he returned to a simpler position:

496Vílchez, Alhambra de Torres Balbás, 1988, 35. 299 "eclecticism and flexibility." Clearly, the Naṣrid pavilion, al-burṭula ("summer refuge"), could not be preserved-as-found. It was severely modified and in utter ruin.497 However, the building still had enough original fragments to suggest its "restoration." But, the hard question was: "how?" The solution reveals the geniality of Torres Balbás, as a man ahead of his time. His approach could be characterized as a phenomenological reduction to the essence of each trait requiring a replacement. Original fragments were carefully studied to distill their essence into a "modern," abstract version that could be used to reconstitute

the entire building without falsifying its original traces. The complex ornamental patterns, present in its extant sebkas, were reproduced in a less detailed, abstract, and coarser variation. At a distance the building presents a harmonious, holistic image; its accurate, historical differentiation only becomes clear, as the visitor gets closer. The effect is similar to the technique of rigatino, commonly used in the restoration of paintings to fill lacunae. This solution is equivalent to Bernini's use of "aged bricks" at the Pantheon. Unfortunately, a subsequent restoration, performed in the mid 1960s, modified the Partal. The original pillars of brick, supporting the portico's arcade, were replaced with marble columns and capitals with muqarnas. This intervention was the product of a poor understanding of the citadel's chronology. A careless misinterpretation of its stylistic periodization produced an anachronistic alteration of Don Leopoldo's masterpiece. The early prototype was "refashioned" to look more like its successors.498

497Its main portico had been blocked away by coarse brick walls, which included a series of disproportionate "modern" windows; a large fireplace was badly articulated to the main façade, disrupting the original tiled roof; a series of clerestories had also been integrated to the same roof. An engraving by J. F. Lewis made in 1834, as well as a series of photographs taken by Torres Balbás, illustrate the dramatic conditions of the Partal before its intervention. See "Albúm fotográfico de la exposición homenaje a D. Leopoldo Torres Balbás, en el centenario de su nacimiento," Cuadernos de la Alhambra 25(1989):109-46; cf. Vílchez, Alhambra de Torres Balbás, 1988, 307-39; and Malpica Cuello, Alhambra de Granada, 2002, 160-74. 498For more on the second intervention of the Partal, see Malpica Cuello, Alhambra de Granada, 2002, 162. 300

Figure 30: Partal, images of different stages of deterioration and restoration.

This unfortunate intervention reflects the pitfalls of those preservationists who lack a robust historical understanding and a thorough connoisseurship. The controversy related to the interventions of the Riyāḍ complex, by Contreras and Torres Balbás, is deeply entrenched in the consequences of these issues. The difference between each of them is the manner in which they used historical analogy to fill the void, carved out by the passage of time. Both men tried to tackle the same problem: the roofing system and the "original" garden of the Riyāḍ complex had been severely damaged over the course of

301 history. There were no reliable records to visualize their proper restoration. So, in broad terms, Contreras reflected the common attitude of his time, the intellectual imposition that Said calls Orientalism. Since the original peoples could no longer represent themselves, the European specialist−who knows them better, than they know themselves−would provide them with a "distinctive" representation. Torres Balbás tried to solve the same problem from a different position, perhaps, not so different, in essence, but, at least better grounded on historical data. His understanding of Andalusi history was

closely related to the work of Évariste Lévi-Provençal and Henri Terrasse. To some extent, the difference between Contreras and Torres Balbás could be seen as a mere generational gap. In a brief period of time, the study of al-Andalus and the Maghreb had a quantum leap. While Contreras envisioned the Riyāḍ complex as an image that could have stemmed from a literary description, in the Arabian Nights, Torres Balbás traveled across the Maghreb in search of references to support his own vision for the restoration of the complex. The Riyāḍ's central courtyard had many interventions before Contreras modified its appearance. In 1552, the first interventions tried to rectify a series of overwhelming problems, such as humidity, soil recession, rain penetration, and structural instability. First, they tried to replace the roofing system with less slanted or pitched roofs. Since, the plaques of plaster ornament and the wooden ceilings were suffering from a permanent state of dampness, caught between the roof and the false ceilings. Unfortunately, the new armatures had a poor quality. The architect, Francisco de las Madezas, was more concerned with their outer appearance, spending large amounts of money on vitrified tiles. In 1591, an arsenal with large stocks of powder blew up in the neighboring quarter of San Pedro, causing large portions of Alhambra's subsoil to collapse. Consequently, the foundations of the Riyāḍ became unstable. In 1640, Antonio Guerrero reported that most 302 of its columns, on the courtyard's peristyle, as well as those of the lateral pavilions were out of plumb. Clearly, the weakened subsoil caused a loss of verticality amidst the fragile arrangement of such thin columns. In 1708, the Lions Fountain was severely modified. The basin, which used to be supported directly on the lions' backs, was raised by a secondary system of support, designed by Diego del Arco. After the Napoleonic occupation, the courtyard recovered momentarily its "original" garden. It was definitively uprooted in 1846. One of the most intrusive interventions was commissioned by Felipe V

(1683-1746). The original ceiling of the large western hall−probably decorated with an assemblage of muqarnas−was replaced with a large plastered ceiling, displaying the royal crest, accompanied by an eagle, and the letters "F" and "Y," representing the Catholic Kings.499 When Torres Balbás began his work in the Riyāḍ complex, Rafael Contreras had almost solved the humidity problem. In 1851, he built a drainage system, "un darro de 80 varas (6.68 m)," to evacuate accumulated water from the courtyard. In 1909, Modesto Cendoya incorporated a culvert around the fountain, to diminish the spread of water. However, the conservation and presentation of the entire complex was still affected by the roofing system. The poorly built armatures were only half the problem. In 1871, a project by Juan Pugnaire attracted the attention of the Contreras family. The goal was to enhance the "oriental" character of the courtyard, as well as to diminish the impact of water on the courtyard by diminishing the slope of the pyramidal roofs. To achieve these goals they eliminated the outer shell of the east pavilion, exposing its hemispheric inner ceiling and covering it with multicolored tiles. The original design brought together the perfect shapes of a cube, a hemisphere, and a pyramid. Pugnaire's project stripped away

499See Rafael Contreras, Estudio descriptivo de los monumentos árabes de Granada, Sevilla y Córdoba, o sea la Alhambra, el Alcázar y la Gran Mezquita de Occidente, (Madrid: A. Rodero, 1878), 240-3. 303 the roof (pyramid) to expose the ceiling (hemisphere). The latter was covered with a series of rhomboid, multicolored tiles, displaying an annular pattern alternating bright and dark colors. The summit was decorated with the typical finial of so many mosques across the Middle East. The pavilion's cornice was finished with an eave decorated with the typical merlons−shaped like a "stepped pyramid"−that were so prevalent in Umayyad and Almohad buildings. Yet, they are rarely used at Alhambra. The roof of the adjacent gallery, behind the east pavilion, was also modified to display a colorful, zigzag pattern to enhance the "ethnicity" of the courtyard. The result was catastrophic. The complex lost all traces of its historical foundation. However, the general public saw it as a success. The modification was well received, despite its cultural inaccuracy. The result is a perfect example of how an architectural object could also be affected by that system of thought, which Said characterizes as "Orientalism."500 For scholars like Lévi-Provençal, Terrasse, and Torres Balbás, the alteration of the Riyāḍ was a historical nightmare. To make matters worse, Pugnaire and the Contreras family also modified the Kumariṣ complex, especially the roof of the main portico, part of the gallery, and the courtyard. Unfortunately, when Torres Balbás tried to rectify these inaccurate alterations, the politics around such efforts pushed him to end his career. However, the corrections he was able to implement were impeccable. To counteract the loss of historical and cultural continuity, prevalent in their condition as Westerners trying to restore a Non-Western heritage, Torres Balbás crossed the Straits of Gibraltar in search of that segregated continuity. Since, some areas of Morocco still display certain traits of Andalusi tradition, particularly in Tanger and Fās. The latter was a repository of cultural interaction between the Naṣrid and Marīnid. The exchange of artisans and craftsmen

500For more on the "orientalization" of this complex, as well as the Kumariṣ Complex, see Vílchez, Alhambra de Torres Balbás, 1988, 233-8; and "Albúm fotográfico," 1989, 128-31 & 140-1. 304 produced excellent buildings on both sides of the straits. The ablution pavilions in the Qarawîyin Mosque are perfect examples. Torres Balbás and Terrasse recognized their similarity with the Riyāḍ's pavilions. Given their contemporaneity, they could have been constructed by the same craftsmen. Their historical understanding enabled a reversal of Contreras's interventions. Their work represents an early example of de-restoration. Unfortunately, the political cost of this type of intervention is too high for those entrusted with their execution. Who would dare today to rectify the Pantheon's attic or the

Pyramid's façade? The "modern cult of monuments" has frozen our ability to engage history dynamically. As any cult, it is highly intolerant of change, more so, when these buildings become part of a global, public domain. Unfortunately, the rhetoric of preservation poses a serious threat to the critical assessment of heritage. The public is not prepared to understand the inapprehensible nature of history. They have been convinced it is a scientific endeavor, able to reach conclusive interpretations. But, this is not entirely accurate, that is why there is so much debate over so many details. And to make matters worse, the economic interests exploiting such sites as "playgrounds" for tourists are too powerful to accept any change. Yet, if we are interested in a better future, we must have a more flexible and critical relation with our heritage.501

501The exploitation of Alhambra has a long history. By the late 1800s, restaurants, dance halls, and cinemas used its name and "copied" its luxurious ornament, across Europe and America. Wall-papers and tapestries, copying its arabesques, were ubiquitous. The work of Goury and Jones enabled their transmission into the applied arts and the decoration industry. Henry Kamen reports that "When the Great Exhibition was held at the Crystal Palace in London in 1851, a section was dedicated to the Arabic culture, in which Granada and the Alhambra occupied a central role. Architects were fascinated by the concept of Moorish architecture […] In 1854 the Crystal Palace was re-erected in Sydenham, South London, with a special new building in it called the Alhambra Court, constructed by Owen Jones and including reproduced aspects of buildings from Córdoba and Granada […] The Catalogue of the 1851 exhibition included a detailed study of the Alhambra by Jones, and an article giving an idyllic image of the Islamic period of Spain's history. The article was contributed by one of the key figures in modern Spanish culture and the founder of scholarly Spanish Arabism, Pascual de Gayangos." See H. Kamen, The Disinherited: Exile and the Making of Spanish Culture, 1492-1975, (New York: Harper, 2007), 80. In the end, Alhambra did become part of a "crystal palace." 305 Part II: Context Companion

It embodied what came before. Illuminated what came after.502

Time with his pointed shafts has hit my heart [...] Time wounded me […] sending me stumbling, drunk, to roam the world […] Now pay attention, son […] Wisdom is your heritage.503

As already mentioned, the historical unfolding of heritage in Alhambra's history is very complex. The stages that will be examined in this chapter reflect certain degrees of continuity, uniqueness, and exclusion. They expose a fierce ideological clash between conservative orthodoxy (jurists) and liberal heterodoxy (mystics), running through the Almohad, Naṣrid, and Inquisitorial regimes. The continuity in these transitions is attested by: (1) the transmission of time-atomism and the use of muqarnas from the Almohad to

the Naṣrid; (2) the role of rational theology in processes of discrimination, persecution, and forced conversion by the Almohad and the Inquisition. The latter constitutes, in fact, a continuity of exclusion. It is a terrifying example of an intangible heritage that is able to survive across multiple generations, because it is not confronted critically. To some extent, the people of the Iberian Peninsula were accustomed to such acts of exclusion. In like fashion, it is difficult to comprehend the uniqueness of the Naṣrid court, during Yūsuf's reign, without recognizing the continuous clash between orthodox jurists and heterodox mystics throughout the history of al-Andalus. The beauty and uniqueness of Alhambra's celebrated palaces is the result of a historical singularity: the alliance of the state with mystic communities. The former's need to secure ideological homogeneity rarely accepted the free-thinking spirit of the latter. Since the earliest periods of Umayyad

502Inscription from the Great Mosque of Cordoba, see Lewis, God's Crucible, 2008, 379. 503Judah Abravanel, "Poem to His Son," in Medieval Iberia: Readings from Christian, Muslim, and Jewish Sources, Olivia R. Constable, ed., 357-64, (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1997), 357-61. 306 hegemony, mystics were persecuted and excluded from the political landscape. The uniqueness of Yūsuf's court stems from the transgression of such continuity. Yet, the saddest example of exclusion presented in this chapter is associated with the end of a multicultural society that required almost a millennium to amass. It began with the Fall of Granada and the rise of the Inquisition. Their persecution transcended the barriers of physical reality, so they could also eliminate its intangible foundation. Their victims were people and culture. They strived to eliminate Jewish Sepharad and Muslim

al-Andalus, so that only Christian Hispania would survive. Their goal was to homogenize a society that history had made heterogeneous. The people who constructed Granada's Alhambra, Sevilla's Alcazar, and Toledo's Sinagoga del Tránsito would no longer exist. The chains of transmission that gradually created a common heritage were systematically dismembered. Unfortunately, the underpinning of intolerance was also integral to the history of Iberia. Its multiculturalism came to a tragic end, when one of its constituents saw itself as "the winner of history" and decided to exclude the Other. Is it fair to ask, what did they really win? Is history a zero-sum game? Is it possible to measure their actual loss? These unanswerable questions reflect the consequences of exclusion. The history of the Iberian Peninsula illustrates the interplay of people and heritage as a "political battlefield." Heritage, as an entity charged with symbolic value, becomes catalyst and referent of "ideological warfare." In the long run, the permanence of intangible heritage is far greater than its tangible counterpart, because as the shows, you may destroy mosques and synagogues, but beliefs do not change so easily. To understand these issues better, a brief examination its multicultural underpinnings may suffice. Territory and people kept changing dramatically. Umayyad al-Andalus was very different from its Almohad or Naṣrid counterparts. Each engendered new strains of enculturation, gradually creating an "Andalusi" (Hispano-Muslim) 307 identity. The process went through an incipient Islamization and intense Berberization until an autochthonous amalgam grew out of a "grass-roots" hybridization. These stages of enculturation reveal a unique multiculturalism.504 Four "snapshots" may clarify its rhythms of transmission: I. Muslim conquest (early 700s): a small group of invaders, perhaps 180,000 individuals in total, controlled 86 percent of the Iberian Peninsula, whose total population may have been close to 6,000,000.505 The Muslim colonizers were less than three percent of the entire population.506 II. Umayyad Caliphate (mid

900s): widespread conversion changed the demography, 2,800,000 converts or clients were the caliphate's core population. The entire peninsula may have been inhabited by 4,800,000 people. If such is the case, Christians dropped to a dramatic 38 percent of the total, perhaps a result of military oppression and their refuge in the harsh northern mountains.507 III. Almohad Caliphate (early 1200s): while Muslim territories became less

504Muslims came from Arabia, Syria, Egypt, and the Maghreb; Christians descended from Roman, Byzantine Visigoths, and Slavs; and Jews came from Alexandria, Cyrene, and Djerba. There was also some cross-breeding and cross-fertilization, like the , i.e., Christians with Arabic culture with some residues of Arianism. See Pierre Guichard, Structures sociales "orientales" et "occidentales" dans l'Espagne musulmane, (Paris: Mouton, 1977), 7-20; Richard Bulliet, Conversion to Islam in the Medieval Period: An Essay in Quantitative History, (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1979); Mohamed Sadok Bel Ochi, La conversion des Berbères a l'Islam, (Tunis: Maison Tunisienne de l'Édition, 1981); Cyrille Aillet, Les mozarabes: Christianisme, islamisation et arabisation en péninsule ibérique (IXe-XIIe siècle), (Madrid: Casa de Velázquez, 2010); and Ashtor, Jews of Spain, 1973. 505Muslim colonization was in three waves: Ṭāriq Ibn Ziyad (711 CE) leading a small army of Berbers (7,000 or 12,000 men); Mūsā Ibn Nuṣayr (712 CE) with Arab warriors (10,000 or 18,000 men); and Balǧ Ibn Bišr (741 CE) with Syrian troops (10,000 men). If we add the largest estimates and consider the arrival of extended families, Muslims may have been close to 40,000 x 5 = 200,000. According to Guichard, Berbers brought their extended families first, while Mūsā's Arabs and Balǧ's Syrians were just men, their families may have stayed behind. Consequently, most Muslims were converts or descendents of mixed marriages. See Kennedy, Muslim Spain, 1996, 9-13; Vallvé, "España siglo VIII," 1978, 91-3; and Claudio Sánchez-Albornoz y Menduiña, La España musulmana: Según los autores islamitas y cristianos medievales, 2 vols., (Buenos Aires: Librería y Editorial "El Ateneo," 1946), v. 1:37-59 & 66-8. 506These population estimates (grade C & D data, according to Durand's categories) come from different sources. See Durand, "Historical Estimates," 1977; Hollingsworth, Historical Demography, 1976; John C. Caldwell and Thomas Schindlmayr, "Historical Population Estimates: Unraveling the Consensus," Population and Development Review 28, 2(2002):183-204; and Harvey, Islamic Spain, 1990, 5-9. 507According to Thomas Glick, the number of "indigenous Muslims" in this period amounted to 2,800,000 individuals. If this number is correct, it represents a tremendous change in a relatively small period of time. It is natural to assume that multiple factors also contributed to the increase of Muslim populations in Iberia, 308 than 23 percent of the peninsula, the influx of several Berber tribes increased the Muslim population to its highest level, reaching almost 5,000,000. The peninsula may have been inhabited by 6,600,000 people at the time. Thus, its Muslim population amounted to 75 percent.508 IV. Naṣrid Sultanate (mid 1300s): an absolute reversal of fortune affected this period. Muslim territories shrunk to less than five percent of the peninsula, their population dropped to 920,000 individuals, due to the Black Death and reconquista. The entire population may have shrunk to 4,600,000 during this terrible period. When the

Catholic Kings took Granada in 1492, less than 400,000 people occupied its territory.509 With this data in mind, we start to understand better the continuity, uniqueness, and exclusion of heritage in Iberia. It helps us envision not only the worldview that inspired Alhambra, the consequences of excluding the Other. The lessons from these stages of enculturation should help us prepare for the future of a globalized humanity.

like migrations from the Maghreb and Syria, after the ʿAbbasids took over. See Thomas Glick, as quoted by Harvey, Islamic Spain, 1990, 7-8. 508The Muslim increase may have been driven by forced conversion and expulsion of local peoples. See Viguera Molíns, Reinos de Taifas, 1992; Maribel Fierro, "Spiritual Alienation and Political Activism: The ġurabā' in al-Andalus during the Sixth/Twelfth Century," Arabica 47, 2(2000):230-60; William M. Watt, "The Decline of the Almohads: Reflections on the Viability of Religious Movements," History of Religions 4, 1(1964):23-29; and Alfred Bel, La Religion Musulmane en Berbérie: Esquisse d'histoire et de Sociologie religieuses. Tome I: Establissement et développement de l'Islam en Berbérie du VIIe au XXe siècle, (Paris: Librairie Orientaliste Paul Geuthner, 1938), especially 71-82 & 331-57. 509Granada's population at the time of capitulation was considerably decimated. When Malaga fell (1487) it had only 15,000 people, while Antequera had 2,600 (1410). The latter had 895 "warring men," 770 women, and 863 children. When Alhama was conquered (1482), its 3,700 inhabitants were organized around 600 "neighbors" (pater familias). These were some of the most important cities after Granada itself. See Leopoldo Torres Balbás, "Extensión y demografía de las ciudades hispanomusulmanas," Studia Islamica 3(1955):35-59, 49 & 52. Although at the time of its height the City of Granada may have had 100,000 individuals. See Arié, Reino Naṣrí, 1992, 153-5. 309 Almohad Rationality

By the end of the first millennium, Islam was in turmoil. ʿAbbasid hegemony was seriously challenged. Šīʿīsm "became the leading form of popular resistance to the

ʿAbbasid Empire."510 The Ismāʿīlī notion of an Infallible Imām attracted the powerful Fatimids of Tunisia.511 Their leader claimed to be the Caliph, just like the Umayyad ruler of al-Andalus. This competition debased the title's legitimacy and prestige. These conditions brought forth a clash between Fatimids and Seljuqs that triggered the irreconcilable Sunni and Šīʿī antagonism. The ʿAbbasid tried to diminish the confrontation by supporting the most representative schools of law, mainly the Hanbalī, Mālikī, and Hanafī, which became Sunni orthodoxy.512 The ʿAbbasid also tried to sweep away "Arab caste supremacy" and accept "the universal equality of Muslims." These policies "permitted a literary and cultural renaissance in which Hellenistic, philosophic, and secularist views flourished."513 Thus, the consolidation of political supremacy engendered an ideological dichotomy, based in Sunni and Šīʿī antagonism. In many ways, this exploitation of popular beliefs to construct a political base is not so different to the clash of Rome and Constantinople to dominate Christendom. Further complication arose with the first coalition of Christian knights trying to recover the Levant. It was the beginning of Holy War, the juggernaut of the Crusade-Ǧihād.514

510See Ira Lapidus, A History of Islamic Societies, (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988), 131. 511See Yasser Tabbaa, The Transformation of Islamic Art During the Sunni Revival, (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 2001). 512See Muḥammad Khalid Masud, "Shāṭibī's Theory of Meaning," Islamic Studies 32(1993):5-16; idem, Islamic Legal Interpretation: Muftis and their Fatwas, (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1996); and idem and Rudolph Peters, Dispensing Justice in Islam: Qadis and their Judgments, (Leiden: Brill, 2006). 513Lapidus, History Islamic Societies, 1988, 70 & 172. 514See Christopher Tyerman, God's War: A New History of the Crusades, (Cambridge: The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 2006). 310 Amidst such turmoil, a Berber from the Maṣmūda tribe, Muḥammad ibn Tūmart, approached the political confrontation with a new vision of Islam for his kinsmen.515 He received a broad religious education in al-Andalus and Baghdad. He was a disciple of al- Ghazzālī, during his mystical transformation. The latter is a complex figure in Islamic thought. His effort to diminish the influence of Classical philosophy on Islamic theology made him embrace part of the former's dialectics, known as "rational theology" (kalām).516 To a modern outlook this juxtaposition of terms seems paradoxical. To some

degree, kalām operates like a "binary switch." As soon as a rational argument faces a dead end, belief takes over, forcing the argument to accept a prescribed article of faith.

Mālik ibn Anas illustrates this oscillation perfectly when he explained the Qurʿān's reference of God sitting in His Throne: "The sitting is given, its modality is unknown. Belief in it is an obligation and raising questions regarding it is a heresy."517 At the core of this issue lies the question of God's true form and the complexity of harmonizing the

Qurʿānic notion of God's anthropomorphism and the claim of his "unicity or oneness" (tawḥīd) by rational theologians. Ibn Tūmart exploited the controversial debates over God's oneness to eliminate a competing tribe, the Berber Ṣinhāŷa (Almoravid).518 They controlled part of the Maghreb and most of al-Andalus since the 1050s. Hindsight clarifies how Ibn Tūmart used religion

515See Kennedy, Muslim Spain, 1996, 197. 516For most Muslims, al-Ghazzālī is known as "the proof of Islam" (ḥujjat al-islām). See Massimo Campanini, "Al-Ghazzālī," in History of Islamic Philosophy, Part One, Seyyed Hossein Nasr and Oliver Leaman, eds., 258-74, (London: Routledge, 1996). Kalām inherited the classical methodologies of religious debate. See M. A. Cook, "The Origins of "Kalām"," Bulletin of the School of Oriental and African Studies 43, 1(1980):32-43; Harry Wolfson, The Philosophy of the Kalam, (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1976); and William Watt, The Formative Period of Islamic Thought, (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 1973), 180-204. 517 Collins, Sociology of Philosophies, 2000, 390-1. 518See Madeleine Fletcher, "The Almohad Tawhīd: Theology Which Relies on Logic," Numen 38, 1(1991):110-27; Maribel Fierro, "Spiritual Alienation and Political Activism: The ġurabāʾ in al-Andalus during the Sixth/Twelfth Century," Arabica 47, 2(2000):230-60; and William Watt, "The Decline of the Almohads: Reflections on the Viability of Religious Movements," History of Religions 4, 1(1964):23-29. 311 to drive his political ambition. By exploiting the ideology of God's Oneness he was able to organize his kinsmen against fellow Berbers. Tawḥīd became their rallying cry! For Ibn Tūmart the Almoravid had lost their way. Their submission was corrupt:

According to the words of the Qurʿān, you are not Mulims and you do not believe in its principal Faith, "there is no god but God" […] hence, your blood may be spilled with impunity and your persons may be taken as booty.519

Grounded on this ideology, his followers justified the persecution not only of the Almoravid establishment, but anyone who did not follow their strict version of Islam,

including Christian and Jewish infidels living on their land. Tawḥīd became the bond of their cultural identity. They were known as al-muwaḥḥidūn, "those who affirm the unity of God." Its Latinized version gave way to the name Almohad. Ibn Tūmart knew how to extract the potential of such powerful claim, amidst a Berber mindset, especially its esoteric sensibility. In many ways, the Berber worldview has not uprooted its ancient belief in symbolic action ("magic").520 This particular state of mind engendered a rich mystical tradition. The interaction between Maghrebi and Andalusi ascetics generated one of the most unique versions of esoteric thought in Islam. Its counterpart, at the other end of the Muslim Commonwealth, fused the mystical traditions of Zoroastrianism, Hinduism, and Buddhism into a provocative amalgam, infused by the Muslim reception

519María Jesús Viguera Molíns, Los Reinos de Taifas y las invasiones Magrebríes (Al-Andalus del XI al XIII), (Madrid: MAPFRE, 1992), 206; cf. Evariste Lévi-Provençal, Documents inédites d'histoire Almohad: Fragments manuscrits du "legajo" 1919 du Fonds Arabe de l'Escurial, (Paris: Librairie Orientaliste Paul Geuthner, 1928). 520In Alfred Bel's study of Berber religion we find an enduring presence of magic rites, which seem to trace back to prehistoric beliefs. In sum, they believe that benign and malevolent spirits, capable of taking different forms, may be conducted or repelled through magic. Certain Arab notions like "the evil eye" allowed these beliefs to remain within a proper Islamic worldview. See A. Bel, La Religion Musulmane en Berbérie: Esquisse d'histoire et de Sociologie religieuses. Tome I: Establissement et développement de l'Islam en Berbérie du VIIe au XXe siècle, (Paris: Librairie Orientaliste Paul Geuthner, 1938), 71-82 & 331-57; cf. Ernest Gellner, Saints of the Atlas, (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1969). For more on "the evil eye," see Malik ibn Anas, Al-Muwatta of Imam Malik Ibn Anas: The First Formulation of Islamic Law, (London: Kegan Paul International, 1989), 395-8. 312 of Neoplatonism.521 The relation between Ibn Tūmart and al-Ghazzālī was deeply rooted in this unique phenomenon. Al-Ghazzālī had already transfused Ašʿārī rationality into Ṣūfī mysticism.522 Ibn Tūmart inherited this creativity to create a similar amalgam, combining the principles of God's Oneness with the Ismāʿīlī belief in the Infallible Imām. This gave him access to the absolutism of a Messianic leader. The Berber mindset seems to have been fascinated by this powerful combination of ideas. These provocative fusions of different mystical traditions were possible in Islam given its early philosophical debates. For Randall Collins "Muslims drove up the level of abstraction and revealed the ontological and epistemological issues which are distinctive to monotheism."523 Their clash with Zoroastrianism, Manichaeism, and Christianity drove them to embrace Classic philosophy. An early group of theologians (Muʿtāzilah)

used kalām to explain the Qurʿān's revelation. Their approach incorporated the thought of Aristotle and Plotinus. Their strongest opponents were the scriptural orthodoxy assembling the Ḥadīṯ. A staunch representative of such jurists was the Mālikī School of Law, who also employed kalām. Ṣūfī mystics were closer to the Muʿtāzilah, given their allegorical interpretation of scripture. Although the latter's interpretations were driven by strict logic. A fourth group of scholars, known as falāsifa, pursued a more secular philosophy. Their scientific interests were mostly concerned with medicine, astronomy, and mathematics.

521See Denise L. Carmody and John T. Carmody, Mysticism: Holiness East and West, (New York: Oxford University Press, 1996); Louis Gardet, Études de philosophie et de mystique comparées, (Paris: J. Vrin, 1972); Parviz Morewedge, ed., Islamic Philosophy and Mysticism, (New York: Caravan Books, 1981); George Anawati, "Philosophy, Theology, and Mysticism," in The Legacy of Islam, Joseph Schacht, ed., 9- 19, (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1974); and Salvador Gómez Nogales, "Sabiduria oriental y filosofía árabe," in Ensayos sobre la filosofía en el al-Andalus, Manuel Alonso Alonso and Andrés Martínez Lorca, eds., 142-65, (Barcelona: Anthropos, 1990). 522See William Watt, Islamic Creeds: A Selection, (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 1994), 41-8. 523Collins, Sociology of Philosophies, 2000, 387. 313 Muʿtāzilī theology was based on four tenets: (1) free will, (2) God's Oneness, (3)

the Qurʿān as a created object, and (4) the use of metaphoric interpretation. Their rivals,

the Ḥadīṯ scholars, offered the exact opposite: (1) absolute predestination, (2) God's

anthropomorphism, (3) the Qurʿān as an object of revelation, and (4) the Qurʿān as a legal binding between God and humanity. Clearly, their ideological opposition entailed a political confrontation. First the Umayyad and later the ʿAbbasid struggled to determine which camp could boost their hold on power. They kept changing sides. When the

ʿAbbasid took over, they embraced Šīʿī demands for equality. Yet, to justify their uprising, they adhered to scriptural orthodoxy, trying to legitimize their uprising as an act of predestination. But, when they had full power, they imposed Muʿtāzilī theology, given

their rejection of the Qurʿān as the ultimate source of divine law (Šarīʿa). The new caliphs wanted to control its interpretation. Gradually, the scriptural orthodoxy imposed its worldview over this brief period of "Enlightened Caliphs."524 One of its most surprising effects was the advancement of a new synthesis, merging kalām with divine revelation. The Caliph al-Mutawakkil succumbed to the overwhelming influence of Ibn Ḥanbal.

From that moment forward, rationality became the main tool for Qurʿānic exegesis. The work of Abūl-Walīd ibn Rušd (Averroes) is a paradigm of such synthesis, transfusing Aristotelian logic into Islamic jurisprudence. This combination of classical metaphysics and monotheism paved the way for medieval scholasticism. Church Doctors, like Thomas Aquinas, Albertus Magnus, and Bonaventure relied on this transmission of Aristotelian thought.525 A key Andalusi

524See Lapidus, History Islamic Societies, 1988, 54-137; Albert Hourani, A History of the Arab Peoples, (Cambridge: The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 1991), 25-59; Collins, Sociology of Philosophies, 2000, 389-405; and Watt, Formative Period, 1973, 151-80. 525See Carlos Bernardo Bazan, "On 'First Averroism' and Its Doctrinal Background," in Of Scholars, Savants, and Their Texts: Studies in Philosophy and Religious Thought, Essays in Honor of Arthur Hyman, Arthur Hyman, Ruth Link-Salinger Hyman, Sol Roth, and Robert A. Herrera, eds., 9-22, (New York: P. Lang, 1989); and Miguel Cruz Hernández, "Santo Tomas y la primera recepción de Averroes por los 314 document manifests the rhetorical power of such combination. It is the so-called "Almohad Creed," written in 1183, partially attributed to Ibn Rušd. Miguel Asín Palacios compared it with passages from al-Ghazzālī and Aquinas to demonstrate the influence of kalām on scholasticism.526 The "Almohad Creed" aroused much interest in Church Doctors, because it fused the subtlety of Ibn Rušd's rationality with al-Ghazzālī's mysticism. Its opening chapter illustrates the fusion of tawḥīd and Ḥadīṯ, the latter transmitted by ʿUṯmān ibn ʿAffān: "He who dies knowing that there is no God but God

enters paradise." The same chapter not only displays the first use of Aristotelian causation to explain a theological principle, but also reflects the Almohads' obsession to convert the "people of the Book." The passage teaches how to impose tawḥīd on Christians and Jews. This is the cornerstone of Islamic submission. Then, "obligate them with the five prayers in day and night." Once they have followed this step, "tell them that God obligates them to give alms." From this point, the argument is driven by rational causation to explain how personal worship leads to the divine: "it is proved by this that worship is not correctly performed except through faith and sincerity," which are "achieved through knowledge." The latter comes from study as an act of will. The argument ends in a rather macabre conclusion, since will is originated by desire and terror, both growing from promise and threat. All of them are rooted in divine revelation, because the entire sequence of spiritual stages stretching from the divine towards

Latinos," in Tommaso d'Aquino nella storia del pensiero, Atti del congress internazionale, Roma-Napoli, 17/24 aprile 1974, vol. I, 307-24, (Naples: Edizioni Domenicane Italiane, 1975-8). According to Lewis: "In Paris, the reading of Aristotle's Physics and Metaphysics was banned in 1210 […] until Averroistic heresies could be safely identified, classified, and proscribed […] many more Scholastics were deemed to be desperately in need of interpretative correction" that was accomplished by Aquinas' Summa de Veritate Catholicae (Treatise on the Truth of the Catholic Faith). See, Lewis, God's Crucible, 2008, 374-5. 526See Miguel Asín Palacios, "El averroismo teológico de Santo Tomas de Aquino," in Homenaje a D. Francisco Codera en su jubilación del profesorado: Estudios de erudición oriental con una introducción de D. Eduardo Saavedra, Eduardo Saavedra, ed., (Zaragoza: M. Escar, 1904). 315 humanity are only possible "through the credibility of the Messenger." The latter constitutes "the appearance of the miracle" sanctioned by "the permission of God."527 The reliance on "desire and terror" to foster religion is alarming, mostly when it is harnessed by promises and threats. While desire stems from the promise of paradise, terror manipulates the threat of hell. In many ways, this combination of emotions and aspirations would resonate deeply with the methods of the Holy Office of the Inquisition. Both exploit the ultimate illusion of an afterlife. Yet, when "rational persuasion" does not

provoke the desired conversion, the latter is imposed by force. When ideas lose their power of conviction, torture takes over. An edict by the Almohad wazīr Abū Ŷaʾfar ibn ʿAṭiyya demanding the conversion of infidels in al-Andalus illustrates this transition:

[All people must learn the formula of God's Oneness, which is the basis and foundation of Faith, it is its soul and marrow […] there will be no excuses for anyone who does not learn it […] make them recite the tenets of the Almohad Creed, they must learn them by heart and recite them frequently with absolute understanding […] all those who are bounded by these obligations, if they do not like them […] they may be executed […] Anyone who misses prayer, does it half heartedly, or does not follow its principles, must be killed in the act].528

The Creed's use of rationality to prove God's existence was well received by Church Doctors. According to the former: "It is by the necessity of reason that the existence of God, Praise be to Him, is known." The logic of causality proves his existence, analogically, through the model of a watch and its watchmaker. The former is

proof of the latter. It is a masterpiece of Aristotelian logic and Qurʿānic revelation. The latter states: "the Exalted One informs us that the Creator of Heaven and Earth's existence is not to be doubted. And that for which doubt is denied is necessarily true." In this way,

527See "The Doctrine of Divine Unity," trans. Madeleine Fletcher, in Medieval Iberia: Readings from Christian, Muslim, and Jewish Sources, Olivia R. Constable, ed., 190-7, (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1997), 191-2. 528Viguera Molíns, Reinos de Taifas, 1992, 228-9. 316 the article of faith is embellished with Aristotelian logic. The Creed's fourth chapter is another example of such powerful combination of rhetorical ploys:

By the first act the existence of the Creator is known, Praise to Him, and in the same way the second and the third all the way to limitlessness. The existence of the Creator is known, Praise to Him, by the heavens and the earth and all created beings. Similarly, His existence is known by the creation of the first movement, since it needs to have been done by the agency of someone and it is impossible that it should exist without such an agent. And what is true of the first movement as to its needing an agent is true of all acts where it is recognized that something existing after having not existed necessitates its having been created.529

The influence of Aristotelian Metaphysics is imminent, mainly through its concept of a prime mover or unmoved-mover. This chapter may have been supervised by Ibn Rušd. Yet, the subtleties of chapter seven suggest a stronger participation by the Andalusi philosopher:

And to understand the denial of the similarity between Creator and created is to understand the absolute existence of the Creator, since everything that has a beginning, an end, delimitation, and specialization must also have an extension in space, mutability, a position in space, particularity, adventitiousness, and a Creator. The Creator has no beginning since everything that has a beginning has a period before it existed, and everything that has a period before it existed had a period after its existence […] And the Creator, praise to Him, is the First and the Last, the Outward and the Inward. He knows everything: the First without a beginning, the Last without an end. The Outward without delimitation, the Inward without particularization, existing in an absolute existence without similarity or modality.530

At this point, the Creed reveals a hint of Andalus mysticism, although the arguments are still embedded in a profound rationality. The last phrase echoes the conservatism of Mālikī jurisprudence, arguing that the modality of the divine realm is unknown. By the chapter's end, this approach is pushed to the limit, reaching almost the

529See "Doctrine of Divine Unity," 1997, 193. 530Idem, 194. 317 logic of Muʿtāzilī metaphysics, in which the divine is stripped of all human attributes. This approach may be the clearest indication of Ibn Rušd's authorship:

If all minds brought together as one attempted to understand the modality of created sight, hearing or intelligence, they could not, even though it is a matter of created things. And if they are incapable of understanding the modality of created things, then they must be even more incapable of understanding what has no similarity to created things nor analogy to what can be understood. There is nothing like Him which can be used as a term of comparison, as the Most High says: "There is nothing like Him, He is the All-hearing, the All-seeing" [Qurʿān 42:9].531

The Qurʿānic reference and its preceding sentence may have been introduced by an "editor" to provide an authoritative seal for the masterful analysis of a truly nuanced mind. The latter may have been Ibn Rušd himself. However, the poetry of its conclusion, arguing that the divine cannot be understood by known modalities of being is utterly debased by its subsequent anthropomorphic characterization. Finally, the Creed included a special clause to dispel the threats of possible antagonistic interpretations, by relying on

the Qurʿān as its ultimate authority. The clause precluded any epistemological or

ontological concerns. The basis for such protection stems not only from the Qurʿānic description of an anthropomorphic God, but, its own passages precluding hermeneutic uncertainty. In this context, the Creed's eighth chapter stated: "as for the sacred texts that cause people spuriously to imagine comparison and modality such as the verse […] about

God's sitting Himself upon the throne (Qurʿān 20:4)" only those "with a deviant heart will follow the misleading passages in the law." The ultimate protection came from Ibn Tūmart's use of the Ismāʿīlī doctrine of the "Infallible Imām."532

531Idem. 532See Henry Corbin, En Islam Iranien: Aspects spirituels et philosophiques; Tome I, le shī'isme duodécimain, (Paris: Gallimard, 1971); idem, Cyclical Time and Ismaili Gnosis, (London: Kegan Paul International, 1983); and Majid Fakhry, Ethical Theories in Islam, (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1991). 318 Almohad theology illustrates the paradoxical interaction of reason and faith as a "binary switch."533 However, when someone pursued an obstinate rationalization of faith, the solution was simple: the individual was repressed or eliminated. The need of such tools reveals some of the pitfalls of monotheism. They explain a natural tendency for fanaticism and intolerance, since they impose limits on the use of reason. That is why

Islam rejected Muʿtāzilī philosophy. None of their tenets were acceptable: (1) the divine

is an entity that exists beyond any known modalities of being; (2) so, the Qurʿān's

anthropomorphosis must be allegorical; and by extension (3) the Qurʿān must be a created object, not the product of divine revelation. By raising these questions, the power of the

Qurʿān was debased. The clarity of its message became questionable. At that time, this option was intolerable. So, a new branch of kalām stemmed from the Muʿtāzilī camp, known as Ašʿārī. Their solution was simple: (1) the divine exists across multiple layers of reality; the highest realm is beyond all known modalities; however, as it stretches down to approach humanity, it acquires attributes that resemble earthly beings; this type of

reasoning was grounded on Neoplatonic metaphysics; (2) in this model, the Qurʿān

retained its legitimacy as a product of divine revelation; and (3) the combination of these premises fortified the notion of absolute predestination; every action is the product of God's Will.534

533The "binary switch" oscillates between rational and symbolic thought, as opposing ways of understanding reality: "[Dan] Sperber contends that symbolic phenomena are the output of a special cognitive device. In this view, there is a sharp distinction between what Sperber calls the 'rational' and the 'symbolic' modes in cognitive processing. The rational mode consists in the deductive treatment of perceptual information, using representations available in memory. The symbolic mode, on the other hand, is activated whenever the input cannot be treated in a rational mode, for instance in the case of figurative utterances or of obscure religious statements." See Pascal Boyer, "Cognitive Aspects of Religious Symbolism," in Cognitive Aspects of Religious Symbolism, idem, ed., 4-47, (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1993), 26. 534See Collins, Sociology of Philosophies, 2000, 389-405; Watt, Formative Period Islamic Thought, 1973, 180-253; Parviz Morewedge, ed., Neoplatonism and Islamic Thought, (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1992); and Ian Richard Netton, Muslim Neoplatonists: An Introduction to the Thought of the Brethren of Purity (Ikhwān al-Ṣafā'), (London: George Allen & Unwin, 1982). 319 The Qurʿān has a unique passage to control the ambiguity of interpretations, providing the ultimate safety valve for religious revelation. The third sūra foresaw the dangers of hermeneutic freedom, by stating: "As for those in whose hearts there is a deviance, they follow the ambiguous part, desiring dissention and desiring its interpretation; and none knows its interpretation save only God. And those firmly rooted in knowledge say 'we believe in it; all is from our Lord'." The passage seals rationality within the boundaries of faith; so that whenever reason reaches a dead end−usually at the

doorstep of mystery−the response is simple: it is one of those issues that only God understands. Al-Ghazzālī's Tahāfut al-falāsifah ("Incoherence of the Philosophers") strives to eradicate these dangers, since "if the great philosophers cannot in general be charged with infidelity, their doctrines lead many people 'to refuse the details of religions and creeds, and to believe that they are human constructed laws and artifices'."535 These arguments against secular philosophy swept across the Maghreb and al-Andalus. Gradually, the few enlightened Almohad Caliphs replaced the subtlety of Andalusi advisors like Ibn Ṭufayl or Ibn Rušd with policies of repression, forced conversion, and expulsion.536 These policies affected another celebrated Andalusi philosopher, known as the Rambam, Rabbi Moshe ben Maimon (Maimonides). His unique understanding of how divergent notions of religion, love for the homeland, and personal survival should be evaluated with creative flexibility, was determined by the chaotic nature of this period.537 In many ways, the next stage in the history of al-Andalus was dramatically shaped by the

535See Campanini, "Al-Ghazzālī,"1996, 262. 536See Viguera Molíns, Reinos de Taifas, 1992, 260-4 & 292-6. 537See Abraham J. Heschel, Maimonides: A Biography, (New York: Farrar, Straus, Giroux, 1982); Sherwin B. Nuland, Maimonides, (New York: Shocken, 2005), 27-53; Abraham Halkin and David Hartman, Crisis and Leadership: Epistles of Maimonides, (Philadelphia: The Jewish Publication Society of America, 1985), 13-90; and Menachem Kellner, Maimonides' Confrontation with Mysticism, (Oxford: The Littman Library of Jewish Civilization, 2006), 216-64. 320 strict rigidity of the Almohad. For the first time an Andalusi identity emerged as a stark opposition to their intolerant regime. Their policies of persecution strengthened Andalusi multiculturalism. The Almohad narrow version of Islam engendered mechanisms of cultural resistance, mostly among Andalusi intellectuals and mystics. They advanced an idealized remembrance of Umayyad Cordoba as a liberal environment highlighting the staunch repressiveness of the Almohad. The edict by Abū Ŷaʾfar demanded also the persecution of all those "who

display deviated conduct." It did not allow "people to gather around to listen to any sort of musical instruments, as it used to happen in Pagan times, prior to the arrival of Islam." Clearly, such gatherings "had sequels of illicit behavior favoring the roots of irreligious conduct."538 The early poetry of Ibn Ḥazm illustrates why the conservative Almohad could not stomach the liberality of Cordoba. For Bargebuhr, the latter was equivalent to Periclean Athens or Ciceronian Rome. It is one of those "places in time" that has been construed as an idyllic realm, influenced by talk of love and poetry in "garden parties," where bright people enjoyed themselves amidst exotic food and drinks.539 Berber austerity, a product of harsh mountain life, could not tolerate the sophisticated liberality of al-Andalus. In essence, these conditions are reflected by the key argument of Ibn Ḫaldūn's Muqaddimah, suggesting certain historical cycles in which civilized peoples "go soft" while savage peoples "remain hungry."540 Often, the latter raid

538Viguera Molíns, Reinos de Taifas, 1992, 228-9. 539See Bargebuhr, Alhambra: Cycle of Studies, 1968, 33. Both, the passage by Ibn Ḥazm and the author's comments about Cordoba's cosmopolitanism come from the same page. 540Gellner's study of Berber stresses the persistence of this model: "His premise is that there is a tragic antithesis between civilization and social cohesion. Only cities have civilization; only tribes have social cohesion. Thus only tribes can provide the basis for the political order, which cities and civilization need but do not engender. But as they provide it, the tribes destroy themselves […] This is the driving force for the tribal circulation of elites: every so often, every three generations in Ibn Khaldūn's schematized version, a new set of wolves throw up a new dynasty from their own number, replacing the exhausted sheepdogs, and have their turn until the time comes for them to be displaced." See Gellner, Saints of the Atlas, 1969, 6. 321 the former's territory, pillaging their towns, taking their women, and destroying their culture. Ibn Ḫaldūn saw these effects in the Almoravid and Almohad invasions of al- Andalus. To some degree, he also saw them in the advance of the Christian kingdoms perched at the northern frontier, nurturing a warring mindset, while the Andalusi gradually lost their social cohesion and their appetite for battle. During the collapse of the Umayyad Caliphate, the people of al-Andalus had developed a sense of cultural exceptionalism. They recognized their uniqueness amidst the Islamic Commonwealth. An introduction to a compilation of nature poems, by Abūl- Walīd al-Ḥimyarī published in Sevilla in the early 1000s, stated:

The poems of the East which have retained our attention for so long now cease to attract us and to enchant us with their jewels. Furthermore, we can do without them because we no longer need to have recourse to them. For Andalusians possess astonishing pieces of prose and poems of original beauty […] The easterners, in spite of the care which they bestow upon the composition of verse and historiography, and in spite of the advantage of having spoken Arabic for a longer period, cannot find in their works the metaphors adequate to "description" which I find in the compositions of my compatriots.541

Al-Ḥimyarī seems to be proud of the uniqueness of Hispano-Arab culture. In many ways, this process of self-identification was systematically enhanced by the Berberization of al-Andalus. Over time, they seem to have recognized that their ability to produce an unparalleled creativity was grounded on a sui generis, autochthonous culture, proudly based on multiethnic origins. Soon enough, the Islamic Commonwealth began to cherish the quality of their thought, craftsmanship, and, most importantly, the subtlety of their spiritual sensibility. In many ways, these traits emerged from the shared legacies of Carthaginians, Romans, Byzantines, Visigoths, and Jews.

541Bargebuhr, Alhambra: Cycle of Studies, 1968, 37.

322 Andalusi Orthodoxy and Mysticism

The peculiar incorporation of a mystical outlook by the Naṣrid state, during Yūsuf's reign, is an anomaly in the history of al-Andalus, because for centuries its rulers preferred to establish an alliance with orthodox jurists. The latter were the natural enemies of free-thinking ascetics, helping common people to cope with life. Their mystical outlook eroded their hold on power, since they shared their allegorical understanding of revelation. For Andalusi mystics, any person could pursue an individual path of enlightenment and revelation. When Yūsuf decided to protect the mystical communities of al-Andalus he disrupted the continuity of previous rulers who used to persecute these fomenters of free-thinking heterodoxy. His position should have been a major affront for the people of Granada who proudly adhered to the most conservative school of law across the Maghreb, the Mālikī. However, Yūsuf's synthesis of rational theology and mystical sensibility did not cause a major break. Unfortunately, this condition did not last long. Soon enough, this unique experiment in political science was terminated by the conservatism of his son and Ibn Zamrak. The persecution of mystics allowed the orthodox jurists to recover power. The exclusion of mystics from the public scene pushed them to their usual position as underground counter movements. In this way, both traditions recovered their historical continuity.

The adherence to a strict orthodoxy in al-Andalus traces back to one of its earliest inhabitants migrating east to be part of the latest advancements in Islam. Yahya ibn Yahya al-Andalusī traveled to Madina to study with a legal mastermind, Abū ʿAbdullāḥ Mālik ibn Anas al-Asbahī al-Madinī, just when the fourth generation of followers after the Prophet was consolidating the Ḥadīṯ. Nowadays, the "most famous transmission" of Mālik's masterpiece, simply known as al-Muwattaʾ (The First Formulation of Islamic

323 Law) was produced by Yahya ibn Yahya. Its importance is not only rooted in the accuracy of the transmission, but in the richness of its commentaries as well.542 Andalusi jurists and theologians had direct links to these sources of interpretation, right from the start. In many ways, al-Andalus was at the same time a bastion of Islamic orthodoxy and a cauldron for the creative fusions of diverse multicultural sources. The confrontation of such opposing worldviews−one deeply conventional and rigorous, while the other more lenient toward ingenious combinations of knowledge−had similar explosive effects, as those between liberals and conservatives during the Spanish Civil War. In the early days of the Umayyad Caliphate in Cordoba, the combination of Muʿtāzilī philosophy and Ṣūfī mysticism aroused the creativity of Andalusi intellectuals, who began to challenge the scriptural orthodoxy. The greatest exponent of such synthesis was Muḥammad ibn Masarra. His unique philosophical outlook influenced one of the greatest Ṣūfī mystics of all time, Abū ʿAbd Allāḥ Muḥammad ibn al-ʿArabī at-Taʿī al-Ḥatimī.543

542See the introduction by Šayḫ Ahmad ibn ʿAbd al-ʿAziz Al Mubarak, Head of the Šarīʿa Court in the United Arab Emirates during the late 1980s, in Mālik ibn Anas, Al-Muwatta, 1989, xxvii-xxxviii; cf. Watt, Formative Period, 1973, 63-82; and Lapidus, History Islamic Societies, 1988, 98-119. 543The relation between Ṣūfism and Islam has a long and complex history. Among the former's multiple points of origin, two sources stand out for the manner in which ancient mystical traditions were transposed into an Islamic mindset. These sources were located at the extreme frontiers of the Islamic Commonwealth, Khorasan, in the east, and the Maghreb and al-Andalus, in the west. In both regions, those ancient traditions, still rooted in ancient beliefs of animism, found their way into the spiritual outlook of Islam. These ancient traditions were mostly supported by Neoplatonism and Neopythagoreanism. At the western edge, the amalgam of Berber and Visigothic traditions produced equal variations, based on that approach. The Berber source, simply known as a Bāṭinī doctrine (esoteric), had tremendous influence in al-Andalus, particularly on Ibn al-ʿArabī. The latter revolutionized the Ṣūfī tradition. Its influence produced five doctrines or ṭarīqāt: (1) the ṭarīqāt iŝrāqīya, a Šīʿī version of his mysticism; (2) a minority of Sunni ṭarīqāt, who ended up having a hard time to incorporate his baroque monism; they gradually faded away; (3) the ṭarīqa ḥanbalī, which also diluted his esoteric worldview, maintaining only certain mystical gymnastics, devoid of theoretical basis; (4) the ṭarīqa qādirī, which fused Sunni asceticism with al-Ghazzālī's rational theology; and (5) the ṭarīqā ŝāḏilī, this has been the most successful transmission of his theory on the love of pure effusion. Its doctrine was greatly enhanced by the ascetic Berber, ʿAbd al-Sālam ben Maŝiŝ. The city in which this ṭarīqā found positive reception was Alexandria. Since then, it has remained a stronghold for the esoteric worldview of Ibn al-ʿArabī. See Miguel Cruz Hernández, Historia del pensamiento en el mundo islámico 2: El pensamiento de al-Ándalus (siglos IX-XIV), (Madrid: Alianza, 1996), 341 & 626-8. 324 Just like Ibn Yahya, Ibn Masarra had been at the center of intellectual exploration, when outbursts of creativity and debate swarmed the Islamic Commonwealth. While the Muʿtāzilah and Ḥadīṯ Scholars fought over the "soul" of Islam in Basra and Baghdad, a man, simply known as al-Muhasibī, "helped to crystallize Ṣūfīsm from pious asceticism into full-blown mysticism."544 These settlements at the core of the ʿAbbasid Caliphate attracted Indian, Buddhist, and Persian mystics. Their interaction with Muslims that were seeking an alternative understanding of their divine revelation produced one of the most

significant expressions of mystical intuition in World History. Ibn Masarra was there. Just as a third generation of Ṣūfīs tried to preserve the teachings of al-Muhasibī and al- Bistamī. Yet, he did not stay long. His relation with a student of al-Junayd dissipated, as the former got closer to a position that eventually would push al-Ḥallāǧ to the limits of extreme Ṣūfism.545 The rationality of Ibn Masarra took him on a more sober path towards a mystical union with the divine. Equipped with a provocative combination of Muʿtāzilī rationality and Ṣūfī intuition he went back to al-Andalus. Over time, the sobriety of his approach would influence the rational mysticism of Ibn al-ʿArabī.546 Their use of rational deduction to express mystical knowledge gave way to a unique approach, whose furthest point of influence could be traced through Santa Teresa de Ávila, Spinoza, and Leibniz, straight into Husserl.547

544Collins, Sociology of Philosophies, 2000, 406. 545Idem, 406-7; cf. Cruz Hernández, Historia pensamiento mundo islámico, 1996, 344-6; and Louis Massignon, The Passion of al-Hallāj: Mystic and Martyr of Islam, (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1982). 546See Sajjad H. Rizvi, "Mysticism and Philosophy: Ibn ʿArabī and Mullā Sadrā," in The Cambridge Companion to Arabic Philosophy, Peter Adamson and Richard C. Taylor, eds., 224-47, (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005). 547Husserl's intentionality and fusion of horizons are unconceivable without the legacy of Islamic philosophy and its mystical heritage. Tracing the paths of transmission would be a monumental task, but certain hints may be found in key nodes, like Spinoza or Leibniz. For more on this relations, see William C. Chittick, "La réception du soufisme par l'occident: Conjectures et certitudes," in The Introduction of Arabic Philosphy into Europe, Charles E. Butterworth and Blake A. Kessel, eds., 136-49, (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1994); Miguel Cruz Hernández, El pensamiento de Ramon Llull, (Madrid: Fundación Juan March, 1977); 325 By the end of Ibn Masarra's life, his works became objects of veneration, under the guise of Empedoclean philosophy. According to Asín Palacios, "The legend elaborated in oriental Islam around the person, books, and ideas of Empedocles is indeed interesting and suggestive. For the Muslims, Empedocles was the first, in ancient times, of the five greatest philosophers of Greece: Empedocles, Pythagoras, Socrates, Plato, and Aristotle."548 In such imaginative historiography, Empedocles also had contact with Biblical Sages, such as David and Solomon, as well as the Syrian Luqmān. These contacts gave him a direct insight to the "mysteries of magic and the mystic sciences" of the ancient Near East. "He is presented to us, then, as an interpreter of sacred mysteries and as almost a prophet dedicated to asceticism, study, and teaching, as a man apart from the world, declining its honors spontaneously." In this way, his "moral appearance was that of a Muslim mystic or Ṣūfī." Al-Shahrazūrī wrote in his Rawḍah al-Afrāḥ that Empedocles explained "the creation of the world with theories that many of his listeners refused to accept because the implication of his theories denied the future life." Moreover, al-Shahrazūrī claimed he had seen "a book of his on philosophical science which demonstrates his talents for the mystic experiences and supernatural illuminations, as well as the vigor of his spirit to travel the intricate paths which lead to the divine science of metaphysics."549

Mark D. Johnston, The Spiritual Logic of Ramon Llull, (Oxford: Clarendon, 1987); Joseph Politella, "Al- Ghazali and Meister Eckhart: Two Giants of the Spirit," Muslim World 54(1964):180-94 & 233-44; Seymour Feldman, "Judaism and Sufism" in History of Islamic Philosphy, Seyyed H. Nasr and Oliver Leaman, eds., 755-68, (New York: Routledge, 1996); and 'Abd al-Rahman Badawī, "Les points de recontre de la mystique musulmane et de l'existentialisme," Studia Islamica 27(1967):55-76. 548See Miguel Asín Palacios, The Mystical Philosophy of Ibn Masarra and His Followers, trans. Elmer H. Douglas and Howard W. Yoder, (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1994), 44. Cf. Cruz Hernández, Historia pensamiento mundo islámico, 1996, 346-55; and Farabi, Fuat Sezgin, Mazin Amawi, Carl Ehrig-Eggert, and E. Neubauer, (Pseudo-) Empedocles in the Arabic Tradition: Texts and Studies, (Frankfurt am Main: Institute for the History of Arabic-Islamic Science at the Johann Wolfgang Goethe University, 2000). 549All quotes come from Asín Palacios, Mystical Philosophy Ibn Masarra, 1994, 44-6. 326 This particular knowledge, on the ability of the human spirit to rise from its terrestrial condition and traverse the celestial domain to reach an ultimate union with the divine, had a profound influence on the Naṣrid Court of Yūsuf I. This unique knowledge base allows us to identify the connotations that they could have attributed to all those spaces covered with inscribed ornament, uttering blessings in a feminine voice, as they rise through a series of horizontal layers towards majestic domes of muqarnas, swiveling around a central motif that seems to represent the "Throne of God." There are several documentary sources, suggesting this particular knowledge, as the source of such connotations. Perhaps, one of its clearest points of departure is the ubiquitous use of a

The profuse display of .(ڊﺭﮐﺔ) calligraphic performative utterance, under the word Barakah inscribed sebkas, delivering such "Blessings," may have had a particular source of inspiration. They may be the architectural expression of a Ṣūfī exercise. As already mentioned, Yūsuf's "throne room" (Kumariṣ Tower or "Hall of the "Ambassadors") is an ideal case study for the crystallization of a prevalent worldview, through collective action. In concrete terms, such expression of a shared worldview stems from a unique fascination with Ṣūfism, during the reign of Yūsuf I. For instance, an official laudatory ode by Ibn al-Ǧayyāb presents Yūsuf as a ruler that is capable of balancing the softness of Ṣūfism with the hardness of War:

He who is with you, has Pure Love and his calling is not in vain. The road of the Ṣūfī is full of happiness with a Sulṭān who protects al-faqihs. He is a dwelling of attention, a sweet rest, a soft heart, with a Ṣūfī character. However, when combat is at hand, he is strong 550 making necks cry, through a smile inflicted by the sword.549F

550See Rubiera Mata, Ibn al Ŷayyāb, 1994, 56. 327 A few of lines below, Ibn al-Ǧayyāb insists that Yūsuf is a "sovereign that is sweet with Ṣūfism, / and He is Ṣūfī in intention." Yūsuf's benefaction towards Ṣūfism was an anomaly in Andalusi politics. More so, if we consider that Ibn al-Ǧayyāb was part of a brotherhood, led by the Banū Sīdī Bona of the Albaicin, which followed the "dangerous" tradition of al-Ḥallāǧ.551 For centuries, the Andalusi people witnessed an intolerant orthodoxy of jurists clashing with the heterodox visions of mystics. The confrontation had strong political implications. Mystics were charged as heretical monists. Their path to God's Oneness–entirely driven by an intuitive source of knowledge–not only displaced the jurists' hold on society, but the relevance of the Qurʾānic revelation, as well. Clearly, their position was equated with philosophical rebellion, capable of eroding the entire structure of power. That is why, Andalusi mystics were constantly persecuted by state officials. The fact that such political imbalance was tolerated by Yūsuf I reflects his actual hold on power.552

551The Banū Sīdī Bona or Būna of the Albaicin were an extremely popular confraternity whose prestige was recognized throughout Granada, though they were an extremely esoteric ṭarīqā ŝāḏilī, incorporating the dangerous doctrines of al-Ḥallāǧ. Since the Umayyad period, these types of zāwiya (confraternity) were extremely popular. Although they used to live in remote places, as hermits, they were constantly helping their neighbors. The Banū Bona descended from a Hispano-Gothic family from Toledo. Their original surname may have been Bono, a Romance derivation of the Latin, Bonum. The history of this family, after the Fall of Granada, is very interesting. Their rank and file was highly influential. They have a strong presence among the "Alumbrados," groups of New Christians still adherent to a Ṣūfī ŝāḏilī tradition. They were widely persecuted by the Inquisition. See Cruz Hernández, Historia pensamiento islámico, 1996, 631- 2; Louis Massignon, "Ibn Sabʿin et la conspiration hallaĝienne en Andalousie et en Orient au XIIIè siècle," in Études d'orientalisme dédiées à la mémoire de Lévi-Provençal, v. 2:661-81, (Paris: G. P. Maisonneuve et Larose, 1962); and J. Ribera y Tarragó, "Historia árabe valenciana," in Disertaciones y opúsculos, Julián Rivera and Miguel Asín Palacios, eds., v. 2:265-6, (Madrid: E. Maestre, 1928). For more on the "Alumbrados" see Marcelino Menéndez y Pelayo, Historia de los heterodoxos españoles, 7 vols., (Madrid: V. Suárez, 1911-32). The dangers posed by an allegiance to al-Ḥallāǧ were rooted in his claims that as a mystical man he superseded the Qurʾānic revelations. See De Lacy O'Leary, "Al-Hallaj," Philosophy East and West 1, 1(1951):56-62; and Samah Selim, "Manṣur al-Ḥallāj and the Poetry of Ecstasy," Journal of Arabic Literature 21, 1(1990):26-42. 552The persecution of mystics and philosophers in al-Andalus was fairly common since the very beginning. As the Muʿtāzili Neoplatonism spread across the region, through the teachings of Ibn Masarra, an equal source of contestation, the Bāṭinī esotericism, crossing the straights from their homeland, was also well received by Andalusi Berbers. All of these traditions represented a real threat to the judicial system, held by the state. A perfect example of such persecutions is posed by Ibn Masarra himself. In the early 910s, a 328 Unfortunately, the political difficulties suffered by Muḥammad V, when as a teenager he could not maintain the security of the Naṣrid State, made him distrustful of the liberality encouraged by mystical rationality. Thus, he emitted an edict advising the population against the "poisonous dangers" of Ṣūfī proselytism, stating: "avoid the dangers of such illness [Ṣūfism] and the conspiracies of such enemies," since, only "the illustrious prophets and their inheritors, the distinguished jurists, are the only models worthy of being followed; they constitute the luminaries whose light is kindled by the

truthfulness of the straight path."553 On the other hand, Muḥammad V used to summon a Ṣūfī brotherhood to Alhambra to perform "a session of exercises," because the Sulṭān recognized "the beneficial consequences for the soul, unleashed by such supernatural atmosphere."554 One of these supernatural exercises, known as the mawlid–the celebration of the Prophet's birth–was introduced to Granada in this period. This festivity originated among mystical groups in Egypt. It was brought to the western Maghreb by the royal family of Ceuta, the Banū ʿAzafī.555 These celebrations, conducted by Ṣūfī brotherhoods, were able to create a collective mystical experience, producing an ecstatic trance through hypnotic music and repetitive lyrics. The entire process was equated to a "blessing." The Banū Sīdī Bona were famous for their barakah. Nowadays, the Brotherhood al-Harrāqiyya, directed by

powerful al-faqīh of Cordoba, Aḥmad ibn Jālil al-Ḥabbāb, accused Ibn Masarra of teaching the doctrine of free will and denying the punishments of Hell. He even wrote a book refuting Ibn Masarra's philosophy. These accusations from such a powerful man were enough to expel Ibn Masarra from al-Andalus. Later on, the Caliph ʿAbd al-Raḥman III would support an edict, composed by a strict al-faqīh, al-Zaŷŷalī, condemning anyone who taught Muʿtāzili philosophy. Slowly, the edicts would give way to the burning of libraries and, finally, the burning of people. The case of Ibn al-Ḫaṭīb is a perfect example of such catastrophic developments. These events prefigure the nightmarish development of the Spanish Inquisition. See Cruz Hernandez, Historia pensamiento islámico, 1996, 344-5. 553Aḥmad Mujtār al-ʿAbbādī, as quoted by José Miguel Puerta Vílchez, Los códigos de utopía de la Alhambra de Granada, (Granada: Diputación Provincial de Granada, 1990), 73. 554Ibid. 555See Rubiera Mata, Ibn al Ŷayyāb, 1994, 62. 329 Omar Metioui and Mohamed Berraq, has several recordings of these Maghrebi and Andalusi celebrations. Some of them show a tremendous interaction between the lead singer and the chorus, repeating endlessly the Name of God (Allāḥ) and some of his most bountiful blessings, like Peace (Salām).556 It is easy to imagine Ibn al-Ǧayyāb and the Banū Sīdī Bona performing al- mawlidiyya, before Yūsuf's court, in a room where the walls echo the chorus' song. The room comes to life through the ritual celebrations of a mystical brotherhood. The words in their song reverberate with those sung by the building itself.557 Alhambra is a perfect embodiment of the community of the faithful. She follows the Sulṭān by his arm, just like Augustus and Roma or Christ and the Church. They are couples bound in mystery.558

556For a contemporary recording of al-Mawlidiyya listen to the compact disc Misticismo: Música Sufí Andalusí, by the Cofradía al-Harráqiyya, lead by Omar Metioui and Mohamed Berraq, (Madrid: Pneuma, 2000), recording no. 6. For another example of a mystical chant, in which the chorus responds with a hypnotic repetition of God's name, listen to Maroc: l'Art du samāʿ à Fès, by the Orchestre Ahl-Fās, (Lausanne: VDE, 2002), recording no. 1. 557In his famous work, "Eupalinos ou l'Architecte," Paul Valéry plays with the poetic imagery of "buildings that sing." The work is set as a dialogue between Socrates and Phaedrus, in which the art of emotion is examined thoroughly. A passage in which Phaedrus recollects a conversation he once held with Eupalinos, brings forth Valéry's intuitive approach to a tentative architectural semiosis. With this in mind, Eupalinos asked Phaedrus: "Tell me (since you are so sensitive to the effects of architecture), as you walk around the city, have you not observed that among the buildings which populate it, some are mute; others speak; and others, the rarest, sing?" See Paul Valéry, "Eupalinos ou l'Architecte (1923)" in Oeuvres de Paul Valéry, (Paris: Éditions du Sagittaire, 1931) 91-2. 558It is well known that Augustus did not allow Emperor Worship at Rome. Also, any temple devoted to him in the provinces had to be commemorated to Augustus and Roma, as "a couple." To some extent, this juxtaposition could be seen as equivalent to the manner in which St Paul explained "the Mystery of Communion" between Christ and the Church. In Ephesians 5.25-33, Paul claimed: "Oi andres, agapate tas gynaikas, kathos o Christos hegapesen ten ecclesian [men, listen, love your women, like Christ loved the Church]." Then, in a truly enigmatic phrase, full of resonance with mystery cults, he stated: ina auten agiase katharisas to loutro tou udatos en remati [he sanctified her (the church), purifying it through the water that is the word]." Finally, he said: to mysterion touto mega estin, ego de lego eis Christon kai ten Ecclesian [this is a great mystery; but it is what I say about Christ and the Church]." To some extent, the relationship between Yūsuf and Granada or Yūsuf and Alhambra is set up in similar terms. The sovereign takes as his wife the community of believers, symbolically represented by the city or the fortress. St Augustine used a similar analogy when talking about the two cities, one married to God, the other one to the Emperor. For more on these issues, see Ittai Gradel, Emperor Worship and Roman Religion, (New York: Oxford University Press, 2002); Denis Feeney, Literature and Religion at Rome: Cultures, Contexts, and Beliefs, (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998); Edgar H. Brookes, The City of God and the 330 Yūsuf and Granada become also a single entity, bound to God. Alhambra crystallizes the union. The poetry of Ibn al-Ḫaṭīb is a testimony of such communion. The belief that a building is capable of coming to life through human action has multiple echoes, across the mystical imagination of al-Andalus. The edifice as metaphor plays manifold roles in metaphysical and mystical speculation. For instance, in the celebrated work of Ibn al-ʿArabī, al-futūḥāt al-Makkiyya ("Meccan Revelations"), written in the early 1200s, he claimed: "Behold the secret building before it is too late, and thou

wilt see how it takes on life through those who circle round it and walk round its stones, and how it looks out at them from behind its veils and cloaks!" These words are preceded by an enigmatic statement from a pilgrim who doubts that an edifice may come to life:

I see the building animated by those who circle round it. And there is no self-animation, except through a physician with effective power [or "a wise man with creative power"]. But this is rigid matter which neither feels nor sees, which is without understanding or hearing! A lord spoke: This [the circumambulation of the Kaʿba] is our duty imposed on us all our lives by religious dogma. I answered him: That is what you say. But hear the discourse of him to whom science has been revealed by the rite! You see only solid mineral, without life of its own, harboring neither benefit no harm. But for the eye of the heart it contains visibilities, if the eye has no weakness or flaw. To this eye it is so sublime when it reveals its essence, that no creature can withstand it.559

The ability of Alhambra to enact its innumerable performative utterances stems from this mystical outlook. Alhambra is an outstanding synthesis of mystical thought,

Politics of Crisis, (Londond: Oxford University Press, 1960); and F. W. Strothmann, ed., On the Two Cities: Selections from the City of God, (New York: F. Ungar, 1957). 559Fritz Meier, "The Mystery of the Ka'ba: Symbol and Reality in Islamic Mysticism," in Campbell, Mysteries, 1955, 149-68, p. 161. 331 structured by the poetry of Ibn al-Ḫaṭīb, which in turn, originates from the experience of Ibn al-Ǧayyāb. Their work represents the ultimate crystallization of a long tradition, stretching back to Ibn al-ʿArabī and Ibn Masarra. The latter envisioned the complex "edifice of reality," as a mysterious interconnection of heaven and earth, through which God's Oneness turns into a multiplicity of beings and entities. At the highest echelon of heaven, the majesty of God's Oneness is represented by His Throne. According to Ibn al- ʿArabī, Ibn Masarra explained the entire system through an architectural metaphor.

Reality is like a square room. The roof represents God's mysterious Oneness. Five columns, arranged as a quincunx, support the roof. They represent the five primal substances. The walls represent all the created beings, which manifest ad extra the cosmic divine essence. The space within is the unknowable essence of God. That is why the room has no windows or doors. The only way to get inside is through an intuitive process that recognizes unity via ecstasy.560 This manner of understanding reality is clearly represented in multiple works that could only be seen as technical documents supporting the official functions of the Naṣrid

560See Cruz Hernández, Historia del pensamiento, 1996, 348. An essay written by al-Ghazzālī to clarify one his major works, the Iḥyāʾ Ulum al-Din (The Revival of Religious Sciences), begins with a glossary of mystical terms. Two of them illustrate the richness of architectural metaphors to explain the mystical path. They even shed some light on the suggestive model of Ibn Masarra. The first one, "dwelling," represents a mansion or state of permanence reached by a mystic along the path towards the ultimate union with the divine. It is conquered through the constant practice of ascetic exercises and spiritual struggle. The second term, "place," represents the last mansion along the path; it is reserved for devotees who have gone through each dwelling, along the way. After reaching the "place," all previous dwellings become fixed links in the path towards unity. See Asín Palacios, La espiritualidad de Algazel y su sentido cristiano, (Madrid: Consejo Superior de Investigaciones Científicas, Insituto A. Montano, Escuelas de Estudios Árabes, 1941), 86. To recognize how these notions ran through Andalusi mysticism straight into St Teresa de Ávila, see Asín Palacios, "El símil de los castillos y moradas del alma en la mística islámica y en Santa Teresa." Al- Andalus 11, 2(1946):263-74. For more on the use of architectural metaphors in European, medieval mysticism, see Dame Frances A. Yates, The Art of Memory, (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1966); Mary J. Carruthers, The Book of Memory: A Study of Memory in Medieval Culture, (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008); Christiania Whitehead, Castles of the Mind: A Study of Medieval Architectural Allegory, (Cardiff: University of Wales Press, 2003); and Roy Eriksen, The Building in the Text: Alberti to Shakespeare and Milton, (University Park: The Pennsylvania State University Press, 2001). 332 Dīwān al-Inšāʾ (State Secretariat). Two of these works, written by Ibn al-Ḫaṭīb, illustrate the underlying mystical sensibility of the Naṣrid Court. Both works must be understood as the culmination of an overarching policy, mostly rooted in the approach of Ibn al- Ǧayyāb. But, more importantly, such policy of persuasion, channeled through poetic excitement and a mystical message of peace, was sanctioned by the political mastermind of Abū l-Nuʿaym Riḍwān. Yūsuf's rise to power, as well as the successful maintenance of stable alliances, was substantially directed by this interesting man, Riḍwān, a Christian convert. His outstanding maneuvers as ḥāǧib (prime minister), during a highly complex period of political turmoil, illustrate why the most active piece in chess was originally identified as the wazīr (vizier), not the "Queen." It is no wonder that all the ruling classes of al-Andalus loved playing chess.561 When Ibn al-Ḫaṭīb was writing those exemplary works of Naṣrid politics–that could only be characterized as "mystical"–the young scribe had risen to the ultimate level of power. By that time, he was dhū l-wizāratyn ("vizier of the pen and the sword"), a position that enabled him to control the Naṣrid agencies, equivalent to the Secretaries of

561Along the multiple images of Muslims, Christians, and Jews playing chess, either in a tent or next to a fountain, the painted ceilings of the so-called Hall of Justice at Alhambra are superb examples of such a shared pleasure and diplomatic function, throughout al-Andalus. See Cynthia Robinson and Simone Pinet, eds., Courting the Alhambra: Cross-disciplinary approaches to the Hall of Justice Ceilings, (Leiden: Brill, 2008); and Jerrilynn D. Dodds, "The Paintings in the Sala de Justicia of the Alhambra: Iconography and Iconology," The Art Bulletin 61, 2(1979):186-97. Titus Burckhardt presents some of these images with people playing chess in tents, see his Moorish Culture in Spain, (New York: McGraw-Hill, 1972). For more on this fascinating subject, see Johan Weststeijn and Alex De Voogt, "Saʿīd b. Ǧubayr: Piety, Chess and Rebellion," Arabica 49, 3(2002):383-6; Jenny Adams, "Pieces of Power: Medieval Chess and Male Homosocial Desire," The Journal of English and Germanic Philology 103, 2(2004):197-214; and Antony J. Puddephatt, "Chess Playing as Strategic Activity," Symbolic Interaction 26, 2(2003):263-84. The Naṣrid Dīwān al-Inšāʾ had a similar structure to the scriptorium of Alfonso X "El Sabio." In 1238, the scriptorium finished a superbly illustrated treatise on chess, called Libros del Axedrez, Dados y Tablas. See Fernández Puertas, Alhambra I, 1997, 144. For more on the Naṣrid State Secretariat, see Arié, L'Espagne musulmane, 1973, 198-212; María Jesús Viguera Molíns, "El soberano, visires y secretarios," In Historia de España Menéndez Pidal, Vol. VIII-III, El Reino Nazarí de Granada (1232-1492): Política, Instituciones, Espacio y Economía, José María Jover Zamora, ed., 319-63, (Madrid: Espasa Calpe, 2000); and Rubiera Mata, Ibn al Ŷayyāb, 1994, 39-53. 333 Defense and State. He understood the potentiality of balancing the rhetorical strength of "the pen" and the effective power of "the sword." In contemporary terms, he recognized

that SMART POWER = SOFT + HARD POWER.562 In his Kitāb al-Siḥr wa-l-Šiʿr ("Book of Magic and Poetry"), he compiled Arabic poetry from all over the Islamic Commonwealth, identifying those poems that displayed a certain type of eloquence, which could be labeled as magical. This type of eloquence "makes one feel daring and brave […] it stimulates the soul to love and desire generosity, it makes us laugh through

entertainment, cry through sadness."563 Ibn al-Ḫaṭīb recognized this capability to create an emotion response as "a magical force." Here lies Alhambra's performative power. In his Rawḍat al-taʿrīf bi-l- ḥubb al-šarīf (translated as "Garden of Instruction in Noble Love" or "Garden of the Mystical Knowledge of Divine Love"), Ibn al-Ḫaṭīb uses a highly suggestive metaphor to explain the stages of spiritual growth, as it strives to reach God's Oneness. The book was commissioned by Muḥammad V to clarify what kind of mysticism was appropriate for his subjects. It was a sophisticated compendium comparing different mystical traditions, through a synthetic metaphor: spirituality–understood as an overwhelming expression of love (mahabba)–grows like a tree, amidst a well-tendered-garden. Its roots must be deeply grounded in the human heart. Its growth depends on the heart's "fertility,"

562Joseph Nye defines "Smart Power" as the right balance of Hard and Soft Powers. That is, an appropriate mix of military force and cultural influence. To some extent, the Naṣrid dhū l-wizāratyn fused those capacities into a single executive personality. Again, that is why, the most powerful piece in chess was not the Queen, but the Vizier. See Joseph S. Nye, Jr., "Soft Power," Foreign Policy 80(1990):153-71; and idem, The Future of Power, (New York: Public Affairs, 2011). 563As dhū l-wizāratyn, Ibn al-Ḫaṭīb tried to systematize the Secretariat's understanding of poetry, identifying certain types of poems whose craftsmanship displayed a unique power to rally "the hearts and minds" of people. Ibn al-Ḫaṭīb labeled this type of poems, "magical." To some extent, Ibn Zamrak's outstanding level of poetic imagination should be seen as the product of his master's efforts to provide a "knowledge base" for their trade. For more on Ibn al-Ḫaṭīb's poetic anthology see José Manuel Continente Ferrer, "El 'kitāb al-siḥr wa-l-šiʿr' de Ibn al-Jaṭīb (Libro de la magia y la poesía)," Al-Andalus 38, 2(1973):393-414. 334 understood as a continuous practice of devotional acts. As the tree grows, its branches go through several stages of revelation, identifying the "Lover's Truth," "the mystical extremes," and "The true essence of God," until the devotee reaches God's Oneness. This ultimate goal is attained by practicing "the constant invocation of the divine name (dhikr)" and concentrating "singlemindedly on the contemplation of divine beauty."564 These actions enable the tree to blossom, reaching the "Fruit of Love," that is, Sanctity. This state of being is an act of becoming one with "the One."

This understanding of reality–as a multilayered manifestation of the divine, through which the human soul may traverse towards its ultimate presence, at God's Throne, through a continuous experience of love–has a long history in the mystical and philosophical traditions of al-Andalus. It is widely present in the work of Ibn al-ʿArabī. Yet, such presentation cannot be fully understood without recognizing the clarity of its foundations, that is, the work of Ibn Masarra and, by extension, that of Empedocles:

564Ibn al-Ḫaṭīb's second work, Rawḍat al-taʿrīf bi-l-ḥubb al-šarīf (translated as "Garden of Instruction in Noble Love" or "Garden of the Mystical Knowledge of Divine Love") is an extremely useful source to understand the prevalent mystical worldview during Yūsuf's reign. Originally, the book was commissioned by Muḥammad V to refute the Diwan al-sababa ("Anthology of Tender Loving") by Ibn Abi Hajala. The Naṣrid elite considered that such work by that Ṣūfī did not adhere to a proper understanding of Islam. So, the Sulṭān wanted a definitive, official version sanctioning the proper mystical path, in Islam. To some extent, Ibn al-Ḫaṭīb's work could be seen as an encyclopedic treatise on Ṣūfī traditions across the Islamic Commonwealth, similar to the work that his fellow countryman, Ibn Ḥazm, devoted to the philosophical and religious traditions, during the early 1000s. The work of Ibn al-Ḫaṭīb is more than a robust treatise. It is also a profound synthesis of Andalusi mysticism, a tradition he inherited from his mentor, Ibn al-Ǧayyāb. The work includes profound knowledge on key concepts that trace back to the origins of Andalusi philosophy and beyond. The way he uses "the tree metaphor" continues a tradition that dates back to Mesopotamian antiquity. His "doctrine of Love" is a powerful extension of Empedoclean metaphysics, transposed by Ibn Masarra and in full bloom with Ibn al-ʿArabī. By all standards, it represents one of the most sophisticated treatises on Andalusi mysticism. His enemies saw right through it. The book enabled them to charge him as a monistic heretic. In the end, he was not only executed in prison, but his book and corpse were burned in a public ceremony. See Knysh, Ibn ʿArabi in Later Islamic Tradition, 1999, 176-9; and Cruz Hernández, Historia del pensamiento, 1996, 633-6. See also A. E. Affifi, The Mystical Philosophy of Muḥyid Dīn-ibnul 'Arabī, (Cambridge: Cambridge at the University Press, 1939). For Ibn Ḥazm's work, see Miguel Asín Palacios, Abenházam de Córdoba y su Historia Crítica de las Ideas Religiosas, 5 vols., (Madrid: Real Academia de la Historia, 1929). To identify the importance of the tree archetype see Edwin O. James, The Tree of Life: An Archaeological Study, (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1966). 335 The property of the universal soul is love. When it contemplated intellect and saw its beauty and splendor, it loved it as the passionate lover loves the object of his passion, and desired to unite with it, and reached out toward it […] The property of universal nature is hate. This is because when it made known that it lacked the ability to look and see in order to perceive soul and intellect and to be able to love them and have affection for them, and also because when it perceived that mutually contrary forces emanated from itself, namely, in its simple parts where the four [physical] elements are in mutual opposition, and in its compound parts where the mutual oppositions are among the [physiological] temperaments and among the faculties of the natural, vegetable, and animal energies, it rose in rebellion against the soul because it saw itself so far separated from its universality.565

From these principles, Ibn Masarra was able to construct a metaphysical edifice of reality, in which God's Oneness is able to gradually transform into a multiplicity of beings and materials. For him, this transition was through the universal intellect, which reflects in a "virgin page" (al-lawḥ al-maḥfūz) all its science. In six days of creation, the universal intellect transposed all its "exemplary ideas" (miṯāl) into the virgin page to create "the Mother Book" (umm al-Kitāb). The universal intellect acts as a pen writing with divine ink to produce the "higher or universal soul" (al-nafs al-kubrā), from which emerges the "natural soul" or "pure nature" (al-nafs al-ṭabīʿīya), finally, the latter gives way to "primal matter" (hayūlā). These series of emanations constitute the heavenly realm. The world inhabited by human beings emerges out of darkness, thanks to the abundance of God's being, transmitted by subsequent emanations. The process engenders three very different "places" (maqām): first, the universal place, which represents "pure possibility" (imkān); then, the place of passivity, where "action" (infiʿāl) takes root; and finally, the place of forms, where the seven heavens and earth acquire shape. The mystical ascendancy to God has to go through each of these "places." All these

565Asín Palacios, Mystical Philosophy Ibn Masarra, 1994, 53. 336 emanations stem from the highest echelon of heaven, the majesty of God's Oneness (tawḥīd), represented by the Throne itself (ʿarš).566 It is fair to say that in Alhambra, this manifestation of emanations cascading down from God's Throne was represented by its complex use of muqarnas. In this sense, the manner in which the Naṣrid used muqarnas was grounded on the Almohad worldview, infused with an Ašʿārī cosmovision.567 They were introduced for the first time at the Kumariṣ Complex, where their usage is more strategic, than its baroque explosion at the

Riyāḍ Complex, although, in both cases, the connotation is the same one. The doctrine of time-atomism acquired a full materialization in these architectural complexes, at Alhambra. Collins and Tabbaa concur on the creativity underlying both systems, that is, time-atomism and the assemblage of muqarnas.568 Yet, it is the mystical imagination of the highly educated members of the Naṣrid Dīwān al-Inšāʾ, who are able to put them together in such a clear manner. The typological construction, prevalent in so many spaces at Alhambra, reflects the clarity of such model: a quadrilateral space is surrounded by walls, whose ornamental programme displays a series of horizontal layers, full of

566See Cruz Hernández, Historia del pensamiento, 1996, 346-8. 567Tabbaa reports the earliest mention of a muqarnas structure in al-Andalus, through a Cordovan poem from the mid 1000s. It describes a garden pavilion whose wa-qurniṣat samā'uha bil-dhahab wa'l-lazaward [dome was decorated with gold and lapis lazuli]." In this context, the term qurniṣat seems to describe an early muqarnas-dome, possibly made with wood, shaping the pavilion of a wealthy individual, who must have had close ties to the Almohad cities of Fās or Marrākuš. Since, the earliest introduction of muqarna- structures to the region may be found at the monumental mosque of Fās, the Qarawiyyin. See Tabbaa, Transformation of Islamic Art, 2001, 105; and Henri Terrasse, La mosquée al-Qaraouiyin a Fès, (Paris: Librairie Klincksieck, 1968), 31-4 & 43-6. For more on the poem, see Henri Pérès, La poésie andalouse en arabe classique au XIe siècle: Ses aspects généraux, ses principaux thèmes et sa valeur documentaire, (Paris: Librairie de d'Amerique et d'Orient, Adrien-Maisonneuve, 1953), 128-30. 568Collins explains the dialectics of Islamic creativity as a process "in which defenders of tradition battle against openness to new ideas," which "initially takes the form of adulation of old ideas." Thus, "Our received tradition of a Greeks-to-Arabs-to-Christians sequence imposes a second kind of blindness. We miss the opportunity to peer into the cauldron where indigenous intellectuals develop their own disputes. Starting from religious-political disputes, the Muslims drove up the level of abstraction and revealed ontological and epistemological issues which are distinctive of monotheism." Time-atomism is a highly creative response to such religious disputes. See Collins, Sociology of Philosophies, 2000, 387 & 390. 337 performative utterances, enunciated by the building, in a feminine voice, on behalf of the divine; this type of spaces are covered by a domed ceiling, either representing a "starry sky" that originates from a central motif constructed by an assemblage of muqarnas or the entire ceiling is articulated as a dome of muqarnas.569 The typology has a unique connotation: it represents the multilayered world emanating from the Throne of God, through the miraculous act of time-atomism. The doctrine of time-atomism postulates the continuous creation of the world, through minuscule particles: "God brought about the original existence of bodies by creating the atoms they are composed of […] Accidents are caused in turn by the aggregation of bodily atoms. God thus causes accidents only indirectly, and is not responsible for their good or evil qualities." With this subtle distinction, the Muʿtāzilah dismissed the existence of atomic substance, while supporting "attributes which are temporal atoms." The Ašʿārī position evolved from rival camps within the Muʿtāzilah.

569The use of muqarnas, commonly described as stalactite or honeycomb vaulting, is one of the most distinctive elements in Muslim architecture. Tabbaa devotes two chapters to understand their origin, dispersal, and symbolism. At the outset of his study, he rightfully notes that "Until we have gathered more facts about muqarnas and investigated its various formal and ontological parameters, it might be more prudent to postpone a final definition and simply present a working definition based on formal features. I, therefore, tentatively define muqarnas as a decorative or structural system in which tiers of repeated small units with discrete geometric shapes are corbelled to form a stairlike or concave pattern or form." Its etymological origin may offer some hints to a possible meaning. It may stem from the quadrilateral verb qrns, from which certain Arabic and Persian words arise, like qirnās or qurnās. These words usually denote "the part of a mountain that projects outward." The use of such words to describe the shape of mountains is quite suggestive; since, the design of muqarna-vaults could be an attempt to reproduce, in miniature, God's creation of the world. See Tabbaa, Transformation of Islamic Art, 2001, 103-5. For more on the etymological origin of the term, see Wolfhart Heinrichs, "The Etymology of Muqarnas: Some Observations," in Humanism, Culture, and Language in the Near East: Studies in Honor of Georg Krotkoff, Asma Afsaruddin, and A. H. Mathias Zahniser, eds., 175-84, (Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 1997). Some of the most important studies on muqarnas are by Mohammad al-Asad, "The Muqarnas: A Geometric Analysis," in The Topkapi Scroll: Geometry and Ornament in Islamic Architecture, Gülru Necipoğlu, ed., (Santa Monica: The Getty Center for the History of Art and the Humanities, 1995); Josef Rosintal, Pendentifs, trompes et stalactites dans l'architecture orientale, (Paris: Librairie Orientaliste Paul Geuthner, 1928); Jonathan Bloom, "The Introduction of the Muqarnas into Egypt," Muqarnas 5(1988):21-8; and Lucien Golvin, Essai sur l'architecture religieuse musulmane, Tome I, Généralités, (Paris: Librairie Klincksieck, 1970). 338 One faction held that "God continuously intervenes in creating and destroying attributes, every creation of existence involves a real duration, and every destruction is a real action too." Others argued that "substance does not exist, since it can be infinitely divided." To some degree, their opposing stands reproduced the ancient dichotomy between Ionian materialism–in which all substances are subject to a constant state of becoming–and Eleatic idealism–a position dominated by intangible entities in a perfect state of being. The final argument on time-atomism, as presented by the Ašʿāriyya, "held that every particular event is produced by the Will of God; God may make a sequence of repetitive events, but there are no natural laws, no necessity of repetition."570 After al-Ghazzālī transfused the Ṣūfī intuitive vision–as the sole path to approach God's "oneness" (tawḥīd)–into a rational theology (kalām), the Ašʿārī position became the orthodox view in Islam. Over time, this highly creative and provocative approach has ossified, turning itself into an orthodoxy that repeats certain formulaic utterances, without fully experiencing the mystical union with all living beings. This situation precludes the natural flexibility of thought to explore new modes of adaptation in a world that is constantly changing. That is why, a rational mysticism–eager to engage the Other through a dialogue that is based on compassion, empathy, and poetic reasoning–could be seen as one of the most important legacies, handed down from those generations of Andalusi mystics and philosophers, to a modern society that has been suffering the consequences of a rational domination. This manner of exploiting the rationality of consciousness turns

570All quotes come from Collins, Sociology of Philosophies, 2000, 412-3. For more on Ašʿāri philosophy see Syed Muhammad Naquib-Attas, A Commentary on the Ḥujjat Al-Ṣiddīq of Nūr Al-Dīn Al-Rānīrī, Being an Exposition of the Salient Points of Distinction between the Positions of the Theologians, the Philosophers, the Sufis and Pseudo-Sufis on the Ontological Relationship between God and the World and Related Questions, (Kuala Lumpur: Ministry of Culture, 1986); Alnoor Dhanani, The Physical Theory of Kalam: Atoms, Space, and Void in Basrian Mu'tazili Cosmology, (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1994); and Michael E. Marmura, "Ghazali's Attitude to the Secular Sciences and Logic," in Essays on Islamic Philosophy and Science, George F. Hourani, ed., 100-11, (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1975). 339 its back on that part of the human mind, where dreams, emotions, and instincts reside. The positivism of an enlightened rationality needs a counterbalance that is generous with that part of the human "soul" that aches for meaning. We cannot keep neglecting the "Unconscious," simply because we have not been able to quantify its modes of operation. Perhaps, my relation with the Andalusi legacy is to idealistic or utopian, yet, it seems to contain a suggestive, fertile, heritage that could help us find our way, before, the natural tendencies for order and conservatism take over our flimsy attempts to work together.

The last section under study, in this chapter, should be a dramatic warning for what may lie ahead. Unless, we confront it with those romantic ideals, prevalent in the minds of those people who still dream with the golden age of Sepharad, Hispania, and al-Andalus.

Inquisitorial Intolerance

Given the well known history of Spain after 1492, it is unnecessary to explain how the mechanisms of exclusion evolved into the public execution of its multiethnic population. The last section in this chapter is more concerned with its ideological underpinning, that is, the intellectual legacy that justified the systematic eradication of anyone who fell under the category of "the Other." In this sense, the Spanish reconquista could be characterized as a "culture war." Interestingly, this situation was originated by the same context which triggered the clash between Sunni Seljuqs and Šīʿī Fatimids. Just as the ʿAbbasid Caliphate was falling prey to emerging dynasties across its borders, the Papacy was entrenched in a fierce battle to attain ecclesiastic autonomy. These conditions engendered a "Holy War" on all sides. Each side tried to solve their inner problems by focusing on "outsiders."571 The fight against "infidels" allowed Popes and Caliphs to

571Since the mid 1960s, a series of incisive studies unveiled the systematic discrimination of "the Other" by Western Civilization. For some of the most influential works on this subject, see Michel Foucault, The 340 secure their hold on power, by advancing a Machiavellian conflation of spirituality and

bellicosity. They unleashed a juggernaut: Crusade-Ǧihād. Its first stage (1095-1699 CE) became a "proud heritage" to raise new crops of fanatics. The struggle for "libertas ecclesia" (Freedom for the Church) influenced these policies, especially the wars between Pope Gregory VII and Emperor Heinrich IV.572 The next pope, Urban II exploited the "Saracens' occupation of the Holy Land" to get the European nobility of his back, even though Jerusalem fell since the early 600s. Christianity had already accepted these terms

for more than four centuries. Clearly, Pope Urban II used it as a pretext to divert the opposition against his hold on power. Meanwhile, the Caliphate was also losing its control over the Islamic Commonwealth. The worldview of Spanish Inquisitors was deeply embedded in this crusader mentality. For centuries, the Christian knights of Spain saw their struggle to recuperate the Iberian Peninsula as a spiritual battle, sanctioned by God. Spain and Byzantium were the ultimate frontiers of "Holy War." During this long period, Christianity felt a constant unrest, threatened by Islamic hegemony. To make matters worse, the military superiority was accompanied by economic inequality. The Islamic world was richer, more buoyant, and, by extension, more modern.573 Such inequality suggests a certain economic

Order of Things: An Archaeology of the Human Sciences, (London: Routledge, 2002); Edward Said, Orientalism, (New York: Vintage Books, Random House, 1994); Johannes Fabian, Time and the Other: How Anthropology Makes its Object, (New York: Columbia University Press, 2002); Walter D. Mignolo, The Darker Side of the Renaissance: Literacy, Territoriality, and Colonization, (Ann Arbor: The University of Michigan Press, 1998); and Tzvetan Todorov, The Conquest of America: The Question of the Other, trans. Richard Howard, (New York: Harper Perennial, 1984). 572 See Christopher Tyerman, God's War: A New History of the Crusades, (Cambridge: The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 2006), 7. 573According to Tyerman, "Even with heightened economic and commercial activity in , the imbalance of trade remained evident, the west having to rely on an often limited silver coinage as the wealth flowed eastward and southward, gold, much of it from west Africa, never reaching or staying in large quantities to sustain currencies beyond the Pyrenees, Alps or Danube. International trade revolved around luxury items, notably spices and finished textiles such as silk from the east and slaves, fur, timber and some metals from the west and north. Local exchange, primarily of foodstuffs but also certain basic 341 motivation for the crusades, striving to "distribute wealth" more evenly. The European invasion of the Islamic Commonwealth could be partially explained by these dynamics. There was also a demographic imbalance. While Baghdad and Fustat had almost 500,000 inhabitants; Venice, Florence, and Cologne had less than 35,000. Constantinople was still the largest Christian city with 600,000; while Cordoba had 100,000. However, by the 1200s–just before the Black Death–Europe's population increased dramatically, cities like Paris grew to 100,000 people.574 Clearly, the crusades were having a positive effect.

Meanwhile, the Spanish Crusade (reconquista) advanced steadily as important cities fell to Christian armies: Toledo (1085), Zaragoza (1118), Cordoba (1236), Valencia (1238), and Sevilla (1248). The Sultanate of Granada took a bit longer. But, soon enough, the last Muslim stronghold fell to the constant pressure of Castilla, Aragón, Navarra, Portugal, and Genoa. A key instrument was the creation of military orders of monk- soldiers. By the mid 1100s, their presence was ubiquitous across the Peninsula. They emulated the crusading orders of the "Holy Land," the Templars and Hospitallers. The most important orders at the Peninsula were founded in Castilla (Calatrava, 1158); León (Santiago, 1170 and Alcántara, 1176); Portugal (Evora, 1176); and Barcelona (La Merced, 1230).575 Their operations were grounded on a series of spiritual benefits and economic advantages. The negotium crucis ("crusading business") was very lucrative. On

living materials, such as wool and woolen cloth, provided the main engine of regional commerce in rural economies." See Tyerman, God's War, 2006, 3. 574Idem, 2-3; cf. Durand, "Historical Estimates," 1977; and Hollingsworth, Historical Demography, 1976. 575Tyerman, God's War, 2006, 667. For more on the religious-military orders in medieval Christendom see Helen Nicholson, Templars, Hospitallers, and Teutonic Knights: Images of Military Orders, 1128-1291, (Leicester: Leicester University Press, 1993); Dominic Selwood, Knights of the Cloister: Templars and Hospitallers in Central-Southern Occitania, c.1100-c.1300, (Woodbrigde: Boydell Press, 1999); M. C. Barber, "The Social Context of the Templars," Transactions of the Royal Historical Society 34(1984):27- 46; Anthony Luttrell, "The Aragonese Crown and the Knights Hospitallers of Rhodes: 1291-1350," The English Historical Review 76, 298(1961):1-19; and Alan Forey, The Fall of the Templars in the Crown of Aragon, (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2001). For Templar ideology, see Keith V. Sinclair, "The Translations of the Vitas partum, Thaïs, Antichrist, and Vision de Saint Paul made for Anglo-Norman Templars: Some Neglected Literary Considerations," Speculum 72, 3(1997):741-62. 342 a spiritual level, the nobility was inspired by local versions of Papal Bulls, like Divina dispensatione, which offered a complete remission of sins for Genoese mercenaries aiding King Alfonso VII of Castilla to siege Almería. Their economic stimulus was driven by the possibility of establishing a free port, if they were victorious.576 King Alfonso even tried to create a militia Christi, modeled on the Templar Knights. By the mid 1200s, the Orders of Calatrava and Alcántara received "permanent privileges from the pope granting indulgences to any who fought with them against the

Moors, creating for them the sort of 'eternal crusade' seen later in the thirteenth century."577 It was a carte blanche, allowing them to rally troops and amass funding, without higher authorization, so they could wage war freely. The aspiration of a "heavenly afterlife" opened the treasure chests, because the orders could also receive alms, estates, even entire villages in exchange for indulgences and remission of sins. It was a perfect business model. With the support of such financial arrangements, the orders created a line of defense that was articulated by a network of strongholds on the frontier of Granada's Sultanate. Their main activities were concentrated on routine attacks on defenseless villages and taking hostages for ransom.578 On the other hand, the doctrine of a "Divinely Sanctioned Holy War" was seriously challenged by the legacy of the "Sermon on the Mount." How could a religion founded on the principle of love, promote holy war? For Tyerman it was "an

576See Tyerman, God's War, 2006, 665. 577Idem, 667-8. 578The ransom industry in medieval Spain was extremely profitable. Muslim and Christian armies roamed the frontier in search of victims. Highjack and ransom was their objective. Jews became professional negotiators, given their bilingualism and multiculturalism. By the mid 1400s rescue was between 130 and 200 silver dirhams, while a good donkey would sell for 300 silver dirhams. See Arié, Reino Naṣrí, 1992, 132-42 & 182-3. Pope Innocent III and Almohad Caliph Abu Yusuf exchanged many letters on this issue; see Viguera Molíns, Reinos de Taifas, 1992, 294-5; cf. Manuela Marín and Rachid El Hour, "Captives, Children and Conversion: A Case from Late Naṣrid Granada," Journal of the Economic and Social History of the Orient 41, 4(1998):453-73. 343 irreconcilable paradox" that "has not always been so obvious or recognized." However, for the Pope's intelligentsia it was a matter of rhetoric. The solution was to depersonalize the enemy. First, Christ's message would have to stand only for individuals, not peoples. This reduction cancelled its potential for empathy, solidarity, and cooperation. Ecclesiastic Law had a long history of separating individual affairs from those of the state. For instance: "As citizens, Christ told His followers to pay taxes to Caesar, drawing a clear distinction between political and spiritual obligations." In St Jerome's Bible, inmicus stood for enemy, while Roman law distinguished inmicus (personal enemy) from hostis (public enemy). For Tyerman such distinction did not contradict "a doctrine of personal, individual forgiveness" with "certain forms of necessary public violence."579 The sanctification of war required further justification. First, it was essential to legitimize the use of violence, mostly, from a religious movement that was originally committed to enable a peaceful environment for disenfranchised populations subjugated by imperialism. Once this foundation was superseded, it was possible to praise the use of violence by adopting the classical doctrine of just war. Grounded on the authority of Aristotle and Cicero, the new militaristic worldview acquired an aura of respectability.

According to the former's Politics, three conditions justified war: (1) self-defense was necessary to prevent the enslavement of the state; (2) to help an ailing people, or as Tyerman explains: "to obtain an empire to benefit the inhabitants of the conquering state;" and (3) to enslave non-Hellenes.580 Roman law added the notion of "just cause," as an outgrowth of contractual obligations, since the term pax stemmed from the verb pangere (meaning to enter into a contract), because "it was argued that war was justified

579All quotes are from Tyerman, God's War, 2006, 28-31. 580Aristotle, Politics, 1.8. 344 if one party was guilty of breaking an agreement or injuring the other."581 Clearly, these conditions required a prior agreement of peace. In this sense, Romans gave priority to diplomacy, before military action. Thus for Cicero, a formal declaration of war was justified only in self-defense, the recovery of lost goods, or the punishment of bad behavior. The counterpart for the Hellenistic "Just War" was the Biblical "Holy War." The Old Testament reflects a high degree of militarism. Since the liberation of Egypt, the

"Chosen People" rallied to the cry "the Lord is a man of war" (Exodus 15:3). The belief in divinely sanctioned war justified a terrifying precedent of genocide, with Saul's war against the Amalekites. In this Biblical passage, God orders total extermination demanding no mercy for men, women, and children, even those who are still suckling. It is extended to all living beings, including cows, sheep, and camels (I Samuel 15:3). Grounded on the roots of such disturbing branches of heritage, both sides of the Crusade- Ǧihād avalanche were able to disseminate an ideology for absolute destruction.582 Both sides quenched their thirst with the same fountains to end up equally inebriated by the debauchery of war. There is no such thing as just war. It is a rhetorical illusion, created by the inertia of unsuccessful social, economic, and diplomatic relations. War is unjust by nature. It should not be inevitable. It is the product of a terrifying heritage that remains unchecked. It is nurtured by the selfishness of narrow instincts, trapped in a pragmatism

581Tyerman, God's War, 2006, 32. 582Mālik ibn Anas provides an orthodox view of ǧihād. According to a ḥadīṯ transmitted by the author himself, "Someone who does ǧihād in the way of Allāḥ is like someone who fasts and prays constantly." Another one claims that "Allāḥ guarantees either the Garden or a safe return to his home with whatever he has obtained of reward or booty for one who does ǧihād in His way." Both passages insist on the proper execution of holy war, for instance it is forbidden to kill women and children. Furthermore, there are proper ways to divide, tax, or even return the spoils of war. The author also has a special passage on martyrdom. See Mālik ibn Anas, Al-Muwatta, 2006, 173-84. 345 that accepts too willingly the status quo. It is the product of intellectual sedimentation and apathy.583 The Spanish Inquisition's eradication of undesirable heritage from the Iberian Peninsula is rooted in these notions of a "Holy and Just War." Their cornerstone was a chronic intolerance of "the Other."584 The origins of such discrimination are complex. Their study supersedes the boundaries of this work. Yet, a brief sketch on the relevance of hermeneutic misunderstanding may shed some light on how intangible connotations

may trigger such distantiation. To some extent, these issues resonate with the challenges of anthropological research. Even though "anthropology rests on ethnographic research involving personal, prolonged interaction with the Other," it pronounces "upon the knowledge gained from such research a discourse which construes the Other in terms of distance, spatial and temporal."585 The pretext for such distantiation is allegedly scientific, yet its effects are ultimately political. By stepping back, the Other is pushed away. It is a process of dehumanization, which may be necessary to understand and control the natural world, but, it is highly inefficient to engage the world of human interaction. Heritage should not fall into the same trap. To outflank such pitfalls, it is necessary to advance a different type of rationality–perhaps a poetic or mystical rationality–to attempt a veritable leap of faith, in which the Other attains its true equality

583See Helmut D. Baer and Joseph E. Capizzi, "Just War Theories Reconsidered: Problems with the Prima Facie Duties and the Need for a Political Ethic," The Journal of Religious Ethics 33, 1(2005):119-37. 584The study of the Other shows how different methods of distantiation become tools of domination that rely on dehumanization. For J. Fabian it is through the negation of a coetaneous dimension (the Other is more primitive than Us). For E. Said it is a physical and geographic distantiation (the East is radically different from the West). For T. Todorov distantiation is imposed by the complexities of language and symbolic understanding (the Other has to be interpreted and translated by Us). 585See Fabian, Time and Other, 2002, xli. 346 and difference, simultaneously.586 Todorov insists that the first step is through language.587 The correspondence between Pope Innocent III and Almohad Caliph Abū Yūsuf is a perfect example of how language creates ideological distantiation. Beyond certain deficiencies of translation, their miscommunication lies in a mutual rhetorical overrun. There was no dialogue. The caliph opened his letters criticizing the Christian belief in the Holy Trinity: "Praise to the Only God. Praise to the High God, who cannot be juxtaposed or conjoined by any other being." The pope answered, "May you be inspired by He who is truth and life, Jesus Christ, so you may come as soon as possible to the Truth."588 This exchange reflects a vicious inability to respect the Other's worldview. Walter Mignolo exposes the "Dark Side" of the Renaissance by illustrating the humanistic underpinnings of European colonization. A perfect example is attested by Antonio de Nebrija and his celebrated work Gramática castellana ("Castilian grammar"), published in 1492. His return to Spain after a decade in Italy absorbing the ideals of the new studia humanitatis

586One of the strongest pillars in Habermas's Theory of Communicative Action is the restoration of alternative uses of rationality that were not used as tools of domination and distantiation by the Enlightenment. These alternatives could be further enhanced by an attitude that Andrey Tarkovsky calls poetic reasoning: "When I speak of poetry I am not thinking of it as a genre. Poetry is an awareness of the world, a particular way of relating to reality. So poetry becomes a philosophy to guide a man throughout his life […] The birth and development of thought are subject to laws of their own, and sometimes demand forms of expression which are quite different from the patterns of logical speculation. In my view poetic reasoning is closer to the laws by which thought develops, and thus to life itself." See Andrey Tarkovsky, Sculpting in Time: The Great Russian Filmmaker Discusses his Art, trans. Kitty Hunter-Blair, (Austin: The University of Texas Press, 1986), 20-1. 587For Todorov, "Human signs, i.e., the words of the language, are not simple associations−they do not directly link a sound to a thing, but pass though the intermediary of meaning, which is an intersubjective reality." See his work, Conquest of America, 1984, 25. 588See Viguera Molíns, Reinos de Taifas, 1992, 294-5. Their correspondence reflects a wider ideological confrontation between Christians and Muslims. See José Castillejo, Wars of Ideas in Spain: Philosophy, Politics and Education, (London: John Murray, 1937); and Louis Cardaillac, Moriscos y cristianos: Un enfrentamiento polémico (1492-1640), trans. Mercedes García Arenal, (Mexico City: Fondo de Cultura Económica, 2004). 347 (humanist studies) coincided with the marriage of the Catholic Kings, in 1469.589 Along with Pietro Martire d'Anghiera and Marineo Siculo, he is considered an engine of the Spanish Renaissance. In the early 1480s, Nebrija published his groundbreaking Introductiones latinae ("Latin Introduction"). Almost a century later, Bernardo de Aldrete wrote an historical companion, entitled Origenes de la lengua castellana ("Origins of the Castilian Language"), to recover its classical past and purge its "Arabic contamination." The work advances a simple thesis: history's victors preserve their heritage, while their opponents lose it forever, as the title of one its chapters illustrates: "The Vanquished Receive the Language of the Vanquishers, Surrendering Their Own with Their Land and People." In this version of history, Spanish culture was a harmonious outgrowth of its Roman precedents. It is "a legacy so strong that even the Visigoths could not alter." Moreover, the "Arabic influence was only registered at the lexical level."590 Clearly, these intellectuals were re-writing history. They were purging the Iberian legacy from its "alien contaminations." Nebrija advanced this task by establishing an authoritative

589The conditions of late medieval Spain illustrate a terrifying correlation between an educated middle class and a police-state. Modern versions of the latter confirm their collaboration to supply the state with a bureaucratic apparatus to enforce its policies of persecution and domination. It is a Kafkaesque nightmare, in which the world is ruled by mindless apparatchiks. Spain, as a proto-modern state, was the first manifestation of such nightmare. For Collins, "Spanish universities of the Middle Ages had been modest in number and size. In the 1400s the rate of new foundations picked up, reaching a deluge in the 1500s and early 1600s. Of the 32 Spanish universities of this period, three were overwhelmingly dominant. Salamanca alone had some 6,000 students most years between 1550 and 1620−a figure matched by no previous university except Paris in the 1200s, and by none subsequently until the late 1800s in Germany. Alcalá at its height had 2,500 to 3,500 students, Valladolid 2,000. Three or four other universities had as many as 600 students, while others were small, reaching 60 to 70 students at most. At the height in the late 1500s, approximately 3 percent of young Spanish males were attending universities, and perhaps half of them took degrees. The immensity of this educational movement in a relatively small population needs to be appreciated. The United States, the modern pioneer of mass higher education, did not pass this ratio until 1900, modern England until 1950." England was the only European counterpart at that time, its "university students were about 1 percent of the late teen population." This rate "dropped back to one third this level in the 1700s." The immense educated middle class of Spain worked either for the Church or Crown, administrating its Inquisitorial or Colonizing enterprises. Clearly, this is another manifestation of the Renaissance's "Darker Side." See Collins, Sociology of Philosophies, 2000, 581 & 999. 590See Mignolo, Darker Side, 1998, 31. 348 document to control vernacular language. It was an instrument of power to "homogenize" culture:

Now, Your Majesty, let me come to the last advantage that you shall gain from my grammar. For the purpose, recall the time when I presented you a draft of this book earlier this year in Salamanca. At this time, you asked me what end such a grammar could possibly serve. Upon this, the Bishop of Ávila interrupted to answer in my stead. What he said was this: "Soon Your Majesty will have placed in her yoke upon many barbarians who speak outlandish tongues. By this, your victory, these people shall stand in a new need; the need for the laws the victor owes to the vanquished, and the need for the language we shall bring with us." My grammar shall serve to impart them the Castilian tongue, as we have used grammar to teach Latin to our young.591

Language became a tool for the colonization of a land that had been "infected" with alien beliefs. A strict control of language would dismantle such undesirable legacies. It was an ideological warfare for the destruction of heritage:

Now that the Church has been purified, and we are thus reconciled to God, now that the enemies of the Faith have been subdued by our arms, now that just laws are being enforced, enabling us all to live as equals, what else remains but the flowering of the peaceful arts. And among the arts, foremost are those of language, which sets us apart from the wild animals: language, which is the unique distinction of man, the means for the kind of understanding which can be surpassed only by contemplation.592

Clearly, these "just laws" enabling them "to live as equals" were imposed by the Inquisition. In this context, the term "us" should be understood as "people like us." It is almost like a nostalgic reference to the homogeneity of a classical city-state, a notion that seems to underpin St Augustine's model of a Holy City dispersed among infidels. In this view, "the Pilgrim City of Christ the King" will be completely separated from those infidels at the end of days. The chapter advancing these ideas had the following title: "Sons of the Church lie hidden among the ungodly; and there are false Christians within

591Idem, 38. 592Idem, 39. 349 the Church." It is not hard to see how these ideas inspired the Iberian Crusade and its logical unfolding, the Inquisition:

She [the Pilgrim City] must bear in mind that among these very enemies are hidden her future citizens; and when confronted with them she must not think it a fruitless task to bear with their hostility until she finds them confessing the faith. In the same way, while the City of God is on pilgrimage in this world, she has in her midst some who will not join with her in the eternal destiny of the saints. Some of these are hidden; some are well known, for they do not hesitate to murmur against God, whose sacramental sign they bear, even in the company of his acknowledged enemies […] In truth, those two cities [the divine and the human] are interwoven and intermixed in this era, and await separation at the last judgment.593

The ideological underpinning of such phenomenon (Crusade-Inquisition) could be characterized as an impatience to fulfill the final separation. The new "Christian Millennium" could be celebrated with the extermination of all the enemies of the societas fidelium. Their actions would purify the earth, so that "the Pilgrim City" would no longer have to coexist with those who "do not hesitate to murmur against God." Fire will silence their murmurs. The land will be cleansed from all heresy. Certain commentaries by early crusaders illustrate the ideological foundation of such mindset. One of them saw the military pilgrimage to liberate the Holy Land as "the greatest event since the Resurrection."594 The statement suggests a Messianic aspiration associated with the

second coming of Christ. By the end of the first millennium CE, Christendom believed that the final judgment was close at hand. The Spanish Inquisition made it a reality. The influence of these beliefs is attested by the Inquisition's macabre use of public execution. Maureen Flynn examines the auto de fe as a symbolic representation of the "Last Judgment." Contemporary apologists of the Inquisition, like Luis de Páramo, "asserted plainly that the auto de fe represented as closely as possible the tremendous

593Augustine, City of God, 1:35. 594Tyerman, God's War, 2006, 47. 350 drama" of that illusory end of time.595 The public execution of "heretics" and "sinners" was a "theatrical" representation, inspired in Biblical texts describing the events of such dreadful day. According St Matthew, it is going to begin: "When the Son of man shall come in his glory, and all the angels with him, then shall he sit on the throne of his glory; and before him shall be gathered the nations" (Matt. 25:31-2). Such descriptions inspired the stage settings, the tribunal's gestures, and the victims' apparel. On certain cases, the Catholic Kings presided over the event; the bonfire started with their ritual gesticulation.

The parade to the execution site was also full of symbolism. For instance, the unlit candles carried by the victims represented "that the light of Faith has been extinguished in these wretched ones."596 In many places, people would spontaneously join the parade "willingly, confessing their sins to Inquisitors and begging forgiveness." The apocalyptic symbolism of this spectacle displayed the ability of the Church to "raise the dead for judgment, transporting in boxes the bones of convicted heretics."597 The historical analysis of the Spanish Inquisition is extremely complex. Its sources of motivation are manifold. Some scholars stress a socio-political influence, enabling the elite to divide the spoils of war among its warrior-knights and provide social mobility for an emerging middle class.598 Others see it as a defense policy to secure the Iberian Peninsula from the threat of a "fifth column," constituted by Jewish and Muslim

595Maureen Flynn, "Mimesis of the Last Judgment: The Spanish Auto de fe," The Sixteenth Century Journal 22, 2(1991)281-97, 282; cf. Robert I. Moore, The Formation of a Persecuting Society: Power and Deviance in Western Europe, 950-1250, (Oxford: Blackwell, 1987); and Scott L. Waugh and Peter D. Diehl, eds., Christendom and its Discontents: Exclusion, Persecution, and Rebellion, 1000-1500, (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996). 596British Library, MS Eq. 1887, as quoted in Flynn, "Mimesis of Last Judgment," 1991, 283. 597Flynn, "Mimesis of Last Judgment," 1991, 284-5. 598See Jaime Contreras Contreras, "Linajes y cambio social: La manipulación de la memoria," Historia Social 21(1995):105-24; E. William Monter, "The New Social History and the Spanish Inquisition." Journal of Social History 17, 4(1984):705-13; and Gustav Henningsen, "El 'Banco de Datos' del Santo Oficio: Las relaciones de causas de la Inquisición Española, 1550-1700," Boletín de la Real Academia de la Historia 74(1977):547-70. 351 communities, who could support a Berber, , or Turk invasion. These threats caused great fear and anxiety.599 As concrete and realistic as these concerns may be, they seem to have strengthened a more powerful motivation, the combination of an enduring legacy of mistrust and the ultimate aspiration of a righteous life, among others. These considerations belong to an ideological dimension, dealing with a complex ensemble of beliefs, associated with the afterlife, salvation, purity, sinfulness, temptation, and so on. These beliefs acquired high levels of legitimacy due to their historical pedigree. They were grounded on a heritage that justified intolerance. The religiosity of such worldview allowed a smooth reception by large sectors of the population. Sadly, the great mystical tradition of Christianity provided an extra level of ideological conditioning. The work by Christine Caldwell Ames opens this line of interpretation. Her approach stresses the influence of rigorous monastic asceticism, prevalent in several mendicant orders. This mindset was anchored in the belief that a soul may only be saved through renunciation. It was rooted in the "awareness of constant observation, thorough examination (and, when necessary, denunciation) of oneself and others, and correction and taming through the body."600 In this sense, some of the guiding principles of the Spanish Inquisition were an extension of monastic life into lay society. Within the former's worldview the Inquisition was a form of "pastoral care."601 Thus, the root of so much violence was an abstruse notion of mystical union, through pain. The eccentric despise of the body and a predilection for the salvation of the soul, in Christianity,

599See Chabod, Carlos V, 2003. 600Christine Caldwell Ames, "Does Inquisition Belong to Religious History?" The American Historical Review 110, 1(2005):11-37, 19. 601To recognize Inquisitors as executors of "pastoral care," see Jacques Paul, "La mentalité de l'inquisiteur chez Bernard Gui," in Bernard Gui et son monde, Cahiers de Fanjeaux no. 16, 279-316, (Toulouse: Privat, 1981). For more on the inquisitorial mindset in Spain, see Ángel Alcalá, ed., Inquisición española y mentalidad inquisitorial, ponencias del Simposio Internacional sobre Inquisición, Nueva York, abril de 1983, (Barcelona: Ariel, 1984). 352 fostered the violent destruction of bodies, so their souls could be set free. The mindset of a monk's spiritual obsession with auto- was imposed on the rest of society. The origins of this outlook are also quite complex. When the Inquisition reached its height of power, the clearest expression of such legacy was Dominic Guzman, founder of the Dominican Order. "Dominic's own ministry saw him reconciling penitent heretics to the church with penances later used by his inquisitorial heirs, and handing impenitent ones to the secular arm for execution." Their efforts, as inheritors of such tradition, drove

the Inquisitorial mind towards a comprehensive "investigation into the individual soul." After the Fourth Lateran Council (1215), every Christian had to undergo yearly confession. It was a key instrument against "heresy's strength and the related weakness of the orthodox 'care of souls'."602 The latter could only be fortified by transposing the rigorous discipline of monasticism into the chaotic freedom of secular, everyday life. At the core of this approach resided the prestigious legacy of certain mystics, who saw the Passion of Christ, as a vehicle to experience a sublime, empathic connection with the Savior's suffering. An Italian Franciscan Friar, St Bonaventura, wrote a series of devotional treatises on this mystical tradition, during the mid 1200s. To illustrate their state of mind, a brief passage from such treatises may suffice: "Have always the eyes of your mind toward Jesus crucified, crowned with thorns, having drunk the vinegar and gall, spit upon and abused, blasphemed of sinners, pierced by the spear, buried of mortal men."603

602Caldwell Ames, "Does Inquisition Belong," 2005, 18. 603See Frederick B. Artz, The Mind of the Middle Ages: An Historical Survey, A.D. 200-1500, third ed. rev., (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1980), 426. For more on the recent revaluation of Medieval Christian studies, see Ann Matter, "The Future of the Study of Medieval Christianity," in The Past and Future of Medieval Studies, John Van Engen, ed., 169-72, (Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 1994); and John Van Engen, "The Future of Medieval Church History," Church History 71(2002):492-522. 353 Frederick B. Artz explains that Bonaventura described the "mystic's way as a progress through a series of stages of contemplation 'through love of the crucified'." A century later, a German Dominican, Suso, popularized this tradition among lay communities. According to Artz, "The German mystics of the fourteenth century did much to inspire the devotion of a new informal society of clerics and laymen, the 'Friends of God,' as well as that of the older Beghards and Beguines, societies for devout laymen and laywomen."604 Many generations later, this tradition would produce a highly influential literature. Luther was inspired by their legacy. The problematic aspect of this approach to mysticism is its insistence on the impurity of the body and the sinful temptation triggered by its needs. A central issue for this tradition is a constant desire to gain "deliverance from the world and the flesh."605 To some extent, it is religious escapism. The initial pursuit for a loving contact with the divine gave way to a dark mindset, obsessed with suffering and pain. Artz clearly summarizes this tradition as a process in which "The mystic's way is the flight of the alone to the alone; the external world is shut out; the soul, rising above reason and self-consciousness, is absorbed in God." The transition from a positive outlook into a negative mindset is attested by his next assessment: "The earlier mediaeval mystics speak of this last phase as a revelation of light and knowledge; the later mystics from the twelfth century on often speak of being lost in darkness and negation."606 The root of the problem resides in a pervasive, religious assumption about the duplicity of body and soul. Philosophers of Mind call it "the mind-body problem." Its ancestry is extremely prestigious. Nearly every single religion of antiquity believed in the

604See Artz, Mind of the Middle Ages, 1980, 428-9. 605Idem, 419. 606Idem, 420. 354 existence of the soul. Some of the most important philosophers in history share the same illusion. Plato and Socrates are located at the ancient side of the time spectrum, while Descartes assured its transmission into modern philosophy. Nowadays, the discussion is centered on the nature of consciousness, as neuroscience and psychology take over the issue.607 One way or another, the ideological consequences of such vision should be clear. Religious fanaticism with its armed force, currently labeled as "terrorism," relies on this ancient assumption. If we are really interested in confronting its modern, most recent,

consequences, it is necessary to understand its origins. History has much to teach. The Spanish Inquisition is a perfect case study to understand how symbolic connotations lead to action. Their outlook was deeply invested in the possibility that reality could be controlled by symbolic action. The devil could be cast out from a human soul, through exorcism. The soul could be saved from the peril of eternal damnation through a virtuous life. Only a pure soul could find redemption. Purity became an obsession for Christianity. Fire became the perfect tool to purify the societas fidelium. Unfortunately, these obsessions and methods would still carry on, reaching its ultimate expression of hell, during the twentieth century. Ironically, one of the strongest origins of such irrational belief in purity ("spiritual cleanliness") could be traced back to Jewish tradition. The term caste was introduced in Medieval Iberia to designate an ethnic and social status, determined by levels of purity. It was also linked to a religious basis. Later on, the term was used to describe the socio-political system of India, by Portuguese colonizers, who saw certain

607This schematized materialistic view of mind-body correlation comes from the concluding chapters in Peter A. Morton, A Historical Introduction to the Philosophy of Mind: Readings with Commentary, (Ontario: Broadview, 1999); cf. Derek Parfit, Reasons and Persons, rev. ed., (New York: Oxford University Press, 1987); Merlin Donald, Origins of the Modern Mind: Three Stages in the Evolution of Culture and Cognition, (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1991); and Sir Karl R. Popper, Knowledge and the Body-Mind Problem: In Defense of Interaction, M. A. Notturno, ed., (London: Routledge, 1996). 355 similarities with the social array at the Iberian Peninsula. Américo Castro claims that this term and its underlying implications were introduced by Jewish communities in Spain,

608 partly, as a strategy to survive the early Visigothic oppression.607F Castro reports that in Nebrija's Vocabulary "caste" means: "good lineage." For Covarrubias, "caste means noble and pure lineage; he who comes of good family and descent, despite the fact that we say, 'he is of good caste' or 'he is of bad caste' […] Those who are of good lineage and

609 caste we call 'castizos'."608F Castro also explains that Spanish Jews intensified their claim

as a "Chosen People" when their discrimination increased. "Purity of Blood" became a strategy to survive persecution. A clear recognition of their heritage and cultural identity was its foundation. Furthermore, this ethnic bond was rooted in a covenant with God: "For thou art a holy people unto the Lord thy God: the Lord thy God hath chosen thee to be a special people unto himself, above all people that are upon the face of the earth" (Deut. 7:6). This belief was exploited by the Jews of Spain, mostly through poetry. A ballad uncovered in a manuscript from the Island of Rhodes, compared Jewish Law

with a bride of the highest caste: "Tu eres muy santa, te tomemos como (הלכה = halakhah) una novia de casta alta, te preciamos como el oro en la garganta [Thou art very holy, we

610 take thee as a bride of high caste, we prize thee like a golden necklace]."609F Another example of such valuation of heritage is attested by the drama of intermarriage: "Siendo

608The strategies of Jewish communities to survive under the hegemony of the cross and the crescent, in Medieval Spain, had multivariate results. Since the earliest persecutions by the Visigoths until the expulsion of 1492, one of the most powerful means of resistance was the preservation of a cultural identity, which in Jewish tradition was grounded on genetic continuity. For more on their strategies of survival, see George K. Zucker, ed., Sephardic Identity: Essays on a Vanishing Jewish Culture, (Jefferson: McFarland, 2005); Michael Alpert, Secret Judaism and the Spanish Inquisition, (Nottingham: Five Leaves, 2008); Jonathan Ray, The Sephardic Frontier: The Reconquista and the Jewish Community in Medieval Iberia, (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2006); and Zion Zohar, ed., Sephardic and Mizrahi Jewry: From the Golden Age of Spain to Modern Times, (New York: New York University Press, 2005). 609See Américo Castro, The Spaniards: An Introduction to Their History, trans. Willard F. King and Selma Margaretten, (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1971), 51. 610Idem, 52. 356 hija de quien soy, me casaron con cristiano […] Yo era hija del cohen gadol [Being the daughter of you know who, they married me to a Christian…I was the daughter of the high priest]."611 The obsession to maintain a "purity of blood" was transposed from Jewish communities to the Christian and Muslim peoples. Over time, it has turned into a nightmare, hunting down Jews across time and space. The Inquisition usually ended up using torture to learn more about the extended families of its victims. Most dossiers

include a large section devoted to lineages and diagrams of family trees. In this sense, they are unique genealogical documents. Torture was used extract lists of "names." Clearly, the Inquisitors were deeply concerned with uprooting entire family networks. It was a comprehensive persecution of people, ideas, and customs to purify the genetic heritage of the Spanish People. The first step was directed against single threads of "heretic lineages." Their understanding of population dynamics was quite modern. In this sense, the overall approach of Mignolo is very accurate: the enlightened humanism of the Renaissance had a "Darker Side." Its collaboration with geographical colonization, ethnic segregation, and ideological dominance, distinguishing the primacy of the West over the Rest, has been a dark legacy for the modern period.612 The experience of the Reconquista, as part of the Crusades, and its natural extension towards the Inquisition could be characterized as a comprehensive strategy to

611Idem, 53. 612In many ways, the ideological war unraveling after the Fall of Granada became a powerful precedent for the "Spiritual Conquest" of the New World. The experience taken from the Inquisition's success defined multiple strategies of colonization, whose terrifying effects are still prevalent in Latin America. For studies on this line of interpretation, see Antonio Garrido Aranda, Moriscos e indios: Precedentes hispánicos de la evangelización en México, (Mexico City: Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México, 1980); Mary E. Perry and Anne J. Cruz, eds., Cultural Encounters: The Impact of the Inquisition in Spain and the New World, (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1991); and Roberto Marín Guzmán, "Jihad vs. Cruzada en al-Andalus: La Reconquista española como ideología a partir del siglo XI y sus proyecciones en la colonización de América," Revista de Historia de América 131(2002):9-65. 357 destroy the Other physically, as well as uprooting its intangible legacy. In this sense, these episodes of World History could be seen as "Heritage Wars," a chronic illness that has been handed down to our time. Its main vehicle of transmission is the acceptance of an unchecked inheritance. At the root of the problem lies the definition of "the Other." A key lesson from these episodes should be the realization of how damaging it is to define a fellow human being as an "Other." Since, over time, the label has to expand infinitely until there is no one left behind. A globalized humanity that still believes "another world is possible" cannot inherit these positions uncritically. The dichotomy of "Us" and "Them" soon falls into the pitfalls of monotheism and absolutism. Under the belief of a "One True God," the definition of "Us" cannot tolerate the presence of "Them." In this sense, monotheism and democracy run into an explosive contradiction. If we do not learn from history and prepare ourselves to make a critical stand against its oppressive effects, that "alternative outcome" will never come. And future historians will keep writing about the cyclical return of inquisitorial intolerance.

358 CONCLUSION

-"It's heavy! What is it?"

- "It's the stuff that dreams are made off."613

The object in question was a coarse, black statuette that turned out to be, nothing more, than a worthless reproduction of a famous treasure, the "Maltese Falcon." The dialogue between a police lieutenant and Sam Spade–personified by the legendary Humphrey Bogart–was added by John Huston for his 1941 film version of Dashiell

Hammett's novel. The plot portrays a group of "colorful characters" enduring insufferable calamities, as they struggle to seize the precious object. It is a wonderful treasure hunt! Or–as Sam saw it–the unattainable desire to possess a dream. The irony of such statement illustrates a central issue in the ethos of preservation. At its core lies a unique situation: as a heritage undergoes multiple stages of transmission from one generation to the next, its prestige grows exponentially, while its appearance and essence gradually fade away, turning into a "deferred presence" of its prior self. In Hammett's story, not only the Falcon's location remains a mystery, but, the actual moment of in which the original became a "falsification" is also unknown. After all the adversity endured by these characters–treason, torture, even death–the obsession to crystallize their dreams, kept pushing them towards more reckless adventures. Their illusion to possess the famous treasure, described by the sources as a golden statuette covered with precious stones, was enough to risk it all. In many ways, Hammett's vignette illustrates some of the pitfalls in the current practice of preservation. We tend to overlook the actual transformations of heritage, replacing its appearance with a juxtaposed dream-image (a connotation).

613See John Huston's 1941 film version of Dashiell Hammett's Maltese Falcon. The dialogue is near the end of the film. 359 Heritage is more like a dream: insubstantial, provocative, and disconnected from reality, even though, it is deeply rooted in every-day life. Hammett narrates the Falcon's history just like one of the case studies in this study. The leader of the ruthless gang of swindlers, Mr. Gutman (a.k.a. "the Fat-man"), tells Sam the whole story over whiskey and cigars. Beginning with its creation: the golden statuette was a gift for Emperor Charles V, commissioned by the Order of the Hospital of St. John of Jerusalem. Yet, the priceless object never reached the Emperor. It was lost in a shipwreck. Fortunately, the precious object was soon recovered. However, since that moment forward, the Falcon kept changing hands. In 1734, it resurfaced momentarily in Naples, only to disappear again; until a Russian general found it in Constantinople, after the "big war." At this point, Sam stopped Gutman to ask: "Then, the bird doesn't belong to any of you!" The Fat-man, savvy as a fox, answered: "Belong? [...] Well, sir, you might say it belonged to the King of Spain." However, "an article of that value that has passed from hand to hand by such means is clearly the property of whoever can get hold of it."614 Hammett's portrayal of these treasure hunters sets up a unique state of mind to conclude this study. It highlights the perils of treating heritage as a commodity. It sheds light on the narcissistic nature of a society that is unable to recognize the humanistic dimension of its heritage.615 To some extent, Hammett's vignette could be characterized,

614Dashiell Hammett, The Maltese Falcon, (San Francisco: North Point Press, 1984), 157-8. 615Choay sees it as a "Patrimonial Syndrome," driven by an inability to turn away from the alluring effects of a vision that has no soul: "Mythology has taught us that Narcissus died because he could not wrest himself away from himself and forget himself for a single moment. We have subsequently learned that narcissism is a necessary stage in the development of the human self, and that returning to it must lead to neurosis or madness […] As it happens, the image we contemplate in the patrimonial mirror, for all that it is reflected by real objects, is an illusion. The 'recollection' from which it results has erased all its differences, heterogeneities, and fractures. It reassures us and plays its protective part precisely by appearing to suppress the conflicts and interrogations we are unable to face." Choay, Invention of Historic Monument, 2001, 171. 360 quite pretentiously, as "The Parable of the Detective and the Swindlers." The archetypes of detective and swindler could illustrate a couple of opposing philosophical attitudes that might emerge from having inventoried the continued transmission of a particular manifestation of heritage. Such archetypal dichotomy could help us understand the conflictive and controversial nature of heritage. To some extent, the inventories portray continuous battles for the appropriation of heritage. The battle–both physical and ideological–often stretches over long periods of time, affecting innumerable generations who try to capitalize the achievements of their predecessors. It is also a battle between opposing groups fighting to gain control over a given tradition or to impose a new one. In many ways, this crude "generalization" of human interaction mischaracterizes enculturation as the byproduct of political domination, decreed by the winners of history. The Fat-man declared it with stark pragmatism: heritage belongs to anyone who is able to control its assets. Heritage is the bounty of history. In this reductive commonplace, history is portrayed as a continuous battle for ownership. And, like so many games played by humans, winners take it all. In this study, each case study reflects the crude simplicity of such parameters. Rome, as the absolute winner of the ancient world, was been able to appropriate and preserve the essence of Hellenism. Mesoamerica, as one of the first losers in the age of colonialism, still cannot restore a legacy that was gradually dismantled during the "long night of five hundred years." Al-Andalus, as a perpetual survivor striving to preserve the memory of an idyllic past, cannot shake the melancholic nostalgia of a paradise lost. Each case tells a different story. Among those three, the last one reveals a terrifying example of how winners treat losers. During a tortuous period of four centuries, the Spanish Inquisition systematically dismantled a rich multicultural legacy that required almost a full millennium of organic development to reach such a glorious peak, by the 361 end of the 1200s. The heritage policies of those ultimate "winners" could be characterized as one of the first systematic efforts to homogenize a belief-system, by eliminating heterodoxy. Ironically, their methods were based on the ideological basis of a humanistic, classical renaissance. Later on, their "expertise" was transposed to America, where an epidemiological catastrophe enhanced their ability to destroy heritage. The most terrifying aspect of both cases was an ideological justification: they were saving souls. This approach became the backbone of colonization, around the world. It was accompanied by other ideological "lackeys," like absurd notions of racial and intellectual superiority, beliefs in divine predestination, and an overambitious economic impetus based on exploitation, among others. In sum, it was a comprehensive imposition of terms, enforced by the winners of history upon its losers. Unfortunately, the list of examples could go on forever! It is always easier to enlist winners, since their number is so small. Given the forecast of days ahead, this moment in time seems appropriate to recognize that history cannot be a zero-sum game; absolute victory is not possible! Usually, when successful systems of social organization engender vast amounts of losers, its ability to hold power becomes unsustainable. The necessary operations to maintain the status quo increase their levels of repression and unfairness. Military oppression can only go so far; in the end, it is only a matter of population numbers. In these conditions, victory is always fleeting, it rarely endures. If history proves anything at all, it is the futility of individualistic, oppressive regimes. It seems that we are still reluctant to embrace the full benefits of solidarity, cooperation, and empathy. History has not been able to teach us this lesson, yet. The threatening influence of our most pressing challenges ahead could help us develop a new narrative, attitude, and identity. Their goal is to facilitate the creativity of a multicultural effort to resolve the challenges ahead. Consensual, collaborative action requires an underlying basis that may help us guide the 362 relativism and pluralism of different traditions towards a more universal, holistic vision, in which common goals and solutions become possible. The sustainability of this type of solution depends on our ability to transcend diversity and reach universality, without losing the "organic link" that connects each of us with our ancestral traditions. The point of convergence is our humanity, the nature of our human condition. Each step along the way–diagnosis of looming challenges, debates over possible solutions, implementation, evaluation, rectification, etc–will have greater possibilities of success, if we are able to

appease the confrontational content of our inherited ideologies. The creativity that may be unleashed by such multicultural effort relies on the critical assessment of heritage. That is why the inventories are so important. They constitute the primordial foundation for dialogue, empathy, and cooperation.

Historic Preservation and Heritage Studies

As much as the inventories associated in this study with the practical discipline (historic preservation) and the new field of research (heritage studies) may differ, in fact, they complement each other. They are separated only for practical, descriptive reasons, although, as already mentioned, each one responds to different types of methods, principles, and goals. When their particulars are reconstituted as a whole, we uncover the possibility of a truly holistic understanding of heritage. The conclusions raised by the inventories of each case study will be presented in two parts plus a synthesis. While each part addresses issues related to the practical discipline and field of research, correspondingly, the synthesis suggests a manner in which they could become a single, unitary approach. Before going through them, it may be useful to present a theoretical conclusion regarding the practical discipline. This brief philosophical note will be

363 reinforced by a second one, associated with the new field of research, after we examine the more formal conclusions raised by the inventories that constitute the main body of this study. There should be little debate about the importance of the Venice Charter as one of the most important founding documents of historic preservation. For many people it is a solid justification for the importance of preserving our heritage. Its opening paragraph announces the reason for such a fundamental enterprise. It is the semiotic potential to

transmit a "message spirituel du passé [spiritual message from the past]" what justifies such a laborious and expensive effort. However, as already stated at the introduction of this study, it is unclear how the message is conveyed, where it is located, or how could it be treated. The working hypothesis, presented here, has suggested that the semiotic "mechanisms" of denotation and connotation are indexes of mental operations, which may be identified through phenomenological reflection. Clearly, the next step would be to make this hypothesis operational, so that further study–perhaps through a combined approach of neurobiology, behavioral psychology, and social science–might shed some light on the inner working of such mechanisms. This type of research would be part of a broader effort to understand how the human mind conveys meaning. Hopefully, in the near future, there may be a clear identification and, consequently, better understanding of the neural networks that enable our systems of signification. At some point, we may even begin to comprehend how consciousness interacts with the subconscious to elaborate higher levels of connotation. Meanwhile, the current challenge for historic preservation is to clarify how the physical treatment of objects interacts with the mental adjudication of meaning or, in the charter's terminology, their "spiritual message." The nuanced treatment of such a delicate interaction is relatively obstructed by the approach of "conserve-as-found." Clearly, this 364 position has a strong ability to prevent social and political controversies, since it does not challenge the status quo. It is also clear how this approach emerged from a desire to prevent the damage made by the so-called artistic restoration during the nineteenth century. However, this approach of conservation cannot offer a flexible sensibility to deal with the subtleties of a message that is articulated in matter. More so, if we have no clarity about the continuity that certain objects seem to maintain over time. Once again, that is why the inventory of heritage is so important. It may reveal an enduring essence striving to survive through the passage of time. The challenge lies in the complexity of such enduring continuity, since its identification requires not only a historical survey, but also a phenomenological recognition and a public conversation to divulge its findings and establish some degree of consensus. To some extent, the degree of complexity lies in the "eyes of the beholder." Yet, if we are truly interested in the message, the hard work of analysis, dialogue, and consensus is necessary. It cannot be circumvented by conserving everything we receive from history "as found." At the center of such complexity we uncover a problem that could only be described as phenomenological. To illustrate the nature of this problem, let us return to the case studies. It should be relatively clear, by now, that the Pantheon (as Trajan and Hadrian envisioned it), the Sun Pyramid (at the height of Teotihuacan's hegemony), or Alhambra (as it stood in Naṣrid times) are long gone. The physical appearance of these structures, as it was in those periods of history, was severely transformed with the passage of time. Even their faint trace is almost unrecognizable. In fact, we have received an altered version of the Pantheon by the Enlightenment, a fanciful reconstruction of the Pyramid from Batres, and an extremely modified Alhambra by Romantic interventions from the 1900s. Yet, our mental image of these buildings presents them as the real thing, not an illusion, much less a fake. To some extent, this mental representation stems from 365 an intuitive recognition of the building's essence, not their actual state-of-affairs. Our need for meaning compensates their actual state of being. To the reality of a "Frankensteinian Monster" we superimpose the image of a "perfect Adonis." In this way, the Pantheon is not identified as a building that has been abused by centuries of over-manipulation. We tend to see it as a perfectly preserved building from the past. Our senses overrun its innumerable "face lifts" and "plastic surgeries." It is more like a token–a mental construct–that brings forth the glory of the Roman Empire. On the

other hand, the few fragments of original decoration, scattered like "crumbs of bread" at the Pyramid's feet, require a major act of visualization to imagine its ancient appearance. Today, the stone façade that was necessary to consolidate its filling has turned into the Pyramid's true face. No one would dream of executing a project of de-restoration to correct its archaeological inaccuracy, without causing a major popular uprising. Finally, the inaccuracy of Alhambra's appearance is hard to identify, since the survival of the traditional crafts that used to produce its mosaics, stuccoes, and ceilings has enabled its numerous restorers to maintain a sense of wholeness. However, there are many inscriptions that were restored incorrectly, repeating certain passages just to fill the lacunae left behind by the passage of time. It is also very difficult to identify the mosaics and ceilings that were added by emperors Charles V and Felipe I. In a strict sense, the difficulty to recognize the "original" could be seen as the product of a successful effort to restore its Naṣrid past; however, its actual appearance was determined by the twentieth century. What these buildings reveal, in fact, is a continuous process of transformation, suggesting certain trends of enculturation and the survival of enduring essences. These buildings cannot be fully understood without recognizing how innumerable transformations created, over time, the object we now see in front of us. Like the nested 366 figures of a Matryoshka (Russian doll), each period envelops its predecessor. But, instead of opening all the compartments to uncover the inner core–in this case, the "original" period of history attracting our fascination, like Hadrian's Rome, Classic Mesoamerica, or Naṣrid Granada–we see through them, as if they were transparent or invisible. This phenomenon is not so distant from the poetic image of a "glass onion," as envisioned by Lennon and McCartney. Its nature not only affects our relationship with objects (buildings), but with their inherited chains of meaning (messages), as well. That is, our

intangible heritage suffers a similar phenomenon of historical accretion. Jung saw it clearly when he explained that "Modern man is in fact a curious mixture of characteristics acquired over the long ages of his mental development. This mixed-up being is the man and his symbols that we have to deal with, and we must scrutinize his mental products very carefully."616 An interesting question arises from these reflections: how are we supposed to deal with objects whose tangible presence belongs to all of us (objectively), while their intangible meaning fluctuates in the mental realm of our private thoughts (subjectively)? The solution may reside in the artistic sensibility that we tend to find in so few people, like Bernini or Torres Balbás. Unfortunately, an appreciation of their successful interventions comes only with the passage of time, since the contemporary reception of their work was mostly negative. This condition may explain the dogmatic approach of conservation, because it secures immediate acceptance. Who has, today, the authority or prestige to intervene such outstanding buildings with an approach that goes beyond their conservation? Even a robust justification to correct certain details would face stark opposition and criticism. This condition seems to impose a disagreeable stalemate. We

616Jung, "Approaching the Unconscious,"1964, 86. 367 accept the paralysis to avoid conflict, since heritage has turned into the battleground of history. Once again, the dogmatism of conservation seems reasonable, given such circumstances. Yet, how long can we suppress our reactions to the Pantheon's continuity, the Pyramid's loss, and Alhambra's exclusion? More so, are we supposed to accept the same conditions for the engagement of our intangible heritage? In the Pantheon's case, by accepting the status quo we seem to neglect the efforts of a long process of restoration, attempting to recover the appearance of a Roman edifice.

That is, we do not recognize the continuity that is so clearly present in a series of interventions executed in the last half millennium. Since Peruzzi and Serlio began to represent an ideal Pantheon through drawings, a gradual process of restoration started to eliminate its "medieval character." Its ciborium, marble screens, decorative frescoes, and belfry–among other distinctive traits–were demolished. Over time, the respectful and ingenious interventions of Bernini gave way to the tragic alteration of the attic's decoration. Unfounded speculation considered the latter a distasteful intervention, performed by those "ignorant" generations, who neglected the classical traditions during the so-called "Middle Ages." By the end of the Enlightenment, the building had been completely isolated from all the historical accretions precluding a clear visualization of its Roman past. Even the bell-towers that were constructed to diminish the controversy over the pillaging of the original lead ceiling of the porch were dismantled in those decades. Yet, our current paralysis to engage the natural unfolding of history prevents us from correcting the attic's alteration. Not even the strong clarification of their executors' misunderstanding provides sufficient justification to begin a public debate to determine if we have the right to make such correction. Our own theories have cornered us against the wall. In this sense, Fukuyama is absolutely right; history has come to a standstill. We have debunked its legitimacy to keep on moving forward. 368 In the Pyramid's case, the problem is not so different, although it runs on the opposite direction. Our inability to accept the dissolution of Mesoamerican continuity prevents us from recognizing the dissonance introduced by Batres, when he chose to reconstruct the Pyramid's façade. It would have been better to leave it partially covered with vegetation. His unfounded decisions to subdivide the third body, as well as its stairways, could be corrected by an ingenious employment of vegetation, today. The presence of a majestic mole that partially emerges from a thick mantle of grass is a closer representation of reality. Mesoamerican heritage is not fully present in our midst; it lies behind the cover of Christianity, modernity, and globalization. The deferred presence of its intangible essence should be equated with the actual presence of its tangible manifestation. The crisp reconstruction of a pyramid that used to be covered with multicolored stuccoes, probably depicting images of mythic animals and geometric patterns, is nothing more than a mental representation of a reality that never existed. Its massive stone presence is not an accurate depiction of the past. Moreover, it is not an honest representation of the historical transmission of this heritage. On the other hand, it is easy to understand the painful underpinnings of such realization and acceptance. However, the potential to move forward depends on it. More so, if we want to avoid further misconstructions and the elaboration of an unfounded identity. Alhambra's case is more delicate and complex, since at some point in its history the building was able to transmit its message, almost explicitly. However, after the Fall of Granada its delivery mechanisms receded, turning into undecipherable scribbles preserved only for their aesthetic enjoyment. In other words, Alhambra's inscriptions became "just decoration." The exclusion of its message was imposed through silence. To some extent, the current monochromatic presentation of the building's stuccoes ensures such silent treatment. To rectify this condition, it would be necessary to advance a highly 369 ambitious project to reestablish some degree of chromatic differentiation between the inscriptions, the purely ornamental sebkas, those that are inscribed, and the ornament that resembles lush vegetation. A subtle incorporation of a gray-scale reinforced by simple tourist guides providing a translation would enrich, dramatically, the experience of visiting Alhambra. Clearly, the proposal implies a desire to recover not only the original mechanisms of transmission, but the message itself. Yet, as already mentioned, none of these proposals is acceptable to the doctrine of "conserve-as-found." But, in Alhambra's

case it reflects the political and ideological dimension of such doctrine and its alternatives. Who has the audacity to open up a debate over the restoration of an Islamic message in Europe, when multiculturalism is so unpopular? So, once again, we uncover the savvy decision of a doctrinal approach that successfully dodges controversy by accepting the status quo. Given the complexity of these cases–not so different from others, just consider the conflicts around the Dome of the Rock in Jerusalem, Almagir Mosque in Varanasi, Ground Zero in New York, or the Preah Vihear Temple in the disputed border of Thailand and Cambodia, among so many more–we would need the participation of truly "artistic geniuses" and "savvy politicians" to jumpstart a public dialogue that could help us find creative solutions for the management of such contested sites. Their approach would need to transcend the dogmatism of institutional doctrines; their self-understanding as scientific technicians would need to be complemented by an artistic sensibility that is grounded on a profound philosophical underpinning. Fortunately, there are sufficient precedents in the history of preservation to suggest a way forward. The nuanced and sophisticated approach of Cesare Brandi provides a strong theoretical foundation to reconsider the potentiality of a flexible and creative attitude that is not only present in the works of Bernini or Torres Balbás, but also in Giuseppe Valadier (Arch of Titus), Carlo 370 Scarpa (Castelvecchio), or Peter Zumthor (Chur), just to name a few. Yet, as much as this type of approximation may increase the probability of success, it requires a preliminary "titanic" effort of communication, consensus, and cooperation. The interplay of heritage with the broadcast of master narratives and the constitution of identity has a powerful effect over political and religious action. In many ways, the interplay is grounded on the dynamic interaction of objects (tangible heritage) and messages (intangible heritage). The branch of philosophy devoted to the study of the mind defines the latter as propositional attitudes. The content of these mental representations–understood as an individual's set of values, beliefs, aspirations, and so on–is able to enforce concrete action.617 In this manner, the intangible realm has the potential to affect its tangible counterpart. The inventories presented in this study tried to illustrate how meaning is adjudicated to objects through the mental operations of denotation and connotation. They also tried to reveal how the conflation of messages and objects changes over time, as a byproduct of wider processes of enculturation. They provide a different way of seeing the Matryoshka analogy, since the prolonged juxtaposition of propositional attitudes reflects the permanence of an enduring essence, displaying a relatively high degree of continuity over time. While the superimposed

617Bertrand Russell introduced the notion of a propositional attitude to explain the "intentionality of mental states […] as a structural feature of the concepts of folk psychology." John Searle presents a simple definition of intentionality as the feature of mental states that is determined by its ability of "being directed at, being about […] or representing certain other entities and states of affairs," viz., an ability to think symbolically. See his work, Consciousness and Language, (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2002), 77. In this context, the rather pejorative term of "folk psychology" defines a set of propositional attitudes as a "body of lore" prevalent in "a rich network of common-sense laws," whose "principles are familiar homilies; and their sundry functions are transparent. Each of us understands others, as well as we do, because we share a tacit command of an integrated body of lore concerning the law-like relations holding among external circumstances, internal states, and overt behavior." See Paul Churchland, "Eliminative Materialism and the Propositional Attitudes," The Journal of Philosophy 78, 2(1981):67-90, 68-70. Stephen Stich expands these notions arguing that beliefs are construed as relational notions between a person and a proposition, in which the latter acts as a sentence, i.e., a "token suitably inscribed or encoded in one's brain." See his work, From Folk Psychology to Cognitive Science: The Case Against Belief, (Cambridge: The MIT Press, 1983), 29. 371 layers disclose a series of beliefs that belong to different temporal conditions; they also reveal a central axis, running through all the layers, unveiling their continuity. The axis could be seen as the essence of master narratives and prevailing systems of thought, grounded on key propositions that are able to resist substantial change over time. Alfredo López-Austin calls it a núcleo duro ("hard nucleus").618 To him, the axis is understood as an ensemble of deep core propositions, whose ability to resist change derives from their ability to interpret reality, to develop mechanisms of adaptation, and consequently to

heighten the means of survival. In this way, while the appearance of heritage may change, its essence persists. As much as its appearance may follow key changes in the customs of people, in response to new forms of adaptation, its essence is preserved through ongoing processes of restoration. This methodological approach is extremely useful to evaluate the inventories of connotation, presented in the second parts of each case study. All three reveal the strong continuity of certain trends of belief and behavior. In the Pantheon's case, we uncover a dynamic transfer of Presocratic notions into the prevailing systems of thought, during the height of the Roman Empire. The tenets of Stoics, Epicureans, Skeptics, and Cynics are unimaginable without the influence of Heraclitus, Empedocles, Carneades, or Antisthenes. The relay to Christianity came through the comprehensive synthesis of classical knowledge, advanced by Plotinus. Over time, the Neoplatonic worldview allowed the transubstantiation of key polytheistic notions not only into Christianity, but Islam as well. The belief in a transcendental intellect or soul (noûs), hovering over

618López-Austin uses this notion of "hard-nucleus" or "deep-core" to examine how different Mesoamerican peoples have mediated the imposition of Christianity. It is a research tool, inspired by the methodology of the Annalistes. It is also based on certain principles of archetype theory, as distinctly used by Lévi-Bruhl, Bastian, Jung, Eliade, and Lévi-Strauss, among others. The use of this notion allows him to assess the persistence of Prehispanic beliefs amidst the religious expressions of contemporary Indian populations in Mexico. See his works, Tamoanchan y Tlalocan (1994), and Los mitos del tlacuache (1990), both translated into English. 372 creation, acting as its source of causation, and permeating its effects upon creation through a series of hierarchical emanations that trickle down from heaven to earth, is a perfect example of such continuity running through the centuries from Thales of Miletus to St Thomas Aquinas. The poetic trope of a majestic globe–inhabited by a soothing source of light that is surrounded by a series of concentric rings, which transmit its effects to the farthest edges of the great globe–stands as testimony of such continuity. Variations of this trope are easily found in the works of Empedocles, Dionysius the Aeropagite,

Elizabeth of Schönau, and Dante, just to name a few. Pictorial depictions of this powerful, mental representation are easily located in the apses of innumerable churches throughout Christendom. Similar processes of transubstantiation enabled the strong continuity from the Hellenistic Mystery Cults to Christianity, like the belief in a happy afterlife, secured by the allegiance to a Mother Goddess or the redemptive power of a Hero who was able to descend into the underworld and come back to help humanity. The transferability of such pervasive beliefs is usually accompanied by certain customs, behavior, and systems of thought. In the Pyramid's case, a long-term continuity is also reflected, but from an entirely different perspective. It is driven by an overwhelming sense of emptiness, like a vacuum that must be filled in with a promising alternative. The manner in which the history of Mesoamerica has unfolded is clear for most of its descendents, today. The archaeological discoveries and historical research of the last century unveiled the complexity of the region's multiculturalism, running through four or five millennia before the Spanish Conquest. To some extent, the loss of heritage began with the oppressive expansion of the Mexica. The evangelization of such a heterogeneous population only increased the loss of heritage. Since then, the rising of a new nation recognized the need to fill the void with any viable alternative. The continuity of such phenomenon is outstanding. Early on, 373 the Christian friars tried to replace the Indians' identity with that of the lost tribes of Israel. The manner in which the Virgin of Guadalupe became the Queen of Mexico is also tainted with the dark objective to dismantle the traditions and beliefs of its inhabitants. With the first attempts for independence, a series of intellectuals juxtaposed the prestige of St Thomas upon the legendary figure of Quetzalcóatl to strengthen the belief that Mexican Indians had already embraced Christianity; hence, they did not need the supervision of its European overlords. These imaginative juxtapositions paved the way to a modern religious phenomenon, in which Buddhism, Celtic beliefs, and hippie culture, among other heterogeneous sources, try to replace the loss of heritage imposed by the winners of history. Mexico's modern population strives to uncover a past that cannot be fully recuperated. The damage runs deep. There are many missing links in the chain of heritage to restore its solid foundation. Hence, we fall back on a long tradition of replacement, trying to find a perfect fit for what was lost. Alhambra's case is even more dramatic. It reflects a truly dark side of human rationalization, justifying the destruction of people that are identified as "the Other." Unfortunately, the continuity is overwhelming. The experience of discrimination ran parallel to that overemphasized notion of conviviality. Although the latter should not be minimized either. The history of al-Andalus, Hispania, or Sepharad–depending on how it is looked upon–constitutes one of the greatest case studies to increase our understanding on the complexities of multicultural dynamics. The binary opposition between a legalistic orthodoxy and mystical heterodoxy reveals one of the most illustrative arenas of such interaction. The seductive sophistication of Naṣrid culture cannot be fully comprehended without recognizing its opposite, their oppressive predecessors, the Almohad. Although, the former's use of a rational mysticism also cannot be understood without the latter's participation in the debate between al-Ghazzālī and Ibn Rušd. The poetic subtlety and 374 rational complexity which permeate the approach of Ibn Masarra or Ibn al-ʿArabī to mysticism stems from such multicultural and confrontational dynamism. The dark side of such interaction is illustrated by the Almohad use of rationality to justify the religious persecution of "the Other." It is a terrifying example of how rationality may be used to underpin a sense of superiority, which in turn provides legitimacy to destroy those who are inferior. One cannot fully comprehend the motivation and operational procedures of the Spanish Inquisition without studying this tremendous precedent. It illustrates a continuity of confrontation that even has some bearing on the Spanish Civil War. The tantalizing beauty of Alhambra stands out like a lotus flower from the dirtiness of stagnated waters, because it is the perfect example of a single moment in history, when the opposing views were synthesized into a glorious convergence. Unfortunately, the effort did not survive the transition from one generation to the next. By the end of Yūsuf's lifetime achievements, the intolerance of orthodoxy had returned in full swing. Clearly, there will be many people who may not appreciate the tone of these conclusions. The intention of these inventories is not driven by the desire to impose a particular line of interpretation. The personal idiosyncrasies which tend to motive any interpretation should not be forced to accept a single perspective. The aim of these inventories is to illustrate the type of survey that may enable a positive reassessment of heritage. The intimacy of this process should not be transgressed by dogmatic impositions; it is a personal task that may be inspired by certain methodologies. The reason for advancing such a relativist position is grounded on the mysterious interaction between consciousness and the subconscious in the production of meaning. While the former has a powerful grip on the logic of objective denotation, the latter sets in motion an ambiguous polysemy driven by the poetry of subjective connotation. The first stages in this process of signification are relatively easy to recognize by the cultural materialism 375 of archaeological research. However, the subsequent levels of signification are even able to elude the romantic idealism of hermeneutics. The conservation of historical objects has no need to address the latter, but, the engagement of intangible heritage should not disdain the polysemy of higher levels of connotation. Given this context, a path for the respectful engagement of heritage could be delineated by the experiences of the inter- religious dialogue, the dialectics of communicative action, and the methodological bracketing of prejudice offered by transcendental phenomenology.619

The nature of connotation precludes a conclusive interpretation, regarding a meaningful valuation of heritage. Symbols are by nature ambiguous.620 This may be the reason why the subconscious uses them to transmit the overwhelming complexity of life to consciousness, through dreams. The desire to own a specific manifestation of heritage and to impose a specific interpretation may be driven by some of our most primitive instincts. They seem to be originated by the need to secure our personal possessions, a need that may be deeply engrained in the lower brain. Fortunately, the long processes of evolution that have enabled consciousness to establish some degree of control over these

619See, for example, Raimon Panikkar, The Intrareligious Dialogue, (New York: Paulist Press, 1999); Fred Dallmayr, Dialogue among Civilizations: Some Exemplary Voices, (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2002); Jürgen Habermas, The Theory of Communicative Action, (Boston: Beacon Press, 1981); Klaus Held, "Husserl's Phenomenology of the Life-World," in The New Husserl: A Critical Reader, Donn Welton, ed., 32-64, (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2003); and Robert Arp, "Husserl and the Penetrability of the Transcendental and Mundane Spheres," Human Studies 27, 3(2004):221-39. 620Johannes Fabian employs Hegel's theory of symbols–as enunciated in the celebrated Lectures on Aesthetics–to illustrate how the interpretation of someone else's (the Other's) symbolism acts as an anxiety- reducing method. First, it is necessary to understand how the "symbol suggests by its external appearance that which it makes appear, not in its concrete and unique existence, however, but by expressing 'a general quality of its meaning'. Furthermore, symbolic expression and symbolized content are not reducible to each other. They lead, so to speak, an independent existence: one symbol can have many contents, one content is capable of being expressed by different symbols. Hence symbols are essentially ambiguous; they leave the viewer necessarily 'doubtful'. If and when ambiguity is removed and doubts are assuaged, then a symbolic relationship in the strict sense no longer obtains. What remains of the symbol is 'a mere image' […] Hegel insists that doubtfulness and insecurity vis-à-vis the symbolic are not limited to certain cases. Rather, they are the response 'to very large areas of art'." See Fabian, Time and the Other, 2002, 127-8. 376 primal instincts may be our only hope to achieve a sincere dialogue between equals, as well as sustainable processes of cooperation. As much as heritage and narrative define a cultural identity in a positive manner, they also entail a negative aspect, that is, the transmission of prejudice. The latter is extremely hard to confront, since it is enveloped by what we inherit from previous generations. This condition gives it an awkward legitimacy. Fortunately, the attainment of a historically enlightened consciousness could help us identify and engage its effects critically.621 Here we start to understand the difference between the archetypal figures of "detectives" and "swindlers," because the interplay of heritage, narrative, and meaning is mostly driven by the ability to elaborate and disseminate interpretations. The gradient between resonance and dissonance, in which diverse interpretations oscillate, produces different types of political action. The problematic effects of such oscillations stem from the nature of our propositional attitudes, which are usually pregnant with subconscious connotations and, by extension, are easily manipulated by rhetorical persuasion. At the center of such a complex interplay of cultural forces lies the personal intuition of essence. The latter is not a universal entity, hovering above reality. It is construed individually, so

621Habermas developed this notion to counteract Gadamer's historically effected consciousness. His revision engenders a different connection between people and tradition. In Gadamer's view, society cannot elude the "effects" of history. For Habermas this imposition may be transcended through a rational and critical reassessment of tradition, since: "When reflection understands the genesis of the tradition from which it proceeds and to which it returns, the dogmatism of life-praxis is shaken." See his work, On the Logic of the Social Sciences, (Cambridge: The MIT Press, 1988), 168. Rational interpretation is the basis for communicative action, because: "The interpreter observes under what conditions symbolic expressions are accepted as valid and when validity claims connected with them are criticized and rejected; he notices when the action plans of participants are coordinated through consensus formation and when connections among the actions of different agents fall apart due to lack of consensus…These reflections should make it clear that the method of interpretive understanding places the usual type of objectivity of knowledge in question, because the interpreter […] has to become involved in participating in communicative action and finds himself confronted with the validity claims arising in the object domain itself. He has to meet the rational internal structure of action oriented to validity claims with an interpretation that is rational in conception. There is then a fundamental connection between understanding communicative actions and constructing rational interpretations." See Idem, Theory of Communicative Action, 1981, v. I:116. 377 it may be shared collectively, through dialogue. In this context, essence is the vehicle of meaning (a representation of "inner-truth") that gradually occupies the public domain, like points distributed on a plane. Imagine each personal interpretation as a single point, occupying that "plane of meaning." Certain interpretations resonate with each other, sharing a common space within the plane, while others, more dissonant, are located on a different area. A cluster analysis may display the conditions of certain groupings. It could even identify a "center" or an area where many interpretations share a common, highly meaningful, ground. To some extent, those near the center could be characterized as metonymic and those further away as metaphoric.622 Clearly, the vision of an "overall picture" emerges from intersubjective collaboration. No one has "the right answer," at least not in matters of culture. As more interpretations are advanced, the plane expands and, consequently, the center may shift its position. Gradually, more than one center appears. However, when certain individuals try to dominate and control the narrative, the plane of meaning could be ripped apart. This people are "the swindlers." Their goal is to impose a single interpretation. This is not a democratic or pluralistic approach. That is

622The distinction between these types of interpretation is well explained by Raymond J. Wilson III: "Metaphoric symbolism confers the advantage of flexibility. In metaphoric symbolism, almost any word can become the vehicle for any tenor […] In metonymic symbolism, however, each tenor has available a far more limited number of contiguous elements." See his work, "Ricoeur's 'Allegory' and Jakobson's Metaphoric/Metonymic Principles" Analecta Husserliana 41(1994):293-302. This approach resonates with Hayden White's demand to embrace the ethical and artistic dimension of historiography, since, "The historical narrative does not, as narrative, dispel false beliefs about the past, human life, the nature of the community, and so on; what it does is test the capacity of a culture's fictions to endow real events with the kinds of meanings that literature displays to consciousness through its fashioning of patterns of 'imaginary' events. Precisely insofar as the historical narrative endows sets of real events with the kinds of meaning found otherwise in myth and literature, we are justified in regarding it as a product of allegoresis. Therefore, rather than regard every historical narrative as mythic or ideological in nature, we should regard it as allegorical, that is, saying one thing and meaning another." See White, Content of Form, 1990, 45. To some extent, these concerns reinforce Husserl's argument that historical arguments are presented on the historian's "own responsibility−let us say, as an ethical or as a religious man, but in any case not as a scientific man." See his work, "Philosophy as Rigorous Science," 1999, 25. 378 why the "detectives" have to expose the intentions of people who do not want to participate in the plane of meaning, but, try to take it by force. The engagement of such a fundamental interplay between heritage, narrative, and meaning would benefit from the participation of several "detectives" equipped with a historically enlightened consciousness. A brief excursus on the development of this philosophical attitude may illustrate the potentiality of such participants. Its point of departure lies in Dilthey's notion of historical understanding: "The first condition for the

possibility of historical science lies in the fact that I am myself a historical being."623 Jacob Owensby explains it as follows: "Historical understanding is inseparable from an understanding of the unfolding of our own lives, and thus we are never interested in the lives of others merely on their own terms. We understand the other relative to the concerns of our own existence."624 Thus, our interest in the past stems from a desire to understand who we are, now; not who they were, then. It is a process of self- understanding, not scientific curiosity. The latter advances a dangerous, epistemological paradox, because as historians or archaeologists we simply act like "detectives," collecting evidence from the scene-of-a-crime. We itemize the data, scattered like pieces from a puzzle. But, the crime is never solved; the puzzle is never finished! The perpetrators' motivation is never fully comprehended; it is easily misconstrued. However, if we avoid solving the puzzle, the past is still a fertile place to understand "who we are" and "how we came to be." As much as historical accuracy is easily misplaced in the nuances of language, the suggestiveness of its ethical message still resonates in open

623Dilthey's quote may be found in David E. Linge, "Dilthey and Gadamer: Two Theories of Historical Understanding," Journal of the American Academy of Religion 41, 4(1973):536-53, 536. 624See Jacob Owensby, Dilthey and the Narrative of History, (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1994), 137; cf. Walter B. Gallie, Philosophy and the Historical Understanding, (New York: Schocken Books, 1968); and Arnold Bergstraesser, "Wilhelm Dilthey and Max Weber: An Empirical Approach to Historical Synthesis," Ethics 57, 2(1947):92-110. 379 minds. More so, if the message is advanced honestly. The paradox is triggered by historical distantiation, imposing serious limitations on our ability to envision fellow humans in the past. They turn into "mysterious Others." We never know just how similar or different they really were, when we compare them with ourselves. To diminish this unbreachable gap, we employ a calibrated leap of imagination, driven mostly by empathy. Thus, "the Other" appears by extrapolation, like "a missing shade of color."625 Gadamer's philosophical project was deeply concerned with these issues. His

wirkungsgeschichtliches Bewußtsein (historically effected consciousness) was designed to transcend historical and aesthetic alienation, imposed by the passage of time.626 This approach modified Dilthey's notion of historical understanding. For Gadamer, tradition– understood as an unbroken chain of heritage, transmitted by multiple generations–had absolute validity. In this view, the effects of history become insurmountable and unquestionable. Historical causality is a powerful force. No one can escape its effects. The radicalization of such position was necessary to postulate hermeneutics as first philosophy. Paul Ricoeur described it as a "consciousness exposed to the effects of history." He also recognized how tradition–in such mindset–became an authoritative force, because for Gadamer, "if we are trying to understand a historical phenomenon from the historical distance that is characteristic of our hermeneutical situation, we are always already affected by history […] historical consciousness is itself situated in the web of historical effects."627

625The analogical visualization of the Other stems from a chapter entitled "The Missing Shade of You," in a work by Owen Flanagan where he recycles David Hume's theory of extrapolation in regards to sense perception. See the former's work, Consciousness Reconsidered, (Cambridge: MIT Press, 1992). 626See Gadamer, "The Universality of the Hermeneutical Problem," in Philosophical Hermeneutics, (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1976). 627See Gadamer, Truth and Method, (London: Continuum, 2006), 300. 380 Clearly, this approach is motivated by the desire to overcome the alienating distantiation–that is, the disruption of an organic connection with the past–imposed by modernity. Because, when we recognize the enveloping continuity of tradition, we live in the direct experience of belonging. However, Ricoeur's criticism exposed Gadamer's passive acceptance, presenting it as an attitude in which: "History precedes me and my reflection; I belong to history before I belong to myself." Ricoeur and Habermas were appalled by such view, because it endorsed an oppressive atavism. In Gadamer's magnum

opus they found: "That which has been sanctioned by tradition and custom has an authority that is nameless, and our finite historical being is determined by the fact that always the authority of what has been transmitted–and not only what is clearly grounded– has power (Gewalt) over our attitudes and behavior." Again, Ricoeur criticized it ferociously: "Notice how the word Gewalt [power] is slipped into the text behind Autorität [authority], as well as Herrschaft [domination] in the expression Herrschaft von Tradition."628 These revisions by Ricoeur and Habermas engendered a critical hermeneutics. The latter saw them as the basis for cooperation, since: "By its very structure, hermeneutic understanding aims at gaining from traditions a possible action-oriented self- understanding for social groups" making "possible a form of consensus on which communicative action depends." Yet, "The fact that there even is such a thing as tradition has in it a moment of flexibility: what has been handed down must also be subject to revision, for otherwise the nonidentical moment in the group identity being maintained would be destroyed." In this way, Habermas successfully turned Gadamer's position on its head. Tradition does not take hold of its people, but vice versa. "When reflection

628For Gadamer's passage and Ricoeur's criticism see the latter's, Hermeneutics and the Human Sciences: Essays on Language, Action and Interpretation, (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1981), 65-72. 381 understands the genesis of the tradition from which it proceeds and to which it returns, the dogmatism of life-praxis is shaken."629 By engaging critically the effects of history, our historical consciousness becomes enlightened. Thus, Ricoeur and Habermas restored the essence of Dilthey's Lebensphilosophie, in which "we understand others by placing their expressions, words, and deeds in the broader context of their lives as well as in the larger sociohistorical contexts in which they are involved either consciously or unconsciously."630

The overall intention of this study is to motivate an examination of the past to understand the present and shape the future. Its success relies on a revision of heritage and its limits. Unfortunately, these definitions are still entangled in the traumatic events of the twentieth century. The obsession to conserve "everything at any cost" is heavily influenced by such trauma. However, three generations later, it is time to "shift gears." It is time to move forward and start behaving like a single human race that recognizes the essence of its common heritage. That is why historic preservation should try to break free from the illusion of permanence, which tends to fortify a dangerous atavism, fossilization, and unsound conservatism. The illusion is supported by the successful use of scientific techniques of conservation, counteracting the appearance of change. We cannot transpose such a pervasive attitude toward the past into the delicate field of intangible heritage. What will happen to knowledge or civilization if we treat them like an old building or an ancient parchment? David Lowenthal has argued that "we live simultaneously in present and past" and, if we modify our heritage "we change ourselves as well." Clearly, this correlation entails certain dangers, since: "A past seen as open to manipulation not only undermines

629See Habermas, Logic of Social Sciences, 1988, 164 & 168. 630See Owensby, Dilthey and the Narrative of History, 1994, 137. 382 supposed historical verities but implies a fragile present and portends a shaky future."631 On the other hand, the acceptance of history's effects unequivocally is even more dangerous. That is why we must hold our ground and engage our heritage critically. Transformations in the physical appearance of things do not destroy their enduring essence. A sober and robust inventory of heritage enables us to identify how its essence was transmitted over time. Such a historiographic task clarifies history's effects and, consequently, enables us to make a stand, when necessary, to keep moving forward.

Perhaps the most important attitude to conduct, wisely, the next staged of human adaptation is flexibility, that is, the exact opposite of ossification. To maintain a flexible interaction between heritage, narrative, and meaning we need to embrace the ethical and artistic dimensions of historiography, just as White or Nietzsche have suggested. If the narrative is driven by a historically enlightened consciousness, heritage could be restored and renovated, simultaneously. Yet, there are no recipes for success. Each case should advance creatively through its own method. Even though historiography is an art-form that deals with facts, their handling does not make it a science. Its storytelling capability conveys meaning and inspires new visions. Its narratives have the same potential of dreams and myths. Thus, we may scrutinize the past, almost like a "film noir detective" who exposes the falsified remnants of ancient legacies, whose essence has dissipated. Heritage should be as dynamic as life itself. It has to keep up with our dreams and aspirations. All those who participate in its transmission should recognize the need for such flexibility. What will our descendants think of us, when they realize we left them a fossilized heritage? We need to bring it back to life, before we are completely paralyzed by the unchallenged effects of history.

631Lowenthal, Past is Foreign Country, 2005, 410-2. 383 If we are able to increase its flexibility, heritage could start moving more freely between the life-world, where society fulfills its needs, and the dream-world, where individuals uncover their most intimate motivations. If the religious and political ideologies we inherit from our ancestors were "toned down" to become just a cultural baggage–that is, a cherished legacy that is open to revision, since its content no longer resonates with our current understanding of reality–then, we may uncover a solid foundation for empathy, dialogue, and cooperation. Many religious and political ideas– crafted centuries ago–engender irreconcilable positions and prejudice, hindering the possibility of consented solutions for the challenges ahead. We need to alleviate these entrenched debates, by enabling reason–a nondiscriminatory version, like the one restored by Habermas–to facilitate the participatory processes that could produce more sustainable solutions. This nuanced use of reason might "cool off" the fiery ideological content we have inherited from previous generations. As a globalized humanity tries to become more pluralistic, recognizing the value of multiculturalism, a toned-down version of heritage could help us recover a sense of community. Recent discoveries in genetics and neuroscience suggest such a revision of heritage. Studies of DNA patterns reveal that contemporary humans stem from small groups in Africa, almost 60,000 years ago. Studies in the evolution of the brain unveil the attainment of its highest capacity around 150,000 years ago. So, the rest of our amazing evolution has been mostly cultural. The ideologies that separate us today have less than 10,000 years of age. During the other 140,000 years we may have shared a common set of simpler beliefs. Talk about heritage! These studies prove that all of us constitute a single human race, whose physical appearance changes over time, through the "accidents of geography." Is it not now the right time to recover our identity as a single race? The ideological implications of these studies should push us to elaborate a new narrative that 384 explains who we are as a species. With luck, the narrowness of those inherited ideologies may be gradually superseded over time.632 Hopefully, this study may inspire ways of making history our own, once again. And escape the tragedy of what Emil Cioran called the "fall out of time."633 If we work together, we may find our way back into history. The task may be accomplished by Husserl's balanced approach, bridging the gap between materialism and idealism, so we may still pursue a first philosophy. As much as the latter is rooted in Aristotelian

Metaphysics, it is not unrelated with the transcendental realm that is so reminiscent of Plato's Forms or Kant's Project. In Husserl's case it is consciousness trying to interact with those mysterious messages that the subconscious evokes in dreams:

Our revels are now ended. These our actors, As I foretold you, were all spirits and Are melted into air, into thin air: And, like the baseless fabric of this vision, The cloud-capp'd towers, the gorgeous palaces, The solemn temples, the great globe itself, Yea, all which we inherit, shall dissolve And, like the insubstantial pageant faded, Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff As dreams are made on, and our little life Is rounded with a sleep…634

632See Cavalli-Sforza et al., History and Geography of Human Genes, 1994; Kandel, Search of Memory, 2006, 10-35; Spencer Wells, Deep Ancestry: Inside the Genographic Project, (Washington: National Geographic, 2006); and Sidney Liebes, Elisabet Sahtouris, and Brian Swimme, A Walk Through Time, From Stardust to Us: The Evolution of Life on Earth, (New York: Wiley, 1998). 633Emil Cioran described the "fall out of time," as follows: " Clutch at the moments as I may, they elude my grasp […] Unapproachable all, they proclaim, one after the next, my isolation […] When they abandon us, we lack the resources indispensable to the production of an act […] Defenseless, with no hold on things, we face a peculiar misfortune: that of not being entitled to time […] Sitting on the brink of time, watching the moments go by, we end up no longer able to see anything but a succession without content, time that has lost its substance, abstract time, version of our Void." Yet, we have the power "to revive it, to adopt toward time a clear-cut attitude, without ambiguity." See Cioran, Fall into Time, 1970, 173 &176. 634Shakespeare, The Tempest, 4.1.149-59. 385 Bibliography

1. General

1.1. Architecture and Preservation

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386 1.2. Miscellaneous Fields

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2. Rome's Pantheon

2.1. Antiquity

Adam, Jean-Pierre. Roman Building: Materials and Techniques. Translated by Anthony Mathews. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1994. Barchiesi, Alessandro. "Learned Eyes: Poets, Viewers, Image Makers." In The Cambridge Companion to the Age of Augustus, Karl Galinsky, ed., 281-305. New York: Cambridge University Press, 2005. Belardi, Giovanni, ed. Il Pantheon: Storia, Tecnica e Restauro. Ministerio per i Beni e le Attività Culturali. Rome: BetaGamma, 2006. Beltrami, Luca. Il Pantheon: La struttura organica della cupola… Milan: U. Allegretti, 1898. Boatwright, Mary T. Hadrian and the City of Rome. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1987. Boyancé, Pierre. Études sur la religion romaine. Rome: École Française de Rome, 1972. Braudel, Fernand. Memory and the Mediterranean. Translated by Siân Reynolds, text edited by Roselyne de Ayala and Paule Braudel. New York: Alfred P. Knopf, 2001. Cerasoli, Francesco. "I restauri del Pantheon dal secolo XV al XVIII." Bulletino della Commissione Archaeologica Comunale di Roma 37(1909):280-9.

389 Coarelli, Filippo. Il Campo Marzio. Rome: Quasar, 1997. ---. "Il Pantheon, l'apoteosi de Augusto e l'apoteosi di Romolo." In Cittá e architettura nella Roma Imperiale, Kjeld de Fine Licht, ed., 41-6. Copenhagen: Odense University Press, 1983. De Fine Licht, Kjeld. The Rotunda in Rome. Jutland Archaeological Society, 1966. Feeney, Denis. Literature and Religion at Rome: Cultures, Contexts, and Beliefs. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998. Festa-Farina, Fiorella, ed. Tra Damasco e Roma: L'architettura di Apollodoro nella cultura classica. 20 dicembre 2001-20 gennaio 2002, Khan Assad Bacha, Damasco. Rome: L'Erma di Bretschneider, 2001. Grant, Michael. Roman History From Coins: Some Uses of the Imperial Coinage to the Historian. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1958. Gradel, Ittai. Emperor Worship and Roman Religion. New York: Oxford University Press, 2002. Gros, Pierre. Aurea Templa: Recherches sur l'architecture religieuse de Rome à l'époque d'Auguste. Rome: École Française de Rome, 1976. Hetland, Lise M. "Dating the Pantheon." Journal of Roman Archaeology 20(2007):95- 112. Joost-Gaugier, Christiane L. "The Iconography of Sacred Space: A Suggested Reading of the Meaning of the Roman Pantheon." Artibus et Historiae 19, 38(1998):21-42. Lanciani, Rodolfo. The Ruins and Excavations of Ancient Rome. An unabridged facsimile of the edition by Houghton, Mifflin & Co., Boston, 1900. Adamant Media, 2006. ---. The Destruction of Ancient Rome: A Sketch of the History of the Monuments. An unabridged facsimile of the edition by Macmillan & Co., London, 1901. Adamant Media, 2005. Le Glay, Marcel, Jean-Louis Voisin, and Yann Le Bohec, History of Rome. Third edition, with new material by David Cherry and Donald G. Kyle, translated by Antonia Nevill. Malden: Blackwell, 2005. Loerke, William. "Georges Chédanne and the Pantheon." Modulus 15, 1(1982):40-55. Lugli, Giuseppe. The Pantheon and Adjacent Monuments. Translated by John Tickner. Rome: Bardi, 2002. ---. La tecnica edilizia Romana: Con particolare riguardo a Roma e Lazio. Vol. I. Rome: Presso Giovanni Bardi, 1957. Macdonald, William L. The Pantheon: Design, Meaning, and Progeny. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1976. 390 ---. The Architecture of the Roman Empire, I: An Introductory Study. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1965. Mark, Robert, and Paul Hutchinson, "On the Structure of the Roman Pantheon," The Art Bulletin 68, 1(1986):24-34. Primavesi, Oliver. "Empedocles: Physical and Mythical Divinity." In The Oxford Handbook of Presocratic Philosophy, Patricia Curd and Daniel W. Graham, eds., 250-83. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008. Rawson, Elizabeth. Intellectual Life in the Late Roman Republic. London: Duckworth, 1985. Reeder, Jane C. "Typology and Ideology in the Mausoleum of Augustus: Tumulus and Tholos." Classical Antiquity 11, 2(1992):265-307. Rehak, Paul. Imperium and Cosmos: Augustus and the Northern Campus Martius. Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 2006. Shipley, Frederick. Agrippa's Building Activities in Rome. St. Louis: Washington University, 1933. Syme, Sir Ronald. The Roman Revolution. Oxford: Clarendon, 1939. Taylor, Rabun. Roman Builders: A Study in Architectural Process. New York: Cambridge University Press, 2003. Wallace-Hadrill, Andrew. Rome's Cultural Revolution. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008. White, Michael J. "Stoic Natural Philosophy (Physics and Cosmology)." In The Cambridge Companion to the Age of Augustus, Brad Inwood, ed., 124-52. New York: Cambridge University Press, 2003. Zanker, Paul. The Power of Images in the Age of Augustus. Translated by Alan Shapiro. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1990. Ziolkowski, Adam. "Was Agrippa's Pantheon the Temple of Mars in Campo?" Papers of the British School at Rome 62(1994):261-78.

2.2. Middle Ages

Artz, Frederick B. The Mind of the Middle Ages: An Historical Survey, A.D. 200-1500. Third ed. rev. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1980. Barraclough, Geoffrey. The Medieval Papacy. New York: W. W. Norton, 1979. Bokenkotter, Thomas. A Concise History of the Catholic Church. Rev. ed. New York: Doubleday, 2005.

391 Buddensieg, T. "Criticism and Praise of the Pantheon in the Middle Ages and the Renaissance." In Classical Influences on European Culture A.D. 500-1500. Proceedings of an International Conference held at King's College, Cambridge, April 1969. R. R. Bolgar, ed., 259-67. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1971. Carroll, James. Constantine's Sword: The Church and the Jews, a History. Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 2001. Flori, Jean. "L'Église et la Guerre Sainte: de la "Paix de Dieu" a la "croisade," Annales: Histoire, Science Sociales 47, 2(1992):453-66. Grant, Michael. The Fall of the Roman Empire: A Reappraisal by Michael Grant. London: The Annenberg School Press, 1976. Hamilton, Louis. "Memory, Symbol, and Arson: Was Rome "sacked" in 1084?" Speculum 78, 2(2003):378-99. Krautheimer, Richard. Rome: Profile of a City, 312-1308. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2000. Magnuson, Torgil. The Urban Transformation of Medieval Rome, 312-1420. Stockholm: Suecoromana VII, 2004. Mayer, Marvin. "The Prayer of Mary in the Magical Book of Mary and the Angels." In Prayer, Magic, and the Stars in the Ancient and Late Antique World, Scott Noegel, Joel Walker, and Brannon Wheeler, eds., 57-68. University Park: The Pennsylvania State University Press, 2003. Muñoz, Antonio. "La decorazione medievale del Pantheon," Nuovo Bullettino di Archeologia Christiana 18(1912):25-35. Nichols, Francis M., ed. The Marvels of Rome: Mirabilia Urbis Romae. Second ed., with introduction, gazetteer, and bibliography by Eileen Gardiner. New York: Italica Press, 1986. Noble, Thomas F. X. "Morbidity and Vitality in the History of the Early Medieval Papacy," The Catholic Historical Review 81, 4(1995):505-40. Norwich, John J. Byzantium: The Early Centuries. New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1989. Ó Carragáin, Éamonn, and Carol Neuman de Vegvar, eds. Roma Felix: Formation and Reflections of Medieval Rome. Aldershot, Hampshire: Ashgate, 2007. Richards, Jeffrey. The Popes and the Papacy in the Early Middle Ages 476-752. London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1979. Ullmann, Walter. A Short History of the Papacy in the Middle Ages. London: Methuen, 1972. Underwood, Paul A. "The Fountain of Life in Manuscripts of the Gospels." Dumbarton Oaks Papers 5(1950):41-138. 392 Vauchez, André, ed. Roma Medievale. Rome: Gius, Laterza & Figli, 2006.

2.3. Renaissance & Baroque

Bartoccetti, Vittorio. "Santa Maria ad Martyres (Pantheon)." In Le Chiese di Roma Illustrate, Carlo Galassi-Paluzzi, ed., no. 47. Rome: Marieti, 1950. Borsi, Franco. Bernini. Translated by Erich Wolf. New York: Rizzoli, 1984. Cerasoli, Francesco. "I restauri del Pantheon dal secolo XV al XVIII." Bulletino della Commissione Archeologica Comunale di Roma 37(1909):280-9. Chambers, D. S. Popes, Cardinals and War: The Military Church in Renaissance and Early Modern Europe. London: I. B. Tauris, 2006. Curran, Brian. The Egyptian Renaissance: The Afterlife of Ancient Egypt in Early Modern Italy. Chicago: Chicago University Press, 2007. De Jong, Helena M. E. Michael Maier's Atalanta Fugiens: Sources of an Alchemical Book of Emblems. Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1969. Fiore, Francesco Paolo, ed. La Roma di Leon Battista Alberti: Umanisti, architteti e artisti alla scoperta dell'antico nella città del Quattrocento. Milan: Skira, 2005. Krautheimer, Richard. The Rome of Alexander VII, 1655-1667. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1985. Lanciani, Rodolfo. "Del Pantheon." In Notizie degli scavi di antichità comunicate alla R. Accademia dei Lincei August, pp. 340-61. Rome: Coi Tipi del Salviucci, 1882. ---. "Del Pantheon." In Notizie degli scavi di antichità comunicate alla R. Accademia dei Lincei August, pp. 255-94. Rome: Coi Tipi del Salviucci, 1881. Marder, Tod. "Alexander VII, Bernini, and the Urban Setting of the Pantheon in the Seventeenth Century." The Journal of the Society of Architectural Historians 50, 3(1991):273-92. ---. "Bernini and Alexander VII: Criticism and Praise of the Pantheon in the Seventeenth Century." The Art Bulletin 71, 4(1989):628-45. Nesselrath, Arnold. "Impressionen zum Pantheon in der Renaissance," In Pegasus 10, Berliner Beiträge zum Nachleben der Antike, Horst Bredekamp and Arnold Nesselrath, eds., 37-84. Berlin: Brandenburgische Akademie der Wissenschaften, 2008. Parks, Tim. Medici Money: Banking, Metaphysics, and Art in Fifteenth-Century Florence. New York: W. W. Norton, 2005. Stinger, Charles L. The Renaissance in Rome. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1998. 393 Stone, Gregory B. Dante's Pluralism and the Islamic Philosophy of Religion. New York: Palgrave, 2006. Simoncini, Giorgo. Roma: Le transformazioni urbane nel Cinquecento. I, Topografia e urbanistica da Giulio II a Clemente VIII. Florence: Leo S, Olschki, 2008. Williams, George L. Papal Genealogy: The Families and Descendants of the Popes. Jefferson, NC: McFarland, 1998.

2.4. Enlightenment and Modernity

Araujo, Robert J. and John A. Lucal. "A Forerunner for International Organizations: The Holy See and the Community of Christendom: With Special Emphasis on the Medieval Papacy." Journal of Law and Religion 20, 2(2004-5):305-50. Beals, Derek. The Risorgimento and the Unification of Italy. London: Longman, 1981. Benevolo, Leonardo. Roma oggi. Rome: Laterza, 1977. Broers, Michael. The Napoleonic Empire in Italy, 1796-1814: Cultural Imperialism in a European Context? New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2005. Caprotti, Federico. Mussolini's Cities: Internal Colonialism in Italy, 1930-1939. Youngstown, NY: Cambria, 2007. Carli, Carlo Fabrizio. Architettura e fascismo. Rome: Giovanni Volpe, 1980. David, Massimilano, ed. Ruins of Ancient Rome: The Drawings of French Architects Who Won the Prix de Rome 1786-1924. Translated by Thomas M. Hartmann. Los Angeles: The J. Paul Getty Museum, 2002. Etlin, Richard A. Modernism in Italian Architecture, 1890-1940. Cambridge: The MIT Press, 1991. Johns, Christopher M. S. "Papal Patronage and Cultural Bureaucracy in Eighteenth- Century Rome: Clement XI and the Accademia di San Luca." Eighteenth-Century Studies 22, 1(1988):1-23. Jonsson, Marita. La cura dei monumenti alle origini: Restauro e scavo di monumenti antichi a Roma 1800-1830. Skrifter Utgivna Av Svenska Institutet I Rom, 8, XIV. Stockholm: Paul Åströms, 1986. Loerke, William C. "A Rereading of the Interior Elevation of Hadrian's Rotunda." The Journal of the Society of Architectural Historians 49, 1(1990):22-43. ---. "Georges Chédanne and the Pantheon: A Beaux-Arts Contribution to the History of Roman Architecture." Modulus 15, 1(1982):40-55. Marder, Tod. "Speechi's High Altar for the Pantheon and the Statues by Cametti and Moderati." The Burlington Magazine 122, 922(1980):30-40. 394 Nicassio, Susan V. Imperial City: Rome, Romans and Napoleon, 1796-1815. Welwyn Garden City: Ravenhall Books, 2005. Parker, Harold T. The Cult of Antiquity and the French Revolutionaries: A Study in the Development of the Revolutionary Spirit. Chicago: Chicago University Press, 1937. Pasquali, Susanna. "From the Pantheon of Artists to the Pantheon of Illustrious Men: Raphael's Tomb and its Legacy." In Pantheons: Transformations of a Monumental Idea, Richard Wrigley and Matthew Craske, eds., 35-56. Burlington: Ashgate, 2004. ---. Il Pantheon: Architettura e antiquaria nel Settecento a Roma. Modena: Franco Cosimo Panini, 1996. Ruggieri, Gianfranco. Guide to the Pantheon. Rome: Editoriale Museum, 1994. Salomone, A. William. Italy from the Risorgimento to Fascism: An Inquiry into the Origins of the Totalitarian State. Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1970. Schneid, Frederick C. Napoleon's Conquest of Europe: The War of the Third Coalition. Westport: Praeger, 2005.

3. Teotihuacan's Sun Pyramid

3.1. Antiquity

Caso, Alfonso. El pueblo del sol. Mexico City: Fondo de Cultura Económica, 1983. Chadwick, Robert. Manuscrito de la Dirección de Monumentos Prehispánicos, 1974, Ref. B/311.42 (z 52-1)/1 Pirámide del Sol, 1963-1964, (Zona 5-B), Robert Chadwick, Depto. de Arqueología, Universidad de Alberta, Calgary, Canada. Libro I, 1-34. The manuscript may be found at the Archivo Técnico de la Coordinación Nacional de Arqueología e Historia, INAH [Instituto Nacional de Antrpología e Historia], in Mexico City. Clark, John E. "Teogonía olmeca: Perspectivas, problemas y propuestas." In Olmeca: Balances y perspectivas. Memoria de la primera mesa redonda, María Teresa Uriarte and Rebecca B. González Lauck, eds., 145-84. Mexico City: Instituto de Investigaciones Estéticas, Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México; Consejo Nacional para la Cultura y las Artes, Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia; Fundación Arqueológica del Nuevo Mundo, Brigham Young University, 2008. Cogwill, George. "State and Society at Teotihuacan, Mexico." Annual Review of Anthropology, 26(1997):129-61.

395 ---. "What We Still Don't Know About Teotihuacan." In Teotihuacan: Art from the City of the Gods, Kathleen Berrin and Esther Pasztory, eds., 117-25. San Francisco: Thames and Hudson, The Fine Arts Museums of San Francisco, 1993. Diehl, Richard, and Janet C. Berlo, eds. Mesoamerica After the Decline of Teotihuacan A.D. 700-900. Washington, DC: Dumbarton Oaks, Trustees for Harvard University, 1989. Furst, Peter. "Morning Glory and Mother Goddess at Tepantitla, Teotihuacan: Iconography and Analogy in Pre-Columbian Art." In Mesoamerican Archaeology: New Approaches, Norman Hammond, ed., 187-215. Austin: University of Texas Press, 1974. Gallegos Ruiz, Roberto, José Roberto Gallegos Téllez Rojo, and Miguel Gabriel Pastrana Flores, eds. Antología de documentos para la historia de la arqueología de Teotihuacan. Mexico City: Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia, 1997. Heyden, Doris. "Caves, Gods, and Myths: World-View and Planning in Teotihuacan." In Mesoamerican Sites and World-Views: A Conference at Dumbarton Oaks, 16th and 17th October 1976, Elizabeth P. Benson, ed., 1-39. Washington, DC: Dumbarton Oaks, Trustees for Harvard University, 1981. Kubler, George. The Iconography of the Art of Teotihuacan, Studies in Pre-Columbian Art and Archaeology, 4. Washington, DC: Dumbarton Oaks, Trustees for Harvard University, 1967. Langley, James C. Symbolic Notation of Teotihuacan: Elements of Writing in a Mesoamerican Culture of the Classic Period. Oxford: BAR International Series, 1986. León-Portilla, Miguel. La filosofía náhuatl: Estudiada en sus fuentes. Mexico City: Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México, 1993. ---. Toltecáyotl: Aspectos de la cultura náhuatl. Mexico City: Fondo de Cultura Económica, 1980. ---. De Teotihuacán a los Aztecas: Antología de fuentes e interpretaciones históricas. Mexico City: Instituto de Investigaciones Históricas, Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México, 1971. López-Austin, Alfredo. Tamoanchan y Tlalocan. Mexico City: Fondo de Cultura Económica, 1994. ---. Los mitos del tlacuache: Caminos de la mitología mesoamericana. Mexico City: Alianza Editorial Mexicana, 1990. Malmström, Vincent H. Cycles of the Sun, Mysteries of the Moon: The Calendar in Mesoamerican Civilization. Austin: University of Texas Press, 1997.

396 Miller, Arthur G. The Mural Painting of Teotihuacan. Washington, DC: Dumbarton Oaks, Trustees for Harvard University, 1973. Millon, René. "Teotihuacan Studies: From 1950 to 1990 and Beyond." In Art, Ideology, and the City of Teotihuacan: A Symposium at Dumbarton Oaks, 8th and 9th October 1988, Janet C. Berlo, ed., 339-419. Washington, DC: Dumbarton Oaks, Trustees for Harvard University, 1992. ---. "The Last Ten Years of Teotihuacan Dominance." In The Collapse of Ancient States and Civilizations, Norman Yoffee and George Cowgill, eds., 102-164. Tucson: The University of Arizona Press, 1988. ---. "Teotihuacan: City, State and Civilization." In Supplement to the Handbook of Middle American Indians, V. I, Archaeology, Victoria R. Bricker and Jeremy Sabloff, eds., 198-243. Austin: University of Texas Press, 1981. Millon, René, Bruce Drewitt, and James A. Bennyhoff. "The Pyramid of the Sun at Teotihuacán: 1959 Investigations." Transactions of the American Philosophical Society, 55, 6(1965):1-94. Pasztory, Esther. "Abstraction and Rise of a Utopian State at Teotihuacan." In Art, Ideology, and the City of Teotihuacan: A Symposium at Dumbarton Oaks, 8th and 9th October 1988, Janet C. Berlo, ed., 281-320. Washington, DC: Dumbarton Oaks, Trustees for Harvard University, 1992. ---. The Murals of Tepantitla, Teotihuacan. New York: Garland, 1976. Rattray, Evelyn C. "Resumen de las tendencias cronológicas de la cerámica y panorama general de Teotihuacán." In Los ritmos de cambio ne Teotihuacán: Reflexiones y discusiones de su cronología, Rosa Brambila and Rubén Cabrera, eds., 255-82. Mexico City: Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia, 1998. Sanders, William. "Ecological Adaptation in the Basin of Mexico: 23,000 B.C. to the Present." In Supplement to the Handbook of Middle American Indians, V. I, Archaeology, Victoria R. Bricker and Jeremy Sabloff, eds., 147-197. Austin: University of Texas Press, 1981. Sugiyama, Saburo and Leonardo López Luján, eds. Sacrificios de consagración en la Pirámide de la Luna. Mexico City: Consejo Nacional para la Cultura y las Artes, Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia, Museo del Templo Mayor, and Arizona State University, 2006. Taube, Karl. "The Teotihuacan Spider Woman." Journal of Latin American Lore, 9, 2(1983):107-89. Vit-Suzan, Ilan. "From Mesoamerican Worldviews to Contemporary 'New Age' Beliefs: Teotihuacan, a Paradigmatic Case." In Penser et pratiquer l'esprit du lieu / Reflecting on and Practicing the Spirit of Place, Célia Forget, ed., 51-67. Québec City: Presses de l'Université Laval, 2010.

397 ---. "Principios de urbanismo en Mesoamérica." Revista de la Universidad de México, Nueva Época, 22(2005):74-85. ---. "El patio central teotihuacano, un modelo del universo." Tezontle: Boletín del Centro de Estudios Teotihuacanos, 16-7(2005):6-9. Wolf, Eric. Sons of the Shaking Earth: The People of Mexico and Guatemala–Their Land, History, and Culture. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1959.

3.2. Conquest & the New Spain

Alvear Acevedo, Carlos. Medio milenio de evangelización. FUNDICE, Colección Mexicana V Centenario. Mexico City: Jus, 1992. Comisión Episcopal para Indígenas (CEI). 500 años de evangelización en México (Consulta Indígena). Cuadernos Estudios Indígenas, no. 3. Mexico: CENAMI, 1987. Cortés, Hernan. Cartas de Relación. Mexico City: Fondo de Cultura Económica, 1994. Garrido Aranda, Antonio. Moriscos e indios: Precedentes hispánicos de la evangelización en México. Mexico City: Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México, 1980. Kamen, Henry. The Spanish Inquisition: A Historical Revision. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1998. Lea, Henry Charles. The Inquisition in the Spanish Dependencies: Sicily, Naples, Sardinia, Milan, the Canaries, Mexico. Charleston: Nabu Public Domain Reprints, 2010. Nebel, Richard. Santa María Tonantzin Virgen de Guadalupe: Continuidad y transformación religiosa en México. Translated by Carlos Warnholtz Bustillos and Irma Ochoa de Nebel. Mexico City: Fondo de Cultura Económica, 1995. Pérez, Joseph. Breve historia de la Inquisición en España. Translated by María Pons Irazazábal. Barcelona: Crítica, 2003. Ricard, Robert. The Spiritual Conquest of Mexico: An Essay on the Apostolate and the Evangelizing Methods of the Mendicant Orders in New Spain, 1523-1572. Translated by Lesley Byrd Simpson. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1966. Schávelzon, Daniel. "La primera excavación arqueológica de América: Teotihuacan en 1675." Anales de Antropología, Tomo I: Arqueología y Antrpología Física, 20(1983):121-34. Thiemer-Sachse, Ursula. Alexander von Humboldt e il "Museo Historico Indiano" di Lorenzo Boturini Benaducci. Alexandria: Edizioni dell'Orso, 2002.

398 Todorov, Tzvetan. The Conquest of America: The Question of the Other. Translated by Richard Howard. New York: Harper Perennial, 1984. Walls, Laura D. The Passage to Cosmos: Alexander von Humboldt and the Shaping of America. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 2009.

3.4. Porfiriato

Achugar, Hugo. "Foundational Images of the Nation in Latin America." In Building Nineteenth-Century Latin America: Re-Rooted Cultures, Identities, Nations, William G. Acree Jr. and Juan Carlos González Espitia, eds., 11-31. Nashville: Vanderbilt University Press, 2009. Bastian, Jean-Pierre. "La estructura social en México a fines del siglo XIX y principios del XX." Revista Mexicana de Sociología 51, 2(1989):413-29. Batres, Leopoldo. "El 'descubrimiento' de la Pirámide del Sol." Arqueología Mexicana, 1, 1(1993):45-8. ---. Teotihuacan: Memoria que presenta Leopoldo Batres… Mexico City: Fidencio S. Soria, 1906. Bazant, Mílada, ed. Debate pedagógico durante el Porfiriato. Mexico City: Secretaría de Educación Pública, 1985. Bryan, Anthony. The Politics of the Porfiriato: A Research Review. Bloomington: Latin American Studies Program, Indiana University, 1973. Dumas, Claude. Justo Sierra y el México de su tiempo 1848-1912. Volume 2. Mexico City: Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México, 1986. González Navarro, Moisés. Sociedad y cultura en el Porfiriato. Mexico City: Consejo Nacional para la Cultura y las Artes, 1994. Guerra, François-Xavier. Modernidad e independencias: Ensayos sobre las revoluciones hispánicas. Mexico City: MAPFRE, 1992. ---. México: Del antiguo régimen a la revolución. 2 vols., translated by Sergio Fernández Bravo. Mexico City: Fondo de Cultura Económica, 1988. Powell, T. G. "Mexican Intellectuals and the Indian Question, 1876-1911." The Hispanic American Historical Review 48, 1(1968):19-36. Raat, William D. El positivismo durante el Porfiriato (1876-1910). Translated by Andrés Lira. Mexico City: Secretaría de Educación Pública, 1975. ---. "Los intelectuales, el positivismo y la cuestión indígena." Historia Mexicana 20, 3(1971):412-27.

399 Stabb, Martin S. "Indigenism and Racism in Mexican Thought: 1857-1911." Journal of Inter-American Studies 1, 4(1959):405-23. Tenorio Trillo, Mauricio and Aurora Gómez Galvarriato. El Porfiriato. Mexico City: Centro de Investigación Docencia Económicas, Fondo de Cultura Económica, 2006.

3.5. Modernity

Álvarez Nolasco, Ernesto. Historia mínima del PRI: Luces y sombras de quien quiere retornar al Palacio Nacional. Mexico City: Agencia Promotora de Publicaciones, 2009. Bartra, Roger. The Cage of Melancholy: Identity and Metamorphosis in the Mexican Character. New Brunswick: Rutgers University Press, 1992. Bastian, Jean-Pierre. "Una ausencia notoria: La francmasonería en la historiografía mexicanista," Historia Mexicana 44, 3(1995):439-60. Bernal, Ignacio. A History of Mexican Archaeology: The Vanished Civilizations of Middle America. Translated by Ruth Malet. London: Thames and Hudson, 1980. ---. Teotihuacan: Descubrimientos y reconstrucciones. Mexico City: Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia, 1963. Bonfil Batalla, Guillermo. México profundo: Una civilización negada. Mexico City: Random House Mondadori, 2005. Brading, David A. "Monuments and Nationalism in Modern Mexico." Nations and Nationalism 7, 4(2001):521-31. ---. "Manuel Gamio and Official Indigenismo in Mexico." Bulletin of Latin American Research 7, 1(1988):75-89. ---. The Origins of Mexican Nationalism. Cambridge, UK: Center for Latin American Studies, 1985. Cosío Villegas, Daniel, Ignacio Bernal, Alejandra Moreno Toscano, and Eduardo Blanquel. Historia mínima de México. Mexico City: Colegio de México, 1974. Dawson, Alexander S. "From Models for the Nation to Model Citizens: Indigenismo and the 'Revindication' of the Mexican Indian." Journal of Latin American Studies 30, 2(1998):279-308. Escalante Gonzalbo, Pablo, Bernardo García Martínez, Luis Jáuregui, Josefina Zoraida Vázquez, Elisa Speckman Guerra, Javier Garciadiego, and Luis Aboites Aguilar. Nueva historia mínima de México. Mexico City: Colegio de México, 2006. Gamio, Manuel. Arqueología e indigenismo. Eduardo Matos Moctezuma, ed. Mexico City: Secretaría de Educación Pública, 1972. 400 ---. Hacia un nuevo México: Problemas sociales. Mexico City, 1935. Gamio, Manuel, ed. La población del Valle de Teotihuacán: Representativa de las que habitan las regions rurales del Distrito Federal y de los Estados de Hidalgo, Puebla, México y Tlaxcala. 2 vols. Mexico City: Secretaría de Agricultura y Fomento, Dirección de Antropología, 1922. Gossen, Gary H. and Miguel León-Portilla, eds. South and Meso-American Native Spirituality: From the Cult of the Feathered Serpent to the Theology of Liberation. New York: Crossroad, 1993. Haber, Stephen. "The Worst of Both Worlds: The New Cultural History of Mexico." The Hispanic American Historical Review 79, 2(1999):307-30. ---. "Anything Goes: Mexico's "New" Cultural History." Mexican Studies / Estudios Mexicanos 13, 2(1997):363-83. Hale, Charles R. "Cultural Politics of Identity in Latin America." Annual Review of Anthropology 26(1997):567-90. Joseph, Gilbert M. and Timothy J. Henderson, eds. The Mexico Reader: History, Culture, Politics. Durham: Duke University Press, 2002. Kandell, Jonathan. La Capital: The Biography of Mexico City. New York: Random House, 1988. Knight, Alan. "Peasants into Patriots: Thoughts on the Making of the Mexican Nation." Mexican Studies / Estudios Mexicanos 10, 1(1994):135-61. ---. "The Mexican Revolution: Bourgeois? Nationalist? Or Just a 'Great Rebellion'?" Bulletin of Latin American Research 4, 2(1985):1-37. ---. "El liberalismo mexicano desde la Reforma hasta la Revolución (una interpretación)." Historia Mexicana 35, 1(1985):59-91. León-Portilla, Miguel and Earl Shorris, eds. Antigua y nueva palabra: Antología de la literatura mesoamericana, desde los tiempos precolombinos hasta el presente. Mexico City: Aguilar, 2004. Llinas, Edgar. Revolución, educación y mexicanidad: La búsqueda de la identidad nacional en el pensamiento educativo mexicano. Mexico City: Compañía Editorial Continental, 1985. Marcos, Subcomandante. Conversations with Durito: Stories of the Zapatistas and Neoliberalism. New York: Autonomedia, 2005. Menegus Bornemann, Margarita. Los Indios en la historia de México: siglos XVI al XIX: Balance y perspectivas. Mexico City: Fondo de Cultura Económica, Centro de Investigación y Docencia Económica, 2006. Meyer, Michael C., William L. Sherman, and Susan M. Deeds. The Course of Mexican History. Sixth ed. New York: Oxford University Press, 1999. 401 Molina Montes, Augusto. La restauración arquitectónica de edificios arqueológicos. Mexico City: Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia, 1975. Morris, Stephen D. "Reforming the Nation: Mexican Nationalism in Context." Journal of Latin American Studies 31, 2(1999):363-97. Paz, Octavio. El laberinto de la soledad. Mexico City: Fondo de Cultura Económica, 2004. ---. The Other Mexico: Critique of the Pyramid. Translated by Lysander Kemp. New York: Grove Press, 1972. Schávelzon, Daniel. La conservación del patrimonio cultural en América Latina: Restauración de edificios prehispánicos en Mesoamérica, 1750-1980. Buenos Aires: Instituto de Arte Americano e Investigaciones Estéticas "Mario J. Buschiazzo" and the Universidad de Buenos Aires, Facultad de Arquitectura, Diseño y Urbanismo, 1990. ---. "La primera excavación arqueológica de América: Teotihuacan en 1675." Anales de Antropología, Tomo I: Arqueología y Antropología Física, 20(1983):121-34. Vasconcelos, José. The Cosmic Race / La raza cósmica. Translated, edited, and introduced by Didier T. Jaén. Los Angeles: University of California, Davis, 1979. Vázquez León, Luis. El Leviatán arqueológico: Antropología de una tradición científica en México. Leiden: Research School CNWS, 1996. Warman, Arturo. Los indios mexicanos en el umbral del milenio. Mexico City: Fondo de Cultura Económica, 2003. ---. Movimientos indígenas contemporáneos en México. Mexico City: Centro de Investigaciones Interdisciplinarias en Humanidades, Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México; Miguel Ángel Porrúa, 1993.

4. Granada's Alhambra

4.1. Al-Andalus

Al-Jatib. Descripción del Reino de Granada bajo la dominación de los Naseritas… Translated by Dn. Francisco Javier Simonet. Madrid: Imprenta Nacional, 1860. Arié, Rachel. El Reino Naṣrí de Granada (1232-1492). Translated by Jesús Cantero. Madrid: MAPFRE, 1992. ---. L'Espagne musulmane au temps des Nasrides (1232-1492). Paris: E. de Boccard, 1973. Bargebuhr, Frederick P. The Alhambra: A Cycle of Studies on the Eleventh Century on Moorish Spain. Berlin: De Gruyer, 1968. 402 Bel, Alfred. La Religion Musulmane en Berbérie: Esquisse d'histoire et de Sociologie religieuses. Tome I: Establissement et développement de l'Islam en Berbérie du VIIe au XXe siècle. Paris: Librairie Orientaliste Paul Geuthner, 1938. Bianca, Stefano. Urban Form in the Arab World: Past and Present. New York: Thames and Hudson, 2000. Brett, Michael and Elizabeth Fentress. The Berbers. Malden: Blackwell, 1997. Cruz Hernández, Miguel. Historia del pensamiento en el mundo islámico 2: El pensamiento de al-Ándalus (siglos IX-XIV). Madrid: Alianza, 1996. Fernández Puertas, Antonio. The Alhambra I: From the Ninth Century to Yūsuf I (1354). London: Saqi Books, 1997. ---. La fachada del Palacio de Comares = The Façade of the Palace of Comares. Granada: Patronato de la Alhambra y el Generalife, 1980. Gätje, Helmut. The Qur'ān and its Exegesis: Selected Texts with Classical and Modern Muslim Interpretations. Oxford: One World, 1996. Ghulām, Yūsuf Maḥmūd. The Art of Arabic Calligraphy. Lafayette, CA: Yūsuf Maḥmūd Ghulām, 1982. Goury, Jules and Owen Jones. Plans, elevations, sections, and details of the Alhambra… London: Owen Jones, 1842-5. Harvey, Leonard P. Islamic Spain 1250-1500. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1990. Ibn Anas, Malik. Al-Muwatta of Imam Malik Ibn Anas: The First Formulation of Islamic Law. Translated by Aisha Abdurrahman Bewley. London: Kegan Paul International, 1989. Kennedy, Hugh. The Great Arab Conquests: How the Spread of Islam Changed the World We Live In. Philadelphia: Da Capo Press, 2008. ---. Muslim Spain and Portugal: A Political History of al-Andalus. Harlow: Longman, 1996. Lafuente Alcántara, Emilio. Inscripciones árabes de Granada: Precedidos de una reseña histórica y de la genealogía de los Reyes Alahmares. Granada: Universidad de Granada, 2000. Lapidus, Ira. A History of Islamic Societies. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988. Lewis, David L. God's Crucible: Islam and the Making of Europe, 570-1215. New York: W. W. Norton, 2008.

403 Malpica Cuello, Antonio. La Alhambra de Granada, un estudio arqueológico. Granada: Universidad de Granada, Junta de Andalucía, Consejería de Cultura, Patronato de la Alhambra y el Generalife, 2002. Meier, Fritz. "The Mystery of the Ka'ba: Symbol and Reality in Islamic Mysticism." In The Mysteries, Papers from the Eranos Yearbooks, Bollingen Series 30, vol. 2., Joseph Campbell, ed., 149-68. New York: Pantheon Books, 1955. Peinado Santaella, Rafael G., ed. Historia del Reino de Granada I: De los orígenes a la época mudéjar (hasta 1502). Granada: Universidad de Granada, El Legado Anadalusí, 2000. Puerta Vílchez, José Miguel. Historia del pensamiento estético árabe: Al-Andalus y la estética árabe clásica. Madrid: Akal, 1997. Rivas, Enrique de. El simbolismo esotérico en la literatura medieval española: (Antología). Mexico City: Trillas, 1989. Tabbaa, Yasser. The Transformation of Islamic Art During the Sunni Revival. Seattle: University of Washington Press, 2001. ---. "The Muqarnas Dome: Its Origin and Meaning." Muqarnas 3(1985):61-74. Terrase, Henri. La Mosquée al-Qaraouiyin à Fès. Paris: C. Klincksieck, 1968. ---. Islam d'Espagne: Une recontre de l'Orient et de l'Occident. Paris: Plon, 1958. Torres Balbás, Leopoldo. Ciudades Hispanomusulmanas. Madrid: Ministerio de Asuntos Exteriores, Dirección General de Relaciones Culturales, Instituto Hispano-Árabe de Cultura, 1971. ---. La Alhambra y el Generalife. Madrid: Plus Ultra, 1952. Viguera Molíns, María Jesús. Los Reinos de Taifas y las invasiones Magrebríes (Al- Andalus del XI al XIII). Madrid: MAPFRE, 1992. Watt, William M. The Formative Period of Islamic Thought. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 1973.

4.2. Reconquista & Inquisition

Andújar Castillo, Francisco, ed. Historia del Reino de Granada III: Del siglo de las Crisis al fin del Antiguo Régimen (1630-1833). Granada: Universidad de Granada, El Legado Anadalusí, 2000. Barrios Aguilera, Manuel, ed. Historia del Reino de Granada II: La época morisca y la repoblación (1502-1630). Granada: Universidad de Granada, El Legado Anadalusí, 2000.

404 Brothers, Cammy. "The Renaissance Reception of the Alhambra: The Letters of Andrea Navagero and the Palace of Charles V." Muqarnas 11(1994):79-102. Caldwell Ames, Christine . "Does Inquisition Belong to Religious History?" The American Historical Review 110, 1(2005):11-37. Castro, Américo. Aspectos del vivir hispánico: Espiritualismo, mesianismo, actitud personal en los siglos XIV al XVI. Santiago de Chile: Cruz del Sur, 1949. Chabod, Federico. Carlos V y su imperio. Translated by Rodrigo Ruza. Mexico City: Fondo de Cultura Económica, 2003. Chueca Goitia, Fernando. Historia de la arquitectura española: Edad antigua y edad media. Facsimile ed. Ávila: Fundación Cultural Santa Teresa, Diputación de Ávila, Colegio Oficial de Arquitectos de Madrid, Universidad de Coruña, 2001. Contreras Contreras, Jaime. "Procesos culturales hegemónicos: De la religión y religiosidad en la España del Antiguo Régimen." Historia Social 35(1999):3-22. ---. "Linajes y cambio social: La manipulación de la memoria." Historia Social 21(1995):105-24. Galera Andreu, Pedro. "El palacio de Carlos V: La idea arquitectónica." In El palacio de Carlos V: Un siglo para la recuperación de un monumento, 13-66. Granada: Junta de Andalucía, SOGEFINSA, Patronato de la Alhambra y Generalife, Comares Editorial, 1995. Garrido Aranda, Antonio. Moriscos e indios: Precedentes hispánicos de la evangelización en México. Mexico City: Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México, 1980. Henningsen, Gustav. "El 'Banco de Datos' del Santo Oficio: Las relaciones de causas de la Inquisición Española, 1550-1700." Boletín de la Real Academia de la Historia 74(1977):547-70. Homza, Lu Ann. The Spanish Inquisition, 1478-1614: An Anthology of Sources. Indianapolis: Hackett, 2006. Kamen, Henry. The Spanish Inquisition: A Historical Revision. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1997. Marín Guzmán, Roberto. "Jihad vs. Cruzada en al-Andalus: La Reconquista española como ideología a partir del siglo XI y sus proyecciones en la colonización de América." Revista de Historia de América 131(2002):9-65. Mignolo, Walter D. The Darker Side of the Renaissance: Literacy, Territoriality, and Colonization. Ann Arbor: The University of Michigan Press, 1998. Monter, E. William. "The New Social History and the Spanish Inquisition." Journal of Social History 17, 4(1984):705-13. Perry, Mary E. and Anne J. Cruz, eds. Cultural Encounters: The Impact of the Inquisition in Spain and the New World. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1991. 405 Thomas, Hugh. El imperio español: De Colón a Magallanes. Translated by Víctor Pozanco. Buenos Aires: Planeta, 2004. Tyerman, Christopher. God's War: A New History of the Crusades. Cambridge: The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 2006.

4.3. Napoleonic War & Modernity

Contreras, Rafael. Estudio descriptivo de los monumentos árabes de Granada, Sevilla y Córdoba, o sea la Alhambra, el Alcázar y la Gran Mezquita de Occidente. Madrid: A. Rodero, 1878. De Diego, Emilio. España, el infierno de Napoleón: 1808-1814 una historia de la guerra de independencia. Madrid: La Esfera de los Libros, 2008. Esteban-Chapapría, Julián. "The Conservation of Spain's Architectural Heritage: A Balance of Three Crucial Decades, 1929-1958." Future Anterior 5, 2(2008):35-52. Grab, Alexander. Napoleon and the Transformation of Europe. New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2003. Kamen, Henry. The Disinherited: Exile and the Making of Spanish Culture, 1492-1975. New York: Harper, 2007. Lovett, Gabriel H. Napoleon and the Birth of Modern Spain. 2 vols. New York: New York University Press, 1965. Muñoz Cosme, Alfonso. La vida y la obra de Leopoldo Torres Balbás. Sevilla: Junta de Andalucía, Consejería de Cultura, Instituto Andaluz de Patrimonio Histórico, 2005. Ordieres Diez, Isabel. Historia de la restauración monumental en España, 1835-1936. Madrid: Ministerio de Cultura, Dirección General de Bellas Artes and Instituto de Conservación y Restauración de Bienes Culturales, 1995. Said, Edward W. Orientalism. New York: Vintage Books, 1979. Schneid, Frederick C. Napoleon's Conquest of Europe: The War of the Third Coalition. London: Praeger, 2005. Torres Balbás, Leopoldo. "La Alhambra y su conservación." Arte Español 8(1927):249- 53. ---. "Legislación, inventario gráfico y organización de los Monumentos históricos y artísticos de España." In Actas del VIII Congreso Nacional de Arquitectos, Zaragoza, 30 de septiembre-7 de octubre, José Laborda Yneva, ed., 3-89. Zaragoza: Institución "Fernando el Católico," 1919. Vílchez Vílchez, Carlos. La Alhambra de Leopoldo Torres Balbás: Obras de restauración y conservación, 1923-1936. Granada: Comares, 1988. 406