Why should I care about a two-thousand-four-hundred-and-forty-six-year-old pile of rubble in the first place? The crumbly columns and faded facade ceased to impress me on that sweltry afternoon. Maybe it was the heat. Perhaps I ate a bad pork gyro. I guess it could have been due to my dad, who was constantly taking pictures, shepherding us from one angle to another like a pack of senseless sheep. Whatever it may have been, I was in a bad mood and my dissenting scrutiny decided to settle on that “pretentious” Parthenon. The scanty ruin towered over me. A comatose skeleton of the once prodigious structure, but alas, when you look at a human skeleton prior to knowing the person in his or her lifetime, you just see another pile of bones, and nobody sympathizes with a pile of bones.
Unfortunately, the rigid acropolis caretakers promptly ushered us out before I could realize and appreciate the miracle that lay before me. I left the Acropolis without looking back, without soaking it all in one last time, but like Leonardo in Florence, my Parthenon encounters were far from over. The astounding reality began to emerge at our post Parthenon visit to the New Acropolis museum.
Unlike the Parthenon, I instantly understood the beauty of this building. Glass floors skillfully exhibited ancient Athenian ruins beneath our feet, and a remarkable interface design led us from decrepit cookware to stunning sculptures to finally the prized Parthenon replica on the top floor. This progressive museum radiated elegance and displayed everything so well, it made us all stop and ponder: why Athens, a city in the middle of an economic crisis, wanted to or even could produce such a magnificent (and certainty expensive) museum?
Finally, we reached the awe-inspiring top gallery, where the whole thing was on a slant to hang in parallel with the Parthenon floating beyond the sheets of glass. Unlike the galleries below, this one had its curtains drawn, displaying the Parthenon, which stood triumphantly atop the Acropolis, perfectly visible here! The gallery was centered around a rectangular box which showcased authentic friezes and statues from the original Parthenon. It took us a while, but my dad finally pointed out that the rectangular box was actually a modernistic representation of the Parthenon itself… to scale.
Although the tiles that bore elaborate scenes of historical battles and festivals were displayed expertly, something seemed off. Some authentic marble tiles, with their unique creamy custard color hue, neighbored unattractive white plaster tiles. As you can see in the video, the difference is pretty noticeable, almost provocatively visible. This, of course, was intentional. We soon learned that in 1801, Elgin, a British ambassador, was given permission by Sultan Selim III to remove stones with inscriptions from the Acropolis. I guess he took this as code for, “take everything that looks valuable to you,” because he gutted the poor Parthenon and shipped back two thirds of precious friezes and statues. But what’s with the ugly white tiles? Don’t worry! I won’t leave you hanging! They are in fact replicas of the real tiles that currently reside in the British Museum. In the beginning, Lord Elgin took the marble masterpieces for “preservation purposes,” but later the British refused to fork it all over because there was “no adequate home for the treasure.” Now it all makes sense! Athens didn’t lose their marbles! They just wanted them back where they rightfully belonged, and that’s why they built the New Acropolis Museum. Nobody can deny that this building is an “adequate home.”
At the New Acropolis Museum my perspective on the Parthenon changed entirely! An educational video brought to light the truly revolutionary architecture of the Parthenon: curved columns, bowed ceilings, and a harmonious symmetry that made the building look like a living, tangible organism just nestled atop the Acropolis. But even more interesting than the architecture was the symbolization and meaning the building possessed. Pericles, a powerful and prominent Greek statesman, facilitated the Parthenon. The stupefying structure highlighted Athens’ immense wealth and power. Moreover, it was a symbol of Athenian political and cultural preeminence. Nothing even came close to the magnificence and beauty of the Parthenon.
In the middle of the structure once stood a larger-than-life-sized Athena, the Greek goddess of wisdom, made of solid gold and ivory (they clearly were flaunting something!) In Athena’s hand stood an offering of Nike, whom symbolized victory, confirming Athens’ military predominance over the rest of Greece. Sadly the pompous Athena was robbed during transportation and most likely cut up, melted down, and sold to the highest bidder! Although dubious, there are some curious conspiracies tied up with this lightning-fast disappearance. After the destruction of Athena Parthenos one replica in particular raised some eyebrows. The exact duplication in Rome was erected a suspiciously short amount of time after the original was stolen. As if that’s not apprehensive enough, they also requested the statue be removed from Athens’ prior to the robbery.
So there I stood. Staring at the Parthenon from our hotel room. I have to say that there was something different about the ruins this time. They radiated something else. From the skeleton surfaced a ghost; a ghost of intriguing history, awe-inspiring architecture, and shocking symbolism. That is the moment I joined them; everyone who has ever stared at the place and reveled in its breathtaking existence. The Pretentious Parthenon, indeed.
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