Among the most visible reminders of Rome's storied hegemony are its aqueducts.
These engineering marvels channeled the lifeblood of civilization for near a millennium.
Here’s how they worked🧵 (thread)
Rome’s aqueducts had humble origins, much like the city itself.
The first aqueduct, the Aqua Appia, was constructed in 312 BC to supply the city’s cattle market.
Its source could be found in a group of springs inhabiting a stretch of local marshland, flowing an impressive 10.2 miles to Rome from the east and emptying into the Forum Boarium.
Though the River Tiber was close by and used initially as the city’s water supply, it became dangerous once population grew—constant human activity near the river polluted it.
Rome was wise to keep their water source at a distance.
As the city’s population grew, more aqueducts were needed.
By the 3rd century AD, Rome had over a million inhabitants, and required a whopping eleven aqueducts to feed their economy and public amenities.
The four major aqueducts were the Aqua Anio Vetus, the Aqua Marcia, the Aqua Claudia and the Aqua Anio Novus.
The combined length of Rome’s aqueducts is estimated to be around 500 miles (800 km), while approximately 29 miles (47 km) were above ground on masonry supports.
Most people identify aqueducts with these visible sections but the majority ran underground.
Estimates of the city's supply, based on ancient calculations by civil engineer Frontinus in the 1st century, range from 160 million gallons to 250 million gallons per day.
This estimate puts the average Roman consuming ~200 gallons of water per day.
So how did Roman aqueducts actually work?
Aqueducts used a readily accessible energy source—gravity—to move water over vast distances.
They maintained a slight overall downward gradient through channels of stone, concrete, clay, or lead. To increase/decrease water flow, one simply made the gradient steeper/shallower in that section.
Most aqueduct channels were underground, but where lowlands made this difficult, two methods were employed to cross the gap: bridges and siphons.
Aqueduct bridges were straightforward—they carried the channel of water over the gap via arches, maintaining the downward gradient.
Siphons were a little more complicated but a clever engineering feat. A siphon was basically a water-slide, allowing the water to drop rapidly before the gap. Once the gap was crossed, it sloped upward again, but now the water had gained enough momentum to go uphill.
Siphons could be expensive and needed lead or ceramic pipes to work well, so arched-bridges were the preferred method.
Once the aqueduct neared its destination, sedimentation tanks were implemented to reduce any water-borne debris. Then, the water was held in distribution tanks and regulated by stopcocks (valves) to individual destinations.
Water was used for public baths, latrines, fountains, and private households, as well as for industrial and agricultural operations like mines, mills, and farms.
Water is the lifeblood of any civilization, and it was the aqueducts of Rome that allowed the city to flourish beyond any before it.
It’s often the engineering capabilities of a culture that set it apart from others.
Historian Dionysius credited Rome’s infrastructure for the city’s dominance:
“The extraordinary greatness of the Roman Empire manifests itself above all in three things: the aqueducts, the paved roads, and the construction of the drains."
If you enjoyed this thread and would like to go deeper into topics like this, join our Substack community — it’s where we put our most in-depth content👇 thinkingwest.substack.com
• • •
Missing some Tweet in this thread? You can try to
force a refresh
We’ve all seen gargoyles before — ghoulish carvings set outside old churches.
But why pair such ugly images with sacred buildings?
Well, to protect something priceless, you need something *monstrous*.
They teach us a lesson about defending what we love…🧵
First off, what is a gargoyle?
The word gargoyle comes from the French gargouille meaning “gullet” or “throat.”
A gargoyle, then, is a decorated water spout. They were used for a utilitarian purpose: to prevent water from flowing down the sides of buildings, causing erosion.
Not all the monstrous sculptures outside of cathedrals are gargoyles, though. Many are technically grotesques since they don’t funnel any water. A grotesque is simply a fantastic stone carving that’s secured to the wall or roof of a building.
Art Deco is the incarnation of civilizational energy — the spirit of Achilles and Tesla in architectural form.
The ultimate style for high civilization...
Kenneth Clarke said:
“Vigour, energy, vitality: all the civilizations—or civilizing epochs—have had a weight of energy behind them.”
Art Deco embodies this vitality.
He claimed civilization had 3 enemies:
"First of all fear — fear of war, fear of invasion, fear of plague and famine, that make it simply not worthwhile constructing things, or planting trees or even planning next year’s crops."
The ancient Greeks observed that governments often devolve into distorted versions of themselves.
The problem is the ruling party's tendency to abuse power...🧵
Precluding the explicit idea of social cycles is the concept of “dark ages” — dominated by poor leadership, war, famine, and tech/artistic stagnation — and “golden ages” — periods of peace, plenty, and social progress — across social scales, from city-states to civilizations.
The express idea of social cycles — that civilizations, governments, and movements progress in stages that often repeat — goes back to antiquity to as early as Plato.
Exiles banished to the wilderness go on to build new cities, nations, and movements.
What is it about losing everything that leads to innovation?
Here’s what exiles can teach us about reinventing ourselves…🧵
Some nations owe their origins to exiles.
Perhaps the most famous example of an exile who begets a new nation is Aeneas, the famed hero of Troy who loses his city yet lays the foundations of the Roman people.
After fleeing from burning Troy, freshly destroyed by the Greek treachery of the Trojan Horse, Aeneas embarks on an odyssey around the Mediterranean searching for a home he has never been to.
Eventually he arrives in Italy and establishes the city of Lavinium.