What do cities reveal about us? Not just our engineering or art, but our longings—what we value, what we revere, how we choose to live together.
William Frej's new book, Unforgotten: Ancient Cities from a Distant Past, documents 130 ancient cities through hundreds of stark photographs. From Machu Picchu to half-forgotten ruins across 25 countries, these images capture not just what's broken or lost, but what these places once aimed to be: moral, spiritual, and social worlds made physical. These were not just places where people lived. They were places where people belonged. And that distinction may hold the key to addressing America's deepening crisis of social isolation and political polarization.
Consider the Peruvian cities that Frej documents—places like Ollantaytambo in the Sacred Valley. Their builders carved public plazas from mountainsides, designed amphitheater-like spaces that naturally drew crowds into circles, created stone seating that encouraged lingering conversation. The very topography was sculpted to inspire what sociologist Robert Putnam would later call "social capital"—the networks of relationships that make communities function. Walk through these ruins today and you can still feel the intention. The architecture itself was a technology of belonging, anticipating by centuries Jane Jacobs's insight about successful urban spaces generating "eyes on the street" and Christopher Alexander's "pattern language" of human-scaled design.
Compare this intentionality to most American public spaces. Where ancient builders created plazas that amplified human voices, we've constructed environments dominated by traffic noise and designed to move people through rather than bring them together. Peruvian mountain settlements fostered face-to-face interactions; American strip malls often explicitly discourage any interaction beyond commercial transactions.
The irony is that America once understood this wisdom. Charleston's historic squares, Savannah's grid of parks, and Philadelphia's original city plan remain among our most desirable neighborhoods precisely because they offer what contemporary development lacks: human-scaled design that fosters community and public amenities. Yet postwar America systematically abandoned these principles. Urban renewal programs demolished functioning neighborhoods in favor of superblocks that isolated residents. Euclidean zoning separated uses that had been naturally integrated for millennia, requiring residents to drive between home, work, and commerce rather than encountering neighbors naturally.
The result is what Putnam documented in Bowling Alone: Americans increasingly isolated from civic institutions and casual encounters that build social trust. We traded traditional urbanism's inefficiencies—mixed uses, narrow streets, shared spaces—for car-dependent development where neighbors drive garage-to-garage without meeting.
This isn't merely aesthetic loss. Research shows walkable, mixed-use neighborhoods with quality public spaces generate higher property values, support more local businesses, and correlate with better health outcomes. Ancient insights about beautiful public spaces serving economic functions prove empirically correct.
The stakes extend beyond urban planning to American democracy itself. In an era of increasing polarization and digital tribalism, shared physical spaces become crucial for the cross-cutting social ties that democratic theorists identify as essential for political stability.
When people encounter each other regularly in pleasant surroundings—at farmers’ markets, in neighborhood squares, playgrounds and dog parks, and on walkable streets—they develop civic engagement habits that strengthen democracy. Contemporary development patterns work against this democratic ideal. Gated communities and car-dependent suburbs sort people by income, minimizing the diverse encounters that build social capital across class and political lines.
This represents bipartisan failure. Conservatives who value tradition and beauty have allied with developers whose profit-maximizing strategies destroy the communities they claim to champion. Progressives who identify inequality as serious have sometimes embraced planning approaches that create sterile environments lacking organic neighborhood vitality.
Conservative intellectuals from Roger Scruton to Christopher Lasch have long argued that rootedness and beauty are essential human needs. American conservatism's alliance with suburban sprawl betrays these deeper conservative values. True conservatism should champion development that creates lasting communities rather than disposable environments abandoned each generation.
Fortunately, some American cities are rediscovering ancient wisdom. Charleston's design standards have created economic success while maintaining walkable, human-scaled character. Portland's urban growth boundary encourages dense, transit-oriented development. Bryant Park's evolution from crime-ridden wasteland to beloved public space shows how thoughtful design creates the civic life that ancient plazas fostered. The New Urbanism movement – despite its many failures and problems – catalyzed a change in thinking about the built environment that has now proven market demand exists for walkable, mixed-use communities when zoning permits.
Translating ancient insights into contemporary policy requires specific reforms. Form-based codes that regulate building character rather than just use can encourage pedestrian-friendly development. Zoning reform allowing corner stores and small apartments in residential neighborhoods can restore natural integration of daily activities. Transportation policy must prioritize pedestrians over cars—not from environmental ideology but because walkable streets create conditions for civic life. Complete streets design and transit-oriented development are essential infrastructure for rebuilding social capital.
Most importantly, cities must invest in beautiful, well-programmed public spaces. This isn't luxury but economic necessity in the experience economy. Amazon's HQ2 search explicitly prioritized locations with vibrant urban amenities. Companies recognize that knowledge workers value walkable neighborhoods and interesting public spaces. Traditional neighborhood design isn't just more beautiful than sprawl—it's more fiscally sustainable, generating more tax revenue per acre while requiring less infrastructure investment.
Frej's photographs remind us that the human impulse to create meaningful places isn't lost—it's been suppressed by zoning codes and development patterns that work against community formation. The ancient builders who carved gathering spaces into Andean mountainsides weren't operating with different human nature; they organized societies to encourage rather than discourage civic life. We can do the same. The policy tools exist: zoning reform, form-based codes, complete streets design, tactical urbanism. What's needed is political will to prioritize long-term community building over short-term development profits.
As Americans increasingly sort into ideological enclaves, shared public spaces become essential democratic infrastructure. The alternative to intentional community building isn't neutral—it's continued fragmentation with all the political pathologies that follow. If ancient cities still speak across centuries, it's because they reflect enduring truths: people need beauty, places to encounter neighbors, environments that signal civic investment and shared purpose. The stones they left behind aren't just ruins. They're blueprints for renewal.
Samuel J. Abrams is a professor of politics at Sarah Lawrence College, a senior fellow at the American Enterprise Institute, and a scholar with the Sutherland Institute.
Photo: Gaillard Center, Charleston, Charleston County, South Carolina, by J. Pellgen Flickr under CC 2.0 License.
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