Soru

Read the following passage, then answer the question.

Modern historians of cartography have frequently approached medieval *mappaemundi*—the grand, encyclopedic world maps produced in Europe between the eighth and fifteenth centuries—with a mixture of antiquarian curiosity and teleological condescension. When evaluated through the lens of post-Enlightenment cartographic standards, which prioritize mathematical projection, strict proportional scale, and precise topographical verisimilitude, these medieval artifacts appear rudimentary, if not entirely inept. Their coastlines are heavily distorted, their landmasses bear little resemblance to actual tectonic geography, and their distances are wildly inaccurate. However, this comparative approach fundamentally misapprehends the foundational ontology of the *mappamundi*. By evaluating these artifacts primarily as failed attempts at wayfinding, scholars overlook the possibility that the maps were meticulously engineered to accomplish an entirely different objective.

The physical orientation of these maps provides the most immediate indication of their divergent purpose. Unlike modern maps that universally orient North at the top, the vast majority of *mappaemundi* are oriented with East at the apex. This was not an arbitrary convention, nor was it derived from compass navigation. Rather, East was positioned at the top because it was believed to be the location of the Garden of Eden. By placing Eden at the visual pinnacle, the mapmakers transformed physical space into temporal chronology. The top of the map represented the genesis of human history, while the bottom—the West, where the sun sets—represented the present age and the impending eschatological conclusion. The map was meant to be read not across space, but downward through time.

Furthermore, the ubiquitous inclusion of monstrous races and mythical beasts along the peripheries of the known world served a highly specific conceptual function. Nineteenth-century historians often dismissed these figures as mere expressions of medieval xenophobia or encyclopedic ignorance. In reality, these marginalia functioned as vital moral exemplars within the map’s theological architecture. By situating these aberrations at the furthest edges of the world, the cartographers illustrated the outer limits of divine order, reminding the viewer of the spiritual and physical degradation that allegedly occurs outside the bounds of civilized, Christian space.

Finally, the meticulous placement of Jerusalem at the exact geometric center of the *mappamundi* was a conscious theological declaration rather than an empirical geographical claim. It anchored the sprawling narrative of salvation history in a central physical locus, creating a stable focal point around which all other historical and spiritual events—from the crucifixion to the founding of Rome—could be conceptually organized. Ultimately, to read the *mappamundi* as a flawed geographic schematic is to misread its vocabulary. It was not designed to guide a traveler across the earth, but rather to guide a Christian soul through the labyrinth of history and moral philosophy.

Based on the passage, match each specific cartographic feature of the *mappaemundi* (Left) to the specific component of the author's implicit main point that it supports (Right).