This week we began looking at the Renaissance in Europe. The Renaissance can be viewed as a either a reaction to, or an extension of, the feudal period that preceded it. Whatever position one takes on that issue, no one doubts that that the Renaissance represents a new way of thinking about the world and our relationship to it.
Historians debate exactly when the Renaissance began, but most agree that the ‘Spirit of the Renaissance’ had its origin in Florence, a city in northern Italy. Why this city, previously of no real importance, should suddenly be the epicenter of a whole new way of thinking poses a question we needed to explore.
If we look at the conditions under which cultural revolutions take place throughout history, a few general trends emerge. For one, it appears that they generally arise in geographical and social frontiers, and not as we might expect, in the centers of power and influence. Thus, in the Middle Ages, we see the Gothic style originate in northern France, which saw so much conflict with England and the Vikings. On top of that, northern France had relatively less Roman influence than southern France near the Mediterranean, making them less “civilized” in the eyes of many. But the tension between “Gallic” and “Roman” may have given them the freedom to think of things in new ways.
In our own history Mark Twain invents American literature on what was for the time, the geographic and social frontier of America. Today, the mythology and folklore of the “frontier” still do much to shape the American psyche. If we think of Twain’s vocabulary and compare it to say, Hawthorne’s, we see that Twain occupied a social frontier as well as a geographic one.
Notice also, for example the incredibly dynamic & spiritual response of African-Americans to persecution from say, 1880-1964 or thereabouts. Swing, jazz, blues, motown, soul, rock and roll — all of them basically their creations, and that hardly encompasses a final account of their contributions to American life and culture. Perhaps their disadvantaged social position led them to think of creative ways to deal with that challenge, which helped them create such vibrant music.
Florence found itself on the geographic frontier of two more established civilizations, that of France and southern Italy. Divided politically (as the map below indicates) northern Italy never quite had the chance to develop its own social identity. It appears that culture arises not from comfort, but from a challenge, be that challenge physical or social.
Another common thread in cultural innovation seems to be water. The great cultural explosions, be it in Athens, Amsterdam, London, New York, or New Orleans, all have water in common. I don’t think this is a coincidence, something I take up much more fully in this post, which we discussed in class. Here is a link to a post that formed part of the basis of our discussion about water and creativity.
As we delve into the Renaissance, we face many questions:
1. Inherent in the names “Middle Ages,” and “Renaissance” (which means “rebirth”) are a lot of assumptions, namely, that the Renaissance took major leaps forward for humanity after we treaded water in the “Middle Ages” after the fall of Rome. Some historians, however, like Regine Pernoud, see the Renaissance as a step backward from what came before. Who is right?
2. Will the new view of mankind in the Renaissance be consistent with Christianity? Will it correct what some perceive to be a medieval over-spiritualization, or will it give humanity too much pride of place?
3. How will this new view of mankind spill over into the rest of Renaissance society?
The Renaissance emerged from the wreckage of the feudal system in the 14th century. The old social structure did not hold, the Church was busy shooting itself in the foot, and so on. Different ways of thinking had opportunity to emerge, and we looked at the financial innovations of the Renaissance, particularly in banking.
It strikes me as a plausible proposition that anthropology developed primarily as a science out of democratic cultures. The openness fostered by democracy may contribute to curiosity and a desire for travel. Many consider the Athenian Herodotus the “Father of History,” but his work has many anthropological dimensions as well. I discussed in another post the archetypal Feminine within democracy, so it may be no surprise that the most famous anthropologists in the 20th century were two women, Margaret Mead and Ruth Benedict.
We can imagine the stereotypical male being almost a parody of an anthropologist–narrow, rigid, calling anything different “stupid,” or “dumb” (this could have been a marvelous Monty Python skit with John Cleese). So we can see how typical feminine traits of fluidity, appreciating context, nurture and acceptance, and so on, might fit women best–in general of course.
Many have written extensively on Ruth Benedict’s classic, Patterns of Culture, and I will not seek to say what has already been said. Briefly, however, Benedict seems to have two main goals:
To show that cultures are fundamentally different from one another, and are developed internally, not dependent on race or geography
Benedict of course makes many interesting observations about the societies she observes and her work has great merit. But, just as John Cleese might marvelously enact a parody of an anthropologist in the field, so too anthropologists can sometimes parody themselves. It is possible to be so open, so fluid, as to lose one’s moorings.
By this I mean that, of course cultures are different from one another, but this should not surprise us at all. People are different too. What I find more striking are the similarities across cultures that testify to the essential unity of human nature. For example, Benedict tackles how different cultures treat adolescent girls. In one place, young teens are primarily feared. The transformation they undergo has an element of sacredness about it, but, the sacred can also bring terror. So the young girls are sent away from the community to live in tents apart for months at a time. In another culture, they are celebrated and receive something akin to adoration, with men of the tribe literally bowing to them as potential and future mothers of the tribe. In Polynesian cultures, Benedict asserts that no one makes a big deal of adolescence at all. No ceremonies exist to mark the passing from youth to young adulthood, but . . . during this time teens are granted a great deal of sexual freedom, which they readily take advantage of until marriage.
Benedict’s strong accentuation of differences, however, have her miss the overall point. Each of these cultures treat the teen years as a distinct phase of development, each other them apply different standards of conduct for teens and others in the tribe treat them differently than either children or adults. To me, this seems more striking than their differences.
I find this emphasis on difference–not at all unique to Benedict among anthropologists–as a symptom of the democratic cultures from whence they arise which also stress individual differences and uniqueness. Paradoxically, I think this leads us towards a fascination with cultures that are tightly interlocked and cohesive, for democratic cultures can produce no such thing.
When a book gets reviewed positively by diverse thinkers such as Rod Dreher and Cornel West, one should take note. Patrick Deneeen’s Why Liberalism Failed partially indulges in too much romanticism for the past. His book is more of an essay or a thought-piece, and so it has holes. Still, I find his paradoxical analysis that Liberalism–by which he means the liberal democratic order that forms the foundation of both Republicans and Democrats–has failed because it has in fact done everything it set out to do, compelling, and an interesting companion to Benedict and other anthropologists.
Deneen argues that the Liberal order, which had its origins in with the work of Hobbes and Locke, set out to create a radically new society with a very different conception of how an individual relates to the state and one another. Traditional societies saw the state fundamentally as a community of persons pointed in the same direction with the same values.
Liberal society starts with the premise that recognizing and maximizing individuals, and the inherent competition that comes with it, will create a more prosperous and workable state. Liberalism seeks to free us from all group oriented authorities that are not consensual, be it tradition, community norms, etc. It achieved its goals in spectacular fashion and we all partake readily of what it has to offer. It has brought unprecedented prosperity, but left us adrift at sea in a mass of individuals. In turn, this has led to the rise of statism, and emotionally driven authoritarian politics. Gone is the world of George H.W. Bush. Welcome to the world of Trump and Ocasio-Cortez. The success of Liberalism has brought us to place that will naturally usher in its demise.*
Deneen explains himself well on any number of podcast interviews, and the book has various and detailed reviews. I will mention two of his main points that might help us understand the polarity of the self-loathing expressed by some in academia and the progressive left, and the chest-thumping of the more nationalistic right.
Deneen mentions that Liberalism is supposed to make men “free” and “liberal” in their disposition. But the whole tradition of the liberal arts expounds a very different meaning of freedom. The great thinkers and writers from the ancients down through Austen and Dickens all characterize freedom as living with limits, be it the limits of nature, tradition, or the law of God. But the Liberal order defines freedom as acting without any constraint, be it constraints on the market, on family, on biology, and so on. So, Wal-Mart should be free to eradicate mom-and-pop Main Street. And, if every civilization that ever existed defined marriage in a certain way, that stricture simply sets up another bowling pin for the Liberal order to knock down. The whole history of the human past has no authority over the now.
Our orientation towards living without limits has led to our striking crisis of inequality. Our solution to this, however, is not to champion the limitations taught by the liberal arts, rooted in God, natural law, or nature itself, but instead to blame liberal education for being “impractical.” For Deneen, an insistent STEM emphasis only continues to feed the beast, though he surmises that we will avoid violence. John Locke himself argued that, of course his proposed new order would bring about a new kind of inequality. But this new inequality will give us much more overall prosperity, and indeed he was correct. Even the poor may not mind inequality so much because we all have iphones.** Still, the benefits of a liberal economy do not feed the soul.
So too, Deneen argues that Liberalism destroys “culture” as part of its operating procedure. To develop, culture requires place, habit, tradition, and local difference, none of which have a role in the Liberal state. We have no place, and if we live in a particular place for long, it may not have any “place” about it (suburbs are wonderfully convenient and give many obvious benefits, but most are interchangeable with each other).
I think this might explain why many in the west have a fascination with other cultures. The Pueblo and the Dobu people profiled by Benedict have a tight culture in which roles and identity stand out with perfect clarity to all who live within them. We may not want to live among them but we long for their sense of solidity. Conversely, the Dobu do not send out anthropologists to find out about us. A man who is full need not scavenge for food.
This may help explain the progressive liberal drive to limit free speech. They seek not the liberal idea of freedom, but taboos that might give us identity. I completely object to their methods and their goals, though I understand the impulse. You can only celebrate diversity for so long, until you realize that everyone has the same need to define themselves as a people, and we cannot define ourselves without living within limits .
Deneen’s book has few solutions in mind, and this has frustrated some reviewers. But he does he offer the following from Edmund Burke’s Reflections on the French Revolution:
In this enlightened age I am bold enough to confess that we are generally men of untaught feelings, [and] that instead of throwing away our old prejudices, we cherish them . . . . W are are afraid to put men to live and trade each on his own private stock of reason, because we suspect that this stock of each man is small, and the individuals do better to avail themselves of the general captital of nations and of ages. . . . Prejudice renders a man’s virtue his habit, and not a series of unconnected acts. Through just prejudice, his duty becomes part of his nature.
Dave
*In an interesting aside, Deneen points out that James Madison specifically sought to develop a government where different political interests were inexorably pitted against one another. He eschewed the idea of community almost from the start. These different and intractable differences would preserve liberty for each group by each interest group canceling each other out. Alas, he probably envisioned several kinds of difference, and not just two.
Or . . . perhaps just two versions of the same impulse? Many criticize Trump for his relationship to facts. But Oscasio-Cortez recently derided those who are “more concerned about being precisely, factually, and semantically correct than about being morally right.”
**Deneen said in a recent speech that he leads at Notre Dame a class on the idea of utopia, from ancient days until now. At the end, he polled the class to ask them which society of those he presented would they least want to live in, and which they would most want to live in. They all said 1984 is the one they wouldn’t want to live in. But which would they choose? A handful chose the world Wendell Berry presents in Hannah Coulter. But about half the class said Brave New World.
“It was stunning that they saw it as a utopia,” Deneen said. “That’s liberalism succeeding, and that’s liberalism failing.”
Children often hear, “This is going to hurt me more than it will hurt you,” before getting punished and of course they never believe it. One day, they find out that it takes a lot of energy to come up with a punishment and enforce it. In a similar vein, no one who wins the lottery believes that they will fall victim to the “curse” of great financial windfall actually making people more unhappy.
Here is a picture of a draftee into Japan’s army, with his family at a farewell gathering.
The picture should be blown up beyond screen size to get the full impact, and you can do that here.
We might guess that this picture was taken late in World War II, when all that seemed left for Japan was either surrender or “honorable” death. But in fact, the picture is from 1939, when Japan’s fortunes seemed very much on the rise. But this “rise” in fortunes may not have been all it seemed. In 1939 Japan had reached a stalemate of sorts in China after quick and early victories. To break the stalemate they began wanton and indiscriminate bombing of Chinese cities. As David Derrick notes, Japanese tended to look somber in photographs, but here they appear beyond somber. They are troubled , suffering from what Toynbee called a “schism of the soul.”
Whether your religion be Christianity, or in Japan’s case, Shintoism, people were not made to kill on such a scale. Such actions take their toll. It may hurt the conqueror more than the conquered.
*Readers of the linked post may note that while Japan technically was ruled by the Emperor, in fact they were controlled by a military oligarchy.
There exists an “old saw” approach to Christianity that runs something like this: A long time ago Christians devoted themselves to practical matters of personal morality. The early Church lived as a community of love devoted to good works. Then, along comes ________ (this “blank” takes many forms — St. Paul, St. Athanasius, St. Augustine, etc.) and Christianity forever tainted itself with “theology” and a philosophical turn of mind completely at odds with the spirit of Christ and his early followers.”
I believe firmly in the idea that every organization gets the culture they deserve. Perhaps the Church over time has contributed to the great error described above by focusing too much on morality as such and not on transformation. Perhaps Christian education has concerned itself too much at various times with mere outward good results and good looks rather than giving a firm foundation in eternal principles.
But I also think that those that attack the “philosophical” elements of Christianity have a conscious or unconscious agenda to keep religion tucked away in its own small corner. “You Christians please continue to be nice to each other and try and help others. We’ll handle the big stuff.”
In his The Spirit of Medieval Philosophy Etienne Gilson sets out to refute those who wish to keep Christian belief in a small corner. Gilson was a pre-eminent scholar and philosopher in his day, and alas for me, some of his philosophical vocabulary went over my head. But one of the great strengths of his work is its simplicity. He asks the critic to please, just actually read the Bible and Christian theologians honestly, and the idea that Christian belief was never “philosophical” melts away.
For starters we have the book of Job as a deep philosophical statement on the nature of suffering. Many Old Testament history books like the book of Judges show artful arrangement to make pointed statements about the nature of man. We have Ecclesiastes and many Psalms. Some would say Jesus said nothing “philosophical” but this can only possibly hold water if one discounts the Gospel of John entirely. Then of course we have the “dreaded” St. Paul who “intruded” with his theological cast of mind, and so on, and so on.
Gilson’s main point, however, deals with the Middle Ages. Here most critics (at least in his day) stated that whatever philosophy the medievals attempted strictly copied from the Greeks. They had no originality. Gilson’s quick retort to this deals with the nature of originality itself. In one sense, “all philosophy is a footnote to Plato,” as Alfred North Whitehead stated. Of course the medievals took some ideas from the Greeks. What philosopher would not?
Others (like Edward Gibbon) charge the medievals with dimming the light of reason with the obscurantism of faith and revelation. Gilson shows with many examples that the bulk of medieval thinkers saw reason enhanced, not diminished, by faith. He writes,
By revealing to man what he could not actually know, revelation opens up the way for the work of reason.
God’s gift of rationality now has more to chew on, and thus gets more of a workout. For the medievals revelation makes mankind more rational, not less.*
But the bulk of the book forms Gilson’s main point that the medievals creatively used and transmuted Greek philosophy rather than copied them rote. They had a strong desire to save everything they could and use it for Christian purposes. My favorite example of this comes from Boethius. Gilson writes,
Fate had weighed too heavily on men’s mind’s to be too summarily dismissed. Boethius took the trouble to put up some rather complicated architecture in order to ensure it a niche in the Christian temple. Providence is then the divine intelligence comprehending all things in the world; that is to say their natures and the laws of their development. As reunited therefore in the divine ideas the universal order is one with Providence; as particularized, broken up, and so to speak, incorporated with the the things it rules, the providential order may be called Fate. All that is subject to Fate is thus subject to Providence, since Fate depends on Providence as a consequence on its principle.
Boethius himself wrote,
For as the innermost of several circles revolving around the same center approaches the simplicity of the mid-most point . . . while the outermost, whirled in an ampler orbit takes in a wider sweep of space–even so whatever departs from the Primal mind is involved more deeply in the meshes of fate, and things are free from fate in proportion as they seek to approach the center; while if aught cleaves close to the supreme mind in absolute fixity, this too, being free from movement, rises above Necessity. Therefore as is reasoning to pure intelligence, as that which is generated to that which is, time to eternity, a circle to its center, so is the shifting series of fate to the steadfastness and simplicity of providence.
I admit I don’t fully understand it, nor might I buy what he sells. Whatever the explanation, I think it best to avoid the word “Fate” altogether. But who wouldn’t smile at Boethius’ boyish enthusiasm and deft mental gymnastics? Aquinas, to my mind a more mature and clearer thinker than Boethius, rejects this concept of Fate as well. I’m sure that Aquinas understood him, and I’ll stick with his analysis.
Of particular interest to me was Gilson’s explanation of the medieval view of history. Previous historians in the Greek and Roman tradition did brilliant work. But even the best of the ancients, i.e. Herodotus, Thucydides, and Polybius, all show the tendency toward Fate and Inevitability. For Herodotus, everyone eventually crosses the boundaries of natural law — even Cyrus — and gets crushed for it. Thucydides sees civilization doomed by the passions and fears of man that lie just below the surface. Even the more spiritually minded Polybius sees mighty Rome caught up in the grand cycle of growth, peak, and decay from which they cannot escape.
Medievals demonstrated originality in their historical vision. They saw linear progression where others saw only vicious cycle. With revelation illumining reason we can build on the past, move forward, and advance. The medievals had humility in relation to the past. They knew the Romans and Greeks had done better than they in most ways. But they never felt imprisoned by that presumption. Rather, they sought to press on and hopefully help carry mankind to a better place. In comparison to what came before, Gilson rightly claims this as an original philosophical development.
This view of history has its roots of course in theology. History is a poem, which makes sense only when we know the beginning and the end. Thanks to revelation, we know both, and can now see Christ building His kingdom on Earth, one that grows as a mustard seed. If God be true, we have the opportunity to progress in relation to the past, though of course we may reject that chance. This explains Boethius’ desire to save Fate from the chopping block — we must save everything so we can build on everything — but it also explains Aquinas refusal to yield. God binds no one by Fate. Otherwise, how can God’s kingdom advance?
The medievals, often portrayed as dour and gloomy, strike me as a hopeful people.
Dave
*Perhaps one example of this is the doctrine of the Trinity, a reality beyond the realm of reason. But after revelation announces the doctrine, reason and experience can then deepen our understanding, which seems to be the experience of the early Church.
I have never quite agreed with Tolstoy’s famous quote, “All happy families are alike; each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.” The quote seems to indicate to me that goodness is static, while evil has “interesting” variety. I see it the other way round. The great saints of the Church demonstrate great variety, whereas all the bad guys of history have little to differentiate them. What, after all, makes Pol Pot that much different from Mao, or Nero from Cambyses, or Hitler from Stalin? On the contrary, St. Francis and St. Thomas Aquinas, to take two contemporary medieval examples, could not be more different.
Of course I could also be misinterpreting the quote badly.
Reading Magnetic Mountain: Stalinism as a Civilization I thought of Tolstoy’s quote again and rethought it a bit.
Kotkin’s goal for the book intrigued me. Ok, he states, of course Stalin was a bad guy and Stalinism proved enormously destructive in many ways. But no regime can last for as long as Stalin’s did without him doing something right, or at least, appealing to large numbers of the population with his ideas and “results.” In other words, not everyone got oppressed, and some must have benefitted from what Stalin did. More than that, enough must have truly believed in what Stalin sought to accomplish not to just obey his directives, but to revere him as well. Kotkin seeks to uncover exactly how Stalinism “worked” in every day life and get us beyond our cardboard cutout of Stalin as “bad dictator” without leaving it entirely. Looking at the city of Magnitogorsk gives him ample opportunity to do so, for it was a city built from nothing almost overnight according to at least what Soviets planned as purely “socialist” or “Stalinist” designs.
Is it possible that, “All evil dictators are alike, but each of them does their “good” things in different ways?
The book begins by discussing briefly the context of the rise of the “Stalinist city.” Part of the appeal of communism in the 1920’s lie in the seeming collapse of the west. In retrospect World War I seems to be the death knell of Europe, and many at the time felt the same. Capitalism had, obviously, exhausted itself and brought about the grisly destruction of the war. What else could one expect on a system rooted fundamentally in economic and class exploitation. Socialism was so obviously the way of the future, only a stubborn fool would cling to it still.
Or so the argument went.
Given that for many ca. 1925 socialism represented the way of the future, socialism needed to be on the cutting edge of technology. Socialism had rational roots, and this rationalism would inevitably flee tradition and embrace the hopeful future.
To that end, the Soviets faced a few problems.
The first is that Russia was far, far behind the west in terms of technology and industrialization. They needed to catch up in a big hurry, and not just for reasons of security, but also for ideology. Socialism must show itself superior to capitalism in all respects if their revolution would spread.
The second is that Russia never quite experienced the Enlightenment and may have been the most traditional of European societies. These traditions had their roots in the daily rhythms of peasant village life and in the multitude of small villages scattered throughout the country — the kind of places adored by Tolstoy. These villagers invariably looked down on “cities” as enemies to their way of life and their faith, often with good reason.
To build the new humanity sought by socialists nearly everything had to change within the Soviet Union.
The “Magnetic Mountain” served as a perfect template for all of Stalin’s most important plans. Everyone knew that the mountains nearby contained enormous quantities of iron ore deposits, some of the largest in the known world. And because the area stood as merely a barren wasteland in the steppes, they could build on a blank slate. The new steel plant would be the largest in the world, and the people who came to work could be drafted from the villages, forging a new kind of humanity in the process (the use of the term “forging” was deliberate, tying the plant and economic changes to the social and political changes they sought).
Kotkin uncovers some fascinating, but perhaps obvious details about the design of the city. Not just the village, but the family itself presented a barrier to socialist reform. The original design of the living spaces were apartments. Apartments had the advantage of economic efficiency. They also helped “forge the new humanity, breaking down the village and then family unit in one go. The first apartments had no kitchens or common space within individual quarters. They located the kitchen’s and common areas in more central locations — no one should be excluded, and no one could exclude themselves (later buildings allowed for more family space). The design of the buildings discouraged families from creating distinct identities for themselves apart from the people as a whole.
Equality formed the bedrock value, so each apartment should have equal access to the sun. Unfortunately, this meant that, with no courtyard, each apartment had equal exposure to the brutally cold winds that roared across the steppe 6-7 months a year. Finally, as socialists defined value through labor, all apartments got built on a line equidistant from the plant itself. The prominence of the massive plant in the geography and psychology of the city made it not unlike the role of churches in medieval towns. Mankind will be defined by what he worships, whether that be God or labor.
One of the most dreary aspects of this period was the politicization of all aspects of life. The Soviets faced the embarrassment of needing capitalist firms to design most of the major parts of the plant. But . . . socialists could show their superiority by getting more out of the machines than believed by the capitalists. So if part ‘x’ was predicted to operate at ‘y’ speed and efficiency, we could do better. We will operate at ‘y + ?’ efficiency, thereby showing the superiority of socialist labor. Of course, this resulted in a host of mechanical problems.
This forced them into an uncomfortable choice. Either socialist labor was not superior, or . . . “wreckers” existed within the plant — counter-revolutionaries and capitalists. So, now those that worked the machines too hard might be subject to “unmasking” by true patriots and devotees of the revolution. Of course, if workers were to be true participants in the revolution they had to have the power to “unmask” — and be expected to.
As you might expect, many got unmasked. Limiting production turned into treason, for it was “counter-revolutionary.” Under the principle of equality, many party members got unmasked as well (though many got reinstated on the back end — the party had to cover for itself).
But Kotkin shows that despite the madness of the method, it won many converts. The Soviet Union did get transformed into an industrial colossus, and had enough social unity to withstand the withering Nazi onslought in W.W. II. By most any rational calculus, Stalin and the Soviets should have closed up shop in 1941. How did they avoid this fate?
We have recourse to the standard answers, which include
The Russian Winter
The deep reservoirs of Russian nationalism the Nazi’s unleashed that mobilized an entire population
The brutal tactics of the S.S. turning local populations against the Nazi’s
The over-extension of the Nazi forces and the sound interior lines of Soviet defenses.
And again, the industrialization Stalin began allowed them to churn out tank after tank after tank.
All of these factors played a role.
However, we cannot overlook the fact that Stalin also had converts. His program worked in the sense that it gave people a a new purpose, a new sense of belonging, a new sense of destiny and their own place within History and the cosmos. Many remained ambivalent, some opposed him — mostly in secret. But many others no doubt believed.
This should give us pause. No man is an island. We would like to think that we would not fall prey to the design of the buildings, the alluring glow of the plant and the comradeship of the work. None of these, we think, would have any impact on us. We would not believe, we would not be changed.
Hopefully, we would be right. But one lesson of Stalin’s Magnetic Mountain is that people are inextricably influenced by their surroundings, sometimes even against their inclinations.
Sometimes how historical figures are perceived has much more to do with how perceptions change over time than what people actually did in their own lifetimes. Sometimes certain people in the past take on a romantic hue that also can distort our vision.
I thought about this phenomena while reading Five Letters of Cortes, a collection of letters Cortes sent back to the continent detailing events in Mexico. The book interested me because historians today routinely treat Cortes as a great villain, and I wanted to see how he measured up to that reputation in his own words. Scholars of course debate the veracity of some details Cortes narrates (without giving much credence to the idea that he simply told the truth as he saw it). But my interest was not what happened so much as how Cortes wanted his readers to perceive him, regardless of whether or not he spoke fairly and truly.
As I read I thought of how history views Alexander the Great. The two men have some similarities. Both sought glory, perhaps Alexander most of all. Both conquered and destroyed a foreign people and culture with at least questionable justification. Both dealt with internal disputes in their own ranks. Both used diplomacy to great effect, perhaps Cortes most of all. And yet, history loves Alexander and despises Cortes, generally speaking, and we should ask why.
A few things stood out to me in Cortes’ letters.
Cortes de-emphasizes violence and tries to play up his relationship with the natives when he can. He writes early in the first letter that, “the Indians went among us with as little fear as if they had already had dealings with us for many years.” He seems proudest when he makes friends. The “battles” (not battles in a traditional sense) and violence that occur happen when things break down, or in response to a tough situation initiated (in Cortes’ view) by the misunderstanding of the natives.
Cortes clearly admires the natives. A modern westerner expecting to find a racially motivated imperialist will be disappointed. He describes the sacrifices and violence surrounding Aztec religion in a lengthy passage:
And always on the day before some important enterprise they burn incense in their temples, and sometimes even sacrifice their own persons, some cutting out their tongues, others their ears, still others slicing their bodies with knives in order to offer to their idols the blood which flows from their wounds; sometimes sprinkling the whole of the temple with blood and throwing it up in the air, and many other fashions of sacrifice they use . . .
One very horrible and abominable custom they have which we have seen in no other part, and that is that whenever they wish to beg anything of their idols, in order that their petition may find more acceptance, they take large numbers of boys and girls and even of grown men and women and tear out their heart and bowels while still alive, burning them in the presence of those idols . . . Some of us have actually seen this done and they say it is the most terrible and frightful thing that they have ever seen. . . . Your majesties can therefore be certain that there can be no year in which they have not sacrificed some three to four thousand souls.
As to what the Spanish should do in light of this, I leave the reader to decide. Cortes continues,
Your majesties may therefore perceive whether it is their duty to prevent such loss and evil, and certainly it will be pleasing to God if by means of, and under the protection of your royal majesties, these people are introduced to and instructed in the Holy Catholic Faith . . .
And yet, after describing the most horrible aspect of Aztec society, Cortes concludes the section by writing,
For it is certain that if they should ever serve God with that same faith, fervor, and diligence [as their idols] they would work many miracles. We believe that by the aid of interpreters who should plainly declare to them the truths of the Holy Faith and the error in which they are, many, perhaps all of them, would quickly depart from their evil ways and come to true knowledge, for they live more equably and reasonably than any other of the tribes which we have hitherto come across.
Cortes also hates the fact that some of the Spanish use the Indians as currency in slaves. This, he argues, earns the “notorious” Diego Velazquez followers, and Cortes urges the king to remove him from any position of authority at once.
Spanish commentary on the Aztec king Montezuma strike a poignant note. Multiple sources all converge on the idea of admiration for the man. Here is Diaz de Casillo writing,
The Great Montezuma was about forty years old, of good height, well proportioned, spare and slight, and not very dark, though of the usual Indian complexion. He did not wear his hair long but just over his ears, and he had a short black beard, well-shaped and thin. His face was rather long and cheerful, he had fine eyes, and in his appearance and manner could express geniality or, when necessary, a serious composure. He was very neat and clean, and took a bath every afternoon. He had many women as his mistresses, the daughters of chieftains, but two legitimate wives who were Caciquesin their own right, and only some of his servants knew of it. He was quite free from sodomy. The clothes he wore one day he did not wear again till three or four days later. He had a guard of two hundred chieftains lodged in rooms beside his own, only some of whom were permitted to speak to him.”
When Moctezuma was allegedly killed by being stoned to death by his own people Cortés and all of us captains and soldiers wept for him, and there was no one among us that knew him and had dealings with him who did not mourn him as if he were our father, which was not surprising, since he was so good. It was stated that he had reigned for seventeen years, and was the best king they ever had in Mexico, and that he had personally triumphed in three wars against countries he had subjugated. I have spoken of the sorrow we all felt when we saw that Montezuma was dead. We even blamed the Mercederian friar for not having persuaded him to become a Christian.
Of course Cortes used violence at times directly and on purpose, however much he wanted to avoid it. In one such instance, we have both Aztec and Spanish sources for the same event. Regarding a terrible massacre, the Aztecs write,
Here it is told how the Spaniards killed, they murdered the Mexicans who were celebrating the Fiesta of Huitzilopochtli in the place they called The Patio of the Gods
At this time, when everyone was enjoying the celebration, when everyone was already dancing, when everyone was already singing, when song was linked to song and the songs roared like waves, in that precise moment the Spaniards determined to kill people. They came into the patio, armed for battle.
They came to close the exits, the steps, the entrances [to the patio]: The Gate of the Eagle in the smallest palace, The Gate of the Canestalk and the Gate of the Snake of Mirrors. And when they had closed them, no one could get out anywhere.
Once they had done this, they entered the Sacred Patio to kill people. They came on foot, carrying swords and wooden and metal shields. Immediately, they surrounded those who danced, then rushed to the place where the drums were played. They attacked the man who was drumming and cut off both his arms. Then they cut off his head [with such a force] that it flew off, falling far away.
At that moment, they then attacked all the people, stabbing them, spearing them, wounding them with their swords. They struck some from behind, who fell instantly to the ground with their entrails hanging out [of their bodies]. They cut off the heads of some and smashed the heads of others into little pieces.
They struck others in the shoulders and tore their arms from their bodies. They struck some in the thighs and some in the calves. They slashed others in the abdomen and their entrails fell to the earth. There were some who even ran in vain, but their bowels spilled as they ran; they seemed to get their feet entangled with their own entrails. Eager to flee, they found nowhere to go.
Some tried to escape, but the Spaniards murdered them at the gates while they laughed. Others climbed the walls, but they could not save themselves. Others entered the communal house, where they were safe for a while. Others lay down among the victims and pretended to be dead. But if they stood up again they [the Spaniards] would see them and kill them.
The blood of the warriors ran like water as they ran, forming pools, which widened, as the smell of blood and entrails fouled the air.
And the Spaniards walked everywhere, searching the communal houses to kill those who were hiding. They ran everywhere, they searched every place.
When [people] outside [the Sacred Patio learned of the massacre], shouting began, “Captains, Mexicas, come here quickly! Come here with all arms, spears, and shields! Our captains have been murdered! Our warriors have been slain! Oh Mexica captains, [our warriors] have been annihilated!”
Then a roar was heard, screams, people wailed, as they beat their palms against their lips. Quickly the captains assembled, as if planned in advance, and carried their spears and shields. Then the battle began. [The Mexicas] attacked them with arrows and even javelins, including small javelins used for hunting birds. They furiously hurled their javelins [at the Spaniards]. It was as if a layer of yellow canes spread over the Spaniards.
And the Spanish version of the same event:
Cortes wanted to entirely understand the cause of the Indians’ rebellion. He interrogated them [the Spaniards] altogether. Some said it was caused by the message sent by Narváez, others because the people wanted to toss the Spaniards out of Mexico [Tenochtitlan], which had been planned as soon as the ships had arrived, because while they were fighting they shouted “Get out!” at them. Others said it was to liberate Moctezuma, for they fought saying, “Free our god and King if you don’t want to die!” Still others said it was to steal the gold, silver, and jewels that the Spaniards had, because they heard the Indians say, “Here you shall leave the gold that you have taken!” Again, some said it was to keep the Tlaxcalans and other mortal enemies out of Mexico. Finally, many believed that taking their idols as gods, they had given themselves to the devil.
Any of these things would have been enough to cause the rebellion, not to mention all of them together. But the principal one was that a few days after Cortes left to confront Narváez, it became time for a festival the Mexicas wanted to celebrate in their traditional way. . . . They begged Pedro de Alvarado to give them his permission, so [the Spaniards] wouldn’t think that they planned to kill them. Alvarado consented provided that there were no sacrifices, no people killed, and no one had weapons.
More than 600 gentlemen and several lords gathered in the yard of the largest temple; some said there were more than a thousand there. They made a lot of noise with their drums, shells, bugles, and hendidos, which sounded like a loud whistle. Preparing their festival, they were naked, but covered with precious stones, pearls, necklaces, belts, bracelets, many jewels of gold, silver, and mother-of-pearl, wearing very rich feathers on their heads. They performed a dance called the mazeualiztli, which is called that because it is a holiday from work [symbolized by the word for farmer, macehaulli]. . . . They laid mats in the patio of the temple and played drums on them. They danced in circles, holding hands, to the music of the singers, to which they responded.
The songs were sacred, and not profane, and were sung to praise the god honored in the festival, to induce him to provide water and grain, health, and victory, or to thank him for healthy children and other things. And those who knew the language and these ceremonial rites said that when the people danced in the temples, they perform very different from those who danced the netoteliztli, in voice, movement of the body, head, arms, and feet, by which they manifested their concepts of good and evil. The Spaniards called this dance, an areito, a word they brought from the islands of Cuba and Santo Domingo. While the Mexica gentlemen were dancing in the temple yard of Vitcilopuchtli [Huitzilopochtli], Pedro de Alvarado went there. Whether on [the basis of] his own opinion or in an agreement decided by everyone, I don’t know, but some say he had been warned that the Indian nobles of the city had assembled to plot the mutiny and the rebellion, which they later carried out; others, believe that [the Spaniards] went to watch them perform this famous and praised dance, and seeing how rich they were and wanting the gold the Indians were wearing, he [Alvarado] covered each of the entrances with ten or twelve Spaniards and went inside with more than fifty [Spaniards], and without remorse and lacking any Christian piety, they brutally stabbed and killed the Indians, and took what they were wearing.
I have no wish to downplay a terrible massacre. For our purposes, however, a few things surprised me about the Spanish account.
We might expect ‘righteous’ conquistadors rejoicing in their deed. Some accounts of the Crusaders massacring civilians in Jerusalem in 1099 sound this way. Instead we them troubled and very much aware of the fact that they departed from their faith with their actions.
Confusion, not certainty, dominates the text. They search for answers and have a hard time understanding what it is they face or why it happened in the first place. Some historians/sources apparently indicate that the Spanish may have believed that they were about to do another human sacrifice, though the account above does not hint at this or use it as an excuse.
One can disagree with the reasons for the Spanish presence in the new world. One can lament the results of the Spanish conquest and the subsequent treatment of the natives. But I found my overall opinion about Cortes changed from reading his writings, though I still lack a great deal of familiarity with the events in general and other particular sources to come to definite conclusions.
But other historians presumably do not. And this brings us back to my question earlier about comparing Alexander and Cortes. Some historians fall over themselves fawning about Alexander, and no one treats Cortes this way, despite their similarities.
Alexander had a few points in his favor . . .
The fact that he was king and thus the focal point of all narratives about him. Cortes reported to the emperor, there were other conquistadors, Montezuma is a striking figure, etc.
Alexander destroyed the Persians in classic and dramatic pitched battles, the events of which featured himself. The Aztecs died partly as a result of cunning diplomacy, Montezuma’s attitude, some skirmishes, etc. Lacking a Battle of Issus or Gaugemela, we have a hard time latching onto Cortes to fully appreciate his skills (you don’t have to approve of Cortes to admire certain aspects of him).
Alexander operated within a “heroic” culture where for the most part, great deeds needed no particular justification. Even modern treatments of Alexander pick up on this, consciously or no. I can’t recall any in depth discussion from ancient writers, for example, about Alexander’s motives, or the justice of his cause. They simply don’t matter. Cortes operated within a much different (and certainly superior) moral framework that calls much of the Spanish enterprise into question.
Of course we cannot discount the fact that, however well intentioned Cortes may have been, those that followed often exploited the natives for wealth and personal gain. We should not directly blame Cortes for this, but his association with it taints him inevitably, and perhaps with some justice.
Of course unlike Alexander, Cortes never killed those close to him out of paranoia or political expediency (i.e. as Alexander did with Parmenio and Callisthenes), nor did he murder his friends in fits of drunken rage (Cleitus). But these acts usually get overlooked amidst the grandeur of Gaugemela.
Whatever we may think of Cortes, sifting through accumulated historiography about him is a tricky business, especially in light of his own words.
This week we brought an end to the Medieval world by seeing its erosion in the 14th century, mostly through the decimation of the Black Plague, as well as the early hints of nationalism.
The disaster wrought by the Plague went beyond the deaths of millions of people. It also did away with an entire social and moral fabric upon which the medieval world rested.
The virulent and contagious nature of the disease created acute moral dilemmas wherever it struck. Should diseased people be quarantined? Should apparently well people be allowed to flee to other towns? They might have the disease but not yet show the symptoms. The communal spirit that medievals needed to make their society work broke down. Fear and uncertainty meant that no one could trust one another.
Imagine that you know that a couple people in a certain household have the plague. Probably their other family members have it too, but of course you can’t be sure. Should you let the apparently well people out of the house? Some towns took the step of immediately boarding up houses where even one person had the plague, which would condemn all those in the house to death. But towns that took these harsh measures had far fewer deaths overall than those who didn’t. Is this moral? It condemns a few to certain death, but it might save a number of other lives. The plague caused a great deal of tension between those who thought the greatest good lay in the safety of the community, and those who thought the priority should be treatment of the individual.
A number of contemporary chroniclers tell of the debilitating social impact of the disease. Families abandoned even the bodies of their dead for fear of catching the disease, and so many went unburied. Healthy (and usually wealthier) people abandoned towns if they could, and the mutual relationships between nobility and the “commons” eroded. The plague may have had an indirect role in the peasant uprisings, first in France in 1358, and later in England in 1381. Froissart records events in France this way. . .
Thus [the peasants] gathered together without any other counsel, and without any armour saving with staves and knives, and so went to the house of a knight dwelling thereby, and brake up his house and slew the knight and the lady and all his children great and small and brent his house. And they then went to another castle, and took the knight thereof and bound him fast to a stake, and then violated his wife and his daughter before his face and then slew the lady and his daughter and all his other children, and then slew the knight by great torment and burnt and beat down the castle. And so they did to divers other castles and good houses; and they multiplied so that they were a six thousand, and ever as they went forward they increased, for such like as they were fell ever to them, so that every gentleman fled from them and took their wives and children with them, and fled ten or twenty leagues off to be in surety, and left their house void and their goods therein. These mischievous people thus assembled without captain or armour robbed, brent and slew all gentlemen that they could lay hands on, and forced and ravished ladies and damosels, and did such shameful deeds that no human creature ought to think on any such, and he that did most mischief was most praised with them and greatest master. I dare not write the horrible deeds that they did to ladies and damosels; among other they slew a knight and after did put him on a broach and roasted him at the fire in the sight of the lady his wife and his children; and after the lady had been enforced and ravished with a ten or twelve, they made her perforce to eat of her husband and after made her to die an evil death and all her children. They made among them a king, one of Clermont in Beauvoisin: they chose him that was the most ungraciousest of all other and they called him king Jaques Goodman, and so thereby they were called companions of the jaquery. They destroyed and brent in the country of Beauvoisin about Corbie, and Amiens and Montdidier more than threescore good houses and strong castles. In like manner these unhappy people were in Brie and Artois, so that all the ladies, knights and squires of that country were fain to fly away to Meaux in Brie, as well the duchess of Normandy and the duchess of Orleans as divers other ladies and damosels, or else they had been violated and after murdered. Also there were a certain of the same ungracious people between Paris and Noyon and between Paris and Soissons, and all about in the land of Coucy, in the country of Valois, in the bishopric of Laon, Nyon and Soissons. There were brent and destroyed more than a hundred castles and good houses of knights and squires in that country.
The plague also had a catastrophic impact on the Church and its witness. Many priests demonstrated great courage in tending to the sick, and in consequence died in much higher numbers than the average population (I came across one figure that estimates that the plague may have killed 80% of the priests in Europe). This left many towns with no priest at all, while other had priests rushed into office with little to no training. This led to a poorly trained, uneducated clergy and many layman with no religious guidance at all. The Reformation 150 years later had many causes, but surely the gutting of Church leadership from 1350-1450 is one of them.
Desperate people usually seek scapegoats, and the medievals did the same. Many blamed Jews for the plague, and although the Pope declared that anyone “who believed Jews responsible for the disease is deluded by Satan,” people did not listen and Jews were unjustly attacked. A sect called The Flagellants arose, and they claimed to avert the disease through their own personal penance. Their argument seemed to go something like:
The Plague is God’s judgment upon humanity
Once the allotment of God’s wrath is poured out, the Plague will stop
If we ‘absorb’ some of God’s wrath, other people will suffer less
Therefore, we inflict punishment on ourselves to atone for the sins of others.
The Church rightly declared such people heretics. They had a faulty view of God, suffering, humanity, and the disease itself. Froissart comments again,
In the Year of Grace 1349, the penitents went about, coming first out of Germany. They were men who did public penance and scourged themselves with whips of hard knotted leather with little iron spikes. Some made themselves bleed very badly between the shoulders and some foolish women had cloths ready to catch the blood and smear it on their eyes, saying that it was miraculous blood. While they were doing penance, they sang very mournful songs about the nativity and passion of Our Lord.
The object of this penance was to entreat God to put a stop to the mortality, for in that time of death there was an epidemic of plague. People died suddenly and at least a third of all the people in the world died then. The penitents of whom I am speaking went in companies from town to town and from city to city and wore long felt hoods on their heads, each company with its own color. Their rules forbade them to sleep more than one night in each town and the length of their goings-out was fixed by the thirty-three and a half years which Jesus Christ spent on earth, as the Holy Scriptures tell us; each of their companies went about for thirty-three and a half days, and then they returned to the towns or castles from which they had come. They spent very little money on their journeys, because the good people of the towns which they visited asked them to dinner and supper. They slept only on straw, unless illness forced them to do otherwise. When they entered a house in which they were to dine or sup, they kneeled down humbly on the threshold and said three paternosters and three Ave Marias, and did the same when they left. Many reconciliations were achieved through the penitents as they went about, for instance, over killings which had taken place and about which it had so far been impossible to reach an accord; but by means of the penitents peace was made.
Their rules contained some quite reasonable and acceptable things which agreed with such natural human inclinations as to journey about and do penance, but they did not enter the Kingdom of France because Pope Innocent, who was at Avignon at that time with his cardinals, considered the practice and opposed it very strongly, declaring in condemnation of the penitents that public penance inflicted by oneself was neither right nor lawful. They were excommunicated for doing it, and especially those clergy who went with them.
But again, most did not listen, so strongly did fear grip them.
As the Church declined in prestige, the first inklings of nationalism arose. The Church opposed nationalism in the past because they did not want people to think of themselves as primarily English or French, but Christians. One goal of the medieval church was to create a unified Christendom in Europe, a Christendom that if necessary could serve as a “power” bloc to the Moslem world. To achieve this, however, the church had to minimize the role of national hero-kings. But as the war progressed both sides had their national heroes, like Henry V and Joan of Arc, and this led to the rise of an “English” and “French” spirit that helped end to the medieval dream of a unified Christendom.
I think we can point to a few possible reasons for this rise of nationalism, and while we should not confuse it with modern day nationalism, it had some similarities.
As the length of the war increased, the ‘bet’ each side made increased as well. With so much invested, no one wanted to fold. War has a logic of its own, and finds new ways to justify itself, so. . .
Nationalism would be an easy target for the war to find. The kings that began the war died. Neither side could claim the conflict as a holy crusade. If you can’t fight for Edward III, or for the Church, perhaps you could fight “for England.”
Henry V clearly capitalized on this, but so too did the more distinctly Christian Joan of Arc.
By the end of the 100 Years War in 1453 the medieval world had disappeared. Those that survived the plague found their labor in much more demand, forever altering the relationship between peasant and noble. What the Battle of Crecy began the plague finished. Western Europe would seek a new way of understanding themselves and humanity’s place in the world, which we know as the Renaissance. We turn our attention to this period at the end of next week.
This week we looked at the Stock Market Crash of 1929 and how it happened. Not all Stock Market crashes cause deep depressions or recessions, and in fact, many now argue that the Great Depression had many other factors besides the ’29 crash. For example, only about 3-5% of Americans owned any stock at all in 1929. But I do think that the crash both revealed and foreshadowed deep problems within the economy as a whole, and so I still thought it worthwhile to examine. At the very time, for example, when the stock market rose dramatically, key industries like agriculture and construction showed major signs of weakness.
Not only that, it gave us a great platform to discuss the bursting of the dot-com bubble in 2000, which did not bring about substantial economic harm, and the crash of 2008 recently which did. What were the differences in the two, and which was 1929 more like? It seems that the 2000 dip revealed a weird anomaly in the economy, whereas in 2008, the problems lay much more at its heart of our financial system in general. Here are a few different graphs that show similar drops in the market, but each had its own particular effect on the economy:
This graph suggests that maybe market ‘crashes’ are simply ‘corrections.”
We spent two days this week on our own’Stock Market of the 1920’s’ activity. My main purpose was not recreate entirely how stocks are actually sold and have value. I wanted the students to focus on understanding the psychological aspect of not only stock value, but the value of anything at all. After all, what makes our paper money valuable in itself? Only that we have all agreed as a society that it does carry value. If we lost that belief, the economy would collapse shortly.
In our game this week the market started slowly. In fact, this class on the first day was the most cautious class I can remember in the last 10 years I have done this activity. But towards the end of the first day and into the second, the volume of trades and the amounts traded grew a great deal. Crashes usually happen when meteoric rises create a bubble, but in this case most every stock traded at a reasonable growth rate. “Consumer Confidence” remained high throughout this period, as most teams willingly parted with cash to get stock. Then, some interesting things happened as certain teams noticed that other teams had a lot of certain stocks. They then attempted to crash the market for certain stocks, but other teams caught on, and countered effectively. Though “the market” feared instability and lost some value, in the end it “held” enough for team with the most “blue chip” stocks to win.
I knew I would like E.M.W. Tillyard’s book The Elizabethan World Picture early on when Tillyard references Shakespeare’s famous, “What a piece of work is a man,” speech from Hamlet. He writes,
This has been taken as one of the great English versions of Renaissance humanism, an assertion of human dignity over medieval asceticism. Actually, it is within the purest medieval tradition.
Hah! Take that those who exalt the Renaissance over all else! Tillyard goes on to add how Shakespeare writes within the medieval “chain of being” tradition, which they derived from the Church fathers. He could have added something about Psalm 8, but we’ll let it slide.
Tillyard talks about how he began the book trying to get at the context of Shakespeare, but found that his subject grew on him until he found he had to continually peel back layers of the onion. It’s hard not to gain a kind of fascination and admiration for the medieval view of reality, and this is the book’s real subject.
C.S. Lewis tackled the exact same thing in his excellent The Discarded Image. Tillyard’s book lacks the depth and insight of Lewis, but his writing is also much more accessible. I wish I had started with him first. The fact that so much of the book deals with the medieval view of the world rather than strictly the Elizabethan stands as one of Tillyard’s main arguments. Yes, the Reformation broke with certain things from the past, but in the main they kept much of the medieval synthesis intact. The Scientific Revolution, not the Reformation, ended that view of the world.
The medievals borrowed from the classical tradition, Scripture, and the Church fathers to give themselves a very distinct world filled to the brim with sharp corners. Their universe had
Order and Unity: Everything had its place, everything played a part. In that sense it was crowded, with nothing out of place. But it was purposeful.
Sin and Progress: Medieval people believed in the reality of the first, but the possibility of the latter. A healthy tension resulted from a clear view of human folly on one hand, and the love of God on the other. Tillyard writes,
This is one of things that most separates the Elizabethan from the Victorian world. In the latter there was a general pressure of opinion in favour of the doctrine of progress: the pessimists were in opposition. In the Elizabethan world equal pressure existed on both sides, and the same person could be simultaneously aware of each.
In our day, we seem to believe in nothing in particular, though a belief in progress and progress alone would I’m sure be more insufferable.
Hierarchy: The “Chain of Being” meant that an infinitely long descending ladder from God down to the creatures far beneath the sea. Earth itself had a rather humble spot on this ladder. But the main feature here were the connections. Air had superiority to earth, and earth to water. Air is linked to water through earth, and so on.
The system had many advantages. Tillyard includes many quotes from the period and one immediately realizes how much authors had to work with and build upon. They could know that their audience would understand a multitude of sacred and secular references, and have a shared view of the world. Modern authors have to do so much more work for much less assumed reward. Tolkien had to create an entirely new world to write an epic.
But we should be careful not to romanticize such a world. Their cosmology did not directly conflict with Christian teaching, but neither was it inherently Christian, and as such left much to be desired. It was so crowded one did not have much space to maneuver. The only ones who seemed to have that freedom were fairies, and their role in redemptive history remained undefined — not a good place to be. Such a cosmology might easily arise in a time that begged for stability in the aftermath of the Dark Ages, and just as easily would wear out its welcome in due course, and even Shakespeare had his fun with it just as he depended upon it. Tillyard quotes from Twelfth Night in a revealing passage that links parts of the body with constellations:
Sir Toby Belch: I did think by the excellent constitution of thy leg it was formed under the star of a galliard.
Sir Andrew Aguecheek: Ay, tis’ strong, and it does indifferently well in a flame-coloured stock. Shall we set about some revels?
Sir T: What shall we do else? Were we not born under Taurus
Sir A: Taurus: that’s sides and heart.
Sir T: No, sir, it is legs and thighs.
Tillyard comments,
Characteristically both speakers are made to get the association wrong; and Shakespeare probably knew that to Taurus were assigned neck and throat. There is irony in Sir Toby being right in a way he did not mean. He meant to refer to dancing — legs and thighs — but the drinking implied by neck and throat is just as apt to the proposed revels. The present point is that the serious and ceremonious game of the Middle Ages has degenerated into farce.
This clip from the excellent Sherlock series from BBC recalls Holmes’ famous quote on his knowledge of the solar system:
Who wants to disagree with Sherlock Holmes? But he is wrong — one’s view of the solar system does matter. We have yet to find a workable replacement for Ptolemy and the medievals, and this surely has impacted our cultural life as a whole, and our individual sense of our place in the world. Like Major Tom, we float aimlessly and need to find a place to stand.
A mantra thrown around the column circuit from time to time is the idea that, back in the good old days, parents were parents and children were taught responsibility, duty, and thrift. Scenes like this no doubt abounded. . .
Embedded in this picture is the idea that adolescence as a distinct stage of life was an invention of the Victorians in the mid-19th century. This essentially artificial creation of a previously non-existent stage then created all sorts of problems that we deal with in the modern world, as our youth postpone “growing up” well beyond what is “normal,” or at least what existed before the Victorians ruined everything. Many commentators point to the laws against child-labor, and the increase of wealth during the late 19th century that allowed for children to have more leisure, and so on. The argument makes sense logically.
In her book The Life Cycle of Western Europe, ca. 1300-1500 (“Take courage,” I thought to myself as I picked it up, “The book can’t possibly be as boring as the title.”), Deborah Youngs sets out, at least in part, to debunk this modern notion. The medievals viewed life as happening in 4-5 distinct stages, with different expectations for each stage. Childhood, and yes, adolescence, has its roots far beyond the Victorians. Logical, common sense must give way to the historical record.
Youngs crafts no narrative but her book managed to hold my interest due to the surprising amount of information she gives you in a short book. Thus, while her work contains no lofty insights, it gives the reader plenty to chew on. Among some of the highlights:
The medievals in general were much less concerned with one’s actual age, however much they fixated on “stage of life.” When Henry IV of France sought an annulment of his marriage based on the fact that he was too young to give legal consent, no one could remember exactly when he was born. Opinion varied — some said he was 12 at the time of the betrothal (which would have allowed an annulment) and some said he was 15 (he would have to stay married).
Adolescents (12-18) were universally acknowledged to be in an irresponsible stage. Medieval literature expected erratic behavior from them. They simply had too much “heat” in their bodies and too little reason to control it. Many of us might have an image of an authoritarian and rigid medieval culture, but to my mind they were surprisingly tolerant. For example, boys who engaged in homosexual activity under 18 were given a “free pass” of sorts. After 18, not so much. Some might not find this “tolerant” at all. But if you account for the fact that they believed homosexual behavior to be a great sin, then by their standards they were tolerant, at least in this respect.
Some might guess that medieval culture expected all to be “saints” from the toddler years on, but again, the data confounds our expectations. The key for them was “acting your age.” Each stage came with certain expected behaviors. True, acting outside these expectations brought censure, but this held true even with “good” behavior. For example, regarding piety, they had a saying: “Young saints make old devils.” Those who have read Belloc’s The Path to Rome might recall him saying that he always felt much more comfortable when altar boys made faces at each other rather than standing with scrupulous and solemn attention to duty. If boys were boys, he took it as a sign that all was right with the world.
In this way, some medievals had more of a sense of “stages of life” than most moderns, who see human nature as more fungible than those in the past.
Youngs argues for no main thesis, but underneath her writing runs the current of the universality of human nature. We lack a sense of the past, and this opens us up to think unrealistically about the present. We exaggerate our virtues, vices, problems, and successes. Youngs reminds us that six year olds have always been noisy, and that twelve year olds have never been responsible. Parents, take heart, we are not alone.
Most of their ideas regarding “stages of life” bear a general similarity to ours, with one exception: the final stage. I think if you asked most people what kind of death they preferred they would answer, “Quick and painless.” Medievals had a different perspective. A quick death robbed one of the chance to prepare, to “pack” for the final journey. Medievals wanted the chance to reconcile with God and man, and provide a firm legal pathway for their relatives. Here I think they had an advantage over us. In general they did not ignore or flee from death, but called a spade a spade. Again we are faced with the possibility that medievals did a better job facing reality than we do currently.
This week we looked at the esteemed Athenian statesman Solon. The ancient world regarded Solon as a great sage, but as we saw, his head was not in the clouds. He took a society ready to fly apart at the seams and left it with an established social context in which democracy could take root. I wanted to highlight a few key lessons.
First, the background:
Before Solon there was Draco, a member of the Athenian aristocracy. His name itself came to symbolize harsh governmental policy, i.e. a ‘Draconian’ law. His policies helped cement the divide between rich and poor and threatened to make it wider. This dynamic is not unusual. When one group in society separates itself from others because of wealth or status, they tend to fear the rest of society, and thus, isolate themselves all the more. This increased distance only requires more force to ensure the divide. One can think of the ante-bellum South, for example, and various laws enacted that made it a crime to educate slaves. Society built like this can’t last for long.
Enter Solon.
He recognized a few key things:
Society needs the rich. One can argue that the rich abused their power but they are still Athenian. Secondly, their resources can benefit Athens. If we heal the fear between the two groups we can create opportunity for the wealthy to feel a bit more free with their resources.
The divide between rich and poor must be healed if we are to survive. This will require sacrifice from the rich
This led to what may have been Solon’s invention, and may not have been — an early version of a graduated income tax.
No one likes to pay taxes. One of the reasons for this is that no one really knows where their money goes. It gets dropped into a vast ocean, never to be heard from again. Solon did things differently. He did not ask for a direct sum from the wealthy, but offered them an opportunity. The wealthy could fund specific projects. They could just pay directly for a religious festival, a bridge, or a naval warship. Of course, they could also get full credit for their funding, i.e., ‘This festival to Athena sponsored by Diodotus.’ So, paying taxes became a way to earn ‘kleos.’ The wealthy could contribute in how much they gave. Enhancing the well being of Athens was directly connected with enhancing their own status in the community. Solon therefore made paying ones taxes a way for the wealthy to maintain and even enhance their “kleos.”
We should not view this as “taxes,” in any sense of the modern world. First of all, they were not precisely calculated to income, only loosely. Secondly, they came with no direct legal obligation. Solon erected a social framework where aristocratic status came with a kind of obligation, perhaps an early form of noblesse oblige. We see this idea reflected in various ways up until quite recently in the western world, the idea that you demonstrated your status by public service.
Problem solved.
Could this apply today? We are much too big to do what Solon did on any appreciable scale. Yet I wonder, with the ‘Occupy’ movement and other kinds of resentment against the wealthy building, if we couldn’t borrow his ideas. What if we did this for the very rich, and put their faces on front pages with captions like, “Warren Buffet posing with fighter jet paid for with his taxes,” or something like this. Would this help?
But, we should note that if we had a competition of fame/honor in paying taxes to the government, that would imply a certain relationship and attitude towards our government. As we discussed, what we think of Solon in parts depends on what one thinks about the purpose of law and government. Many of us think from a Roman context where law has an essentially “negative” character; i.e., the law tells you what not to do. Greek concepts of law had different goals in mind. The Greeks saw law as a tool to help shape the souls of individuals and communities. Greek law did not alwys say, “You must do this,” (with Sparta as an exception), but it did seek to produce certain definite outcomes.
Solon did not create democracy in Athens, but he established a context for it to exist. Democracy cannot exist everywhere. If the majority have an “us v. them” attitude then they will use their power to get revenge or exploit the “them,” whether they be rich or poor, black or white, etc. In this environment, society will become cancerous and destroy itself. Democracy can only really work when the power of the majority does not just represent merely the majority, but in some sense all the people. In our own age of bitter partisanship and resistance to compromise, we would do well to take Solon’s wisdom to heart.
I wish I had tried harder in math class. I always said to myself that I would never have to use all those formulas in real life, but it turns out that it would have dramatically aided my appreciation of John Lowe’s book on the mystery of the collapse of Mayan Civilization, The Dynamics of Apocalypse: A Systems Simulation of the Classic Maya Collapse.
I usually enjoy historical works that focus on the bigger picture, or at least connect a smaller scale event to something larger. But I know its also important to turn the binoculars around sometimes, and Lowe’s book accomplishes this well. I don’t mind his narrow and technical focus. Had I understood more math (most of it appears to be geo-spatial formulas) I surely would have understood his arguments better, but he does a decent job of summarizing the conclusions of all his deductions.
The mystery surrounding the apparently sudden collapse of Mayan civilization draws many different theories. What makes the case more curious still is that certain areas of Mayan civilization continued to thrive after other areas stopped functioning practically on a dime. Some speculate that the Mayans simply abandoned some large urban areas for reasons unknown.
Lowe begins by dealing with various theories of collapse he rejects.
The Environmental Argument
Lowe admits that many archaeologists find themselves drawn to ecological arguments because the two sciences lend themselves to similar kinds of analysis. But the evidence points away from this. Rainfall remained steady or increased in depopulated regions. Perhaps one might wish to say that the abandoned areas had too much rain and got choked by the jungle, but no . . . other swampy Mayan population sites experienced no depopulation.
Some suppose an over-extension of farming or denudation of soil quality. But no–Rowe points out that the Mayans used different kinds of sophisticated farming techniques that would have kept soil relatively healthy. Of course some form of soil erosion took place. In fact, most of it took place in the northeast Petan region. But again–this region experienced depopulation last among Mayan cities.
Disease
Others suppose disease wiped out the Mayans. But if the Mayans had an interconnected civilization that remained relatively homogenous ethnically, why did this disease not wipe out all of them? Most of the truly virulent diseases have their roots in the Old World, and the Old World would not visit the Mayans until some 600 years after the Mayan collapse.
W.H. McNeil proposed something along the Roman model. As he saw it, disease was not solely responsible for Rome’s collapse, but contributed greatly to it. Two plagues struck Rome in the 2nd and 3rd centuries A.D. and had the net effect of depopulating the countryside, setting in motion a chain of events from which Rome was not culturally or politically healthy enough to recover from. But whereas we have plenty of internal evidence for the plagues in Rome, all of the written accounts we have from the Mayans indicate that disease played no factor. Some later sources indicate how healthy people were before the Spanish came. If we cannot rule disease out absolutely, we can safely call it unlikely to have contributed to a collapse.
Ideological Collapse
Much of the rest of the book deals with the more sophisticated and slippery arguments surrounding Mayan beliefs. The basic approach of these scholars argues that, however much certain physical factors might have contributed, the main cause of the fall must have its roots in Mayan religious beliefs.
We know that, for example, the Mayans had a strong sense of cyclical time. D.E. Puleston argues that the general collapse came at the end of an important 250 year cycle, and perhaps the Mayans believed in the need for a general “reset” of their civilization. But the holes in this theory reside in that not all of the Mayans obeyed this “reset,” if it occurred. And other time cycles don’t quite fit the model, so Lowe finds this explanation lacking.
Others, seeing that very specific modeling of ideology can’t quite fit, propose a more general internal negative feedback loop, of sorts. Conditions deteriorate, which makes you double-down on the system of belief, which makes you pour more resources into that system that already leaks. The extra pressure on the system causes it to leak even more, leading to collapse. Rowe remains open to this approach, but it cannot arise to anything more than the level of a guess.
Rowe runs the risk of subjecting everything to such rigorous examination (and complicated mathematical formulas), that he runs the risk of cutting the beef so thin no one can see it. But he eventually gives some of his own theories, which rely on the historical city-state collapse model of ancient Greece and Mesopotamia. Before examining this, I admire that someone with such an analytical bent as Rowe can consider some historical parallels and other paths that one cannot strictly measure.
The city-state model has the advantage of keeping both independence and interdependence at play simultaneously. This flexibility ideally can make them more creative and adaptive. They avoid putting all eggs in one basket, and can theoretically benefit from innovations other city-states make. But the intricacy of the system can make them vulnerable as well. The Greeks stopped cooperating and left themselves vulnerable to assimilation from the north (just as the Mayans from the south likely assimilated to the northern regions) in the form of Macedonia. When cooperation against a possible hegemon remained impossible or ineffectual, the whole house of cards comes tumbling down.
This may not be quite fair to Rowe. While I admire his book, Rowe is much more clear with his writing when critiquing other theories. He has had time stating a positive truth clearly, held back by all the possible caveats that no doubt lurk in his brain. I may not have read him accurately, especially at this point of the book.
I think his idea of a political collapse has merit, but I believe we need more focus on the ideological explanations. For example, one can say that the Mayans stopped cooperating, but they appeared physically able to do so if they wished. Why didn’t they, then? You can argue for the power of a northern Mayan hegemon akin to Alexander the Great, but the historical record doesn’t indicate this. Even if it did, it still could not explain why the Mayans could not cooperate.
Alas, I have nowhere near the familiarity with Mayan belief systems to propose anything specific. But I can suggest an analogous situation to illustrate my point with the Redskins and the NFL.
First, we can view the NFL as a civilization of city-states. The NFL has customs and laws shared by every team, but every team has its own independent leaders and cultures. Some teams are healthier than others, but all share in a degree of common fate. The city-state model roughly works.Now, the Redskins. In the early phases of their existence the team had a very modest amount of success. They entered their “golden era” around the early 1970’s, and it lasted until January 1992 with their last Super Bowl victory. I lived through this golden era and it was gloriously fun.
Such a run of success created an enormous cache of goodwill among the fans. I have no wish to make this anti-Dan Snyder post or to catalog the many abuses of fan goodwill and the terrible decisions from the late 1990’s until today. There is more here for those interested. But, many outward edifices of a successful team still appeared in place. Fans came to games, fans cheered their team, paid for jerseys, the team made money, etc. One of the puzzling things about the Mayan collapse is that certain elements of their civilization, such as the high quality of their pottery, lasted right up until the end. We see this too with Roman coins. They maintain their weight and intricate design for decades after most historians (with the possible exception of Gibbon) mark the beginning of the end.
This year the team started 6-3 and seemed playoff-bound in a weak NFC East. But underneath lay definite problems, such as terrible performances for key home games, fans and players feuding, etc. And then, suddenly, for the last game of the year–utter collapse, as Eagles fans outnumbered Redskins fans at least 2-1 in the Redskins stadium.
The Redskins had issues in the past with other teams’ fans buying up tickets. The problem came in spurts for different teams, especially big name teams like the Steelers. But for a divisional rival . . . nothing like this has ever come close to happening before.
Of course the NFL can absorb one terribly dysfunctional team. The NFL, for now, need not worry too much. Faith in the “shield” continues on. But, imagine a scenario where
The Redskins don’t recover anytime soon and become dead weight in the league
A few other franchises (perhaps Jacksonville, Tampa Bay, the Jets) slide into similar positions
The concussion and player safety issue grows in importance
Domestic abuse and other player issues continue
Then we might see a very sudden collapse of faith, and a sudden exodus from stadiums and television sets. One might imagine abandoned stadiums to accompany abandoned temples.
I know very little about the great civilizations of Meso-America, so I was intrigued to at least skim through Tales of the Plumed Serpent: Aztec, Inca, and Mayan Myths. I have long thought that the myths and folkore of a civilization form one of the best entry points for the novice. Each of these cultures had remarkable achievements in nearly all marks of what we generally call “civilization.” Their architecture and engineering alone can rival that of Egypt and Rome.
Of course, studying these cultures comes with the big elephant in the room of human sacrifice. We associate this primarily with the Aztecs, and they may have practiced this on a larger scale than other civilizations in the region. But the Incas and Mayas both offered human victims on their altars. Some of their myths, as we might expect, help lay the foundation for such terrors.
I understand that any editor should have a light touch in such a collection. One wants to let the stories speak for themselves. And yet, the extreme desire to stay “neutral” in itself reflects a certain worldview. On page 87 the editor includes a section on human sacrifice, and writes,
Further to the south, the Incas practiced human sacrifice too. One notable and particularly poignant custom was the rite of “capacocha,” in which the victims were usually children. After going to Cuzco to be blessed by the Inca priests, the “capacochas” returned home in procession along straight routes called “ceques.” Here they were either buried alive in subterranean tombs or killed with clubs and their bodies left on mountaintops.
The word “poignant” seems dramatically inappropriate for such a description.
True, the Spanish found much to admire about the religious zeal of the Aztecs, for example. Perhaps some of the victims volunteered out of a genuine sense of zeal. But surely we should not assume that children “volunteered.” Surely we have not so lost our way that we cannot call children being buried alive “horrifying,” or at the very least, “tragic.”
I can’t help but surmise that if the Greeks or Romans practiced this, different words would have been chosen to describe them. For Meso-American cultures suffered under European colonialism, and this seems to mean that, having been granted victim status, they can do no historical wrong.* But the situation has much more complexity than this.
NOVA’s documentary about the deciphering of the Mayan language called Cracking the Mayan Code has many things to recommend it. But it begins with the obligatory castigation of Spanish priests destroying the manuscripts of the Mayans, who clearly did so out of “ignorance” of the Mayans and contempt for their culture. At no point are we encouraged to consider whether or not Mayan culture should remain entirely entact. One can find things to admire about the ante-bellum South, for example, but slavery had to go, and removing slavery might mean altering other aspects of ante-bellum culture. However messy this might get, I would be surprised if many in academia object to the damage done to southern culture in the effort to destroy slavery.
The Spanish priests perhaps prescribed a stern remedy for the Mayans by destroying their manuscripts, but we should at least consider:
Did the priests believe that the foundations of human sacrifice needed eradicated?
Did the manuscripts provide a religious foundation for human sacrifice?
Should the missionaries attempt to end human sacrifice? If destroying the manuscripts helped accomplish this, should we see this as worth the cost of the loss of knowledge about Mayan language and history?
Did the priests see themselves as part of the “lineage” of the prophet Elijah, who proposed a contest with the prophets of Baal (whose worship also occasionally involved human sacrifice), or St. Boniface, who chopped down the oak of Thor? If so, was this connection justified?
We must at least entertain these questions, but on many campuses this would not be easy to do.
Acquiring such nimble minds would be entirely necessary for reading Henry of Livonia’s chronicle of Baltic Crusades in the 13th century. A brief synopsis of his account is almost impossible. Some converted under early missionary work, and the church sent other clergy to help establish churches in the area. Some fought against the church by attacking and murdering clergy and other Christians, others reneged on their conversions, making things even messier and more confusing. And so it went. The introduction to his text reveals that in the 19th century, German scholars revered Bishop Berthold for his tenacious will in establishing the church in the area. The editors rightly raise some eyebrows at this, for no one who reads the text would admire the bishop for his love, understanding, and perspicacious wisdom, whatever other qualities he possessed. And of course we know what the early 20th century had in store for Germany. But as one might imagine, today the editors see only the destruction of culture and cruelty, wildly swinging the pendulum of analysis. Even a cursory reading of Henry shows his appreciation for local cultures, but also the tension that comes when we encounter destructive pagan cultural practices. We should cultivate the boundaries of our minds so that we can make judgments without rushing to stark ideological conclusions that have no sympathy for one side or the other. When the introduction to Henry of Livonia reveals is that this is not a strictly modern problem, and that may be of some comfort.
As the center of our own culture erodes the our physical and mental boundaries inevitably become more porous. Douglas Murray tackles this in The Strange Death of Europe: Immigration, Identity, Islam. Murray writes with conviction but this is not a screed. He at least appreciates the tension between maintaining a cohesive identity as a culture and helping those in desperate situations. If we cannot recognize this tension debating the issues will go nowhere.
The problem Europe experiences over these issues, however, runs deeper than the plight of the desperate. First of all, many of those who migrate appear not to be desperate refugees but young Moslem men looking for greater economic opportunity. That, of course, does not make them bad people by any definition, but it should alter the debate somewhat. Murray believes that European leadership has distanced itself from their people. Their willingness to allow more migrants significantly outdistances the desires of most voters. But to the extent that this is true, the problem can easily get fixed in subsequent elections.
The immigration issue exposes deeper rifts in beliefs about democratic practice. Those on the right and left both believe in democracy. Conservatives tend to see democracy as somewhat fragile. Democracy can work only with healthy institutions and an instinctive level of trust between people that comes from shared values and a shared culture. If your candidate loses the election, you can shrug your shoulders and try next time, knowing that, whatever your differences on tax policy or budget allocations, you know that nothing substantive about your life will change. The moment you stop believing this about other candidates from other political parties, fear may drive you to do more than simply shrug your shoulders
Many liberals these days** (so it seems to me–I am a conservative, so forgive and feel free to correct any misrepresentation), believe that democracy is primarily a powerful idea, not a complex practice or culture. Ideas can transfer easily, thoughts have no borders. So, democracy requires little more than belief in “freedom” or “equality,” and participation–“make sure you get out and vote”–to work successfully.
Conservatives might balk at the prospects of bringing in millions of mostly young men who neither share your religion, your cultural values, your shared democratic practice, and no history or context for understanding the issues. If recent immigration policies tell us much, liberals tend to believe that this poses no fundamental problem to continuing our democratic practice.
For Murray, the deeper problems involve a profound spiritual malaise, a great crisis of confidence Europeans feel about their own institutions and culture.
One can argue that civilizations should function much as individual people function, and have the capacity to exercise humility and repentance, though this is dicey and comes with many complications. But granting this and leaving the question aside, one could argue that western civilization has much to repent of, such as imperialism, slavery, etc. Of course western civilization is hardly alone in committing such sins, but we can only repent of our sins, and not those of others. But as St. Paul writes in 2 Corinthians, and St. Peter and Judas demonstrate, there is a godly sorrow that leads to life, and a sorrow that leads to death.
Much of Murray’s book indicates that large swaths of the political class of Europe may wish for something akin to an atoning annhiliation of their culture–akin to Van Gogh cutting off his ear. Recently an op-ed piece from Todd May in no less than the New York Times argued that for the good of the Earth, humanity as a whole should make itself extinct. But most on the far-left only desire this of western culture. Consider a very small smattering of examples:
The extreme reluctance of law enforcement agencies to publish the ethno-national information of the accused when they come from Moslem areas, lest they (so I suppose) seem racist.
In the aftermath of the coordinated sexual assaults in Cologne, Germany on New Years Eve 2015, the response of some was to give instructions to women on how they should behave around young migrant men. What makes this troubling to me is the assertion that Germans should adjust to the behviors and culture of their guests, and not vice-versa (no one would, or should, make the equal assertion that Germans abroad should expect their hosts to conform to German cultural norms).
The failure of states to aggressively try and curb the rise of anti-semitism in areas of high Moslem concentrations.
All of his examples illustrate Murray’s main theme of internal cultural immolation,^ a drastic diagnosis, but one that seems apt.
The problem of borders often raises its head often in history. On the one hand borders strike us as entirely artificial. Nothing in the nature of the universe would have it that America occupy a certain amount of space with a certain amount of prosperity. If borders be artificial, no good reason exists to prevent anyone from moving anywhere.
But, on the other hand, borders must exist, for without them we would have no way to order our lives politically or economically. Borders lack the legitimacy of natural law they have a relationship to natural law. I think national boundaries are akin to our relationship with food. There is nothing that says we must have either chicken, pizza, or salad, but we must eat some kind of food to survive. Some form of national and cultural boundaries, then, seems necessary to our existence.
The borders in our mind are more crucial. Maintaining distinctions in creation is one of the hallmarks of Genesis 1. Light is not darkness, morning is not evening, trees are not fish, and men are not women. As we review Incan mythology, we have to say that burying children alive is worse than being merely “poignant.” We must not assume that a pagan culture is by definition “oppressed” when they come into contact with the Christian west. We have to have conversations about emotionally difficult subjects like immigration. If the viral malaise that stymies this bores its way into other borders of our mind, eroding the entirety of our mental structure, so our cultural structures. will follow suit. And because chaos has no differentiation, the sameness of all things can get boring–as well as dangerous.
Dave
*Without excusing the subsequent actions of the Spanish and Portuguese in the least–actions that many contemporary Europeans themselves criticized–one must remember, for example, that Cortez had a great deal of help in bringing down the Aztecs. Many other local tribes rallied around him, and perhaps they did so at least in part because they wanted to protect themselves from the Aztecs sacrificing them on their altars.
**Some could also lump the neo-conservatives of the early 2000’s into this group, so perhaps this is not exclusively a liberal belief.^I will go on record as saying that I agree with Murray that Europe is a undergoing a kind of cultural suicide, but I don’t see this necessarily as a recent phenomena of the last 15-20 years. In other words, it’s not primarily the fault of too much immigration. Perhaps this is merely a symptom. Rather, Europe began this process many decades or perhaps centuries ago. Europe as we know it had its foundations with the Church, and has painstakingly eroded that foundation. Without this, the edifice built upon this now non-existent foundation will have to collapse.
This week we began looking at the aftermath of Charlemagne’s reign and his accomplishments.
Historians often focus on Charlemagne’s volatile character and his many wars, and these certainly have their place. I wanted the students also to consider the broader context of how civilizations get created.
We often take civilization for granted, but we should ask ourselves why, and even if we need civilization in the first place. Inevitably civilization will detract from some personal freedom. We will have to follow certain laws and maintain certain obligations to the larger population. At times we will have to give allegiance in some form to leaders and laws we do not like. But I believe that while civilization may not qualify as an absolute good, it remains a very strong relative good. Without civilization life often gets reduced to who has the most force. The weak would be at the mercy of the strong. Also, without civilization culture on any appreciable scale will not exist. So if nothing else, as Kenneth Clark stated, barbarism is boring.
But civilization will not build itself, nor does it arrive fully formed from the sky. Humanity must create civilization themselves, and this requires much more than merely wanting to pass a few laws. Who should make laws? Who should enforce them? Who will decide guilt or innocence when disputes arise? These difficult questions can take generations to answer.
Often the answers a particular people arrive at do not come from abstract discussion, but “on the ground realities.” Though it may sound harsh, the answers usually come from those who are most able to provide order, and this order comes from a monopoly on the use of force.
Many could argue that Charlemagne betrayed his Christian values with far too much reliance on war and unnecessary power grabs. But Charlemagne did provide the necessary unity through his conquests to end disputes. He did provide security and order, and this helped lead to what historians refer to as the “Carolingian Renaissance.” While this period cannot hold a candle to other great historical renaissances in terms of what they produced, they also started from a much different place. They developed a new style of writing, and a new architectural style. We see books written once again (though of poor quality), and a general revival of the idea of scholarship. Europe started to grow roots that would bear fruit in the centuries to come
What we often miss when examining the foundations of civilization, however, is the element of trust required. More so than laws, the daily habits and patterns of our interactions with one another form the real core of civilization. These habits have their roots in our conception of moral order, which comes directly from our religious beliefs. Christianity thus played a huge indirect role in the formation of civilization after the fall of Rome. It provided unity, yes, but it also provided a basis for common interaction. No set of laws can cover every circumstance, and in the absence of law we fall back on the trust of our fellow man. When this does not exist, when law and structure fail, civilization fails as well. One need only think of the looting and destruction that might happen if power went out in a major city, or the chaos in the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina, or the rioting in the summer of 1968. This may indicate that we rely perhaps a little too much on the force of law, and the trust and personal bonds that should unite us may not be all that strong. Without a common moral foundation we have to rely on force to keep us together, and force will fail in the long run (if not the short run).
My hope for this unit with Charlemagne is that the students considered his achievement, and the cost of his achievement. When we look at nascent civilizations we get a glimpse into nature of civilization itself, which we should then be able to apply to our own day.
This past week we wrapped up the Norman Conquest of 1066. I wanted us to see the conflict between Harold Godwinson and William of Normandy not just as battle for the throne between two rivals, but as a window into the society at large. Toward that end we focused a lot of our discussion on oaths in early Medieval Europe.
We looked at oaths because the central controversy involving the Norman Conquest involved a dispute over an oath taken by Harold. Harold apparently got blown off course one day and landed in Normandy in France. Instead of holding him for ransom, William, Duke of Normandy protected and befriended him. At the end of his visit, William asked Harold to pledge that he would not seek the throne of England after Edward the Confessor’s death.
In that oath, several questions arise:
Did Harold promise to let William have the throne?
If so, was that promise binding, i.e. was the oath a valid oath?
Did Harold really break his oath in the first place?
Oaths had crucial important for this period I think, for the following reasons:
1. Today we have extensive written contracts, police, and law courts to enforce social order and provide a platform for trust in social interaction. The world of 1066 had none of these things. So we see instead an ironclad priority placed on “keeping one’s word,” which stood in place of the modern written contract. Breaking one’s word, then, did not just damage your personal reputation, it threatened the fabric of civilization itself.
2. This can help us understand why the Church felt the need to involve itself in the oaths of great noblemen. By 1066 Europe had only recently emerged from a chaotic “dark age,” of barbarian invasions. The Church wanted peace, and so often strengthened them by adding spiritual overtones on the oaths to make them even more binding. One could argue that this would make the Church a meddler in personal affairs. I think they would respond that peace is everyone’s business.
Of course oaths could only bind under certain circumstances:
Oaths were freely taken — that is, no compulsion came with the oath.
The terms of the oath could be performed by those making the oath (one could not vow for another’s actions)
One could not vow to sin, and then sin because, “I promised I would.”
As an example, there is this text from the life of King Louis IX of France in 1248, from The Chronicle of Matthew Paris. Note how all urge him to “unbind” himself from his first oath, but then once he vows again, the matter is settled.
. . .the lord king of the French who, as was well known, had taken the cross [vowed to go on a Crusade] was severely criticized, and almost circumvented by his magnates and courtiers, because he was unwilling to redeem or commute his oath in any way, in spite of the [fact that he taken the vow when very ill]. His mother Blanche, aware of the king’s imbecility at the time [of the oath] insisted and earnestly argued with him, and the bishop addressed him as follows.
“My lord king, remember that when you took the cross, making a vow so hurriedly and without advice, you were ill and your mind wandered. The words you then uttered lacked truth and authority. The good pope will willingly grant a dispensation from the oath, knowing the critical state of your kingdom and your past infirmity.”
Then the king’s mother added her own suggestions, spoke to him with some effect. “Dearest son! Instead of resisting your own prudence, pay attention to the advice of friends. Bear in mind how pleasing it is to God to give heed to the voice of one’s mother. Stay here and the Holy Land will suffer no detriment. . . . God neither plays tricks nor does he quibble. You are sufficiently excused by your illness and the deprivation of your reason. . .”
To this the king, no little moved, replied, “. . . Lord bishop, here is the cross which I assumed; moreover, I resign it to you.” Raising his hand to his shoulder, he ripped off the cross. At this all those sitting around him expressed their intense joy, but the lord king, altering his tone, said: “My friends, certainly I am not now deprived of my reason or my senses, nor am I powerless or infirm. Now I demand back my cross. He who ignores nothing knows that nothing edible shall enter my mouth until I have signed myself with it.”
When those present saw this they recognized the hand of God here (Ex. 8:19), and that these things had been effected by a divine force from Heaven. Nor did anyone dare raise any further questions about the affair. We have recorded this business fully and exactly so that everyone appreciates the constancy of the most Christian king of the French in the service of Christ.
One of the controversies of 1066 revolved around Harold’s oath. Some argued that it was not taken freely, as Harold at the time was under William’s custody and protection. Some also argued that the oath was not Harold’s to make, as the English Witan chose kings, and Harold might feel bound by their choice. When Harold broke his vow (from William’s perspective, it set about a clash that could be solved only through battle. Harold might argue that. . .
The oath I took does not bind, for I took it under indirect compulsion, a stranger in William’s land. Besides this, I do not fight for my own personal gain, but for England.
I fight for England’s right to choose an English king. Edward the Confessor (God rest his soul) always had half of himself in Normandy. I say that England has a right to choose an English king that will look after English interests.
William might have countered with. . .
I do not fight for petty slights, nor revenge. I fight for uphold civilization itself, and the sanctity of oaths taken upon holy relics. If oaths have nothing sacred to them, we have nothing to keep us together but naked force and barbarism.
If kings do not keep their oaths, neither can we expect the common man to do so.
The pope has given me his banner, for he too recognizes the greater good at stake in this. Harold’s refusal to back down show him as an enemy of the Church and civilization.
Some sources suggest other things at stake. When he landed unexpectedly in Normandy, Harold faced potential danger, as I mentioned above. William took him under his wing, and gave him protection. But it may have been necessary, for Harold to be fully protected, for Harold to become William’s “man,” in the feudal sense. That is, Harold would agree to serve William in exchange for William’s protection. Once it was known that Harold “belonged” to William, then and only then would he have been safe.
If this happened, Harold’s actions amounted to a personal betrayal.
In the famous Battle of Hastings that ensued, both armies fought well but Harold was killed in the fighting, which left the throne open for William of Normandy, from then on known as William the Conqueror.
Many in England get tired of hearing about 1066 in much the same way that we may tire of hearing of 1492. But the Norman Conquest did change the social fabric of England, and more importantly, brought England into the fold of the European continent.
Some years after the Normans displaced the Saxons, a handful of monks wrote the “Anglo-Saxon Chronicle,” detailing life before and after William. The conclusion below, though short, provides an interesting opportunity for textual analysis. Did the Anglo-Saxon writer like William or not? Did he have to praise him because he was a Saxon and had lost, or is the praise surprising for the very same reason? Was William a good king? It depends on what you think most important about political leadership. . .
Anglo-Saxon Chronicle: Assessment of William I
If anyone would know what manner of man King William was, the glory that he obtained, and of how many lands he as lord, then will we describe him as we have known him, we who had looked upon him and who once lived at his court. This King William…was a very wise and great man, and more honored and more powerful than any of his predecessors. He was mild to those good men who loved God, but severe beyond measure to those who withstood his will. He founded a noble monastery [Battle Abbey] on the spot where God permitted him to conquer England., and he established monks in it, and he made it very rich. In his days the great monastery at Canterbury was built, and many others also throughout England; moreover, this land was filled with monks who lived after the ule of St. Benedict; and such was the state of religion in his days that all who would, might observe that which was prescribed by their respective orders.
King William was also held in much reverence. He wore his crown three times every year when he was in England: at Easter he wore it at Winchester, at Pentecost at Westminster, and at Christmas at Gloucester. And at these times all the men of England were with him, archbishops, bishops, abbots and earls, thanes and knights. So also was he a very stern and wrathful man, so that none durst do anything against his will, and he kept in prison those earls who acted against his pleasure. He removed bishops from their sees and abbots from their offices, and he imprisoned thanes, and at length he spared not his own [half-]brother Odo. This Odo was a very powerful bishop in Normandy. His see was that of Bayeux, and he was foremost to serve the king. He had an earldom in England, and when William was in Normandy he [Odo] was the first man in this country, and him did William cast into prison.
Amongst other things, the good order that William established is not to be forgotten. It was such that any man…might travel over the kingdom with a bosom full of gold unmolested; and no man durst kill another, however great the injury he might have received from him. He reigned over England, and being sharp-sighted to his own interest, he surveyed the kingdom so thoroughly that there was not a single hide of land throughtout the whole of which he knew not the possessor, and how much it was worth, and this he afterward entered in his register. The land of the Britons [Wales] was under his sway, and he built castles therein; moreover he had full dominion over the Isle of Man; Scotland was also subject to him…; the land of Normandy was his by inheritance, and he possessed the earldom of Maine, and had he lived two years longer, he would have subdued Ireland by his prowess, and that without a battle.
Truely there was much trouble in these times, and very great distress. He caused castles to be built and oppressed the poor. The king was also of great sterness, and he took from his subjects many marks of gold, and many hundred pounds of silver, and this, either with or without right, and with little need. He was given to avarice and greedily loved gain. He made large forests for the deer, and enacted laws therewith, so that whoever killed a hart or a hind should be blinded. As he forbade killing the deer, so also the boars; and he loved the tall stags as if he were their father. He also commanded concerning the hares, that they should go free. The rich complained and the poor murmured, but he was so sturdy that he took no notice of them; they must will all that the king willed, if they would live, or keep their lands,…or be maintained in their rights. Alas that any man should so exalt himself…. We have written concerning him these things, both good and bad, that virtuous men may follow after the good, and wholly avoid the evil, and may go in the way that leadeth to the kingdom of heaven.
In our own history Mark Twain invents American literature on what was for the time, the geographic and social frontier of America. Today, the mythology and folklore of the “frontier” still do much to shape the American psyche. If we think of Twain’s vocabulary and compare it to say, Hawthorne’s, we see that Twain occupied a social frontier as well as a geographic one.
motown, soul, rock and roll — all of them basically their creations, and that hardly encompasses a final account of their contributions to American life and culture. Perhaps their disadvantaged social position led them to think of creative ways to deal with that challenge, which helped them create such vibrant music.
A Stick in the Mud 
