We began where we began where we began our look at Egyptian civilization, with geography.
Greek geography has three dominant features I wanted the students to notice: water, mountains, and climate (below is rough topography of the region)
I believe water had a few key impacts on the Greeks:
1. Psychological — it is nearly universal human reaction to be drawn out by large bodies of water. At least I tend to think it is. Most of us have probably vacationed at the beach before. Have most of you, like me, stood looking at the horizon of the sea and thought, “One day I shall go forth and seek out boldly new lands and new places”?
Alright, maybe not for everybody.
But why does waterfront property sell at such a high price? Water may not call us all to adventure, but it does seem to impact our psyche in some way.
2. Water also serves as a means to communicate and interact with others. So those that live near water tend to explore and trade, and this in turn creates vibrant economies and cultures. England, the Netherlands, and Venice might be examples of this.
In the end, we can see why great cultural explosions often come from places near water if we combine the possible psychological and obvious practical effects (Greece, Renaissance Italy, the Dutch, England) Of course like most things, this has its limits. Witness, for example, classical music from Bach though Strauss, Russian music and literature, etc. in essentially land-locked places. Still — it seems to me that there may be a connection between water and a civilization’s creativity. I expand on these possibilities here for those interested.
Mountains and Soil
1. Greece had farmers, but in general the soil was rockier and poorer than in the Fertile Crescent. This in turn, of course, might only serve to push them outwards all the more.
2. The mountains divided them geographically, which in turn divided them politically. These mostly independent communities may have helped originate, or at least broaden, the concept of self-government. All of the civilizations we have studied so far have chosen the ‘big’ route to success, partly through choice and partly through circumstance. In contrast, the Greek philosopher Aristotle believed the ideal political community should have more than 5000 citizens.
Climate
If most people could pick their ideal climate it would probably be between 50-80 degrees, light breeze, low humidity. This would be a general description of a Mediterranean climate, and one impact this had on the Greeks was that they lived life outdoors. So — as they interacted with other areas throughout Greece and the Mediterranean, they also interacted a lot with each other, and this too might have helped contribute to the creativity of ancient Greek civilization.
After looking at geography we went to another key foundation of ancient Greece and looked at their concept of ‘Arete,’ which I think can be best translated as ‘excellence.’ ‘Excellence’ is an amoral concept. The Greeks admired people who were ‘excellent’ people. Odysseus was excellent at cleverness and like a cat, always landing on his feet. Achilles is admired because no one can best him in battle. But neither would be considered moral people in any Christian sense. Arete tells you to continually pursue excellence, to never rest on one’s laurels. One of the problems with arete, however, is that it does not tell you when to stop, something that we will see working itself out in Greek civilization.
We have discussed before that what a civilization worships is what it follows after at all costs, and this may not be found ultimately in the gods themselves. One question I posed to the students was, which came first, the Greek gods, or Greek arete? Greek gods have power and beauty, but not morality. In Greek sculpture their is not much difference between how gods and men are depicted. This one is of Poseidon:
And another famous one of the discus thrower (stance obviously different, but the ‘body’ is the same:
I should say that the students were right to point out some minor differences, as the gods usually tend to look more imposing or regal, but in general the gods were just somewhat better versions of mankind.
We can contrast this with the Egyptian gods.
The difference is more than mere artistic technique. When they wanted, the Egyptians could be quite expressive, as this tomb painting with birds shows.
Often times the Greeks depicted the gods in motion, perhaps reflecting the fluid nature of their civilization. The Egyptians, in contrast, often showed their deities in a static posed, often with arms crossed, reflecting the more stable, tradition oriented nature of the Egyptians.
Next week we will look at the Trojan War and the possible historical roots of the conflict.
Many events leading up to the Peloponnesian War helped increase tensions between Athens and Sparta. I never ascribe to theories that make certain events “inevitable,” but given the history between two of Greece’s pre-eminent powers, war was probably a better than 50-50 bet as tensions between them increased in the mid-5th century B.C. Athens’ decision to build walls around the interior of the city and its harbor clearly added to these tensions.
I had always interpreted Athens’ decision in almost entirely military terms. The Persians sacked their city in 480 B.C., and the Athenians recovered it only after a last stand naval battle in Salamis. The psychological and physical scars of that event would naturally lead to a desire for more defense.
Naturally such an action strained things between Athens and Sparta. Athens had a great navy, Sparta had its infantry. Each could hurt the other in its own way, a kind of ancient application of “M.A.D.” Now, Athens could hypothetically hurt Sparta or its allies without worrying too much about the consequences. As great as Sparta fought in open battle, they had limited abilities in siege warfare. Athens could remain safely behind the walls of Athens. You could see the walls of Athens as a first strike weapon, one that allowed them to sally forth with Sparta not able to retaliate in kind. So too, when President Reagan proposed his SDI “Star Wars” defense, many believed the invention would create a more dangerous world, not a safer one.
Peter J. Fleiss’ book Thucydides and the Politics of Bipolarity showed me a side of this issue I had not realized before. Athens’ walls would never have been built without a decisive shift towards democracy in mid-5th century Athens.
Like almost any other place in the ancient world, Athens’ identity came from its landowning farmers. However, around 600 B.C. the wealthier oligarchs gained an unstable amount of power via the Code of Draco. At this point, Athens chose a tyrant named Solon to take control of Athens for 20 years, beginning in 590 B.C. The choice revealed a lot about the Athenians. Solon had wealth, which earned him the trust of the aristocracy, but . . . he was not an aristocrat, which earned him the respect of the people at large.
Solon embarked on a program to bring social stability back to Athens. He had to walk a tightrope between competing factions and earned high praise from the ancient world for his reforms. For our purposes here, we note that
He refused to redivide land and let the wealthier aristocrats keep what they had acquired from the newly poor.
At the same time, he taxed the wealthy at a much higher rate
He helped grow a middle class by encouraging the growth of a merchant fleet
The growth of merchants provided a valve to let off social steam. In addition, many of the city’s poor got jobs rowing the ships. Solon attempted balance in his reforms, but hindsight shows us that the power of traditional elites was on the clock.
The economic story of Athens ca. 590-450 B.C. mirrors what happened to Rome when she started to shift to a more merchant oriented economy from 200-60 B.C. Rome’s shift helped to destroy the very elites who profited most from this shift. The power of elites rests on tradition. Tradition comes from continuity, and continuity comes from land. This has been the way of things from the days of yore. Once cash money, and not land, formed the primary currency, the land-owning elites lost much of their power.
As Athens naval might grew the population shifted to more urban areas. Of course poorer farmers resided outside the city walls, but we can be sure that the older, established families had most of their land outside the city limits. This land would be the first target of any invading army. Building the wall would allow for more protection, but any defensive structure sends a double message. The Germans, for example, could invade Poland with confidence in 1939 because the Maginot line signaled a purely defensive posture for France along the frontier. Building the walls around the city signaled that in the event of war Athens would willingly let the majority of its exterior farms fall into Spartan hands–until the war was won, of course.
Popular democracy would be the only plausible political vehicle to accomplish this. Land of the elites outside the walls would suffer before the merchant class within the city. In the event of a Spartan invasion, the navy, and the poor who rowed the ships, would rise even more in importance. Only the navy could then procure food for the city under siege. When the time came, Pericles proposed this exact strategy.* At the start of the Peloponnesian War Athens retreated inside its walls and let Sparta have the run of the countryside, while their navy shouldered the military load.
Athens’ walls signaled a cultural shift as well. Some of the established elites outside the walls were obviously more conservative, and might have had more in common with the average Spartan than the average Athenian inside the city. The walls repudiated the statesmanship of leaders like Cimon who sought rapprochement with Sparta.**
To me Pericles’ strategy could have the hallmarks of the “tyranny of the majority” problem discussed by so many political philosophers. Older, elite families lost land, but more importantly, they lost the possibility of gaining status in the war. In the Greek world, status gave power, not vice-versa. Pericles’ proposed strategy greatly limited the chances of the landed gentry gaining honor and status via battle, while greatly increasing the chances of the “demos” to gain in both departments.^
The failure of Pericles’ strategy, partly caused by the unforeseen plague that hit Athens, does not prove that democracies need elites. But their failure in the overall war effort might suggest it. Solon gained fame, honor, and success by pursuing a political agenda that both rewarded and burdened both the people and the elites. In the 100 years after Solon left power, Athens went from an also-ran to a major power in the Greek world. As democracy grew, so too did the people’s opportunities to strike back at their own elite. They should have resisted the temptation. As Tocqueville wrote, democracies usually win their wars, but that’s only when they unite against a common enemy. In Athens’ day the political infighting that began the war lasted only until their situation got desperate. We can’t measure the effect, but it surely hampered their efforts. We might wonder if things would have been different if Pericles pursued a military strategy that allowed for participation and honor for both the people and the gentry.
Our recent election saw much ink spilled on the question of “elites.” Some argued that Clinton is “elite” because of her connections and long political career. Others argue that Trump is elite because of his wealth. Whatever your definition, “elite” has become a dirty word. That’s a shame, because history tells us that healthy democracies need, and perhaps even embrace, their “elites.”
Dave
*Thucydides argues that such a strategy would have worked had the Athenians had the discipline to stick with it. This comment has always perplexed me for three main reasons: 1) At some point the Athenians would have had to deal with the Spartan infantry, and a policy of withdrawing behind walls would only embolden the Spartans, 2) The Athenians did have patience. They tried this strategy for about 4 years, with no real success. Initially the Spartans came, burned what they could, and left. But eventually they realized they could come and stay for much of the year with impunity, because the Athenians never challenged them, and 3) Thucydides shows some disdain for the popular democracy throughout his narrative, and this policy only strengthened the hold of the demos on affairs of state.
**The mood shifted decisively with Cimon’s ostracism. He father fought and won the Battle of Marathon. Cimon himself had many noteworthy victories against the Persians. Everything about “traditional values” pointed to a long and respected career for Cimon.
^This is one reason why I disagree with Thucydides’ assertion that Pericles’ time in power created an aristocratically leaning government with some democratic underpinnings. Here I agree with Donald Kagan that Periclean democracy was really fully democratic.
The ancient Persian Empire usually doesn’t get the credit it deserves. I reflected on this as my son read the graphic novel 300. I give the book credit for its entertainment value and reasonable historical accuracy. But at one point the story declares that in fighting Persia, the Spartans fought to preserve freedom and the light of truth and reason. This strikes me as an almost dangerous absurdity, considering that the Spartans enslaved a native population and practiced infanticide, among other horrors. The Persians built their extensive empire largely on the back of tolerance (note the praise for Cyrus the Great from the prophet Isaiah), pioneered some legal improvements, and often paid even their lowliest workers. One can root for the Greeks against the Persians, as I do, but not quite for the reasons given in 300.
The Persians also are interesting case study in the building of cities. As a people they originated in the mountainous Iranian plateau, but as their empire spread, Persian natives found themselves far afield from their native climate. How could they hold their rapidly expanding empire together? I already mentioned the legal and philosophical approach, but they matched this by having three distinct capital cities scattered in different parts of their empire.
Only Ecbatana, their summer capital, had any proximity to their place of origin. It made sense to make it their summer capital as it lay further north. But they gave Susa prominence in the South by making it the final/first stop on their royal road, and they willingly went further south still to Persepolis for symbolic purposes. Having three different capitals demonstrated the broad-minded, inclusive approach of the Persians.
The very flexibility that allowed them to grow so quickly, however, proved a double-edged sword. Being Persian came to mean nothing more than having a better economy — in other words — very little about Persia touched the soul. When Alexander invaded between 333-323 B.C., many willingly and easily switched allegiances to him.
I admire Persia’s feat of flexibility. No capital city today could “move” to a new location every few months. We have far too much bureaucracy to achieve that. Also, they “walked the walk” as well as talked. They said they were inclusive, and they demonstrated this “on the ground.” But Persia’s story begs the question of whether or not one can invent history on the fly, whether one can “create out of nothing” a culture and a way of life. I touched on my skepticism about invented cities in this post, and the reasons for the failures of St. Petersburg to lead Russia are quite similar to Persia’s ultimate demise.
Cairo is about to attempt an experiment not unlike Persia. With their population growth outpacing their geography, they plan to build a massive “New Cairo” directly adjacent to the old city to serve as Egypt’s capital.
Ordinarily I might think this a fool’s errand, but Egypt has gone through several distinct historical phases and may not quite have a distinct identity in the modern era. Maybe, just maybe, this could work (read more here).
America has some similarities to Persia, especially lately with our emphasis on tolerance. Again, there are many worse things to be known for, and besides, I think being “American” involves more of an inner identity than Persia ever had. But, we, like Persia, invented our capital city, and we might inquire how that has worked out.
Like Persia, we picked the location of our capital for purely political reasons. Tradition and geographical position probably pointed to Philadelphia as the best choice. But, despite a lack of clarity on exactly how we ended up making the decision, it appears that we decided on Virginia both to help them ratify the Constitution and perhaps to honor Washington, Madison, Jefferson, etc. To build the buildings we had to clear a swamp and import people into it the city from outside. The transience of the D.C. area has to do with military and government turnover, but has its roots in the fact that most everyone in the region originally got imported. Their homes lay elsewhere.
Thus, D.C. never had a history of its own. It had to be invented, and history has to “happen”–it can’t be invented. So while New Orleans has Bourbon Street, Memphis has Beale Street, New York has Harlem, D.C. has K Street, where lobbyists and bureaucrats cut a rug. Not exactly the stuff of legend.
As Toynbee pointed out in Cities on the Move, no city worthy of the name can sustain itself. It has to import the necessities of life, but evens out the balance sheet in other ways. All capital cities, for example, export law and national directives. But one also hopes that they might export some sense of cultural identity, some sense of “soul” for the nation (with the caveat that it need not dominate, but only add flavor). D.C. will never be able to do this, and we should not expect it. The town got created out of nothing purely for the function of exporting administration, and a leopard can’t change its spots.
It is a shame that all D.C. can export is bureaucracy, but our invention of the capital does testify to our inherent flexibility as a nation. Our lack of attachment to History itself has given us the ability to adapt quickly to challenges and allowed individuals in every generation to make of themselves what they will. The question for the future remains whether or not the lack of cohesive cultural and historical identity will ultimately hurt us as it hurt the Persian Empire 2500 years ago.
For years now I have wondered how many books actually get published. In the Christian book world every year, for example, books on prayer, grace, parenting, and so on tumble off the shelves each year. Those I glance at sound almost exactly the same. Of course it’s no business of mine that books are published, but nonetheless, I am surprised.
The same phenomena exists in the world of history as well, perhaps especially in ancient history. Here we deal with limited sources and unsure timelines, and so it seems that one can say only so much. When dealing with the Peloponnesian War I thought that we had reached our limit. The advent of archaeology and the concomitant renewed interest in the ancient world in the late 19th century begot groundbreaking history on ancient Greece. This all culminated, I thought, with Donald Kagan’s masterful four-volume work published in the 1960’s-70’s. Having read portions of those books, I thought that the final word had been uttered. Victor Davis Hanson’s uneven A War Like No Other, and Nigel Bagnall’s disappointing book on the conflict proved to me that indeed Kagan had the last word. Now saying anything else would put one in an awkward position . . .
Or so I thought.
After all, in any field we should encourage new books because we have to encourage new ways of thinking. Maybe 90% of what gets published never need see the light of day but that 90% might be needed to get the 10% that shines new light just where it’s needed.
Enter J.E. Lendon, Virginia’s own spirited iconoclast, and his new book Song of Wrath.
Every student of the Peloponessian War rightly begins with Thucydides, and he impresses immediately with his penetrating analysis and fluid arguments. He talks little about what would be for us, the curiosities of ancient life (commonplaces to them of course), and instead focuses on what moderns would tend to appreciate. For Thucydides, practical power politics and universal psychological principles explained the war. But Lendon points out that the very fact that Thucydides has to argue for his point of view shows that he departed from traditional ways the Greeks understood conflict. He did not reflect, then, a typical Greek understanding of the war. This does not mean he was wrong, but it means that we must wonder if this great authority spoke rightly. In the end, Lendon admirably challenges some of Thucydides’ key beliefs and conclusions.
Lendon begins his work by discussing Achilles. The Iliad begins with a seemingly petty dispute between Agamemnon and Achilles over who has the right to a captured slave-girl. Agamemnon pulls rank on Achilles and takes Achilles’ woman which leads Achilles to withdraw from the fighting altogether. Most every modern reader inevitably views Achilles as a total heel, a petulant jerk who would rather see his companions die than accept Agamemnon’s decision, however unfair it may be. And yet Achilles, not Agamemnon or Odysseus, remained for centuries a revered hero of the Greeks, nearly worshipped by such luminaries as Alexander the Great.
How can this be?
Lendon uses this as a window into what the Greeks valued and how they structured their world. Once we see the great value they placed on rank and honor, we understand the reasons for the war, and the reasons for certain strategies pursued by both sides much more clearly. Achilles earned his reputation by sacrificing all to the Greek concept of honor. We know that he sacrificed long life for glory in battle for starters, but he also willingly defies his king and his friends to preserve his honor. He reenters the conflict not when his honor receives satisfaction, but when his friend Patroclus dies. When Achilles fights he does so not for Agamemnon, but to revenge Patroclus, another key Greek concept. After slaying Hector, Achilles goes too far and succumbs to hybris. He drags around Hector’s body and initially refuses burial. For this, he suffers ignominious retribution in the form of an arrow from spineless Paris. But — he had a magnificent run before he ran aground, and that’s what mattered most.
If we understand honor, revenge, and hybris, Lendon argues, we will understand the Peloponnesian War.
Some might suppose this to be a mere gimmick, but I found this lens suddenly made sense of things that had always puzzled me. Take the strategy of Athens’ star politician Pericles in the wars earliest days. Thucydides records Pericles arguing that,
[Sparta’s] greatest difficulty will be want of money, which they can only provide slowly; delay will thus occur, and war waits for no man. Further, no fortified place which they can raise against usis to be feared any more than their navy. As to the first, even in time of peace it would be hard for them to build a city able to compete with Athens; and how much more so when they are in an enemy’s country, and our walls will be a menace to them quite as much as theirs to us! Or, again, if they simply raise a fort in our territory, they may do mischief to some part of our lands by sallies, and the slaves may desert to them; but that will not prevent us from sailing to the Peloponnese and there raising forts against them, and defending ourselves there by the help of our navy, which is our strong arm. For we have gained more experience of fighting on land from warfare at sea than they of naval affairs from warfare on land. And they will not easily acquire the art of seamanship; even you yourselves, who have been practising ever since the Persian War, are not yet perfect. How can they, who are not sailors, but tillers of the soil, do much? They will not even be permitted to practise, because a large fleet will constantly be lying in wait for them. If they were watched by a few ships only, they might run the risk, trusting to their numbers and forgetting their inexperience; but if they are kept off the sea by our superior strength, their want of practice will make them unskilful, and their want of skill timid. Maritime skill is like skill of other kinds, not a thing to be cultivated by the way or at chance times; it is jealous of any other pursuit which distracts the mind for an instant from itself.
The Athenians, Thucydides, and the ancients who commented on the war all approved of Pericles’ strategy, which the above quote outlines in bare detail. Essentially Pericles wanted to make Athens an island by bringing the population within its walls and refusing to fight the Spartans on land. Then, with their superior navy they could ravage the Peloponnesian coasts. Most moderns, on the other hand (myself included) have thought little of his approach. At best it appears a recipe to avoid losing rather than actually winning. At worst, it’s a passive strategy guaranteed to give all the advantages to the other side.
Lendon argues that we misunderstand the strategy because we misunderstand the Athens’ war aims. Athens did not care about imposing their will on Sparta, or finding their “center of gravity” (a la Clauswitz) so much as they desired equal rank with Sparta. Sparta had the rank of “hegemon” in the Peloponnese, Athens sought hegemon status in Attica and thus, equal status with Sparta in the Greek world. Sparta will ravage our lands, but we can ravage theirs as well. We don’t need a “shock and awe” response because we strive not to prove our absolute superiority, but our equality. Besides, the Athenians would wish to avoid the hybris of seeking something beyond their station. They contented themselves with equality, follow the unspoken rules of war, and avoid the wrath of the gods.*
Armed with this perspective, suddenly other aspects of the war made sense to me. Before I criticized Athenian coastal raids for wasting time and resources to achieve purely symbolic results. This led me to make broader conclusions about the vacillating nature of democracies at war.
Lendon argues of course, that honor and rank have everything to do with symbolism. The Athenian coastal raids had nothing to do with “imposing their will” or tactical advantage, and everything to do with displaying status. So Lendon’s work not only entertained me, it has forced me to reconsider most of my lesson plans for teaching the war. Grudgingly . . . I give Lendon my thanks.
Does any of this new analysis have a modern application in war? Some have suggested that 3rd-world warfare resembles many of these “traditional” concepts of honor and symbolism, and that we must abandon all the Cold-War principles that guided our statecraft. Some argue that acts of terrorism have a lot more to do with symbols of honor than tactical advantage. I cannot comment on this as I lack the knowledge to do so. But I do think we see a lot of the same principles in our modern political scene. Democrats and Republicans both press for legislation that will give them “honor” in their districts or with their national following, and often this legislation has mere symbolic value. Both sides too can obstruct purely for reasons of status, or to refuse honor to the other side. Some might argue that this is part and parcel of any democracy. If so, we will need to redefine our definition of democracy, and accept that at least in its modern context, it has little to do with Christianity. It may bear much more direct similarity to our pagan democratic ancestors, and to the song of wrath sung in ancient times . . .
Sing, goddess, the anger of Peleus’ son Achilleus
and its devastation, which put pains thousandfold upon the Achaians,
hurled in their multitudes to the house of Hades strong souls
of heroes, but gave their bodies to be the delicate feasting
of dogs, of all birds, and the will of Zeus was accomplished
since that time when first there stood in division of conflict
Atreus’ son the lord of men and brilliant Achilleus. . . .
*In Kagan’s great work he comes close to understanding this. He addresses the modern puzzlement over Pericles’ strategy by pointing out that the Athenians essentially voted for it on multiple occasions and kept it going even after a plague struck their city In other words, he points out that the strategy surely made sense to them and they must have thought it effective for their purposes. Lendon argues that after a few years, Athens could have made a legitimate argument that they had won and proved themselves. The problem with such conflicts lie in that they need interpreted, and Sparta did not interpret events as the Athenians did. So the war continued, and in time ended with defeat for Athens in a way no one could misconstrue.
This week we began our next civilization, Medo-Persia, and began the story of the origin of Cyrus the Great as told by Herodotus.
There are those who dispute the story’s accuracy. It does resemble in some ways the stories of both Moses and Paris of Troy. We can trust the Moses story, but we need not immediately discount the Cyrus story merely for that it resembles the story of Moses. The story of Paris seems to reside in myth and folklore, but again, this should not immediately preclude the veracity of the Cyrus story. These are interesting questions to ponder, and I don’t know if we can find absolute answers. What it obvious is that it is a great story. If you ask your children about it, I’m hoping they can retell it to you if you would like. You can find it in full online in Herodotus’ Histories in Book 1, beginning in chapter 107.
The Persian Empire had its flaws, but did most things right and represented a vast improvement over the Babylonian, and especially the Assyrian empire. Some of this had to do with historical coincidence, but a lot of it had to do with the values and practices of Cyrus, the empire’s founder.
Some things to note. . .
1. Cyrus arose to power at a time when no other dominant power dominated the ancient Near East. Egypt had been on the wane for some time, Assyria was destroyed, and the Babylonians had lost their former shine. Thus, Cyrus was able to expand by slowly incorporating smaller kingdoms into his realm, without a major challenge posed by any other empire.
2. I think the biggest factor, however, was Cyrus’s foreign policy/diplomacy. According to Herodotus, he set the tone during his usurpation of the Mede King Astyages. Cyrus was half Mede, half Persian. Conquering the Medes in the traditional sense would have meant conquering himself. He spares Astyages and integrates Median and Persian alike.
Cyrus used this same model for most all of his conquests. He wanted expansion, but he also strove for incorporation and integration. He tolerated a variety of customs and religions. You got the benefits of security and participation in Cyrus’s growing network of trade and prosperity. Very little about your daily life would change. True, the former king would be exiled to a distant palace, but Cyrus tried to promote from within. He might use local lesser magistrates to rule in his stead. In class I put it this way: If Cyrus conquered the U.S. he might exile the President and V.P., but perhaps promote the Senate Majority leader and Secretary of State. He would create loyalty to himself by this, because those promoted would owe their position to him. The transition of leadership would be softly felt by the locals.
It could be said that Cyrus positioned himself as a ‘liberator,’ and not a conqueror. He could somewhat truthfully pledge that you would be better off under his dominion. Slavery came close to disappearing in his realm. The only thing he asked in exchange was that your army get attached to his and you pledged your loyalty to his person. He succeeded like few others, and we will not see such effective empire builders until we look at Rome. One sees something of his personality and humility in his surprisingly simple tomb.
This method of course differed significantly from others that we have seen so far. One tremendous benefit of this method was that it appears that the Persians had far less slavery than previous civilizations. As we progress, however, we will see that the splendid machine known as the Medo-Persian empire did have an Achilles heel. What, after all, did it mean to be Persian? Can an empire’s identity revolve only around economic advantage and efficiency? The other possible weak link was the army. This was the one sticking point in an otherwise tolerant (at least for the time) regime. They mandated and enforced military participation throughout their empire. This army grew so huge and so multi-national that it might conquer merely by showing up. But what held the army together?
The history of Persia will in some ways revolve around this question, as we shall see in the weeks to come.
Several years ago I read an article where the man interviewed had positive things to say about some developments in Italian democracy. “The people are now ready to criticize and poke fun of their leaders,” he commented. “We’ll know we have arrived as a democracy when the people can criticize themselves.” At the time I read this, I thought, “Good for you, Italy. One day you may join us. We’ve got something better here.” But upon reflection, I’m not so sure this is true. How many politicians, for example, could get away with criticizing the American people? How many political documentaries create a divide between us and them, whether they come from Rush Limbaugh or Michael Moore? It always appears to be “their” fault, never “our” fault.
Judgments about one’s own society, however, are tricky. To see the nose on one’s face you need a mirror. Without significant experience of democracies on a historical scale, the example of Athens from 508-338 B.C. will always prove important for us to get our bearings.
Writing critical assessments of things or events can be more fun than offering praise. Critical people can sometimes come from a distant and cynical spiritual place, and we shouldn’t give much weight to their comments. Sometimes, however, criticism arises out of love, and this should grab our attention. Loren J. Samons’ What’s Wrong with Democracy does this. He seeks to get past our modern adulation of democracy, and thus, our adulation with classical Athens. When we examine them afresh, he argues, we won’t always like what we see. In his criticism Simons sometimes overreaches and sometimes seems to contradict himself. But his book is, as historian J.E. Lendon stated, “cleansing.”
Amidst the various topics Samons discusses, I think the essence boils down to the following question:
What is democracy really about after all?
Christopher Ferrara tackled this question head-on in his book Liberty: The God the Failed. Samons takes a more indirect approach, but still feels that democracy, standing by itself, may lead to little more than a means to perpetuate whatever we happen to desire. The only reason we will have for democracy is . . . democracy.
He looks at Athens’ financial history and its relationship to democracy. He traces a few distinct stages:
An early phase where the ‘tyrants’ got overthrown and the franchise expanded.
The heralded Periclean phase, often seen as the high-point of democracy. But Samons points out that this phase of democracy was made possible only by 1) Their silver mines, and 2) The imperial tribute they received from their client states. The practices we tend to admire about them, such as paying people to attend the Assembly, and large cash payments for their very large juries (101-501) people, could happen only because of their predatory practices abroad.
The era after the Peloponnesian War, where they lacked the cash reserves of earlier times, but refused to modify their practices. This led to serious financial problems and hard choices for the Athenians. Yet, when faced with the task of defending themselves against Macedon or continuing to vote themselves cash payments, they consistently chose the latter.
Perhaps the Athenians didn’t just simply make bad choices, perhaps the kind of democracy they practiced would naturally encourage them to make bad choices. If democracy is all about “serving the people” or “giving the people what they want,” then democracies will inevitably choose to short-term gains and quick fixes. Salmons wrote his book before our own failure to arrive at a budget, or to either 1) Decrease spending, or 2) Raise taxes made itself manifest. Is our own system of government equipped to make hard choices? Given how we consume energy, we may also have to conclude that our democratic lifestyles have a predatory aspect.
Samons’ next points out that in Athens, their more aristocratic past provided a healthy check on democracy. Having a different past gave them a compass from which to orient their democratic practice. It could also serve as a reminder that democracy need not serve as the be all and end all of political life. In America we have no such check, which leads us to nearly worship democracy as a vital part of our existence. This in turn, has led to a confused and misguided foreign policy. On a couple of occasions Athens even voted to switch to a more aristocratic oriented governance, which Samons views as healthy. In time, Athens banned any alternative to their democracy, and this choice contributed to their eventual conquest by Macedon. They refused to allow any other method of making decisions, even when they methods they employed to make choices had no real hope of facilitating good outcomes.
On this issue Samons has weaker arguments. True, I very much wish that we would appreciate democracy because it is ours, instead of investing it with angelic qualities. But the political instability in Athens from 411-400 B.C. was not always as smooth as Samons lets on. Political exiles and political murders came with such transitions. Having the alternative to democracy came at a price.
However, if a democracy has no reference point outside itself, we should consider whether it may be worth the risk to have such an alternative. Currently we have no particular ‘North Star’ of religion or virtue to guide our own political practice, and this will lead to everyone scrambling for whatever they can get. We may be in a position now where we could really benefit from a distinct alternative to borrow from, to get some separation from democracy that we might understand its strengths and weaknesses more clearly. If we have no firm moral guidelines derived from a common faith, the check on democracy may have to come from other viable political ideologies and practices. Of course such an alternative is entirely unthinkable in our modern context. This may bode ill for us.
This lack of an outside reference point for many modern historians impacts how they view ancient critics of Athens. Invariably, whether the ancient chronicler be Thucydides, Xenophon, Socrates, or the “Old Oligarch,” they get discounted due to their “aristocratic bias.” Now, naturally all historians have bias — even democratic ones. But we cannot dismiss them for this bias alone, however uncomfortable their conclusions may be. Perhaps the the extreme form of democratic bias comes in the form of the book by I.F. Stone on the trial of Socrates. I applaud Stone for his enjoyable and Herculean efforts to partially exonerate Athenian democracy while writing about one of its great crimes. His book rises to the level of a great counter-factual history. But in the text Stone spills a lot more ink discussing Socrates’ “aristocratic bias” then in blaming the governmental system that executed him unjustly.
Critics of Salmons conclusions have two good points.
Salmons offers some good criticisms of Athens in particular and democracy in general. But he proposes no alternatives. What does he want? Would he prefer a monarchy or a dictatorship? I grant this makes the book somewhat unsatisfying, but I can’t fault him for it. To develop a viable alternative with historical and philosophical backing would require another book.
More problematic is Salmons’ seemingly simplistic take on the problems Athens faced. Surely he realizes that other forms of government have their problems too? Yes, Athens had issues, but exactly how much blame can we put for their problems on democracy? Would their problems have been less with a monarchy? He can say that Athenian democracy made bad decisions, but kings make bad decisions, oligarchies make bad decisions, and so on. For his book to really work he would have to show that democracies will make more bade decisions, or more catastrophic decisions, then other forms of government. He fails to do so.
Even still, these flaws don’t bother me that much. Salmons modestly set out to 1) Give a more balanced picture of Athenian democracy, and 2) Pour some cold water over our ardent devotion to democracy. He succeeds, and this makes his book worthwhile.
Machiavelli is at various turns a cold man, a dangerous man, and a wise one. Below I include a section from his Discourses on Livy where he discusses the merits of Rome’s Republic building into its foundation an alternative to the Republic when necessary. This, I think, was Machiavelli in one of his wiser moments.
Dave
Book XXIV
Those citizens who first devised a dictatorship for Rome have been
blamed by certain writers, as though this had been the cause of the
tyranny afterwards established there. For these authors allege that the
first tyrant of Rome governed it with the title of Dictator, and that,
but for the existence of the office, Cæsar could never have cloaked
his usurpation under a constitutional name. He who first took up this
opinion had not well considered the matter, and his conclusion has been
accepted without good ground. For it was not the name nor office of
Dictator which brought Rome to servitude, but the influence which
certain of her citizens were able to assume from the prolongation of
their term of power; so that even had the name of Dictator been wanting
in Rome, some other had been found to serve their ends, since power may
readily give titles, but not titles power. We find, accordingly,
that while the dictatorship was conferred in conformity with public
ordinances, and not through personal influence, it was constantly
beneficial to the city. For it is the magistracies created and the
powers usurped in unconstitutional ways that hurt a republic, not those
which conform to ordinary rule; so that in Rome, through the whole
period of her history, we never find a dictator who acted otherwise than
well for the republic. For which there were the plainest reasons. In
the first place, to enable a citizen to work harm and to acquire undue
authority, many circumstances must be present which never can be
present in a State which is not corrupted. For such a citizen must be
exceedingly rich, and must have many retainers and partisans, whom he
cannot have where the laws are strictly observed, and who, if he had
them, would occasion so much alarm, that the free suffrage of the people
would seldom be in his favour. In the second place, the dictator was not
created for life, but for a fixed term, and only to meet the emergency
for which he was appointed. Power was indeed given him to determine by
himself what measures the exigency demanded; to do what he had to do
without consultation; and to punish without appeal. But he had no
authority to do anything to the prejudice of the State, as it would have
been to deprive the senate or the people of their privileges, to subvert
the ancient institutions of the city, or introduce new. So that taking
into account the brief time for which his office lasted, its limited
authority, and the circumstance that the Roman people were still
uncorrupted, it was impossible for him to overstep the just limits of
his power so as to injure the city; and in fact we find that he was
always useful to it.
And, in truth, among the institutions of Rome, this of the dictatorship
deserves our special admiration, and to be linked with the chief causes
of her greatness; for without some such safeguard a city can hardly
pass unharmed through extraordinary dangers. Because as the ordinary
institutions of a commonwealth work but slowly, no council and no
magistrate having authority to act in everything alone, but in most
matters one standing in need of the other, and time being required to
reconcile their differences, the remedies which they provide are most
dangerous when they have to be applied in cases which do not brook
delay. For which reason, every republic ought to have some resource of
this nature provided by its constitution; as we find that the Republic
of Venice, one of the best of those now existing, has in cases of urgent
danger reserved authority to a few of her citizens, if agreed among
themselves, to determine without further consultation what course is to
be followed. When a republic is not provided with some safeguard such
as this, either it must be ruined by observing constitutional forms,
or else, to save it, these must be broken through. But in a republic
nothing should be left to be effected by irregular methods, because,
although for the time the irregularity may be useful, the example will
nevertheless be pernicious, as giving rise to a practice of violating
the laws for good ends, under colour of which they may afterwards be
violated for ends which are not good. For which reason, that can never
become a perfect republic wherein every contingency has not been
foreseen and provided for by the laws, and the method of dealing with it
defined. To sum up, therefore, I say that those republics which cannot
in sudden emergencies resort either to a dictator or to some similar
authority, will, when the danger is serious, always be undone.
We may note, moreover, how prudently the Romans, in introducing this new
office, contrived the conditions under which it was to be exercised.
For perceiving that the appointment of a dictator involved something of
humiliation for the consuls, who, from being the heads of the State,
were reduced to render obedience like every one else, and anticipating
that this might give offence, they determined that the power to appoint
should rest with the consuls, thinking that when the occasion came when
Rome should have need of this regal authority, they would have the
consuls acting willingly and feeling the less aggrieved from the
appointment being in their own hands. For those wounds or other injuries
which a man inflicts upon himself by choice, and of his own free will,
pain him far less than those inflicted by another. Nevertheless, in the
later days of the republic the Romans were wont to entrust this power to
a consul instead of to a dictator, using the formula, _Videat_ CONSUL
_ne quid respublica detrimenti capiat_.
But to return to the matter in hand, I say briefly, that when the
neighbours of Rome sought to crush her, they led her to take measures
not merely for her readier defence, but such as enabled her to attack
them with a stronger force, with better skill, and with an undivided
command.
I encourage my students to play, “Would you rather?” games, i.e., “Would you rather eat 500 live ants or 1 live cricket?” Often questions like this involve no specific moral quandary, but the practice of creating and defending mental hierarchies has great value, even when such hierarchies are relative. Comparing civilizations has something of the apples/oranges dilemma, I admit. And reigning cultural relativism tells us not to judge. But I believe that the mental process involved in deciding whether Greece was better than Rome, or in this case, whether or not Egypt has the leg up over Babylon, helps bring clarity and meaning to the study of history–even if one should hold on loosely to these kinds of distinctions.
Many have used various criteria for evaluating civilizations, such as how long they last, the power they accumulated, their technology, and so on. I think a better lens involves us seeing how each civilization aligns itself with the reality of creation–with the patterns and Truth found in the created order, available for any with eyes to see.
Henri Frankfurt’s Kingship and the Gods gives us more than a rundown of Egyptian and Sumerian/Babylonian kingship. He seeks to integrate religion and politics not just with their history, but also the geography and the general patterns of living from both cultures. He reveals his method early in the introduction, writing,
Mesopotamian society was entirely adapted to the cyclic succession of the seasons. While each winter resolved its harshness in the spring and the plague of summer was succeeded by autumn rains, human society moved through a succession of seasons in which humanity joined in of the cosmic crisis of life, death, rain, and drought. The [Babyonian] sees a dramatic conception played out in nature between the divine and the demoniac, between forces of order and chaos.
The most important seasonal celebrations in [Babylon] centered around the bewailing of the death of Tammuz and his rebirth on the New Year–his victory over death and his sacred marriage to the mother-goddess.
Egypt, too, reflected the natural rhythm of the seasons in the course of the official year. But their celebrations differ profoundly in character from those in Babylon. In the plain of the two rivers, the festivals were never free from anxiety, and those which we know best show a change from deep gloom to exaltation. In Egypt, festivals provided the occasion to affirm that all was well, for Egypt viewed the universe as essentially static. Revolts against the established order happened, but never got classified as anything more than a few ripples under the surface.
The rich Nile valley lies isolated and protected on both sides by a vast desert, while Mesopotamia lacks clear boundaries and was periodically assaulted on its fringes by mountain tribes. Egypt derived its prosperity from the Nile, which never fails to rise, even if the floods differ in effectiveness. But Babylon depended on uncertain rainfall and the Tigris was an unaccountable, turbulent, and dangerous river.
Some might then conclude that religion means nothing more than a natural phenomena, though Frankfurt himself does not suggest this.* Rather, Frankfurt wants to integrate our vision of each society–to see Egypt and the Egyptians as one and not many. When we pull back and see the integrated whole of a civilization, the impression they leave comes into greater focus.
If I had to choose between Egypt and Babylon, I would likely choose Egypt, but one of their key weaknesses lay in their failure to appreciate the feminine aspects of creation and experience. Nearly every religion I am aware of sees creation as essentially feminine, Christianity included. As C.S. Lewis commented, we all stand as essentially feminine in relation to God. All in the Church, whether man or woman, are the “bride” of Christ. Various pagan beliefs have “Mother-goddesses,” whereas Christianity might talk of “Mother Earth” in a slightly more abstract way, as St. Francis did in his “Canticle of the Sun.” Egypt had no “Mother Earth”–for them the earth itself was not even feminine. The idea of power had strong play in Egyptian thought, and so rather than the traditional “receiving and transforming” aspect of Earth, the Egyptians saw supreme power in the male diety of Ptah or Geb. In some creation stories, Ra stands on the Primeval Hill to create, again over-emphasizing the male aspect of reality. Apparently Egypt did not want creation to have any derivative existence.
Most every religion, including ancient Israel, had harvest festivals of some kind. Nearly all of these festivals focus on the idea of death, the earth receiving death, and then having that death transformed into life. Harvest festivals connect us with birth and new life, and so highlight feminine aspects of life in general. A proper conception of this pattern must allow for three days in the tomb, so to speak. So in Greece, as elsewhere, the seed could be identified with the king (think of Mary Renault’s classic, The King Must Die), who “dies” for the people to give them grain. No grain comes without the earth receiving and transforming the seed. But things were different in Egypt. Yes, the king ceremoniously started the harvest by cutting a symbolic stalk, but the forgoing ceremony emphasized that he was the wheat which went up to the cloud, not the chaff that fell to earth. Frankfurt comments that,
All we know of the Egyptians shows they would have found [a festival centering on the death of the seed] distasteful. They did not readily admit the shadow side of life, perhaps on hedonistic grounds, but also because, in their static conception of the world, grief had no [place].
We see this in the Egyptian harvest prayers, i.e.,
Osisris is Unas in the mounting chaff
His loathing is the earth;
He has not entered Geb to perish.
He is not sleeping in his house (i.e., tomb) upon earth
So that his bones may be broken.
His hurt is driven out!
He has purified himself with the Horus Eye.
Unas is up and away to heaven;
Unas is up and away to heaven
With the wind, with the wind!
A Christian might be tempted to see here a foreshadowing of victory over death in the resurrection. Perhaps an aspect of that exists here, but along with Frankfurt I extend a word of caution–even God Himself “submitted” to the pattern of first going down before rising up. The Egyptians seemed to want to short-circuit the process. A Christian might think of something akin to banishing “worldly sorrow”–something the Babylonians struggled mightily with–but they should have remembered that “blessed are those that mourn,” and that it is usually our moms that take pity on us when we scrape our knee or need visited in the hospital.
This same imbalance shows in their depictions of royalty. Certainly every society has a hierarchy and kings might naturally be depicted in some outsized way to show his importance. But in Egypt, one often sees only the king, as in this relief of the conquests of Thutmose III:
Tuthmosis III smiting his enemies, the Cannaanites, at the Battle fo Megiddo from the north wall of the Great Hypostyle Court, Egypt. Ancient Egyptian. New Kingdom 18th Dynasty, 1473 BC. Karnak. (Photo by Werner Forman/Universal Images Group/Getty Images)
If we compare this to how Babylon depicted one of its greatest kings, Nebuchadnezzar a contrast immediately becomes evident:
and
I have mentioned a few times above that Christians should be cautious in interpreting Egypt’s religion in an overly Christological manner. Now, I offer the same caution to women in general. Some might look at certain aspects of Egyptian belief and celebrate that even the feminine earth has been raised to the level of the masculine sky. But in fact Egypt did not raise the feminine up–they (mostly) abolished the feminine aspects of reality from their experience.
Most every traditional belief system sees the following pairings:
Masculine
Strength
Vertical Hierachy
Steady/Unchanging
Feminine
Compassion
Togetherness
Protean
This “exchange,” this relationship between these two different aspects of reality, help form healthy civilizations just as they form healthy families. Historian Kenneth Clark noted when guys and gals are separated too stridently for too long in social situations, the level of discourse tends to decline in both camps.
The history of Egypt, perhaps akin to the history of China (of which I know much less about) could plausibly show forth this pattern of the elimination of feminine qualities. In his A Study of History Toynbee makes the case that after the pyramids, Egypt tightens and “freezes up.” Much of Frankfurt’s religious analysis comes from this post-pyramid era, and the evidence shows an exaggerated desire to eliminate all variability, all doubt and grief, from their way of life. Such an attitude surely helped contribute to their failure when confronted by Moses.
Babylon shows us the opposite problem–too much of the archetypal feminine. As Frankfurt aptly points out, the stately nature of Egyptian geography shows a direct contrast to that of Babylon. Women go through more changes overall than men**–this is neither a virtue or vice–and so a civilization that over-emphasized feminine qualities would tend towards too much change, and not enough solidity. This shows up in Babylonian creation mythology, with its constant conflict and shifting alliances between different gods. It arises in their depictions of the goddess Ishtar, sometimes shown wearing a beard. Aristocratic Babylonian men followed the trend in their religious beliefs and may have engaged in cross-dressing, and so on.
Other manifestations of this imbalance show up:
Coronation rituals for Babylonian kings took place in the temple of Ishtar, and their royal insignia came from the goddesses “Lady of the Crown,” and “Lady of the Scepter.”
Frankfurt suggests that, while obviously Egypt and Babylon had various religious festivals, Babylon had more festivals that “required” everyone to participate at the same time in unison–it is the mom who generally wants to have everyone home for the holidays, etc.
In Egypt, water was effectively tamed. For the Babylonians, “the ways of water are devious. It avoids obstacles rather than conquering them, goes around and yet gets to its goal.” Traditional religions always associate water with the feminine, and we see something of the “mystery of Woman” (guys are not that mysterious) in Babylonian views of water.
For clarification, I am not here suggesting that any of these things are good or bad per se. The question is more of emphasis.
One sometimes hears silly things such as, “If only women were in charge throughout the world then there would be no wars, and everyone would love each other.” But Babylon had an empire as well. And Babylon for biblical writers became (along with Egypt), an archetypal tyranny, albeit with some different manifestations than that of Egypt. I have written elsewhere of the possibilities of feminine tyranny, and will not rehash that here. In Egypt’s case, the excessive emphasis on order “naturally” called forth the chaos of the 10 Plagues. For Babylon, the undue emphasis of the market, of change and flux, of possibility, inevitably called forth excessive order–it is no coincidence that Babylon produced the world’s first known extensive code of law and punishment.
Ancient Egyptian and Babylon societies show us that masculine and feminine “gods,” when freed from proper relationship with the other side, become demons.
Dave
*I would not say that Egyptian and Babylonian religions were false because of this either. Obviously, a Christian would say that such beliefs had deep flaws, while at the same time one can affirm the aspects of the Truth that they professed. Occasionally, a skewed religious belief can at times show forth an aspect of Truth in a more compelling fashion, as they give it undue emphasis in the wrong place. Still, all in all, I think the key problem of pagan religions was their inescapable imminence of the gods. The undue focus on imminence leads to a narrowing, an entrapment of sorts, a tautology. You see this today whenever an argument is based on the fact that, “It’s 2021.” In other words, whatever we happen to be doing must be right because we are in fact doing it–the ethics of imminence. One is inevitably influenced by our surroundings, including our geography. We should not be trapped by it, to be excessively determined by it.
**I think it fair to say that puberty involves more changes for women than men. Marriage involves more change for women. Women obviously go through a lot of change in terms of conceiving and giving birth to children, and then, menopause, and so on.
This week we began our look at Babylonian civilization.
Babylon had many things going for it. They were the quintessential cosmopolitan city of the ancient world. Their geography funneled trade, cash, and resources towards them. Much of ancient learning concentrated itself there. This would be a city in general more tolerant, vibrant, and diverse than most other cities in the ancient world. I hope that the students remember our examination of the geographical influence of all of this. ‘Cosmopolitan’ cities throughout history have to be accessible, which usually puts them in relatively flat areas near water. One thinks of New York, London, and Los Angeles as examples. Of course, such cities not only need favorable geography, but they need to be accessible and open-minded culturally as well. Geography can bring you to water, but can’t make you drink.
But enormous cracks in the foundation lay below the surface. Babylonian creation accounts paint a bleak picture: Ultimately things “come to be” because of chaos and confusion amongst the gods. Unlike in Genesis 1, creation had no intentionality or design behind it. Nor can we say that the “good” gods triumphed over evil. Rather, one side simply emerged as the stronger. This impacted Babylonian thought in several ways:
Humanity is an afterthought that exists to be manipulated by the gods
Stability and order are generally absent (a stark contrast to Genesis 1).This chaos spilled over into other areas.
Sin, at root, was not your fault, as you could be ‘jumped’ by malicious spirits (jinn) who would lead you down the wrong path
Ishtar was their major goddess – goddess of love and marriage but also war and prostitution. She was again, a goddess, but was often depicted with a beard. The ambiguity was reflected in the statue of her to the side, which shows her as a warrior showing quite a bit of leg for an ancient goddess.
Not surprisingly, this gender confusion spilled over into society, as Herodotus tells us of the fad among society’s elite for cross-dressing
Not surprisingly, Babylon was known for its immorality, and notorious for its rampant temple prostitution, among other things.
A society where so much is left to chance is bound to try and find a way to explain it all, and this may have led to the Babylonian passion for dream interpretation.* A whole list of possible dreams and their meanings was drawn up, but this did not necessarily help. One tells us that if you dream that you eat meat you will have a son. Later, it says that if you have meat in a dream you will not have a son. How could one know the truth?
Or perhaps, with the mysteries of the universe completely unknowable, one might stop looking and settle for the ‘eat, drink, for tomorrow we die,’ philosophy. It is any surprise that Babylon is conquered in Daniel 5 as they are partying? Perhaps we might also surmise that Babylon’s endless possibilities led in the end to boredom. We looked at this famous Babylonian text,
Babylon’s View of Life: “The Dialog of Pessimism,” (M stands for Master, S for slave)
M “Slave, agree with me!”
S “Yes, my lord, yes!”
M “I will love a woman!”
S “So love, my lord, love!
The man who loves a woman forgets want and misery!”
M “No, slave, I will not love a woman!”
S “Love not, my lord, love not!
Woman is a snare, a trap, a pitfall;
Woman is a sharpened iron sword
Which will cut a young man’s neck!”
M “Slave, agree with me!”
S “Yes, my lord, yes!”
M “Straightaway order me water for my hands,
I will make a libation to my god!”
S “Do my lord, do! As for the man who makes a libation
To his god, his heart is at ease;
He makes loan upon loan!”
M “No slave, I will not make a libation!”
S “Make it not, my lord, make it not!
Teach the god to run after thee like a dog.”
M “Slave, agree with me!”
S “Yes, my lord, yes!”
M “I will give money to my country.”
S “So do, my lord, so do!
The man who gives money to his land,
His alms have been put in the palms of the god
Marduk himself.”
M “No, slave, I will not give alms to my land!”
S “Do it not, my lord, do it not!
Look upon the ruined mounds of
Ancient cities and look around;
Behold the skulls of those of earlier and later times.
Who is the evildoer, who is the benefactor?”
M “Slave, agree with me!”
S “Yes, my lord, yes!”
M “Now then, what is good?
To break my neck and thy neck,
To fall into the river — that is good!”
S “Yes my lord. Who is tall enough to reach up to heaven;
Who is broad enough that he might encompass the earth?
M “No slave, I will kill only you — you go first!”
S “But, you my lord, would not last three days after me!
Or consider this collection of Babylonian proverbs, which speak similarly:
Without relations, she conceived! Without eating, she became fat!
When I labor, they take away my reward. When I increase my efforts, who will give me anything?
The strong man is fed through the price of his hire, the weak man through the price of his child.
My feet keep walking, my knees do not tire, yet a foolish man pursues me with sorrow.
Am I not a thoroughbred steed? Yet I am harnessed with a mule and must draw a wagon.
I dwell in a fancy house, yet some clay pours over me (i.e., the roof leaks).
The life of the day before yesterday is that of any day.
You are placed in a river and your water at once becomes stinking; you sit in an orchard and your fruit becomes bitter.
Will ripe grain grow? How do we know? Will dried grain grow? Who can tell?
Very soon I will be dead. Let me eat, drink, and spend. Soon I will be well. Let me save for later!
You go and take the field of your enemy. The enemy comes and takes your field.
The fox had a stick with him. He asks, “Whom shall I hit?” He has a legal document. He asks, “Whom shall I challenge?”
No agreement can be reached when the women talk without ceasing.
Into an open mouth, a fly will enter!
The horse, after he had thrown his rider, lamented, “If my burden be like this always, soon I shall be weak!”
The dog understands: “Take it!” He does not understand. “Put it down!”
As I mentioned in class, in studying Egypt, Assyria, and Babylon–in that order–is not so much chronological but thematic in purpose. In Egypt, we see a self-contained, stable culture that highly valued stability and balance. With Assyria, we saw a culture that was ‘self-contained’ and homogeneous to a certain extent, but who highly valued movement. With Babylon, we have a a creation account that demonstrates chaos, and a geography that maximizes diversity. Each set of circumstances and beliefs creates different kinds of civilizations.
And–as long as we have ‘confusion’ as our theme, who can forget:
I have noticed that it seems almost impossible for us to view the medieval period on its own terms. We work this out for almost any other civilization. The period has come under attack in two separate eras, from two different directions. First, we had the period from the late Renaissance through perhaps the end of the Cold War. This attack took the form of 1) Reason instead of “superstition,” and 2) Science over faith, and the like.* Today we see a neo-pagan revival, which has its manifestations in areas of culture such as Bronze Age Pervert, The Northmen, Bernard Cornwall/Netflix’s The Last Kingdom, and The Legend of Redbad. The basic theme of all of them centers around the strong reality of the pagan gods and practices, and the cruelty, venality, femininity and emptiness of Christianity.**
I think a variety of reasons exist for this critique. As I wrote here, one of them involves the idea of the awkward uncle vs. the stranger at Thanksgiving. Maybe your mom invites someone you don’t know to Thanksgiving dinner, a friend or co-worker. They may be great or interesting people, or not. Either way, it matters little. They are not “family,” so they inspire little emotional reaction. Having no attachments to us, we have no stake in how they act. But many of us have encountered the “crazy,” awkward Great Uncle. He’s family, so he gets an invitation, though some groan at the prospect. Maybe his mannerisms or his comments alienate people around him.
The unexpected guest might act obnoxiously as well, but the uncle inspires a much stronger reaction because of his family connection. Most people think he’s annoying and crazy. But maybe a few people think, “No–he’s the sane one–the rest of my family is crazy. Uncle Bill is great!” Those that love Uncle Bill, they tend to love the Middle Ages when they meet.
We have a strange connection to the Middle Ages. They are not nuclear family to us, but neither are they someone’s friend from work who shows up randomly. They are the Great Uncle. We can view civilizations like that of Egypt and China as a new guest at dinner. Showing hospitality to strangers has a universal history. But the awkward family member, i.e., the Middle Ages, gets a different treatment. We can argue and get mad at family, or passionately defend them. We wouldn’t do this with a guest. Some, for example, who seek to appreciate and praise the medievals get called fascists on Twitter. It’s Twitter, sure, but even on Twitter no one would call those who love ancient Chines or Meso-American civilization fascists.
Modern politics in the U.S. today has this same problem. True–many can see something recognizably American about both the guy in the loud oversized pickup with accompanying gun rack, and in the guy drinking a latte admiring the art in the Guggenheim. But . . . very likely neither of the two subjects in question will see this about the other. The Red State guy knows the Blue State guy is technically American, but he looks weird, and that’s unnerving, off-putting, bizarre. It inspires a gut-level horror reactions for both sides. As we have stopped mixing with each other, as technology and other factors allow us to narrow our scope, our fellow Americans increasingly look like the weird Great Uncle at Thanksgiving, though the Red and Blue guy would both show perfect politeness to a guest from Japan.
Jean Francois Revel was a French intellectual who pulled off the unusual feat of liking and defending America during the Cold War. He wrote How Democracies Perish not so much to praise America, however, but to express outrage and incredulity at other European intellectuals and politicians. Much of the book shows how the European press, and European governments, tended to commit a kind of suicide by showing much more suspicion, and less trust overall, to the Americans instead of the Soviets. He cites numerous examples of this with various press releases and newspaper articles regarding different aspects of Soviet and American actions. He compares European treatment of America’s involvement in Vietnam (quite harsh), with the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan, which many other Europeans of Revel’s class described as regrettable, but an understandable reaction against American ambition and aggression. He shows how the European press soft-pedaled the Cambodian genocide, but jumped down the throats of America when we failed to cooperate fully (according to the journalists, at least) with the Soviets on missile reduction.
Smart, sarcastic, old, Frenchies always provide a certain pleasure. Revel delivers the goods. But I think he misses something in the explanation of why this happened, and fails to expound on perhaps his most pertinent and brilliant insight.
As to what he misses in his explanation for Europeans’ attitude towards America, I present the ‘Uncle at Thanksgiving Dinner’ theory. We Americans come off as boorish, too loud, too simple, too whatever for many European sensibilities. But, we’re also clearly a chip off the old block. So that means that we come in for more criticism than those outside the family. Russia, China, Cambodia, . . . they have never been family to Europeans.^ This covers things only partially, I admit, but Revel looks almost entirely at the facts of the difference and mostly leaves off the reasons for it.
Revel’s best insight comes in the beginning of the book. He writes,
Democratic civilization is the first in history to blame itself because another power is working to destroy it.
. . . It follows that a civilization that feels guilty for everything it is and does and thinks will lack the energy and conviction to defend itself when its existence is threatened. Drilling into a civilization that it deserved defending only if it can incarnate absolute justice is tantamount to urging that it let itself die or be enslaved.
This condition has not always existed in America in Europe. But it did seem to grow as we grew more democratic.
Athens after Marathon in 490 B.C. started to show supreme confidence in itself. We see this in a variety of ways, in its literature, its innovations, etc. and this manifested itself in increasing democratic reform. On the eve of the Peloponnesian War, Athens went to war over what many would consider a trifle with the Megaran Decree, over the perception of whether or not they had bowed to Sparta or not. I’m not sure the Greeks would have thought this a trifle, but the point stands. They had great confidence and a thin skin.
Athens lost that war, but a curious thing happened. Their defeat ultimately failed to slow the progress of democracy. Athens may have been more democratic in 350 B.C. than in 450 B.C. I believe that much of the same trappings of democracy existed as in the Periclean era, but the aristocratic tradition which had moderated democracy, giving them an alternate framework to use (as well as the thin skin of the aristocrat) had no more presence. Phillip of Macedon in the 340’s B.C. provoked Athens just as much if not more than the Spartans in 430’s. Yet the Athenians responded much more tamely, much more “politely,” to Phillip than they ever did to Sparta.
Many might point to Athens’ great material prosperity, and then argue that this made them soft. Victor Davis Hanson I believe makes this argument in his book about the Peloponnesian War. This can explain some things, but not the whole picture. Athens had a great deal of wealth in the 430’s, perhaps more proportional wealth vis a vis other city-states than in later decades. This wealth gave no hindrance to their supreme confidence and a bullish imperialism. Likewise, England’s wealth ca. 1880 did nothing to curb their global dominance.
We may miss the fact that Athens’ democratic ethos had grown stronger since the advent of the Peloponnesian War. I believe that the technical Periclean structure had not changed much, i.e., they still had the same voting rights, jury pay, and so on. But they had “addition by subtraction”–the gilding of an aristocratic ethos that still lingered in the 5th century gave Athens an alternate framework to think with. It also gave them the confidence–and thinner skin–associated with aristocracies. But by 350 B.C., that aspect of Athenian life had departed, leaving them with an unvarnished democratic ethos.
Revel points out multiple examples of the following dynamic in Europe, which mirror that of Athens in the 4th century B.C.:
Europeans declare that NATO should avoid unduly antagonizing the Soviets
The Soviets do something antagonizing, such as clamp down on Poland, or invade Afghanistan
Europeans insist on a muted response, to avoid antagonizing the USSR any further.
This leads, naturally enough, to a weak foreign policy. Finding explanations in grand cultural and geo-political terms has great value. But I prefer bring issues into a smaller more human lens. With this above dynamic, the Europeans practice a kind of excessive politeness.
Good manners should produce magnanimity and humility for those who practice them, and a deferential ennobling for those on the receiving end. But the excess of this virtue works against itself, creating slavishness on one side that likely will produce a prideful dominance on the other.
The main virtues of democracies involve
Openness, an openness to the ideas of others, and a belief that the clash of multiple perspectives will give rise to the truth, and related to this,
Inclusion, and the erasure of differences between people, a necessary bulwark of equality.
The problem comes when these virtues, not ultimate in themselves, get extended to a point where they lose their meaning. Those who practice inclusion with no discrimination . . . we call them prostitutes.^^. In such situations, one dies of the flood, where too many things converge, and so we lose distinctions and coherence.
This poses a difficult problem for us. We can see that in eras when western civilization had less democracy (in good and bad ways), say, ca. 1870-1914 we had much more energy, dynamism, and confidence. This resulted in a host of good and bad things–our era has both as well. As we grew more democratic (in good and bad ways) the virtues of inclusion could transform into slavishness. It is impossible to have it all. I am not criticizing democracy, only pointing out that as a political system, it has strengths, weaknesses and limits. It has not come to save us.^^^
Revel shows us that democracies weaken themselves by gorging on democratic virtues. inviting a newcomer to Thanksgiving dinner can have the paradoxical effect of keeping the family together. As George Harrison said, inviting Billy Preston to help them record Let it Be meant that the Fab Four had to be on their best behavior. But . . . invite the whole neighborhood and the identity of the family disappears. To preserve themselves, democracies should temper their virtues, for at their limits these virtues turn to vices.
Dave
*I recently rewatched Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure, that renowned 80’s classic. Our heroes go back in time to get greats from the past so they can pass their history class and eventually create universal harmony through glam rock. Everywhere they go back in time, they bring back greats from the past, including Greece, China, and so on. When they get to the medieval period, it’s all darkness, gloom, and people screeching about heretics. They have to rescue two “maidens” from that period forced into marrying some crusty old barons–there is nothing to preserve, nothing to bring back from the Middle Ages. In the movie it serves only as something to escape from. When the two “babes” are brought back into the modern era as part of their rescue, they are un-ironically introduced to the joys of credit cards and shopping malls.
**Albert Mohler has a great line which he uses on those who disparage aspects of the evangelical religious right: “If you don’t like the religious right, wait until you see the irreligious right.” By that he means not your typical agnostic libertarian, but the Neo-pagan worshippers of blood, soil, and violence.
It is interesting that such a revival would occur at a time when culture in various ways seems feminized. I would say that problem is not only Uber-femininity–though that is part of it–but also the reverse. In our culture today, the only way for a female character to be the hero is for her to act like a man, to be as tough, strong, as comfortable with killing, as a man. We have very little sense of the power of the true feminine virtues.
^How then to explain Europe’s current position with Russia as the ultimate enemy once again? Well, I know the ‘Uncle’ theory is incomplete–that’s a start. Also, there is the natural affinity with the underdog at work. But I think also that we went through a period between ca. 1985-2010 or so, that we started to think of Russia a bit more like family. Then, they “betrayed” the west and “reverted to form.” Europe will not forgive them for this.
^^Note how certain strands of feminist thought have turned completely against women. Most early feminists stood strongly against pornography and objectification of women. Now, some take the idea of supporting women so far that they declare “Sex work is work!” and demand equal respect for women who choose those “professions.” No one ever said that it wasn’t work. Objections to such practices had nothing to do with the definition of work.
^^^Democracy may not be my favorite form of government, but that is not the point. I wish that defenders of democracy would focus much less on arguments that it is better than other forms, whether or not such arguments hold weight. I wish we focused more on the fact that whatever its virtues and vices, democracy is our way of life and thus worth something because it is ours. This way of thinking has its limits too. Family is not absolute either. But it is a more solid foundation that debating democracy in the abstract.
This week we very nearly wrapped up Assyrian civilization.
Last week I mentioned our look at Assyria’s religion and the concept of ‘Imperial Overstretch’ as factors in Assyria’s decline. This week we considered Assyria in light of Christ’s words to Peter and the Apostles, ‘Those who live by the sword die by the sword.’
In a fallen world, force can have a legitimate place in government. But both from a historical, moral, and political perspective, force can never be the foundation for order. Force can gain acceptance, or have legitimacy, if people see it as an extension of justice. But when a power uses force detached from justice, people sense that they use violence merely to serve their own selfish ends. This inspires them to seek justice/revenge, and this is why violence apart from justice is a wasting asset.
All of the problems Assyria faced they brought upon themselves. They treated subject populations brutally out of a combination of a) religious belief, and b) policy that sought the quickest route towards “getting everyone in line” with their conquests. But as their power grew, the attention they could give to subject territories lessened, which reduced their chances of stopping rebellions.
Eventually too, their obsession with violence and conquest would be bound to turn back on themselves. After Ashurbanipal II completed the conquest of the fertile crescent, (which left nothing for the next guy) Assyria descended into civil war (having no one left to fight but themselves). Simultaneously, they faced rebellions from a few major provinces, which mean that they faced a dire crisis from within as well as without. They had nothing left on which to stand, and collapsed completely within a few short years. Regarding their incessant militarism and addiction to violence, Toynbee comments,
The loss and misery which Assyria inflicted on her neighbors is beyond calculation, and yet the legendary remark of the schoolmaster to the boy he is whipping–‘It hurts you less than it hurts me,’–would be a pertinent critique of Assyrian military activities. . . . The full and bombastic Assyrian record of victories abroad is significantly supplemented by rarer and briefer notices of troubles at home that give us an inkling of the price at which Assyrian victories were purchased.
An increasing military strain revenged itself with increasing frequency of palace revolutions and peasant revolts. As early as the close of the second bout of aggression in the ninth century B.C. we find Shalmaneser III dying in 827 B.C. with his son on the war-path against him, and Ninevah, Asshur, and Arbela in rebellion. . .
Toynbee goes on then to cite rebellions in 763, 760, and 746, and ca. 730 B.C., and then he continues,
After this the two streams of domestic stasis and foreign warfare merge into one; after Ashurbanipal’s death this swells into a mighty river whose rushing waters bear Assyria away to her now inevitable doom. During the last years of Assyrian history the domestic and foreign aspect of Assyria’s disintegration are hardly distinguishable.
Can a civilization be rooted entirely in a frontier mentality and lifestyle? Assyria was located on the ‘frontier’ of Mesopotamian civilization. Like many frontier people, they could be inventive and self-reliant. But their beliefs, their foreign policy led them to conquest ‘a outrance’ as the French say. Assyria’s attacks against Babylon come with an animosity that a farmer in West Virginia might feel for Manhattan investment bankers. But frontiers need a home base, and with this attack, Assyria was cutting off its face to spite its nose. The arm which held the sword stabbed the heart. Without Babylon, Assyria suffered much in the same way that the West Virginia farmer would suffer. Without the banks, where would be the corporations to buy the food they grew? If they always looked outward, could they build a solid cultural foundation on which to rest? While some aspects of Assyria’s cultural heritage can be disputed, no one would doubt that in comparison to Egypt, Babylon, and Persia, Assyria’s cultural output was quite low. Their architecture, art, and literature all were inferior to their neighbors.
In the end, Assyria contributed heartily to its own demise. I quote now from Ashurbanipal II, the last great king of Assyria, who wrote as he saw things crumbling around him:
‘The rules for making offerings to the dead. . . which had not been practiced, I reintroduced. I did well unto god and man, to dead and living. Why have sickness and misery descended upon me? I cannot away with strife and dissension. Misery of flesh and mind oppress me. Death is seizing hold of me. With lamentation and mourning I wail day and night. O God wilt thou deal thus with me? Even as one who has not feared God and Goddess I am reckoned.’
Historian Arnold Toynbee comments,
‘This confession is . . . moving in its sincerity and in its bewilderment, but above all illuminating in its blindness. When this mood overtook him, did the last of the Assyrian war-lords never find himself reciting that terrible catalogue of cities sacked and people’s wiped out by Assyrian arms — a list which concluded with his own sack of Susa and annihilation of Elam?’
One sees a complete lack of self-awareness on Assyria’s part. It’s as if they erased their conscience through centuries of systematic cruelty. They reveled in their conquests and never questioned their actions, celebrating them in their meager artistic achievements.
Next week I will update you on our investigation of Babylon.
Machiavelli inspires polarizing reactions. I find that often that initially I immediate reject his idea, largely because there is something I don’t quite trust about him. But, just as often, I end up rethinking my initial reaction and revising my thoughts.
One such instance happened for me reading Machiavelli’s assertion that republics must have their foundation with one man, writing in the Discourses (I.9),
But we must assume, as a general rule, that it never or rarely happens that a republic or monarchy is well constituted, or its old institutions entirely reformed, unless it is done by only one individual; it is even necessary that he whose mind has conceived such a constitution should be alone in carrying it into effect. A sagacious legislator of a republic, therefore, whose object is to promote the public good, and not his private interests, and who prefers his country to his own successors, should concentrate all authority in himself; and a wise mind will never censure any one for having employed any extraordinary means for the purpose of establishing a kingdom or constituting a republic. It is well that, when the act accuses him, the result should excuse him; and when the result is good, as in the case of Romulus, it will always absolve him from blame. For he is to apprehended who commits violence for the purpose of destroying, and not he who employs it for beneficial purposes.
Machiavelli often engages in this kind of paradoxical thinking, i.e., “if you want peace the ruler must sometimes be cruel,” and so forth. As his logic applies to republics, he argues that concentration of power in the hands of one initially will allow for the spreading out of power later.
America’s history seems to contradict this–don’t we have founding fathers, and anyone who knows anything about them sees a multitude of disagreements about various important ideas about what they wanted. And yet, America has managed reasonable success as a republic for 250 years. But before rendering a judgment here, I realized that two of history’s most famous republics, Athens, and Rome, had foundations in one man–Theseus and Romulus.
The stories of two men, as told by Plutarch and other sources, agree in certain general particulars, especially in regards to their uncertain parentage. Both functioned as kings in their respective realms, but neither ruled as king’s in the sense that we might assume in our modern context. It seems that both functioned primarily as religious leaders and as military commanders primarily. Later, both Athens and Rome underwent significant political changes contemporaneously in the years 509/508 BC. But Rome and Athens had many differences, reflected in the lives of Theseus and Romulus.
We can chart the differences between Athens and Rome
Athens
Attached to water–their key lie in their navy
As they had roots with water, they were active in trade
We see this physical movement linked with significant intellectual exploration–they basically invent modern concepts of science, philosophy, literature, etc.
Rome
Attached to land–their key lie in their infantry
Ringed round with their famous seven hills, Rome remained devoted to land and agriculture. They disdained trade.
This rootedness to place has its echoes in Rome’s intellectual conservatism, espoused most fully in writing by Cato the Elder. Rome’s main contribution to future civilizations would be in law, i.e., how people in the same community relate to one another.
When one looks at the lives of their so-called mythical founders, we see striking parallels. Theseus hardly could keep his feet still, roaming from one place to another, never truly even settling in Athens. He had a variety of women that he “married”/grew familiar with. We moderns would diagnose him with wanderlust. Athens’ narrative seems to me to always involve something beyond Athens, the next colony, the next discovery, the next idea or theory.
Romulus founded the city of Rome and stayed there. Plutarch has much good to say of him, but with no sugarcoating–many found him a “hard” man. He gained glory through military exploits on land against Rome’s neighbors. Rome always made the narrative about Rome itself.
Though an Athenian by birth, Plato thought little of Athens’ legacy. In The Republic Socrates continually affirms conclusions that limit movement–we shouldn’t move jobs, we shouldn’t trade, we should limit too the “movement” of our souls by restricting the kind of music we listen to. In The Laws Plato writes,
Athenian Stranger. And now, what will this city be? I do not mean to ask what is or will hereafter be the name of the place; that may be determined by the accident of locality or of the original settlement-a river or fountain, or some local deity may give the sanction of a name to the newly-founded city; but I do want to know what the situation is, whether maritime or inland.
Cleinias. I should imagine, Stranger, that the city of which we are speaking is about eighty stadia distant from the sea.
Ath: If the city were to be built at the seaside and were going to be well supplied with harbors but ill-supplied with the necessities of life from the soil, then it would have needed mighty saviors and divinely inspired legislators to escape the moral confusion and moral corruption that are the inevitable penalty of such environments.
For the sea is an insidious neighbor which makes itself agreeable to the daily interaction [between good soil and good harbors], but is salt and bitter inasmuch as it fills the country with tradesmen’s business, and the souls of the country with deceit, and the body politic with distrust–each seeking advantage over his fellow man and neighboring states.
These social evils are to some extent counteracted if the soil produces something of everything; and, if it is a rough and highland country . . . it will not be able to do so. If it could not, it would produce a large export surplus and would attract to itself the equivalent import of gold and silver currency–and that is the greatest moral disaster that can overtake a country.
[As for sea power], it would have profited the Athenians to lose seventy times seven children a year to the tyrant Minos [referring here to the ancient legend of the Minotaur] before turning themselves in defense to a sea power instead of heavy infantry, and so lose the power of standing fast, acquiring instead the habit of perpetually jumping ashore and then running back to their ships at a run hardly after landing.
This method of warfare erases any sense of shame at being too cowardly to risk one’s life by standing one’s ground and receiving the enemy’s attack. It suggests facile and “plausible” excuses for taking to one’s heels–never of course in disorder but always “according to plan.”
There is nothing so demoralizing for infantry as their allied fleet riding at anchor in their rear. Why, even lions, if they took to tactics of that sort, would run away from deer.
Cle: Yet all the same, sir–well, what about the Battle of Salamis? That, after all, was a naval battle, in which the Athenians beat the barbarians, and it is our belief that this victory was the salvation of Greece.
Ath: I know that is the general view . . . But in [my] belief, it was the land battles of Marathon and Platea that were the day-spring of the salvation of Greece and its crowning mercy. . . . My good friend, I am afraid that the course of my speculations is leading me to say something depreciatory of legislators; but if the word be to the purpose, there can be no harm. And yet, why am I disquieted, for I believe that the same principle applies equally to all human things?
Cle. To what are you referring?
Ath. I was going to say that man never legislates, but accidents of all sorts, which legislate for us in all sorts of ways. The violence of war and the hard necessity of poverty are constantly overturning governments and changing laws. And the power of disease has often caused innovations in the state, when there have been pestilences, or when there has been a succession of bad seasons continuing during many years. Any one who sees all this, naturally rushes to the conclusion of which I was speaking, that no mortal legislates in anything, but that in human affairs chance is almost everything. And this may be said of the arts of the sailor, and the pilot, and the physician, and the general, and may seem to be well said; and yet there is another thing which may be said with equal truth of all of them.
Cle. What is it?
Ath. That God governs all things, and that chance and opportunity co-operate with him in the government of human affairs. There is, however, a third and less extreme view, that art should be there also; for I should say that in a storm there must surely be a great advantage in having the aid of the pilot’s art. You would agree?
Plato willingly gives a nod to the need for the “pilot’s art.” but concedes to it almost as a result of the Fall, so to speak.
Aristotle saw things differently. One of the quietly “subversive” sections in his Politics comes when he compares the constitutions of Sparta and Carthage and finds Carthage superior. I think some exaggerate the attraction some Greek theorists, including Plato, had for Sparta. But certainly with its minimal trade, almost no navy, and fearsome infantry, Sparta resembled the kind of society Plato wanted in certain respects. Carthage had more in common with Athens, an almost exclusively maritime power that relied on mercenaries for infantry. He writes
The constitution of Carthage is general accounted a good constitution, one that is peculiar in many respects, but the chief thing about it is the likeness . . . to the Spartan. . . . Many of the institutions at Carthage are certainly good. It is a proof of a well-ordered constitution that Carthage, with her large populace, should steadily keep to the same political system: she has had no civil dissensions worth mentioning, nor any attempt at tyranny.
[He then goes on at length to discuss the oligarchic and democratic elements in the constitution, and how it sometimes deviates in both directions. The oligarchic leaning comes based on the election of those by wealth–acquired from trade more often than not].
Carthage has a constitution which is in practice oligarchical; but they avoid the dangers of oligarchy by encouraging the diffusion of wealth [made possible by the constant shifting of goods and money through trade].
I think Aristotle saw that being open like Carthage or closed like Sparta was not the problem. The problems for both soceities would come when they could not maintain that equilibrium. If Sparta started to “move,” as they chose after the Peloponnesian War, it exposed contradictions and tensions within their own culture. They never recovered from their defeat at Leuctra, at the hands of Thebes, of all places. Aristotle wrote around 350 B.C., knowing the fate of Sparta. But Carthage’s problems started about 150 years later. Once Carthage lost the ability to trade and roam at leisure after the 1st Punic War, their days were similarly numbered. They had their first insurrection when, partly due to the changing terms of the Roman treaty, and partly due to the destruction of much of their fleet, they could no longer trade. Without the free flow of money, they could not pay their mercenaries, and one thing leads to another.
It seems that Machiavelli might have been onto something after all. The influence of the founders made a definite imprint on both civilizations. And this draws us back to America. We have a few options:
George Washington is our actual founder. He was the point of unity during and after the Revolution, without which–we never would have made it as a country.
On the one hand, we can say that
His two terms in office set a clear precedent
He embodied a spirit of political compromise, such as using Jefferson and Hamilton in prominent ways in his administration, and
We have to admit, his owning of slaves, but then also his freeing of his slaves, may have influenced us in both directions.
But I have doubts. Washington’s life and demeanor seem to have no real influence on the culture of the United States.
We can argue, then, that we have no founder. America is a bumpy ride, carried along by change, and so on. We should stop looking for a center and embrace change for its own sake. But this view to me holds no water. America did succeed in various ways, we grew, we built things, and so on. One can’t do all of this on quicksand.
Or we can assert that we are founded on an idea, or a set of principles, and not on a particular person. This explains or messy founding. And–it explains why the ideas, not limited by time and space, could travel so far so fast, just as we ourselves did across the country. It explains why we disagree so much seemingly about the same thing–the incarnation of the ideas might take different form in different places.
Theseus and Romulus overlap, as do Aristotle and Plato. But in the end we must choose a point of emphasis.
Aristotle, for his part, would have approved of our attempt at a mean between ideas, of commerce and agriculture, of conservative and liberal, and so on. But he surely he too would disapprove of how far the idea of democracy has traveled, for what we call democracy he would have termed mob rule. Plato might approve of our founding in the “purity” of an ideal, but I am convinced he as not as gnostic as some make him out. I think that he would see that ideas rooted only in the mind would cause too much “movement” in our culture. In The Republic, Plato only looked at the state as a means of understanding the souls of real men.
The exact nature of the historical reality of Theseus and Romulus even Plutarch wondered at, and so we in America, built more on history than myth, can extrapolate a bit to find our founder. Perhaps we should name Janus, he who looked in opposite directions. This would explain our ability to move, our ability to always find something accommodating and infuriating all at once in America. Yet in the end, Janus still was one person, and perhaps the good ol’ U.S. of A can remain one as well.
Dave
*Hannibal without question was a brilliant battlefield commander and leader of men. But . . . military men write all of his biographies and hence see things from his point of view. What is needed (if it exists I haven’t seen it) is a biography of Hannibal written by a career politician. Most criticize Carthage’s Senate for not backing Hannibal and going for Rome’s jugular after Cannae. They lament the Senate’s focus on keeping trade open and the money flowing from Spain. But, armed with Aristotle’s thoughts, perhaps the Senators were onto something, consciously or no. Without access to trade, Carthage could not be Carthage, and so would surely collapse, as happened in the 3rd Punic War.
I consider myself a mild agnostic on certain things about the ancient past.
I have no firm commitments about the age of the Earth. I also have no commitment to the development of life on a macroevolutionary scale, thus I have no need for a very old earth. As much as I understand the science, it looks like the earth (or at least the universe) has a very, very long history. But I am intrigued by some young-earth arguments on the periphery out of curiosity. Among other things, a lot of ‘old-earth’ arguments don’t take into account a cataclysmic worldwide flood. If such an event happened, geological dating would need recalibrating.
When it comes to the book of Genesis, my commitments get deeper. I am open to both literal and ‘mythopoetic’ interpretations of the early chapters of Genesis. We can also combine them and probably both methods have their place. But certain messages seem absolutely clear, among them:
That humanity fell from a state of grace, innocence, peace, etc. into a type of chaos
That our sin fundamentally altered the nature of human existence
That the change in humanity was physical as well as spiritual. One may not believe that the lifespans given in Genesis are literal. But the pattern is clear. Adam and the earliest humans lived much longer than those at the end of the book. By the end of Genesis we see that something about humanity has changed drastically.
The formation of civilizations happens very quickly. It is almost the default mechanism of humanity. Cain builds cities right away. After the flood we have the Tower of Babel, and so on.
This reading of Genesis informs my reading of ancient history.
There is a version of early pre-history, common in most textbooks, that runs like so:
The earliest humans were basically ignorant and violent hunter-gatherers that lived in small groups.
At some point the climate changes or the herds thin out. Food resources dwindle, forcing them to cooperate with larger groups to survive.
Because now you have to stick close to water, you get rooted to a particular spot. You can’t just follow the herds.
So, you invent agriculture. When you have really good harvests, you have a surplus.
This surplus gives the group leisure. With this leisure they build more tools. Eventually they build governments and laws.
As society expands governments have a harder time holding everything together. So, they either invent religious practices or codify them in some way for the masses, which finishes the development of civilization.
This view is called “gradualism” or “evolutionary gradualism” or something like that.
I entirely disagree with this view. The book of Genesis certainly at bare minimum strongly hints at something much more akin to devolution, and myths from other cultures hint at the same thing.
Enter Graham Hancock.
I don’t know exactly what to make of him. The fact that he is an amateur bothers me not at all. Those very familiar with this blog know of my love for Arnold Toynbee, and one of his main causes involved championing the amateur historian. He makes no claims to fully understand some of the science he cites but relies on others with special degrees. You can’t fault him for this.
He also has a restless curiosity about the ancient world that I love. He willingly dives into unusual theories with a seemingly open mind. His understanding of Christianity is deeply flawed. But . . . his argument against the evolutionary development of religion could have come from any Christian. Many evolutionary theorists acknowledge the social utility and advantage of religious belief. But, he argues, there would be no obvious evolutionary advantage to saying, “We must take time and effort away from survival, making weapons, improving our shelter, etc. to build a large structure for a god that, fundamentally, we are making up. In the evolutionary model it makes no sense that anyone would think of this and that others would somehow agree. Or, you would have to believe that the intelligent people that planned and built these temples were tremendously deluded, and furthermore, that this delusion occurred in every culture. To crown it, if all we have is matter in motion, how would anyone think of something beyond matter in the first place?
Magicians of the Gods has some flaws. It bounces around too much for my taste, and in some sections of the book the arguments change. One review stated that,
Speaking as someone who found [Hancock’s earlier book] Fingerprints of the Gods to be entertaining and engaging, even when it was wrong, I can say that Magicians of the Gods is not a good book by either the standards of entertainment or science. It is Hancock at his worst: angry, petulant, and slipshod. Hancock assumes readers have already read and remembered all of his previous books going back decades, and his new book fails to stand on its own either as an argument or as a piece of literature. It is an update and an appendix masquerading as a revelation. This much is evident from the amount of material Hancock asks readers to return to Fingerprints to consult, and the number of references—bad, secondary ones—he copies wholesale from the earlier book, or cites directly to himself in that book.
Alas, I agree with some of these criticisms. But I think some of them miss the overall point Hancock attempts to make.
When evaluating Hancock v. the Scientific Establishment, we should consider the following:
Arguments in the book involve interpretations of archaeology and geology, two branches of science that are relatively young, both of which have to make conclusions based on a variety of circumstantial evidence. Science usually comes down hard on circumstantial evidence, and “proof” is hard to come by in these disciplines. But some that attack Hancock do so when he suggests or speculates, and then blame him for not having “proof.”
Hancock is right to say that the Scientific Establishment is too conservative. But, this is probably a good thing that Science is this way. This is how Science operates.
Hancock cites a variety of specialists and laments that the “Establishment” pays them little heed. I think that some of these “fringe” scientists may truly be on to something that the conservatism of the academy wants to ignore. But . . . some of them may be ignored by the academy because they are doing bad science. How does the layman decide when degreed specialists radically disagree? We may need a paradigm outside of science to judge. In any case, Hancock too often assumes that scientists with alternative ideas get rejected only for reasons that have nothing to do with science.
Some reviews give Hancock a hard time for referencing earlier books of his. This can be annoying, but . . . on a few occasions Hancock references his earlier books to disagree with or modify his earlier conclusions. In the 20 years since he wrote Fingerprints of the Gods he has “pulled back” from some earlier assertions in light of some new evidence. This seems at least something like a scientific cast of mind, but his critics seem not to have noticed this. Should he be criticized for changing his views?
His book cover and title might help him sell copies, but it looks too gimmicky, and is guaranteed to draw the suspicion of “Science.”
I wish he made his central point clearer throughout and summed it up forcefully at the end of the book. But we can glean the main thrust of his argument.
Many in turn believe that this comet struck to polar ice-caps, causing a flood of literally biblical proportions. Those who believe in the Biblical flood need not ascribe this as the cause, but perhaps it could have been. Of course many other ancient cultures have stories involving a cataclysmic flood.
Well, all this may be interesting, but this had little to do with the history of civilization (so the argument goes) because civilization did not emerge until sometime around 4000 B.C., well after the possible/likely? meteor impact flood.
This brings us to Hancock’s second assertion, that civilization is much older than we think.
The discovery of Gobeki-Tepe some 25 years ago began to revolutionize our understanding of the ancient world.
No one disputes that the site dates to thousands of years before the so-called beginnings of human civilization. The stone work is precise and impressive. Recent radar penetrations indicate that even bigger, likely more impressive stone work lies beneath the site.
Here we come to a fork in the road.
We can rethink our assumption of early hunter-gatherers. We can assume that they were far more advanced than we originally thought. We can assume that they could organize in large groups and they possessed a high level of development and skill, including that of agriculture. But then, would they be hunter-gatherers if they acted this way?
Or, we can assume that mingled with hunter-gatherers might have been the holdovers of a previous advanced civilization, perhaps one mostly wiped out by a global cataclysm. These are the “magicians of the gods” Hancock postulates–those that emerged from the mass extinctions caused by global flooding, who perhaps took refuge with hunter-gatherers. Perhaps they had a trade of sorts in mind: 1) You teach us survival skills, and 2) We teach you how to build, plant, and organize.
Option 2 might seem crazy. It would probably mean reversing our gradual, evolutionary view of the development of civilization at least in the last 10,000 years. But we have seen something like this already–an undisputed example of it after the fall of Rome. All agree that in almost every respect, Roman civilization of 100 A.D. stood far above early medieval civilization of 800 A.D.
But Gobekli Tepe is not the only example of something like this. Archaeologists observe other sites where earlier architecture seems far more advanced than later architecture. Take, for example, the Sascayhuaman site in Peru, not far from where the Incas developed. This wall, for example,
almost certainly predate the Incas by thousands of years. The Incas later certainly could build things, but not in the same way, as the picture below attests (and it looks like they tried to copy the older design in some respects).
At Gobekli-Tepe, the recently deceased project head Klaus Schmidt commented regarding the parts of the site still underground that, “The truly monumental structures are in the older layers; in the younger layers [i.e., those visible to us at the moment] they get smaller and there is a significant decline in quality.”
Some similar possibilities of much older and possibly more advanced civilizations exist in Indonesia and other sites around the world. For example some believe that the Sphinx was built thousands of years before the pyramids. There is some water erosion evidence that could support this theory. There is also this intriguing ancient alignment with the Sphinx and the Leo constellation:
If true, this could mean that the Egyptians built the Pyramids where they did because they knew the site was already sacred from a previous era, or even possibly, a previous civilization.
With this before us, at bare minimum, we can strongly argue that the standard gradual and uniform process of the development of civilization should be in serious doubt. If we accept this, then two other possibilities follow:
Some civilizations went through periods of great advancement* and then fell into a period of steep decline, after which they never quite recovered their former glory. A massive flood certainly could have triggered this decline.
Another possibility is that we may be dealing with different civilizations altogether. Hancock ascribes to this view. For him, sites like Gobeckli Tepe served as a time capsule of sorts, a clue, or a deposit of knowledge for others to use in case of another disaster. This may raise an eyebrow or two, but one of the mysterious aspects of Gobeckli-Tepe that all agree on is that they deliberately buried the site and left it. Who does this? Why? Perhaps they wanted this site preserved so that it could be used in case of another emergency to restart civilization. If this is true, there is much we do not understand at all about this site.
Those that want a tightly knit argument heavily supported by the scientific community will be disappointed by Magicians of the Gods. But for those that want a springboard for rethinking the standard timeline of the ancient world, the book does very nicely.
Dave
*Michael Shurmer of Skeptic magazine argued against Hancock, saying that, “If they were so advanced, where is the writing? Where are the tools?” But why must writing be a pre-requisite for advancement? Or if you believe writing is a hallmark of advancement, what if this previous civilization was more advanced in many other ways? And if they built buildings, isn’t it obvious that they used tools, even if we can’t find them? If they built them without tools, wouldn’t they be really smart?
Maybe no tools exist at the site because they didn’t live near the site, for whatever reason. But where they lived has nothing to do with how advanced they seem to have been. Like Hancock, I’m not sure what else we need other than Gobekli Tepe to prove the point.
Any observer of our political and media cycles knows that we have a problem. Unfortunately, for as much as we talk about various problems, we seem no closer to solving them. We do not understand the roots of the problem, or what the problem even is. We have no common platform on which to stand to start to discuss it meaningfully. Here I do not wish to discuss red-state/blue-state divides, inequality, immigration, or any such thing. They all have importance. But we must go deeper into basic symbolic language to see what these issues mean in our context. Without this, we will continue to spin our wheels
Many who care not for President Trump seem mystified that he can violate a variety of established presidential norms and have more or less the same approval rating. Those with other political perspectives felt similarly about President Obama. To their great frustration, neither a terrible Iran deal, or the labryinth of the financially unsustainable health care bill–his two main initiatives–had any effect on his supporters. Neither president inspires(d) middle-ground opinions, and I believe that we can explain this only by understanding that neither one of them functions(ed) as traditional politicians, but rather as heavily symbolic figures. People identify with them primarily not through their policies or even their personal actions, but by what they represent.
If true, this may forebode difficult times ahead, for it shows that we disagree on fundamental things, and that whatever we say about the marginal tax-rate may only serve as a smokescreen for what we really mean beneath our words. We will fight hard for our narratives. This should impel us not just to understand the symbolic nature of our politicians, but also the “location” of democracy within traditional symbolic archetypes.* I will primarily reference biblical models and explanations, but I readily acknowledge that other civilizations use many of the same understandings.
Much confusion exists as to the meaning of masculinity today. We can start correcting this by understanding that all of us, men and women, are “feminine” in relation to God. That is, the masculine is the originator, the beginning and the end, the initiator. The “masculine” is steady, solid, not in flux. We might expect the feminine to have a merely passive role, and true, we see the feminine as “becoming,” rather than “being.” It is God who seeks us out, hunts us down (think of Francis Thompson’s great “The Hound of Heaven”). But, the feminine plays a strong supporting role.
We can see this even in the modern penchant for guys to call cars and boats “she.” The feminine gives the masculine a context for action, a space to develop. Cars and boats both create a womb of sorts, and (most) every mythological male hero needs a ship. Indeed, we are all born from water, just as God drew creation itself out of water in Genesis 1. And because water involves flux, so too the feminine can give flexibility to the straight and “narrow” nature of the masculine.
I confess that I find it rather silly that some feminists find the modern west toxically patriarchal. If we understand male and female archetypes, one immediately sees that modern democracy may be the most Feminine form of government in human history. We embrace change, possibility, and the new. We allow for individual expression and variation–all archetypal feminine strengths. While the west’s history with immigration has been somewhat erratic, overall we have welcomed far more foreign people’s than other cultures. We should expect this in democracies, for women are usually the best and most gracious hosts. They are generally better at managing social dynamics than men.
In human history, myth, and folklore the masculine tyrannizes much more often than the feminine. St. Francis’ marvelous Canticle of the Sun praises “Brother Fire” for being bright and strong, but fire so easily gets out of hand, flaring up at any time and place. Heat burns, but we quickly can remove ourselves from it (hopefully). So too, St. Francis honors “Sister Water” as being humble, clear, and pure. But Scripture, myth, and folklore all attest that, when feminine tyrants do happen to arise–though they are rare–they are the most dangerous.
One might see this in Medusa, Medea, and Jezebel. In Babylonian myth, the goddess of the sea, Tiamat, oversteps her bounds and inspires the other gods to rebel against her, with Marduk gaining the victory. Not surprisingly, the feminine aspects of Babylonian thought lingered on in their culture ever after, with the goddesss Ishtar reigning over most aspects of everyday life.** True to their feminine nature, Babylon was probably the most cosmopolitan and open city in the ancient world, but so open, however, that Scripture refers to the city in the book of Revelation as the archetypal harlot to the world.
In his magisterial Democracy in America, Tocqueville says much in praise of what he observed. But he devotes some time to discussing “What Sort of Tyranny Democracies Have to Fear.” Though he does not use Male/Female categories of thought explicitly, one can see them when he contrasts two types of abuse of power. “Masculine” forms of government such as monarchy or aristocracy go wrong in obvious ways. They rage, they lash out. But such tyrants usually care nothing for what you think. They are too direct for such subtlety. Tocqueville points out that the more masculine forms of tyranny may imprison the body, but they leave the mind free.
In contrast, democratic/feminine tyranny may be more rare, but will have greater power over individuals indirectly. They care not so much for the body but the soul. They don’t want you to empty the dishwasher, so much as they want you to want to empty the dishwasher. They want love, not obedience.^ They come for your soul and care little for the body, weakening one from the inside out.
Still, those that lament the feminization or infantilization of our culture have to acknowledge that, as already stated, democracy itself borrows much more heavily from feminine archetypes. It has no hierarchy for us to consult.^^ But, even if one wanted to establish a more “masculine” form of government like monarchy to counteract this, such an endeavor would be foolish and impossible. It seems, then, that we have an impasse between masculine and feminine visions.
I suggest, however, that the Church gives us a path forward, showing us how the feminine plays a crucial role in establishing, or reestablishing, a new sense of order. I will take just a few examples, but many more exist.
Postmodern thinkers like Jacques Derrida talk of the need for “radical hospitality,” a radical openness to the “other,” a dramatic extension of the feminine archetype. Such openness obviously invites chaos and self-obliteration. But, look again . . . perhaps we should not be surprised, then, that when Joshua sends spies to the Promised Land it is a woman (Rahab), and a prostitute who practices “radical hospitality,” that shelters them (my thanks, once again, to Jonathan Pageau for this example). So too Mary Magdalene, another loose woman, devotes herself completely to Christ before His disciples. Rahab’s openness to the new allows her to see that her civilization must be destroyed–by men of war. She becomes a hero of the faith (Heb. 11:31). But we must not also forget that she joins with Israel, and has her head shaved as a sign of her submission to the new order, and her devotion to God the Father.
The Virgin Mary gives us an even more constructive example. Tradition tells us that she was raised as a servant in the Temple, the very center of life for the people of God. Germanos of Constantinople marveled in the 8th century that
Do [we] not see a girl born as a result of a promise, and she at the age of three, being taken within the inner veil as an umblemished gift to live there without interruption, also being carried in procession by the wealthy among the people? . . . What then will this child become (Lk. 1:66). But as for us, the peculiar people of God . . . let us approach the [Virgin Mary] and approach the divine mysteries! . . . Let us see how the prophet admits her by his own hand and brings her into inaccessible places, having been in no way displeased, and without having said to her parents, “I am not undertaking this most novel practice and leading a girl into the holy of holies to dwell there without interruption, where I have been instructed to enter only once a year.” The prophet uttered no such thing; instead he knew in advance what would come to pass, since he was a prophet.
Mary Cunningham, translator for the above text, notes that
The high priest was only allowed to enter the holy of holies, the most sacred part of the building, shielded by a veil, representing the boundary of the created order and the realm of divinity. The preacher emphasizes here the extraordinary exception that was made in admitting the Virgin Mary to this sacred space and allowing her to live there throughout her childhood.
We might say that Rahab serves as a precursor to Mary–both women expressed an openness to God that made salvation–entering the Promised Land–possible. We might say that it is convenient that God could only become Man through a woman, but it makes “sense” mythically and archetypally just as it does biologically. And in her Magnificat, Mary alludes that this “openness” will not destroy order but in fact reaffirm it. Her “radical hospitality” becomes not a tyranny of chaos, but instead, wondrous devotion to the new kingdom ruled by her Son.
When “I AM” is both Alpha and Omega (Rev. 21:6) the hierarchy can be inverted and reaffirmed at the same time. This forms the solution to our current political and social difficulty. On the one hand, the “Masculine” must acknowledge that the possibilities inherent in the “Feminine” might bring about our “salvation” (using that term in an earthly and limited sense). But even in a democracy, the “Feminine” must acknowledge that the openness they bring best serves the reaffirmation of order, and not its destruction.
Dave
*All of what comes after this point assumes the following:
That gender/sex differences are real, rooted in creation, and not mere social constructs (though some degree of variation may occur over time and space as to how these differences manifest themselves).
That certain mythological constructs/ideas are also not mere human constructs–however universal they may be–but go deeper, and express “real reality.”
**True to the potential of excessive openness in the feminine, Ishtar reigned over love, marriage, war, and . . . prostitution.
^We see this in some of the worst democratic tyrannies, such as the French Revolution. In a near parody of the “impossible female,” one could get imprisoned in Paris ca. 1793-94 for either being too excessive in one’s love of liberty, or conversely, not excited enough about liberty. So too in Stalinist Russia (for communism is a western form of government), you could be shot for not keeping up with the intricacies of party dogma.
Today the idea of safe spaces, of the regulation of language so no one gets feelings hurt, etc., conjures up the image of a smothering mother–in contrast to the typical bad dad who is absent or physically abusive.
^^Perhaps not surprisingly, the first great western democracy had Athena, goddess of wisdom, for their patron deity. Scripture also calls Wisdom “she,” for wisdom is often subtle and contextual, not always straightforward and direct.
Most of the comments either say that this is the greatest or worst thing ever. I asked a science teacher friend of mine for his reaction. He said, “Really cool and impressive, but . . . also terrifying.” I had a similar, but flipped, reaction. I find the video viscerally horrible, and I had the strong urge to reach through the screen and smash the robots with baseball bats. But I have to admit–it is pretty cool.
“Both-And” trumps “Either-Or” in this instance, and so far my friend and I agree. But we can’t both be right in our emphasis.
In the pseudepigraphal Book of Enoch*, an apocalyptic text associated with Second Temple Judaism, we read of a “metal mountain” in chapter 52.
And after those days, in that place where I had seen all the visions of that which is secret, for I had been carried off by a whirlwind, and they had brought me to the west. There my eyes saw the secrets of Heaven; everything that will occur on Earth: a mountain of iron, and a mountain of copper, and a mountain of silver, and a mountain of gold, and a mountain of soft metal, and a mountain of lead.
And I asked the Angel who went with me, saying: “What are these things which I have seen in secret?”
And he said to me: “All these things which you have seen serve the authority of His Messiah, so that he may be strong and powerful on the Earth.” And that Angel of Peace answered me, saying: “Wait a little and you will see, and everything which is secret, which the Lord of Spirits has established, will be revealed to you.
And these mountains, that you have seen; the mountain of iron, and the mountain of copper, and the mountain of silver, and the mountain of gold, and the mountain of soft metal, and the mountain of lead. All these in front of the Chosen One will be like wax before fire, and like the water that comes down from above onto these mountains they will be weak under his feet. And it will come to pass in those days, that neither by gold, nor by silver, will men save themselves; they will be unable to save themselves, or to flee.
And there will be neither iron for war nor material for a breastplate; bronze will be no use, and tin will be of no use and will count for nothing, and lead will not be wanted. All these will be wiped out and destroyed from the face of the earth when the Chosen One appears in front of the Lord of Spirits.”
I am no scholar of such literature, but I believe a connection exists with the meaning of robots for us now and our current political situation–why both are full of wonder and terror all at once.
I begin my case in what seem will think a strange place . . .
We all remember the excitement of dating our spouse, or even dating in general. At the root of this excitement lies the mystery of possibility. A dating relationship has a great deal of “potential energy,” to use a scientific term. But we must convert this potential into actual energy, or the “potential” is dead and meaningless. We see the same relationship with money. If I receive an Amazon gift card, it is always fun browsing and imagining what I might purchase. Sometimes the actual purchase fails to live up to the fun of ‘window shopping.’ But if I never actually converted potential reality (the gift card) into lived reality (the book I would read), then the gift card is “dead,” lacking any purpose or telos.**
It is no coincidence that money–which represents a multiplicity of possible reality, traditionally comes from the earth in the form of precious metals. We can see the “mountain of metal” in Enoch symbolically as a mass of possibility attempting to reach up to heaven, akin to the Tower of Babel.
Whatever status we accord the Book of Enoch, this interpretation should not surprise anyone reading the early chapters of Genesis. Here we see that it is Cain and his descendants that cultivate the earth for its potential. They develop the earth for tools, cities, and weapons. This technological development leads to violence and disaster, the unleashed chaos of the Flood. When we understand that the paradise was located on a mountain (cf. Ez. 28), we understand the Fall as a coming down from “heaven” to “earth,” a physical as well as spiritual descent.^ After murdering his brother, Cain descends further into the earth in the development of various technologies. He becomes enamored with potentiality, and his descendants develop it for violent ends. We usually see new technologies creating disruption. While it might be a chicken-egg situation, I think the pattern in Genesis points to
First, chaos, then
Technological development
Might the 1960’s show forth this pattern? We had large scale social upheaval starting around 1959, then the space-race/moon landing.
The metal mountain–a mountain full of “dead” metal, can also be contrasted with the paradisal mountain bursting with life in Gen. 1-2. No one expects to see a mountain lush with life, but this is the kind of paradox that suffuses the Christian faith. Perhaps the metal mountain can be seen as a kind of anti-paradise. Most every culture has some kind of sacred mountain, as mountains represent a union of heaven and earth.^ The metal mountain, then, would represent a bastardization of this reality, an “earth only” mountain.
This is not to say that all cities, shovels, trumpets, and swords are evil in themselves, any more than the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil was evil. But Adam and Eve were not ready for such a gift, not ready for the power such knowledge would convey. Acquiring this knowledge before its appointed time severed them from God, each other, and themselves. The theme of dangerous and thus forbidden knowledge has a reflection in other mythologies, most familiarly for us in the story of Prometheus who brought the tools of civilization to humanity.
So, yes, I fear the robots, not because they are evil but because I don’t think we can possibly handle such things rightly in our current moment. But I must acknowledge the romance of the “potential” the robots convey, just as I love to receive Amazon gift cards.
We can understand our current political situation with the same symbolic framework.
There are those on both the right and the left that want nothing to do with the mundane realities of “married” political life. Some on the left looted Portland for weeks, and others occupied Seattle. Some on the right did something similar with the Capitol. Both sides have elements within them that want to transcend politics, that want a divorce from the constitutional order. They are enamored with the possibilities of a brand-new trophy wife. Those on the left envision a utopia of equality from below. Those on the right envision a strong Caesar from above to lead them to glory and defend them from all evil. Both imagine a perfect marriage to Brad Pitt or Emma Stone is theirs for the taking. Again–we cannot deny the intoxicating nature of “potential.” Gold has always exercised this spell.
Many have remarked how social media, which exponentially increases the potential power of language, has exacerbated this problem. This makes perfect sense when we see language as the manifestation of potential from the earth, much like gold or silver coins.
In his The Language of Creation Matthieu Pageau develops this idea convincingly, and what follows here merely seeks to condense his description. If we think of letters as random marks condensed into form, we can see that this process of incarnating ideas in language essentially boils down to turning potential into reality, the same as turning a hunk of iron into a sword. First, the basic union of Heaven and Earth pattern illustrated by Pageau as developed in Scripture:
We should note well that “symbol” here means not an ephemeral representation of something real, but instead an embodiment of meaning, something more real than a mere fact.
Forgive the crude nature of the drawing below which attempts to illustrate the principle as it applies to language (also stolen from Pageau):
The internet adds even more potential to the reach of the human mind, and it is both terrifying and glorious.
The current political climate mostly reflects this terrifying aspect of the internet. Imagine our body politic as the guy in a marriage who constantly gets different women paraded before him, an endless array of options and perspectives. He might eventually grow tired of his wife, with so much intriguing “potential” before his eyes. Many elites and institutions have lost trust, and this accelerates the problem. But these untested political realities are the elusive fantasy girlfriend that you never have to live real life with.
Exposing ourselves to robots during such a chaotic time (in fact such things are more likely to appear during chaotic times–just like Cain’s tool-making was directly preceded by his wandering) may greatly exacerbate the “meaning crisis.” We should not storm the Capitol, ransack Portland, or mess around with dancing robots.
But . . . as much as we should hedge and protect our current political symbols and institutions, our political life is akin to, but not the same as, our sacramental married life. The unformed potential is not evil, but how we use it might be. No good can come to a husband witnessing a parade of super-models, but our political life needs more “give” than a marriage to stay fresh and alert. A political system needs to occasionally integrate new ideas. But the only thing one can do during a flood is batten down the hatches. Twitter, Facebook, Youtube–who can doubt they bring a “flood” of “biblical proportions?”
As usual, Genesis gives us the pattern from which to operate. We have the paradisal mountain with four rivers flowing through it. The mountain encases the dynamism of the rivers–“change” safely residing within solidity. Without this solidity, even small challenges to existing order will pose an existential threat. Maybe conservatives will have to tone down market dynamism. Maybe liberals will have de-escalate the speed of social change. Maybe that works, but we’ll need to turn our keys at the same time.
Dave
*The Book of Enoch is not regarded as canonical Scripture for any Christian group except the Ethiopian Orthodox. But, it was a book held in great respect by the early Church. The Apostle Jude quotes it in his epistle. We may say that it was part of the vernacular, perhaps, of the early Christians.
**It is in translating the “potential” into reality that determines a good or bad marriage. The husband/wife run the risk of things growing “dead” through the lack of potential. This can lead to affairs, or more benignly to the buying of sports cars. This is one reason (among others) why couples should have children–to have new “potential” come into reality. After a couple completes the child-rearing stage, which for many can last into their 50’s, they enter a new transformative phase of “death to glory.” The couple can no longer generate new “potential life,” and their hair grows gray. But even their gray hair manifests glory–“white light” streaming from their heads.
^The importance of mountains becomes obvious in Scripture once we get clued into this pattern, i.e., Mt. Sinai, Mt. Zion, Mt. Carmel, Mt. Tabor, the Sermon on the Mount, Christ crucified on the ‘Hill of the Skull,’ and so on.
Lots of pendulum swings happen in the history of thought, but these pendulum swings sometimes resemble more the bending of a line towards the form of a circle instead of opposite points on a line horizontally. In other words, when certain positions get to their extremes, they start to resemble what they claim to oppose. Reality, when warped, curves back on itself.
For example, one could argue that the age of imperialism in Europe came from the conviction that a) We are better than you, and b) We are different than you. This is a caricature, but we can let it stand for our purposes. In turn, this attitude called forth the work of Joseph Cambell, who argued in his religious analysis that actually, nothing has any difference from anything else. Narcissus, Christ, Osiris, and so on all participate in the same reality and are basically the same god. On the surface this looks like the opposite end of the imperialist impulse, but as imperialism grew, the mingling of cultures grew, and the differences between the cultures start to blur. For example, we have Rudyard Kipling as one of imperialism’s strongest advocates, but much of his writing shows a fascination not with English culture, but with that of India and Afghanistan.
So . . . McBain was entirely correct to conflate the Commies and the Nazi’s.
Plato and Aristotle give us the foundation to western philosophy. Many first notice their differences, and certainly they parted ways in key areas. Plato emphasized the unity of things via the world of the forms. He sought to draw everything up into the eternal, i.e., when we come to know and understand something, we are in fact remembering something we used to know.* Aristotle differed from his teacher and focused on particulars. We know him best through his extensive categorizations. He separates that we might see things more clearly. It seems they occupy opposite points on a line, with opposite strengths and weaknesses. But in certain ways they share the same strengths and faults. Aristotle critiqued Plato’s overgeneralizing of concepts, but he himself seemed to overgeneralize everything in the mythical/spiritual realm, consigning it all to irrelevancy. Like Plato, he criticized aspects of Athenian religion but could not see the particular threads of truth within it. In turn, Plato’s focus on finding the eternal kernel of truth led him to define concepts so finely that in the Laches a general does not know what courage is due to his faulty definition. They both over-generalized at times, they both hyper-categorized other times.
Avoiding this warping effect might involve taking Aristotle’s “advice:” If you drill a hole all the way through the earth and fall down from the North Pole, stop and hover at the halfway point. The key to healthy societies as well as healthy thought comes from fusing “Heaven” and “Earth,” and not by camping out at either locale.
I never knew that Plato’s dialogue Cratylus even existed until a few weeks ago. Here he focuses entirely on the role of language, and names in particular. The issue has relevance especially in times of societal breakdown. Without a common cultural framework, language loses its power as a conveyor of meaning and a means of discourse, i.e., we no longer have an agreed upon meaning for important words such as “male and female,” “racism,” “love,” and so on.
The dialogue begins with one extreme tentatively suggested by Hermogenes, who argues that, “whatever anyone agrees to call a particular thing is its name.” Socrates teases out the implication of such a position, which means that something can have infinite names, “And however many names someone says there are for each thing, it will really have that number at whatever time he says it?” Hermogenes reluctantly agrees.
Of course this won’t do, and Socrates leads Hermogenes out of this thicket. The problem of meaning has a link to the problem of virtue. If we can give names to anything we wish and have that in fact be its name, then we in effect, become the arbiters of reality itself. For, “some statements are true, while others are false,” and “it is possible to say things that are and that are not in a statement.” We are not God and cannot make reality come into being by merely declaring it so. Otherwise good and evil have no real existence outside of our own minds, and so we can call nothing truly good or evil at all. Meaning and coherence break down. The question of language is much more than academic.
So words and their meaning cannot come into being from below. The “bottom of the mountain,” so to speak, has too much individuation and division to provide a platform for societies. As our examples above show (i.e., Kipling, etc.), this extreme individuation shakes hands with extreme unity, for it cannot properly divide anything at all according to its nature. So in the end, with this view, everything mashes up together.
Socrates and Hermogenes then seek to go up to the “top of the mountain” to attempt to find the origin of names. Names function as a means of instruction, as a means of “divid[ing] things according to their natures. As Socrates comments,
So just as a shuttle is a tool for dividing warp and woof, a name is a tool for giving instruction, that is to say, for dividing being.**
Just as not all can use the loom, so Socrates asks, “Do you think every man is a rule-setter, or only those who possess the craft?” Hermogenes concedes that one must have the craft. Control of language cannot belong to the individual alone, but nor to “every man.” One must have “the craft.”
So Cratylus is right in saying that things have natural names, and that not everyone is a craftsman of names, but only someone who looks the natural name of a thing and is able to put its form into letters and symbols.
Undoubtedly language shapes our perception of reality, and possibly more than that, for in Genesis God’s speech creates reality as we know it. The names He gives fixes the distinctions between things, and Adam’s naming of animals gives humanity a cooperative role in the creative process.
The theological dilemma of, “Is something good because God declares it to be good, or does God declare something good because it is good already,” has a mirror in the dilemma about language.^ No one person can simply declare a word to be a word and have it fixed for all time. Socrates struggles with finding the absolute in each word. He had penetrating insights regarding the essence of truth, but stumbled in its application. The same hold true in Cratylus. The dialogue continues on a long excursion where Socrates seeks the unity of the principle embodied in names, and their particular Greek phonetics. Some of these endeavors succeed more than others. But in the end, Socrates must face reality–other cultures have different phonetical constructions for words embodying the same principles.
Socrates: Here is what I suspect. I think that the Greeks, especially those who live abroad, have adopted many names from foreign tongues.
Hermogenes: What of it?
Socrates: Well, if someone were trying to discover whether the names had been reasonably given, and he treated them as belonging to the Greek language rather than the one they were really from, then he would be in a quandary.
Hermogenes: He very probably would.
Socrates: . . . Consequently, though one might say something about these names, one mustn’t push them too far.
This realization leads Socrates nearer the truth, that language, like truth itself, involves a union of the masculine principle of declaration from those “who know,” from above, and the fluidity of things on earth. Socrates comments,
Perhaps you didn’t that [the names] are given on the assumption that the they name are moving, flowing, and coming into being. . . . Wisdom (phronesis) is the understanding of motion (phoras noesis) and flow. Or it might be interpreted as taking delight in motion. . . . Wisdom signifies the grasping of this motion.
For the rest of the dialogue Socrates struggles to find a way to unite the masculine and feminine aspects of language, but can’t quite get there. Still, he makes the crucial realization of the need for the seed from above, the plant from below, or the pattern and its manifestation must go together. For Adam in the Garden (Genesis 2) his names correctly manifested this, for at that time he had perfect communion with the Father above and the (Mother) Earth below. But since the sin entered the world, we essentially fail in proper manifestation of language, which furthers confusion of meaning.
But though we fall short, we still have the image of God within us, and can use Socrates’ insight to evaluate how we use words and their relationship to truth. There exists, for example, a certain method of Bible study among Christians that involves
Finding out the Hebrew/Greek meaning of a particular word
Grabbing a concordance to see where that word gets used in different parts of the Bible, and then
Using the meaning in one context to determine its meaning everywhere in Scripture.
This ignores the fluid aspects of language, and the central importance of context over strict phonetics. We all know that the word “radical” can be a math term in one context, an outdated term from the 80’s in another, an adjective for a political ideology, and so on.
Many of our current cultural debates, however, center around ignoring the fixed aspects of language. We can all acknowledge that the meaning of “male” and “female,” for example, have certain contextual fluidities determined in part by culture. Some men may be more effeminate, some women more masculine, than others of the same sex. But surely being either male or female cannot mean anything we wish it to mean. Biology certainly gives us constraints on the meaning of sex. The very fact that we call some men more masculine than other men shows that we have a defined concept of masculinity we cannot escape even if we wanted to. Indeed, some of those who wish to introduce more fluidity to the concept of sex/gender also decry “toxic masculinity” more than others.
It seems that we must see language, along with the reality language describes/creates, existing in a hierarchy. At the top we have God, who in Christian theology can only be defined as Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, one God in three persons. Then at the bottom we have words like “green,” a collection of phonetic sounds that can refer to a color, a newbie on the job, a person with sea-sickness, and so on. Yet while these phonetic sounds can take on meanings essentially unrelated to each other, they each manifest connections to a particular idea. More fluidity in language exists at the bottom of the mountain, but . . . not chaos. Then somewhere in the middle of reality, we have words such as “male and female,” which have more defined limits, along with a degree of contextual meaning.
Though the Cratylus fails to stick the landing on a unified theory of language, Socrates rightly intuits that correct naming is a “beautiful work.” We recognize beauty when we recognize a pattern, a pattern of the marriage of heaven and earth, of unity and diversity.^^ When this reality gets warped both the language absolutist and the language relativist both destroy the beauty of language and its meaning. Contrary to some, language is not a tool of power, but of meaning. When weaponized we lose beauty, wisdom, and also power. For in reality, power cannot truly exist without its connection to Heaven.
Dave
*I should state now that I am a rank amateur in my knowledge of Plato and Aristotle. My critique is not meant to deny their rightful place in the history of philosophy.
**Here we see more evidence of Andrew Kern’s suggestion that weaving and wisdom are interrelated in the ancient world, thus, the Luddites rebellion against mechanical looms had little to do with economics and much more to do with maintaining meaning and coherence in society.
^This dilemma is really no dilemma at all to those who understand Christian theology. The Church has always said that the answer to the above dilemma involves splitting the horns–things are “good” because God made them, and are stamped with God’s being and character.
^^I will attempt an explanation of my meaning by thinking about a spectacular sunset. We look up, and see light from above-that’s purity/Heaven. The light then transforms, becomes more fluid/diverse as it interacts with matter, the stuff of Earth. This combination produces the beauty we are drawn to.
While only God is eternal and infinite, this union of Heaven and Earth will continue into eternity. In His resurrection Christ continues to have a physical body. And when He returns, He will descend, and we will rise to “meet Him in the air.”
