I am now the proud possessor of a sestertius of the reign of Marcus Aurelius. I acquired it in a shop across from the British Museum. The Emperor himself appears on one side of the coin. Minerva, I think, is on the other.
Marcus also appears in the Museum itself, or rather a bust of him does, along with several other fascinating Roman items, the return of which has not as far as I know been demanded by the Italians. The Greeks, of course, have had the temerity to demand the return of the large portions of the Parthenon also on display in the Museum, brought to England by the enterprising Lord Elgin. Of course the Roman objects at the Museum may actually have been placed by the Romans themselves in their province of Britannia, which would make their status different from that of the Elgin Marbles. If the Italians were to demand the return of all Roman works they would have to demand them from most of Europe and North Africa.
The Romans were a remarkable people. In my little visit across the pond I spent time in London (excuse me, Londinium) and Edinburgh, and the Romans made it up to that part of Scotland, as well. The English might be said to be the successors of Rome in a sense, and as the busts of English worthies in faux Roman dress we see displayed as well attest, they sometimes invited and made the comparison.
What struck me most about London, though, was the fact that it seems at least to a visitor to be a very international city. Walking about its streets and riding its Underground looking dashing in my fedora, I was surprised by the fact that I did not hear the English language spoken much at all. What I heard seemed mostly to be as best as I can determine languages spoken in the Middle East and Eastern Europe, together with some German, and some Italian. Italians were actually roaming the streets of the old city in Edinburgh in chattering, rather drunken, groups during my visit; something I found puzzling until I found myself watching a rugby match on TV between Scotland and Italy while sipping some Glenkinchie.
The sites of London remain very English, but it is interesting to consider just how "English" its people may yet be. The city's newspapers were addressing the issue during my visit. Complaints were being made about a particular television series, set in rural England, because its characters were all white, while the actual village in which it was set was diverse--multicultural, as some of us like to say. This bothered some.
Some of the Europeans seem to be experiencing a kind of multicultural fatigue. Each European country has had an individual character, despite the fact that they are (from an American perspective) rather small and closely packed together in a limited space. One can understand that the citizens of each country may be proud of their unique character, and wish to preserve their heritage and long history.
I suspect that we will see more and more taking the position that "multiculturalism is a failure", and not just in Europe. We see this attitude being taken in America as well. This presents several interesting and complicated questions. To what extent must people of one nation, or group, accommodate those of another who choose to live among them. Is there a duty to accommodate, and if so what is the extent of that duty?
I have a fondness for Roman history, which must be apparent. For a time, at least--a fairly long time from the human perspective--there existed an empire where different peoples having different languages, cultures and religions managed to live under one government in relative peace and comfort, and some at least of those different peoples were able to thrive and reach positions of prominence despite the fact they were not originally Roman, or even Greek. The imposition of a uniform rule of law was probably significant in achieving this result, as was the military prowess of the Roman Empire. Also, however, it seems that Greco-Roman culture was imposed, at least superficially in some cases and profoundly with others.
I question whether this can be achieved any longer. There are too many of us, and we are now too different in too many ways. Those who fear the imposition of a global government and feel there is a conspiracy to create one need not fear much, I think. As population grows, things grow more complicated, and resources dwindle I think we will be more and more disposed to close ranks and find comfort and security in the familiar and in those similar to ourselves. We were tribal in the early days of our species, when struggling to survive. We may be struggling to survive again, though for different reasons, soon enough. Perhaps we will become tribal once more.
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
Monday, March 14, 2011
The Decline and Fall of Christianity?
I'm reading yet another of those books, written at or around 1900, roughly speaking, which contrasts ancient philosophy and religion with Christianity, and asserts Christianity is in some mysterious (pun perhaps intended) way superior, or perhaps it would be more accurate to say of superior appeal.
This particular book professes in its title that it addresses the conflict of religions in the Roman Empire, but seems to be primarily interested in Stoicism and Christianity. Only passing mentions of the great pagan cults of the early Empire, thus far.
I fear that the primary reason the author feels Stoicism "failed" while Christianity triumphed is that Stoicism is too gloomy. Relying almost entirely on quotations from Marcus Aurelius, the author asserts that Stoicism, though admirable in many respects, could only manage an attitude of weary resignation to the universe, not the joyful acceptance of it found in Christianity. Stoicism's God was abstract, while that of Christianity intensely personal; the God of the Christians was a loving father, "Abba." The prodigal son was welcomed by a wronged but loving parent who ran to embrace him.
If the author had read Epictetus (he doesn't mention him) he might feel differently. Marcus Aurelius, we know, was thought of as somehow unmanly by the more "muscular" Christian apologists such as Chesterton, who in touting Christianity had a disturbing tendency to refer to his nanny and fairy tales, and C.S. Lewis, who decided to end his charming tales of Narnia with the annihilation of his heroes and heroines in a train accident, and may or may not have had a nanny.
But the author, however, does a good job in referencing the simplicity of the early Christian message and the fact that it was not directed to those who could and did frequent philosophers and read their works. The message was addressed to the "common" and contrasted them favorably with the Pharisee and the rich man. Although it taught many of the ideas accepted by philosophy, and indeed the Stoics (e.g. that God permeates the universe and we are part of him, or he is in us) it did so in such a fashion that they could be accepted by those without philosophical training. The philosophical Christians came later, bringing with them and incorporating into Christianity what they learned from Plato, Aristotle, Seneca, etc., just as the many Christian converts throughout the Empire brought with them pagan religious practices and customs of their homelands. Christianity thus managed to incorporate what all found attractive in religion or religious thought by most of the citizens of the empire. As a religion, it assimilated, and continued to assimilate for some centuries to come. It was a remarkable achievement.
Gradually, Christianity became organized. As it became the favorite of the emperors, and bishops were granted imperium in various respects, including in some cases high positions within the empire, it took on the aspects of the empire, even became the empire in some sense where the empire failed.
The attractiveness and simplicity of the message functioned to make it popular in a time when people were seeking salvation and eternal life; the pagan cults which did the same were obscure and occult, and their initiates were often sworn to secrecy. Christianity's appeal was universal.
With organization, though, came power and power corrupts, as we know, and has I think corrupted for many centuries. It had magic, but doesn't seem to have it any longer. There are and have been those who purport to bring back the ancient simplicity of its message, but this likely is no longer possible.
And so perhaps organized Christianity finds itself in much the same position as the Empire found itself at the time Christianity first appeared and gradually spread. Still well organized, powerful, following ancient customs and rituals, but lacking in the ability to inspire. I wonder what will take its place.
This particular book professes in its title that it addresses the conflict of religions in the Roman Empire, but seems to be primarily interested in Stoicism and Christianity. Only passing mentions of the great pagan cults of the early Empire, thus far.
I fear that the primary reason the author feels Stoicism "failed" while Christianity triumphed is that Stoicism is too gloomy. Relying almost entirely on quotations from Marcus Aurelius, the author asserts that Stoicism, though admirable in many respects, could only manage an attitude of weary resignation to the universe, not the joyful acceptance of it found in Christianity. Stoicism's God was abstract, while that of Christianity intensely personal; the God of the Christians was a loving father, "Abba." The prodigal son was welcomed by a wronged but loving parent who ran to embrace him.
If the author had read Epictetus (he doesn't mention him) he might feel differently. Marcus Aurelius, we know, was thought of as somehow unmanly by the more "muscular" Christian apologists such as Chesterton, who in touting Christianity had a disturbing tendency to refer to his nanny and fairy tales, and C.S. Lewis, who decided to end his charming tales of Narnia with the annihilation of his heroes and heroines in a train accident, and may or may not have had a nanny.
But the author, however, does a good job in referencing the simplicity of the early Christian message and the fact that it was not directed to those who could and did frequent philosophers and read their works. The message was addressed to the "common" and contrasted them favorably with the Pharisee and the rich man. Although it taught many of the ideas accepted by philosophy, and indeed the Stoics (e.g. that God permeates the universe and we are part of him, or he is in us) it did so in such a fashion that they could be accepted by those without philosophical training. The philosophical Christians came later, bringing with them and incorporating into Christianity what they learned from Plato, Aristotle, Seneca, etc., just as the many Christian converts throughout the Empire brought with them pagan religious practices and customs of their homelands. Christianity thus managed to incorporate what all found attractive in religion or religious thought by most of the citizens of the empire. As a religion, it assimilated, and continued to assimilate for some centuries to come. It was a remarkable achievement.
Gradually, Christianity became organized. As it became the favorite of the emperors, and bishops were granted imperium in various respects, including in some cases high positions within the empire, it took on the aspects of the empire, even became the empire in some sense where the empire failed.
The attractiveness and simplicity of the message functioned to make it popular in a time when people were seeking salvation and eternal life; the pagan cults which did the same were obscure and occult, and their initiates were often sworn to secrecy. Christianity's appeal was universal.
With organization, though, came power and power corrupts, as we know, and has I think corrupted for many centuries. It had magic, but doesn't seem to have it any longer. There are and have been those who purport to bring back the ancient simplicity of its message, but this likely is no longer possible.
And so perhaps organized Christianity finds itself in much the same position as the Empire found itself at the time Christianity first appeared and gradually spread. Still well organized, powerful, following ancient customs and rituals, but lacking in the ability to inspire. I wonder what will take its place.
Sunday, March 6, 2011
Enthusiasm and Analysis; Fatuity and Focus
I find myself becoming more and more convinced that we only think when we are faced with a problem that is capable of resolution, and that when we are not engaged in such a task, we simply stop thinking, or perhaps defer thought until we are once more faced with something useful to do. When we're not busy with an actual task, we tend to occupy ourselves with fancies of various sorts, and suffer as a result--unless we understand and accept that we are doing something different from what we do when we think.
I should note that here I'm using "think" in a sense some might consider narrow. I'm not contending that there is no brain activity involved in anything but problem-solving or decision-making. Obviously, we dream, we imagine, we meditate, we do things which don't require the application of intelligence with some frequency, even most of the time. I mean "think" rationally, judging which means are appropriate to result in certain ends, for example, or seeking explanations for phenomena based on an assessment of circumstances and causes and effects. I mean it, in other words, in the way Dewey did in philosophy, and as I think most people involved in completing tasks in ordinary, day-to-day life mean it.
Two things in particular have made me speculate along these line. One is reading the Memoirs of General U. S. Grant (I use his military title as they are memoirs of his military career). His presidency most of us remember as notable for its corruption and its especially haphazard nature. He himself was considered by many to be sullen, morose and given to drink. His Memoirs, however, are very well written. I'm apparently not the first to be impressed by his clear, simple, intelligent style, or to wonder at it given his reputation. He is precise in his narrative, and has a dry, understated wit. He is straightforward; what he deplores (like the Mexican War) he deplores flatly and without qualification; he addresses what he admires in much the same way. It is an admirable book.
He wrote it while dying of cancer, and deeply in debt. He wrote it in the hope its sale would provide for his family when he was gone. He finished it shortly before he died and it sold well, achieving his purpose.
His actions during the Civil War seem also to have been the result of a focused analysis of how to achieve the defeat of the Confederacy in the shortest possible period of time. He did so through the relentless, savage application of superior resources and by the acceptance of the doctrine of "total war" ably assisted by his friend Sherman, who seems to have been intent on demonstrating the truth of his comment that war is all hell.
Given a task to perform or a problem to solve, Grant seems to have thought quite well.
But a greater motivation to ponder this possibility resulted from watching (portions of) a remarkable series on the History Channel entitled Ancient Aliens. It constitutes basically a review (I won't say study) of various ancient ruins and interviews of several sadly well-known advocates of the view that the Earth was visited long ago by extraterrestrials who if they did not themselves create these wondrous monuments assisted or inspired our dull, ignorant ancestors sufficiently enough to assure their creation. I'm something of an archaeology buff, and am ashamed to report it was through this series that I first became familiar with the site of Pumapunku (or Puma Punku or Puma Punka, it seems) in Bolivia, which those luminaries interviewed contend is incredibly old (15,000 years) and could only have been built through use of machines and only planned by people who had a system of writing, although it seems there was no such system. I will assume the gentleman making this claim is aware that the Incas were very accomplished builders although they had no writing, but communicated through knotted rope, and either does not believe it or thinks their construction skills were not all they've been made out to be.
It's difficult to find anything about these ruins written by actual archaeologists on the Internet, although those who favor the alien explanation abound, but suffice it to say that when you encounter their writing claims regarding the age and construction of the site are much more tempered.
What is it that makes people see such ruins and think the only explanation for them is alien intervention? I think this results at least in part from the fact that we cannot be sure just how and why they were made, as they were made long ago and no records were kept. We don't often encounter people who maintain that the ancient Greeks or Romans were beneficiaries of well-meaning alien super-intelligences, although their achievements were remarkable, because we have records regarding their construction. But in the absence of any clear evidence that will actually resolve the question many of us tend to stop thinking and start--dreaming.
I should note that here I'm using "think" in a sense some might consider narrow. I'm not contending that there is no brain activity involved in anything but problem-solving or decision-making. Obviously, we dream, we imagine, we meditate, we do things which don't require the application of intelligence with some frequency, even most of the time. I mean "think" rationally, judging which means are appropriate to result in certain ends, for example, or seeking explanations for phenomena based on an assessment of circumstances and causes and effects. I mean it, in other words, in the way Dewey did in philosophy, and as I think most people involved in completing tasks in ordinary, day-to-day life mean it.
Two things in particular have made me speculate along these line. One is reading the Memoirs of General U. S. Grant (I use his military title as they are memoirs of his military career). His presidency most of us remember as notable for its corruption and its especially haphazard nature. He himself was considered by many to be sullen, morose and given to drink. His Memoirs, however, are very well written. I'm apparently not the first to be impressed by his clear, simple, intelligent style, or to wonder at it given his reputation. He is precise in his narrative, and has a dry, understated wit. He is straightforward; what he deplores (like the Mexican War) he deplores flatly and without qualification; he addresses what he admires in much the same way. It is an admirable book.
He wrote it while dying of cancer, and deeply in debt. He wrote it in the hope its sale would provide for his family when he was gone. He finished it shortly before he died and it sold well, achieving his purpose.
His actions during the Civil War seem also to have been the result of a focused analysis of how to achieve the defeat of the Confederacy in the shortest possible period of time. He did so through the relentless, savage application of superior resources and by the acceptance of the doctrine of "total war" ably assisted by his friend Sherman, who seems to have been intent on demonstrating the truth of his comment that war is all hell.
Given a task to perform or a problem to solve, Grant seems to have thought quite well.
But a greater motivation to ponder this possibility resulted from watching (portions of) a remarkable series on the History Channel entitled Ancient Aliens. It constitutes basically a review (I won't say study) of various ancient ruins and interviews of several sadly well-known advocates of the view that the Earth was visited long ago by extraterrestrials who if they did not themselves create these wondrous monuments assisted or inspired our dull, ignorant ancestors sufficiently enough to assure their creation. I'm something of an archaeology buff, and am ashamed to report it was through this series that I first became familiar with the site of Pumapunku (or Puma Punku or Puma Punka, it seems) in Bolivia, which those luminaries interviewed contend is incredibly old (15,000 years) and could only have been built through use of machines and only planned by people who had a system of writing, although it seems there was no such system. I will assume the gentleman making this claim is aware that the Incas were very accomplished builders although they had no writing, but communicated through knotted rope, and either does not believe it or thinks their construction skills were not all they've been made out to be.
It's difficult to find anything about these ruins written by actual archaeologists on the Internet, although those who favor the alien explanation abound, but suffice it to say that when you encounter their writing claims regarding the age and construction of the site are much more tempered.
What is it that makes people see such ruins and think the only explanation for them is alien intervention? I think this results at least in part from the fact that we cannot be sure just how and why they were made, as they were made long ago and no records were kept. We don't often encounter people who maintain that the ancient Greeks or Romans were beneficiaries of well-meaning alien super-intelligences, although their achievements were remarkable, because we have records regarding their construction. But in the absence of any clear evidence that will actually resolve the question many of us tend to stop thinking and start--dreaming.
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