Benevolent Dictatorship

It seems a growing number of persons in our Great Republic have come to believe it should not be a republic.  They think it may continue to be great, of course, unless they're one of those who believe it isn't great currently, but may be again, once it is no longer a republic.  

Those who think this way apparently favor a form of government more in line with autocracy or dictatorship.  They're certainly not the first to do so.  The belief that there has been or may be such a thing as a benign despot, or benevolent dictator, has a long history in our long, and sad, history.

It's an attractive belief.  We imagine someone holding near absolute or absolute power who would do the thinking for us, act in our interest, for our benefit, dispense what we think is justice, create and maintain prosperity, allow us to do what we think we should be able to do, all without hinderance from opponents or onerous regulations and requirements.  But has there ever been such a ruler, or could there be one?

Pictured above is one person who was considered a benevolent dictator, Lucius Ouinctius Cincinnatus.  He was quite literally a dictator as that was a position one could be appointed to by the Roman Senate.  The Roman dictator had unlimited authority, or imperium, but only for a specified period of time (usually 6 months).  A dictator was appointed in times of emergency.  Cincinnatus held the position twice.  When his term was up, he returned to private life.  In accordance with his legend, he's shown plowing his fields when representatives of the Senate arrive to tell him of his appointment. 

He's a model of the disinterested figure who takes up sole power solely for the benefit of the state and its citizens, and gives it up when his service to the state is done.  George Washington enjoyed being compared with him.

Later dictators weren't necessarily as popularly remembered.  Lucius Cornelius Sulla in particular is remembered as a man who brought his legions into Rome in violation of tradition, during the conflict between him and Gaius Marius, and essentially through force of arms remained dictator as long as he pleased.  During his dictatorship he proscribed all those he considered his enemies and dangerous to the patricians he favored.  He did give up his powers, though, eventually, and lived a comfortable private life until his death.  

Augustus may actually have been something close to a benevolent dictator after he seized supreme power in Rome, but was ruthless in his quest to obtain it.  The later so-called "good" emperors, Nerva, Trajan, Hadrian, Antoninus Pius and Marcus Aurelius, may be called benign at least in comparison to other emperors of Rome.

In more recent history, Frederick the Great was thought of as a benevolent despot but I suspect that was because he was something of a philosopher, learned and cultured, in addition to being a great military leader, and such things played very well in the Age of Enlightenment.  Napoleon was believed to be one as well, at least by some, at least for restoring order and glory to France after the chaos of the French Revolution and the Terror.

Subsequent rulers with great power can't reasonably be considered benevolent, however.  Lenin, Stalin, Mao, Hitler and Mussolini aren't considered benign by most, and for good reason.  It seems they were considered to be benevolent for quite some time, however.

A dictator must be considered disinterested to be benign, I think.  In other words, the ruler's goals and conduct mustn't be selfish, or favor friends and relatives, or supporters, primarily if not solely.  Likewise, enemies should be punished based on the extent the state is harmed by them.  Although great or absolute power may be exercised, it must be in the service of the state or its citizens.  Otherwise, a ruler is merely self-serving.

But what one considers a benign dictatorship is subjective, now, entirely.  And calls made for it are, sometimes blatantly, dishonest,  Those seeking power for themselves or others do lip service to justice and impartiality and patriotship, but do so in such an inane manner as to bring their credibility in question.  Just listen, and hear.

Lenin, Stalin, Mao, Hitler and Mussolini considered liberal democracy to be a weak and ineffective form of government, too inclined to consider elements they and those like them thought to be foreign or contemptible.  Those who now dream of an autocracy replacing the democratic type of government here think much the same, judging from their comments.  They imagine absolute power applied in their favor and against others.  There's nothing benign about an autocracy which is intolerant and exclusive.  

If there is such a things as a benevolent dictatorship, that's not what's being sought or desired, here and now, and no amount of fear-mongering or misrepresentation can hide that fact.  What's being sought is a government by certain people, for certain people and of certain people.

The Diminishment of Christmas

 As I gaze on the scene depicted above, presumably a painting of Victoria and Albert and a gaggle of children arrayed around what seems to be a large Norfolk Island Pine festooned (my word of the day) with ornaments, I find myself inclined to wonder whether Christmas has, or should, become unimportant.

Soon Albert would be dead, and the children parented, if one can call it that, by the grim Queen who it seems wasn't at all fond of them or of children generally.  Some or for all I know all of the children shown or their cousins would soon enough hurl the world into a horrific war.  And each year they would gather around some other tree to celebrate Christmas, as we do still, wars or no wars.  Usually wars, as they've been fairly constant since the First World War, which was supposed to end them.

If this post is noted by anyone Christian and conservative in the vulgar sense the word now has in our Great Republic, they would likely consider it part of the fabled "War on Christmas."  But it isn't.  The celebration of Christmas is perfectly fine with me.  Nor do I have any problem with those who wish to do so keeping Christ in it.  It's interesting that Christians themselves may have waged war on Christmas more effectively than non-Christians.  I refer to the Puritans, or Roundheads, who banned the celebration of Christmas (along with other things) during Oliver Cromwell's reign as Lord Protector of England, and the Puritans of the Massachusetts Bay Colony, who made celebrating Christmas punishable by fine.

Of course, Christmas as celebrated has little to do with Jesus.  But for the manger scenes one sees in homes or rather ostentatiously in public, there's nothing in the appearance of Christmas celebrations which evokes him.  The Christmas tree, the Yule log, the laurels, all are pagan in origin.  There's nothing whatsoever even suggesting Jesus was born on December 25th, though we know that date was associated with pagan deities who were said to be born at that time or around the winter solstice, and born by a virgin mother.  The date was selected as his birthday several centuries after he is said to have lived, to coincide with pagan celebrations of the birth of Sol Invictus, to name one such god, and the season of celebrations connected with the winter solstice by pagans, such as the Roman Saturnalia to name one of them.

There's also nothing of substance supporting the claim he was born in Bethlehem.  Two of the canonical Gospels say nothing regarding his birth.  The claim that that Joseph and Mary had to travel to Bethlehem for purposes of a census ordered by Augustus also lacks credibility.  There's no record of such a census, and the Romans were prodigious record-keepers.  And why the Imperial government would have required people to travel to their birthplaces to be counted, with the resulting chaos in travel, housing and administration, is unexplained.  Though it may be explained because Bethlehem is where David was born, and it was necessary for Joseph to be among the House of David.

All this is well-known, though not very often noted.  Perhaps then, following Aristotelian or Thomist metaphysics, the claim is that keeping Christ in Christmas refers to the substance of Christmas rather than its appearances.  

But in what sense are the teachings of Jesus followed or celebrated, even on Christmas day or during the holiday season, let alone the rest of the year?  There's a good amount of lip service to that affect, but even that seems to be declining.  Maudlin Christmas movies, TV shows or stories continue to be shown or read, but this seems to be due to a sense of obligation rather than due to any popularity, and those seem to be declining as well.  It may be because of the fact Christmas this year fell on a Sunday, but I saw far more football than I did dramatisations of Dickens and even of Capra's work we all know far too well.

The fact that families are more widespread than in the past has led to a decline in familial celebrations; traveling home for Christmas seems onerous in many respects, now more than ever.

Finally, let me put my (Christmas?) cards on the table.  I suggest that there is less Christmas cheer or spirit than there has been in the past because people have become less and less likable.  Our public figures in politics, the media, entertainment (name them) are craven and selfish, crabbed, mean, angry, rude, boorish, hypocritical, self-righteous...one runs out of derogatory words when trying to describe them.  So are most of us if social media is any guide.  There is less and less good will being given.  There's less and less comfort and joy available. 

One has to wonder whether there will come a time when Christmas will seem surreal to most of us.  Perhaps Christmas in time will seem so different from our reality that we'll be unable to accept it anymore.

Censors and Censurers

The Roman Censors (always one of two officials, until Augustus established the Principate) were men of consular rank elected to their posts every four or five years.  "Elected" in this context refers to the often fierce and sometimes violent struggles involving money, pandering, favors granted and owed, family affiliation, military support and prowess which typified elections under the Republic; not all so different, come to think of it, from elections taking place now.

The Censors possessed a variety of powers, related to taxation and other matters, but what they are most known for now was their authority over public morality.  Perhaps the most famous of the Censors appears at the head of this post.  Behold Marcus Porcius Cato, the Elder, who is said to have been particularly diligent in ensuring that Roman virtues were practiced and respected.  He's also famous for ending his speeches in the Senate, regardless of their topics, with the assertion that "Carthage must be destroyed."  Judging from his bust, he seems to have been someone who didn't smile easily.

Our Great Republic is now replete with censors or wannabe censors, i.e. persons who eagerly and often point out what they consider the failings of others.  Unlike the Censors of ancient Rome, though, our modern censors are entirely self-appointed. Also unlike the ancient Censors, modern censors aren't required to engage in arguably useful public action, like assessing and collecting taxes and keeping track of population.  They're entirely free to assess blame and find fault with any person, something it's quite easy to do in this age of limitless expression.  Since "censor" in modern use refers to prohibiting or ending communication, however, our modern censors are more appropriately considered censurers.  They freely criticize and assess blame but lack the authority to silence communications, though they may, if influential, manage to shame or berate others into silence.

Censurers are, by nature and definition, busybodies.  They scour the news, forums, the Internet generally, and having spied something they believe inappropriate they hurry to point it out.  It doesn't matter that they aren't involved in a dispute or discussion, they will intrude in one merely for the sake of preaching, merely for the purpose of displaying their own righteousness.  They comment and meddle.  That is, after all, what a busybody does.  

There are of course professional censurers, who are paid to vilify those who don't accept their standards and beliefs.  But compensation isn't required for a censurer to censure given our technology, which allows any one of us to pontificate and abuse publically and frequently.  

There have always been people who, unsolicited, intrude and meddle in the affairs of others, who gossip, criticize, are loudly self-righteous, who are preachers, who are Pharisees (which is to say "holier than thou").  The busybody is sometimes an object of contempt or laughter--there seems to be one in most every sitcom, usually a neighbor.  

There seems to be something in our nature which induces us to pry into the affairs of others and smugly degrade them.  It requires a meanness and pettiness of soul, and great self-regard, but these are characteristics which are encouraged in these times, or at least certainly tolerated, and are ubiquitous as they may be indulged in at any time.

Censurers are therefore dangerous, now.  They may remain objects of contempt but can do much damage to free expression and conduct, and cannot be effectively punished.  

Homage to Horace

 

Quintus Horatius Flaccus, better known these days as "Horace," was a Roman poet of the time of Augustus.  He was the son of a freedman, and therefore nothing special in status as measured at the time, but he made his mark in the history of the time and not merely as a poet.  He had the mixed fortune of living during the time Rome was changing from a republic of sorts to an empire as we know an empire to be now; in fact, the model of an empire as we know it.  He was on the wrong side of that metamorphosis for a time, serving in the army of Marcus Brutus in opposition to the avenging adopted son and grand nephew of Julius Caesar, to be known as Augustus, and Marcus Antonius and that other member of the Second Triumvirate, little remembered in comparison, Lepidus. 

Brutus having lost, Horace wisely pivoted and became a great fan of Augustus, and in his good graces, due, it would seem, to his friendship with others who introduced him to Augustus' friend and fixer, Maecenas.  Maecenas was also a patron of the arts, and Horace became a favorite of his; he even conveyed to him a villa, the remains of which can still be seen, which Horace treasured.

The painting of Horace appearing at the head of this post is by Giacomo Di Chirico, an artist of the 19th century.  I don't know who is intended to be represented by the figures floating above his shoulders.  By location, they seem similar to the angel and devil often shown as giving us counsel, or trying to persuade us, in Christian tradition.  But presumably the painter was aware of the fact that Horace was not a Christian.  My guess would be they represent the Muses.

Horace is probably most famous in these time due to a quote from one of his Odes in turn made famous by the movie The Dead Poets Society.  The quotation is "Carpe diem" which in the movie was translated as "seize the day."  But it seems the more correct translation is "pluck the day."

For me, "seize" is inappropriate because to seize something is to take hold of it forcefully, to capture it, to take possession of something forcefully.  There's nothing of that spirit in the Ode in question, nor is there anything like that in the spirit of Horace.  Horace is no Nietzsche, throttling joy.  He is a poet of moderation in thought and conduct.  He seeks contentment, and wisdom.  One should pluck fruit when it is ripe; no too soon, not too late.  The present moment is what we have, and worrying over and trying to predict the future is vain and disturbing.  Thus we should pluck the day as we would a ripe fruit and enjoy it.

Epicurean and Stoic sentiments and suggestions abound in Horace's work.  Whether he was especially one or the other isn't clear to me.  It seems that scholars think him more Stoic than Epicurean, but I suspect he was more of a hybrid of the two, as other Romans were--though Seneca tells us he's a Stoic, he often quotes Epicurus in his letters with approval.  In any case, however, Stoic references are clear in his works, particularly when he writes, as he often does, of the wisdom of not letting things beyond our control disturb us or move us to commit misconduct and error.

Horace's poems are clear and simple.  Though the constant references to mythology and events described in Homer are annoying, they're sparse compared with those of other poets of the time (excepting Martial, who is always an exception).  They're filled with good sense, they praise friendship as an ideal, they resound with a love of the natural world, they deplore superstition, exalt Reason and the intelligent spirit running through nature.

His works are those of a genial. gifted, intelligent, urbane, kind, wise and sophisticated man of the world.  There's no angst or despair, no malice, no grandiosity; he's not pompous.  He flatters his benefactors artfully, but not slavishly.  An admirable man and artist, I think.

Despite the fact that there is no melodrama or Sturm und Drang in his works, no ennui, he's remembered with admiration after 2,000 years.  My guess is that's the case because what he writes of is the wisdom and contentment which is gained from living in the moment, necessarily meaning there is no self-pity or self-regard, or despair to consume and confuse us.  

Acropolis Now

Above is a picture I took of Athens, on a full moon night last month.  You can see the Acropolis in the distance.  You can see moonlight on the sea.  I'm rather fond of the picture, taken with a cell phone in the early morning.

I've been away from the blog for some time.  I've lacked the energy, perhaps, but also the interest.  It's difficult to be interested in these times, though they're no doubt interesting to some, and will be interesting to historians of the future.  I nearly wrote "if there is a future."

I'm being over dramatic, of course.  There will be a future.  We go on and on, and are none the better for it if I am any judge. There is something remarkable about us.  We don't change but we survive.  We don't adapt, we don't learn, we simply still are here, and will be here until our unchanging nature exhausts the world.

I've now been to many places.  I've walked where Cicero, Cato, Augustus and Caesar walked when I visited the Roman Forum.  More recently, I walked where Socrates, Plato, Aristotle, Diogenes and Zeno walked when I visited the Agora of Athens. It's unfortunate to live in this time, when there are no people comparable to those who went before.  Is anyone now living who can be described as great, or noble, or heroic?  Is there anyone who will be worth remembering or studying when this time is past?

If the Pythia was still sitting on her tripod at Delphi, which I was also fortunate enough to visit, perhaps she could answer such questions.  I suspect she could and even would, but in no clear manner, as it seems was her practice in ancient times.  She could also be quiet droll, as Croesus learned.  Any answer would do, comforting or not.  Delphi's magic is long gone but we still strive to learn the future in ways not all that different from consulting oracles.

In this disturbing, dull and shabby age, it's particularly pleasurable, to me at least, to see the ruins of the ancient world.  As unremarkable as we are, the achievements of the ancients were remarkable.  I cannot imagine how the Parthenon and the other structures were built on the Rock, as it was called by one of our guides.  Nor can I imagine how the great temples were built in the mountains at Delphi, or how it was that so many traveled so far and so slowly to reach the oracle.  Were they actually better than we are now, in many ways?  Perhaps we do change then....for the worst.

Moralists and the religious enjoy declaring that we become decadent over time.  I don't think we're more decadent than those who lived in the past, though.  I think that we're merely more stupid than they were.  How else explain how a prosperous people and nation have come to be ignorant, bigoted,  petty and cruel?  A certain degree of dullness is required.  The bovine are self-satisfied, fearful of change, content with what is, resentful of what is not, is different.

Well, let's carry on.  Stoicism is not a philosophy of the status quo, as some have said.  It is a philosophy, instead, which grants us a measure of peace and serenity when the status quo is deplorable.

Reflections on Independence Day, 2016

This post addresses the Fabulous Fourth, not the movie sequel, which it seems based on reviews is unworthy of reflection.

For two hundred and forty years, our Great Republic has existed and more or less thrived.  Particularly in the last one hundred years, it has been a dominant if not the dominant nation of this Earth.  The United States has been compared to ancient Rome for quite some time.  That comparison has become commonplace.  Those who make the comparison generally mean to condemn Rome if not us, or at least warn us to take care that the fate of our nation not be that of Rome.  Let's indulge in the comparison for a brief time.

The First Punic War commenced in 264 B.C.E.  Augustus established the principate in 27 B.C.E.  During that period of time, Rome grew from a city which held sway over a good chunk of the Italian peninsula to the master of the Mediterranean world and most of Europe, successively defeating and destroying Carthage and the successors states formed from the dissolution of Alexander's empire.  The United States has in a similar period done much the same, relatively speaking.  This seems appropriate as Rome, or at least the Roman Republic, served as a model of sorts to the Founding Fathers as they created the U.S.

It's doubtful, though, that the Founders thought they were founding an empire like that of Rome.  We have for the most part denied imperial ambitions at least though the presidency of Woodrow Wilson, though Wilson submitted meekly enough to the imperial ambitions of England and France, thus participating in the drafting of the Treaty of Versailles, reluctantly signed by many in 1919.  Even before then, though, America had acquired by conquest the American West and a good part of the American East, Puerto Rico and the Philippines and other territories from Mexico, Spain and the indigenous people of North America.  The U.S. managed to buy a great deal of land as well, through the good offices of Napoleon.  So, if imperialism consists of the conquest of territory and its rule by the conquerors, it would seem that America has been de facto an imperial power.

So simplistically far, so simplistically good.  So we carry on.

It's generally thought by many that the fall of Rome began when the Empire replaced the Republic.  If that's so, however, then it was a long, slow fall.  What's usually considered the end of the Empire in the West took place about five hundred years later, and the Empire in the East vanished about a thousand years after that (though it slowly became a very small empire).  Moralists of all kinds seem to be unaware of or ignore the longevity of the decadent Roman Empire.  If it fell due to the sexual and moral corruption they're fond of citing (usually by reference to Nero), we shall be lucky if we last as long no matter how we conduct ourselves or what God we choose to worship (and then ignore when it's convenient to do so, that being our usual practice).

It happens, though, that at its end the Roman Republic was dominated by several gifted and ambitious men, e.g. Caesar, Pompey, Crassus, Marcus Antonius, Cicero, Cato, Octavian the Augustus to be.  Most of them weren't particularly moral in our sense, though Cato certainly was ostentatiously virtuous and Cicero at least contemplated what was and was not moral.  Cicero, though, faulted Cato for his stubborn, uncompromising virtue, famously remarking that Cato thought he lived in Plato's Republic, not Romulus' shithole.

While America is full of ambitious men and women at this time, none seem particularly gifted, or moral for that matter.  Given the civil wars which resulted from the conflicting desires of the great of the Roman Republic, perhaps we should be thankful for this lack of ability.

Unfortunately, though, it's ability that might make the difference in the type of empire America will become if it follows the path of Rome.  Augustus, who created the Roman Empire, was a remarkably able politician.  Our politicians are craven and venal and have been for some time, and it may be that the political success of a capering, stridently ignorant man indicates that in the future they'll be craven, venal and boisterously stupid as well.

It's amusing to indulge in comparisons of this kind.  Overall and in the context of history I think the United States has done well in becoming what it is, but just what the future holds can't be predicted through the study of ancient Rome or any other Empire or nation.

There is one sense in which America now resembles old Rome, however, which may give us a hint as to our political future.  Money was of great importance at the end of the Roman Republic; votes were bought, directly or indirectly.  Roman politicians came from a restricted class, but required the support of the people at election time and treated them very generously in return for their support.  Money dominates our politics now, as well.

The difference is that money isn't used as it was in ancient Rome, to pacify and reward common people for their support.  It's used instead by the rich and powerful to pacify and reward politicians who require it to be elected.  Perhaps this accounts for the quality of our politicians.  It's demeaning to be, for all practical purposes, a lackey, a mere chattel in effect, of special interests, corporations, the very rich.  It's demeaning to be a panderer, and an American politician must pander.  What self-respecting, intelligent, able person could stand such a life?

Now, the votes of electors aren't bought; legislators and their votes are bought instead.  It's hard to say which practice will promote a greater degree of corruption in a nation.

O Bella Roma

Relatively fresh from a visit to Italy, specifically those cities which seem to be most visited by tourists like myself (Rome, Florence and Venice), I'm inclined to expound on them here--that place where I am emperor, of ice cream (or gelato?) if anything at all.

As may be guessed from my nom de blog and a review of this blog itself, I'm fascinated by the history of ancient Rome.  At long last, I've personally seen many of its ruins.  Edward Gibbon on viewing the Roman Forum was inclined to bemoan its condition, and this he wrote motivated his history of Rome's decline and fall.  It seems in much better shape now than it was when he viewed it, but in viewing it myself I'm inclined to marvel at its ruins.  Perhaps I entirely lack any Romantic instincts, but I'm too impressed by the remains of ancient Rome to indulge in pontifications along the lines of sic transit gloria mundi.

The ruins of the Forum including the rostra and the Curia, the arches of Titus, Septimius Severus and Constantine, Trajan's Market, his column, his forum; those of Augustus and Nerva, the Ars Pacis Augustae, the mausoleum of Augustus, the baths of Caracalla and Diocletian, the Flavian Amphitheater a/k/a the Colosseum, the tomb of Hadrian, the column of Marcus Aurelius and his equestrian statue, represent only the most evident architectural monuments of Rome and its empire, and they're stunning to one such as me.

It's difficult to imagine how impressive they were thousands of years ago.  Henry James, I know, found Roman ruins (or at least some of them) indicative of a kind of brutality and baseness.  They were just too big for Henry.  I wonder, though, whether his attitude and those of others with similar views is more an implied acknowledgement of how small we and our civilization became after Rome fell.  It's easy in a way to resent the Romans as it took us centuries to achieve what they achieved even in matters of plumbing and hygiene, in the building of roads, the supplying of water to cities, let alone the fine arts.

One thing I find disturbing was the tendency of the popes who restored certain of the ruins to emblazon their names on them.  I suppose the desire was that they be granted a kind of immortality by association with monuments which represented ancient glory and would clearly last far into the future.  Restoration by Christians seems entirely appropriate in any case, however, as various Christians after the fall of the empire regularly took stones and marble from the ruins of Rome to adorn their buildings.

Even more disturbing are the figures of popes and saints which were plopped on top of the columns of Trajan and Marcus Aurelius.  As those columns depict scenes of the conquests and campaigns of those emperors, it's unclear why any pope or saint would be glorified by appearing at the summit of such military monuments.  Churches, of course, were regularly placed on top of pagan temples.  There's something profane about the imposition of Christian icons on and over these pagan relics; something profane about the physical triumph of the Christian sacred.  But who remembers those popes, compared to those who know the names of the emperors who lived centuries earlier?

It can't be doubted that brutality and cruelty were aspects of Roman civilization.  But walking along the Sacred Way, where emperors and generals rode in triumphs and religious processions took place, where Cicero, Cato and Caesar walked, one senses that much more was involved, good and bad, and that what we are now is in large part mere imitation or emulation.  And not merely that of "skirt-mad Mussolini" as Robert Lowell called him, unfurling the eagle of Caesar.

Rome remains a world capitol; a crowded, busy city apart from but existing in and around the imposing corpse of the Roman Empire and of course around the center of what may be called its ghost, the Roman Catholic Church, a sovereign state in its own right thanks to the Lateran Treaty (and Mussolini, it must be said).  But it's still served by the aqueducts which continue to bring potable water to its inhabitants.  Ancient Rome is a living presence in a living city.  It's filled not merely with monuments to the past or recalling the past, but with the past itself.  Rome's past is present.

Scipio's Dream and Life in the World

Cicero wrote a dialogue called De Re Publica, which has sometimes been referred to as his Republic a la that of Plato, but is more properly translated as "Of the Republic."  The Republic in question was  that of Rome, still in existence at that time but shortly to be extinguished by the civil war leading to the dictatorship of Julius Caesar, which in turn was followed by another civil war leading to the establishment of the Empire by his grand-nephew and adopted son, known to history as Augustus.

Cicero's work may be distinguished from that of Plato both because it dealt with an actual nation and government (though justice and ideal government is addressed) and because it was written by an astute practical politician and thinker--someone who actually governed, as a senator and consul of Rome.  He also had an axe to grind.  He wished to point out that good government is contrary to the cult of personality surrounding Caesar, and that Caesar sought power merely through ambition and for the satisfaction of his pride.   Plato, of course, was speculating regarding an ideal state, though some like me may think his ideal to be deplorable.  It's unclear whether Cicero's work was ever finished and that we know all he wished to say; it has come to us in fragmented form.

Within those fragments is a description of a dream itself described as "The Dream of Scipio" (Sonium Scipionus).  The Scipio in question is not the Scipio who defeated Hannibal at Zama, who we know as Scipio Africanus, but rather his grandson, who we know as Scipio Aemilianus.  The grandson in turn was given the honorific Africanus as he was Rome's general in the Third Punic War in which Carthage was finally annihilated by Rome (he had the name before then as it was a hereditary title, but subsequently earned it as well).

Scipio Aemilianus was notable not only as a general but as a friend of philosophers, known to converse with them regularly.  This practice earned him the public dislike of the dour censor Cato, who thought him far too Greek and frivolous.  It may have been his fame as a philosophical sort of Roman which led Cicero, another philosophical sort of Roman, to provide a fictional account of a dream Scipio Aemilianus supposedly had before the destruction of Carthage by the Roman legions.

In that dream, the grandson finds himself in the presence of his grandfather, gazing down on the Earth from a great height, among the stars.  They converse, one Africanus to another.  Grandpa Scipio tells his grandson of his victory over Carthage two years away, and of his future in general, but also invites him to consider how small the Earth is--a tiny part of the universe.  Rome, of course, is even smaller; a small part of the Earth which is a small part of the universe.  The living Scipio is asked to reflect on the insignificance of the Earth, of life, of we humans, and understand that our true nature is divine and does not end in death, and we should hold dear only that which is eternal in us and in the universe.

Perhaps this dream is intended to function much as the slave's reminder to those granted a triumph.  "Remember you are mortal" are the words supposed to have been repeated to the honored victor by the slave riding with him in his triumphal chariot.  The message that all glory is fleeting, soon forgotten, seems to be one which can be derived from the dream.

But it seems something more was involved.  Cicero was a lawyer and politician who tried to be a philosopher as best he could.  He studied with philosophers and wrote philosophy.  We owe a great deal of our knowledge of ancient philosophy to him, as he wrote of books no longer available to us, lost in time.  He seems to have been making the point that we should not consume ourselves over worldly matters like fame, victory, conquest and power, but devote ourselves to wisdom, virtue, and ascertaining the laws of nature and through nature, God.

Cicero knew Stoicism well and was sympathetic with it, though we know he did not consider himself a Stoic.  This is a Stoic perspective.  The quest for fame and power and what goes with them is a quest for things not in our control.  When we read Marcus Aurelius we find that he often points out that the great of the past are long forgotten as we will be forgotten after we die, and that which concerns us so much now is insignificant.  I think the great schools of philosophy which existed in ancient times agreed on certain things, and that most if not all of them emphasized that the universe is vast and we and all we do is small in comparison; our petty fears and hatreds and desires all mean nothing, and we should concern ourselves only with eternal truths.

But if our world is insignificant, and we are even more insignificant, what do we matter?  Why should we try to do anything with our lives?  We know now the universe is much larger than any of the ancients could even imagine.  From the cosmic perspective, we aren't even noticeable.  We may as well not exist.  Our pretensions are laughable; our concerns less than trivial.

We know how this question was addressed by Christianity, which denigrated this life and even delighted in its denigration.  It profits a man nothing if he gains the world, as our lives, here, are not only unimportant but are sinful.  It is only the next world that is significant.  So, certain Christian sects even accepted the view that "good works" in this world mean nothing.

That doesn't seem to have been the response of ancient pagan philosophy, though.  Stoicism's "things not in our control" were what is of no concern, and the view from above the Earth granted Scipio Aemilianus confirmed this fact.  What saved us from insignificance according to Stoicism, it seems to me, was its pantheistic conception of Nature and the belief that we as rational creatures shared in the divine.  Christianity held that we and the world in which we live are evil; the Stoics believed we, and the world, are part of and partake in the deity and so cannot be evil.  We escape the trivial by virtue of being part of Nature itself, and acting in accordance with the divine reason in which we share.

By acting according to reason, or Nature, we naturally (pun intended) do good works and our actions are thereby significant, one might almost say inherently so.  It's when we act inconsistently with Nature that we become trivial.

This seems to me a far nobler and more satisfying response to the vastness of the universe. 

No Bread, No Circuses

The history of the Roman games (ludi) makes a fascinating study.  We're all too ready to draw comparisons with imperial Rome, which still haunts us after all these years, perhaps with good reason (the haunting I mean, not the comparing).  But they're fascinating in themselves, and don't serve merely as an expositive device on which to pontificate regarding the ills of our time.

It is the growth of the games that is astounding.  Not merely the growth in their scope and their expansion to all provinces, but in their number.  Initially a part of religious festivals, they became the means by which the people of the empire were placated, or at least kept relatively calm and complacent, even compliant.  There came a point when most of the year was made up of days devoted to the holding of games of one kind or another, for one reason or another, and this does not even account for the special games put on by the emperors in connection with triumphs or in honor of various favorites and family members.

The games became more and more frequent, and also more and more expensive.  Those arranging the games, senators, nobles, even emperors, regularly went into debt in doing so.  But it would have been unheard of for anyone to decline what became a duty as well as necessary if one was to obtain a high place or a desired end.  The games were an essential facet of politics and government.

Juvenal came up with the phrase that is the basis for the title of this post:  panem et circenses.  He was complaining (that's all he did, really) that in his time all the people of Rome cared for was bread and circuses, unlike their ancestors who were full of civic duty. That was all the people expected from the state, according to Juvenal, and he may well have been right.
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It's fair to be skeptical of the claims made by Juvenal and others (e.g. Tacitus and Suetonius) regarding the depravity of the Roman people and nobles, and of their emperors.  We're not certain when Juvenal was born or died, but it seems he lived during the time of the Flavian emperors, and perhaps even into the reign of Trajan.  It may not be the case that great hordes of gladiators, animals and criminals were killed on a daily basis in the arenas, or that the emperors took a personal delight in the wholesale slaughter they sponsored.  One can easily believe most anything said about Caligula, but this becomes problematic with the "good" emperors like Augustus, Vespasian, Nerva, Trajan, Hadrian.  Marcus Aurelius is said to have deplored them, but he attended them nonetheless; he was expected to do so.  He is known to have annoyed the crowd by attending to the business of the state while at the games.  Surprisingly, it seems Domitian tried to curb the excesses of the games.

Nonetheless, the games can be said to have been characteristic of Rome, and their ubiquity and frequency establish their importance to Roman society and culture.  It's likely that all but a few enjoyed the games.  As the emperors were judged in part by their willingness to openly appear at the games and openly enjoy them, it may be that the games served in a peculiar way as a kind of bond between the emperor and the people.

Now, shall I do what I tend to deplore myself, and refer dolefully to the bread and circuses of our time?  It may surprise some to learn that I think we have nothing like them now.  It may be that we're simply not there yet.  Our politics are certainly money-based, and it is becoming more and more expensive to run for and obtain office.  Naturally, our politicians inevitably become more and more reliant on and beholden to those who have the money to give them. 

However, our politicians don't seem inclined to spend much money on the people, at least for the purpose of feeding them or amusing them, and are in this sense different from the politicians of ancient Rome.  They are, though, quite willing to spend money to persuade them, even to fool them, as the politicians of Rome certainly did--but the politicians of today need not do so by feeding them or amusing them.  That is no longer necessary.  For now, in any case.

The avidity of the masters of ancient Rome to spend great sums in feeding the people and holding games for their entertainment indicates not merely that they were manipulative.  It also indicates that they respected and feared the people.  They were the mob, and it was always possible that they would become angry and violent.  The games were in a sense an expression of the power of the people.  The people were a force to be reckoned with, even in an autocracy.  The emperor controlled the legions, true, but only those who ranked above centurions could be considered the aristocracy of the empire; the rest were its subjects, like those attending the games.  They could be relied on only to a certain extent.  The legions came to name their own emperors and revolt when they saw fit; they were to be feared as well, and shrewd emperors took pains to keep them happy as well as the people.

It is an interesting thought that the politicians of our time may not fear us as the politicians and rulers of ancient Rome feared their people.  I refer to the politicians and rulers of the United States.  We haven't demonstrated the capacity for fury and violence the people of the Roman Empire were known to display every now and then; perhaps because we're not as bad off as they were.  No doubt this is a good thing, but it may be that the trade off for this is a certain disregard in those who govern us, and those who govern them through money.  They need not concern themselves overmuch with seeing to it we are fed and distracted, or do so only sporadically, at election time.  Of course, we don't look to our government to entertain us as the Romans did, though there is much amusement to be found in the antics of our politicians.  We have other things to distract us.

As noted, we constantly compare ourselves to ancient Rome.  As far as I am aware, however, we have not done so to note the care taken by the great of that time to keep the people happy, amused and content.  There may be a lesson to be learned in this for the high and mighty, as the rich get richer and the poor get poorer.

Encountering Las Vegas

I had avoided Las Vegas a long time.  Virtually everyone I know has been there at one time or another, and have returned to it.  But it held no attraction for me.  I have no interest in gambling; it seems unreasonable to engage in a pastime which is ultimately for the benefit of the house.  The shows seemed for the most part indifferent at best.  The stars who perform there are not favorites of mine. 

But it was inevitable, I suppose, that I would get there.  Now I can say, when asked (and I am, often enough) that I have indeed been to Vegas.

Some of those who've felt it necessary to explain their enjoyment of the place claim that it is an excellent venue in which to watch people.  Perhaps it is, if that is what is to be done.  But I think people in Chicago and New York are more interesting if one wants to observe.  Watching people in Vegas is much like watching people in Disneyworld.  Of course, it's often claimed that Las Vegas is a kind of adult Disneyworld, or an adult theme park.  Circus Circus, festooned with creepy clowns, plays into that I suppose.  The clowns are a mistake, I think.  Their very presence would keep me from staying there or even visiting it.  It would be difficult for me to retain any kind of self-respect in such a place.

I was there but a short time, and could not see all that's there to see, but I must admit that what I saw was overwhelming.  The extravagance inspires something approaching awe.  How, one asks oneself, and why, did we human beings create such a place?  The size of the resorts with their casinos is most imposing, indeed sometimes staggering.  I didn't visit them all, but wandered about the Wynn, the Bellagio, the Venetian, the Mirage, and Caesar's Palace.  I remembered Henry James' comment when viewing Roman ruins, something to the effect that people who could build nothing small were as unimpressive as those who could build nothing large.  Henry was something of a schlemiel, I think, but size does weigh on the soul after a time.

Perhaps appropriately, the most extravagant, excessive resort I saw was Caesar's Palace.  The place is colossal, filled with stores, restaurants, bars, faux Roman statuary, fountains, symbols, not to mention the casino.  I couldn't help but wonder if the planners of the resort had Nero's Golden House in mind when it was built.  It wouldn't be surprising if that emperor, who pretended to be an artist though mocked by the Arbiter of Elegance, Petronius, built his Domus Aurea to be much the same kind of place.  Replicas of the famous statue of Augustus are everywhere.  One large replica stands at the entrance from the Strip.  The first Roman emperor seems to be gesturing serenely to the large mock hot air balloon emblazoned with the word "Paris" across the way.  It stands next to the mock Eiffel Tower, which in turn is next to the mock Arc de Triomphe on which the visage of Gordon Ramsey is displayed.

The carnival-type barkers who accost you along the strip are annoying, especially those trying to hand you cards on which young women in skimpy outfits appear.  Somewhat more surprising to see was the gentleman laying on the sidewalk, surrounded by yellow-uniformed police on bicycles.  I hope it wasn't a heart attack, and that he was merely flat out drunk.

Las Vegas is, in fact, a very good place to eat and drink, as it is possible to do so quite well, and I confess I enjoy doing both well.  The buffets the big hotels put on are famous, and I attended one which had such a variety of food in such abundance that it would make Trimalchio cringe with shame.

What I feel about Las Vegas is that it is a ridiculous place, truly absurd, but there is a kind of magnificence to its absurdity.  Absurdity can be amusing when it isn't taken seriously.  It's as if a group of people got together and decided to create a vast joke-city exhibiting the most excessive caricatures of famous landmarks and art humanity has constructed and crafted over thousands of years, where people could gather to laugh at the joke while eating good food and drinking good booze.  No doubt this speaks to the decadent in me, but I liked it.  And yes, like a tipsy MacArthur, I shall return to laugh again.

On the Connections between Religion and Morality

One of the many things Augustus boasted of in his Res Gestae, which he thoughtfully had inscribed for our benefit in various parts of the empire, was his assiduous restoration and dedication of temples of the gods.  He names those who were so honored, but I won't repeat them here.

Augustus and others of his time were concerned that Rome had gone astray by forgetting or at least ignoring ancestral pieties.  As a result, Rome had been plunged into civil war, and its citizens were degenerating, indulging in innumerable vices and sometimes succumbing to the depraved charms of outlandish religions, primarily of weird, oriental (decidedly un-Roman) origins.   Augustus therefore felt it necessary to legislate morality, and actively preached the benefits of the simple, rigorous, religious and chaste lifestyle of the old Romans in the Senate and elsewhere.  If Suetonius and others are any indication, he was ignored by most Romans, including members of his family in particular.  Nevertheless, he was cheered on in his efforts by many, including Horace and Virgil.

Of course, this is a story we're familiar with; indeed its been repeated so often that this familiarity may be seen to breed a certain contempt.  We hear today as we've heard for centuries that we're degenerating and that this degeneration is the result of our failure to be religious, or more properly our failure to be religious in the sense that our fathers and mothers reputedly were.  That is to say, our failure to be Christian enough here in the West, and apparently our failure to be Muslim enough elsewhere.

Christians of a historical bent may feel somewhat uncomfortable in taking this position.  They may recall that Christianity was once perceived as a depraved oriental cult and that its prevalence was said to be the reason for the fall of the Roman Empire, as late as Gibbon but especially during the fall of the empire.  The early Church Fathers spent a significant portion of their energies denying that Rome must return to worship of traditional pagan deities in order to retain its glory.  Some cynical souls may speculate that the Church's incorporation of many aspects of pagan religions was motivated by a desire to placate the feelings of those who felt that abandoning the old ways was wrong, and harmful.

Must one be religious--in particular traditionally religious--in order to be moral, to live an ethical life?  I don't see how this proposition can be maintained.  Even the religious have been known to admit now and then, perhaps grudgingly, that atheists have lived highly moral lives.  Christian morality may be different in some respects from pagan morality, but pagan philosophers, Platonic, Aristotelian, Stoic, Cynic and even Epicurean championed high moral standards and had no need to rely on the very personal God of Christianity in order to do so.  This has even been acknowledged by Christians--think of Dante placing the great pagan philosophers rather comfortably in the first circle of hell; they were not deserving of the horrors he delighted in visiting on other citizens of that place, many of whom were Christian.

If the pagan philosophers managed to promulgate high moral standards without recourse to "religion" as organized religions conceive it, it would seem it's very possible to do so, and even to live by those standards, without religion as such.  Why then are we so frequently being told otherwise?

Some may maintain that one must at least believe in some kind of law-giver God in order to be moral, but that doesn't seem to work, either, nor does it seem that some kind of creator God is required.  Certainly systems of morality were derived in the past and are still derived from the belief in natural laws, or the wisdom of living in accordance with nature.  But these systems are justified based on nature itself; they don't necessarily require that nature have been specifically created by a God for some purpose.

So perhaps it isn't necessary to be religious to be moral.  It's simply necessary to be moral, and morality isn't necessarily grounded in what most believe to be religion, although it may be grounded in wisdom.  Those who claim we must "return" to religion, and especially a certain kind of religion, to save ourselves from depravity may therefore do so because they think that most of us can't be wise if left to ourselves, or because they feel a certain religion is exclusively true, or for other reasons which aren't all that compelling or honorable.

Romanticism and Heroes

Being something of an fan of the history of the Roman Republic and Roman Empire, I took up and began to read, though not through the agency of a divine voice like St. Augustine, a book called Imperial Purple by Edgar Saltus, and was reminded again that there are those who feel excessive admiration for "great men of action" and wondered just why they do.

Saltus essentially drools over Julius Caesar, working himself into a seeming frenzy of adoration, and then proceeds to heap scorn on his chosen heir and adopted son, whom we know as Augustus Caesar.  This puzzles me.  In salivating over Julius, Saltus reminds me of Colleen McCullough, who did much the same in her entertaining books on ancient Rome, and Mary Renault, who may have worshipped Alexander the Great, in her fine novels regarding that remarkable figure, as well as her "non-fiction" effort breathlessly entitled The Nature of Alexander.

It's interesting that these authors glorify the characters and careers of men who were responsible for the deaths of hundreds of thousands if not millions while simultaneously criticizing, often in a very ad hominen fashion, their more sedate contemporaries.  For Saltus the opposite of his hero is the "cool politician" Augustus (which is how Gore Vidal once referred to him); McCullough selected Cicero as target for her barbs, and Renault chose Demosthenes and Aristotle.  Renault goes so far as to imply that Aristotle had some part in causing the death of Alexander (if her novels are any guide, she seemed disinclined to believe, as do others, that he caused his own death by self-destructive stupidity).

Augustus, Cicero, Demosthenes and Aristotle were certainly not warriors.  What glory they achieved didn't involve wholesale slaughter, at which Julius and Alexander excelled.  They didn't inspire men to race to their deaths or send others to theirs; they probably were not even loved by all but a few.  But we remember them nonetheless.  They are great figures of history.

To focus on Augustus, he was ruthless in his pursuit of power, and condemned hundreds to death in obtaining it.  He was a very poor soldier, and even frail, physically.  He managed, though, to give the Roman world decades of peace--something Julius never could do, and didn't seem particularly interested in doing.  Julius Caesar was certainly a brilliant man, as was Alexander, and neither were "mere" soldiers.  They each had many talents.  But they were also in some sense incapable of imparting peace or stability to the worlds they dominated, assuming they were concerned to do so, which is questionable.  The same could be said of another great romantic hero, Napoleon.  Augustus had enough sense to realize that he could wield almost absolute power without encouraging others to murder him, and had the wit to find a way to structure the state for that purpose.  Julius apparently was incapable of such an effort.

Why do many of us succumb to hero-worship of great military men?  I think we do so for emotional reasons, or perhaps more accurately psychological reasons.  If we paused enough to think, we would likely realize that no reasonable person could admire the devastation wrought by such men in pursuit of what was ultimately their personal glory, regardless of their skill and talents.  But we don't care to stop and think, in this and other things, far too often.  Romanticism is excessive by nature and its heroes are excessive as well.  Reason is skeptical of excess.