It is tempting to believe that our current social problems are uniquely modern, and that they have no analogues to conditions of previous ages. A review of the thoughtful writings of the past shows that this belief is far from the truth. Consider, for example, this comment from the Latin dialogue Antonius, which was composed by the humanist Giovanni Pontano around 1487 and first printed in 1491:
I’ve been straining my memory for the past week in an attempt to articulate a dominant ethos of the 2010s. Does one exist? It was a decidedly elusive decade. Our initial impression was that it blended seamlessly with the first decade of the new millennium, and never really emerged with its own distinctive palette.
In previous articles here, I’ve submitted my candidates for the best films of the 1970s, the 1980s, and the 1990s. So the laws of natural progression compel me to move forward with the next decade. Few would argue that the 70s, 80s, and 90s had their own distinctive flavor. But can the same be said for the first decade of the new millennium? I think it can.
We often underestimate the ease with which terrible disasters can accompany our efforts and enterprises. Vigilance tends to lapse with routine; and with time, even the most dangerous cargoes may begin to look benign. Any nation wishing to handle nuclear materials enters a kind of pact with the devil: in return for power and prestige, it can never forget what it is dealing with, and it can never let its guard down. Two lines from the Roman poet Lucan (Pharsalia IX.1020) expresses this idea well:
There is a line in Statius’s Thebiad (VIII.320) which reads,
Omne homini natale solum.
This means, “All soil is native to man.” I think it is appropriate to interpret soil in an abstract form, and understand it as signifying land. He does not mean just any land, but terra incognita: the vast expense of the unknown, untamed and hostile. Does this line have any significance, or is it just another poetic garland? To me the poet is trying to communicate the idea that, for the brave man, every piece of ground on this earth may be claimed as his own, and called his own; and that, through his discipline and efforts, the man of virtue may conquer the challenges of his environment, wherever the locale may be.
Sometimes even a decisive victory is not enough. The victory may create entirely new landscapes, obstacles, and challenges that test you to the ultimate limit. There is no such thing as reaching a safe “end zone.” We discuss the Battle of Cunaxa in 401 B.C., where the Greek mercenaries of Cyrus won the battle, but immediately realized that their fight for survival had just begun. One man, a natural leader named Xenophon the Athenian, then stepped forward to assume the responsibility of command.
The defilement of a nation’s cultural heritage is among the most odious of crimes. But the offense is especially noxious, and finally unforgivable, when committed by national leaders for their own personal aggrandizement. The past is always vulnerable to the malicious exigencies of the present. An illustrative example is found in the pages of Roman history.
Philosophers and theologians have often pondered whether, or to what extent, wicked deeds are punished within the lifetime of a malefactor. Some maintain that the consequences of evil actions can never be avoided, and that, sooner or later, divine retribution will be visited upon him who offends the gods of justice. Others take a different position, and hold that punishment for the commission of foul acts is a purely random occurrence. Some men, they say, arrive at their appointment with Fate, while others seem to lead charmed lives, escaping justice while walking through life’s raindrops. As for which view is correct, no man can know. For my own part I tend to subscribe to the belief that wicked deeds always exact a certain price from their authors. That price may be postponed, or deferred, or placed in arrears, or hidden from the view of others; but the levy nevertheless weighs on the soul of the malefactor, and steadily corrodes it from within.
I expect to publish a new, annotated translation of the Roman military classic Stratagems. It will contain a detailed explanatory introduction, hundreds of footnotes, a commentary on the text, a bibliography, and an extensive index.
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