Apart from brief respites here and there (usually not
extending beyond the boundaries of a city-state), the history of the world is at best tragic -- at
the frequent worst, not rising to that Sophoclean-Shakespearian dignity, since
merely mad.
Americans at present harbor the impression that we live in uniquely
querulous/perilous times. A glance at the record
will disabuse you. Throughout
almost all of our national history, matters have been much worse (save, again,
here and there -- Ben Franklin’s Philadelphia; the Boston/Cambridge/Concord of the Transcendentalists). The reason we nonetheless nurse this
misimpression is that those of us in the Baby Boom (or their
parents, remembering raising them)
grew up in exceptionably untroubled times (be it only on the surface,
which was all we kids perceived) -- and this, not merely in this hamlet or
that, but pretty much across the land.
There was so much hope -- much of it rewarded. True, there were threats then,
graver than even those now, as of an obliterating nuclear war (that might be
triggered, moreover, by misunderstanding or accident). Yet somehow such matters receded beind the horizon of
consciousness, so pleased were we
with all the babies, milkshakes, the G.I. bill, tailfins -- so much that
was suddenly new.
That might sound like Pollyanna’s comfort -- “It might be
worse”. But actually it is the
flipside of that bright twinkling coin, that casts its shadow. For the clear statistical implication
is that our recent state is no more than a blessed bubble, metastable, which a
pinprick might annihilate, and history revert to form.
~
A remarkable, very readable essay of historical pessimism,
is Lord Raglan’s How Came Civilization (1939). His answer:
It came via discoveries that happened once, and then diffused. Most societies never invent anything, and, left to
their own devices, degenerate, forgetting even the skills they once had, unless
these come to be re-imported. The
candle, once snuffed, does not relight itself.
A much more widely held theory is that nations, like individuals, have
their day. When that is done, and
when they have made every contribution to progress that they are capable of
making, then the mysterious force which controls the universe sweeps them away to make room for younger and more
vigorious races, which will begin again
where the old ones left off …
When, however, we examine this
theory, we find that it will not fit the facts. The builders of Babylon and Borobudur, of Uxmal and
Zimbabwe, and of many another great city of the past, were succeeded, not by
people who could revive and carry forward their civilization, but by the
savage, the jungle, or the desert.
--p. 25
(Here he is speaking of ancient Zimbabwe; but indeed, in the post-Colonial nation
of the same name, the devolution is repeating itself.)
The exhausted cultural autocides of Europe, resigned before
the prospect of le grand remplacement, or even welcoming its hordes with
teddy-bears, may hope, consciously
or not, for such renewal -- but alas:
There is nothing in the history of
Europe, or any other part of the world, to support the view that an occasional
barbarian invasion supplies
civilization with a necessary tonic, a view which would involve our keeping
enough barbarians in being to sack
London and Paris every few centuries, whenever it might be considered that we
had reached the appropriate degree of senility.
-- p. 27
Of barbarians (fortunately for that Weltanschauung) the
world now has a plentiful supply.
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