The Politically Incorrect Guide to Western Civilization (Politically Incorrect Guides) (13 page)

BOOK: The Politically Incorrect Guide to Western Civilization (Politically Incorrect Guides)
3.98Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
 
The real reason Rome fell
 
Edward Gibbon suggested that it was because Christianity weakened the pagan militarism that kept Rome strong. The philosopher Nietzsche accused the Christians of the same thing. That was one of the things that led G. K. Chesterton to wonder whether there might not be something to Christianity. On Monday its critics reviled it for its pacifism, and on Tuesday for the Crusades and the conquest of the Americas.
14
 
Gibbon was wrong. Christians formed a significant portion of the legions, even before Constantine legalized the religion in 313 with his Edict of Milan. There’s nothing in the Bible that says that you cannot fight in the defense of your country, and so long as the commanders looked the other way, a Christian lad in armor might dispense with the “required” sacrifices to the gods Augustus and Rome. As early as 180, under the command of Marcus Aurelius (who permitted Christians to be persecuted in Rome), Christians served in the armies defending Rome against German invaders.
 
The fall was not caused by rampant immorality, either, at least not in the way that novels like
I, Claudius
might lead us to believe. That’s because the way the aristocracy and the rabble lived in Rome was not the way people lived out in the countryside, not to mention in the provinces. By the first century AD, the
city
of Rome was a cultural sinkhole. Petronius laughs at the emptiness of Roman life during the reign of Nero. In his
Satyricon,
a former slave rises to such wealth that he invites his banquet guests to wash their hands in wine, while he is flattered by “educated” Romans and Greeks, who elbow one another for a place at his table. Meanwhile, the “hero” spends an idle hour eyeing up boys playing ball near the baths. He squabbles with his friend over who gets to sodomize their pretty favorite, an effeminate slave boy. He is reduced to paying a sorceress to assist him when a certain member of his body won’t raise itself up anymore. Or the poet Juvenal can lend us a sour look on Rome’s filth, its firetraps, its noise and idleness—where every imaginable sin and stupidity festers, and where the poor man’s “liberty” is to be beaten senseless in the alleys, where he can beg his assailants to let him go home with a few teeth remaining in his head (Satire 3.299–301).
 
But that was the city, a magnet for people who wanted, as Juvenal put it, “bread and circuses,” free food and bloody games provided by the state. If the welfare-state mentality of the capital had prevailed throughout the empire, Rome would have fallen in a generation or two. It didn’t, partly because the money wasn’t there, and partly because the evil manners of the cities had only limited influence. People in the country preserved the old traditions, worshiping their household gods and living modestly, such as Italian peasants have done almost to the present day. They ate lentils, chickpeas, vegetables with olive oil, bread, cheese, some fruit, and a little bit of meat, not the fancy and uncomfortable dinners that Horace satirizes (e. g., in Satire 2.6, the source of the tale of the city mouse and the country mouse). So conservative were these farmers that they proved resistant to the new Christians, who were most numerous in urban areas, where they could most quickly find work. Hence the word “pagan,” from Latin
paganus,
meaning, loosely, somebody who lives in the sticks.
 
 
 
Someone Tell This to Congress
 
[Tiberius] answered some governors who had written to recommend an increase in the burden of provincial taxation, with: “A good shepherd shears his flock; he does not flay them.”
Suetonius
, The Twelve Caesars
 
 
Of course, this assumes the shepherd is thinking past tonight’s meal.
 
 
An economic slowdown did help bring about the fall. It is one of the just ironies of history that empires that depend upon slave labor can get a lot done with it, but then they stagnate, since slavery removes the incentive for technological development and efficiency in production. Of all the peoples of the ancient world, the Romans could have had an industrial revolution. Their tradition had ennobled manual labor (though the rich came to view that as quaint, from the dusty past). They imitated the accomplishments of other peoples, learning the use of the arch from the Etruscans, the colonnade from the Greeks. They were remarkably inventive in their uses of building materials. They used the volcanic ash of southern Italy to form a mixture we know as concrete—cheap, much lighter than marble or granite, and pourable into forms to make slabs or columns as needed. The concrete could also be mixed by various formulas, depending on the use. One kind would set up underwater
,
for bridge-piers, which could be driven deep into a riverbed by pile drivers.
 
But slaves there were, and Rome depended upon them too heavily for produce from the land. Hence, when the climate cooled in the third century and harvests were poor and the plague returned from the East, there was no way, by means of technology, to make up the economic shortfall.
 
The emperors had no easy way out. In the third century, they were men who had come to power mainly by military coups. They had been set up by their soldiers, so they were beholden to them, and needed to pay them back. But, what with the shrinking economy, people hoarded their cash. Money went out of circulation. You could sometimes rely upon payment in kind: you could give the common soldiers a
salarium,
or payment in salt (cf. English
salary
), which they might keep for personal use or to barter for other items. But commanders needed to be paid in more than salt, or else they will choose another man to follow. Of the Roman emperors from 235 to 284, only two died of natural causes; most of the other twenty were assassinated, usually by their own soldiers. What do you do?
 
Had the Roman emperors had the opportunity to
lower taxes
so that people could invest greater capital to produce better crops and more revenue for the state, they probably would have done so. People will always complain about taxes, and Roman tax collectors could sometimes be vile customers: Rome “farmed” her taxes, meaning that she would set somebody, often one of the locals (Matthew, for instance, in the Gospels, or Zacchaeus), the task of squeezing a fixed take from his district. Anything above that take, he could pocket. It’s a system that invites corruption. But, all in all, the people were not taxed too heavily. Rome knew better. She had all she could do to maintain the frontiers, and had no interest in kindling popular revolts in long-pacified Gaul or Spain. If we could trade our tax rate for what the Romans paid, we’d do it in an instant. The more so, as the Romans used the money for practical ends, to build roads and public works, and to maintain the standing army, the empire’s greatest expense.
 
But there wasn’t any point to lowering taxes, since slave labor on the land made capital improvements unthinkable. So Rome
raised taxes,
and the consequences were bad. For a while they collected more money; but the higher rates made it no longer profitable for a private citizen to collect them. Soldiers then had to be employed to do it, and so one of the props of citizen government fell. Meanwhile, higher taxes lowered the birth rate, already lowered by poor living conditions and the scarcity of land to bequeath to children. That’s because, in good times, or among a people with something to hope for that transcends themselves, large families thrive. When times go bad, or when a nation falls to cynicism or a practical atheism, people decline to marry, and those who do marry have fewer children. To raise taxes then is to rouse an alcoholic by giving him a drink. Europe is learning this lesson now—or failing to learn it. So Rome fell for lack of men. It was already happening, among some of the conquered peoples, at the time of Plutarch. “We are not replacing ourselves,” says a Spartan.
15
 
So Rome fell into an economic sludge from which she never emerged. The emperor Diocletian in 301 attempted wage and price controls; they failed. To avert odd shortages of goods, he ordered sons to follow the professions of their fathers (with some exceptions, for talented boys who could serve the government). Another prop of citizen government fell. To unite an increasingly restive empire, he—who probably didn’t believe a word of it—commanded all citizens to adore the gods Augustus and Rome as the highest of their pantheon. He himself was “Augustus.” Men entering his godly presence had to prostrate themselves. So fell still another prop. The Christians, who would offer no sacrifices to any such god, were persecuted. It was the last great persecution they suffered. Constantine, the man who came out on top in the struggle to succeed Diocletian, then lifted the ban on Christian worship. But the economic and military troubles of the empire remained.
 
It didn’t help that the Roman frontiers were invaded. Why were they invaded? Why not? Who would live on the steppes of Russia, if you could have Greece or Italy instead? And a materially better life: fine linen and basilicas and rich food. The telling thing about the invasions by Germans, Celts, and Huns was not that they wanted to conquer the Romans, but that they wanted to
be Romans.
They admired the land they were invading—not all of them, but enough of them to save Rome for another century or so. The Roman legions on the frontiers were, more and more, manned by recent invaders.
 
Three dates stand out for me. In 378, the Visigoths, a Germanic people fleeing the Hun, asked permission to settle within the bounds of the empire, but then rose in revolt against their abusive Roman commanders. The emperor Valens went east to settle the matter, but was slain in battle at Adrianople (modern day Edirne, in European Turkey), and Valens’ successor, Theodosius, came to terms with the enemy, to Rome’s disadvantage. Rome had lost battles on the frontier before, and had managed to close off the breaches. At Adrianople it may be said that she lost her first war. Then in 406 there was a particularly cold winter—global cooling makes for rough times—and the Rhine froze over. Rome had only had to post troops at the fords, but now the Germans crossed the ice with their herds and families wherever they pleased. The western frontier was thus breached. Finally, in 410, the Visigothic chieftain Alaric, disappointed of his hope to be granted political authority by emperor Honorius, swept into Rome and put it to the sword and flames. It was not long before those Germans, filled with a vigor and manly freedom that the Romans had lost, concluded that one of their own should govern the West. Hence in 476 Odoacer “encouraged” the lad Romulus Augustulus, last emperor in the west, to retire to a monastery. The last prop was kicked out, and the edifice fell.
 
Or did it? Did Rome fall? In the East, at the capital that Constantine built for himself, Constantinople, an emperor still reigned, and an emperor would continue to reign until 1453. And in the West, those German warlords still acknowledged, in polite words more than in deeds, the supremacy of the emperor. More than that, they long preserved the old Roman forms: consuls and senators, for example. And some of the reality was preserved, too. What did Rome bequeath to the West? A powerful compromise between democracy and aristocracy; a long tradition of citizen government, even during the rule of the emperors; a military ideal emulated by nations ever since, and an example of almost two centuries of peace; the spread of Latin and Greek learning to the hinterlands; and, most important, the spread of Christianity. For Europe is not Europe without the faith, as we shall see.
 
Chapter 3
 

Other books

Harmonic: Resonance by Laeser, Nico
This Christmas by Jane Green
Between Shadows by Chanel Cleeton
Choose Yourself! by Altucher, James
Death of an Aegean Queen by Hudgins, Maria
Valentine's Wishes by Daisy Banks
The War of Art by Pressfield, Steven