The Marks of the Barbarian

      Professor Anthony Esolen has written eloquently on many a subject.  His latest discussion is on barbarism, his essay being not merely a journey into the past to observe the Hun, Vandal or Viking ransacking Western Europe, but having studied them, he seeks to better understand and define the present.  Are we barbarians?  You decide.

      The marks of the barbarian, according to Esolen – again, writing from the perspective of history – are the inability to appreciate the beautiful, the noble, or the grand; the habitual relapse into easy gratification and thus the inability to sustain for long a noble and self-transcending quest; and finally, the incapacity to rise above the custom of living under despotism.  As an example of the first, Esolen mentions Dante’s observation about Alaric and his hordes’ behavior as these marauders stood before the cathedral of St. John Lateran in fifth century Rome after overrunning the city’s defenses:  for a moment they were in awe (“they went dumb with wonder”)… before they pillaged the church and the whole city.  Without a knowledge of history, we forget the massive scale of destruction that was visited upon classical civilization by heathen Germanic tribes; their chief delight – along with sleeping off a drunken stupor – seemed to be in simply tearing things down, especially beautiful things. 

      Concerning the second mark, one notes (again, from history), that after the pillaging, raping, and carnival of destruction, the relatively easily attained quantities of food and wine soon ran out – all consumed with hardly a thought about tomorrow.  It was “fun” for a while, to raze and burn, to use up the savings from the past, but then the rains and cold weather set in, and the barbaric hordes found themselves with hardly a roof over their heads.  Having conquered most of the Roman Empire in the West and enjoyed its riches, the barbarians now were at a loss what to make of things.  Theirs, at first, was no imperial vision, for they had hardly a thought of the future, of actually preserving and building something that would last, something able for future ages to pay tribute to their present endeavors and to what would become their place in history.  Immediate gratification and attention to little more than present need and urge tend to mark the barbarian.  At least, though, he had some respect for his people’s own narrow but deep traditions and eventually had the wisdom to graft himself onto the classical heritage and become a Christian.

      Thirdly, the barbarian is unruly and has little respect for law, but fears, nevertheless, the enforcer of the “law.”  Lacking self-control, he is controlled then by another, usually the one of stronger will and means to power.  “Government” among barbarians is naturally despotic.  Esolen illustrates this with an examination of the Greek attitude toward their enemies, the invading Persians:   

The Persians were barbarians, the Greeks thought, not because they were weak (they were mighty) or stupid (they were clever) or rustic (they built lavish cities).  They were barbarians because they were not free.  Or, to put it more precisely, they had become accustomed to living under despotism; they lacked the will to rise up against their overlords and govern themselves, city by city, by the use of their own minds and strong arms. 

And so the slave army of Xerxes, though far outnumbering the Greeks, was no match for the stalwart Spartans at Thermopylae or the freedom-loving Athenians at Marathon. 

      With a little thought and imagination, one can see all kinds of parallels between then and now.  A loss of the sense of the beautiful, demands for instant gratification of wants (strangely nowadays touted as “rights”), the near neurotic fear of commitment to anything beyond the immediate, and the feverish growth of despotism all mark the age in which we live.  That last one will surprise many, I know.  But can you imagine Americans of a hundred and fifty years ago putting up with present-day presidential arrogation of near imperial powers, a Congress whose members are dedicated more to corporate campaign donors than to the people they supposedly represent, and courts that legislate and redefine ancient institutions (such as marriage), and that in direct defiance of the explicit will of the people?  Tar and feathers would have been the fate of such would-be despots in the past; today they receive a raise in salary.  And perhaps no age in history has ever been so contemptuous of the past as is our era.  If we haven’t already destroyed many images of the past with urban “renewal,” we seek to finish the task by engaging in a near constant and hysterical denunciation and rejection of the past that once was admired as that solid foundation upon which had to build.  Moderns don’t, for the most part, actually destroy the art of our forebears, but the “art” and “music” we do produce is, for the most part, an ugly defiance of the beautiful, which we fear, because it serves to remind us that there are things more important than “easy gratification” and idolized comforts. 

      Are moderns, then, barbarians?  Esolen says no; he’s not sure how to label the people, in general, of today, but he tentatively offers up the word “post-barbarian.” 

I hesitate to use the word "barbarian" to describe our current state of amnesia -- or, worse, our current pleasure in deriding our civic, intellectual, and spiritual forefathers.  That's because barbarians did not do that….  The barbarian's roots were few but deep.  We have pulled our roots up.  I don't know what that makes us.   I don't know, either, what others will say, but I had rather sit by the fire with a gang of hunters or marauders and sing about the courage of Sigemund or the skill of Weland, than slouch on a sofa to sautee my mind and soul with Sex and the City.  Which is as much as to say, I kind of like a fully human life, with memories and traditions extending far into the venerable past, and connecting me with the future.  I'd rather be a barbarian with thirty years of that kind of long life, than whatever in the name of the regions below we are now, skittering for ninety years from pointless moment to moment.