Kenneth Clark lamented that civilization was a fragile thing.
He observed three “enemies” that could topple even the mightiest cultures—what are they?🧵
The first enemy is fear:
“fear of war, fear of invasion, fear of plague and famine, that make it simply not worthwhile constructing things, or planting trees or even planning next year’s crops. And fear of the supernatural, which means that you daren’t question anything.”
Fear paralyzes a people and stifles adventure, invention, and grand building projects.
Fear leads to stagnation.
The second enemy is a lack of self confidence. Clark saw the late Roman empire as a prime example of a culture that didn’t believe in itself anymore:
“The late antique world was full of meaningless rituals, mystery religions, that destroyed self-confidence.”
When traditions and rituals lose their connection to what inspired them in the first place, they become the performance art of a dying civilization.
Cultures need to believe in something.
Finally, a civilization dies with exhaustion—the “feeling of hopelessness which can overtake people even with a high degree of material prosperity.”
Decadence, moral degradation, and lack of belief in something greater leave a society questioning the point of it all.
An aimlessness pervades society that is often only quenched by civilizational suicide.
Clark tells a story by Greek poet Cavafy, in which he imagines an antique town that waits for barbarians to come and sack the city.
After a while, the barbarians move on and the city is spared. But the people are disappointed—destruction would have at least been interesting.
Enough doom and gloom—what’s the solution?
Clark draws a distinction between the “amenities” of civilization and the factors that caused it to prosper in the first place.
A society can be “dead and rigid” even while enjoying great wealth:
“People sometimes think that civilisation consists in fine sensibilities and good conversations and all that. These can be among the agreeable results of civilisation, but they are not what make a civilisation”
Ultimately Clark says that flourishing civilizations have two things beyond a base-level of material prosperity: confidence and belief.
“confidence in the society in which one lives, belief in its philosophy, belief in its laws, and confidence in one’s own mental powers.”
For example, the way in which the stones of the Pont du Gard Aqueduct are laid shows not only a triumph of technical skill, but a vigorous belief in law and discipline, as well as a confidence in the ability to accomplish great tasks.
But there’s something else great civilizations share:
“Vigour, energy, vitality: all the civilisations—or civilising epochs—have had a weight of energy behind them,” Clark says.
Clark’s thoughts on civilization should inspire reflection about our own. Does the West believe in its foundational principles, laws, or philosophy? Is the West confident in itself?
Or, is it fearful, timid, and exhausted?
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What do Sun Tzu, Machiavelli, and Otto von Bismarck all have in common?
They knew that in order to rule effectively, one must shun ideology.
Instead, they embraced realpolitik: rule based on facts, not lofty ideals…🧵
So what is realpolitik?
Realpolitik, as it is understood today, is the approach of making political or diplomatic decisions based on the given circumstances of a matter, not on moral or ethical considerations.
It’s political pragmatism to the nth degree.
The 19th century German writer Ludwig von Rochau first coined the term. He described it as the implementation of the idea that “the law of power governs the world of states just as the law of gravity governs the physical world.”
If you like Greek or Roman classics, you can thank a monk.
Just as much as on any battlefield, Western civilization was safeguarded within the quiet confines of a monastery...🧵
In the 6th century, the fate of western Europe was uncertain.
Barbarians had deposed the Roman emperor; age-old institutions were left decaying; the flame of civilization almost gone…
But at a monastery in Calabria, a monk named Cassiodorus toiled to keep this flame alight.
Born into an aristocratic family, Cassiodorus’ early career was a far cry from his later vocation.
He rose through the ranks of the Roman political scene, ultimately reaching Praetorian Prefect, the highest administrative role in the empire directly under Theodoric the Great.
Despite wielding absolute power, they used their authority to maintain peace and stability throughout the Roman empire and ushered in an age of unparalleled cultural heights🧵
In order, they were:
Nerva (reign 96–98 AD)
Trajan (98–117)
Hadrian (117–138)
Antoninus Pius (138–161)
Marcus Aurelius (161–180)
Notably, they were not a bloodline. All were either adopted, or in Nerva’s case, raised to power by assassins of Domitian (the previous emperor).
Machiavelli coined the term the “good emperors,” claiming their quality as leaders was a direct result of them being adopted and not inheriting the throne via blood.
He maintained that those who were raised to power by virtue of mere blood usually ended up being poor leaders.
Rome was the preeminent engineering civilization. Its roads, bridges, and aqueducts ensured an unmatched quality of life for its citizens.
Yet its greatest engineering feat wasn’t about providing a comfortable life—the Colosseum was built for a dramatic death🧵
The Colosseum became famous for its gladiatorial contests, executions, reenactments of famous battles, and even mock sea fights.
It was a theater designed with two things in mind: death and spectacle.
Constructed between 72-80 AD under Vespasian, the Colosseum was the largest amphitheater in the Roman world. Holding a capacity of 65000 spectators, the building project required extraordinary human ingenuity.
Of course, such a massive undertaking required a lot of money…
In 1831, French aristocrat Alexis de Tocqueville traveled to the US to study democracy.
He saw some positives, but also noted a few flaws such as:
-tyranny of the majority
-isolated individuals
-materialism
He claimed religion was essential to prevent these dangers...🧵
Alexis de Tocqueville was a diplomat sent by the French government to learn about the prison system in America.
While abroad, he used the opportunity to investigate American society as a whole, penning his most famous work ”Democracy in America.”
Traveling during the height of the industrial revolution, he believed democracy and industrialization went hand-in-hand—American democracy was the embodiment of this unification.
De Tocqueville described America as “a democratic revolution caused by industrialization.”
We’ve all seen gargoyles before — ghoulish carvings set outside old churches.
But why pair such ugly images with sacred buildings?
Well, to protect something priceless, you need something *monstrous*.
They teach us a lesson about defending what we love…🧵
First off, what is a gargoyle?
The word gargoyle comes from the French gargouille meaning “gullet” or “throat.”
A gargoyle, then, is a decorated water spout. They were used for a utilitarian purpose: to prevent water from flowing down the sides of buildings, causing erosion.
Not all the monstrous sculptures outside of cathedrals are gargoyles, though. Many are technically grotesques since they don’t funnel any water. A grotesque is simply a fantastic stone carving that’s secured to the wall or roof of a building.