29th January 2011

So everyone is going to live much longer and will therefore have to work much longer to pay for their pensions. But what is so wrong with dying, Greeks and Romans would ask?

They came at the problem from different angles. Homeric heroes sought to compensate for death with eternal heroic glory (and got it, judging from the number of people who still read Homer). Plato argued that the soul was immortal. The Roman poet Lucretius thought that was the problem. For him, life was an incipient hell because of man’s eternal desire for novelty. So as soon as he had fulfilled one desire, he was immediately gawping after another. What satisfaction could there be in that? The soul was mortal, he argued, and death, therefore, should be welcomed as a blessed relief.

This tended to be the general response. Cicero, for example, thought in terms of a time and season for everything. ‘Boys have their own typical pursuits, but adolescents do not hanker after them because they have their own interests. These in their turn cease to attract mature grown ups because they too have their special interests – for which, when their time comes, the old feel no desire since they again, finally, have interests peculiar to themselves. Then, like earlier occupations, these activities fall away; and when that happens, a man has had enough of life and it is time to die.’ A character in one of Euripides’ tragedies put it more succinctly: ‘I can’t stand people who try to prolong life with foods and potions and spells to keep death at bay. Once they’ve lost their use on earth, they should clear off and die and leave it to the young’.

For Seneca the question was whether ‘one was lengthening one’s life - or one’s death’. A terrifying myth made the point: Eous (‘Dawn’), divine wife of mortal Tithonus, wanted her husband to live forever and her wish was granted. But she forgot to ask for eternal youth at the same time, and he just faded away, quite unable to die.

Marcus Aurelius put it beautifully: ‘Spend these fleeting moments as Nature would have you spend them, and then go to your rest with a good grace, as an olive falls in season, with a blessing for the earth that bore it and a thanksgiving to the tree that gave it life’.

15th January 2011

Last week Geoffrey Wheatcroft speculated whether a regiment of what he called Gay Gordons might not have something to be said for it, giving a whole new meaning to ‘once more into the breach, dear friends’. Ancient Greeks would probably have approved, but with some reservations.

Plato argued that Sparta and Crete were largely responsible for introducing a homosexual ethos into the military, a practice that came to be imitated elsewhere in the Greek world. In Sparta, for example, boys were removed from their parents at the age of seven to spend their time in common messes where they were trained up as soldiers. Every twelve-year old had to take a young adult warrior as a lover till he was eighteen, though the purpose was pedagogic as much as pederastic.

The most famous example of such institutionalised homosexuality is provided by the Theban ‘Sacred Band’ (c. 378 BC) an élite troop of 150 pairs of lovers. The historian Plutarch explains the rationale by arguing that a regiment bonded by sexual feelings was ‘indissoluble and unbreakable’ because they did not flinch in the face of danger out of their feelings for each other. He goes on to say that this band was never beaten until the battle of Chaironeia (338 BC), against Philip of Macedon (father of Alexander the Great). Further, when Philip came across the place where they had ‘fallen in their armour, all mixed up together, facing the enemy head on, he wept and said “Perish all those who claim that these men did, or allowed to be done to them, anything shameful”.’ Two hundred and fifty four skeletons have been found in the vicinity, laid out in seven rows – the very men?

Yet there was a residual doubt. The military commander Xenophon tells us how he formed a regiment of the handsome because of the example of one Episthenes, who offered himself to die in place of a young boy who was about to be executed. But desire for wasteful self-sacrifice is not much use in a soldier. ‘Such lovers often seek danger beyond the call of duty’, comments Plutarch.

Such conduct is no part of a soldier’s code. One’s duty is to look after one’s mates, and one does not need to be gay to do that.

8th January 2011

Every year the situation in Afghanistan is reassessed, and every year the conclusion is the same—mixed military progress, but otherwise, zilch. Romans would not have gone there, at least not on the terms that we are there.

The Roman empire was a success, for the Romans at any rate, because it was under their total control. When they moved into places like the Greek East, they were dealing with cultures that were largely urbanised. Administrative structures were in place to handle governance and taxation, and an élite ran the show. Romans could convince the élites it was to their advantage to be under light Roman control. But tribal northern Europe was a different kettle of dormice.

When the Romans moved into Britannia in AD 43, southern England had enough of a hierarchical structure to be controllable. But the further north they went, the more difficult it became. The problem was that territories requiring a constant military presence could never, by definition, be handed over to the locals to run. That meant they were ungovernable in the long term. In the 1st C AD the British governor Agricola did his best to make headway into Scotland from Rome’s furthest northern base in York, but could never get a grip on the tribes there. Shortage of manpower did not help either.

So the Romans gave up and built Hadrian’s Wall instead (AD 122), a Roman military zone, under army control, where civilian and other access was strictly forbidden, except at the controlled crossing-points. Romans were now able to supervise movements north and south of the Wall, prevent petty raiding and hinder large-scale attacks, and so encourage peaceful development of Britain right up to that frontier.

The central difference with the situation in Afghanistan is obvious. Far from taking the place over—not even building a Waziristan wall—we are working there only with Afghan consent. We are not, therefore, in control. So the question is: what is in it for Afghanistan? Do they really want what we want from our presence there? We shall find out only when we have left. It could be very cold comfort.

18th-25th December 2010

Last week, David Cameron’s enthusiasm for finding out how happy we all are—as if it were any business of his—led us to consider some Greek views of the matter. Romans discussed it with equal enthusiasm.

balnea, vina, Venus corrumpunt corpora nostra;

sed vitam faciunt balnea, vina, Venus

proclaims a neat elegiac epitaph from Rome, expressing a common popular viewpoint—baths, wine and sex may wreck us physically, but they sure make life worth living.

Roman thinkers, however, were as keen as Greeks to discover the happiness that withstood all onslaught. Stoicism, a Greek invention, was one answer. The basic tenet was that divinity was rational and omnipresent, suffused through nature, ‘like honey through a honeycomb’. Nature and reason were thus closely linked. Since reason was god’s greatest gift to man, we were able to understand nature and live in holistic harmony with it. One did that by living and acting virtuously, selecting what was good, making it one’s own and ignoring everything else. Such was the only route to happiness. Wealth, status and so on did not feature in such a scheme.

Seneca (AD 1-65), who wrote an essay ‘On the Happy Life’, is a rich source of practical epigrams on the matter: ‘the happy man uses reason to be free from both fear and desire’; ‘that man is poor, not who has too little, but who longs for more’; ‘that man most enjoys wealth who least needs it’; ‘chance takes away what chance has given’(i.e. trusting to luck is pointless); ‘no wind is fair to a man who does not know for which port he is making’; ‘the wise man cannot suffer injury or loss...because his only possession is virtus, and he can never be separated from that.’ And so on.

Ancients insisted on man’s ability to rationalise his way to happiness. So if Mr Cameron wants to help us to be happy, he should forget about the economy and make sure we are all thinking straight.

To him, then, and the whole Coalition, a rational, virtuous, bath-, drink- and sex-free Christmas.

11th December 2010

There is no point in Mr Cameron snooping into how happy we are unless he believes government can do something about it. Greek and Romans would have been aghast.

Greeks knew perfectly well what made people happy. Aristotle (384-322 BC) cites success, self-sufficiency, security, material and physical well-being and the capacity to safeguard them; ‘markers’ included good birth, creditable children, wealth, high status and a circle of respectable friends.

But Greek intellectuals knew such happiness was rarely lasting. The lesson was never more perfectly expressed than by Herodotus (490-425 BC) in his story of the meeting between the wise Athenian Solon and Croesus, richest man in the world. When Croesus was offended that he did not feature among Solon’s three happiest people in the world, Solon replied with a long lecture, ending ‘So until a man is dead, keep the word “happy” in reserve. Till then, he is not happy, only lucky ... Look to the end, no matter what you are considering. Often enough the god gives a man a glimpse of happiness and then utterly uproots him.’ And, indeed, Croesus was promptly uprooted.

So it was the philosophical question that interested them: what sort of happiness would survive the most catastrophic shocks? Socrates (469-399 BC) believed that goodness was the key. The cynic Diogenes (4th C BC) went for inner resources which could be nurtured only by severe physical and mental self-discipline. Self-sufficiency, freedom of speech, indifference to hardship and lack of shame were Cynic hallmarks.

For Plato (429-347 BC), the rational part of the psychê, with its commitment to timeless truth and ultimate reality, needed cultivation if one was to be happy. Aristotle was more interested in success than happiness. Success was ‘an activity of the psyche in accordance with excellence’, and by ‘excellence’ he meant excellence in that which differentiated us from animals and made us human—reason and thought. Success, then, required that a man engage in intellectual activity.

Next week, the Romans will pick up the theme.

4th December 2010

President Saleh of Yemen has refused to hand over the terrorist Anwar al-Awlaki, because it contravenes the Yemeni tradition of hospitality. If the fate of Hannibal is anything to go by, al-Awlaki had better run for it quickish.

In 218 BC the Carthaginian Hannibal had famously led his army and elephants over the Alps to take revenge on the Romans for an earlier defeat. He came within an ace of doing so, but in 202 BC was forced to return to protect Carthage. When the Romans defeated him there, he made peace. But he still longed to get his own back, and in 195 BC, when the Romans got wind of his plans, Hannibal fled east. He tried to do a deal with Antiochus of Syria to lead an attack on Rome, but when that fell through and the Romans demanded Antiochus surrender him, Hannibal fled to king Prusias of Bithynia (N.W. Turkey), whom he served in various ways.

The Romans had no idea where he had disappeared. Years later, according to the historian Nepos, it happened that an embassy from Prusias was in Rome, dining with one Quinctius Flaminius, and one of them let it drop that Hannibal was serving their king. Flaminius immediately informed the senate, who sent him to Prusias, with an armed legation, to demand Prusias hand Hannibal over. No dice, said Prusias; it contravenes our ancient laws of hospitality; however, now I think about it, you could easily, ah, find out for yourselves where he is hiding, in a little fortification I gave him as a reward...

Which was where the Romans found him. The place had exits on all sides, but when a look-out informed Hannibal that men had surrounded it and there was no escape, ‘he realised this was no accident, but that they were after him, and he could cling on no longer. Not wanting to put his life at anyone else’s disposal, he took the phial of poison he always kept with him and, calling up his ancient valour, drained it dry.’

President Saleh, like Prusias, probably knows which side his bread is buttered. One wonders what ‘ancient valour’ the cowering al-Awlaki will have to call upon.

27th November 2010

No one yet has the remotest idea what the Big Society actually is. Had you asked a Roman, he would have told you: it was the rich spreading their largesse among the poor, as Pliny the Younger did (c. AD 61-112).

In a letter to his friend the great Roman historian Tacitus, Pliny describes a project he has set up which he wants Tacitus to support. He says ‘I was visiting my native town a short time ago when the young son of a fellow-citizen came to pay his respects to me. “Do you go to school?” I asked. “Yes”, he replied. “Where?” “In Milan.” “Why not here?” To this the boy’s father (who had brought him and was standing by) replied: “Because we have no teachers here.” ’

Pliny is shocked and determined to do something about it. He points out to the father the importance of raising children at home (strict upbringing, less expense) and invites him to work out how much it would cost to hire teachers for the town, remembering that they could add in the money they currently spent on travel and lodgings in Milan.

Now comes the offer: Pliny is ready to contribute a third of whatever they decided to collect. He does not want to offer all of it, he says, because he wants the parents themselves involved. He says to the father “People can be careless with other people’s money, but you can be sure they will be careful with their own. If their own is in the pot with mine, they will be sure to appoint a suitable recipient for it”. He urges them to appoint really good candidates so that local towns will send their children to them, instead of the other way round.

Pliny now tells Tacitus what part he hopes the historian will play in this venture. It turns out that it is not money he is after, but recommendations: ‘From amongst the many students who gather round you because they admire your abilities, please keep an eye open for likely teachers we can invite here. But do understand I am leaving the decision to the parents. All I want is to help with the arrange­ments and pay my share. So if you find anyone who has confidence in his ability, do send him along to us—but I make no guarantees.’

If that is not the Big Society, it is hard to think what might be.