The choice is ours to make
Decline” we Americans and
Westerners mope about daily; “fall” most of us still hope to postpone.
Decadence, it would seem, is the mean between the two.
The much-overused decline and
fall trope, fixed permanently into our abstract vocabulary ever since Edward
Gibbon’s Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire took a
then-experimentally post-Christian Western Europe by storm, was meant to
demonstrate the mortality of all human constructions. Oddly enough, however,
Gibbon did it in spite of the Enlightenment’s discovery of progress by
retreating to the oldest trope of all—the cyclical, organic metaphor of birth,
growth, decay, death. Much of the 19th century was spent trying to
reconcile progress with the cyclical via the uses and abuses of Darwin. In the
20thcentury, Oswald Spengler, Arnold Toynbee and Paul Kennedy rejoined that
intellectual dispute, traceable to remote antiquity: Either the human condition
is cyclical, like the seasons and the life cycle, or it is linear, starting
someplace, going someplace, with a positive goal ahead.
German, Briton and American all
knew that America was perhaps the key to the answer. The greatest event in
history, the discovery of the New World, had apparently put America on the
linear track, destined to escape a cyclical fate. The presumption had a religious
basis made clear by St. Augustine’s diatribe against cyclical thinking in Book
XII of The City of God, and it even waxed imperial in Virgil’s
time-transcending Aeneid, a very American epic, as illustrated by those
three Virgilian quotations on the dollar bill. Like Gibbon, Spengler and
Toynbee ultimately sited their declinism in the cyclical rhythms of life.
Kennedy, American and steeped in all things Christian and imperial, instead
found the fatal flaw in linearity. It was linearity of the Faustian kind: The
rise to wealth and power generates delusions of inevitably more successful
adventures ahead until “overstretch”, a form of national self-indulgence,
brings down the entire enterprise.
Kennedy’s approach seems to
have been inspired more by mechanics or physics than by that most influential,
and also ancient, variation on the “rise and fall” theme, that of moral decay,
or decadence. Livy’s Roman Republic maintained its manly virtues because “they
turned away from a thousand daily temptations”, but, Tacitus said, the Empire
was doomed as Romans “indulged every desire as soon as it came to mind.” George
Kennan extended the Roman experience with decadence to our own:
Poor old West: succumbing
feebly, day by day, to its own decadence, sliding with debility on the slime of
its own self-indulgent permissiveness; its drugs, its crime, its pornography,
its pampering of the youth, its addiction to its bodily comforts, its rampant
materialism and consumerism—and then trembling before the menace of the wicked
Russians . . . .1
Far more seriously and
exhaustively than the supercilious Kennan, the French-born American historian
Jacques Barzun took up the matter in his monumental From Dawn to
Decadence: 1500 to the Present.
Published in 2000 when Barzun
was 94, From Dawn to Decadence covered a half-millennium of “Western
Cultural Life”, describing four phases in nearly encyclopedic detail: from
Luther’s Reformation—really a revolution that tore the West apart—to the
Scientific Revolution, which provided the basics for universal material
progress; from the Royal Courts of Europe to “the Tennis Court” of the French
Revolution; from Goethe’s Faust as a driver of the modern era to
modernism’s fragmentation of arts and letters; and from the mass illusion of a
socialist utopia to the horrors of the Great War and finally on to the late 20th-century
protest mob’s gleeful chant of “Hey, hey, ho, ho: Western Civ Has Got to Go!”
Across the centuries in Barzun’s chronicle history moves in both a linear and
cyclical manner. An explosion of dynamic individualism propels civilization
forward toward a better future; but that same dynamic proves incapable of
virtuous control, causing greed, violence and deepening self-indulgence to
spiral society downward toward chaos. Barzun liberates us from the tyranny of
either-or, but fails to offer much hope of escaping decadence in the process.
But pace Barzun, if
America is exceptional, might it not be an exception to the inevitability of
decadence? It is, at the least, a matter to which Americans have been attentive
over much of their history.
Early on, Americans sensed that
they were somehow exempt from Old World cycles of rise and fall, but that sense
was nonetheless powerfully counteracted by a continuing, pervasive fear of
decadence. The Puritans were consciousness personified, assiduous diary-keepers
who were ever watchful for the slightest signs of grace or degeneracy. Yale was
founded because Abraham Pierson and other divines concluded that Harvard was
becoming doctrinally depraved. Jonathan Edwards’s “Sinners in the Hands of an
Angry God” revolved around the biblical warning of the prophet Amos that “thy
feet will slide in due time.” Thomas Jefferson sought to refute the theory of
the French naturalist Buffon that the plants, animals and even geographical
features of the New World were degenerate, declining and weakening as a result
of the fetid swamps and clogged forests that bespread the Western Hemisphere.
Jefferson, outraged, sent troops to New England to gather evidence on the size
and strength of the bull moose, and later instructed Lewis and Clark to be on
the lookout for mastodons.