How to Live amid Civilizational Decline

To wander through the ancient cities of Europe is an experience every American should have. Not only are these places the origin of so much we hold dear in the West—democracy, art, music, architecture—but they are simply a joy to behold. Their imposing, grandiose buildings stand surrounded by narrow, cobbled streets stuffed with shops and fantastic eateries. Yet one must also reflect on what all this beauty masks. London, Rome, Paris, Vienna were all once centers of vast empires. Through their immense wealth, cultural capital, and political power, the capitals of Europe once served as the pinnacle of human civilization. But this is undeniably no longer the case. Tourism has gradually become the dominant industry across much of Europe, which means that these once-great metropolises now subsist on foreigners coming to bear witness to their previous greatness. This does not in any way reduce the charm of Europe. This essay was written overlooking the Mediterranean Ocean while drinking an Aperol spritz and such a locale is undeniably picturesque. Even so, the political and cultural decline of Europe’s influence does warrants some important reflections. First, all nations that rise to greatness will inevitably also fall. When the ancient Roman general and statesman Scipio Aemilianus burned Carthage to the ground, his teacher Polybius recorded that, viewing the destruction, he wept—not for Carthage but for the recognition that all things on earth necessarily come to an end. Though Scipio feared for the fate of his native Rome, his sentiment extends beyond historical contingencies to a universal, existential anxiety about the human condition: nothing lasts forever, least of all a civilization. Despite our deepest desires, the contemporary civilization we know today will have its moment of collapse as well. If such a tragedy as the end of Western civilization does not occur tomorrow, we can know with some certainty that it will happen one day. This is an admittedly hard lesson to stomach. The idea of inevitable decline is not a comfortable one and it is for this precise reason that lunatics such as Bryan Johnson seek to defy even death itself. Contemporary reactionaries represent the equivalent of Johnson’s fixation on eternal life, on earth rather than in heaven, but in the political world. That all civilizations change and inevitably decline simply eludes them. This is not to say that America is in a state of collapse, but the far-right motto of “return” (often stylized “retvrn” to imitate Latin) is built on the premise that previous generations chose decline and that, by cultivating a greater appreciation of Western civilization, we too can be great in our own age. Such simplistic notions of human history miss the point that no one ever decides willingly that their civilization should collapse. Importantly, a spirit of decline can even be encouraged by reactionaries who view only the past as worth imitating, seeing nothing potentially good in the future. The idea that the past is supreme and the future with all of its innovations has very little to offer is actually the closest a civilization can come to choosing decline. As observed by Mary Renault, a historical novelist of ancient Greece: “People who have earned no pride in themselves are content to be proud of their cities through other men. The end will be that the city has nothing left for pride, except the dead, who were proud less easily.” When we as a society decide that the future can only be glorious through constant references to past glories, then decline has already begun. Human greatness is built on not only reverence for the past, but also a spirit of dynamism that drives society forward to some as yet unseen dawn. This does not mean the past should be regarded as dead and irrelevant; instead, we should bear in mind Gustav Mahler’s admonition that “tradition is not the worship of ashes, but the transmission of fire.” And yet, it having been said that to preserve civilization we must be forward-looking instead of romanticizing the past, the truth is that nothing lasts forever. However long we may be able to stave off decline, it will come. Acceptance of this reality is vital to a spiritually balanced life. Just as we must make peace with the end of our own lives, we must also learn to make peace with the eventual decline and fall of our nation. Part of this acceptance should come from the simple fact that civilizational decline is not the end of the world. The same small Mediterranean peninsula that gave us the Roman Empire also gave us the Italian Renaissance. Providence moves in unexpected ways, where the collapse of one civilizational epoch may inadvertently give birth to another yet greater. Saint Augustine, amid the fall of Rome, did not despair owing to his faith in God. Thus, as Elizabeth Corey has discussed, sometimes there is such a thing as being a “beautiful loser.” Even in the knowledge that nothing lasts forever, and that we and everyone we know will die someday, it is still worthwhile to preserve what beauty we can and live a happy life. This disposition—an acknowledgement that God remains sovereign even as civilizations rise and fall—serves as the real heart of conservatism, not a set of political policies or principles. Particularly for young, restless men who feel they have been denied the American Dream, this outlook is not entirely inspiring. Even so, God does not call us to eternal glory on earth but in heaven, and so the task before us is to reconcile ourselves to the truth of human creation—a truth that acknowledges the ephemerality of civilization itself.