Blaming Synesius

Decades ago, I was browsing in a used book store. A title intrigued me: Christian Attitudes Toward War and Peace, by Roland H. Bainton. I’d just read a bunch of books by Augustine of Hippo, so I looked him up in the index. That led me to pages 99-100, where I read the following passage:

Augustine assumed that a just war can be just on one side only. To him it seemed obvious that the cause of Rome was just, that of the barbarians unjust. They were invaders. Not only would they commit injuries to property, life, and honor, but they would disrupt the order maintained by the empire.

We today, who are actually more informed than was the bishop of Hippo as to what was going on all over the empire in his own day, can make out a very good case for the barbarians. They were being pushed westward by hordes from the east. There was room for them in the empire. They had long been infiltrating by a process of controlled immigration. The Roman army in the imperial period had increasingly been recruited from among the barbarians. When Rome was taken by Alaric the Goth, the defender of the capital was Stilicho the Goth. Then arose an old Roman party which sought to purge the Goths within the empire. The spokesman of this group was Synesius, later to be the bishop of Cyrene. He argued before the emperor Arcadius that the barbarian Germans could not be the watchdogs of the Roman Empire, because they were wolf cubs not reared in the laws of Rome. Theodosius ought never to have admitted them. Let them be deported or made into helots. Actually the Gothic general Gainas was assassinated and thirty thousand of his men were butchered; consequently the weakened empire could not cope with barbarian inroads.

An army might not have been needed to cope with invasions had good faith and sagacity prevailed. The above-mentioned Theodosius had stepped in after Rome, through her own treachery, had suffered a severe disaster. Under Valens the Visigoths pressed by the Huns asked permission to settle in the empire with their families, to the number of a million souls. They were for the most part Christian. Fritigern was their leader. The emperor Valens promised admission. The horde came over the Danube, but instead of being settled was coralled by the forces of Rome and kept alive by a supply of dead dogs. The price for each dog was a child to be sold into slavery. The guard of Fritigern was treacherously murdered by the Romans. The Goths broke loose and ravaged Thrace. Valens met them in battle. The emperor himself perished, together with two thirds of the imperial army. Then it was that the Spanish general Theodosius restored order by honorably granting the settlement promised at the outset.

Had Rome practiced her ancient virtue of bona fides, the barbarian invasions might have continued to be a controlled immigration.

(Roland H. Bainton , Christian Attitudes Toward War and Peace, New York, 1960, pp99f.)

I was very excited by that at the time. I was convinced that, if not for the influence of churchmen like Synesius and Augustine, there might have been a smooth flow of people into the Roman Empire that would have led to continuous prosperity from their time to ours. Now I know a little more about what was going on in the empire in those days, and I’m not so sure the case Bainton makes is particularly good.

My first objection is relatively minor. Our sources of information about any period of antiquity are painfully sparse, and the late fourth and early fifth centuries of our era are no exception. While we may be aware of many facts that Augustine could not have known, he knew the answers to countless questions we do not know enough even to ask. So Bainton gets off to quite an unfortunate start.

Second, Bainton ignores the change in the basic structure of the economic life of the empire which began a century before the time of Synesius and Augustine. In the course of the “Third Century Crisis,” an era of civil wars that went on from 235 to 284 CE, the currency of the empire was so severely debased that the empire stopped accepting tax payments in money. People had to pay in kind. So, if you were a baker, you would hand over a given number of loaves of bread to the tax collectors, and those would be distributed to the army. As a corollary to this, laws were enacted requiring men to continue in their occupations and to succeed their fathers in theirs. So the sons of a baker were required to become bakers. Since bakers were especially needed, men who married the daughters of bakers had to lay down their own occupations and become bakers. You might think you had an idea for a more productive use of your facilities than baking; you might want to sell up and go into a different line of work altogether. But the law insisted you remain a baker. Likewise for virtually every other form of livelihood. The whole economy was locked down, with no place for innovation or adaptation. The army and the church provided a few escape hatches for ambitious men, but only men with older brothers were free to try their luck even in those areas.

So, when Bainton says that “there was room for” the Germanic tribes in the empire, one is left wondering what he has in mind. Since landowners were not allowed to sell their land, newly arrived migrants could not buy farms. And since established residents were not allowed to change their occupations, there was no way to start businesses that would offer employment to landless men. One might imagine a program to settle newcomers on undeveloped tracts of land, a la Gaius Gracchus half a millennium before, but as Gaius learned too late that was not such an easy thing to do, as even wilderness makes its contribution to the agricultural economy.

I hold no brief for Augustine or Synesius. Their view of the Germanic tribes did indeed reflect a failure of imagination that left them worse than useless in the face of the events of their day. But I suspect that Bainton fails similarly when he does not notice the profound differences between the world in which the policies of which he speaks so highly operated and the world which in fact existed after the Third Century Crisis.

I think you should be more explicit here in step two

Recently I took a lot of books to the nearest used book store.  My main goal was to free up space in the apartment, but since the guy doesn’t pay cash for books and I’m not inclined to give him books for free I had to take store credit.  That meant picking up a few books.  What he had that I could imagine myself reading were popular science books about cosmology written in the 1950s, 1970s, and 1990s.  It’s been fun looking through those.  It’s as if I’ve been mentally reenacting the development of grand scale physical theory as it has played out over the last 60 years.  So I started with The Nature of the Universe,  a series of lectures delivered in 1950 by Fred Hoyle, who coined the phrase “Big Bang” as a silly name for what he regarded as a ludicrous hypothesis.  Then I moved on to a somewhat later book suggesting that the hypothesis might not be so ludicrous, to a still later book that explains it as a settled fact, and then to a relatively recent book which shows impatience with people who still talk about the Big Bang when the the real questions are all about the period of extremely rapid cosmic inflation that followed immediately after the Big Bang.

Seeing how dramatically cosmology has changed in the last 60 years and how much more powerful its arguments have become, it’s easy to think that physics must have reached maturity in that time.  One might think that physicists are done making great discoveries, and that in the next few years they will tidy up the few remaining problems facing their discipline.  Looking more closely, a different picture emerges.  So, reading one of the more recent books I came upon a reference to proton decay, including the casual remark that in the distant future, several trillion years from now, there won’t be any protons left.  I was curious as to how long it takes a proton to decay and what happens to the little fellow while he is decaying.  So I googled “how long does it take a proton to decay?”  That brought up some articles saying that we don’t know how long it takes protons to decay, and that as a matter of fact we have no proof that they decay at all.  No one has ever seen a proton decay, and since we know virtually nothing about the internal structure of the proton we cannot very well describe the process by which that structure would dissolve.  Knowing so little about the proton, we are in the dark not only about the origin and future of the proton, but we are also in the rather embarrassing position of not being able to explain why objects have mass.  The Large Hadron Collider is supposed to inform this ignorance, but at the moment physics is left with an enormous blank space.  This blank space suggests, not a mature science with only a few loose ends left to tie up, but a young science whose greatest discoveries are very likely still to be made.

Perhaps I will cap off my read-through of old popularizations of cosmology with a look at Stephen Hawking‘s forthcoming book. This book has already received a great deal of commentary, most of in response to this quote:

Because there is a law such as gravity, the universe can and will create itself from nothing. Spontaneous creation is the reason there is something rather than nothing, why the universe exists, why we exist.

I haven’t yet seen the book, and these two sentences are not included in this excerpt from it published in Time magazine, or this one from the Wall Street Journal.   So I don’t know what Hawking is driving at with this line.  Since the book only became available on the 7th of this month, few in the armies of commenters can have seen it either.  Not even philosopher Ervin Laszlo quotes any part of the book aside from these 35 words.

It would therefore be both unfair to Hawking and superfluous for me to become yet another person who has reacted to these two sentences without reading the book from which they are taken.  So I will confine myself to mentioning some ideas of which this line has reminded me, ideas which I do not attribute to Hawking.

The discussion surrounding Hawking’s two sentences tends to be summed up in headlines like “Stephen Hawking: God Was Not Needed to Create the Universe,” “”Hawking’s Rejection of God Unpersuasive, Say Faith Leaders,” and “God Has No Role in the Universe, Says Stephen Hawking.”  The idea that the existence of the physical universe in some way or other proves the existence of a supernatural being who created and governs that universe is known as “the argument from design.”  To the extent that the 35 words quoted above summarize Hawking’s project fairly, that project would represent an attempt to refute the argument from design.  Over the centuries, other arguments have been advanced to prove that God exists; I very much doubt that an attempt to refute the ontological proof or the transcendental argument would inspire the furious reaction these 35 words have elicited in so many quarters.  Many people who are quite willing to see the other arguments as exercises for logic students to work through seem to be passionately attached to the argument from design, even to equate acceptance of its soundness with religious belief.

This state of affairs puzzles me.  As a teacher in a university classics program, I often talk with students about the mythological ideas of the ancient Greeks and Romans.  In these ideas, we see a culture which showed an intense concern with the birth of the gods, and an equally intense concern with the origins of various human populations.  The ancients usually worshipped their gods, not one at a time, but in groups.  Therefore, they needed stories that included descriptions of the primordial cosmos to explain what the kinship relations were among the gods.  Only with that knowledge could they properly appease the unseen forces that they believed to hold great power over their lives.  Most of the ancients lived, not as atomized individuals, but as members of close-knit kinship groups.  Therefore, they needed stories that included descriptions of the origins of the human race to know who their relatives were, and which groups were offshoots of other groups.  What pagan Greeks and Romans did not seek to find in myth was an account of the origin and basic governance of the physical universe.  Greek and Latin mythological texts simply take it for granted that “there is something rather than nothing,” that “the universe exists.”

To give just one example, the most famous Greek mythological text treating of the world before humans was Hesiod’s Theogony.  Not only does Hesiod say that the first cosmic entities emerged spontaneously from the void; this idea doesn’t even strike him as something needing explanation.  The gods did not create the physical world, as they were all descended from the entities formed in that first moment of spontaneous generation.  Hesiod does not appeal even obliquely to any process that might have produced the Earth.  “At first there was a gaping void, and then came into being deep-breasted Earth, the unshaken foundation of all the immortal gods who occupy the snowy peaks of Olympus, and shadowy Tartarus deep in the Earth’s wide ways, and Eros, most lovely of the immortals, who undoes the strength of minds and limbs and counsels both human and divine .”  And that’s it- from there on out we’re on to the interesting part, the cosmic family tree.

This blasé disregard for the origin of the physical world did not set the Greeks and Romans apart from their neighbors in the ancient Mediterranean world.  The ancient Hebrews, for example, were so bored by the topic that they placed two contradictory accounts of the origin of the world side by side in chapters one and two of Genesis, and then spent a good many centuries producing sacred texts that barely mention either account.  Having established that they were not an subgroup of any other existing nation, the Hebrews could go on to other subjects.

It has only been in the modern world that the idea has taken hold that the physical world operates like a machine, and that if there are gods who govern it they must be machinists.  With the prevalence of this idea, the “argument from design” became vitally important to believers of many stripes.  Thomas Aquinas (1225-1274) is often cited as the father of the argument from design, but it is worth pointing out that he in fact rejected the forms of the argument that are familiar today.  In Question 2, Article 3 of the Summa Theologica, Thomas pairs the following objection and response:

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Is all social life schooling?

I’ve always read a lot of magazines.  Before we started this blog in June 2007, if I came up with an idea while reading one of them I would sometimes make a note of it in a word processing document.  More often I would just forget about it.  Now I post “Periodicals Notes” in which I make those ideas available here.

Among these old documents I recently found  some speculation triggered by this paragraph on page 23 of The Nation for 19 June 2006: “In his 1964 book Ma’alim fi al-Tariq (Milestones), [Sayyid] Qutb wrote that ‘if woman is freed from her basic responsibility of bringing up children’ and, whether on her own or by pressure from society, seeks to work in jobs such as ‘a hostess or a stewardess in a hotel or ship or air company,’ she will be ‘using her ability for material productivity rather than the training of human beings.’  This, he claimed, would make the entire civilization ‘backward.’”  What intrigued me about this précis was the idea that “the training of human beings” is the activity that separates healthy societies from backward ones.

Augustine of Hippo, in the City of God and the dialogue de Magistro, takes a similar view.  The City of God is a sort of cultural history of the Roman Empire, tracing how various religious ideas have influenced events from the legendary period of the seven kings of Rome up to Augustine’s own day.  Rather than simply dismissing the ideas he disagrees with, Augustine treats them as early stages in the process that would prepare the Mediterranean world for Christian doctrine.  This process of learning involved the whole of Greco-Roman society.  In the dialogue de Magistro, he asks what purposes speech serves, and concludes that every one of those purposes is a form, of teaching.  If all speech is teaching, then all social life must be educational.

Around the same time I read the issue of The Nation with that essay about Sayyid Qutb, I read the  Spring 2006 issue of Telos. That issue includes an article by Aryeh Botwinick called “A Monotheistic Ethics: Ben Zoma’s Mishnah” which finds such a view in the Babylonian Talmud, in Ben Zoma’s comments on the passage “Who is wise?  He who learns from everyone.”  I rather doubt that Sayyid Qutb read the Babylonian Talmud, or Augustine for that matter.  I suspect that Qutb, Augustine, and Ben Zoma came independently to the view that society is above all a place for teaching and learning.

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