The Martian Perspective

One of the useful big picture ideas I remember picking up from Moldbug is that one should strive to understand the present in the way that a historian of the future would understand our time. That is, suppose you were living on Mars in 200 years time, so not only would the events not affect you, but all the players are dead and gone, as are the countries and institutions they represent.  Maybe even 500 years. The ideal is to imagine a space sufficiently distant that you don't even feel you have an intellectual dog in the fight, rather like an atheist trying to understand the 30 Years War between Catholics and Protestants. You just want to understand the truth, having gotten to the point where none care whether it prevail or not. 

This is always an aspirational ideal, of course. You never really know what the future historian will think (in part because they have seen the end of the story, and you haven't), but also because intellectually it's very hard to fully escape the present tense. For one thing, you can never have our hypothetical atheist's indifference when you're actually on the receiving end of things (put an atheist back in time to the middle of the 30 years war, and suddenly they will have to care about religion, or at least act like they do). But there's also a sheer difficulty in perspective. It may be that nothing in the past five years even makes their list of stuff to bother about. It may be that nothing in your whole lifetime does! (You should be so lucky). 

So while this perspective is hard, if you at least aim at this, you are likely to get a better sense of the actual importance of events than if the idea never even occurs to you. And the sense of what might seem important on a 200 year time line may be vastly different to what the newspapers are covering today. It might be something the average person isn't paying any attention to at all (like developments in AI, for instance). But it also might be events from the present that take on a bigger significance than people at the time realize.

For instance, by now, most of you have probably watched the famous video of Hu Jintao being gently but firmly escorted out of the Chinese Communist Party Congress

When Americans watch this video, they have a clarity of vision as to what is going on. A former president is frogmarched out of the room, publicly, by the current president, to God knows what fate. While it may be overblown, the cynical presumption is that he'll end up like Tank Man, never seen again.

It's worth noting that there's an alternative reading of all this, that Hu Jintao is kind of senile and either was, or was threatening to, wander awkwardly off script. And, hence, that escorting him out was actually an embarrassing loss of face to everyone involved, rather than a deliberate political flex. 

But one thing is for certain. Supposing he in fact gets charged and convicted of corruption, for taking bribes back in 2005. The average American will view this as almost entirely incidental to the important facts in the video above. Did he take some kind of bribe during his presidency? Almost certainly. Is that what this is actually about? Not on your life. If he gets charged instead with tax evasion, or murder, or covid violations, would that change anyone's perspective on the matter? Not at all. What he gets charged with is irrelevant. Whether he even broke the law is basically irrelevant. They certainly will not spend much time digging into the details of the allegations. This is a naked power consolidation. This was also considered in America to be big news for what it revealed about China, and how power works there.

So far so good. 

So what does the average American make of this:

FBI searches Trump's Florida home as part of presidential records probe

PALM BEACH, Fla., Aug 8 (Reuters) - Former President Donald Trump said FBI agents raided his Mar-a-Lago estate on Monday and broke into his safe in what his son acknowledged was part of an investigation into Trump's removal of official presidential records from the White House to his Florida resort.

The unprecedented search of a former president's home would mark a significant escalation into the records investigation, which is one of several probes Trump is facing from his time in office and in private business.

Is this the same thing as what happened to Hu Jintao? Is it a related thing? Is it a totally unrelated thing?

You'll have to decide for yourself. 

And the answer that lots of Americans come to is that, well, you see, this is actually about the crucial issue of violations of the Presidential Records Act, something that they had literally not heard about until August, but now think is an essential lynch-pin of our whole form of government. It's actually part of a large legal campaign against the former president on all sorts of fronts. 

Which is to say, they look at this and see only the things he's been charged with, from which we need to have a serious debate about whether he did or did not breach said Act. They don't at all see any bigger picture here. The Hu Jintao perspective, for want of a better term, is completely and utterly absent. 

(It is worth pondering whether the average person in China, to the extent that they know about the Hu Jintao story, view it as the mirror image of the Trump story - he obviously broke some important law that the papers will no doubt tell us about soon.)

But for the Trump story, if the average American does chance to see a bigger point, such as if they're a Fox News Republican, they'll probably just see one more example of the outrages of the Democratic Party, and are apt to list the above event alongside every other regular complaint about how the country is run, from illegal immigration, to woke trans activism in schools, to black lives matter leading to defunding of the police. Or, if they're on the left, one more aspect of the corrupt contempt for the democratic process by the Republicans, like Voter ID laws and the January 6th protests. 

What might the historian of 200 years' time make of this story? Well, here's one perspective. 

The single biggest fact in favor of American democracy, and democracy in general, is not that it selects wise leaders, or leaders who are legitimate in the eyes of the public, or anything like that. The primary thing in its favor is that it allows, nominally, for smooth transitions of power. Within the current sclerotic regime, of course, which outlaws all kinds of views and actions. And if you push it too far, like the South found out in 1865, you'll be crushed militarily. But within the operating envelope that the system is meant to work in, nobody has to be playing for keeps. Because while your guy may be in today, their guy may be in tomorrow, and you're stuck in a repeated game. So you have strong incentives to play nice.

Which is to say, for 230 years, America has had an unwritten gentlemen's agreement that former presidents are allowed to live out their lives in peace. It didn't matter if they were magnanimous and disappeared from public life, like George H. W. Bush. It didn't matter if they decided to run leftist alternative foreign policy missions, like Jimmy Carter. It didn't even matter if they were impeached for potential crimes, like both Richard Nixon and Andrew Johnson. Nixon is the classic here. Sure, Gerald Ford pardoned him for Watergate. But what's the chances that this was the only law he broke during his presidency? That an aggressive Carter White House couldn't have found something else to charge him with, after enough digging? No, that just wasn't how things were done. Former presidents get to live their lives in peace. Even Jefferson Davis was held only for two years, never ultimately charged, and allowed to live out the remainder of his days as a free citizen.  

That agreement is now gone. 

To which the dumb but common answer is that Trump's actions are so flagrant that they breached the agreement first. 

The nature of gentlemen's agreements is that the finer details aren't always written down, so this is hard to say for sure. But to judge this, you need an estimate of what the baseline level of past violations of the same kind might be. And there's decently strong evidence that this kind of thing is pretty common. What Trump did looks, to me, not nearly as bad as what Hillary Clinton did with her janky private email server while Secretary of State. Or, to take another example, we know that Sandy Berger, a Clinton advisor, was convicted of stealing documents from the National Archives after Clinton's term was over. What do you think the probability is that he was the only member of the Clinton White House to have breached some kind of records law, if the FBI were sent around to raid everyone else's house too?

In other words, to me, this looks more akin to Putin's charges against Boris Berezovsky  In that case at least, was he guilty of the illegal things they said he did? Absolutely. Did this distinguish him from any other oligarch? Not at all. The real crime, which everyone knows, was challenging Putin's power.

In the case of Trump, I really don't know what the sacred text of the Presidential Records Act requires, and whether Trump's actions may be in violation of it. For the purposes of the argument, I am entirely willing to believe he is in breach of it. He does not strike me as a stickler for detailed record-keeping, nor a scrupulous adherent to all kinds of process laws (he's a former New York real estate developer, for crying out loud. If you think there's a single one of them who's never broken any fiddly laws that they thought were getting in their way, buddy, I don't know what to tell you).

But my strong sense is that this is about as relevant as the question of what exactly Hu Jintao is charged with. Former presidents are simply not raided and arrested like they're some run of the mill citizen who fell afoul of a slightly too aggressive Assistant DA. Charging them is everywhere and always an explicitly political act. Especially in this case - can you imagine the Martian historian in 2222 opining about the crucial question of records storage? I can't. I think they'll say that this was part of an obvious longstanding campaign against Trump by whatever term they'll give to what we unsatisfactorily refer to as "the Deep State".

Why do I say this?

Because the FBI already was illegally wiretapping the Trump campaign during the 2016 election, before Trump was even elected! They procured the ridiculous Christopher Steele dossier, presented it to a FISA court, lied about where it came from, and used it to wiretap Trump advisor Carter Page. Nobody went to jail over that, of course. 

Is this the same thing? Is it a related thing? Is it a totally unrelated thing?

I think the argument for "totally unrelated" is absurd. So we're only left with the question of how related they are. And even if one forms the view that this time, Trump's actions really were terrible and illegal, we see the same ferocious politically targeted persecution even when there was no crime. Even when he was still just a private citizen.

This is not a "Can you believe the injustice?" post. Politics is usually ugly, nasty and stupid, and people at high levels play it seriously indeed. This is certainly not a "those disgraceful Democrats!" post. As MiddleEarthMixr savagely put it: "And how’s that working out for ya, imagining if the roles were reversed?"

Fifteen years ago, maybe even ten, I probably would have written something along these lines. But I am long past such perspectives, and no longer find them remotely useful. They are the furthest extreme from the Martian historian's creed.

Rather, this is merely to note that whether you are a fan of democracy, or whether you view it as absurd and past its use-by date, there is a serious reading that the whole campaign against Trump is a dangerous escalation and breach of prior norms, from which further counter-escalations seem likely. 

One of the advantages of living in 200 years time is that events that might be half a lifetime apart are easy to draw threads between, in a way that isn't quite as apparent at the time. It is altogether too easy to imagine future wikipedia articles that read something like this:

The Great Unravelling: 1970 - 2035

The term "the Great Unravelling" was first used by historian Michael Wallesteimer in the early 22nd century to describe the series of sequential breaches of previous unwritten political norms, in a cycle of escalation and counter-escalation that lead to an increasing distrust between the Democrats and the Republicans, and eventually the Great Breach of 2032 (Main Article). Wallesteimer defined the key events as not just those which were political advances by one party, but specifically changes that would subsequently be re-used by opponents afterwards.  Subsequent historians have disputed the original Wallesteimer list, both in terms of charting an original first course, and which events justify inclusion. But the general pattern is now broadly agreed to represent the increasingly fractious civic breakdown. The original Wallesteimer list is:

-The Supreme Court decision in Roe v Wade. This not only set off a large component of the culture war, but set a new standard in deliberate misreading of constitutional texts for political aims. Robert Axelford disputed the inclusion of this, noting that the court cannot be said to be explicitly part of the political apparatus at this time. But it paved the way for the increasingly Republican Court to overturn both all racial preferences in Wichita State University v Connors, and substantive portions of the administrative state in Rothstein v Gibbons, which even if more textually defensible, were viewed by the left as extreme judicial activism. 

-The Senate refusing Robert Bork's Supreme Court nomination. Up until this point, presidents had mostly gotten their Supreme Court nominations uncontested. This marked a discontinuous shift after which the vast majority of appointments became politically contentious, leading to the eventual packing of the court in 2026.

-The Kenneth Starr investigation. This set the precedent of open-ended Special Prosecutors targetting sitting presidents - "starting out investigating dodgy land deals in Arkansas, and ending up investigating blow jobs in the White House", in Anthony Reichenford's phrase. Special Prosecutors would be later used both against Scooter Libby, and by President DeSantis against speaker of the House Alexandria Occasio-Cortez.

 -The Clinton Impeachment. This set the precedent of impeaching presidents over pure process crimes, where there was no other underlying crime (in this case, perjury over testimony regarding sexual relations, when such sexual relations were not otherwise a crime). This was reciprocated when Donald Trump was charged and later convicted of violations of the Presidential Records act, something Trump described at trial as "chicken shit".

-The Trump Russiagate FBI wiretap. This set a precedent of explicit use of the permanent civil service and law enforcement to target a presidential campaign. This violation is considered more notable because of the lack of crimes uncovered by the campaign, which were significantly less than the wiretaps themselves. While the Republicans never succeeded in reciprocating via law enforcement, the subsequent politicization of the military by President Carren in 2031 is viewed as a counterescalation. 

-2020 Election Fraud. Wallesteimer described this as a "shadow breach", because its gravity was only fully appreciated after the fact during the audit of 2025. It is more viewed as part of a continuum of increasingly flagrant election fraud, eventually on both sides, that marked a further step in breakdown in belief in democracy. Relative to the other steps, this was considered more of a notional marker apparent in hindsight than a structural break, but was important additionally for its role in triggering the obvious breach of the January 6th protests. 

-The January 6th protests. While these are now viewed as chaotic and unstructured "acting out" without any serious risk against regime security, they established a precedent that the losing party in presidential elections would respond with mass protests, then with small scale violence, then ultimately with complete insurrection. 2016 is noted as the last of the "peaceful election transitions era". 

-The Arrest of Donald Trump. This ended the famous "gentlemen's agreement", as Wallesteimer described, that former opponents now out of power would be left alone. He viewed this as the most serious escalation, and an important step towards the arrest of President Carren and the Insurrection of 2034. 

You will need a little imagination to visualize what other future events might make the list. But the history of late Republican Rome offers some possible guidance. 

Or put it this way. Suppose that you were Ron DeSantis. How much would you have updated your belief that, if you got elected president, that you or your family would end up in jail if you lost power?

DeSantis is a smart guy. I'm not sure he would think the answer is yet "high". But it's certainly a fair bit higher than it was a year ago, and a lot higher than it was seven years ago.

Indeed, one might easily imagine the conclusion of the chapter above:

As Wallesteimer described the atmosphere in the mid to late 2020s, "From here on out, both parties' leaders began to suspect that if they lost power, they were liable to lose their freedom, if not their lives. After reaching this conclusion, they began to justify their own escalations as being a necessary precaution against the presumed intentions of their opponents. This in turn justified those opponents in their own beliefs, and their own escalations. Once such beliefs became widespread, democracy was not long for this world." 

On Rome and America

I recently finished listening to Mike Duncan’s excellent “History of Rome” podcast series. It left me with a confusing swirl of thoughts that I wanted to put down on paper before they gradually evaporated.

One of the themes I found myself reflecting on was the Moldbug point that a government is just a corporation. Moldbug used this argument to note that the difference between how the average westerner thinks governments should optimally be structured (with democracy and separation of powers and an independent judiciary), is radically different than how they think private corporations should be structured (with dispersed shareholders who vote for a board, who appoints and supervises an all-powerful CEO). Which either means that you need to explain what exactly it is about their different tasks that justifies the different form, or  if there's no fundamental difference in tasks, at least one of the two is suboptimal. 

When you see the various governing forms that the Roman Empire took over time, it brings to mind the more basic question – if a government is just a special case of a firm, well, what exactly is a firm, anyway? And Ronald Coase (and Jensen and Meckling) has an answer for us here. A government, like a firm, is a nexus of contracts. That is, a government is a way for various people to coordinate their behavior for some overall purpose. Some of those people are coordinated against their will, which is an odd form of contract, but not a fundamental obstacle to the idea. And secondly, most contracts are incomplete. We either can’t perfectly commit to future actions, or can’t observe other people’s information sets enough to know if they’re screwing us (is their lousy performance because got a bad draw, or because they stopped putting in effort?) or a variety of other problems in contract theory.

And in this lens, to say that contracts are always partially incomplete is another way of saying that power is always somewhat informal. The org chart can specify who answers to whom over what questions, but unless you can actually enforce action the whole way down the chain of command, there’s always a “run it up the flagpole and see” aspect to any given order. 

So in this sense, the simplest version that solves this incomplete contracts problem is the early Roman Republic – when “the Romans were like brothers, in the brave days of old”, in Macauley’s phrase. With enough mutual love and regard, the incomplete contracts problem gets largely solved, through sacrifice, shared understanding, and desire to not maximally exploit everyone else. Government as the expression of self-determination for a well-defined ethnic group with mutual fellow-feeling thus makes sense as a reliable way of solving the contracting problem. 

This is like the highly successful family business. But a firm where you only hire family members is limited in its capital and ability to expand, unless you’re having bazillions of children each generation. This creates incentives supporting the tendency to hire outsiders, but keep control and cash flow rights to the family. So now you go from the family-only operation, to a family-owned firm employing outsiders. This can be quite stable and allow for a lot of growth. But a lot of firms find out that if you really want to expand to take advantage of profitable opportunities, you may need to dilute control by selling shares in capital markets, and hiring competent external managers instead of just your eldest son, or even your most competent son. 

At each step, the challenge is figuring out how to coordinate the increasingly complex nexus of incomplete contracts that holds the whole thing together. And for the case of governments, this is an order of magnitude harder than for private firms, as there’s no larger governing apparatus or courts to appeal to in order to resolve disputes. You can get some progress due to personal loyalty, or traditions being a Schelling Point for behavior, or displays of force making things collapse to a single Nash equilibrium. But if people disagree enough on what the contract requires in a given high stakes situation, maybe the nexus itself breaks, reverting to smaller groups with less ambitious aims who can still agree on things. Assuming, that is, that those groups can actually operate independently of the broken off group. Complexity, like entropy, is easier to add than it is to get rid of again.

And this sounds a lot like the early history of the Rome. In the beginning, the Romans were literally the citizens of Rome, who were also the soldiers. And their enemies were other nearby cities – the Samnites, the Latins, and the rest. But once defeated, these become subject cities, then friendly allies, and then finally, Italians, the inner core of the expanded polity. The concept of who is “us”, at the core of the high trust solution to the incomplete contracts problem, gets expanded. And you see the genuine aspect of ethnogenesis – what exactly makes a people, anyway? This concept has been so abused by blank slate progressives advocating for open borders (where "there is some flexibility here" gets substituted for "there is thus infinite flexibility here"), that it’s easy to miss that there are genuinely multiple ways to construct identity. And the surest way you can tell this is that the old group names just stop appearing in the stories at a certain point. We stop hearing about the Samnites, then we stop hearing about Hispania, then finally we stop hearing about “the Gauls” (as a people) and just hear about “Gaul” (as a province). 

The flip side of this expansion, however, is that it becomes harder and harder to articulate an operating principle of what and whom the whole thing is for, especially in terms of the question of who gets to be in charge and who gets to enjoy the benefits. The Roman consuls first have to be Patricians, but then that gets discarded, and they can then be wealthy Plebs too, but they still have to be Roman. Then once it moves to emperors, they eventually can be Roman families from the provinces, like Trajan, but still generally of Roman stock. These expansions prove successful, then you get the series of great Ilyrian emperors, like Diocletian. But then you get peasant emperors like Maximinus Thrax, and then you get Gothic generals who wield lots of power over puppet emperors, but still do good service to the empire (like Stilicho). But then this gives way to barbarian generals like Ricimer, who notionally still serve the decaying empire successfully, but historians start to argue whether he’s actually just a King. And finally Odoacer decides to make our lives easy by actually sending the purple cloak back to the Eastern Roman Emperor and saying he’s done with the whole thing, and now is just the King. Which is lucky for us, only because it makes the whole narrative simpler for “when did they meaningfully stop being Roman Emperors”. The Senate kept meeting until the 7th century, even as it was totally useless and a joke. 

And it’s not just the leaders – by the end, when the western Roman empire is fighting off increasing barbarian invasions, the legions doing the fighting are mostly barbarian too, and there’s not always a lot in the legitimacy stakes to make you prefer the notional emperor(s) from the usurper. It’s certainly not obviously the extent to which they represent “the Roman people” in a Wilsonian sense. 

If all this sounds like it becomes a confusing mess of an org chart by the end, it is. Part of this is because when we refer to this as a nexus of contracts, there really aren’t any actual formal contracts anywhere once the simple ties of ethnic kin aren’t the main driver. The closest we get is clear rules of succession, whose importance becomes very obvious. And when these get ignored, we’re left to the coordination game version of the Melian dialogue – the strong (and their nexus of contracts) do what they will, and the weak either join the winning team, or get killed. This often happens surprisingly fast, and a lot things that seem like they’re going to turn into massive civil wars end up as a total collapse by one side without a fight, or after a small initial battle, where all the supporters of one side abandon their leader to join the opposing faction, and the losing general either gets killed by his former supporters or commits suicide. Say what you will about the late Romans, but they played politics for keeps. 

If democracy has any virtues, it’s certainly not the wisdom of the people, or even the legitimacy that elections confer, but probably just the well understood rules of succession, whereby power is transferred on schedule, and the losers generally get to live out their lives in peace without being thrown in jail or killed. Then again, this was true in Republican Rome too, until one day it wasn’t. In the early parts of the story, you hear mostly about cities and structures, with the individual Romans playing less of a central role (with occasional exceptions like Scipio Africanus). By the time you’re routinely hearing about individual personalities at high frequency, you’re well on the way to the collapse of the Republic. And at first this takes the form of utilizing factions of Romans violently against other Romans, then it becomes using foreign auxiliaries to overcome Roman legions (who are themselves mixed), then it ends with the foreigners just running the show. 

In this regard, what you’re trying to coordinate with the early Roman Republic is a form of group selection, whereby members of a group all end up benefitting in evolutionary fitness terms because of cooperative action. Like ethnogenesis, progressives love this idea, and abuse the concept mightily to argue for all sorts of nonsense. But it can exist – not only in the case of a termite mound, but also in terms of the cells in your body. They engage in all sorts of group coordination so that their DNA gets transferred on. For a while, so did the Romans, and then later on, so did the Italians (at least in our metaphorical sense, though perhaps in a literal one too). But even inside your body, defection is often locally profitable without strong enforcement mechanisms. When one section of cells starts growing uncontrollably at the expense of the rest, this is called cancer, and has a lot of parallels to a rebellion in civil society. But the metaphor is imperfect, because the cancer of rebellion doesn’t always kill the host. Rather, at some point it starts to look less like the body with cancer and more like a cancer in charge of what used to be the body. The polity, unlike your body, can theoretically absorb outsiders. 

Aside from these curious aspects about the nature of government and its change and decay, the other part I found myself wondering about were the parts of the story being left out. Not as a conspiracy or anything, but just which are the noticeably important aspects that don’t seem to get much emphasis in the Duncan retelling? 

There are two big ones. The first of these is birthrates. Obviously he’s not recounting a continuous census of fertility. But in the days of the Republic, the recurring theme is always that whenever a Roman legion gets wiped out, they just raise another one and keep fighting, refusing to give in. You can see this an indomitable spirit and resolution, but it’s worth pondering the sheer logistics too – there must have been a large excess of tough military age males sitting around at any time, ready to be brought into military service. Where those males all went by the end of the empire is not well explained. The standard view is that they were unwilling to fight, and were kept from service by rich land owners who didn't want to sacrifice their workers. But it also seems quite likely that they might just not have been around in the same numbers. Either way, it’s puzzling. 

The other piece that supports the latter interpretation is that by the time you get to the Empire (where there is much more focus on individuals, so we know their life stories better), you can’t help but notice just how few children the Roman emperors seemed to have. If you’re not constrained by resources, why not have 12 children, or 20? How on earth do you reach the stage that you don’t have enough sons to continue your dynasty, when this is the single most important aspect of succession? Or only one son who's a total muppet? Weirdly, having no children at all is more understandable than only having two, as the former might just be general unlucky infertility, but the latter suggests it's possible, just not done much. I had always viewed the overwhelming knock on Marcus Aurelius as being that he broke the tradition of the “Five Good Emperors” of appointing as successor the most competent man, rather than their blood offspring. This is true, but the part that Duncan notes (which I hadn’t known) is that none of the others actually had any blood sons! Which is bizarre, when you think about it. It’s not even like they’re Henry VIII, producing unlucky daughter after daughter. Aurelius appointed Commodus, who was a disaster, but as Duncan notes, he was rather in a bind. Either he probably had to kill him, or make him successor, since letting him just hang around was likely to lead to civil war, which is much worse. Even Augustus, the most powerful man in the empire, ran out of sons. Like, just get some mistresses! Or bang your wife more! I have a feeling something very odd was going on with Roman birthrates, which I want to understand more.

The other even less remarked on piece is Roman engineering and technology. Occasionally you get snippets of the story like Trajan building the longest bridge for the next thousand years, or Caesar shocking the Germanic tribes by building a bridge to transport his whole army across the Rhine before the barbarians knew it had happened. Or the general impressiveness of aqueducts, which managed to slope ever so gradually over miles and miles to deliver water from one place to the other. 

Nobody else was doing that. So how did Roman technology advance? How late in the story did that stop happening (surely an important question to those who judge present civilisational health by the existence of iPhones). And why couldn’t anyone else match it in the same way? You realize that you have such a tiny number of primary sources, and if it wasn’t a subject that people bothered to record the history of, you’re going to have a lot of guesswork.  

Finally, comes the applications to the present. One aspect that stands out is that the ability to forecast the lifespan of the empire is complicated by the fact that battles at that time were still largely tactical and not strategic. That is, there often might be only one or a couple of large encounters that decide who comes off the best in a war between nations. And because these often turn on small decisions on the battlefield, smaller armies can frequently rout and destroy much larger ones, or a small number of surprise defeats can threaten the entire nation (like in the Punic Wars with Carthage). This means that at a lot of places, something going differently could have ended the whole Roman experiment much sooner – the Punic Wars, for instance, or the Crisis of the Third Century. In the age of strategic warfare, you might actually have a better chance at forecasting which structural forces will prove decisive if the two sides just grind it out long enough. Then again, maybe not – there’s been no shortage of American defeats to notionally weaker foes that might not have seemed structurally obvious ahead of time. 

The last one is the surprisingly low correlation between the level of domestic misery at any given time and the actual instability of the whole project. The late Roman Republic was an utterly miserable time for its citizens compared with the previous centuries, with the advent of massive Roman civil wars, proscriptions and deaths of political opponents and their supporters, and general chaos and uncertainty. But all the protagonists at this point are still Roman. You never really get a sense that there’s an Alexander of Macedon equivalent waiting in the wings to crush all the war-weary parties. Instead, Rome still seemed pretty secure from external enemies. By contrast, there are lots of periods during the Empire where the barbarians seemed to be both stronger and more coordinated, and could tip the whole thing over. Even here, it’s not an inexorable decline. By the early 5th century, things actually seem to be looking slightly brighter for a while. Yet the striking thing at this stage is that even a competent Emperor like Aetius isn’t able to actually fully reverse the losses, only slow them. It’s not long then before things go off the rails for good, at least in the west. 

If we look at the level of America’s foreign predation, we see useless and counterproductive wars, and endless third world migration, but there is nothing like barbarian armies forcibly peeling off territory, or menacing the homeland. This calculus is made a little more difficult by the fact that we are highly dishonest about what the American empire actually is, and thus what it would mean to be losing territory if you only rule indirectly. If you defined the American empire crudely as “everywhere that had a George Floyd protest in 2020” (including places like Berlin, London and Melbourne) then maybe the calculus gets a little harder. But still – in physical fights, America loses, but it loses in other people’s backyards, when the stakes for the domestic citizens are mostly pretty low. 

And in a pinch, I find myself thinking that our recent developments seem to map more closely to the late Roman Republic than the late Roman Empire. If I had to guess who Trump most closely matches too, it’s probably the Gracchi brothers. They started using populism, and in their case threats of mob violence, to get their legislation passed. This isn’t exactly Trump, but the sense of tapping into populist anger to circumvent the normal political process seemed like a good description of his nomination and victory in 2016. And the establishment backlash to unseat him, both from dubious Russiagate investigations from the civil service and Democratic party, periodic deaths and violence in political confrontations and protests becoming more normal, unusual levels of election fraud in 2020, and Trump’s final temper tantrum protest on January 6th, all fit the same pattern. A gradual erosion of previous norms, a gradual escalation by each side. The Gracchi brothers both got killed, which I don’t think will be Trump’s fate (though blog.jim still is betting on this). But the important parallel I see is that they showed a path to a certain kind of escalation that later men like Marius, then Sulla, then finally Caesar and Augustus, would both increase and take to its logical conclusion. At some point, people just realize that the Republic is dead and not coming back. It takes a long time, and a lot of denial, before that point is reached.

Sometimes, that’s just your lot, and there’s not much you can do. To modify Brad Pitt’s character in Inglourious Basterds – you don’t gotta be Niccolo Machiavelli to know that you don’t want to live through “the Year of the Four Emperors”.

But America as the late Roman Republic is actually the optimistic scenario. Not because it won’t get worse – if the metaphor holds, it definitely will. But because it might eventually get better. 

America, December 31st, 2021

[Editorial Note: I wanted to risk trying something unusual for this blog. This poem was written as my submission for Lomez's excellent Passage Prize, which I ordered, and you should too. It made the short list for the finals (yay!), but not the final prizes (boo!), nor the second round selections for the print edition (double boo!). So you might describe this as being among the worst of the worst of the best, which sounds about right to me.

The following was my introduction to the submission, which I'm not sure if I should get straight to the point and delete, but while I am a confident essayist, I am a nervous poet, so forgive the endless self-effacement:

"Hey Curtis,

Let me begin with an apology of sorts - it has been twenty years since I last wrote a poem, and I never really understood free verse. I kind of think of poetry as divided into either a) regular forms with rhyme and meter, or b) unusually personal imagery-heavy essays broken up to look visually appealing and emphasize certain pauses. I don't know if the latter is your view of free verse, however. To write the following in regular poetic form is probably outside my skill level, would take a very long time and probably would end up worse. Hence the result below. When you describe the meter of your poems, it mostly doesn't register with me, as I just breeze past this and read the sentences, which I really like. All of which is to say – I’m not sure whether this should be a poem at all, or an essay. But it doesn't seem to fit the prompt for the literary non-fiction version. So I figured I'd submit it anyway, if for no other reason than that I very much enjoyed the writing prompt to write something personal that risked being cringe." ]


America, December 31st, 2021

America, that land

That drew me in so long ago,

Is caught, pincer-like,

Between the two great forces

Of decaying empires.

The Scylla,

Of the great deal of ruin in a nation,

And the Charybdis,

That that which cannot continue, will cease.

 

I remember, when I first arrived,

Having occasion to observe,

With some regularity,

That this was a great country.

At billboards advertising

"Twenty Chicken McNuggets for $6.99".

Partly in jest, but mostly serious,

I used to remark:

"These should have the national anthem

Blaring on repeat,

Flag flying in the breeze.

This country believes in value!".

At redneck engineering videos,

Of homemade trebuchets.

At old universities,

Taking classes for free,

With famous and brilliant professors.

At the wonder that every band I loved,

Would just turn up in my town,

And play live every year or so.

At college girls that would find

My accent just cute enough,

For that 5-10% boost,

To come back to my apartment.

 

America, you have been very good to me.

 

I had one such moment recently,

At seeing the winning entries,

In a giant pumpkin contest,

At a small-town country fair.

A two-thousand-pound pumpkin!

Grown simply for the je ne sais quois!

There is still greatness,

Wonder and weirdness,

In odd corners you can stumble on.

But the next thought I had

Was realizing

Just how many years it was

Since last I had that thought.

Partly, the desensitization

Of repeated exposure.

Partly, the ingrate foreigner,

Now successful and dismissive,

Of those that helped him.

But partly, I think,

The decline that is all around us.

 

I used to joke that America

Seemed to be experiencing

The Soviet time-line in reverse,

Except it was crumbling, not strengthening.

Then some mental reflex noted

The multiplying number of epicycles,

And I wondered how sure I was,

That things didn't better match,

To the Roman empire,

Or the Roman republic,

Or the French revolution,

Or the Byzantines,

Or to many others

Of which I knew less.

(The amateur historian,

Confident in his theory,

Would do well to count

How many Chinese dynasties

He can name at all,

Then exclude those where

The mental association maps

Only to a diad,

With a name, and a phrase

Like "vase" or "pottery army".)

The confusing pattern-matching,

Where every peg is a meteorite,

Fractally weird and irregular,

And endlessly able to be rotated,

And every hole is an impact crater,

Blasted into the earth,

Chaos where a neat outline should be.

Beware the advice

Of the reactionary

Who only knows one history

Of decline and fall.

 

Decline, in one form or another,

Is on the lips of almost

Everyone these days.

A Democrat-voting work friend

Asks me if I plan

To home-school my children,

With "Yes" his obvious answer.

I responded that,

I had thought about this, and

Concluded that if there

Is not a nearby school,

Either public or private,

That I would trust to

Educate my child,

Is this actually still

The country I should be living in?

 

The answer, unspoken, lingers in the air.

 

The obvious follow-on question,

Also unspoken, is:

"If not here, then where?"

This one has no easy answer,

As everywhere turns into America.

 

But we have sailed

Very close to Charybdis,

And fail to tack towards

Scylla at our peril.

Is it really about to collapse?

Or is this just

The Twitter talking?

The outrage-bait machine,

Using my brain as

A meat puppet?

The glowing square is

Hypnotic and smooth,

And out of it pours

Misery and anxiety.

The view out my window

Is the same as ever.

 

The conditional is easy to tell.

Fussell understood it well,

Describing the prospect of death

For a soldier in wartime.

If the porridge hits the propeller:

"It is going to happen to me,

And only my not being here

Will prevent it."

This realization,

Fussell thought,

Was what drove them mad.

 

As a foreigner, I can tell you,

Woodrow Wilson was right

About us hyphenated-Americans

(For the first generation at least).

The man who would leave

His wife for a mistress,

Will abandon her, too, in turn,

When the deal's gone sour.

When it is your country,

You will fight.

When you are a stranger,

You will leave.

That is, if you can

Figure it out in time.

 

One day, just like

Niall Ferguson's bond investors,

On the eve of WW1,

You may wake up and find out

That the great deal

Of ruin in a nation

Has finally been exhausted.

 

It is not going to happen, probably,

This week, month, or year, though.

The mean decline is still slow.

The variance is alarming.

 

The young man who once left

His home, carelessly,

Not even really sure

Quite what the plan was,

Finds this an overwhelming question

Now in middle age.

 

So what to do in the meantime?

If now is not, in fact, the right time?

 

Relative to the Soviets,

Our mangled and mismatched metaphor,

We have one great advantage.

We also have an NKVD,

But no one is in charge of it.

Its ad hoc structure gives

Only loose coordination,

And since the only payoff comes

In the debased coin of status,

Our own era's commissars

Simply cannot wait

To announce themselves publicly.

"In this house we believe..."

Solzhenitsyn would have dreamed

Of foes this blatant.

 

I suspect that as things get

Inexorably worse,

The skill that soon,

Will matter most

Is knowing whom to trust,

And whom you can

Speak freely to.

 

I have found just two

Rules of thumb worth relaying.

If you have a

Sense of humor,

And if you can

Debate a point

And not take it personally,

I can likely talk about

Almost anything with you,

If I choose my words correctly.

At least today.

Maybe one day,

The backwards-winding clock

Will strike 1937,

And then everyone will be,

Guilty of something.

 

Wish as we might,

We cannot live

In any era but our own.

One must always try

To avoid the uselessness

And self-pity in

"The whining, the pleas of a coward".

 

So, what can you do with all this?

 

Propaganda succeeds, in part,

When those who disagree with it,

Are afraid to say so.

 

Dissenting openly and publicly,

Especially in the written word,

Is courting great trouble.

It is for the bold,

If you have a heart and spirit,

As firm as Solzhenitsyn,

An old testament prophet,

In this post testament world.

 

But speaking up in private,

To those you can trust,

Builds camaraderie and friendship,

The basis of all bonds that form

Incipient organizations,

Upon which revival may depend.

 

Perhaps this adds

Small brick on brick,

To the start of something new,

The Empire that grows,

From the ashes of the Republic.

 

Perhaps it serves only,

As the intellectual companionship,

Of knowing one is not alone,

In these dispirited times.

That the Soviet mental asylum,

We dissidents are placed in,

Is actually filled with the sane.

 

I may not live boldly

In many things,

But I believe in backing one's judgment

In estimations of character.

Learn how to read people,

Judiciously and carefully,

To figure out whom you can trust.

 

But to let them know

That they can trust you,

To break the higher order uncertainty,

Someone generally has to have

The courage to say something

Out of sync with modernity.

 

Might you get it wrong?

Of course you might get it wrong!

I have got it badly wrong

Exactly three times, so far.

None were fatal, thankfully.

Did you really think that there

Was some option, in this morass,

That didn't come with risk?

 

Reader, you would go

A fair way towards

Being conditionally trusted,

Knowing not much more

Than that you stumbled across this poem.