Lessons of History

Back in the olden days, when GCSEs were significant exams worthy of veneration due to their nearly departed proximity and A-levels were imbued with importance due to their imminence and their clear life altering impact, I pursued history at both levels with a true sense of relish and with an abiding sense of enjoyment of the past. Then I loved the certainty, the sophistication and the complication of history, the challenge of entangling the knowable fact from the impenetrable murkiness in which motive and involvement could be hidden. The pieces never could be put together to complete the puzzle, and one could instead admire the puzzle from the outside and only imagine what the whole image could look like.

Over time this fascination lapsed. I stopped the academic study of history, got enthralled by the more sociological and meta-historical purpose that authors such as Jared Diamond or Paul Kennedy saw in the tapestry of history. The many histories of many places compiled together to reveal history’s response to Newton’s Laws, precise defined and entirely reflective upon the field which they guided in its direction. They were interesting books, placing much of time into its context, but nonetheless far removed from the more methodological, chronological narrative that history can become when the finer details are appreciated and true distinction can be drawn between epochs, ages and emperors.

Now after a gap of many years I find myself coming back to the historical fold with a more keen interest, but focused on an area of history that I’ve had little effective formal schooling, certainly we were taught it during year 7, but little of those lessons abide with me and I doubt anyone truly remembers the lessons of a decade ago.

I am drawn towards the Antiquities, the history of the ancient world as we so scantily know it. The power of Persia; the worlds first super power, the Awesome empires of China, the fledging Athenian political revolution that endeared Greece to all posterity.

My true interest though has been captured by the most enduring and triumphant of the Antiquities, in the shape of the 2000 year history of the Greatest Empire the civilized world ever saw, clothed under the purple robes of the Roman Imperators. My interest started, as did many an Emperor, with a humble beginning that in all likelihood I should conceal from posterity, but I shall work no such illusion. It began with the HBO series Rome, which charted the end of the Roman Republic and the assassination of Gaius Julius Caesar, one of the most famous events of all western history. It went on to sample the ambiguity and eccentricity of the world inhabited by the world first true historian, Herodotus in his two volumed work. The death throws of the Roman Republic were completed in better detail in the excellent Tom Holland book Rubicon, the title referring to the now forgotten stream that marked the boundary of Italy and the sacred Roman soil from the provinces that the expanding Republic administered. From there it went fictional, in Robert Graves’ highly acclaimed work I, Claudius and now I have started upon an abridged version of the most resplendent monument in the histories of the Roman Empire, in Gibbons famous Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire.

My interest in history has changed as well. The puzzle no longer grips me as intently. I accept that the world is far too complex the details far too finicky and the events too lost too sustain that sort of inquiry. Instead I have taken the lesson to heart that there is nothing truly new under the sun, and in the actions of these old rulers and odd people who lived and died under an empire so vast that exile from it meant that there was no civilized place for its inhabitants to go, can teach valuable and apt lessons for the modern world. History, our past, defines our outlook and our future, and the person who can control or define or even select the apt example from the past will do well to carry events forward in the future. That sense of communion, of belonging to the historical narrative is a powerful sensation. The ancient world is also rich in symbolism, we have images that are enshrined in theirs, and consequently our, myths and legends that provide apt metaphors for much of modern life. Again the power of symbolism is unconquerable, worth if an image is guaranteed a thousand, a hundred thousand words. Our ability to learn from, to use and to exploit the past is one of the most critical concepts that can be taken from history.

We may not have a Monarchy in politics, but many of the other institutions of the modern world could without any dissimulation wear upon their shoulders cochineal dyes. People, the character of humanity, its capacities for high or low, have not changed as much as they ought to have; the realities of people are ever evident in history. This broad brush history can be found in the most vivid colors in the life, organization and necromancy of the Roman Empire and that is perhaps why I find it the most fascinating of all. History is not the study of what has gone for me anymore, it is the study of what is alive today through the forensic lens of what has gone before, to discover the world that exists outside of all the fine surface decoration that has been grafted on modern man. This gritty reality, this reduced essence of man, feels most accessible in the scholarship of antiquity.

Power Plays

There is only power, and those who are too weak to take it. So says one of the most prominent fictional villains of all time, and it is this obiter dicta of a non-judicial Lord, that I have found myself compelled to spend a little while considering. I’ve not always been very interested in power. Power you see, in its most meaningful sense is power over people, and my reaction to the enforced extra interaction with others that such power would bring is easily understood as an undesirable result that could never be compensated for by the perks of power inside my inwards facing soul.

In my naivety I convinced myself that I had nothing to do with power, would actually consider myself more morally upright and beyond the vulgarity of playing the power game. I would maintain the Spartan whiteness of my moral complexion. I would shut my eyes to this misdirection of the human will and suffer no folly for this willful blindness. I would be wary of it impeding upon me and my life. The power demands of others would be considered and blocked, but I, spotless, harmless, me, would refrain from ever being entangled with anything beyond defense against the dark arts.

I wish I could say that I was still of this persuasion, that I could honestly say that I would refrain from playing the little mental and mind games that are concomitant with the power game, but I don’t think I want to be that person anymore. Power is useful, it is the definitive ingredient in many a human life, and its absence or presence, its gradients and its affiliations will do much to untangle the spiders web of allegiances, allegations and actions that cross and re-cross life in all its essence.

More essentially, to take the moral stand that I am aloof from power games inflicts on me two detriments, first it tells all that in fact I am weak, and must depend on convention or morality to hold my ground, both bases that are fickle and grounded in the Mob. Secondly, in and of itself, the moral claim to aloofness is a power play in and of itself it is the use of this moral cudgel to gain power over others. Better honestly and fully in the game, that truly inescapable and most worldly of games, than dishonestly out of it. I do believe that it is possible to turn the moral force into tremendous power, through the invocation of the divine or the spiritual, but inside my value system I have no inherent access to either, and so must not look to them to be manipulated as a power base.

There is a darker side to my desire to understand power. I begin to understand that the only way to be immune to the pressure that the power of others can exert against you, is to be able to deconstruct their movements, to understand where their power originates, how it can be applied and therefore where its weaknesses lies and what counter forces can be applied against it. Similarly it is patently clear that the only genuine counter to a force exerted in one direction is to exert a force in the exact opposite direction. Therefore when power bases will be wielded against me, I will be required to have a power base, or the appearance of one of my own to stand up. The weak and innocent are always the first to suffer in any conflict, and I have no desire to be described as either. How much better to be secure in your own strength or confident of the weakness of your enemies rather then to fear the strength of others and not know the disposition of their forces.

Like all the great Hegemonic Empires, I am convinced that I only do this for good. I have no ill will towards anyone that I wish to unleash my rage against by the manipulation of power, but rather that I do not wish to be exposed to the misdirected blasts of another. I desire safety. At least that’s what I’m currently telling myself. I’m sure that at some point I will use any power I ever accrue, if it is significant to achieve any ends, in the manner I have so carefully circumscribed above. I don’t imagine myself immune from this process. As we all famously know, Power Corrupts.

Oh, Vanity Fair

I would recommend to my reader, the book Vanity Fair by William Thackeray, if they wish to come to an understanding of the caustic cynicism that is currently my frame of mind. It charts in no uncertain terms, the progress of two girls, ostensibly friends, but ever different as they journey through the circus, the carnival fair, that humanity in its true nature is. It documents without flinching the vice, follies, deficits and darkness of all its characters, without shirking from what it seeks to present as the truth. It is a Victorian novel, and so to that extent the world it will portray is starkly different from the one that we inhabit now, yet much is the same, for man is present in both eras, and his behaviour shows fain site of improving between the Enlightenment and Judgement day. That said it is a most poetic work of literature, and if I could write, I would choose to write as Thackeray does, his casual breaking of the third world, his multi-faceted and mutli-positional narrator all traits I would enjoy in emulation

The Book has me in the frame of mind to think about duplicity and simulation. It makes me see, in the real world that I must inhabit, and the many faced characters that share it with me, all the signs and aspects of false behaviour and cordiality. People who act one way and believe another, who trick, who dupe, who extend false respect and false cordiality. It hardly surprises me that it is so rampant now that I open my eyes to it, my naïve humanity now no longer exempt from facing the realities that mark existence. At the same time I doubt that without the concept of the Vanity Fair, I would be so willing to document them in my mind nor collect them so avidly to store and recall.

My purpose in such storage is simply to mark down those who do it for my remembrances. There are many who sacrifice their credibility in my eyes, as I have mentioned just recently by such behaviour and I have to keep myself aware of what they do so that others cannot use the same methods against me. I fear to be the victim of the cleverness in others that is turned to false profit and malicious gain. I have no desire to be the subject of these kind of people, yet I recognise now that they abound. I cannot pretend that they don’t exist just because many are not like that.

I have become a cynic once again, perhaps a condition that is forced on me by being in Hong Kong, and the pragmatic practicalities that are inherent in being in a place that I intend to settle down, so that people must be cultivated for the long term and care must be taken to ensure that the gossips whose tongues way viciously and widely are not to turn their tongues in my direction, for they would love to do so, it is in their character, and I know they are present in the world in which I stumble. Such treacherous waters bring out the inherent conservatism and defensive shields of personality that I was exempt from deploying in London. The mix of personality is wider in Hong Kong, the pool of opportunity smaller and the people out to take advantage of the opportunities correspondingly more dangerous. I’m sure such sharks swim in London streams, but they do not trouble my deep resting there.

I apologise for my reader for speaking in such cryptic code if they have valorously laboured to the end of this post, but for that there is little that can be done. I must be so circumspect because practicality demands it. Many would not understand the context or the need, those who understand will understand the need.

Incredulous and Incendiary

The thin line between credibility and incredibility has become something of a resurgent issue, having been cast into my face by the realities of being back in Hong. A certain individual who wields considerable power and has great status has committed himself to actions that in my eyes have destroyed all his credibility and have made me very dubious and very cynical of him, his actions, his motives and abilities.

What I am interested in looking at is the nature of my reaction, especially since the rest is beyond my ability to control.

My reaction has gone quickly and progressively from disbelief to anger to indignation to a cold smouldering anger, which I fear will calcify. I am required by the canons of good behaviour to act in a cordial and respectful manner; indeed would not really contemplate acting in any other manner. At the same time, I have confined him to be treated very lightly in my eyes. I will have no truck or commerce with him beyond that which I am required. I do not believe anything he tells me, and certainly do not presume its truth or validity without assiduous, independent verification on my part. There is a gap between his self-perceived credibility with me and his actual credibility with me that is as wide as oceans and as equally deep and irreconcilable.

I perceive that it is the sum of his actions, some directed at me, some at my friends, some generally that push me to reach this opinion of him, yet I am not sure that such hostility of heart can be justified by the actions done to a third party, especially the collective third party.

In fact I don't see how this vast gap can be reconciled at all without a major turnabout from one party. Now since the other party does not seem aware that there is an issue at play, and I have no inclination to tell him, a rather tense problem perpetuates that is unlikely to be solved by anything but the passage of time. Now how much time that must be I'm unaware but I do feel that it will be a long time before I come to my sense and am willing to let it go, it certainly will not be happening swiftly and will require considerable thought and concern on my part.

What worries me more about this is how willing I am to be duplicitous in this respect, to be generous in appearance with him and equally cool and contemptuous when the distance is great. Now I accept there are realities that mitigate this by demanding that they be adhered to, and I am unable to skirt these realities without bringing ill consequences on others that I do not wish to be the cause of. At the same time, I doubt this sense of 'two-faced ‘ness will be harmoniously reconciled within me, and in all reality I am likely to blame this person for the tension he has caused in me as much as his initial errors which are probably by comparison of minor importance and certainly not worth the amount of calcification of the heart that is being bought about. Such obvious realpolitik is not something I am willing to engage in without considerable reflection, yet I am forced to engage in it, for the sake of position and harmony.

I grown hard hearted and ill inclined to what may be good and what may be beneficial, but I cannot see that I am truly in the wrong and since I am only a pawn in the game, I will suffice to keep my public silence. But there are no pawns in life, and every pawn may one day promote, bringing with it consequences that were not thought of when they were originally so callously treated.

I will watch and wait. I fear that in some way I may have just committed myself to anger and revenge. But at the same time I do not resile from that. Be that as it may.