And the deeper reasons for our viral vulnerability have not gone away. Just as plague arrived with civilization, so our unprecedented twenty-first-century global civilization has made plague both more likely and more dangerous. We have opened up viral pathways in far more places than the Romans ever dreamed of and created transportation networks of unprecedented speed and dynamism across the entire world. Our unstoppable global economic engine, along with climate change, has prompted mass migration from the Global South to the Global North, the kind of disruption we know makes epidemics more likely. We have penetrated the rain forest and unfrozen the tundra; we are releasing long-buried pathogens whose impact on humans we simply cannot even guess at. We have disturbed the planet in precisely the ways that led to devastating consequences for humans in the past. But more so than ever before. Just in the past few years: Ebola, MERS, SARS, and COVID-19.
And we are not in control. If you are still complacent that human science and technology have removed the potential for the mass extinction of humans, you should wake up. We have lucked out so far. COVID-19 is extremely transmissible but not that fatal to most people, all things considered. But even those countries that are success stories didn’t see it coming in the first place and have experienced resilient breakouts. We still have no vaccine—it may be a year or more before we get one, and we do not know how effective it will be. Imagine the next pandemic pathogen as something as devastating as Ebola and as contagious as the flu. We are as defenseless as we have ever been. This relatively mild virus shut the entire world down for a couple of months. What happens when a much worse one shuts it down for longer?
Knowledge of a brutal new virus does not prevent its spread. Only a much more profound reorientation of humankind will lower the odds: moving out of cities, curtailing global travel, ending carbon energy, mask wearing in public as a permanent feature of our lives. We either do this to lower the odds of mass death or let nature do what it does—eventually so winnowing the human stock that we are no longer a threat to the planet we live on.
That’s the sobering long view. It is hard to look at the history of plagues without reflecting on the fact that civilizations created them and that our shift from our hunter-gatherer origins into a world of globally connected city-dwelling masses has always had a time bomb attached to it. It has already gone off a few times in the past few thousand years, and we have somehow rebounded, but not without long periods, as in post-Roman Europe, of civilizational collapse. But our civilization is far bigger than Rome’s ever was: truly global and, in many ways, too big to fail. And the time bomb is still there—and its future impact could be far greater than in the past. In the strange silence of this plague, if you listen hard, you can still hear it ticking.
The Unbearable Whiteness of the Classics
February 5, 2021 | THE WEEKLY DISH
One of the more eye-opening documents you can find online is Martin Luther King Jr.’s handwritten syllabus for a seminar he was teaching at Morehouse College in 1962. It’s a glimpse of what King believed an educated black man should know. It’s a challenging list: Plato’s Republic, Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics, Augustine’s City of God, all the way to Bentham and Mill. There’s also a copy of the exam questions he set. Among them: “List and evaluate the radical ideas presented in Plato’s Republic;” “State and evaluate Aristotle’s view of slavery.”
What King grasped, it seems to me, is the core meaning of a liberal education, the faith that ideas can transcend space and time and culture and race. There are few things more thrilling than to enter a whole new world from another era—and to see the resilient ideas, texts, and arguments that have lasted (or not) through the millennia. These ideas are bound up, of course, in the specific context and cultures of the past, and it is important to disentangle the two. But to enter the utterly alien world of the past and discover something intimate and contemporary is one of the great joys of intellectual life. MLK wasn’t the only classics student among the great civil rights leaders. Malcolm X was too.
My own classical wonderment came from learning Latin. From the age of eleven to eighteen, at my selective high school, I studied, translated, and wrote in Latin. My inner gay-boy nerd marveled at its logic and near-total consistency, the matrix of its grammar, and, over time, even the prose style of its greatest writers. I came to chuckle at Catullus, and at the deadpan irony of Tacitus; I learned how to write sentences by reading Cicero. I shared some of the excitement that so many first experienced when these texts were recovered and engaged again in the Middle Ages and Renaissance.
This strange, ancient, muscular language was also a key to the texts, rituals, and prayers of my church, opening up another dimension of meaning as well. It felt as if, stuck in a small town in England in the dreary 1970s, I had been given the keys to live in another universe. My one regret was not taking Ancient Greek. Imagine if I could read the Gospels in the original!
But I read in The New York Times this week, as one does, that, in fact, I was deluding myself. Rather than being liberated, as I felt I was, I was actually being initiated into “white supremacy.” And there is now a broadening movement in the academy to abolish or dismantle the classics because of their iniquitous “whiteness.”
Racial “whiteness” as a concept would, of course, have been all but meaningless to all the ancient writers I grew to love. It’s beyond even an anachronism. How on Earth do you reduce the astonishing variety and depth and breadth of texts from an ancient Mediterranean world to a skin color? How do you read Aristotle and conclude that the most salient quality of his genius was that he was “white”?
You can arrive at this deranged conclusion, it seems, in two contrived ways. One is to view the ancient world as some kind of founding proof of the superiority of the “white race,” whatever that means. Imperialists and fascists have always loved this theme; Mussolini was especially fond of it. The very word “fascism” comes from the Roman “fasces,” a bound bundle of logs that was used to signify the authority of the state. In the same New York Times piece, we are reminded that the “marchers in Charlottesville, Va., carried flags bearing a symbol of the Roman state; online reactionaries adopted classical pseudonyms; the white-supremacist website Stormfront displayed an image of the Parthenon alongside the tagline ‘Every month is white history month.’ ”
This dreck is not just bigoted; it’s ahistorical, anachronistic, and reductionist, and it ignores the vast range of classical thought, in which radicals and liberals have found as much intellectual nourishment as conservatives and reactionaries.
The other way to see the classics as a form of “white supremacy” is to embrace critical race theory. Some now argue that the study of ancient Greece and Rome “forms part of the scaffold of white supremacy” that endures to this day. This is because Western democracies can trace many of their formative ideas back to Greece and Rome—and many of these same democracies went on to practice imperialism and even slavery, thousands of years later. Some even justified their brutality with reference to classical texts. This entwining of the white supremacist assumptions of the Enlightenment with ancient Greece and Rome means the classics are therefore fatally tainted.
I’m sorry, but that’s it? That’s the argument? An entire, diverse, multifaceted, multicultural civilization that sprawled from Turkey and North Africa to the borders of Scotland—a source of fascination to people of all political persuasions and races over the centuries—cannot be taught because some racists in the past abused its texts? That’s like saying that science should no longer exist because some scientists once practiced eugenics.
The man at the center of the New York Times profile, one Dan-el Padilla Peralta, is a fascinating case study in all this. He’s obviously brilliant and once found liberation in the classics the way I and so many others did. As a black immigrant from the Dominican Republic, he became a prodigy in classical scholarship. As recently as 2015 and late 2016, he was writing things like this: “For a dark-skinned child of the Domin
ican Diaspora who spent his formative years in Harlem, it was both captivating and empowering to detect the pulse of Greco-Roman antiquity in hip-hop. In the heat of that collision new worlds were born.”
And then he was born again. He came to see the white supremacists’ co-optation of the classics as inextricable from the classics themselves; and believed their influence had helped not only construct American slavery but the persecution of Haitians by the Dominicans in his native land. He saw these power dynamics working through history, and he suddenly felt complicit in them. This epiphany demanded a wholesale reboot of his intellect—“I had to actively engage in the decolonization of my mind”—and a wholesale dismantling and, if need be, destruction of his entire field of study.
That’s quite a leap. The New York Times piece attempts to explain Padilla’s conflation of the ancients with racism thus: “Classics and whiteness are the bones and sinew of the same body; they grew strong together, and they may have to die together.” First: What does that actually mean? Second: How could that claim be falsified? Like all the rest of critical theory, it can’t. Or this: race is “a ghostly system of power relations that produces certain gestures, moods, emotions and states of being.” It permeates everything everywhere. Like the Holy Ghost?
Perhaps this is the clearest thesis statement: “Enlightenment thinkers created a hierarchy with Greece and Rome, coded as white, on top, and everything else below.” I take the point. Yes, Enlightenment figures saw Greece and Rome as civilizational heights—because they were. And yes, they linked them to European society, because, after all, much of Europe was occupied by Rome, which was so deeply influenced by the Greeks. They also distinguished white Europeans from the rest of the world’s population in troublingly racist ways, from the perspective of the twenty-first century. We should take account of this and note where and when this ugly theme emerges. But that Enlightenment thinkers sometimes misused the classical texts does not invalidate the texts themselves.
And why can’t you teach this critique of eighteenth-century racism—alongside the classics themselves? Why can you not, for good measure, add great works from other cultures, and expand the idea of classics, rather than rubbish it? Another classicist, Ian Morris, gives this answer in the New York Times piece: “Classics is a Euro-American foundation myth. Do we really want that sort of thing?” Well, as a way to understand the roots of our civilization, why shouldn’t we?
I’ve become fascinated by these moments of conversion, of “waking up” to see everything through the prism of race and identity. Padilla did not just become more aware of how the classics had been abused in the Enlightenment, he had a real epiphany. There was no way to reconcile his previous love for the classics from the systemic racism they now represented to him. “Claiming dignity within this system of structural oppression,” Padilla says, “requires full buy-in into its logic of valuation.” He refuses to “praise the architects of that trauma as having done right by you at the end.” So now he teaches classics by getting students to role-play Romans, or as a way to encourage critical theory activism. Everything else must be cleansed.
I’m still stunned by how so many believe this big a leap is the only option; or that these crude binaries—white bad, non-white good—are somehow helpful. I’m struck by how many intelligent people seem prepared to abandon any consideration of culture, economics, immigration, region, or family structure in understanding racial dynamics in history or today. I’m amazed that racist terms like “whiteness” are now deployed routinely—as if such a thing exists; as if white people, with their vast political, cultural, and personal differences, are somehow interchangeable as a single oppressive mass; as if “white values” is not on its face a baldly racist term.
But racial Manichaeism really touches our erogenous zones, as Padilla’s newfound zeal shows. To see the world as binary and to choose the side of righteousness makes life much more meaningful. It banishes doubt and complexity. It makes us feel better to be part of a tribe and to have a simple enemy or ally who is clearly visible—just check the color of their skin, as every elite student is now trained to do.
Padilla, it seems to me, was able to resolve some of the huge challenges of modernity and his own psyche and background by surrendering his mind and soul to a purely racial, and thereby tribal, analysis of the world. It is a form of psychological liberation, an epiphany millions also seemed to experience last summer, but it is a dark one. Critical theory, unlike most religions, posits no transcendent escape from its worldly strictures and systems, pinions you to the cross of your various identities, and offers only the promise of permanent struggle as a reward.
I prefer another form of liberation—out of race and identity and into learning, out of one’s own identity and into others’, out of the present and into the past—another world entirely, waiting to be explored and understood. I believe in the “higher individualism” of “the sovereign human soul that seeks to know itself and the world about it,” in the words of W. E. B. Du Bois. There’s freedom there, as so many have found in reading the great works of the ancient past. I yearn to be where Du Bois found himself:
I sit with Shakespeare, and he winces not. Across the color line I move arm and arm with Balzac and Dumas, where smiling men and welcoming women glide in gilded halls. From out of the caves of evening that swing between the strong-limbed Earth and the tracery of stars, I summon Aristotle and Aurelius and what soul I will, and they come all graciously with no scorn nor condescension. So, wed with Truth, I dwell above the veil. Is this the life you grudge us, O knightly America? Is this the life you long to change into the dull red hideousness of Georgia? Are you so afraid lest peering from this high Pisgah, between Philistine and Amalekite, we sight the Promised Land?
It is a tragic irony of history that while this freedom of the mind was once withheld from generations of African Americans by actual white supremacists, it is now in danger of being withheld once again by neoracists of a different but just as tenacious kind.
Two Sexes. Infinite Genders.
February 26, 2021 | THE WEEKLY DISH
Gallup’s latest report on the Ls, Gs, Bs, and Ts has raised a few eyebrows. It shows a slow, gradual rise in those identifying as “LGBT” so that it now stands at 5.6 percent of the population—a record.
I know this is a hot topic, but, seriously, I can’t see this as a big deal. When I was coming out a hundred years ago, we were constantly told that 10 percent—at least!—of the country was gay. “One in ten” was a common buzz phrase in gay groups, and most gay people believed it. And in what was my first of many heresies as a homosexual, I never bought that. How on Earth did I keep recognizing the same people at march after march and parade after parade if there were over thirty million of us? And why should we care how many of us there are?
When I examine the details of the latest poll, I’m reassured that my intuition was right and all that feel-good propaganda was wrong. It turns out that in 2020, only 1.4 percent of US adults are gay men, and only 0.7 percent are lesbians. So all the gays and lesbians amount to a little over 2 percent of the country’s adults. And that seems about right to me.
The surprise, however, is that there are now almost as many people identifying as “trans” as “lesbian.” In Generation Z, trans identification (1.8 percent) now beats lesbian ID (1.4 percent) as a proportion of the whole. Over three generations, trans identity has gone from 0.2 percent to 1.8 percent, a staggering 800 percent increase. That may be because anti-trans attitudes are shifting for the better and more people feel able to express themselves; it may also be because of a shift among lesbians to the trans category, as butch dykes increasingly become men; and some of it is probably due to the sheer trendiness of being trans among the young. It’s kind of amazing—and wonderful—that trans identity has gone from being freakish to being the coolest thing, among the young. But for some, let’s be real here, it may just be identity-slumming when talking to a pollster.
Bisexuals, at 54.6 percent of a
ll “LGBT” identifiers, are now a majority, and in Gen Z, clock in at 72 percent! The qualification to this is that only 3.7 percent of bisexuals live with someone of the same sex while over 30 percent live with someone of the opposite sex. And I have to say I think it’s a bit odd that such a big chunk of the “LGBTs” are actually functioning in heterosexual relationships—and that doesn’t even count the hetero trans population. If Gallup had added a Q, for “queer,” we could include even more fashionable heterosexuals—or maybe, given the absence of that category from the Gallup list—they chose the bisexual category. It’s one more reason, I’d argue, that we should disaggregate the “LGBT” construction so actual gay people can be measured more accurately, instead of lumping us in with vague categories that include lots of people in heterosexual relationships.
But does this mean we should panic about increasing gender fluidity in the younger generation? Again, I really don’t think so. The sex binary is intrinsic to the survival of our species. That’s just biology and human reproductive strategy. Aggregate sex differences—physical, psychological, behavioral—are deeply rooted in our species’ DNA. They’re not going away because a bunch of Foucault disciples want them to.
But gender is not sex; it’s how that sex is expressed and manifested. And if the range of ways to express or describe your sex as man or woman is expanding and evolving, that’s a huge win for our culture. It means that many more interpretations of what it is to be a man or a woman are now socially acceptable, liberating people from the expectations of crude gender stereotypes. (This is why I worry that young gay gender-nonconforming kids may be categorized by some as trans, if they exhibit stereotypes of the opposite sex. But gender nonconformity does not mean you’re trans. You’re more likely to be gay or straight.) So I really don’t have much of an objection to the 56 or 112 genders some propose, apart from the fact that some of them are more than a bit silly. I mean: “cavusgender,” “ceterofluid,” “demifluid,” “genderwitched,” “quoigender”? You can look them up for yourselves.
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