Shitizens United

“When asked where he came from, he said, ‘I am a citizen of the world.’”

ἐρωτηθεὶς πόθεν εἴη, “κοσμοπολίτης,” ἔφη.

Diogenes Laertius, 6.63

One could not with any propriety call what Victor Davis Hanson does “essay writing.” His preferred mode now appears to be something between posting on Twitter and old man yells at cloud. In his latest piece of sputtering semi-literacy, Hanson writes:

It is eerie how such current American retribalization resembles the collapse of Rome, as Goths, Huns, and Vandals all squabbled among themselves over what was left of 1,200 years of Roman citizenship — eager to destroy what they could neither create nor emulate.

Eerie, eh? This guy needs to slow his fucking roll, because it’s not even October yet and he apparently already has Monster Mash playing an endless loop in his head. But seriously – we wouldn’t let a freshman in an introductory survey class get away with such an egregious whopper as this. Collapse is a rather dramatic word for gradual decentralization of power. Hanson conveniently elides the difference between 1,200 years of citizenship and 1,200 years of imperial rule imposed by the sword. Many people living within the borders of Roman-controlled territory were not, legally speaking, citizens at all. Moreover, it is not clear that the concept of citizenship is even meaningful for the inhabitants of the more far-flung regions of any extensive empire, and one would be hard pressed to believe that the deposition of Romulus Augustulus in 476 made any immediate substantial difference in the lives of most people outside the senate or the army.

This would not be a VDH article if he didn’t mount some kind of concerted attack on his old enemy:

Multiculturalism has reduced the idea of e pluribus unum to a regressive tribalism. Americans often seem to owe their first allegiance to those who look like they do. Citizens cannot even agree over once-hallowed and shared national holidays such as Christmas, Thanksgiving, and the Fourth of July.

“Tribalism” is quite the fashionable word among conservatives today, the kind of thing that would inspire David Brooks’ wettest dreams. It signals that its user is dispassionate, objective, and serenely rational – a fount of reasonable analysis unclouded by dogma, ideology, or emotion. At the same time, we know what it is meant to evoke: the grim specter of the tribal, the uncivilized, the savage. That is, the word tribalism has become like so many other parts of conservative discourse just another racist dog whistle. Men like Hanson were at least astute enough to realize that glasses and an ill-fitting suit will capture a much wider audience than a white hood and robe, and so we see a parade of villains like Hanson, Steve Bannon, Stephen Miller, Richard Spenser, and the rest getting written up in “papers of record” as “intellectuals” while old David Duke has to rest content with a mere presidential endorsement. [As a side note: what the hell does he mean about citizens disagreeing over Christmas, Thanksgiving, and the Fourth? I have never witnessed a “disagreement about” these holidays. This guy has gone totally off the rails.]

Hanson here mentions the Goths, Huns, and Vandals to invoke dread among the other old white men reading The National Review because each of those ethnonyms has been received in our own language as a symbol for a violent and destructive behavior. The administrative talents of Gothic generals like Stilicho helped to keep the rotten corpse of the empire animated, and even Attila the Hun (the scourge of God himself) spared Rome at Leo I’s urging.

It is singularly disingenuous to invoke the fear of these peoples and their role in the fragmentation of Rome’s empire without considering the atrocities which the Romans perpetrated in acquiring it in the first place. Of course, a reactionary like Hanson has a fair amount of practice in this form of smug hypocrisy, since he seems to think that God himself drew the map of the U.S. without an ounce of suffering paid. It follows as a natural consequence of this curious admixture of Calvinism and Manifest Destiny that anyone born here would be in possession of a singular privilege which ought to be denied to everyone else.

Any narrative which frames the “collapse” of the Roman Empire as a bad thing is so deeply imperialist that it is hard to find a way to argue against it productively. Gibbon’s dark legacy was bequeathing to us a worldview in which the Roman Empire represented humanity’s most spectacular governmental achievement. Indeed, Gibbon himself fixed the period from Nerva’s reign to the death of Marcus Aurelius as the happiest in human history. Barbarians come in for their share of blame in Gibbon, but any perceptive reader of The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire knows that Gibbon chiefly blamed the corruption and decadence of the emperors themselves for much of the empire’s decline. Amidst his broader reflections upon the human propensity for vice and degradation when given absolute power, he rails on at length against venal flatterers and courtiers – the type who might write An Encomium to Shitler. The supreme irony of Hanson’s hard-on for Roman imperialism is his scorn for the EU – the only organization, other than the Catholic Church, to have exerted a unifying influence over Europe similar to that of Roman conquest.

Because he is credentialed as a Classicist (though we all know that he clearly hasn’t read Greek or Latin in decades), Hanson’s point about the collapse of Rome is the most notable of his blunders, but it is also the only moderately coherent point he makes throughout the entire write-up. The rest is composed of strange ravings: people disagreeing about holidays, Brett Kavanaugh being bullied, people being denied their human rights because it was difficult to purchase ammo at Wal-Mart.

In a globalized world, the concept of citizenship is just one of a million bureaucratic fictions which we reify out of some admixture of habitual and hostile behavior. The most serious problems which face any individual country today are those which threaten humanity as a whole. We live in an age of global threats, an age in which human life will either be rendered wholly meaningless or wholly nonexistent by technology and greed. Arguing over lines on maps and turning them into actual physical barriers should automatically disqualify someone from contributing to discussions about the problems of today. Moreover, (and I wish that I could put this more eloquently), you have to be a vile piece of shit for the accident of someone’s birthplace to affect your ability to feel compassion for them. But perhaps it is time that we get off of Hanson’s lawn and leave him to continue his conversation with the clouds.

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Forget About Cicero and Pliny

Angelo Poliziano, Letter to Piero de’ Medici:

Perhaps someone will come about who will deny that these letters are Ciceronian. To him I would say (and not without authority) that in epistolary style, one should be utterly silent about Cicero. Someone else on the other hand will find fault with the fact that I emulate Cicero, but I will respond to this that nothing would be more in my hopes than that I could follow the shadow of Cicero. Someone else may wish that I had more of the flavor of Pliny, because both his maturity and learning are praised. But I, on the other hand, would say that I despise all of Pliny’s generation. But even if I may seem to some to have the flavor of Pliny, I will defend myself thus: Sidonius Apollinaris, not by any means a terrible author, gave Pliny the prize for his letters. If I seem to anyone to recall Symmachus, I will not be ashamed, since his brevity and roundness and celebrated. If I seem, on the other hand, to be entirely separate from Symmachus, I will say that his style is too dry for me.

Politian

Occurret aliquis forsan qui Ciceronianas esse neget: huic ego dicam (nec sine auctore tamen) in epistolari stilo silendum prorsus esse de Cicerone. Rursus alius hoc ipsum culpabit, quod aemuler Ciceronem: sed respondebo nihil mihi esse magis in votis quam ut vel umbram Ciceronis assequar. Optaret alius ut oratorem Plinium saperem, quod huius et maturitas et disciplina laudatur: ego contra totum illud aspernari me dicam Plinii saeculum. Sed etsi Plinium cuique redolebo, tuebor ita me, quod Sidonius Apollinaris, non omnino pessimus auctor, palmam Plinio tribuit in epistolis. Symmachum si cui referre videbor, non pudebit, ut cuius et brevitas celebretur et rotunditas. Abesse rursus a Symmacho si cui credar, negabo mihi siccitatem placere.

Everything Good Comes From Athens

Roger Ascham, The Scholemaster:

Athens, by this discipline and good ordering of yougthe, did breede vp, within the circute of that one Citie, within the compas of one hondred yeare, within the memorie of one mans life, so manie notable Capitaines in warre, for worthinesse, wisdome and learning, as be scarse matchable no not in the state of Rome, in the compas of those seauen hondred yeares, whan it florished moste.

And bicause, I will not onelie saie it, but also proue it, the names of them be these. Miltiades, Themistocles, Xantippus, Pericles, Cymon, Alcybiades, Thrasybulus, Conon, Iphicrates, Xenophon, Timotheus, Theopompus, Demetrius, and diuers other mo: of which euerie one, maie iustelie be spoken that worthie praise, which was geuen toScipio Africanus, who, Cicero douteth, whether he were, more noble Capitaine in warre, or more eloquent and wise councelor in peace. And if ye beleue not me, read diligentlie, Aemilius Probus in Latin, and Plutarche in Greke, which two, had no cause either to flatter or lie vpon anie of those which I haue recited.

And beside nobilitie in warre, for excellent and matchles masters in all maner of learninge, in that one Citie, in memorie of one aige, were mo learned men, and that in a maner altogether, than all tyme doth remember, than all place doth affourde, than all other tonges do conteine. And I do not meene of those Authors, which, by iniurie of tyme, by negligence of men, by crueltie of fier and sworde, be lost, but euen of those, which by Goddes grace, are left yet vnto us: of which I thank God, euen my poore studie lacketh not one. As, in Philosophie, Plato, Aristotle, Xenophon, Euclide and Theophrast: In eloquens and Ciuill lawe, Demosthenes, Aeschines, Lycurgus, Dinarchus, Demades, Isocrates, Isaeus, Lysias, Antisthenes, Andocides: In histories, Herodotus, Thucydides, Xenophon: and which we lacke, to our great losse, Theopompus and Ephorus: In Poetrie Aeschylus, Sophocles, Euripides, Aristophanes, and somwhat of Menander, Demosthenes sister sonne.

      Now, let Italian, and Latin it self, Spanishe, French, Douch, and Englishe bring forth their lerning, and recite their Authors, Cicero onelie excepted, and one or two moe in Latin, they be all patched cloutes and ragges, in comparison of faire wouen broade clothes. And trewelie, if there be any good in them, it is either lerned, borowed, or stolne, from some one of those worthie wittes of Athens.

Latin Hell

Getting to Hell is supposed to be easy. Yet, if one were to take a survey of popular culture, it seems rather a difficult task. A not insignificant part of this difficulty is the necessity of knowing Latin to get there.

At the beginning of Christopher Marlowe’s Tragedy of Dr. Faustus, we find Faustus in his study surfeited with the sorts of learning available to mere humans. Opening up books of theology, medicine, and law, he casts them aside and, having first claimed that Aristotle’s Analytics had ravished him, changes tack and says that it is magic and necromancy which occupy his soul.

Perhaps we should be more inclined to think that his famous bargain had already been struck in order to outfit him with the kind of heroic polymathy which could encompass three such disparate and apparently endless subjects. But Faustus is tired of the merely human, and decided to consult with Cornelius and Valdes, two dabblers in the demonic, about the procedure for summoning spirits from Hell. These two characters equip him with the requisite conjuring knowledge, but it is surprising that someone of such apparently limitless erudition would require help to be initiated into this art. Nevertheless, they provide him with the necessary incantatory formula, and later than night, Faustus expends a fair amount of breath on his Latin invocation of Mephistopheles:

Sint mihi dei Acherontis propitii!  Valeat numen triplex Jehovoe! Ignei, aerii, aquatani spiritus, salvete!  Orientis princeps Belzebub, inferni ardentis monarcha, et Demogorgon, propitiamus vos, ut appareat et surgat Mephistophilis, quod tumeraris: per Jehovam, Gehennam, et consecratam aquam quam nunc spargo, signumque crucis quod nunc facio, et per vota nostra, ipse nunc surgat nobis dicatus Mephistophilis!

We, in our own state of enlightenment, know that the Demogorgon invoked by Faustus is an entirely fictive deity, conjured into existence by a scribal error for demiourgon. Perhaps Faustus should not have abandoned book learning so early. But to return to the point: Mephistopheles appears after this lengthy invocation, but informs Faustus that the incantation was merely incidental to his appearance – the real trick being to abjure God and the Trinity:

     MEPHIST. That was the cause, but yet per accidens;

     For, when we hear one rack the name of God,

     Abjure the Scriptures and his Saviour Christ,

     We fly, in hope to get his glorious soul;

     Nor will we come, unless he use such means

     Whereby he is in danger to be damn’d.

     Therefore the shortest cut for conjuring

     Is stoutly to abjure the Trinity,

     And pray devoutly to the prince of hell.

There is something slightly suspicious in this claim, given that Faustus first needed to seek out two known conjurers to learn the incantation, and received no visit from Mephistopheles earlier despite making clear his intentions to indulge in necromantic art at the potential price of his soul. Later, when Faustus is waiting for the return of Mephistopheles, he bids him to come, but Mephistopheles only arrives after Faustus delivers the command in Latin:

     FAUSTUS. Of wealth!

     Why, the signiory of Embden shall be mine.

     When Mephistopheles shall stand by me,

     What god can hurt thee, Faustus? thou art safe

     Cast no more doubts.—Come, Mephistopheles,

     And bring glad tidings from great Lucifer;—

     Is’t not midnight?—come, Mephistopheles,

     Veni, veni, Mephistophile!

          Enter MEPHISTOPHELES.

Given that he conversed with Faustus earlier in English, the problem cannot simply be chalked up to a linguistic barrier. Devils, demons, and spirits appear to respond far more readily to Latin invocations. Though Mephistopheles claimed that abjuring God would suffice, he yet does seem to be a stickler for the niceties of a learned language.

In the utterly execrable film, The Ninth Gate, rare book detective Bob Corso is enlisted by antiquarian and Satan enthusiast Boris Balkan to validate the authenticity of his demon summoning tome:

BALKAN: Nemo pervenit qui non legitime certaverit.

CORSO: You only succeed if you fight by the rules?

BALKAN: More or less. Ever heard of the Delomelanicon?

CORSO: Heard of it, yes. A myth, isn’t it? Some horrific book reputed to have been written by Satan himself.

BALKAN: No myth. That book existed. Torchia actually acquired it. The engravings you’re now admiring were adapted by Torchia from the Delomelanicon. They’re a form of satanic riddle. Correctly interpreted with the aid of the original text and sufficient inside information, they’re reputed to conjure up the Prince of Darkness in person.

Here we have all of the prerequisites for talking about the demonic: a little bit of Latin, a book of incantations with some fictive erudition to trace its history, and a couple of assholes engaged in dialogue which would embarrass even the most pretentious undergraduate. (Why would two people with fluent understanding of Latin would translate it to each other like they’re in an intermediate reading class?) The plot of the movie is ridiculous and in no way worth recounting, but much time and money has been spent and many lives have been lost before Corso finally has the engravings necessary for conjuring the Devil himself. But why should it be so hard?

Of all the cinematic or literary treatments of soul selling, only The Simpsons has caught the true spirit of the enterprise. One day, Bart casually remarks that he would sell his soul for a Formula 1 race car, at which point the Devil appears and tells him that it can be arranged. That’s it. No book hunting, no incantations, no experts on demonology, and most importantly no Latin.

We are reliably informed that the Devil is preeminently concerned with enlarging his kingdom as much as possible by ensnaring souls to drag to Hell. Indeed, in certain lines of Christian thought, going to Hell is for all practical purposes the default fate for most of humanity. And so, it strikes me as peculiar that admission to Hell is guarded by something resembling an entrance exam to an elite college in the 19th century: the formulaic repetition of recondite knowledge couched in a learned language. Surely, the Devil is multilingual, or at least has a translation team at hand. Indeed, if the plan were to ensnare souls, one would expect that there would have been a shift away from official demoniacal use of Latin to guarantee broader and more democratic access to eternal damnation. Maybe Satan should have taken a cue from Vatican II.

As it stands, there are still firm believers in Latin both on this earth and below. Consider this little bit of pompously introspective douchebaggery from The National Catholic Register:

I felt like a bit of a fraud that day. Any idiot can pray in their native tongue. And given the panoply of televangelists, it seems like many idiots do. Moreover: our Church HAS an official language: Latin—hence the term, “The Latin Church.”

[…]

“Well, so what?” a reader might well ask. Well, for one thing: it takes effort to pray the Office in Latin. The pre-Vatican II Liturgical Hours are all longer than the post-Vatican II vernacular version (and there are more of them), so more time is spent in prayer.

Plus, I think God appreciates effort. […]

I am no more conversant in Latin today than I was the first day I picked up the Latin-English Little Office. However, I am convinced that the Devil, whom we are constantly being told does not exist, must truly hate anyone who, with a sincere heart and extra effort, prays in the official language of the Church—a language which traces itself back to the great Fathers of The Church and their inestimable writings. For that matter, I’m pretty confident that the Devil hates prayer in language of any sort, but I like to think Latin drives him absolutely crazy—and keeps him away.

Well buddy, I have some bad news for you: it seems that the Devil appreciates the extra effort, too. All of the Latin one learns for hymnals and the Vulgate is really just jeopardizing young souls who could easily turn conjugations in to conjurations. Worse still, they could then read all of the smutty parts in Ovid. Perhaps we ought to counsel an abstinence-only educational approach to ancient languages. Indeed, if its effectiveness for sexual education is a reliable indicator, we may still be able to save most university Classics programs by letting high school students know that the only way to safely avoid bodily and spiritual damnation is to avoid studying Latin. This has the inestimable benefit of not even being a lie.

Latin’s association with both the liturgical and the demoniacal is likely too firmly rooted now ever to be shaken, and I suspect that as Latin recedes farther and farther both from public life and from general educational accessibility, its association with the dark arts will likely become stronger. When Jerome translated the Bible into Latin for his Vulgate edition, Latin was still a living, vital, spoken language. Consequently, there was no sense at the time that Latin was the particular language of the Devil and his dark arts. Indeed, it is only after Latin ceased to be a language for daily speech and began to be used only among ecclesiastics and other highly learned functionaries that it took on its associations as especially apt for liturgy, exorcism, and conjuration. The farther Latin recedes into dusty obscurity among the archives of arcana, the more potent its current cultural associations will become. For those of us who have taken the time to master it, we can take comfort in the fact that we have earned ourselves a special spot in Hell.

Petrarch: “F**k Zoology!”

Petrarch, de sui ipsius et multorum ignorantia:

Literature is, for many people, the instrument of madness, and for all it is an instrument of arrogance unless (a thing exceptionally rare) it happens to fall upon a good and well educated mind. This last mentioned author has written much about beasts and birds and fish. How many hairs a lion’s mane has, how many feathers are in the hawk’s tail, how many spirals the octopus wraps the shipwreck in; how the elephants have sex from behind and how they remain pregnant for two years, and how they are a teachable and vivacious animal approaching human intelligence and living almost two or even three centuries; how the phoenix is consumed in aromatic fire and is reborn after being burned; how the sea urchin reins in a prow driven by any force but can do nothing when taken out of the waves; how the hunter deceives the tiger with a mirror, how the Arimaspean spears a griffin, how whales deceive the sailor with their tails; how ugly is the child of a bear, how rare the child of a mule, and how the viper gives birth but once and unluckily at that; how moles are blind, how bees are deaf, and finally how the crocodile alone of all animals moves only its upper mandible.

Most of these things are false, which was clear enough when similar kinds of animals were brought to our part of the world. Or, if they were not false, at least unknown to the authors themselves, and either believed more readily or more readily invented on account of their author’s absence. Yet, for all of this, even if they were true, they have nothing to do with living a good life. For, I ask, what good will it do to know the natures of beasts, birds, fish, and serpents when we are either ignorant or contemptuous of human nature – for what purpose we are born, from where we come and where we are headed?

Sunt enim litere multis instrumenta dementie, cuntis fere superbie, nisi, quod rarum, in aliquam bonam et bene institutam animam inciderint. Multa ille igitur de beluis deque avibus ac piscibus: quot leo pilos in vertice, quot plumas accipiter in cauda, quot polipus spiris naufragum liget, ut aversi cocunt elephantes biennioque uterum tument, ut docile vivaxque animal et humano proximum ingenio et ad secundi tertiique finem seculi vivendo perveniens; ut phenix aromatico igne consumitur ustusque renascitur; ut echinus quovis actam impetu proram frenat, cum fluctibus erutus nil possit; ut venator speculo tigrem ludit, Arimaspus griphen ferro impetit, cete tergo nautam fallunt; ut informis urse partus, mule rarus, vipere unicus isque infelix, ut ceci talpe, surde apes, ut postremo superiorem mandibulam omnium solus animantium cocodrillus movet. Que quidem vel magna ex parte falsa sunt — quod in multis horum similibus, ubi in nostrum orbem delata sunt, patuit — vel certe ipsis auctoribus incomperta, sed propter absentiam vel credita promptius vel ficta licentius; que denique, quamvis vera essent, nichil penitus ad beatam vitam. Nam quid, oro, naturas beluarum et volucrum et piscium et serpentum nosse profuerit, et naturam hominum, ad quod nati sumus, unde et quo pergimus, vel nescire vel spernere?

In Order to Succeed, Old Cleanthes Never Peed

William Rankins, A Mirror of Monsters:

Consider if Aristotle had giuen his minde to idlenesse, hée had neuer ascended to so high a degrée of learning and honour, as to be tearmed Princeps Philosophorum, Cicero had neuer deserued to be called Pater Patriae, but by shunning idlenesse. Remember what honour poore Cleanthes got, who all night accustomed to carrie water, that in the daye he might haue maintenance to studie the liberall Sciences.

How came Alexander to be conqueror of the world, but by flying idlenesse? Idlenesse might haue hindered Hercules in accomplishing his haughtie and honourable labours? But that his manlie brest was neuer possest with such an ignoble mind. Vlisses detesting the delaies of idlenesse, in a moment finished the ten years warre betwixt the Graecians and the Troians. Apelles had neuer prooued so cunning a Painter, if he had not euerie day drawne a line with his pensile

Intelligence & The Golden Mean

Roger Ascham, The Scholemaster

But it is notable and trewe, that Socrates saith in Plato to his frende Crito. That, that number of men is fewest, which far excede, either in good or ill, in wisdom of folie, but the meane betwixt both, be the greatest number: which he proueth trewe in diuerse other thinges: as in greyhoundes, emonges which fewe are found, exceding greate, or exceding litle, exceding swift, or exceding slowe: And therfore I speaking of quick and hard wittes, I ment, the common number of quicke and hard wittes, emonges the which, for the most parte, the hard witte, proueth manie times, the better learned, wiser and honester man: and therfore, do I the more lament, that soch wittes commonlie be either kepte from learning, by fond fathers, or bet from learning by lewde scholemasters.

No Eggs for a Sophist’s Labor

Sir Philip Sidney, The Defense of Poesy:

Tully, when he was to drive out Catiline as it were with a thunderbolt of eloquence, often used that figure of repetition, as Vivit Vivit? Immo vero etiam in senatum venit, etc. Indeed, inflamed with a well-grounded rage, he would have his words, as it were, double out of his mouth; and so do that artificially, which we see men in choler do naturally. And we, having noted the grace of those words, hale them in sometime to a familiar epistle, when it were too much choler to be choleric. How well store of similiter cadences doth sound with the gravity of the pulpit, I would but invoke Demosthenes’ soul to tell, who with a rare daintiness uses them. Truly they have made me think of the sophister that with too much subtlety would prove two eggs three, and though he might be counted a sophister, had none for his labor. So these men bringing in such a kind of eloquence, well may they obtain an opinion of a seeming fineness, but persuade few,—which should be the end of their fineness.

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To Live and Die in Aristotle’s Works

Christopher Marlowe, The Tragedy of Doctor Faustus:

Settle thy studies, Faustus, and begin

To sound the depth of that thou wilt profess:

Having commenc’d, be a divine in shew,

Yet level at the end of every art,

And live and die in Aristotle’s works.

Sweet Analytics, ’tis thou hast ravish’d me!

Bene disserere est finis logices.

Is, to dispute well, logic’s chiefest end?

Affords this art no greater miracle?

Then read no more; thou hast attain’d that end:

A greater subject fitteth Faustus’ wit:

Bid Economy farewell, and  Galen come,

Seeing, Ubi desinit philosophus, ibi incipit medicus:

Be a physician, Faustus; heap up gold,

And be eterniz’d for some wondrous cure:

Summum bonum medicinae sanitas,

The end of physic is our body’s health.

Why, Faustus, hast thou not attain’d that end?

Is not thy common talk found aphorisms?

Are not thy bills hung up as monuments,

Whereby whole cities have escap’d the plague,

And thousand desperate maladies been eas’d?

Yet art thou still but Faustus, and a man.

Couldst thou make men to live eternally,

Or, being dead, raise them to life again,

Then this profession were to be esteem’d.

From Senecan’t to Senecan

Seneca, that champion essayist of antiquity, began his collection of moral epistles to Lucullus with an urgent plea:

Persuade yourself that the matter stands as I write: some time is stolen from us, some is drawn off, and some just flows away. The most shameful loss, though, is the one which occurs through negligence. If you wish to take note, you will see that a large part of life slips away from those who act badly, the greatest portion slips away from those who do nothing, and all of life slips away from those who are busy doing something else. What person can you cite who places a price upon his time, who takes an account of the day, who understands that he is dying every day? We are deceived in this, that we look forward to death: a large part of it has already gone by, and whatever part of our lives is in the past is death’s property now. Therefore, act as you claim to do, and embrace every hour; thus it will happen that you weigh out less of tomorrow, if you throw your hand upon today. Life runs away when it is delayed. All things, my Lucilius, are foreign to us: time alone is ours. Nature has granted us the possession of this one fleeting, slippery thing, from which she expels whoever wishes it. The stupidity of humans is so great that they allow the smallest, most worthless things (certainly, those which can be retrieved) to be added to their account when they have accomplished them, but no one thinks that he owes any debt when he receives time, though this is the one thing which no one is able to pay back readily. [Moral Epistles, 1.1]

If Seneca’s advice sounds modern and well-fitted to our age, it is perhaps only because one could easily imagine hearing it from any of today’s podiums of self-righteous assholery, from the TED stage to a podcast. Seneca was not, however, addressing a generation born into wage prostitution. Readers and audiences may be fascinated by accounts of the pleasure/utility maximizing routines of tech and finance bros, and Stoicism may have taken off among the aforementioned douchenozzles, but Stoicism as a practice can only ever really appeal to the wealthy. Anyone who can practice abstinence and denial must necessarily exist among some kind of surplus.

But to return to Seneca and that invidious monster, time. There is no doubt that many of us are wasting our time in the sense that we are employing it upon activities which we would not freely choose. Though we may have some apparent choice about what we do (though far less than we ostensibly do), the fact is that we must have jobs which will require a certain amount of time (not production) from us. As a teacher, I have sold my time to the school, and am paid regardless of how much students learn (or don’t) on the basis of the fact that I am there during my contract hours. Other career options may lie open, but how many of them would differ from my current job in this crucial respect?

Moreover, the very idea of the wage system is based upon the premise that no one would work entirely of their own accord. Consider this exchange from the most important cinematic creation of all time, Office Space:

PETER: Our high school guidance counselor used to ask us what you would do if we had a million dollars and didn’t have to work. And invariably, whatever we would say, that was supposed to be our careers. If you wanted to build cars, then you’re supposed to be an auto mechanic.

SAMIR: So what did you say?

PETER: I never had an answer. I guess that’s why I’m working at Initech.

MICHAEL: No, you’re working at Initech because that question is bullshit to begin with. If that quiz worked, there would be no janitors, because no one would clean shit up if they had a million dollars.

Elsewhere, Peter claims that if he had a million dollars, he would do nothing. Though many of us can surely think of something which we would do if freed from the dread bondage of working life, I doubt that many people would continue to work at their jobs if they did not have to. Seneca himself was rich, and though he held various official positions, these were not strictly necessary to his pecuniary survival. Seneca could afford for all of his time to remain his own. Moreover, Seneca’s leisure was built upon a system of brutal slavery, and so his life may not serve as the most edifying model.

Yet, independent of class concerns, the old clichés about time so popular among the old Roman elites are perhaps even more salient today than they were in antiquity. Consider for a moment those famous lines of our main man Horace:

Cut back long hope. While we speak, a hateful age will have escaped. Seize the day, trusting as little as possible to tomorrow.

spem longam reseces. Dum loquimur, fugerit invida

aetas: carpe diem, quam minimum credula postero. [Odes, 1.11]

This has always been good advice in light of the brevity of human life, but how much more compelling is it at the end of civilization? The further we stumble into the future, the more dire the warnings about the earth’s future inability to support human life become. That is of course wholly independent of the geopolitical shitshow in which any misstep in the carefully calibrated shit choreography could instantly precipitate a war of global extinction. In an increasingly globalized yet simultaneously fragmented world, one in which democracy is rapidly being subverted by authoritarianism and oligarchy, perhaps Seneca’s claim is true – perhaps the only thing which is truly ours is our time.

Thus it is that I declare myself a Plus-Temporist. What is Plus-Temporism? A general sense that in addition to rectifying other social injustices inflicted by capitalism, we should as a society reclaim our time – from employers, from advertisers, from the hucksters selling us time-sucking but vacuous entertainments. Computerization and, more recently, wholesale automation promised a reduction in human labor, but have instead resulted in greater working hours for those people with traditional jobs (i.e. not gigs), as they struggle to stave off the threat of being replaced entirely by soulless automata.

For my own part, I used to assign homework to my students on occasion, but I recently told them that I had come to the conclusion that homework is immoral. As it stands, they spend eight hours in school every day – is that not enough? Seneca oversimplifies the solution by suggesting that one should simply opt out and reclaim their time on their own, but the individual retreat from impositions on one’s time is a privilege exclusively reserved for the rich. Is the forty hour (or worse) work week not just an absurd anachronism? And so, perhaps we should make a larger cooperative effort to reduce the amount of time which people have taken from them. We may not know what tomorrow will bring, but once it arrives, we know that today has departed and taken with it another twenty four hours of our limited lives.