Thursday, October 22, 2009

Laudator Temporis Acti

Victor Davis Hanson and John Derbyshire have written variations on an old winger theme, Professor Hanson on his blog, John in his brand-new book, We Are Doomed. I have read the blog, not the book (I look forward to the book party Monday), but John's title seems clear enough.

The Latin phrase — "a praiser of things past" — is from the Ars Poetica of Horace, and it is not meant to be flattering. The praiser is depicted as a querulous crank. But the mood is an ancient and universal one, which we all feel at moments.

It can be expressive and entertaining. I have never liked it as an attitude towards life, though, chiefly because of its dishonesty. Professor Hanson has manifested this dishonesty in an unusually direct way, which is enitrely to his credit: He laments, on his blog, the decadence of modern movies, TV, fiction, and sports, and says he hardly consumes any of them anymore. But he consulted with the makers of 300, the movie about Thermopylae, which sold a zillion tickets. Now he can righteously say that 300 was a little indie film, not a Hollywood schlockbuster, so his point survives, and it does, but only relatively. I host documentaries for PBS, and I will bet him a copy of Thucydides that his little indie film had a bigger budget than any of mine. So he plunged into the culture and made an impact — as, on a different level, do I.

But, leaving aside this exception, why is the laudator temporis acti insincere? What should he do if things were really as bad as he says they are?

He could kill himself. Some cultures honor this choice — ancient Rome, samurai Japan. He could also kill himself slowly, with drugs and booze and venereal disease, and other cultures — Romanticism — honor that choice. But if he is not so dramatic, then he should just stay home. Why rail? No one will listen, and if they do, nothing can be done.

The laudator temporis acti honors the past moment and disdains the moments to come, but says nothing about the present moment, which he is determined to enjoy (in his case, by writing, or praising).  He does well, but he argues badly. So to his arguments, however sharp or clever, I say, feh.

I was looking at Up From Liberalism the other day, one of my favorite books of Bill's,
and it ends with Whittaker Chambers, Bill's favorite author, who could be a very gloomy writer. But he also wrote, "To live is to maneuver. . . . And, of course, that results in a dance along a precipice . . ." "We cliff-dancers," added Bill, "resolved not to withdraw into a petulant solitude, or let ourselves fall over the cliff into liberalism, must do what maneuvering we can . . ."

I did not understand that when I first read it at age 13 or 14. I am beginning to now.

10/22 10:52 AMShare