Quand Cicéron explique Macron...

Quand Cicéron explique Macron...

Nicolas Bonnal (2019)

Pour parler de lui et de ce qu’il nous inspire, je ne connais rien de mieux que cet extrait de la Biographie universelle, publiée en 1814 et retrouvée par votre serviteur grâce à Google books :

« Étonné d’entendre une vieille femme prier les dieux de conserver les jours de Denys, il voulut connaître le motif d’une prière si extraordinaire, tant il connaissait la haine qu’on lui portait. « Je prie les dieux, lui dit cette femme,  de te donner une longue vie, parce que je crains que celui qui te succédera » ne soit plus méchant que toi, puisque tu es pire que tous ceux qui t’ont précédé (1). »

Eh oui, certains se plaignaient du président Coty, qui eurent la cinquième république ; de de Gaulle, qui eurent Pompidou et Giscard ; de Mitterrand, qui eurent Chirac ; de Sarkozy et de Hollande, qui eurent Macron. Jusqu’où ne descendrons-nous pas ? Mais comme dit un de mes lecteurs commentateurs préférés, quand on touche le fond, on creuse encore ! Ah Bush, ah Obama, ah Trump en attendant Omar !

Et comme on parlait de lui (de Denys donc) et de Cicéron, on citera le livre V des magnifiques Tusculanes (un jour, promis, je parlerai du songe de Scipion) :

« XX. Denys devint tyran de Syracuse à vingt-cinq ans; et pendant un règne de trente-huit, il fit cruellement sentir le poids de la servitude à une ville si belle et si opulente. De bons auteurs nous apprennent qu'il avait de grandes qualités car il était sobre, actif, capable de gouverner; mais d'un naturel malfaisant et injuste; et par conséquent, si l'on en juge avec équité, le plus malheureux des hommes. En effet, quoiqu'il fût parvenu à la souveraine puissance, qu'il avait si fort ambitionnée, il ne s'en croyait pourtant pas encore bien assuré. En vain descendait-il d'une famille noble et illustre; quoique ce point soit contesté par quelques historiens. »

Le caractère de Denys est la méfiance – la paranoïa !!! - vis-à-vis de ses proches et des syracusains :

« En vain avait-il grand nombre de parents et de courtisans, et même de ces jeunes amis, dont l'attachement et la fidélité sont si connus dans la Grèce. Il ne se fiait à aucun d'eux. Il avait donné toute sa confiance à de vils esclaves, qu'il avait enlevés aux plus riches citoyens et à qui il avait ôté le nom qui marquait leur servitude, afin de se les attacher davantage. Pour la garde de sa personne, il avait choisi des étrangers féroces et barbares. Enfin la crainte de perdre son injuste domination l'avait réduit à s'emprisonner, pour ainsi dire, dans son palais. »

On sait que notre président a des gardes du corps du Mossad… Mais évitons les ennuis et revenons à Denys. Lui a au moins des filles qui lui font la barbe :

«  Il avait même porté la défiance si loin, que, n'osant confier sa tête à un barbier, il avait fait apprendre à raser à ses propres filles. Ainsi ces princesses s'abaissant par ses ordres à une fonction que nous regardons comme indigne d'une personne libre, faisaient la barbe et les cheveux à ce malheureux père. Encore, dit-on, que quand elles furent un peu grandes, craignant le rasoir jusque dans leurs mains, il imagina de se faire brûler par elles les cheveux et la barbe avec des écorces ardentes. »

Denys adore les perquisitions :

« On raconte de plus, que quand il voulait aller passer la nuit avec l'une de ses deux femmes, Aristomaque de Syracuse, et Doris de Locres, il commençait, en entrant dans leur appartement, par les perquisitions les plus exactes, pour voir s'il n'y avait rien à craindre; et comme il avait fait entourer leur chambre d'un large fossé, sur lequel il y avait un petit pont de bois ; il le levait aussitôt qu'il était avec elles, après avoir pris la précaution de fermer lui-même la porte en dedans. »

Cicéron (qui finit les mains et la tête coupées) poursuit son amusante énumération :

« Fallait-il parler au peuple? Comme il n'eût osé paraître dans la tribune ordinaire, il ne haranguait que du haut d'une tour. Étant obligé de se déshabiller pour jouer à la paume, qu'il aimait beaucoup, il ne confiait son épée qu'à un jeune homme son favori. Sur quoi un de ses amis lui ayant dit un jour en riant : Voilà donc une personne à qui vous confiez votre vie, et le tyran s'étant aperçu que le jeune homme en souriait, il les fit mourir tous deux; l'un pour avoir indiqué un moyen de l'assassiner; l'autre, parce qu'il semblait avoir approuvé la chose par un sourire. »

Mais Denys est lié au mythe de Damoclès (pour moi c’est un mythe plus qu’une histoire). Et cela donne sous la plume acérée comme on dit du maître de la prose latine : 

XXI. Un de ses flatteurs, nommé Damoclès, ayant voulu le féliciter sur sa puissance, sur ses troupes, sur l'éclat de sa cour, sur ses trésors immenses, et sur la magnificence de ses palais, ajoutant que jamais prince n'avait été si heureux que lui : Damoclès, lui dit-il, puisque mon sort te paraît si doux, serais-tu tenté d'en goûter un peu, et de le mettre en ma place? Damoclès ayant témoigné qu'il en ferait volontiers l'épreuve, Denys le fit asseoir sur un lit d'or, couvert de riches carreaux, et d'un tapis dont l'ouvrage était magnifique. Il fit orner ses buffets d'une superbe vaisselle d'or et d'argent. Ensuite ayant fait approcher la table, il ordonna que Damoclès y fît servi par de jeunes esclaves, les plus beaux qu'il eût, et qui devaient exécuter ses ordres au moindre signal. Parfums, couronnes, cassolettes, mets exquis, rien n'y fut épargné. »

Evidemment il y a un prix à payer, ajoute notre sage et sarcastique Cicéron :

« Ainsi Damoclès se croyait le plus fortuné des hommes, lorsque tout d'un coup, au milieu du festin, il aperçut au-dessus de sa tète une épée nue, que Denys y avait fait attacher, et qui ne tenait au plancher que par un simple crin de cheval. Aussitôt les yeux de notre bienheureux se troublèrent : ils ne virent plus, ni ces beaux garçons, qui le servaient, ni la magnifique vaisselle qui était devant lui : ses mains n'osèrent plus toucher aux plats : sa couronne tomba de sa tête. Que dis-je? Il demanda en grâce au tyran la permission de s'en aller, ne voulant plus être heureux à ce prix (2). »

Peut-être que grâce à Damoclès l’autre ne restera pas…

Notes

(1) Biographie universelle, ancienne et moderne. 1814, Google books, tome onzième, p. 120.

(2) Cicéron, Tusculanes, V, Remacle.org

Cicero’s “On Old Age” and Modernity’s Obsession with Newness

Ex: https://neociceroniantimes.wordpress.com 

I don’t believe that it will come as a surprise to most readers that Western Civilization is obsessed with the idea of being “modern,” and has been for quite a while. Concomitant with this concept is that of “newness.” If something is new, then this is equated with it being better. Conversely, things which are old are viewed as out-of-date or even useless.  This mentality has wormed its way into practically every facet of life in the West. Indeed many of our industries operate on the principle of planned obsolescence – purposefully engineering their products to be superseded buy newer models on a regular basis.

Coupled with this tendency is the one similar to it that fetishizes youth while disdaining old age. Our shallow societies equate youth with beauty, and give preference to those in our societies who have the least knowledge and wisdom. Youthful foolishness is honored over staid, grumpy old wisdom. Westerners spend billions of dollars every year on surgeries and pharmaceuticals, vainly trying to stave off the inevitable effects of both entropy and their degenerate lifestyles.  Nearly the entirety of our entertainment, advertising, and related establishments are focused on catering to the young – when is the last time you saw an older person hawking the latest electronic gadget or starring in the hottest new sitcom?

In his essay “On Old Age,” Cicero lauds the blessing of the aged, giving four reasons why men fear growing old and then refuting those reasons.

First, there is the reason that old age withdraws a man from the public life.  Because he is not as physically vigourous, an old man could not participate in the wars and other employments requiring bodily strength.  Yet, to this Cicero rejoins that there were many, many examples of old men still active in the public life who rendered great services to the state through their passion, oratory, and wisdom.  Though the sword arm may be enfeebled, the swords of the tongue and the mind need not be dulled in the least.

Second, old age saps the bodily strength of a man.  Yet, as Cicero through the elder Cato argues, though this is often the case, it is not always so.  Even when it is, old men bring forth other areas of strength in which they exercise power with others – dignity, influence, paternal authority, knowledge, erudition, wisdom.  These allow them to act in ways even greater than those who merely depend on physical strength.

Third, there is the reason that old age deprives a man of the enjoyment of sensual pleasures.  Yet, Cicero points out that the aged should be thankful for this, rather than regretting it.  Sensual pleasures generally corrupt a man, being the author of innumerable evils ranging from adulteries to treason.  If a man did not train himself through philosophy to eschew these pleasures anywise, then he ought to be glad that old age deprives him of them.  Yet, the old man may still enjoy the pleasures of intellectual attainments, of philosophy and literature and the cultivation of his property and family.  So while old age robs a man of the evil, it leaves him in possession of the capability to enjoy the good.

Fourth, old age brings one nearer to death than other men.  Yet, as the author notes, death comes to us all, and none will enjoy the possession of this life for very long in the grand scheme of things.  A great-souled man will not fear what he cannot escape anywise, but will instead strive to act in such a way as to bring the most good through his life at every stage of it, in the ways most appropriate to each of its seasons.

These four reasons are generally complementary, and while he examines them in detail, they may essentially be boiled down to the fact that old age allows a man full access to the wisdom of both study and experience. Leading the contemplative, examined life is indeed easiest for the hoary head.  At the same time, the exercise of his wisdom – in giving counsel, in providing the sum of his wisdom through the influence of oratory, of passing on his accumulated knowledge and the perspicacity that comes with long exercise of his foresight and judgment – allows him to lead the active life even while physically weakened.  In a sense, he is able to participate in both of Evola’s “two paths.”

Cicero’s observations are indeed in very good accord with what we may observe in Traditional societies. Unlike cultures ravaged by modernism, Traditional societies do not view their elders as burdens or as hindrances.  Instead, the elders are the repositories of their society’s collective shared wisdom.  Equally as important, they are the vehicles through which this wisdom is passed on to future generations. There are very good reasons why kings and generals were often attended by councils of elders.

This may be seen in Cicero’s own Roman Republic.  The word “senate” derives from the Latin root senex, meaning “old, aged” and by connotation describe old men who were full of wisdom.  The Senate as originally constituted was intended to be a source of council for the executive, a place where the collective wisdom of aristocrats who had spent their lives in service to the state could be drawn upon by the consuls tasked with leading the nation.

In Cicero’s day – as in our own – this reverence for age and wisdom was passing away.  Much of this was because Roman society was falling into the trap of idolising youth without requiring either manly vigour or sound wisdom from it.  One need only look at the relative leniency with which Clodius Pulcher, of bona dea and trial for incest fame, was dealt and his ability to secure the exile of Cicero later on.  Clodius was so popular with the plebs, in part, because his youthful beauty and sexual magnetism ingratiated him with an increasingly frivolous and trivially-minded populace.  However, another cause for the Republic’s decadence was that her old men were acting foolishly, pursuing individual ambition at the expense of the state and nation.  Much like the Baby Boomers in America, the people in Roman society who should have been passing on timeless wisdom were merely passing time pleasing themselves with flippancy.

The Scripture hints at the divide between the two types of elders when it says,

“The hoary head is a crown of glory, if it be found in the way of righteousness.” (Proverbs 16:31)

The grey hairs are the corona of golden grandeur surrounding the head of the wise and majestic elder who follows the path of wisdom and righteousness.  Yet, what a cause for shame and disgrace is it for an elder to be found in frivolity, puerility, and waste!

The inordinate amount of money which Westerners spend on try to hide the effects of age and extend their youth has already been mentioned above.  Unfortunately, Westerners also spend billions of dollars hiding our elders away in nursing homes and other facilities which are designed to replace traditional familial piety and enable the children to live lives just a little bit freer from their responsibilities.  Nursing homes are perhaps the perfect storm of ways in which our wrongheaded society deals with our elders.  In these facilities, our elders are shuffled off to die, treated like children, abused by the scum of our society – there is no pursuit of their knowledge and experience, no respect for their exalted status.  That this is the case, in light of the decades-long trends in our societies, should not be surprising, for reasons which are quite manifest.  Age demands things like responsibility, maturity, and faithfulness.  Our youth- and pleasure-centered societies today prefer to shift their burdens onto others while living for themselves for as long as they possibly can.

Even aside from its treatment of people, the West worships newness in other ways while unmooring itself from tradition, experience, wisdom, and what is old and tried.  We see this even in the very architecture of the buildings constructed in recent years.  For centuries, the West built beautiful buildings, finely proportioned and richly decorated, as befitting a civilisation full of confidence in itself.  This architecture built upon millennia of traditional forms and consciously sought to connect the present with the past.  Now, we build angular, disjointed monstrosities which no sane or reasonable person could ever call “beautiful.”

In our literature, the West has abandoned timeless forms in poetry and prose in favour of “free verse” and “stream of consciousness” and other modernistic forms.  In our music, we’ve replaced musical forms that invigourated the soul and spirit and which celebrated our history and cultural legacy with repetitive, pre-packaged garbage appealing only to the flesh.  In our education system, we have replaced the traditional curricula and classical learning with useless electives on one hand, and with such narrow specialisations in technical fields on the other that the students are functionally retarded in any area outside their specialty.

All of this combined – the casting off of the anchors of our cultural traditions with their nobility and cultivation – is why very few know, and even fewer really understand, our history.  “History” is the very opposite of today’s zeitgeist that worships at the altar of modernity and innovation.  History, by its very nature, turns the eye back to the past, demanding that the soul learn from those who have gone on before.  When the focus of your attention only goes back a few months, it’s hard to connect with music, poetry, architecture, or philosophy which is centuries old.  And when your primary concern is getting the latest iPhone so that millennials will think you’re “with it,” it’s hard to be sympathetic to your elders who are there, just waiting to pass on to you our combined civilisational wisdom, if only you’d have the sense to receive it.

Restoring a reverence for the elders of our society – and doing so in a timely enough fashion that the elders remaining will be ones with any traditional wisdom left to pass on – ought to be a long-term goal for Traditionalists and neoreactionaries.  The idolatry of youth must give way once again to the veneration of the elders.  This is a shift in polarity which will go completely against the grain of so-called modern society.  Yet, it is one which must take place – and which we must encourage at every step and in every way we can – if the good and noble elements of our civilisation are to be preserved for future generations.