Civilization

I just finished reading How the Irish Saved Civilization. Remember when this book was the trendy thing, back in 1995? I do. Well, there's a reason for that—it's a great book.

History isn't exactly my strong point. I'm rather conceptual, and I have trouble remembering specifics with any precision. This is why I delve into the fluffier, more popular history books. You know, the ones that read like a novel.

I have probably read more nonfiction over the past six months than I have the rest of my life put together (not including mandatory reading in college). What I've noticed is that repetition and multiple perspectives are the key to understanding. The lights keep coming on brighter and brighter for me, at least regarding the Ancient World.

Thomas Cahill's work is so lyrically written it ought to be read out loud. He writes a nice, pretty, short little book full of summarization and generality, and most people regard the premise to be, while not outright incorrect, at least skewed.

That's fair enough, I guess. A major portion of the book is focused on Saint Patrick, whose life and work I was under the impression had been rather unreliably documented. Cahill either knows more than most historians, or he makes more assumptions. But either way, I found Patrick, or Patricius, fascinating to read about, from his Romanized Celtic childhood, to his enslavement in Ireland, his subsequent miraculous escape and return home, and finally his sincere and heartfelt mission to bring Christianity to the foreign, disorganized people who had stunted his education and ruined his youth.

And this compact history of Ireland helped me form a much clearer picture of what happened in Western Europe during both the Classical Age and the Middle Ages, because he didn't just focus on Ireland. Before even mentioning Ireland, he described the events that led to the Fall of Rome, and followed that up with the type of culture the Romans had created before they fell—succinctly described through the life and works of Augustine of Hippo.

I knew there were several parallels between our own society and that of Ancient Rome, but I didn't realize how many parallels. This was apparent in reading the introductory chapter, before any of the author's concluding commentary. The other thing that occurred to me, though I don't think for the first time, is that throughout history, it is interesting what happens when a society is materially and politically stable enough to become literate. After a while, it grows stagnant, and most of the art becomes mere cheap, shadowy imitation of the former great work. Cahill uses Ausonius and Virgil as examples. And I was reminded of how much I prefer Virgil over Homer, as odd as that may sound. Note to self: if I ever decide to publish anything, I will need to make sure I'm not copying Twain or Hawthorne. Or Jonathan Edwards (hehe). Virgil was, according to Cahill, the only person to successfully write a national epic. Or something along that line. Greece had its Homer, and England Shakespeare—but apparently they just sort of happened. Virgil's Aeneid was more contrived, and by all tradition should not have been successful. But it was. Maybe this is why we always talk about the elusive "Great American Novel."

At any rate, the book was both entertaining and enlightening, as long as the reader understands that the big picture is focused on Ireland and its people as the heroes. I don't see anything wrong with that, as Cahill never claims to be giving a clinical and objective examination of such an interesting era of our past.

It's like the book I read a few months ago, Genghis Khan and the Making of the Modern World. The author was obviously in love with Genghis Khan, even though he has gone down in history books for centuries as one of the cruelest, barbaric of villains. It isn't fair to expect someone to write a book about a person or group of people in history without having an intense love and favoritism for them. That much was obvious when I contrasted that book with one I came across about Attila the Hun. Attila's author felt no passion for him, and the parts I managed to get through were singularly boring.

I'd be happy to read many other works that glorify specific cultures and people, and look forward to the rest of my reading life being peppered with other such colorful histories.