The Nazi Planet

by Matthew Anger

There are few episodes from the original Star Trek series (1966-69) that I do not enjoy. But one that contains a thoughtful message beneath the thriller storyline is "Patterns of Force" from the show's second season. Following on the popularity of the parallel Earth theme—including a gangster planet and a Roman planet—the producers came up with a Nazi planet. Aside from the interesting anachronisms, and the morbid fascination that the Third Reich exerts on most viewers, there lurks a very sensible analysis of political evil.

When the story begins, we learn that Federation historian John Gill has disappeared while working on the planet Ekos. The crew of the Enterprise are startled by the rapid advances of the Ekosians, and even more so by the transformation of a once primitive culture into a totalitarian society mimicking Hitler's regime right down to jackboots and German helmets. The Ekosians have even embarked on a genocidal war against the (suggestively named) planet Zeon. Captain Kirk and his crew manage to infiltrate the Nazi headquarters disguised as SS officers. They finally locate Gill, who has become a drugged captive of Deputy Führer Melakon. In a brief moment of lucidity before he is assassinated by Melakon, Gill explains that his experiment was benign in its intentions. He wanted to implement a modified form of National Socialism in order to produce discipline and societal advancement within Ekos' anarchic tribal society. John Gill's dying words are: "Even historians fail to learn from history. They repeat the same mistakes."

Kirk and Spock understand that any form of totalitarianism, regardless of its professed aims, will end in bullying and mass violence. It is a rather nuanced view when one considers the simplistic anti-McCarthyite atmosphere in Hollywood. People were increasingly told that that Marxism sought a truly admirable social order. It was only the excesses of maniacs like Stalin that brought it into disrepute. Ho Chi Minh and Lenin were not so bad. Would they have swallowed the thesis that there was a "good" form of Nazism? As it turns out, I have often found liberals express their admiration for the Third Reich, "if only it had not been anti-Semitic." But that still leaves a lot of other unsavory practices, like forced eugenics and political policing. At the time of Star Trek those things were still frowned upon. It is less the case today.

"Patterns of Force" revealed the roots of the totalitarian temptation. It is a temptation to micro-manage human existence that we are all prone to, quite apart from the proximate manifestations of Hitler and German nationalism. People wonder how the forces of extremism can enervate the popular psyche. They may ask, with an air of smugness: "How could the Germans have allowed this to happen?" A more relevant question is, why are modern Americans so easily cowed by small but thuggish groups bent on dismantling traditional society? The deeper answer is that people will often accept the plausibility of emotive arguments by extremists. They are willing to concede moral points for the sake of fear, greed or hubris, without pondering the ultimate consequences. The Germans found out the hard way. You cannot delegate basic responsibility to political parties or five-year plans. Likewise, our own culture wars will ultimately be won or lost in the moral wars that take place in the heart of every individual.

Plutarch for Everybody

By Matthew Anger

This past year my two oldest boys (high school age) read Plutarch's biographical essays on Solon, Pericles, Alexander and Caesar. One of my sons loved it, the other was much more grumpy about the exercise, but I think some of it rubbed off. There was even an unexpected trickle-down effect. One day my 10-year-old daughter accused a younger sister of acting like Alexander the Great! He was known for his mercurial temperament.

Samuel Johnson tells us that biography is the best way to learn about the past. The reason is simple: "we are all prompted by the same motives, all deceived by the same fallacies, all animated by hope, obstructed by danger, entangled by desire, and seduced by pleasure." Throughout his essays and biographies, Plutarch reflected on the common themes of humanity, drawing from them important lessons about virtue, heroism, vanity and vice, and frequently enlivened with fascinating anecdotes.

I'll highlight just a few of Plutarch's life studies, taken from Penguin’s selection The Makers of Rome. First is Fabius Maximus (c. 280-203 BC), the general who opposed Hannibal’s invasion through his famous delaying tactics which were meant to oppose the enemy by gradually wearing him down at a time when Roman armies could not defeat the Carthaginians in open combat. Fabius was immune to the superstitious portents and omens that alarmed his fellow countrymen.

He was much more impressed by the reports of the small size of Hannibal's force and of how poorly it was supplied, and he urged the Romans to have patience and on no account engage a commander who led an army that had been hardened in many contests for this very purpose of forcing a decisive battle. Instead they should send help to their allies, keep their subject cities under control, and allow Hannibal's strength... to waste away like a flame which flares up brightly but has little fuel to sustain it.

Orwell's Television

By Matthew Anger

Orwell got it partly right. But it's not the use of two-way monitors that would impose social uniformity and mental numbness in modern society. Rather, I think it is the sheer ubiquity of the old-fashioned one-way TV set. Granted I'm not a Luddite. I love my DVDs. But the difference here is that I have control over what's playing in my house.

The problem I'm talking about is finding TVs in banks, post offices, doctors' offices, restaurants and even restrooms. My recent Orwellian experience was discovering that a giant TV had finally been installed in our employee cafe. I suppose we were simply behind the times. I used to take my lunch there before noon, to avoid the crowds. Now with the TV on it's always crowded. The omnipresent screen is worse than physical claustrophobia; it's mental suffocation. Worse yet, there is a kind of collectivism in that we are all forced to witness the same media pabulum 24/7.

Perhaps the real metaphor is not Orwell's Oceania but Huxley's Brave New World, with its comfortable big-brotherism enforced by mass entertainment. True civilization is only possible with civility. It cannot be enforced directly by the state, though it can be assisted by the old common sense laws that have fallen mostly into abeyance. As for the marketplace, it is no more than a mirror of a society's morals. Yet it seems to me that real liberty is possible only where we draw a line as to where others may intrude in our personal space. I have nothing against marketing in a store, but I don't like it on my doorstep or on my phone. As for public places, that becomes a little trickier. I'm not sure I can point to an objective standard here. It's mainly intuitive.

But one thing I am sure of—a hallmark of totalitarian society is that the public sphere crowds out the private and it becomes increasingly difficult to achieve a degree of detachment in daily life where one's thoughts are truly one's own.

Matthew Anger resides in Richmond, Virginia.

Back to the Drawing Board: Reflections on Modern Architecture

By Matthew Anger

An exhibit at the state library in Richmond, Never Built Virginia documents architectural designs that never made it off the drawing board. Ranging in designs from prosaic 19th century churches to ugly modern high rises, the exhibit forms an interesting cultural and aesthetic chronicle. There are a few items which stand out, like the magnificent Greco-Roman concept for the Library of Virginia, proposed in the 1930s. Unfortunately it was shelved in favor of a drab art deco structure (not the best specimen of that style) when the library was rebuilt in 1940. The state library has since been relocated to a retro-modern, and not totally ungraceful, building just down the street.

Not all modernism is bad, but a little bit goes a long way. And when we the exhibit tells us that "Virginia's deep-rooted traditionalism doomed many [architectural] schemes" we can be grateful. After looking at plans from a few decades ago for the James River area—consisting of angular, massive poured concrete structures—it is fortunate that development was postponed until the recent neo-classical revival, when most of the buildings being put up exhibit tasteful Georgian lines to match the historic downtown.

One of the architects highlighted in Never Built Virginia is Haigh Jamgochian, a 1960s disciple of hyper-modernism. That he is a misanthropic, child-hating recluse who has a made a career (like so many modern "creative" people) by not actually doing anything, seems appropriate. Admittedly his drawings and models are curious to look at, like the whimsical futurist predictions of old science fiction movies. Jamgochian cites the original Star Trek show as an early influence. But the minute you actually throw up these edifices on real streets, amidst venerable brick, stone and stucco structures, the effect is monstrous. Jamgochian was not very successful in selling his designs, but there are still plenty of disasters blotting the Richmond landscape from the '60s and '70s. Fortunately, as an established east coast city, enough of the older buildings have survived to maintain its distinctive character.

Perhaps the most that can be said for classic modernism is its symmetry. Of course symmetry is not enough to make a good building. But it's impossible to imagine good design without it. In that respect postmodernism, with its chaotic fragmentation, is only a further step in the direction of artistic decay in which even traditional elements are haphazardly plundered in the way that barbarians of the Dark Ages appropriated bits and pieces from handsome temples and palaces to construct their poorly made hovels. The effect is to evoke not so much interest as pity.

Matthew Anger lives in Richmond, Virginia.

Children's History and Communist Fiction

by Matthew Anger

Stupid bias in books is ubiquitous, but it is particularly obvious in children's literature. There is a reason for that. Not only are most works of popularized history and social sciences low brow, but the level of juvenile books is even lower. For that reason I give my twelve-year-old credit for spotting the obvious bias in The Cold War by Britta Bjornlund, which we got from our local library. Reagan was an "aggressive" leader but Gorbachev gets all the credit for ending the forty year standoff of East and West. Ms. Bjornlund also has a pet cat named "Trotsky." Go figure.

But there are some good nonfiction works for younger readers if you hunt for them. A truly first-rate study is Albert Marrin's Stalin: Russia's Man of Steel which was put out by Viking Penguin in the late 80s (still in print), and which draws heavily on the work of scholars like Robert Conquest—the British historian who was one of the first to tell western readers about the full scope of Russia's mass murders. I'd recommend Marrin's work for older readers as well. It provides an accurate and unflinching portrayal of the USSR and the man who came to rule it. Marrin offers readable studies of Hitler, Napoleon, Robert E. Lee and other important historical figures.

Matthew Anger blogs at bibliofileblog.wordpress.com.

The Virtues and Vices of Courage

by Matt Anger

“Fortitude without justice is a source of evil.”—St. Thomas Aquinas

The great moralists tell us that a person’s strength is often the source of his greatest weakness, whether it is business acumen, artistic creativity, or physical excellence. Any of these things can be exercised too much or in the wrong way. The same is true of courage. A systematic analysis of this subject is provided by Thomistic philosopher Josef Pieper in his classic work The Four Cardinal Virtues (Ignatius Press). Pieper sums up the virtues in this way: “Prudence looks to all existent reality; justice to the fellow man; the man of fortitude relinquishes, in self-forgetfulness, his own possessions and life. Temperance… aims at each man himself.”

One of the best treatments of courage, and certainly the most famous, is Homer’s Iliad. When reading the epic poem there is no doubting the sheer audacity of the Achaeans besieging Troy, but at the same time these men represent a semi-barbarian warrior culture whose heroes are bent chiefly on plunder and revenge. Even the ancient Greek historian Herodotus argued that “the Greeks… were, in a military sense, the aggressors.” Centuries later the English Catholic poet Dryden put it more bluntly: “Science distinguishes a man of honour from one of those athletic brutes whom, undeservedly, we call heroes. Cursed be the poet, who first honoured with that name a mere Ajax, a man-killing idiot!”

For many readers, the most admirable champion of the Iliad is Hector rather than the superhuman Achilles. The former represents the domestic virtues of the settled and civilized culture of Troy, whereas Achilles and the Greeks are little more than marauding pirates. Only in the end does the ferocious Achilles relent somewhat as Priam, father of the fallen Hector, imparts to him a sense of decency and restraint in their shared grief over those slain in battle.

As Pieper explains, “Fortitude points to something prior.” It is a subordinate virtue.  An example of this is Achilles’ chief failing—his petulant temper. It is the “wrath of Achilles Peleus’ son,” sung in the opening lines of the poem, which leads to so much disaster for the Greeks. At one point the god Apollo denounces the “abominable Achilles... who has no sense of decency, no mercy in his mind.” He lacks a healthy sense of shame and rages even against the “clay” of Hector's dead body. By contrast, the Trojan Aineias in his duel with Achilles appears as a superior warrior for his laconic self-control. He chides Achilles for his incessant boastfulness, asking “why must we bandy curses like a couple of scolding wives?”

We notice that in less civilized cultures, or periods of social decay, self-control and graciousness fall into abeyance as rivalry outstrips other qualities. Warriors will boast of their prowess in an absurd and shameless manner.  We have traditionally strict rules about the comportment of soldiers. This is not only to maintain proper morale and proficiency, it also reinforces their role as defenders of a free society—which is something that the mercenary or ideologically fanatical combatant cannot do. When these rules are not adhered to we have the Abu Ghraib scandal or the adolescent antics of Owen Honors, the recently disciplined captain of a nuclear aircraft carrier.

Daring is not necessarily commensurate with rectitude. British historian Max Hastings has often noted in his works that the Third Reich fielded one of the most capable fighting forces in modern times. The German soldier, man for man, outfought all of opponents on all fronts, losing chiefly to the overwhelming numbers of his enemies. Other armies throughout history have earned similar reputations: Alexander’s Macedonian phalanx, Ghengis Khan’s horsemen, and the partisans of Mao Tse-tung. These men could be brave, but chiefly in pursuit of glory, hatred or personal gain.

According to Pieper: “If the specific character of fortitude consists in suffering injuries in the battle for the realization of the good, then the brave man must first know what the good is, and he must be brave for the sake of the good.” Fortitude is not the first of the virtues. “For neither difficulty nor effort causes virtue, but the good alone.” Admittedly this is a strange concept to Americans, because we have always seen bravery as a premier virtue (implicitly encompassing all the others) as embodied in the careers of George Washington, Davy Crockett or Sergeant Alvin York. At the same time we treat Al-Qaeda suicide bomber Mohamed Atta as a “coward” because he disregarded the rules of engagement. In one sense such assumptions speak well of our culture. But strictly speaking, were the 9/11 bombers cowardly? What about the Japanese kamikaze in World War II?  The popular definition of courage seems incomplete.

While Pieper notes that bravery “presupposes a healthy vitality, perhaps more than any other virtue” he adds that it “has nothing to do with a purely vital, blind, exuberant, daredevil spirit.” Referring to the paramount virtue of prudence, he warns that unreasoning fearlessness is based upon a “false appraisal and evaluation of reality.” In the case of the Viking berserker—chewing his shield and rushing half naked and screaming into battle—it can be foolishly blind to real danger. But there are other, more subtle dangers. Through a perversion of love, it can happen when a person values a “cause” more than his proper duty to himself or his neighbor. Finally it can happen when men allow themselves to be forced into evil through fear.

Tom Watson, Populist

by Matt Anger

Politics was [for Watson]... a potent magic whereby a distraught and oppressed people might conjure up forgotten, as well as imaginary, grandeurs, unite with intense purpose, and cast off their oppressors.—C. Vann Woodward

Paul Greenberg has described the Pulitzer Prize winning historian C. Vann Woodward as the “quintessential quiet Southerner.” The Arkansas scholar listens, ponders, weighs things carefully, and creates “a quiet bulwark of reason and imagination” in his works in order to give us a lasting understanding of “the sorrowful but redemptive qualities of Southern history.”  In this way he is very different from the strident Tom Watson (1856-1922), the Georgia populist, whose career Woodward studied at length. This other sort of Southerner, according to Greenberg, is “by turns scholarly and unlettered, slovenly and eloquent, decadent and noble.”