Can Civil Dialogue Save Us From Rome’s Fate?

When I get frustrated with U.S. politics, I sometimes take a strange comfort in learning about ancient Rome. It’s my nerdiest hobby. I lose myself in books, movies, or podcasts on antiquity, even though I’m not a great historian and can’t keep all the details straight.

I just get a sense of awe, a feeling of smallness, when I think of the passage of time and the real people who lived in the Roman world two thousand years ago. I love escaping into the beauty of stone and marble, as well as the intrigue and drama. It was a violent world—Rome was brutal even in peacetime—but it all happened so long ago that it feels not quite real.

And I’m fascinated by the way our country was shaped by that world. Rome is our heritage. Our founding fathers were scholars of Greek and Roman history. Our democracy was the first to exist since the fall of the Roman Republic 1800 years earlier, when Augustus was recognized as emperor by the Senate in 27 BCE. Studying Rome reminds me what an anomaly we were when we first began. What an experiment this country was, and the Roman Republic before it!

Somehow, thinking in millennia takes the sting out of whatever’s happening now. Even if it looks like we’re going down like they did.

Last fall, a historian named Mike Duncan wrote an op-ed in The Washington Post called “This is how republics end,” with the subheading, “Warnings from the fall of Rome.” He describes how the decline of the Roman Republic, in the century before Augustus, parallels what’s happening today.

In that last century before the fall, growing poverty and economic inequality undermined the stability of the republic. By that time, Rome had conquered its biggest adversaries, Greece and Carthage. It had become wealthier than ever before—but its wealth was concentrated in the hands of a few. Poor farmers, unable to compete with large landholders and their slave labor, were forced to sell off their land and move to the cities, contributing to growing insecurity.

Much of this sounds familiar. Like Rome, we’ve become the world’s sole superpower since the Soviet Union fell. Our own great wealth is concentrated in the hands of the few, our rural areas are emptying out, and many cities across the country are experiencing epidemics of homelessness as housing prices climb.

Rome’s economic crisis unfolded over decades, but attempts at reform were met with gridlock in the Senate. Duncan writes:

More than anything else, the senatorial families remained narrowly focused on their own elite political rivalries… The constantly revolving rounds of senatorial infighting wound up blocking all popular reform, risking the long-term health of the republic for a short-term political advantage.

Again, this sounds all too familiar.

Duncan goes on to say that the Roman government’s failure to help the people meant that “populist demagogues were able to exploit the resentment, anxiety, and desperation of burdened families.” Civility disappeared. Discord eventually escalated into violence, and ultimately, military strength (instead of popular support) became the only practical means of securing power. Augustus and Mark Antony mustered opposing forces and battled for control; Augustus won.

Witnessing the breakdown of civility over the last couple decades, it’s increasingly easy to see how this could happen in America, too. Our own congressional gridlock has prevented reform that is desperately needed on critical issues, such as health care and veterans’ benefits. Our own populist demagogue has deftly wielded the anger of the white working class in his rise to power.

Duncan portrays Trump’s rise as the result of our underlying discord, not the cause of it. He argues that our decline really began in the 1970s with growing income inequality. Perhaps, if Trump hadn’t come along, another similar leader would have.

To me, the congressional gridlock in both Rome and the United States is the most interesting and pertinent issue. This gridlock mirrors divisions that have been growing for decades among everyday Americans from opposing political parties. It’s my belief that bridging this divide is key to righting the country’s course.

In another recent article, on NPR.org, Hannah Rosin writes of how empathy in America has been in decline since around the year 2000, according to social science research. Her article, “The End of Empathy,” seems to support the idea that Trump is only the latest manifestation of vitriol that has been growing in America for a long time:

The new rule for empathy seems to be: reserve it, not for your ‘enemies,’ but for the people you believe are hurt, or you have decided need it the most. Empathy, but just for your own team. And empathizing with the other team? That’s practically a taboo.

It wasn’t always so. Rosin doesn’t mention possible causes of empathy’s decline, but I wonder if it has to do with some of the forces Duncan talks about in his Rome piece. With growing economic anxiety and inequality, the impoverishment of rural areas, and partisan gridlock, perhaps many of us are feeling less secure. Feelings of insecurity and scarcity lead us to circle the wagons, protecting what we have and mistrusting those who seem different. It becomes a vicious cycle: our mistrust of the “Other” prevents reform, which perpetuates our insecurity.

But it’s my hope that, with the benefits of hindsight, technology, and psychology, we can alter our course where Rome did not.

We have many advantages over Rome. By now, history has documented the rise and fall of many civilizations. Some societies have rebuilt after civil strife and moved towards reconciling opposing factions: South Africa after apartheid, Rwanda after genocide, and Germany after World War II.

In National Geographic’s special 2018 race issue, an article describes social scientists’ efforts to repair empathy in societies where it has broken down. They haven’t yet reached consensus on which methods are best—but they do know that it’s possible:

It’s a common misfortune around the world: People get along well enough for decades, even centuries, across lines of race or religion or culture. Then, suddenly, the neighbors aren’t people you respect, invite to dinner, trade favors with, or marry. Those once familiar faces are now Them, the Enemy, the Other. … Of course, humans share that trait with many other creatures, from ants to salmon to macaques. What other creatures almost never do, though, is change their group perceptions and actions… Only humans can switch from feeling united as one American nation to feeling divided between conservative red states and liberal blue ones. Our capacity to change our perceptions also offers some hope, [though], because it permits people to shift in the direction of more inclusion, more justice, more peace.

We can otherize our neighbors and lose our empathy…but we can also rewire our brains to bring empathy back.

I believe our national civility movement has the potential to rekindle our broken-down empathy. I also believe our political leaders’ attitudes will continue to reflect what we feel.

Ordinary Americans must reach out to those who vote differently, work on humanizing them in our own minds. We must urge our Members of Congress to do the same.

We must learn, also, to sometimes compromise, and to respect leaders who are willing to compromise at least as much as those who are perpetually unwilling to give any ground to the other side. Discernment is called for. At times, it’s best not to budge on your principles—but at other times, trade-offs must be made.

Long-term progress, not just short-term political gain.

As long as the other political party is seen as the enemy, nothing will get done to solve the many problems of our country. That seems like a sure path to more trouble ahead. Let’s work to change course.