Can the decline and fall of Western Civilization be averted?
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There is a certain fascination people have with the idea of apocalypse. At some deep level, we seem to know that progress cannot always be positively maintained; what goes up, no matter how powerful, must eventually come down, and we wince with the predictable pain of such a fall.
Of course, concern over the end of civilization isn't a new phenomenon. Eminent historians, like Professor Niall Ferguson, have pointed out that we in the West have a particularly potent fascination for this kind of thinking. Perhaps this has to do with the fact that the West — specifically the Anglo West — fashioned itself on the late Roman Republic, and subsequent empire; we drew heavily from Rome in the fashioning of our identity.
Rome's fall, then, like Gibbon's Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire, still occupies the minds and shelves of most conservative thinkers.
But, this concern of ours may run even deeper.
Arnold Toynbee pointed this out in his collection of lectures, Civilization on Trial; he questioned what made civilizations rise and fall. After reading philosopher Oswald Spengler's work on what Toynbee considered a "deterministic view of civilization as predictably cyclical, with civilizations rising and falling on a fixed time-table" (a theme modern Westerners, myself included, do seriously consider), Toynbee reasoned that history and the future of nations could not be so set in stone.
Surely, fate was a consequence of action or inaction rather than an unavoidable imposed circumstance.
Toynbee found an analog for his rejoinder to Spengler's views in Goethe's Faust. In that story, like in the story of Job, Mephistopheles (or, the devil) is allowed by God to tempt man toward destruction. According to Toynbee, this is because God created this "challenge" to allow for future creation and creativity. Toynbee believed that it was mankind's response to this temptation — the ability of a civilization to rise or fall to the challenges of human nature and entropy — that prompts the "inexplicable and unpredictable genesis of civilizations" while also explaining what causes their "breakdown and disintegration."
The silver lining in this theory of nature is that the fate of civilization is not predestined. Instead, like so much of the freedom with which God imbued mankind, our fates are largely in our collective hands — in the choices we make daily.
While this is good news for those willing to act to make tomorrow better than today, it also means that a rejection of wisdom and wise action can bring ruin to any civilization, no matter how powerful. While we are not simply fated to end, certain actions or inactions destine us to rise or ruin, depending on whether we collectively choose the broad or narrow path.
The great military historian Victor Davis Hanson recently expressed his concerns over this in his book The End of Everything: How Wars Descend into Annihilation.
Hanson set out to explore why some civilizations, including many who were the indisputable powers in their regions and times, so quickly went from ascendancy to complete annihilation. The patterns in their falls bring an eerie sense of dread to the astute reader.
Hanson explored the fates of several distinct and distinguished empires such as the Thebans, the Carthaginians, the Aztecs, and the Eastern Roman Empire with its impregnable capital at Constantinople. In each case, the most concerning pattern noted by Hanson was that these societies did not realize that they were in decline. Each had a feeling of martial superiority, having been the victors in most, if not all, of their conflicts to that point; they believed in their invincibility.
The walls of Constantinople, for example, were impenetrable. However, the society within those walls had fallen into degeneracy. Weak and corrupt rulers levied and wasted high taxes on nonsensical things. A drastically declined population, disillusioned with their role in the world, suffered from demoralization; backstabbing and subversion were common among those who were meant to lead them — all traits so often seen in the late stages of civilizational decline.
A second pattern was that each of these civilizations believed in the strength of their alliances. Even as their kingdoms faced imminent destruction, they maintained an "egocentric and naive belief that their allies would come to rescue them." When threatened by a young Macedonian (read: barbarian) upstart named Alexander, the Thebans believed the former military giants of Hellenic history, the Spartans and Athenians, would come to their aid. However, Athens and Sparta dissipated as Alexander neared, and Thebes was left to face him alone.
Finally, as yet another extension of their egocentrism, they failed to understand with whom they were dealing. The soon-to-be-conquered peoples didn't understand that their conquerors were not barbarians; they were brilliant, educated men. "Alexander was tutored by Aristotle. Scipio Aemilianus (Destroyer of Carthage) had Polybius at his side. Mehmed, conqueror of Constantinople, had the largest library in the Islamic world. Cortés was a man of letters. The declining peoples didn't realize that their enemies had thought deeply about how to destroy them."
Many observant citizens of Western civilization today look around and wonder if perhaps we are not following these same patterns.
Though Russia's Putin was presented to Westerners as a madman attempting to create a restored Soviet Union (a concept that has been repeatedly debunked), his actions show significant strategic intelligence. In turn, our actions, seemingly based on our own disinformation (or perhaps wrong, but deeply-held beliefs), have driven a major global energy producer into the arms of another adversary (China), whose greatest weakness was its lack of sustainable access to sources of energy. The sanctions we placed on Russia seem to have harmed the West, particularly our European allies, more than the Russians; as inflation, runaway energy costs, and the cost to grow food (formerly reliant on exports and fertilizers from Russia and Ukraine), skyrocket. We underestimated our enemies.
Hanson points to serious concerns over the two current wars that the United States is funding (Ukraine and Israel), while the threat of a third front (Taiwan) grows imminent. He points to the national debt, which is increasing by $1 trillion every 100 days. In addition, the unknowns of what advanced technologies (weapons of mass destruction, AI, and new biotechnologies) might have in the potentiality of future conflict concern him greatly.
Hanson also recognizes something the people of Constantinople, or at least the leaders, didn't — "we aren't the same people who fought and won the world wars."
While Hanson means this in the sense that our economy is not the same, our manufacturing base has been gutted, and our belief in our mandate – American greatness – is lower than it has ever been, at least over the last century.
It is important to note that this also applies literally. America — the West, in general — has never had as large a foreign-born population, by percentage or by sheer numbers.
The combination of "wokeness" (anti-white, anti-Western ideology) and historically unprecedented mass immigration over the last half-century (millions of whom have little love for the nation) may be the most significant elephant going unnoticed by those in charge of the defense of the nation. The George Floyd riots in 2020 were a wake-up call for many in this regard. If nothing else, the "diversity" pushed so relentlessly over the last few decades of economic policy has given enemies of the West, whether nations or ideologues, societal fault lines to exploit. They are thinking and acting deeply on ways to destroy us.
Thus, all the patterns of concern are on display among America and its allies. We underestimate our potential enemies, we underestimate the rate and causes of our decline, and we believe that our track record of success is itself an assurance of future success. It seems we have fallen almost for the opposite idea of determinism, one in which we are determined to be successful simply because we are who we are, despite our decisions.
However, as Toynbee showed, we still have hope. While the pages of history are filled with stories of fallen civilizations, we have at our disposal those very pages as warnings. We have the wisdom of our fathers; and, if we find the will to use it, perhaps we can avoid the common fate of great nations.
In the end, this is the point of apocalyptic thinking. It's an instinct within us that prepares us for, and helps us avoid, negative possibilities. This is why it's worth thinking about how to avoid the end of everything.
Arthur is a former editor and consultant. Born in India to missionary parents, he spent his early career working in development for NGOs in Asia, Central America, and Africa.
Arthur has an educational background in history and psychology, with certifications from the University of Oxford and Leiden in the economics, politics, and ethics of mass migration and comparative theories in terrorism and counterterrorism. He is currently launching CivWest, a company focused on building capital to fund restorative projects and create resilient systems across the Western world.
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