“…I enter into the ancient courts of the men of antiquity, where, warmly received, I feed on that which is my only food and which was meant for me. I am not ashamed to speak with them and ask them the reasons of their actions, and they, because of their humanity, answer me…I feel no weariness; my troubles forgotten, I neither fear poverty nor dread death. I give myself over entirely to them. And since Dante says that there can be no science without retaining what has been understood, I have noted down the chief things in their conversation.”

– Machiavelli

Long-time readers know that Christopher I. Beckwith, author of the magisterial Empires of the Silk Road, is a vehement critic of what he calls “modernism,” and its impact on learning and scholarship. When I first encountered his views I thought they were peculiar and amusing. I literally laughed as I read the last chapter of Empires of the Silk Road. Today, I am not so sure.

Recently I was talking to a younger friend on what the point of this is. “This”, as in the life of reading and reflection that some of us attempt to partake of. Some of my friends in academia admit that they no longer read books. Their lives are orientated around the cycle of grant applications and publications which feed their laboratories. That was not the life for me, obviously. Is it the life that they imagined?

Meanwhile, many who claim humanistic interests seem to only focus on reinterpreting the past to prosecute present political cases. That is fine, more or less. But it becomes tedious when it becomes the totality. When the conclusions swallow the whole process. When the endpoint of all journeys are predetermined by political exigency.

The rise of an activist culture within academia over the past decade has brought scholarly pursuits into the world, rather than separating intellectual reflection in some manner from the world. Some activist scholars demand uniform alignment of political beliefs and orientation. This is a very small minority, but a faction which is gifted with boldness and courage due to their cohesion of purpose. The silent majority are craven and cowardly. I have no expectation that they will stop the trend you see today, which will ultimately undermine public support for the whole institution and the culture of intellectual production.

So what comes after? The traditions that emerged in the 17th-century were bound to fade away. That day is nearing, isn’t it? Or am I wrong?

My children will live to the end of this century in all likelihood. What world will they see? What books should they keep in their libraries as the empire of the mind fractures?