Posts Tagged ‘Napoleon’

In 1798, Napoleon Bonaparte changed history.  In 1868, Jean-Leon Gerome showed us why.

Bonaparte Before the Sphinx, by Jean-Leon Gerome

Few figures in history are more controversial than Napoleon.  In his scholarly work “Napoleon: For and Against”, Pieter Geyl, a highly regarded academic historian, characterizes the litany of debates concerning this key figure over the past two centuries as an “argument without end.”

Was he a destroyer of liberty or promoter of the rule of law? Was he a conqueror or liberator? Was he conservative or liberal, pragmatic or enlightened? To come to a proper evaluation of Napoleon one must develop a proper understanding of the manifold contradictions that have long mired European civilization, and especially the period which gave rise to his imperium: the French Revolution. Few individuals with such a historical footprint embody both the trend and the exception, both the tide of culture and the piercing shock of the individual, and both must be brought to account.

For the record, let me say that I find Napoleon to be a malevolent and hateful man, despite (in some cases) positive intentions and (in some cases) positive results deriving from his actions. For all the good that was done to promote the dissolution of the decrepit order of European feudalism through his conquests (and through subsequent reaction to his conquests), no excuse can be made for the cataclysmic means employed, especially when they were used to promote a rotten code which blatantly evaded the only truly salutary principles so proudly hailed across the Atlantic.

Whatever may be said morally about Napoleon, there can be no question, however, that he commands our attention. All of subsequent world history has been irrevocably conditioned by his presence in the time line, and it is in this regard that those of us who wish to change the world for the better should examine him.

What was it about Napoleon that was exceptional, not mundane? What made him (in certain aspects) a world-changer, as opposed to a mere cipher of history? The root of the answer is provided in the deceptively simple painting: Bonaparte before the Sphinx, by Jean-Leon Gerome.

In a barren landscape, in what appears to be a barren composition, a soldier–Bonaparte, of course–confronts the colossal remnant of a distant past.

The man appears to be alone, but for the shadows of his aides, who remain sufficiently far back not to intrude on this moment of reflection.

Slightly hunched, support himself by placing his hands on his thighs, Bonaparte sits in contemplation.

Bonaparte Before the Sphinx (detail)

It is important that we call him by his real name, Bonaparte.  He is not yet “Napoleon.”

The year is 1798, and Bonaparte is leading an expedition to conquer Egypt.  His army is seen in the background, moving across a vast plain.

What was Bonaparte doing in Egypt? France’s leaders at the time were as perplexed as many have been since.

Egypt itself was not Napoleon’s goal.  The ultimate target in Napoleon’s mind was India. But to reach India despite the seemingly insuperable power of the British Navy, France would have to secure a land route. An alliance with Russia would have to be arranged. Also, the Ottomans and Persians would either have to be bullied or co-opted. But Bonaparte was the kind of individual who could project such a complex line of developments and take the steps necessary to bring it to fruition. In light of his subsequent failure due to the heroics of Admiral Nelson’s navy at the Battle of the Nile, historians have tended to downplay Napoleon’s concept, but as his later conquests would show, his ambition was usually matched by perceptiveness, intellectual penetration, and an ability to carry through the most complex plans.

In addition, Jean-Leon Gerome proposes that Napoleon possessed yet another virtue: historical-mindedness.

In the painting, Gerome portrays the still young Bonaparte–whose plans to change history have yet to unfold–pondering the ruins of a once great artifact.

The particular juxtaposition of the larger-than-life Sphinx and the soon-to-be world-altering Frenchman on horseback has led some to find humor in the painting.  The man undoubtedly is smaller than the sculpture, and by making him look small, one may suppose that it makes him seem insignificant, even comically so.  However, had Gerome intended such a mood, he could easily have dwarfed the general by changing the perspective and including the Pyramids as well. Bonaparte is smaller, obviously, than the Sphinx. But this is fitting within the composition since he hasn’t yet earned a larger place in history.

That Bonaparte is not yet a great historical figure but that he must already have dreamed of conquering the world by this point in his career is what matters.  It is this individual who is juxtaposed with the mysterious deity, which once held sway over civilization but now is no more.

Thus the painting depicts a man who wishes to become important pondering something which was once important but is no longer.

“Will it matter,” wonders Bonaparte?  What does matter in history?  Who or what has a lasting effect through time?

Napoleon surely wished for a legacy.  But the Sphinx’s legacy, no matter how great it once was, had long been extinguished.

The painting invites us to consider the theme of historical significance, and proposes in a subtle manner that no matter how great something is, it is eventually discarded and forgotten.  And yet, Napoleon’s presence in history, viewed from Gerome’s vantage point, and still from our own, defies this idea.

That Napoleon did not accept this notion is a part of the reason why he occupies his unique place in story of mankind. Nobody who strives to change the world can accept that what they do doesn’t matter.  And nobody who does truly change the world in a significant way ever is lost to history.  The Sphinx also, despite lying in ruins and partially covered, still remains. Even if only as neglected ruin, it calls out through time for us to solve its mystery.

As far as history is concerned, we can enjoy Gerome’s deceptively simple painting for its ability to conjure this manifold context of thoughts.  On a personal level, we can also derive an important benefit.  We can contemplate the question of the importance of things–of the every day toils we engage in to reach a great goal, of the problems that get blown out of proportion in the moment, but then fade away.  Some things are important, and we should pay them the attention they deserve.  Others are not, and we can let them go.

Like Napoleon before the Sphinx, we have to consider the question, if we are to know the difference and act to make real changes.

To help you on your own journey towards historical-mindedness, consider joining my 20-lecture history course on Ancient History, starting October 8th.  Learn more here.  Register here. (More information to come on this blog.)


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Installment four of A First History for Adults, Ancient history. begins October 8th.  In preparation for this exciting course–and, of course, to entice you to registerI’ll be posting a number of pieces related to its themes.

Among the stories concerning the uncovering of the distant past, none is more fascinating than that of Napoleon’s expedition to Egypt in 1798.  It is at once a watershed moment in the unfolding of modern Middle Eastern history and in the origin of the study of the ancient world.

Since I have addressed the significance of Napoleon’s expedition to Egypt for Middle Eastern history at length in my newsletter, I’ll merely summarize it here.  In essence, Napoleon’s actions punctuated the West’s military, political, and cultural ascendancy over the Muslim world.  A visible trend had begun in 1683, when the Ottoman Turks were repelled from Vienna by European powers and forced to accept major territorial losses.  Soon Russia was making advances into Ottoman and Persian territory.  Then France’s prodigal son demonstrated in turn that the West was ascendant by soundly defeating the vaunted Mameluk warrior aristocracy of Egypt and taking control of the region, which was then a province within the vast Ottoman Empire.

Francois-Louis-Joseph Watteau’ s depiction of the Battle of the Pyramids

Napoleon was eventually expelled from Egypt. Ironically, however, his defeat only reinforced the fact that the West had taken a great leap forward.  It wasn’t the Mameluks, or their Ottoman overlords who ejected the French from Egypt; it was the British.  The lessons of the West’s successes was not entirely lost on either the Turks or the new regional leader of Egypt, Muhammad Ali (the Pasha, not the boxer!), and a concerted effort–already underway in some areas–was made to match Europe’s progress by mimicking its institutions.  This led to the Tanzimat reforms in Turkey, and to a host of similar projects throughout the region.  (The partial success of these reforms, combined with the West’s continued ascendancy, lies at the heart of the modern dilemna I have termed The Islamist Entanglement.)

Napoleon thus changed history, as he was soon to do in still other ways.  But he also changed our understanding of history.  Along with large army of soldiers, Napoleon brought a small army of scientists and artists to Egypt.  Their aim was to push the boundaries of knowledge about the mysterious land of Egypt.  They traveled the exotic domain of long-dead Pharaohs in the wake of Napoleon’s army, sketching, recording, seeking, and uncovering.

Arrival at Abu Simbel, by David Roberts

The first windfall of these efforts was the gargantuan Description de l’Égypte, published originally as a 23-volume edition, and later expanded to 37 volumes!  The “Description,” as the name suggests however, was merely the observations by scholars of Egypt as it was then.  The country’s distant past remained a mystery.

The great obstacle to uncovering Egypt’s history was straightforward in nature, if impossibly complex in its particulars.  The source material from which history is constructed is written records.  Although Egypt had plenty to offer, they were indecipherable.  The famous hieroglyphic writing which blanketed Egyptian temples was inaccessible, as were the other forms of Egyptian writing.  Until the linguistic code of the Ancient Egyptians could be cracked, the true nature of their culture would remain unknown.

There was hope, however. In 1799, Napoleon’s soldiers had uncovered a stele near the town of Rosetta on the Nile river delta.  Whereas the soldiers might well have ignored the stone in other circumstances, they had orders from Napoleon to preserve anything of interest.  Surely this artifact qualified. It seemed to have three different kinds of writing on it.

French scholars examined the stone, and found that one of the languages was Ancient Greek, which they could read.  The other two languages–hieroglyphics and demotic–were not readable yet, but with a key such as this one, comparisons between the three parallel versions could provide an all-important opening for linguists.

The Rosetta Stone, found by Napoleon’s soldiers in 1799

The task was torturous.  It took scholars 15 years to decipher the demotic–a later Egyptian cursive script.  The hieroglyphics remained indecipherable for a further eight years.  The problem was that the script contained a combination of phonetic and pictorial symbols.  Finally, French scholar Jean-François Champolleon cracked the code.

Work could now begin on the rediscovery of Egypt’s story. King lists and annals, religious papyri, funerary engravings on temple walls–all began to be translated, collected, compared, and ultimately integrated into narrative form.

Nearly 200 years later our understanding of Egyptian history is incomparably greater than that of any people before us–including the Ancient Egyptians themselves!  An entire science–Egyptology–thrives in academic centers around the world. Through the lens of scientific history, we can see further back and with greater clarity than anyone could have previously imagined.

And all of it stems from the unusual actions of one of history’s most brutal destroyers of life.

As far as Napoleon is concerned, many would rather dismiss his contribution.  Some interpret the scholarly dimension of his expedition as nothing more than a ploy to sway public opinion or a device for gaining political advantage.  But history is not primarily concerned with moral judgment.  Historical value-jugdment is an act of weighing the importance–not the goodnessof an individual or group’s contribution to the fate of mankind.  In this regard, one must attribute to Napoleon a unique place as a conqueror, lawgiver, transmitter of ideas–and irreplaceable contributor to a vast expansion of human knowledge.

In the first four lectures of my 20-lecture Ancient history program for adults we’ll examine the results.  I hope you’ll join us, starting October 8th!  Registration is now open, for those of you who’ve been waiting.  For more information on the course, stay tuned for the opening of the Ancient History program page–coming soon!

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So how exactly do you choose a “Person of the Year”?  Here’s more from Time’s Richard Stengel:

People tend to think that choosing the Person of the Year is a scientific process. It’s not; it’s a subjective one. There’s no Person of the Year measuring stick or algorithm…We have meetings…But in the end, it has to be someone or something that feels right, something that’s a little unexpected, someone our readers will be eager to know more about. [Read the full article here.]

This contradicts what was said in Stengel’s other explanation, which focuses on what is indeed a viable, objective criterion, namely historical significance. Of course, one can hardly expect modern journalists to be consistent, but what about an “algorithm” for choosing a ‘Person of the Year’?

Could there be such a thing? Is it possible to objectively assert that one person is the most important person in the world at any point in time?

I think it is, and I think the algorithm is in principle fairly straightforward.  (The details, of course, are tricky!)

One element of the calculation that makes it seem daunting at first is that it is impossible to measure a person’s full historical footprint in the present. Although one can certainly anticipate the historical import of an event or action in a journalistic context, historical significance emerges gradually, and it is most easily measured from a distance, with the benefit of hindsight.

One reason for this is that the future does have a way of yielding the unexpected.  Free will and unanticipated consequences mean that despite context, trends, and traditions, accidents do happen, and the truly unique or “sui generis” does appear.  Both of these have affected the course of events at many junctures in history.  For instance, when Corsica became a part of France in 1768 despite its close cultural ties to Italy, one could hardly have expected this minor transfer of European real estate to matter in the larger scheme of things.  One year later, however, a certain Napoleone di Buonaparte was born there, whose subsequent entry into French military schools as a youth, rather than schools in Italy, changed the story of the world.

If one can see the “big picture” of history, one can absorb shocks like these, and still plot out a general course for events based on fundamental trends. Even in the context of the Napoleonic upheaval, for instance, one could have predicted that a longer term struggle between the new liberal socialism of the French Revolution and the traditional monarchism of Europe would extend for generations. Such a prediction would have been based on a variety of factors, including on the one side the success of the American republic, the moderate course of England’s constitutional monarchy and its prestige on the continent, the current shocks being dealt to the decaying structure of feudalism by the Napoleonic presence throughout Europe, and on the other side the sustained ideological alignment of Russia, Prussia, and Austria during that period.

Still, there’s no question that Napoleon would have been “Person of the Year” for a good 15 years running, which fact helps us to see the first basic principle that applies in the “Person of the Year” algorithm. 

In a word, that principle is “preeminence.”

When one person occupies a place in world affairs that is incommensurably greater that all others, then the choice is easy.

Applying this principle, though one might like to choose, say, Thomas Jefferson in 1801, as third President of the nascent American republic and leader of that infant nation against the Barbary Pirates–or James Madison in 1812, the fourth President, standing up to Britain’s imperial might in defense of his people’s rights, I think that such choices would have been nearly impossible to make for even the best journalist at the time–though in the long run, one could eventually revise one’s choice. While Napoleon held sway over Europe, his actions and their apparent impact on the course of civilization swamped those of any other candidate, and even if these exceptions are allowed, they still serve to highlight the rule.

So preeminence trumps any other consideration, but what do you do when there isn’t a clear choice of the Napoleonic variety? What do you do when you live in a world without leaders–at least, a world without political leaders, as we do today?

(continued in Part 3)

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