Shpahtah!

Watched half of the movie 300 with the wife late last night. We saw it when it came out on DVD a few years back and haven’t seen it since. The movie is very impressive. The colors are washed out of the film and the resulting cinematography is highly surreal, evoking almost a dreamscape of what we idealize ancient Greece to be. Or, more specifically, Sparta of old.

The women are all beautiful, runway-figured models with tussled hair pinned up. Even the Queen Mother looks like she just finished a Victoria’s Secret shoot. The men all promenade about in capes and some article of clothing halfway between a diaper and a thong. There are more six-packs present than at Giants Stadium parking lot on Sunday. Whether they’re CGI or real, the actors doubtlessly put in more than the requisite amount of time at the gym. Again, all this physical perfection is on display to show us an idealized version of what 21st century Hollywood thinks of the word “Sparta.”

There’s one scene in particular I want to talk about here; it takes place about a half-hour into the film. As King Leonidas is preparing for the oncoming Persian onslaught, a deformed man approaches him, offering his services and his life to the Spartan ruler. The cripple thrusts and jabs with a spear, insect-like and awkward in his ill-fitting helmet and shield. Leonidas at first looks honored at such devotion, but quickly and coldly turns him down. Ever practical, he explains to the malformed would-be warrior that the man could only be a weak link in the phalanx, and would not be up to the task of protecting the warrior to his right and the one to his left. Then Leonidas dismisses him.

That scene intrigued me.

As I saw the interchange unfold between the two, I thought for certain Leonidas would show pity on the man and allow him to fight, figuring, at the very least and most practical, he’d be able to use another body. After all, the Spartans were outnumbered by the advancing Persians by at least a factor of a hundred. Then, after the first shake of the king’s head in refusal, I figured he’d use him in some other fashion: a scout (the crippled man had a crablike way of scurrying up and down mountain passes), or at least a water-bearer. But no. No mercy from Leonidas. In no way would he accept this man’s offer of himself to his king.

I stopped watching the film in front of me as I pondered Leonidas. Inevitably, as I always do in these situations, I compared his outlook, his worldview, with the prevalent one in our society and culture today. Spartans and 21st century Americans are very far apart on the continuum of … courage? Manliness? Military prowess? I’m not sure what the over-encompassing term I was trying to grasp. It’s a concept that includes all the aforementioned, but also conveys a mindset that prides itself in action, purpose, accomplishment of any task, no matter how difficult, urgent, or life-threatening. This crippled man does not fit into Leonidas’s worldview, and thus, the king cannot use this man.

If I was the king, I would have used him. I would want the loyalty this man offered. There would surely be a task for this man to perform. After all, did not God create us all with a purpose, with talents to accomplish a specific work? But the Spartans did not believe in the God I do. Mercy is a concept completely alien to them. They do not give it, nor did they expect it. We can rightly view our contemporary society as “better,” simply because we conform to those laws given to us from Mount Sinai, and those spoken to us for three years by a man in robes who walked about the regions of Galilee and Jerusalem 2,000 years ago. But such laws (and life-giving examples) were completely foreign to Sparta

Still, these thoughts did not fully satisfy me. Then I hit upon the real fascination. It was Leonidas’s unbending and unswerving devotion to what he believes in. There is no wishy-washiness in his thinking or acting. There is no questioning. Yes, he questions some of the seemingly arbitrary laws he must obey as king of Sparta, but his loyalty to the Spartan worldview is inflexible. A line from Hesse’s Siddharta came to mind, where Siddharta states matter-of-factly that as a stone falls to the bottom of a pond, that is how he attains his goal. It is the very definition of commitment, a definition that almost forces us to use another word when we talk about commitment in terms of our culture.

I found that simple devotion completely and absolutely amazing.

Which society will ultimately have a greater long-term impact on mankind, Sparta or 21st century America, I cannot say. How will scholars in the year 3500 AD view both? Who can tell. It’s popular among certain circles nowadays to view America in decline, as a kind of parallel to what Rome went through in the fifth century after Christ. Yes, there are vague similarities, but the scales seem all wrong to me. I do tend to think we’re in decline, but it is not irreversible, nor has permanent damage been done. And yet I have to temper these thoughts because, in reading about Oswald in Mailer’s book, I have learned that at least as far back as the early 1960s this view of decline has been in fashion. And an even further check is what I learned from one of Medved’s books, posted about here.



As a side note, I got up early today, made a to-do list, and hopped into the shower to start the day. After ten minutes, I turned the faucet to icy cold, braced myself, felt my pulse quicken and my skin tighten against the freezing water. I thought of yelling, “Shpartah!” at the top of my lungs, but my 21st century American mindset kept me firmly grounded in reality.