RUTHFULLY YOURS

I didn’t quite get the job this summer, though I did something even better—spending several weeks in the Tuscan countryside, resting, reading and writing. While I was there, on cue, the Italian government collapsed, and this timely juxtaposition of inner serenity and public turmoil prompted a few thoughts about our larger dispensation.

It’s hard to imagine a better place to ponder the arc of our civilization’s history than the rich, hilly lands from Tuscany down to Rome. It’s partly the views—across vine-covered slopes and cypress-studded hilltops to gorgeous honeyed-stone villages—and the long lunches of pasta and red wine that induce a contemplative mood under the relentless sun.

But it’s also the ubiquitous reminders of our historical roots in this fresco landscape. You can make a solid case that the small swath of hilly terrain between Florence and Rome has had more impact on our civilization than any other territory anywhere on Earth.

The empire that grew out of the little city on the Tiber bequeathed a language, literature and institutions whose heritage continues to shape our lives today. A millennium after the collapse of that empire, the Florentines and their local rivals secured achievements in art, architecture, science and commerce that represent the most intense flowering of human creativity in history. The church that still calls itself universal and ruled much of this land for centuries has guided the lives of billions of adherents.

But what of it all now? The condition of modern Italy evinces the biblical lamentation for another lost civilization: Quomodo sedet sola civitas. How lonely the city stands.

You can see here a metaphor for the contemporary condition of the West. In Rome this week, they have just about finished putting together Italy’s 62nd (I think) government in 75 years. The country’s comic political instability was the source of humor for decades.

But no one is laughing now. Italy has had no real economic growth for almost 20 years. Its accumulated public debt is almost 1½ times the value of its GDP. Just about all the ambitious Italians I meet want their children to be educated in the U.S. or U.K.

The country was among the first in the West to enter a demographic death spiral. The Italian birthrate is below replacement. The single-child family is almost standard, so millions of Italians have no siblings, aunts, uncles, cousins. The extended family, that natural community of love and support, is going extinct.

The traditional centerpieces of life—family, workplace, community—have been eroded to the bone. Religious observance has collapsed. In the beautiful Tuscan churches I visited, there were probably more priceless works of Renaissance art than there were worshipers. A Caravaggio for every communicant.

The Italian genius for creativity is undiminished, though. I was staying near Montalcino, a small city in southern Tuscany of almost ineffable beauty. Fifty years ago, it was headed the way of many similar European towns. But someone discovered that the local grapes produced one of the finest wines in the world—Brunello—and with investment, a lot of hard work and marketing flair, the place exploded with energy.

In much of the country, however, depopulation is advancing. Moving into the empty spaces have been waves of immigrants, many from North Africa and the Middle East. The migrants have filled vital gaps in the labor force, but the transformation of Italian towns has left increasing numbers of citizens resentful, fearful for their identity.