Friday, August 30, 2024

Imperial Rome and the Antonine Plague

From the Bulletin of the Atomic Scientists, May 15:

A ‘plague’ comes before the fall: lessons from Roman history 

The Pax Romana—the 200-year “golden age” of the Roman Empire—was a marvel of diversity, connectivity, and unchallenged hegemony. By the middle of the second century AD, imperial Rome ruled territory across three different continents. Roughly one-quarter of the Earth’s population, some 60 million people, lived under Rome’s vast aegis, and the emperors of the age—most notably Marcus Aurelius—enjoyed the consent of those they governed. The Empire’s elites—witnessing the disciplined legions, widespread religiosity, cultural efflorescence, and dominant economy—likely expected their world order to endure forever.

In the year 166 AD, however, seemingly eternal Rome was caught completely off-guard as a deadly novel disease swept across the Eurasian landmass. It ransacked Rome’s cities for at least a decade and preceded centuries of decline. This major biological event—now known as the Antonine plague—appears to have been the world’s first pandemic.

Historians hotly debate its death toll—with estimates ranging from 2 percent to 35 percent mortality—and its broader social and economic effects. The disease itself remains undiagnosed. The great Greek physician Galen described its main symptoms as fever, throat ulcers, and a pustular rash. Some have suspected it was measles or smallpox, but modern analysis provides reasons to doubt these as the possible culprits. Human remains from the Antonine plague period, meanwhile, have thus far failed to yield genetic evidence sufficient to identify the pathogen.

Although the plague did not on its own cut short Rome’s dominance, it struck an empire that was confronting multiple challenges beneath a veneer of prosperity and growth—factors that modern-day infectious disease experts might recognize as creating the ideal conditions for pandemics. Much remains unknown about the Antonine plague; in some ways, modern scholars are just as in the dark about this first pandemic as its contemporary victims. But interdisciplinary researchers, trying to understand how the plague could have helped push such a powerful empire to the breaking point, have recently been unravelling some of its mysteries.

Probing the plague. Historians, archaeologists, and scientists have been sharing data and expertise, working together to develop histories of past pandemics—including the Antonine plague—that are surprisingly comprehensive and nuanced. Paleogenetic and paleoclimatological evidence reveal the crucial role of environmental and demographic factors in the pandemic. Insights from modern economics and sociology have improved historians’ understanding of how the institutions of the Roman Empire were affected by disease mortality. Even before the pandemic arrived, the pre-existing ecological, economic, and demographic context of mid-second century Eurasia prepared the way for the disease that would accelerate the end of Rome’s era of efflorescence.

Research assessing the severity of modern anthropogenic climate change, for example, has compiled a vast array of climatological data dating back to the Roman period, and well before. Such research offers historians an increasingly detailed and comprehensive view of the ecosystems of ancient Eurasia and Africa. The ancient Mediterranean was (and still is) polka-dotted with microclimates; meanwhile, ice cores from Greenland, ancient tree rings from northern Europe, and sediment cores from Egypt and Italy suggest that some regions in and around Roman territory endured cooler temperatures and droughts about a decade ahead of the Antonine plague pandemic. These climatological shifts were hardly severe, nor did they affect the entire Mediterranean Basin. Many of the affected regions, however, happened to play outsized roles in supplying Roman cities with grain.

The annual Nile flood in Egypt, for instance, reliably nourished well-irrigated grainfields with nutrient-rich water from the Ethiopian highlands. The resulting harvests, often abundant, were stored and then shipped in massive vessels across the Mediterranean to Rome for distribution to the city’s masses. But from the 150s onward, a series of droughts near the Nile headwaters in equatorial east Africa disrupted the flood, reducing the productivity of Rome’s main breadbasket. Meanwhile, at the same time, increased storm activity in the western Mediterranean—as confirmed by sediment cores extracted from the coast of southern France—made shipping already scarce grain far riskier than in previous centuries. As a result, denizens of Rome and several other major cities, and possibly also some of Rome’s soldiers, endured greater food insecurity and malnutrition—weakening their bodies ahead of the pandemic’s arrival in the 160s.

An interconnected, vulnerable ancient world. Historians still don’t know exactly where and when the pandemic entered Roman territory. But, again, historical circumstances conspired in favor of the novel disease.

An outbreak today can jump continents as quickly as an airplane can fly. Travel and transportation can facilitate the spread of infectious diseases. It may not be coincidental, therefore, that by the time of the Antonine plague, the Eurasian landmass was better-connected than ever before. In 166 AD, for the first time in recorded history, the imperial Han court in Luoyang, China, received visitors from the Roman Empire. Merchants from India, sub-Saharan Africa, Arabia, and Egypt rode the trade winds to ports all around the Indian Ocean. Roman soldiers, seeking to police and tax such abundant trade, ventured well outside Roman borders—as Latin inscriptions in the Farasan Islands of southern Arabia attest. In short, there were plenty of opportunities for novel diseases to cross political and geographic barriers into new populations, transforming what might have otherwise been a regional epidemic into a pandemic that spread across three different continents.

In the Roman Empire, an impressive transportation infrastructure—once a source of economic and military power—became a sudden liability once the pandemic breached its borders....

....MUCH MORE

One of the scariest things The Bulletin has written about is the cobalt bomb, "‘Doomsday’ Nuclear Submarine Armed With Nuclear-Powered, Nuclear-Tipped Torpedoes Delivered to Russian Navy". If interested it's right after this pull-quote:

"Now Most Dreaded Weapon, Cobalt Bomb, Can Be Built

It is this type of hydrogen bomb of which Albert Einstein said: "If successful, radioactive poisoning of the atmosphere, and hence annihilation of any life on earth will have been brought with in the range of technical possibilities."

Scroll down.

Now that's "doom-scrolling."