A Voice in the Wind

“The tantalizing aroma of roasting beef drifted to hungry captives across the night air. Even had they been offered some, righteous Jews would have refused to eat it. Better dust and death than meat sacrificed to pagan gods.”

The uncompromising nature of religious belief systems is on full display. “Righteous” Jews would rather die than violate a single tenet of their faith, implying that any Jew who chooses life in these circumstances is less worthy. These are times of strict adherence to codes—Jews to their Biblical law, the Germanic tribes to their ethics of loyalty and sacrifice—although such rigidity means certain death for those trapped in war-torn Jerusalem. Martyrdom to one’s faith, even over what may seem an arbitrary dietary restriction, is a powerful theme in the novel and one which separates the virtuous from the sinful.

“What had happened to decency? What had happened to purity and faithfulness? Life was more than pleasure?”

Phoebe observes her children, Marcus and Julia, with concern. They exhibit none of the values that she and her generation hold dear, instead simply gorging themselves on hedonistic pleasures. Like so many other thematic elements in the novel, Phoebe’s distress echoes well into the modern day. Similar anxieties were expressed during the social turmoil of the 1960s. Hippies, free-love advocates, and war protesters eschewed the previous generation’s conformity and duty to country. Seeing only war and corruption in their future, much of the country’s youth cast the old values aside in favor of a hedonistic abandon; and like Phoebe, much of the older generation wrung their hands in alarm over the moral decay of the country’s youth.

“Rome’s strength lies in her tolerance, Antigonus. We allow our people to worship whatever gods they choose.”

As Marcus and Antigonus debate the destruction of Jerusalem, Antigonus snidely remarks that the death of so many Jews and Roman soldiers was worth it to quell the insurrection, and that the Jews will never accept a foreign presence in their holy city. Marcus counters with an assertion of religious tolerance. It is a charitable notion but not one that applies to Christians. It is also difficult to know where the narrative stands on the issue. While it’s historically true that, as Rome assimilated more cultures, they allowed diverse religious practices, when Hadassah speaks of one true God, labeling all others as false, it bespeaks a clear lack of tolerance on her part.

“Many family and friends had believed that the end times of which Jesus had spoken were upon them, that the Lord would return and reign in their own lifetime.”

Ruminating on the destruction of Jerusalem, the death of her family, and her own captivity, Hadassah thinks of the Biblical prophecy of Jesus’s Second Coming. Rivers has a knack for integrating modern themes and sensibilities into her historical tale. False prophets as well as earnest but misguided religious leaders have predicted the Second Coming for centuries, even as recently as 2012, “the end of the first ‘Great Cycle’ of the Maya Long Count calendar” (Cole, Rachel. “10 Failed Doomsday Predictions.” britannica.com). The frequency of these predictions suggests a deep human need to rationalize life’s tragedies and find meaning in the random nature of the universe.

“There was honor in destroying an enemy who invaded your lands; there was honor in fighting to protect your people; there was honor in dying in battle. But there was no honor in killing your peers to entertain a Roman mob.”

Atretes stews in his cell after a humiliating day of training at the hands of Tharacus. He despises what he is being forced to do—train to kill not Roman invaders (an honorable endeavor) but fellow captives. Aretes’s strict code of honor rejects the notion of killing for sport, but he has little choice. He must comply to spare his life for future vengeance. He is confronted with this same moral dilemma later in the novel when he is forced to fight one of his own fellow tribesmen. By this point, he has become so inured to the slaughter that, rather than face an ignoble death on a cross, he kills one of his own.

“Father claimed slaves were the reason Rome going soft. Freemen needed work and purpose.”

One of the novel’s ongoing motifs is the debate over the causes of Rome’s decline. Decimus argues that Roman citizens, not its enslaved labor force, should be doing the hard work of rebuilding the city after Nero’s great fire. He argues for the virtue of hard work, a claim disputed by Marcus because enslaved labor is cheaper. This virtue was instilled in the U.S. by the early Protestants. Work, they believed, gave life purpose and brought one closer to God. Marcus, on the other hand, sees life as a pleasure grab, and profit, in his view, trumps vague ethical concerns about work and purpose.

“Your father is an Ephesian and covets good Roman blood.”

Decimus, an Ephesian by birth, has used his vast accumulated wealth to buy Roman citizenship for himself and his family. By arranging Julia’s marriage to Claudius Flaccus, he hopes to continue his progeny’s Roman bloodline. Decimus’s desire for a favorable bloodline—the blood of his country’s conquerors—reflects a cultural shame not uncommon throughout the world. Some countries, like the Dominican Republic, for example, have a history of colorism, where systemic biases favor lighter skin over darker. The Dominican Republic, which was colonized by Spain and later by France, assumed the cultural biases of its colonizers an, over time gave social preference to lighter skinned Dominicans. Decimus demonstrates this same tendency in the ill-fated marriage of his daughter.

“I don’t believe the purpose of life is to be happy. It’s to serve. It’s to be useful.”

Hadassah and Marcus engage in one of many philosophical debates about the purpose and meaning of life. Marcus freely admits that he pursues only his own pleasure. Hadassah, with little else to offer the discussion beyond her own faith, argues that service to a larger cause is the highest priority. Herein lies one of the age-old debates between religion and secularism. Happiness and self-fulfillment, secularists might argue, are themselves worthy ends. However, what is happiness, religion asserts, without altruism. It is empty hedonism, a selfishness that serves no one, including the self.

“Much of what is going wrong with the Empire has to do with fathers who have not disciplined their children.”

When Julia refuses to marry Claudius, Decimus strikes her. Marcus objects to his father’s discipline, but Phoebe defends it, claiming that he has “the right of a father” (128). The debate over corporal punishment rages to this day, with some traditionalists pining for the good old days of spanking while the consensus of child psychologists is that hitting in any form is counterproductive. Interestingly, prohibitions on spanking are often cited as the reason for a disrespectful younger generation, a claim that, according to Rivers, was being made as far back as ancient Rome.

“Hadassah saw the wealth and comfort the Valerians enjoyed as a curse on them. Because of those things, they felt no need for God.”

The Biblical admonitions against wealth surface in Hadassah’s assessment of the Valerians. As much as she tries to steer them toward her god, they are far too comfortable in this life to worry about the consequences of a hypothetical afterlife. It is only when Decimus is near death and sees the folly of his life’s work—the pursuit of wealth above all else—that he begins to fear those consequences and turns to Hadassah for salvation.

“It seemed the more successful he was, the more complicated his life became.”

As the novel progresses and his relationship with Hadassah becomes more intimate, Marcus is forced to admit that his pursuit of pleasure and wealth do not generate the happiness he imagined. Instead, he finds a growing emptiness in his life that only the love of Hadassah can assuage. Marcus’s dilemma is similar to the complaints of those hyper-driven individuals who place career and money above all else, only to realize that, once they achieve their goals, wealth does not cure the unhappiness within. Only the subjugation of self to a higher power, the narrative insists, can lead to ultimate fulfillment.

“As with Julia, lessons of truth were merely stories to while away the time, something for him to write down on one his scrolls.”

Although Hadassah is grateful for Claudius’s attention, she remains frustrated that he sees her “truth” as little more than an academic footnote—just one more religion to place alongside all the others. Claudius does not have the open heart of a potential believer but merely the open mind of a scholar. He is curious only in the spirit of professional inquiry—just as Julia uses Hadassah’s stories for personal comfort—but neither are ripe for conversion.

“His people were pure, unpolluted by those hey conquered. Rome, on the other hand, embraced and absorbed its vanquished. Rome tolerated every excess, accepted every philosophy encouraged every abomination.”

Atretes is revolted by the ethnic and sexual diversity of Rome, preferring the purity of his own people—an unsettling association between racial homogeny and Germany. Not for the first time, a connection is drawn between diversity and tolerance and moral decadence—Atretes’s people punish homosexuality with death—and the line between the characters’ perspective and the narrative’s is often blurry.

“Whatever feels good is right. Whoever stands in the way of their pleasures, they want destroyed. They demand the moral chains be removed, never understanding that it’s moral restraint that keeps man civilized.”

Decimus’s moral handwringing continues as he bemoans his perceived failure as a father. His children, he fears, lack the moral fiber of good citizens that is necessary for a strong social fabric. He notices this deficiency in the youth throughout society as well. Decimus values the greater good over the self, something he has failed to impart to Marcus and Julia. It is a familiar refrain among parents. However, at a certain age children become more influenced by their surroundings and peers than by their parents, so Decimus unfortunately must wring his hands in vain.

“God said to sow the seed, but why didn’t he soften soil?”

Hadassah’s persistent conflict is her inability to convert any of the lost souls around her. Conversion is not a one-sided proposition; lost souls must recognize that they are lost and be willing to accept the change. If political polarization is any indication, people are notoriously difficult to persuade, but Hadassah, young and idealistic, believes the world can by changed by mere words. Even her father, charismatic and with a compelling story of his own resurrection, is killed in his attempt to change the minds of the unwilling.

“Oh, no, I haven’t forgotten. Youth is no panacea for any generation. But the world today is so much more complex, so filled with destructive influences.”

When Marcus claims his mother has forgotten what it is like to be young, she refutes his claim, bemoaning the current state of their world and its influence on young people. The argument could have come right out of a 21st century parent’s mouth. Substitute electronic devices and social media for gladiatorial games and sexual promiscuity, and the time periods eerily converge. It is hard to miss Rivers’s intention, as she uses the decadence of Rome as a cautionary tale for modern society.

“You’ll never be as alive as you are right now, Atretes, when you face death every day.”

As Atretes contemplates his possible freedom, the innkeeper and former gladiator Pugnax argues that, while he may achieve his freedom, he will forever miss the adrenaline rush of battle. As a warrior, his identity is interwoven with the threat of death. Atretes hopes for a future reunited with his people, continuing their guerilla raids on Roman legions. To him, this is a far more honorable form of battle than entertaining the mob.

“Her prayers were no less sincere, however misplaced her faith.”

Hadassah reflects on her love for the Valerians, especially Phoebe, whose daily rituals remind her of her own mother’s. However, Hadassah cannot get beyond her stubborn insistence that any god other than hers is false. There is pity and condescension in Hadassah’s attitude toward her owners. She is constantly befuddled at their lack of acceptance of her truth. Perhaps this is due to the naivete and idealism of youth, but the tone of the narrative suggests that Hadassah’s perspective is the sole righteous one.

“Right now, in the early stages of your pregnancy, what’s inside you is merely a symbol of human life, not actual life.”

When Julia agonizes over whether to have an abortion, Calabah echoes the rhetoric of current pro-choice advocates. The fact that Calabah’s—and hence, Rivers’s—choice of words is strikingly similar to those used today suggests that the author is making a statement about abortion, and her Evangelical worldview, as well as the fact that the argument comes from the villainous Calabah, leaves little doubt about which side of the fence she’s on.

“Traditions have imprisoned women for centuries. It is time we were free, Julia. Break your chains!”

Calabah, ever whispering in Julia’s ear, makes what a cogent and accurate appeal for equal rights. She is explicitly duplicitous, with ulterior motives that have nothing to do with Julia’s well-being or her autonomy as a woman. While Calabah’s ultimate intentions remain murky, her interest in female autonomy is simply a means to manipulate the vulnerable Julia.

“Yet Atretes gained no pleasure from his fame. In fact, he found it served to further enslave him.”

A Voice in the Wind touches on a variety of themes, among them the nature of freedom and the pitfalls of fame. Paradoxically, as Atretes gains greater freedom with his growing celebrity, he finds he is trapped by a different kind of enslavement: the trap of public adoration and expectation. On a visit to a local inn, he is almost torn apart by fans, all of whom want a piece of the great gladiator. Not much has changed in 2,000 years. The public still fetishizes fame, and celebrities still must wall themselves off from their fans to preserve some semblance of their own lives.

“There’s no such thing as right and wrong in this world, no black and white. Life is filled with gray areas, and the most primal instinct of all is survival.”

When Julia has second thoughts about murdering Caius, Calabah soothes her fears with a healthy dose of moral relativism. There are no ethical principles, she argues, and no lines in the sand that cannot be redrawn. Julia must survive, and however she chooses to do that cannot be judged. As usual, Calabah’s words contain grains of truth—life is indeed filled with gray areas, and refusing to see them, leads to a very narrow perspective on the world. But also as usual, Calabah’s words are used for nefarious purposes—not to contextualize an issue but to condone murder.

“Decimus blamed Rome’s problems on the imbalance of foreign trade, saying the Roman people had forgotten how to work and had become content to live on public assistance.”

Hadassah cannot understand why Decimus and Marcus spend so much time arguing over “unimportant” matters like politics and economics. Decimus, the traditionalist, makes an argument strikingly similar to those espoused by conservative politicians. With rhetoric echoing President Ronald Reagan’s “welfare queen” campaign slogan—which many now recognize as an unfounded, racist attack—the nation’s problems are blamed on laziness, lack of work ethic, and reliance on handouts. Once again, Rivers’s characters could just as easily be engaging in the same debate in the 21st century.