Watching it Burn: The Fall of Rome

The year is 96 CE. The Roman Empire stretches from the sands of the Sahara to the foggy highlands of Britain. The Colosseum is brand new, the aqueducts run strong, and Roman legions march unchallenged across three continents. Trade is booming. Cities gleam with marble and mosaics. On the surface, it's the pinnacle of Roman power, the kind of empire people will write about for thousands of years.
But underneath all the triumph and spectacle, something is shifting. Not suddenly, not violently but undeniably. The Republic's old virtues discipline, sacrifice, public service are fading. In their place: luxury, entitlement, political showmanship, and a growing dependence on spectacle over substance. The emperors are getting more absolute, the Senate more irrelevant. The people? More passive. The warning signs are there but no one's looking.
When most people think of the fall of Rome, they picture barbarians storming the gates in 476 CE, the final emperor deposed, cities in flames. That's the headline. But the real story is more complicated and, in many ways, more relevant.
This isn't just the story of an empire's collapse. It's the story of how power decays from within, how people stop defending what they've built, and how a culture convinced of its own permanence quietly unravels while still pretending everything is fine.