History Writing as Humanism
Plus, Timely Tips for Better Research Writing
Aristotle highlighted the remarkable difference between poetry (imaginative literature) and history when he wrote:
From what we have said it will be seen that the poet’s function is to describe, not the thing that has happened, but a kind of thing that might happen, i.e. what is possible as being probable or necessary. The distinction between historian and poet is not in the one writing prose and the other verse—you might put the work of Herodotus into verse, and it would still be a species of history; it consists really in this, that the one describes the thing that has been, and the other a kind of thing that might be. Hence poetry is something more philosophic and of graver import than history, since its statements are of the nature rather of universals, whereas those of history are singulars. By a universal statement I mean one as to what such or such a kind of man will probably or necessarily say or do—which is the aim of poetry, though it affixes proper names to the characters; by a singular statement, one as to what, say, Alcibiades did or had done to him.1
The philosopher’s claim is that imaginative literature is more philosophical because it provides us with universal insights into human nature and shows us what kinds of things human beings might do or will probably do in a given situation. He argues that history is more singular in that it tells us what someone actually did or actually had done to him. It is not to say that Aristotle is anti-history. For that particular project, he is just more interested in the philosophical.
Nevertheless, the Roman historian, Titus Livy, provides us with ample affirmation regarding the benefits of studying and writing about history. (Anyone who has contemplated researching and writing about the past would benefit from a careful reading of Livy’s Early History of Rome). In his introduction, he offers the following apology for history:
The study of history is the best medicine for a sick mind; for in history you have a record of the infinite variety of human experience plainly set out for all to see; and in that record you can find for yourself and your country both examples and warnings; fine things to take as models, base things, rotten through and through, to avoid.2
Livy is arguing that there is an exceptionally beneficial and fruitful advantage to be had from studying the past, namely that there is set before us, in the clear light of historical truth, examples of every possible type. From these examples, one may select for himself or for his country good things to imitate and sordid things to avoid.
Although Hegel may argue that the only thing human beings learn from history is that they never learn from history—there it truth enough in his statement—it appears, quite possibly, that there are numerous cases where history has sided with Livy. We might take the American founding as our example.
It is my contention that to think and write about the past is homogeneous with the aims of Christian humanism: a valiant attempt to fulfill the human desire to know and understand our condition and place in the universe. In his preface to The Columbia History of the World, William McGill, explains that history is “man’s effort to understand the universe in which he finds himself, the processes by which he evolved, and the historical context of his being.”3
In other words, writing about history is just as essential to human flourishing as writing poetry or imaginative literature. Thus, in what follows, I would like to offer three essential criteria for writing about history.
Historical Sources
First, there is the matter of research. While there is a sense in which research is common among all academic disciplines, there is another sense in which historical research must be approached more cautiously, or at least more deliberately. (Some might say, scientifically, but I would take issue with such a cold, mechanized approach.)
In short, the history writer must first conduct research about his research. He must identify the correct primary sources. Then he must be ascertain whether or not he has all the essential sources. When possible, he should work to know whether or not he is missing something significant. This can be challenging because we don’t immediately know what we don’t know.
Finally, the collected sources must be weighted, prioritized, and arranged. For example, a historian might have to make an educated decision when authoritative and credible sources seem to contradict one another. Something like this is more common than one might think.
To solve this riddle, the writer will have to make a gallant effort to trace out the disparities and determine which reference is mistaken or less credible; and, if it’s a mistake, it’s helpful to discover where the mistake first presents in the lineage of available sources.
Every writer of history will inevitably gain a keen sense of how inadequate research methods could easily impede an accurate recounting of a historical event. Further, he’ll likely acquire a subsequent curiosity of how closely extant historical narratives actually approximate with reality.
Historical Causation
Since the essential work of the historian is most often to discover the real cause of things, his next task will be to explore any dissonant matters of causation. And wouldn’t you know it, there are numerous “philosophies of history” among writers, all purporting to explain the real reason when and why something happened as it did.
As one might intuit, this further complicates the treatment of history.
While there are a plethora of approaches to consider, the most significant of these seem to boil down to whether history is caused by the agency of man or by some determinate force. Tolstoy’s “Second Epilogue” in War and Peace is helpful for contemplating this particular issue. He writes,
For the solution of the question of free will or inevitability, history has this advantage over other branches of knowledge in which the question is dealt with, that for history this question does not refer to the essence of man’s free will but to its manifestation in the past and under certain conditions… History surveys a presentation of man’s life in which the union of these two contradictions has already taken place. In actual life each historic event, each human action, is very clearly and definitely understood without any sense of contradiction, although each event presents itself as partly free and partly compulsory.
Here, Tolstoy is not challenging anything like St. Augustine’s theological explanation for the coexistence of man’s free will and God’s determinant will; rather, he is asserting there is a sense in which the historian’s treatment of free will and providential determinism stands above the theological construction. This affords the historian a way to explain the cause of an event while avoiding the pitfall of relinquishing human responsibility to determinism on the one side and the pitfall of the infinite regress of human action on the other.
In this way, a man’s actions, and the historical influence of those actions, can be evaluated in the immediate context of the person or event being researched without dismissing the Christian confession of God’s providential rule over history.
Historical Consciousness
Finally, and quite possibly most importantly, the writer of history must consider the matter of historical consciousness. John Lukacs, in the postscript of his book, Historical Consciousness, explains the history of his book’s development as a way of explaining the book itself. This explanation of his book illustrates the essence of his meaning that, “the history of anything may form a reasonable explanation” of the thing itself.
In other words, to truly understand a person or event, the historian needs to have an extensive awareness of the development of said person or event. That is, the historian needs to understand more than just the facts surrounding the thing; he must possess an understanding of its history based on a personal consciousness of the human condition.
Thus, armed with this understanding of a thing’s being—the history of anything is a reasonable explanation of the thing itself—Lukacs can assert that historical thinking is akin to humanism: a valiant attempt to fulfill the human desire to know and understand our condition and place in the universe.
Conclusion
To summarize, writing about history is rewarding—it is a humanistic enterprise—but it requires diligence and cogitation. The three most important aspects of writing about history are one’s historical research efforts, discovery of historical causation, and acute historical consciousness.
Together these aspects function like a three-legged stool. Of course, history is made up of more than just the three legs; Nevertheless, it's these three aspects, standing in equal measure, that insure the stability and integrity of the work of the historian.
Aristotle, The Works of Aristotle, ed. Mortimer J. Adler and Philip W. Goetz, trans. W. D. Ross, Second Edition., vol. 8, Great Books of the Western World (Chicago; Auckland; Geneva; London; Madrid; Manila; Paris; Rome; Seoul; Sydney; Tokyo; Toronto: Encyclopædia Britannica, Inc.; Robert P. Gwinn, 1990), 686.
1. Titus Livy et al., The Early History of Rome: Books I-V of the History of Rome from Its Foundations (London: Penguin Books, 2002), 30.
Although most Christians would not capitulate to McGill’s evolutional model of man’s progress in the world, the point, generally speaking, is valid in that regardless of any given man’s view of first things, the compulsion to know where he came from is universal.