Periodically, journalists, historians and political scientists are asked to rank presidents according to their supposed greatness. The results tend to be utterly predictable, with Lincoln, Washington and FDR leading the ranks and Warren G. Harding, Franklin Pierce, James Buchanan and Andrew Johnson (and, in the most recent polls, George W. Bush and Donald Trump) trailing.
As a historian, I find it hard to credit these polls, which strike me as highly subjective and beset by present-day values and biases. They generally reflect a proximity bias, with recent presidents ranked disproportionately higher or lower, and undervalue presidents who faced fewer crises or whose complex legacies (like James G. Polk’s expanding the size of the nation by a third through the violent seizure of Mexico’s northern half) don’t align with contemporary social values.
I do think it would be possible to rank presidents by their consequentiality, whether for good or ill. One would then examine their administration’s policy impact: their legislative achievements, executive orders, treaties and agreements, crisis management, long-term influence, and public perception. Nevertheless, interpretations will inevitably differ, and various historians and scholars would no doubt reach very different conclusions.
Since most undergraduates take no more than one or two courses in history, I have often asked myself how we can make this experience more meaningful and impactful and less redundant of what they already took in high school. The standard answers—a thematic, comparative, experiential, narrowly focused or global approach or an approach that emphasizes the close reading of primary sources or critical engagement with historiographical questions and controversies—strike me as unsatisfactory. Students tend to find such approaches not particularly engaging or relevant.
But there are several approaches that do seem to resonate with students. One is to try to draw lessons from history: to identify patterns in human behavior, societal development and geopolitical dynamics and apply these insights to contemporary challenges and dilemmas.
Another is to render the “verdict” of history on especially influential historical figures or decisions: to clarify their impact and legacy on society, politics and culture; promote accountability for past injustices, abuses of power and moral failures; and encourage critical reflection and dialogue, while informing discussions about policy, governance, ethics and social justice.
What seems to work far less well is to reduce history to a series of stories or episodes rather than to craft a more coherent narrative. I certainly understand the reluctance to provide a big-picture perspective. There has been a critique within the discipline against the notion of grand narratives or overarching interpretations that seek to impose a single, linear narrative onto the past. There is also a sense that trying to impose a single overarching narrative inevitably overlooks the complexity and contingency of historical change and the multiplicity of historical experiences.
Postmodernism and poststructuralism, by emphasizing the constructed nature of historical narratives and highlighting the role of power, ideology and discourse in shaping historical interpretations, have also challenged overarching narratives and teleological interpretations that suggest that history has a predetermined direction.
That said, I’d like to express my support for an approach first advanced by Livy, the great Roman historian who lived from 59 B.C. to A.D. 17. He described history as philosophy teaching by examples. History’s value, he believed, lay in its ability to provide examples for understanding broader philosophical truths about human nature, virtue, vice, fate and the nature of power.
Livy believed that history could serve as a rich repository of moral lessons. By observing the successes and failures of historical figures and societies, contemporary individuals could learn about virtue, courage, justice and the consequences of vice. History, in this sense, acts as a storehouse of case studies that illustrate moral truths in action.
Livy’s approach implies that historical narratives provide a window into the complexities of human nature. The diverse reactions of individuals and groups to the circumstances they faced reveal the range of human motivations, emotions and ethical dilemmas.
History also offered timeless political and social insights. The rise and fall of leaders, the success or failure of political systems, and the outcomes of wars and peace treaties offer timeless lessons on governance, power and the importance of civic virtue.
Livy’s statement suggests that historical knowledge has practical applications. The past provides examples that can inform present decisions and guide leaders and citizens in making choices that align with ethical principles and contribute to the common good.
Further, Livy’s view of history as philosophy teaching by examples serves both to inspire by highlighting exemplary figures and deeds and to warn against repeating the mistakes of the past. The stories of great achievements can motivate individuals to pursue virtue and excellence, while the accounts of failures and catastrophes caution against hubris, injustice and moral decay.
That’s not how most academic historians today think about history. Modern historiography doesn’t prioritize moral lessons or insights into human nature. Instead, it emphasizes objective analysis, the complexity and contingency of historical events, and the pastness of the past.
I side with Livy.
Sure, we should be cautious about drawing direct moral lessons from history. Yes, we should go beyond simplistic or reductionist moral narratives and uncover deeper structures, patterns and meanings in history. Of course, we shouldn’t limit our attention to the actions and character of great men. We should be wary of narratives that reflect the biases and agendas of a historian’s sources.
Still, Livy’s perspective remains relevant. Livy’s approach reminds us that the past offers a wealth of examples of courage, integrity and vice that can guide individuals and societies in making choices aligned with ethical principles. Also, understanding historical events and figures can provide insights into how to address contemporary issues, avoid past mistakes and strive for better outcomes.
In addition, Livy’s focus on human actions and motivations offers timeless insights into human nature. The stories of historical figures and events can inspire individuals and communities to aspire to higher ideals and achievements. Livy’s emphasis on the exemplary can motivate contemporary society to pursue greatness and virtue.
I recently came across an essay collection that draws upon examples ranging from ancient Greece to the early 21st century to ask big questions: What wins wars? What makes a great leader? How do spiritual movements spread? What’s the impact of geography on historical events? How do intellectual movements or cultural watersheds begin? How does personality affect politics? These are questions in the forefront of inquiring minds today but are too rarely addressed in conventional scholarly historical monographs or in our history classes.
This 2005 volume, aptly named Big Questions in History, was edited by Harriet Swain, then the deputy features editor of the Times Higher Education Supplement. Its contributors include a number of big names familiar to any reader of history, including David A. Bell, Richard J. Evans, Felipe Fernández-Armesto, Fred Halliday, Ian Kershaw, Alan Macfarlane, Anthony Pagden and Sheila Rowbotham.
The book begins with a sentence that strikes me as incontrovertible: “Historians ask questions all the time but it is rare for them to tackle directly the really big ones.” The editor asked the contributors to boldly cast their inhibitions aside, forgo excessive qualifications and exceptions and alternative points of view, and offer an answer to a big question.
Shouldn’t teachers of history follow their example? Shouldn’t the study of the past go beyond factual questions and ask how human societies have evolved over time, how wars reshape the world and whether terrorism or assassinations alter the course of history? Shouldn’t we more systematically study the uses and impacts of political power and authority and the roots of social, economic and political inequalities and how these are perpetuated?
And shouldn’t we ask the kind of questions that philosophers like Hegel and Peter Singer; sociologists like Weber, Theda Skocpol and Orlando Patterson; psychologists like Freud and Steven Pinker; and economists like Marx and more recently Daron Acemoglu and James A. Robinson, Angus Deaton, Robert J. Gordon, Douglass C. North and Thomas Piketty have examined: Whether history, despite setbacks and reversals, bends toward freedom or justice or progress? The factors that influence long-term economic development, inequality and prosperity and the historical evolution of political economies. And whether there has been a long-term trend toward greater individualism and more expansive ideas about civil and human rights and an expanding circle of moral concern beyond immediate kin and community to a wider circle of humanity and even nonhuman entities including animals and the environment?
I understand historians’ reluctance to ask such big questions. The temptation is strong to focus on microhistory and limited spans of social and cultural history and to prioritize the study of everyday life, individual experiences and local contexts. It is valuable to uncover the hidden histories of ordinary people and marginalized groups and challenge dominant narratives that have often focused on elite figures and political events. By examining specific stories and episodes, historians can indeed provide a more textured and nuanced understanding of historical processes and phenomena.
But that’s not the only kind of history we need. My students want to know more about the dynamics of historical change and social, political and cultural transformation. They are interested in the complex interplay of material forces, cultural beliefs and individual agency in shaping human history and how changes in economic organization, class relations and modes of production have shaped social relations, power dynamics and cultural practices over time.
In my opinion, historians need to self-consciously bridge the gaps that divide history from philosophy and historical sociology and political science. We’d do well, in my view, to engage with Hegel’s philosophy of history and the dialectical process by which human consciousness has evolved, through conflicts and resolutions, moving from simple sensory awareness to complex self-consciousness and recognition of the other.
Similarly, we should engage with Max Weber’s view of history through the lens of rationalization and disenchantment: the increase in rationality in thought, administration and economic activity, which, while increasing efficiency and consistency, led to the disenchantment of the world—stripping it of its mystery and earlier values and rituals—a process which, according to Weber, has trapped individuals in an “iron cage” of bureaucratic, rational structures that limit individual freedom and creativity, rather than expanding human consciousness and freedom.
Then, too, we should engage with Peter Singer’s ideas about how humanity’s moral consciousness has evolved through increased empathy, expanding moral circles and greater recognition of universal rights. Or with Orlando Patterson’s arguments about the evolution of ideas about freedom:
- How different societies have defined and conceptualized freedom, highlighting the role of power relations, social hierarchies and systems of domination in constraining or expanding individual liberty.
- How slavery and freedom have intersected: how systems of slavery have operated to deprive individuals of their agency, dignity and humanity, as well as the ways that the enslaved resisted and subverted systems of oppression.
- How ideas of freedom have evolved and varied over time, influenced by factors such as technological advancements, economic structures, political revolutions and cultural movements.
- How notions of freedom are embedded in cultural beliefs, social practices and collective identities and how cultural values, rituals and symbols shape individuals’ perceptions of freedom and inform their behavior and social interactions.
When the American Historical Association was founded in 1884, it also encompassed the disciplines of political science and sociology. Over time, those disciplines separated themselves from history as they developed distinct theoretical frameworks, epistemological perspectives, methodological approaches, terminology and professional identities, with their own departments, journals and scholarly associations, despite a shared interesting in understanding human societies and their dynamics over time.
While the separation of history, sociology and political science into distinct disciplines facilitated specialization and depth of inquiry within each field, this resulted in the creation of disciplinary silos, discouraging interdisciplinary dialogue and collaboration.
I believe there is potential for greater collaboration and integration among these disciplines to achieve a more comprehensive understanding of change over time. By embracing interdisciplinary dialogue, methodological pluralism and transdisciplinary collaboration, scholars can contribute to a more holistic and nuanced understanding of human societies and their historical trajectories.
The time has come, in my view, to reintegrate history, sociology, political science and, yes, philosophy into a more coherent and integrative understanding of change over time. Bridging disciplinary divides won’t be easy, but I think it is necessary. I fear that my discipline, history, is stuck in a rut; that it is not witnessing the kinds of methodological, topical, theoretical and conceptual breakthroughs that were more common in the 1960s, 1970s and 1980s; and that it needs to engage more intentionally with the scholarship that is being generated by the fields of archaeology, ethnohistory, historical sociology, economics and philosophy.
Otherwise, I fear my field is doomed to a kind of intellectual stagnation and isolation, even as Ph.D.s continue to be awarded and historical monographs, increasingly unread, keep coming out.
