For many of us, the subject of history is most familiar as a school memory. It tends to evoke one of two things: dates and numbers to be memorised and regurgitated, or a dull list of nationally significant events. Neither, as the common opinion goes, is that compelling. Consequently, history is seen as a very dry subject; merely a tick-box exercise of which things we need to know about our country’s history so we can take another plodding step along the road to certified citizenship. Its power to determine national identity is used, but not recognised, in our standard education. Yet its effects reverberate across our political landscape today, not least at the root of the Brexit crisis.
The “Life in the UK” citizenship test is in many ways the ultimate example of this absurd undertaking, requiring as it does prospective citizens to know when the last battle between England and France was, when Britain became separated from the continent, what Geoffrey Chaucer’s stories are called and what happened in 1066. Put like that, it makes the study of secondary school history look like a very odd selection of trivia and events for which the true significance is never explained. The fact of knowing is seen as much more important than understanding why that event was significant in the first place. Without the reasons, we are left instinctively defending sometimes severely problematic decisions whilst dismissing criticisms as ultimately unfamiliar and illegitimate.
Yet history, in both academia and wider society, is crucially important for how we see ourselves, the wider world and any political decisions we make for our future. I don’t mean this in the narrow-minded sense of subject elitism, but because the skills and awareness provided by this specific subject are maintained precisely for times like these. History exists not primarily to document events and assign the spotlight of recognition, but to gather political awareness to inform the kind of decisions which decide national trajectories for the next fifty years or more. Historians study human responses to political and societal challenges from the classical past, right through the medieval and modern eras so that we can look for what our predecessors did well, what they could have done better and what the consequences were down the road. We could all stand to learn the true lessons of history, not only for Brexit, but for the betterment of society as a whole and its ability to face the challenges to come.
The impact of basic history education
History suffers, as most subjects do, from a huge disservice of misrepresentation and miscommunication until A-level, if not university. This is not to say that teachers do a bad job; more that the emphasis is entirely wrong. Physical education, for instance, is much more about sports science and nutrition than it is about general exercise. English literature studies figures more in terms of their intellectual context than just the themes within a single, widely-accepted book. Languages are used to study, understand, engage with and often live within international cultures rather than how to buy something from the grocery shop. My chemistry tutor for GCSE and A-level once said that most of what we were being taught was outdated and technically wrong. In order to teach chemistry, each level of study actually follows what is essentially the order in which things were discovered. The most basic models of the atom and atomic interaction are incredibly inaccurate. Indeed, it is not until A-level that teaching starts to border on modern day knowledge of interactions between light and electrons, different families of molecules and what endings such as -ane, -ene and -ate actually mean. University-level chemistry, as with most subjects, is almost completely unrecognisable from its GCSE equivalent.
So it is, too, with history. Far from the dry subject it is portrayed as before A-level, history is, in many ways, the subject politicians are most interested in and which is designed most carefully. This is because whilst those dates and events may seem dry at the time, upon entrance to broader society they become the fundamental power source of national identity. What does it mean to be British? Only Brits would know – or care – how many wives Henry VIII had, what happened in the English Civil War or when the Normans invaded. This is, of course, the same in any society. Countries have a tendency to focus on their own history, from their own perspective. They have a right to be proud of national achievements, or to mark out their history through national rulers. The issue comes when citizens don’t realise that these events and perspectives aren’t general knowledge globally and when they consequently fail to take into account – or even be aware of – similar narratives in other countries. When people like Michael Gove are trying to focus history more on accepted facts and less on encouraging analysis, we should be painfully aware of what the consequences would be.
For instance, few outside America care which presidents did what, which order they were in or when they lived. Few outside Spain know of the mass graves lying under large swathes of the country from its recent civil war, or how its generals became restless as the Spanish global presence declined a century ago. Few outside Germany know that it sympathises with the migration crisis not only because the Berlin wall divided the country for so many years, but also because the rejection and consequent expulsion of Germans across Europe made it the subject of arguably the largest recent migration crisis the continent has seen. This does to a certain point make sense. It is most important that an area’s history is known by those who live within it. But the true use of history in schools is in how things are framed, and in what is not said. Henry VIII’s six wives teach us some of his character as a ruler, and his initial divorce teaches us about his break from the continent and from the papacy. But since Catholicism is not a central part of British culture – indeed it remains somewhat taboo – few students know the true implications of his decision.
At the time, the Catholic Church was the presiding force in morals, politics and law across Europe. It was facing a profound internal crisis, not dissimilar to the criticisms of wealthy elites today. The first true challenge to its hegemony – Martin Luther’s 95 theses – had, just 16 years earlier, been nailed to the door of the Schlosskirche in Wittenberg. Protestantism was a rising force across Europe, challenging the Church’s sole right to understand Latin and therefore the right to interpret the Bible. In the consequent Church crisis, most notably documented in The Cheese and the Worms, people could be, and were, executed for interpreting the Bible differently. Henry VIII himself received the title “Defender of the Faith” – which Elisabeth II continues to hold today – for writing a pamphlet in defence of the Catholic Church. His decision to break with that church to divorce his wife was in reality a profoundly dangerous and reckless act. It could have meant that the Catholic countries turned on England at a time when Catholic unity was threatened and needed reinforcing. It also meant that Henry could have been legally murdered under Catholic law, because he was excommunicated. War against England would now have been legal, because by extension the country converted with him. All this for a divorce.
If this is what we learned, why would the British public see a national divorce as problematic? By this logic, David Cameron leaving the EU to appease a fundamentally insular Conservative Party crisis couldn’t possibly be reckless or have any international consequences. After all, Henry VIII had six wives and he did just fine. By teaching Henry VIII’s divorces in the way that we do, we fail to teach the seriousness of the international implications. By trivialising his decision, we also trivialise any other decisions to break with international groupings or alliances. The insular focus on Henry VIII, with the all-powerful Pope only a bit-player, ignores the wider world for an insular story of selfishness, using it not as a way to learn from his mistakes, but to build a national identity around societally-justified selfish action. It’s like teaching Brexit without mentioning the EU, Trump, the rise of the far-right, Russian election interference or the immigration crisis. Everything which is significant about the moment is removed. It’s not hard to see why such attitudes to teaching the history of our political decisions and relations with foreign powers could lead to a decision like Brexit, and why some voters could seem so confused when that decision has consequences.
The same could be said for the Norman invasion. Whilst the Normans did technically come from France, William the Conqueror (notably not King William I) largely stood alone and held directly Scandinavian heritage. Normandy, whilst located within France, had been handed over to Scandinavian raiders who had repeatedly raided the lands of the French king, the aptly-named Charles the Simple. France held no more than nominal sway over the Norman invaders. Most importantly, the generation following the conquest had a significant proportion of children with Norman fathers and Anglo-Saxon mothers who were now in positions of prominence due to the Norman dominance of society. These children wanted to know about their ancient, Anglo-Saxon heritage, rather than the Norman heritage of which there was little more than a generation. We still see ourselves as Anglo-Saxons rather than Normans, identifying with Alfred more than with the still-foreign William, because these Anglo-Norman historians sought out their heritage even as Anglo-Saxon names, of which Edward and Ethel are uncommon survivors, were lost out of cultural erasure.
The Norman conquest could be taught as an epic tale of international integration, cross-cultural adaptation and mutual understanding. Indeed, the Anglo-Saxons of the 8th century were masters of international trade and furthering the European project of that time, the Catholic Church. Instead, we learn of the kings (and one extremely rich Englishman) who fought each other for a piece of the English throne and the supposedly-French invader who imposed the harrying of the North and compiled the Doomsday book. These are all important to learn, but without a wider context the events appear arbitrary, meaningless and serve to reinforce English identity against international threats, rather than teaching us to build the bridges we already need in the modern age as the challenges of mass migration and climate change approach. At their worst, the way these events are taught encourage British citizens to be actively suspicious of foreign interaction.
History, then, when taught at the most basic level, loses its most crucial aspects: context and analysis. The history taught as a basis for UK society, which every UK citizen must study, does not encourage any form of positive international outlook; nor does it give us the tools we need to critically analyse what politicians base their arguments on. This is not to say that the UK is necessarily unusual in having this approach or its faults: Spain does not study the Spanish Armada as an invading force, nor does it use that name. It is not common to study foreign histories in detail unless they have a direct political influence on that country. But by selectively eliminating those aspects from which we could learn most, the majority of British people are prevented from putting the arguments about decisions made now, by their current leaders, into context, or judging and understanding the true implications of those actions.
What is academic history?
The easiest and most basic definition is that history studies the past of humanity; however, that would be to give history itself too much credit and its fellow humanities too little. There are many subjects which study humanity, or human nature. Indeed, the entirety of the humanities is dedicated to it. We have archaeology studying human culture through objects and psychology studying observable patterns in human minds. We have literature, media studies, film studies and art history studying the individual expression of human emotion and teaching us how to understand emotions of our own. We have anthropology studying patterns across all human culture and modern languages which teaches us how to communicate with them, understand that culture directly and even take part in it. These subjects overlap in countless ways, as complex as humanity itself. In all of them, we find both differences and commonality in the way humans are.
History can be seen as merely what has happened; an irrelevant, self-indulgent study of things long past. It can also be seen as a subject for those with a good memory, given all the details, dates and events required for more basic history exams. There is some truth to these things, but they are also true of all fields to a certain extent. All careers are best undertaken by those who have the motivation to do them; similarly, all basic subjects require a similar box-ticking approach. History, as with those other subjects and careers, is much more than that. At its best, academic history teaches us the truth of the world as society will not. It enables us to be critically aware of the world around us and rewards skills in analysis and pattern recognition. Unlike basic history, which is designed to present events as best suited to that country’s interests, academic history teaches us to find out for ourselves how things truly are, warts and all, and to begin to process the cognitive dissonance found in the actions of people of all cultures. It enables us to move beyond limited description using the potential of wide-ranging analysis.
The true strengths of academic history for its students are threefold: it sets our own situation into context, both through the sheer scale of time and through comparison with how similar events took place and the way they are seen now; it teaches us details of events in the past so that we may be more critically aware of what we may not be seeing about the present; and, perhaps most critically, it teaches us the true commonalities and differences across cultures and periods of history so that we may understand how humans behave when faced with political situations and the true capabilities of people regardless of time, nationality, heritage or place. Through history, we learn to look past stereotypes and narratives to understand the potential of historical figures and ourselves to be multifaceted and take action outside of what accepted knowns tell us should be possible.
Where fellow humanities study other aspects of human nature, the part of academic history is in understanding humanity as a society: the role of culture in national identity; the importance of communication, vision and administration to good leadership; how, despite the vast swathes of land available to us, the same sites are used for the same purposes again and again; the impact of trade both locally and as its impact broadens; the many different forms international hegemony can take; what drives the thinking of both the wider populace and those at the heart of government; how international relations can play a part in domestic politics in sometimes entirely symbolic ways. Academic history is understanding how psychology combines with practical reality to define our decisions about how we live our lives, both as individuals within a society and as a society within the wider world.
Politics, therefore, is where academic history truly comes into its own. Much as politics may be associated with government, elections, heads of state and sovereignty, politics is ultimately what happens when two people with different interests, from different backgrounds and who fundamentally think differently are brought together in a given situation. This is as true in multicultural society and cross-border encounters as it is when you meet your partner’s family for Christmas dinner, learn to coexist with colleagues or discuss with your parents about the relative accuracy of different generational views. It’s a definition we use all the time, but only implicitly. Whether it is office politics, domestic politics, trade politics, diplomatic negotiations, actions to rebalance the rights of the citizenry against the elites or the psychology of historic leaders, academic history is ultimately about asking and understanding the difficult questions of how and why these events came about, how to reconcile the related cognitive dissonance and how the lessons of those events can be applied to today. This is true whether the events in question occurred ten, a hundred, a thousand or even three thousand years ago.
Commonalities in humanity
The details about situations may change – its time period, culture, faction and location, among others – but the humanity of those people making those decisions and participating in those negotiations remains remarkably consistent. It is this which we can find most useful for understanding the actions of people of our own time. The basic systems of dictatorship and participatory government and the motivations of nationality, public image, private anguish, societal stability, good governance, morality, influence and economic interest remain as true today as they were when Rome waged war as a fundamental aspect of religious national identity, King Alfred set the framework for the culture and education of a united England or Catholic missionaries tended to the souls of newly discovered peoples in Africa, India, Japan and beyond. The same fundamental questions of the burdens of state leadership and of sympathy for those on the wrong side of civil wars are discussed as fervently in the ancient Greek theatre of Antigone and Shakespeare’s Macbeth as they are in today’s television, social media, dinner tables and internet forums.
The works of Procopius, a sixth-century Byzantine historian during the last great effort to reclaim the Western Roman Empire, are the most commonly cited example of deeper motivations behind staid official documents. Famously, Procopius wrote both an official history, in which he duly praised the Emperor Justinian for his glorious actions and conquests, and the secret history, in which he railed against those same things. The sheer ferocity of the attacks on the Emperor, his wife Theodora, the leading general Belisarius, his wife Antonina and other noted officials led to questioning of Procopius’ authorship, but the text is now accepted as his. The contradictions shed light both on his multifaceted traits and motivations, and on how we should be wary of taking any documentation – modern or historical – for granted. Nothing is necessarily honest simply because it is frozen in time.
A similar situation is found in the works of Liudprand of Cremona. An Italian diplomat and bishop at a time when the Holy Roman Empire was competing with the Byzantines to be the ‘true successor’ of Rome, Liudprand travelled between Italy, Constantinople and the German territories of the Holy Roman Empire, writing texts throughout his life. Four survive today. Normally studied separately because they sound so different, they reflect the progression of a person throughout their life from a cocky young Lombard diplomat enamoured by Byzantine wealth, to a bishop and finally a full Ottonian convert railing against Byzantine injustice and the strangeness of their culture. It is the 10th century equivalent of criticising Ed Miliband for incorrectly eating a bacon sandwich. Historical figures are so often seen as one-sided, sometimes due to the survival of lone texts or identification with singular professions, but just as often because of our desire to categorise people regardless of time or place. Liudprand is a prime example of how people throughout history are capable of changing their position, having complex motivations or holding contradictory opinions, sometimes fundamentally. The same is as true of figures in history as it is of anyone of any profession, culture, nationality or political faction today.
Brexit, for instance, may most immediately seem unprecedented, but there are innumerable comparisons across history. These include everything from a Conservative government mishandling and splitting over the notion of sovereignty and trade (Tariff Reform, 1906 election), to the hijacking of a complex European project under stress for personal gain (Henry VIII divorce and break with the Catholic Church), to the rewriting of the interpretation of a symbolic and nationally divisive decision (Byzantine iconoclasm), to the presence of a man with intensely problematic aims and ideas but incredibly talented in oratory and possessing a deep understanding of the mode of speech and interests of the general public (Adolf Hitler). Brexit is but one example of how religiously-held notions can be leveraged for a mass political goal and how this can lead to complex internal, societal strife and division. We need to stop being in shock that it doesn’t follow recent political trends and start looking further back in time to provide accurate, measured and responsible analysis.
A detailed comparison within the UK can be found in how England developed over the English Reformation, which began in earnest in 1527: following Henry VIII’s death, the kingdom moved back to Catholicism (Remaining) under Mary and finally back to Protestantism (Leaving) under Elisabeth but this time with amnesty for Catholics. National unrest continued, including the Gunpowder Plot against the Protestant King James I in Parliament 1605, until the English Civil War broke out in 1642 (which largely centred on England being seen as too Catholic) and Parliament was eventually established as the sovereign power of England under the Glorious Revolution of 1688. Henry VIII may have died in 1547, but the national strain and distrust did not end until more than a hundred years later. We should not underestimate or understate that Brexit has the potential to cement powerful, raw, destructive factions within our national politics for many decades to come unless we find some way to bite our tongues and bridge the divide.
National divisions within Britain over relations with the European project of the day can, and did, have consequences lasting more than a century. Whilst the issue was similar for the Conservative split over Tariff Reform, the reason its impact was more limited and short-lived was because it was largely contained within the party and the country and had little to say on national identity. The English Reformation, in contrast, had profound consequences for national and religious identity, particularly striking when we consider how religiously-held identities such as Remainer, Leaver, Brexiteer, European and Briton can be held today, and how fervently they are wielded. Consequently, how we handle the Brexit debate should be treated with the utmost care. Such divisions, history shows, are not healed easily. More often, they lead to long-lasting constitutional changes and national strife. It is imperative that we learn how to communicate honestly and effectively about the reality of our situation and how to genuinely bring the country back together if we are to shorten the impact of Brexit on our own country and internationally.
Urgent relevance for our current times
History is a powerful tool to both positive and negative ends. It can be used to limit a nation’s power to be self- and critically-aware, but it can also be used to enable that awareness. Its power in the setting of social norms and accepted precedent is enormous. When misused, poorly-understood historical events can become lightning-rod excuses for passionate nationalism and exclusion. It can be difficult for those who are under-informed to argue against their invocation because of their wide acknowledgement and acceptance as a fact of national and personal identity. To challenge their part in narratives of extremism can too easily become conflated with challenges to their part in national identity as a whole. This seed of doubt can be powerful in undermining not only arguments against extreme, nationalist narratives, but also their motivations.
An accurate understanding of the true role of history as a subject and the urgency of teaching its critical skills of critical awareness, analysis and context cannot be underrated as both the UK and countries across the world, from Europe to the Americas and beyond, are facing movements arising from the nationalist far-right. These movements root themselves upon these poorly-understood historical events. When surveying Leave and Remain voters, the difference is fundamentally one of outlook: Remainers are more likely to value global issues, international cooperation and the part the UK can play in furthering crucial issues on this scale, whilst Leavers are more likely to emphasise the UK’s ability to go it alone, to have political (and increasingly total) separation from Brussels and issues which need solving at home before the country looks abroad.
There are, of course, many complex motivations behind these differences, ranging from the extent of the effects of austerity to the legacy of empire; even when generations where born and the changes they consequently experienced during their politically-formative phase. However, behind all of these attitudes is what people believe the UK to be as a country. Which historical events are believed to be fundamental to the UK’s national identity are commonly cited when discussing which path is believed to be most natural to the UK in future, and which Brexit outcome is most true to its national past. If we held and expected a common understanding of international events and honest consequences, rather than the view that we’ve always been isolated apart from when we save the day in Europe or the Empire, we would have a lot more faith in our collective ability to be citizens of Britain, Europe and the World at a time when international cooperation, in the face of climate change and the far-right, has never been more important.
Foundational memories formed as children will always be more powerful, familiar and comforting than any arguments made as adults, which are much more easily seen as unnatural change. Recently this was starkly apparent in the vitriolic responses to suggestions that Roman Britain was not entirely White, when this was always how it was depicted to children and society at large. The depiction was rejected fundamentally because it wasn’t familiar. It is critical that we expand our societal legitimation of historical events and perspectives for the general public at a foundational, childhood stage if we want them to believe they can be part of a self-aware and selfless UK, rather than one where its international shockwaves don’t matter. If we want to implement changes which would effectively generate analysis whilst still being an easily markable format, simply studying the details of comparable events in other countries or fleshing out the international details of what are currently very UK-centric topics would imply and inspire comparisons without increasing the burden on teachers. We don’t have to uproot our system of basic historical education; we just have to expand and balance the content.
An accurate understanding of how to engage with events not just within the history of the UK but across the globe is fundamental to what we believe is possible. If we continue to believe that the UK is an inherently insular nation, that is what we will ultimately become. If we fail to recognise the long-term ramifications of an ill-treated populace, we will fail to properly address their needs and meet the effects of our actions. An under-informed and ill-equipped population is most vulnerable to the arguments of powerful orators who claim to defend their interests, whatever their motivations at heart. A well-informed and properly-equipped populace is fundamental to judging the most appropriate political course for the country. As such, an understanding of the skills and context found within academic rather than basic history is perhaps one of the most crucial tools for solving this Brexit crisis. Without a proper understanding of established historical precedent, its consequences and our common humanity regardless of time, place or nationality, we will be severely under-equipped to navigate the stormy waters of the Brexit divide, climate change, the far-right and, above all, the powerful temptation to factionalise in the face of what could otherwise be political, societal and existential catastrophe. Our nation, our identity and our future depend on it.
Global Retrospective 