I am going to argue that history considers the great events of the past specifically with regard to cause and effect. In studying the great moments of history, man learns something about the nature of man.

I want to talk today about why we study history and how it can be formative for the young mind. History is challenging and controversial, but I think it can be a conduit of grace and an illustration of God’s hand in the lives of all men. I am going to argue that history considers the great events of the past specifically with regard to cause and effect. In studying the great moments of history, man learns something about the nature of man. This is valuable in its own right—we simply want to know. But knowledge of the truth is formative of the mind and, since in history man studies the acts that result from his own nature, the knowledge of both the great deeds of man and the causes of those deeds are both informative and inspirational. The more we study history, rightly, the more capable—though always dependent on the right response of the will—we are of doing great deeds ourselves. The study of history, rightly, then will both show us God’s grace in the lives of men throughout the last five thousand years, but will also encourage us to seek out that same grace in our own lives. 

Man desires by nature to know and man’s end flows from his nature, though we have been given both a supernatural end and the supernatural means to attain it. The Baltimore Catechism presents man’s end tidily for us. It is to know, love, and serve God so as to be happy with God in heaven. Grace builds on nature. The supernatural means and end given to man build upon and make fully alive what is natural to man. His ability to know and to act (most properly seen in the act of love) are found in what is fundamental to man: his intellect and will. This is what sets us apart from the animals, and that we know and act in time sets us apart from the angels. As parents and educators, it is imperative that we cultivate our children’s ability to know and to consider how that knowledge informs their actions. We have to consider both the formative process of learning (how what we do forms their ability to learn), and the information that we provide to them ( what they learn in this process).

As a parent crafting or considering a course of studies that will form and inform my child, it is reasonable to ask, should I include history? How important is it? And if I include it, what should I choose to study? These are questions that confront the parent laying out a course of studies. We must begin with what history is.

History is the study of what man did, but not just what he did. When one considers for a moment the vastness of what could fall under “history” it becomes overwhelming. We have ten thousand or so years of recorded human events spanning the many billions who have inhabited the globe. This needs to be narrowed in order to be profitable. Herodotus,

commonly considered the father of history, provides a valuable principle that can help narrow the topic. In the opening of his Histories, Herodotus wants to speak about the great deeds of both the Greeks and the barbarians so that “time may not draw the color” from these deeds. And what are “these deeds”? Herodotus is not relating every single event that took place; there are specific events he wants us to remember – in his case, the significant battles between the Greeks and the Persians (or barbarians) that led to Greece remaining free from Persian control. In his histories two key themes emerge. He reflects specifically on what led to, that is the causes of, these events, and he seeks to present a truthful account of the events themselves. Herodotus is keenly aware that there are many versions of some of these events. He lays out various accounts side by side and then passes judgement on which is most likely the truthful account, taking pains to include why. The end result of Herodotus’ history is that we are presented with a clear account (based on the information he could access) of specific triumphs and disasters in the context of what led to these triumphs and disasters and what followed from them. He is interested in the causes.

When one looks to other early historians we find a similar theme. Thucydides considered the many conflicts between Sparta and Athens in the Peloponnesian Wars and the impact of that conflict on the survival of Greece as it had been. Plutarch looked at the “parallel lives” of the greatest Greek and Roman Heroes. Polybius looked at why Rome was able to withstand multiple major conflicts with Carthage and emerge the master of the ancient world. In all of these cases, one sees that history is a study of or search for the causes of particular human events.

Each of these historians selected specific human events: those they judged are worthy of remembrance, whether for their significance in the overall unfolding of the world or in their significance in understanding the events of the author’s own time. One could argue that these histories, and other great histories, stand the test of time because they 1) selected worthy events, 2) presented an accurate and fair account of those events, 3) presented a correct or reasonable set of causes, and 4) rightly judged of what followed from these events. In short, they accurately recorded what men did in certain specific areas, reflected on the causes, and in their curation and judgements contributed to a universal understanding of the nature of man.

Why do we study history?

I am going to ask again, why do we study history? Why should I, or anyone, in the last few thousand years, care what the Greeks did at Marathon, or the Romans at Cannae? Why should I care about the causes of those ancient events? Most of us can understand why the Greeks wanted to read Herodotus and Thucydides and why the Romans wanted to read Plutarch and Polybius—they lived within those cultures. But those civilizations have long since fallen. Why should I, thousands of years later, care what happened in those particular corners of the world, or any other, for that matter.

Let us return to the fact that man by nature desires to know. We delight in knowing things. We delight in cultivating the process of knowing. Think for a moment of the baby or toddler. They do not ask us why they are learning. But they crave knowledge. Anything goes into the mouth, they repeat any word, they seek out any sound, they explore any new object that enters their view. They are—ironic as this first sounds—the most docile creatures. But they truly are the most “able to be taught”. They want to learn everything and seek to absorb it all. But as a parent we seek to form what they are absorbing—this is where we often find them to be intractable as they are not always willing to be led where we direct them. Our formation of our children, from the very earliest moments, begins when we separate out for them what is “good” or “bad” in the information they seek to absorb. We separate out what is good or bad to go into the mouth, things they may or may not touch, words that can or cannot be repeated and so forth. We, as parents, provide that discrimination that our babies and toddlers lack because we are aware that absorbing the bad things will harm them—and in some cases could literally kill them. As our children’s awareness of what is good and what is bad increases and becomes their own (that is, we can trust them to retain past judgements) we are able to invite them to form new judgements and broaden the scope of what they absorb, building upon past judgements as well as their ever-growing knowledge and experience. The education of our children is the continual process of refining their understanding of what is good, both formatively and informatively, until their judgement is sound enough that they can take on this discrimination on their own.

What does this mean in terms of the concrete understanding of history? Our very young children might be drawn to any story. One might consider them “ambulance chasers”, willing and able to pursue any event that draws across their path. And in all fairness, any of us are willing to consider any story. We are curious. We can wonder what happened anytime, anywhere. How does history emerge as a concrete discipline rather than us just idly scrolling through a “web-camera” on the world, past or present? The answer lies in the fact that we want to know. Knowledge is not simply collecting data, like the web-camera. Knowledge involves sorting that data and drawing conclusions about that data. Just as the baby might sort what goes into his mouth into pleasant and painful—and that sorting will inform which future objects go into his mouth—we can sort and then retain the stories we hear into “good” and “bad”. But what constitutes the “good” and “bad” matter of history? What constitutes the “important” in history? It is not as if history gets to focus only on the good, joyful, glorious moments. Anyone who has studied a modicum of what passes for history is keenly aware that history includes some pretty ugly stories. If much of what we study in history involves dark moments, what is our criteria to determine what stories we should retain and ask our children to study?

Such a science is particularly satisfying because in it we know the effect from its cause; we have the opportunity to see something as God sees all things—through the cause.

Let us go back again to the fact that we want to know. We think we know something when we know the cause of that thing. This might be most evident in a science such as geometry, where we can argue from cause to effect. We can see how the comparison of lines or angles allows one to draw conclusions about equalities or inequalities and from these new conclusions make new comparisons that highlight a truth about the geometric figure before us. Such a science is particularly satisfying because in it we know the effect from its cause; we have the opportunity to see something as God sees all things—through the cause. In geometry, once the proof has been presented, there can be no doubt about the truth of the conclusion, for example, that the angles of any triangle are equal to two right angles. This is different than how we come to learn in most other sciences where we, as mere humans, must argue from the effect back to the cause, and in some cases we can only argue to a probable cause. In astronomy, by way of contrast, we might think we know something about the planets only to find out that new data changes our understanding about the effect we perceive. This new data highlights that our old “cause” only reveals a portion of the truth, and that we must seek a still deeper understanding. And yet, we still study both disciplines. We want to know insofar as we can know and the pursuit of both disciplines is formative of the mind, but we must retain the differences in the type of argument we are making and the type of conclusion we can draw.

History is like geometry in that the history text presents information to the reader in the direction of a cause leading to an effect and with the same confidence. It is satisfying to our appetite to know causes in that way. And that is why the great historians focus on the causes of the important events they study. We can relate to this in our understanding because as men ourselves we are keenly aware of what motivates us to act and can see how one act follows from another. But in fact history does not provide the same certitude as geometry since history is not abstracted from matter as geometry is. That is something that we need to present to our students as well, and I will share later a key point where we can reflect upon this in history. In that regard, history is more like astronomy, in which we must look continuously at the matter or data we have in hand and seek an understanding of the likely cause. History looks at human events; man is composed of matter and form, body and soul. Man’s form, unlike all other material forms, is spiritual and has a supernatural end. History studies the one form of matter that has an intellect and will; one might argue then that history is the “messiest” form of knowledge because man is the least predictable being in existence. History looks at that matter as subject to the human intellect and will and thus to human whims. But we humans are the very agents studying our own acts as such. In other words, we have an ability to relate to the very things that we study. Our awareness of our own intellect and will, our own passions, our own sense of fight or flight contribute to this study. We are able to judge the “rightness”, so to speak, of the stories we consider with regard to our own experience and our own understanding of humanity. And we are able to be informed by the greatness or awfulness of the stories in our understanding of all men, past, present, and future.

This raises a new thought as we consider the matter of history. In the examples I mentioned earlier, the historians were focused on seeing the cause and effect in very particular events. But if history studies the causes of human events, and there is something common or universal in man, then in history as a discipline writ large, we are looking at cause and effect of human events in so far as it can provide a more universal understanding of the nature of man. Consider this in some concrete examples. How did a group of river dwellers build colossal wonders that mirrored the stars? How did a tiny chain of disparate island city-states inspire a leader to conquer the known world? How did a peninsular group of refugees build a republic that dominated the Mediterranean world for nearly a millennium? How did a small Jewish sect reach every corner of the globe, reshaping theology, philosophy, art, architecture, music, literature, and science? How did a handful of squabbling renegades colonize an entire hemisphere and return to save the descendants of their common ancestors from annihilation?

These are stories worth knowing. They should stir the mind and imagination. We should want to know, if only because we are human and seek to know. But because we are humans ordered to both knowledge and action, we have an additional impetus of self-knowledge here. Whether we seek it out or not, learning about these specific past events is going to convey to us first something about those particular men, but also something about all men. History gives us an insight into men’s minds and hearts, their intellects and wills; their fortitude, temperance, justice and prudence and finally their need for God. This is important for all of us, students and teachers alike, in our ultimate understanding about reality.

Any given historian will be looking at a small slice of history. But the historian will also seek to place his slice of history in the larger account of man’s actions. His account of given events will either confirm or confound the conclusions of historians who came before and who will come after. History then, and the student of history, has to be prepared to look at a lot of stories. In this regard, the historian is like the astronomer seeking to collect more data so as to confirm that he has drawn a correct correlation. The historian can argue from one event, such as a rousing speech or a battle plan or a great and noble deed in the midst of battle, to the outcome of the battle. He must then be prepared for a debate about that proposed causality: How significant was the speech? Was the battle won because of or in spite of the battle plan? Sometimes we can find the answers within the events themselves. But more often we will lean toward an answer based upon the repeated events over time. As Mark Twain says, “history does not repeat itself, but it rhymes.” What is common in every or many of the battles when the far smaller army achieves victory against overwhelming odds? When do governments fail and when do they stand firm? What type of chaos precedes a revolution? Why do revolutions generally plunge countries into anarchy or totalitarian regimes? What led to the few exceptions that led to genuine reformation and stable government? When does a culture have cohesion that fosters great growth and human development? How do societies or civilizations leave a mark upon the surrounding cultures? When is that impact for good and when for evil?

George Washington and Horatio Nelson both rallied their men as a “band of brothers”. In other words, there is a common human experience, a common human desire, and a likely effect that the later men sought to reproduce. 

We should want to know the answers to those questions simply in their own right. But very quickly one can see how a study of history allows the later ages to stand on the shoulders of the past. It does not take long to realize that while we study a significant human event in its own right, there is a parallel reflection upon the reproducibility of those events. When my sons read Henry V and were studying the battle of Agincourt, we listened to Laurence Olivier read the St Crispin’s Day speech aloud to the British troops during World War II. That was a moving experience and they saw the parallels between the two events. But Olivier was not the first to use those words of Shakespeare in such a context. George Washington and Horatio Nelson both rallied their men as a “band of brothers”. In other words, there is a common human experience, a common human desire, and a likely effect that the later men sought to reproduce. History then reveals something for us about human nature and is thus applicable to all men in all times. We are drawn to events that highlight something striking about the very soul of man. I mentioned Agincourt above, but Herodotus shared first the battle of Marathon and then Thermopylae. Americans might resonate better to events such as Bunker Hill, the Alamo, or the Beaches of Normandy. We return to stories like these because we see something striking, awe inspiring, worthy of remembrance, and capable of altering the future for good. Men are willing to assemble, perhaps voluntarily, perhaps under protest in a trap, but in either case, they assemble and fight. They fight for something they see as being of greater value than their lives. They respond to words like Patrick Henry’s “give me liberty or give me death” and act accordingly. Not all these battles are equal. Not all were victories. Nor did these men fight and die knowing there would be a Homer or Shakespeare, a Herodotus or Churchill ready and willing to record their great deeds. Most probably had no idea they would be remembered and, in all fairness, most are remembered nameless. But nameless or not, we celebrate and remember the greatness of the deed and commend them to the all-seeing, all-knowing God who remembers them in eternity. When we study these things, and present them to our children or students, we are forming them in a right understanding of cause and effect as it relates to rightly ordered human nature; men ordered to the divine order. But history offers us something more than dramatic and isolated moments of glory. If history were only the moments I mentioned above, it might seem to be nothing more than glorious instances of luck and chance. Are these present? Certainly. But history also shows us a through-line of great causal events that led to the moment where we stand. One can look at this as a thread of human nature, as the hand of God’s providence, as God’s grace reaching into time and space. There is no doubt that we can from this moment look backward to the very mists of time and see a significant chain of human events to which we owe credit. We would not be here today if those past events had not happened. I hinted earlier at a series of earth-shattering stories that would have moved us to wonder had they come to us from a distant galaxy. And yet these are part of our past and formative of our present moment. These—the marvels of Egypt, the brilliance of Greece, the stodgy determination of Rome, the complete overhaul of Europe, Western civilization and finally the world brought about by Christianity—are the worthy events that we should study. And in studying these I would argue that we are given a thread of hope that we can hold as we consider the subsequent death battles that have been fought first between Protestantism and Catholicism and then between modernity and Catholic culture, and is now being fought between the woke world and the remnant of Western Civilization. A good history program will study these events and order them rightly. 

When the student is ready to begin formal history, I would argue that one should begin with what is beautiful and noble in the ancient civilizations. They came first in time and in that regard, they clearly come first in causality. In addition, a study of the three greatest ancient pagan cultures allows us to see and appreciate what man is able to do. But alongside this, one is able to see that man is fallen and desperately needs God’s grace.

One can glory in the remarkable technological achievements of the ancient Egyptians. They were admired in the past by ancient historians and that fascination has continued to the present, exploding when, a mere two hundred years ago, “modern man” finally cracked the linguistic code to better understand this profoundly developed culture. Their pyramids and mummies point to scientific secrets we still struggle to replicate despite our advanced technology. These are architectural masterpieces that boggle the mind, but also highlight a profound belief in the afterlife that consumed a whole nation, generation after generation, for a millennium. It becomes clear that man, when he reflects upon his nature, recognizes its immortality. And there are other goods one can find within the study: the Egyptians were patient in their pursuit of knowledge, carefully charting the stars—another thing they did for thousands of years—such that later generations could draw new conclusions from this data. They combined theoretical observation with practical application, making use of their calendar of the stars and precisely timed flooding of the Nile to create irrigation systems that expanded and enriched their once arid farmland and allowed their population to grow. There is a dedication and patience here worthy of admiration; there is an understanding of nature and how man can work with, rather than against, his environment so as to thrive. But a study of ancient Egypt also highlights that great leaders are followed by weak ones, that great wealth or power attracts attention, and that the mighty can be brought low by invasions or internal dissension. This is rich ground to consider great deeds and weak ones. There is no doubt that the entire “known” ancient world was actively enriched in so many ways by this culture, but that it was not immune from error. 

And any study of Egypt allows scope to consider how this culture crossed paths with the Chosen people on more than one occasion: Abraham, Joseph, Moses, Jeremiah, and so forth. These intersections, popular in children’s biblical lore, highlight man’s fallen nature, his state of sin, his desperate need for salvation, and his desire for a promised land. Even this early on, one can see great men in the Egyptians and weak and sinful men within the Chosen people. Virtue and vice are a result of each man’s individual choices rather than a birthright of race or culture. One can see God choosing the imperfect as His instruments and that the greatest deeds come with and alongside divine intervention. But in these biblical studies one can see that the Chosen people were set apart, not because they were special, but so that they could become special, or more precisely, good, through following a certain code. They would be directed to choose life and not death, the blessing and not the curse. In other words, they would live out, vividly, a clear path of cause and effect wherein good deeds were rewarded with success, and evil deeds led to suffering and destruction. A study of history leads to these very important conclusions, ones that can and should impact the choices one makes, particularly with regard to his path in life.

One moves quite naturally from Egypt, whose civilization had begun to fade, into the Greek peoples whose culture was developing. In the Greeks one can see a significant awareness of the nature of man and the impact that it has upon the development of government, philosophy, literature, art, and architecture. As a people, they were, perhaps more than any other, interested in the causes. This does not mean that the Greeks were perfect; far from it, they were plagued by their share of vices and violence. But they saw and repeatedly tried to respect a certain equality within man. Draco’s written laws, harsh as they were, allowed a uniformity of application. The law could be known in advance and the consequences should apply to all men, rich or poor, educated or illiterate. The Greek city-states tried out a series of different governments allowing them to observe and reflect upon the fact that monarchies could be efficient, but also ruthless, that the rule of the wise could often slip into the rule of the wealthy, and the inclusion of more men in a democracy dabbled dangerously close to mob rule. Their art and literature was focused on observation of man, as such, striving to accurately reflect reality while also celebrating what is great. Greek tragedies underscore the thesis of history. Man’s actions have consequences and a great man can be brought low through an error in judgement. But at the same time that Sophocles, Aeschylus, and Euripides were laying out in poetry what might have been, Herodotus and Thucydides laid out what man had done, making clear that these are two separate disciplines and history must provide an accurate account of what was. It makes sense that literature or poetry and history would both blossom in a time when philosophers strove to understand man in his fullness. The Greeks repeatedly held up for admiration men (like Achilles or Alexander) who chose to do the right and noble thing, deeds worthy of glory and immortality even when it led to a short mortal life. And the greatest minds of the Greeks also saw that man seemed damaged or wounded; even at his pinnacle, man was in bondage and lacking something fundamental to true happiness—a happiness they realized could only come from a unity with or contemplation of the ultimate being.

For it is on the shoulders of these giants that the Middle Ages, the medieval period, truly shines.

They could not grasp how—given what man had—this could be brought to fruition, but they were aware that man’s nature was ordered to this contemplation. This insight is important for all men to see and to study for it speaks to a universal truth about man’s nature. It is natural to pair the study of Greece with Rome. They were proximate in time, but Rome has a unique place in ancient cultures—one that allowed her to span the ancient and medieval worlds. Rome exercised a remarkable humility and genius in her ability to rightly appreciate what was good and noble in other cultures and adopt it. Rome embraced and absorbed Greek philosophy, theology, art and literature, Carthaginian ship-building, and Egyptian astronomy and music. But Rome did not just take these as they had been first built. In many ways her greatness lies in adding to these either by promotion or perfection, such as converting the Greek phalanx into the impenetrable Roman tortoise, or adding the corvus to ships allowing Rome to bring her superior infantry to bear upon naval warfare, or reforming the Egyptian calendar under Julius Caesar. Roman arches and domes allowed for larger and lighter buildings. Even today, one can see the still functional Roman aqueducts that brought clean water to vast cities or Roman roads that allowed men to traverse ancient Europe in a matter of days. And one of Rome’s greatest additions to civilization was her synthesis of the Greek ideas of government into the blended government of the Roman republic. The Greeks had attempted this in various forms, but Rome perfected and applied it in a republic that survived three-quarters of a millennium despite being engaged in a series of massive conflicts. Rome emerged master of the world primarily due to the stodgy perseverance of men who knew how to live and die for the common good. Again, Rome was far from perfect, but the study of her heroes and villains allows one to consider the importance of each man’s individual choice, even if it be as humdrum as staying awake on watch and keeping one’s word when given, in shaping the world. It is right and good and valuable to our own future choices to celebrate such truth, beauty, and goodness in the ancient world!

For it is on the shoulders of these giants that the Middle Ages, the medieval period, truly shines. But one must understand, as so few modern historians are willing to admit, that the Medieval period did not receive the ancient cultures as giants; rather she rebuilt them from shattered ruins, restoring them to their former glory and then illuminating them with the light of Christ.  The study of causes, specifically the causal force of human nature, both broken by sin and then restored in Christ, is illuminating. 

We need to pause here a moment to reflect upon this. In laying out why one might study Egypt, Greece & Rome, we are looking at undeniably worthy events. And they are, insofar as we can be certain given how old these cultures are, presented with reasonable accuracy.  Some of the greatest minds of history have considered and presented this portion of the chain of cause and effect. The stories of these cultures come down to us relatively unscathed and there is a fairly uniform understanding of them. But once we reach the moment of the Incarnation, history changes in two significant ways. First, history literally changes. God became man and entered time and space. There is no other moment like this. God became man, God died for man, God restored man. This is why historians like Warren Carroll rightly point out that one can anchor all history in this moment. Everything leads up to and follows from this exceptional moment. One might say that a challenge has been thrown down to man. There are now no excuses. Man has been given grace and every man will be judged by God Himself based on how that man responded to the events of his life. This brings me to the second way history has changed, perhaps best put by St. Augustine. Man must choose whether he belongs to the City of man or the City of God. And when one considers what makes a history that stands the test of time, history has to take sides. What are worthy events? Are they accurately recorded? What caused them? And what followed from them? From this moment forward, one can ask whether in recording a history one stands as a friend or an enemy of God. And in this choice one is forced to move from a stoic or passive sponge of knowledge to an active combatant whose very life is informed by each story he reads and how it moves him as an agent, receptive and dependent upon God’s grace, who formally engages in an eternal struggle, as articulated in Gaudium et Spes and cited in the Catechism: “The whole of man’s history has been the story of dour combat with the power of evil, stretching, so our Lord tells us, from the very dawn of history until the last day. Finding himself in the midst of the battlefield man has to struggle to do what is right, and it is at great cost to himself.” To see this is to see something of great moment for every man.

It is in this lens that one must view this next period of history. Yes, there was a dark period, a dark age, if you will, between the ancient and the medieval world. Was Christianity the cause or agent of this dark period, as so many modern, woke historians, ironically, going all the way back to the vestigial pagans of St. Augustine’s time, posit?  Or had man, in the state of sin, destroyed himself, and Christianity, through the grace of God, was here to pick up the pieces and restore the world? This latter view is the truth and true history will make that clear.

That Rome fell is sufficient for a young student; an older student will need to consider in more detail the tragic choices that led to weakened defenses on the frontier or corruption within the now imperial government that led to Rome’s fall. But in either case, once Rome’s fall is established, in our study of history—of human nature—what matters, as it does in daily life, is what, when confronted with tragedy, one does next. And a good medieval history program should begin with saints like Patrick, Benedict, and Boniface.

Why? Because these are men who spanned the end of the tumultuous Roman era and in the face of great sacrifice and persecution chose to bring the shattered bits of Christian Roman culture to their barbarian attackers, offering them not just forgiveness but the glorious truth. When confronted with wave upon wave of barbarian hordes, one could build walls to keep out the enemy in an increasingly smaller and smaller safe territory, but how much greater to go out into the enemy’s territory and offer him the greatest thing one possesses, God’s grace and truth, and make him a friend. This is in many ways the heart of the Middle Ages. In the very darkest moments of the dark ages, one after another, men of disparate languages, cultures, customs and places, with no human knowledge of each other, but united in the body of Christ reached out heroically to their worst enemies and brought the truth. Patrick, raised in Christian Romanized England, brought the faith to Ireland in the fifth century. In the following sixth century, Augustine brought the faith back to an England that had been overwhelmed by new barbarian invasions. Isidore in Spain held firm against the heresy of the Arian Visigoths and ensured the new Spanish kingdoms would be firmly Catholic. Boniface brought the faith to Germany in the eighth century and Cyril and Methodius in the following ninth century brought the faith to the Slavic peoples. So many of these men were martyred, but in such suffering watered the faith in these lands with their blood mingled with the blood of Christ and brought about a rich harvest. These words are not lightly said, for each one of these men had to fight down personal demons before going out on such missions, and in doing so won a world for Christ. They were truly a light in the darkness properly illuminating this age. To see these actions helps us all to understand what life is about and that we are ordered, not to this earthly life, but to an eternal life with God.

Out of their often unsung heroism, or in many times inspiring and then following from it, came the monasteries, another often maligned and badly misunderstood element, but fundamental to the revival of western civilization in Europe. Rather than dwell on the darkness, students need to see first what is good and the monasteries were, by and large, truly good. Benedict of Ursa was raised in Roman culture and grew up in the midst of a Rome that would suffer repeated brutal sacks. His response was to create a place where the light of truth would be sheltered and protected so that it could shine out as a light to the world. And these were lights that lived on long after the founders had died, lights that spread their light not just to other monasteries but permeated the burgeoning medieval communities. They were not only places of worship, but centers of learning. These monasteries were schools, farms, hospitals, and hostels for poor travelers. The monasteries ministered to body and soul. They brought grace through sacraments, they brought the scripture in illuminated manuscripts, they brought farming techniques that revolutionized agriculture across Europe and allowed Europe to sustain a far larger population than before. Monasteries like Monte Cassino, Clanmacnoise, Glendaloch, Bangor revived life, both naturally and supernaturally.  

We jokingly celebrate the invention of the wheel and what a difference that must have made to early man. But so many historians often quickly skip over the intervening inventions until the industrial era and the far more exciting modern inventions. And yet the invention, development, and distribution, through those monasteries, of medieval technology like plows or drainage, revolutionized farming in Europe, producing greater agricultural yields and in turn greater health, population, and wealth, and the attendant improvements. Think back to those barbarian hordes who destroyed the Roman Empire. Within a few hundred years those same “barbaric” people had been tamed. Under the influence of Christian monks and Catholic social teaching they built castles to protect themselves and their vassals, they cultivated fields and flocks for food and clothing, they developed literature and art which was spread throughout Europe by traveling minstrels. They built massive majestic Romanesque churches in which to worship God and monasteries with vast libraries, storehouses of knowledge. In another few hundred years they built dizzyingly high Gothic cathedrals, architectural marvels that still boggle modern minds, replete with fantastic stained glass windows and beautiful works of art on canvas and plaster, wood and stone. They founded schools, colleges, and universities that were (long before the Renaissance) studying Greek and Roman philosophy and literature and expanding upon those to develop Christian doctrine. Pre-eminent amongst these medieval scholars is Thomas Aquinas, who would synthesize all of Catholic theological teaching in the light of Aristotelian philosophy recently brought back to Europe through Arabic Muslim philosophers.  A study of these times makes clear a profound impact of the faith upon every aspect of life.

The modern historian conjures up images of a medieval world governed by evil kings or tyrannical nobles brutally enforcing their will. But when one actually delves into the medieval world, one finds it well informed by the principles of Greece and Rome enlightened by Christian social teaching. Kings and feudal systems had arisen of necessity, in response to brutal barbarian invasions, but as things stabilized within these societies, the principles of good government emerged. Representative bodies, such as parliament or the Cortes were set up alongside charters like the Magna Carta, outlining the rights of the Church and the people alongside the authority of ruler. These were not simple monarchies, but blended governments, albeit of a different form than the Roman republic, which acknowledged the dignity of each man, and the importance of the many various classes of society. Under this broader framework these men set up centers of commerce, established towns outside the feudal system, complete with charters and self-government. They developed trade routes across Europe and off into the Middle East, and Asia. They charted maps and sailed off around Africa and to Iceland.

Now, at this point, we come to another great and controversial moment in history. Heresy had plagued the Catholic Church from her earliest days. The greatest doctrinal statements come, again and again, on the heels of these points of heretical tension—a testament to the fact that, echoing “this happy fault, this necessary sin of Adam”, God in mirroring the Incarnation itself, brings good out of evil.  These sad moments of heresy came over and over for over a millennium. But there was a watershed moment, borne out of man’s weakness, in the Protestant Revolt. Yes, this is a controversial moment, and yes, this must be studied. It is painful—as evil always is. But it can be both formative and informative to the young mind, when introduced at the right time. The young student is better served by focusing on glorious moments in history. The older student must confront these controversies which are both points in historical time and call upon man’s moral fortitude.

But in any consideration one must look to the whole. This means looking both at actual documentation (what was said or laid out) and at what was often done.

Certainly, some of the most challenging or controversial areas to study in history are those of the Spanish Inquisition and Protestant Reformation which, interestingly enough, overlapped in time and controversy with the European exploration and colonization of the new world. Histories of these periods depend heavily upon the moral compass and ideology of the historian. There are two issues the reader must keep in mind. One is that the facts themselves are often under dispute, hard to verify, and clouded by centuries of historians willing to falsify and destroy precious documents that conflicted with their theses. The second is that these events document the emergence of one culture, Protestantism in various forms, that sought to overthrow the former culture, namely that of the former Catholic period. The western world was grappling with its future and looking to the recent past to justify the next steps. Protestant reformers needed scandal with which to taint Catholic culture so as to overthrow it. Catholics struggled to maintain purity of doctrine and moral authority within a world that truly did need reform or restoration. Then as now, misinformation or propaganda abounded, stories were rarely fact-checked, and it was easier to retain the bold headlines punctuated with salacious tidbits than to take a deep and thorough look at the actual situation, the intended ‘corrective action’, the overall experience and outcome. A single instance of anti-semitism, corruption, or police brutality could be used to describe large swathes of space or time. It would be foolish to suggest that there were no corrupt and immoral bishops, priests, and monks in the 1400-1500s; great saints within the Catholic Church herself repeatedly called out for reform. It would be foolish to suggest that within an investigation there would be no corruption, brutality, torture, or false accusations. But in any consideration one must look to the whole. This means looking both at actual documentation (what was said or laid out) and at what was often done. Within the Inquisition one can find documents laying out, on paper at least, a process designed to check corruption (false accusers would suffer the punishment of the crime they accused another, witness testimony was removed if they were enemies of the accused, and so forth) and one can certainly find instances when these were not properly enforced. Similarly one can find onerous restrictions on literature that look to never or hardly ever have been actually imposed. Someone seeking to make Catholic Spain look bad could pair up exceptions in practice on the one hand with rarely enforced codes to paint a very different image than what was actually experienced within the country. I share these particulars not to settle a question, but to highlight that in all cases, but especially within controversial situations, the historian must look closely. He must look to the facts, and the sources of those facts: are they reliable? Are there counter-facts? What was the widespread experience of the time? Ugly as facts in this time may be, it is a time that needs to be taken seriously and can stand as warning and inspiration. One is again presented with the opportunity to see the consequences of causes, and also to see what is truly important in life. One sees that each man has a choice that will impact him here and in eternity.

When a world is in grave need of reform, it takes great courage to be historically visible—by that I mean visible at the level that one’s decisions might make it into later histories. How many potentially great men during the Reformation/Inquisition remained in the shadows rather than risk the wrath of the contemporary press? It is far easier to be silent and “mind one’s business”, so to speak. While this stretch of time is challenging to study for the scope of suffering and the murkiness of events, it is also fascinating and a challenge to us today who are facing something similar in a world and culture in desperate need of reform. Hard as it is to parse out, a study of cause and effect, as best as we can determine it, given the facts we have in hand, helps us deal rightly with this time. A study of the Inquisition and Reformation makes clear how easy it was to make enemies and how hard it was to make forward progress because those in power generally resist change. But it also highlights that great men did rise; they persisted even when their names and reputations were blackened. These men persisted—much like the ancient Egyptians—in doing their small part knowing that it would take thousands of small reformers over decades or even centuries to enact a measurable change. Like the missionaries of the dark ages, they did not let the fact that any one of them individually could not change the entire world, stop them from doing what they could in their small corner and, like those same missionaries a thousand years earlier, going out into the enemy’s territory to make him a friend by restoring him to God’s grace and truth. Right as Europe tore herself apart with a religious divide, she added to the complexity of any study of history by expanding to reach almost all the continents of the globe in a very short stretch of time. The discovery and colonization of the Americas and Africa as well as expanded trade with Asia all happened under the influence of this religious and cultural upheaval, and no good history of the colonial worlds can ignore the religious revolutions of Europe. In some cases, colonists sought to expand and share their home culture, particularly French and Spanish missionaries, while in other cases colonists sought to escape from particular aspects of their home culture and set up a new culture in a new land, such as many early English colonists. Again, these were not uniform and no historian of early America would be foolish enough to consider the English Puritans of Plymouth and the English Cavaliers of Jamestown to be similar. These very cultures (both Protestant) were fighting a civil war at home while vehemently opposed to any Catholic influences. So too, one should not consider the conquistadors of Spain or Portugal to be uniform with each other, nor to share the same goals as the Franciscan and Jesuit missionaries of North and South America. This ability to separate out the deeds of the individual and to look for cause and effect within a given instance is incredibly important as one comes to understand these increasingly tumultuous and, at times scandalous, histories. But it is also informative to the student who is immersed in every aspect of knowledge here. These stories are both formational and informational. Yes, the student of this period is aware, as in many earlier moments of history, of particular events that highlight prudence, temperance, fortitude, and courage, but in this moment the student sees that these virtues in a particular individual may have been the bulwark that helped a town or even a country hold firm. Again, whether it be one man or many men, one small victory or a great triumph, it always comes down, as was illustrated upon the cross by man subjecting his will to God’s will, as something only possible to man through God’s grace. 

These are moments that certainly illustrate the bright or dark moments of man’s virtue and vice, but that also demand some consideration of man’s descent into modern philosophy. 

There are many stories that one could consider in the wake of this great conflict between the Catholic and  Protestant cultures. One could consider the fallout within Europe itself, looking most immediately at the changes within hotbeds of “reformation” like England and the many varied German states. One could look at the tension within the more staunchly Catholic countries of Spain and Austria and the massive ripples of resultant tension within the Netherlands and what would finally become Italy. One could look at countries like France that grappled with this cultural tension for centuries before exploding into a Revolution that dominated European life, culture, and politics for much of the 1800s, finally giving birth to a fresh monster in the Russian revolution of communism that dominated not just Europe but the whole world for the 1900s. These are real moments of history, well worth studying, that call for a careful reflection of cause and effect. These are moments that certainly illustrate the bright or dark moments of man’s virtue and vice, but that also demand some consideration of man’s descent into modern philosophy. 

There is certainly scope to consider whether the “hell” unleashed upon the world in the 19th and 20th centuries is a direct result of the Protestant revolt and the so-called “enlightenment” that gave birth to modern philosophy. Earlier I shared that as parents and educators we have to consider the information that we provide to our children. Certainly one can and should share the actual events, but Europe at this time is quite challenging, far more, one might argue than in the earlier Reformation vs Inquisition period. It does not need to be hidden, but I would argue that most students are better served by a general awareness of what was happening in Europe paired by a more in-depth focus on American history and specifically the development of the American government.

I think that one can make a good case that while Europe seemed to be literally “going to hell in a handbasket”, in God’s providence, something new was transpiring that was capable of saving and even reviving Western Civilization. I do not mention God’s providence here lightly, as I think any study of American history, writ large across the entire hemisphere, highlights God’s grace and man’s individual response to that grace.

Take a moment and reflect upon what has transpired in this country alone. In four short centuries, handfuls of political and religious exiles crossed an ocean (far more terrifying than modern man traveling to the moon), risking death at sea, starvation, illness, or violent death at the hands of natives in order to establish themselves in an incredibly inhospitable spot. With attrition rates often approaching fifty percent, they slowly built up little colonies that were not immune to bitter infighting and massive political upheaval, if not outright war, amongst themselves. And yet, in less than two centuries, these political outcasts had established a thriving colonial society that, despite radically disparate points of origin and religion, found themselves united in a few key principles. These were a people who shared a common biblical moral code; an educated, literate, principled population who were willing to risk life and limb for both their religious and political freedom. Certainly at this point, in a historical narrative, one could focus on the ugly underbelly of such a messy, disparate community—brutal discord is both undeniable and easy to document. Or one could consider the fragile, perhaps miraculous, unity of purpose and principle that emerged. Alexis de Tocqueville, Thomas Paine, and Milton Meltzer, writing across two centuries, make clear the coincidence (I would argue a ‘coincidence’ better recognized as God’s grace) that brought together such a population, at such a time, in such a place, across an ocean not easily crossed, with such intellectually gifted and practically tested military and political leaders that they could first revolt against the current world superpower and then establish (without foreign interference) a truly unique form of government. One can argue, and I think it is a clear example, of God’s providential care for the whole world. These men set up a government which draws upon the best of the past, drawing upon both the classical and medieval Catholic models, while adding in a new great experiment.

Let us pause a moment and consider again the through line of cause and effect. America was neither cultivated by nor populated by angels. There are many dark moments in her history going back to the earliest days that highlight the frailty of the men and women who built up this continent. Her founding as a formal nation and the implementation of her new government indicate that her leaders were well aware of man’s fallen nature and the need to check his impulses so as to preserve the common good. They knew that government was ordered to man’s happiness—or beatitude in the words of Thomas Aquinas—and the means to attain it.

James Madison, with the support of men like George Washington, crafted a government that truly corresponds with St. Thomas’ ideal government, blending the swift efficiency of the “kingship” found in the executive branch, the checks and wise deliberation of an aristocratic branch, and the voice of the people who both select and from whom the leaders are selected. But Madison went further than a mere “blended” republic, with various forms of checks and balances such as Rome produced, and

such as was imitated throughout Europe, as seen in the British Parliament or the Spanish Cortes. In the United States Constitution, Madison provides a remarkable balance of both federal and national elements, but also state and local authority that, if properly respected, allows the happy success of a country far greater and far freer than ever known in the history of the world. To the naïve, the American experiment is checks and balances, or republican ideals. But what is new to America, well articulated in the debates between the Federalists and Anti-Federalists, is the blending of a truly limited federal government, capable of acting directly upon the people in certain clearly delineated elements, alongside  broad and fully functional state governments.  Rome, the historic hallmark of republican success, governed a mere tenth of the American population, and at least a third of Rome’s inhabitants were slaves. We rightly marvel at Rome’s millennium of world domination, despite the fact that some of that time was spent under the tyranny of kings and empires. But America has, under the same constitution, successfully navigated both the expansion from a mere slip of thirteen small states huddled on the Atlantic, to a full continental fifty states, but also the progression of the industrial and technological ages coupled with surviving both an internal civil war and multiple global conflicts. That we hold this achievement so cheaply as to not even notice it is its own testament to our Constitution.

I love this topic and there is a lot one can glean from a study of the text of the Constitution, from the debates over the Constitution, and even over the lives and habits of the founders of America. A serious study of American history highlights deeply flawed men who were keenly aware of their humanity, men who loved their country deeply and wanted nothing more than to protect the freedom for which they and their friends had fought and suffered to attain. Their awareness of their own flaws paired with a desire for freedom, perhaps above all else, meant that they were attentive to the causes that would bring about freedom as an effect. They were well formed enough, and close enough to a common biblical moral code, that they knew freedom was not license and thus they considered the full practical ramifications of each proposal.

In many ways these debates are ideal fodder for the typical high school student who is ready to solve all the world’s problems. They share, with the founders, the same moral code, they share the desire for freedom and autonomy. But like the founders, they are usually fairly conscious of their own faults. There is great scope as one studies these debates to consider what is emotional rhetoric and what is actual careful logical argument. Is a federal judiciary unnecessary and dangerous or does one need an impartial branch above the states that speaks for the nation as a whole? Can one separate out a few egregious cases such as Dred Scott vs Sandford and Griswold vs Connecticut or even several decades of bad judicial precedent from a branch that, at least, at times, stands as a vital protector of the constitution against legislative or executive overreach? Without a judicial branch to uphold the Constitution, is the people’s voice effectively silenced? Similarly, does the slow moving Senate, so often decried in popular journalism on both sides of the political aisle, actually have an incredibly valuable role to play as a “salutary check”. Before students decry the horrors of the world and seek, as both the Protestant reformers and modern philosophers sought, to remake it on their own, they should be aware, in the words of Madison to which I earlier alluded, that “A good government implies two things: first, fidelity to the object of government, which is the happiness of the people; secondly, a knowledge of the means by which that object can be best attained.” That is, an awareness of the end or effect we are seeking, and an awareness of the cause that will best achieve that end. That is what we are seeking in the study of history.

The American experiment was not immune to evil or difficulty. As a nation she bears horrific scars that showcase the inevitable weakness of any human institution, it can always be brought down by the vice of its own people. But this carefully crafted Constitution allowed the American people to combat their vices and factions over and over again. The founders themselves were clear that America could not survive without virtue. They were confident in the virtue of the American people, or at least made clear that this virtue and dependence on God’s grace was necessary to preserve the rational government of the country. When I step back and consider America within the larger question of history I see it as both a blessing from God and a response to God’s grace. I see it as a culmination of millions of people who responded to God’s challenge and by this I mean millions of people who were well raised, well formed, and ready to respond when called upon to act. It is no accident, for example, that the American people were ready to respond in World War II. They had been shaped for this by their parents and their culture and an understanding of what is truly important in life. What forms people into the kind of people who can respond as needed, is what history can provide.

Man is capable of great deeds. Militates at Marathon, Scipio Africanus in Spain, Henry V at Agincourt, George Washington at Trenton, the British at Dunkirk and Americans on the beaches of Normandy or IöJima all illustrate this. Men have fought nobly and sacrificed themselves to keep, to shape and to share a better world. Men have succeeded and men have failed. There is much that was truly good and noble in the ancient world, but the ancient, pre-Christian world failed time and again. A new Christian world came to life and built upon the kernels of truth in that ancient world, but the Christian world provided a better and clearer path to the truth. Man in his weakness, time and again, rejected the truth. But again and again, man was recalled to the truth, though always through human agents. This means these periods of restoration varied as much as the human instruments God used. Looking back at five or even ten thousand years of history there are periods of darkness, gloom and misery, plagues and heresies sweeping the countryside, cruel kings and monstrous dictators, overstepping their authority, and even demons within the Church. But by the grace of God, this darkness has always been met with light. Saints—average men and women who answered the call of God—went out and cared for the victims of plagues, preached against heresy and led lives of heroic virtue, stood up to kings and even popes, and preached the truth. This is history at its finest. This is why we should study history. These are the causes we seek to grasp, to know, and in so far as it is possible, to imitate.

History is not the mere relation of past events, but rather the specific consideration of past events with regard to cause and effect. This is so  one can see the great moments of history in relation to their causes and knowing that, either seek to avoid or attempt to reproduce them. Great civilizations have been broken into pieces—they will continue to break and fall anytime man succumbs to vice and hedonism. By the grace of God, however,  when civilizations break and crumble, there are ordinary men and women, who are not immune from ordinary mistakes, who rise to the challenge and seek to rebuild the culture. It is the actions of these men and women in the past we must study—this is true history—so that that knowledge will form and shape the men and women of our generation and future generations into citizens capable of rebuilding the world.