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>> 151 Conclusion An Answer? In these pages I have argued that without their tie to religion, the first histories would have had little purpose. Without the infusion of philosophical rigor, history would have taught little of lasting value. Without the introduction of social sciences, history might have been dismissed as mere antiquarianism, like its subject matter a relic of a bygone world. Without literary art, history would not be worth reading. Without biographies , history would have had far fewer readers. Without policy studies , history would have little significance for the very people who have the greatest impact on our world. Without its ties to law, history could never provide remedy for the tragedies that its students uncover. History today would not exist without these collaborators, but history is more than the product of all these interactions—the value added to culture by the study of history itself. First,unlikeallofitsmoderncompanions,historybelongstoeveryone. Everyonehasahistory.Everyoneknowssomehistory.AsHarvard’sLaurel Thatcher Ulrich told an interviewer not long ago, “We need to have a little a bit of humility to recognize [that] people can do what they want to with thepast.Historiansdonotownhistory.”Or,asformerAHAPresidentEric Foner explained, “Who owns history? Everyone and no one.”1 Second, unlike some of the more dogmatic of Clio’s companions, history is self-examining. Historians do not flinch from this often painful inward look. For the members of the American Historical Association’s Professional Division, 2004 was a particularly unpleasant time for the 152 > 153 its judgments are about people. It is because history, in the last analysis, is what we share with everyone else. This is what elevates history above its collaborators, making history more than just the sum of those parts. For more than any particular religious outlook, philosophical theory, social science finding, literary trope, biographical insight, policy stance, or legal program, history is the judgment of people by people. It mirrors our own preoccupations and values. It grows wiser, and sometimes sadder, with us. It reflects our hopes and passes judgment on our deeds. By this I do not mean the vulgar relativism that reduces all historical knowing to passing fads and contemporary biases, that puckishly dismisses the deeper value of history by “historicizing” the discipline itself, “to see all historical accounts as imprisoned in time and space” and all historical judgment as the expression of local and self-serving ideologies. The judgment of history is the judgment that we pass upon ourselves. It is against our own standards that we measure our predecessors’. Insofar as historical knowledge reflects the preoccupations and values of our own time and place, what we say of others is a mirror of what we see in ourselves . Often that judgment is a severe one, unrelenting and unchangeable , though all might wish it not so. But that judgment may also liberate us from the cavils of our own time, revealing to us our place in the long span of human development.5 The art of history, the science of history, the philosophy of history, and a religious view of history all coincide in this single place: Historical studies would be impossible without a “just and humane” view of people in the past. “That slavery is wrong, that man has rights, are coming to be recognized—not as generalizations—but as presuppositions of history; so that the nearer societies approach these norms the higher their status in value.” What follows from this judgment? As Carl Becker wrote in 1915, “By liberalizing the mind, by deepening the sympathies, by fortifying the will, history enables us to control, not society, but ourselves.” That is not all, however. For a history that remained a private treasure would be a poor thing indeed. The judgment of history is more than something we keep to ourselves. John Hope Franklin put it best: “‘One might argue that 154 << Conclusion the historian is the conscience of the nation, if honesty and consistency are factors that nurture the conscience.’”6 At the end of the movie Kingdom of Heaven, Balian, the defender of Jerusalem against the besieging Saracens, asks the Saracen commander Salahadin, “What is Jerusalem worth?” Salahadin, offered the city in return for safe conduct for its inhabitants, shrugs his shoulders and answers, “Nothing.” As he walks away, he turns, smiles, raises both fists in triumph, and says, “Everything!” The movie’s history is not very accurate (except for the reproduction of period costumes and weapons), but the scene is deeply moving. For Salahadin has told us a great deal about history. If he did not care about Jerusalem’s past, possessing it would be worthless. It is only because of its past, and the meaning of that past to him, that it is worth everything. I hope I have made a plausible case that history stands, and should stand, at the center of our quest for a truly humane spirit, that Clio is surrounded and honored by her companions’ attention. Religion can console the wounded heart; philosophy sate the restless mind; social science requite the inquiring brain; literature and biography pleasure the spirit; policy studies teach us lessons; and law reform our ways; but only history can do all of these—if we but trust it. History matters because we want it to matter; because it honors human longing and endeavor, and doing it rightly becomes a grave command we issue to ourselves. ...

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