An opening line from the 1995 film Braveheart warns us that “history is written by those who have hanged heroes.”
What follows, then, is intended as a correction to the historical record; in this case, the side of the story that was crushed in defeat. There is a good lesson here, one that encourages us to examine the stories we are told with discernment, because, perhaps, what we hear is only what the victor would have us believe; history written by those who may have just hanged the good guys. And, in the case of Sir William Wallace, a good guy that was drawn and quartered, as well.
In a review of the movie, it is reported that Braveheart is only “loosely based upon” the real history of Sir William. The actual story – and there have been several books written on the subject – is based upon much more. Indeed, the history of Sir William Wallace, Robert the Bruce, King Edward I, and all the rest is based upon those fragments of information that others took the time to record; journalists, diarists, letter writers, royal scribes, and the like. We can safely assume, however, that these chroniclers made many judgments as to what was and was not worth jotting down. As for Sir William, well, given his treatment at the hands of the king, we can forgive him if he had nothing to say at all.
Adding more confusion to the matter is that these selective bits of information –whatever these actually may be regarding the fourteenth century – were then put into the hands of dozens of generations who, as we know from the history books, had their own battles to fight. Historians refer to these documents as primary sources, but it is quite a stretch to refer to these things as the “truth,” subjected as they have been to the accumulated judgments, biases, and prejudices of potentially thousands of individuals over hundreds of years. This is why we call it history.
Not to stray too far from my subject, I think Socrates was on to something when he said that we can know nothing at all. Of course, it was Socrates, alone, who possessed this knowledge of human ignorance; making him, by a score of one to zero, the smartest who ever lived. So as not to ruin the whole thing by claiming that no one knows anything at all, let us at least admit that our ability to know has its limitations.
Take a moment to reconsider what history actually is from someone more credentialed and experienced. Edward Hallett Carr, in a book aptly titled “What is History?” writes that the history we embrace is the “view we take of the society in which we live.”
In other words, history is what we make of it and, perhaps more importantly, what history makes of us. In Carr’s view, and now my own, history is not so much the truth as it is the accumulated acceptance of a version of events that helps define what sort of people we are. When we collectively adopt new ideas or are inspired to imagine ourselves in new light, our interpretations of history are adapted to reflect the change. History is simply the tool with which we measure ourselves and historians are here to help us do it.
Occasionally, we are confronted with an interpretation of events that prompts us to reconsider our own beliefs; a most recent example is the debate over Confederate monuments. Simply put, these tributes to an earlier interpretation of the Civil War no longer reflect our values. And, it is to the collective “we” that I write for it is very clear that not every individual supports the direction our society is headed. Yet, the discussion is taking place and, in fact, some of the statues are really coming down.
There is other evidence, however, suggesting our society is headed in an altogether different direction; one that would return America to some earlier condition that some see as superior to our own. For my part, I have no desire to return to these mythical “good ole days.” As to the current situation, my hopeful outlook is bolstered by the idea that sometimes we just need to see where the bottom is.
Part of the divisiveness that this type of thinking illuminates, I believe, arises when individuals separate themselves from the collective decisions of society. For instance, you may argue that your vote didn’t go that way. Nonetheless, there is no denying that, to borrow from Dr. King, “we, as a people” elected him. Of course, you may no longer consider yourself part of the “we.” I would caution, however, to take seriously just exactly what that would mean if large numbers of us adopted that attitude. It has happened before, you know.
As to the hanged, drawn, and quartered hero of my introduction, his history, meaning our own, says a great deal about us. It informs us that, with a little courage, those abused by the king can stand up to the king. It may not always turn out the way we hope—and Sir William would certainly attest to this if he were able—but it can be done.
