History and Fiction

H istorians of the medieval period had quite different standards for evaluating truth and falsehood than do historical writers today. In the modern world, scholars attempt to approach historical information scientifically, sifting through the raw materials of history—that is, the records kept by people of another time—and attempting to form a picture of that era. Of course a modern historian's picture is colored by his or her unique perspective, but at least modern writers of history generally agree that as much as possible, they should set aside their own views and seek the truth from facts.

In the Middle Ages, however, historical writers lacked such standards. They were more apt, for instance, to attribute events to the work of God or gods rather than to conditions such as weather or economics, whose causes and effects can be more clearly understood. Furthermore, it was not at all unusual for a historian to report something that he (virtually all medieval historians of any culture were men) had heard, without making much of an effort to find out whether it was true or not.

Certainly medieval historians were not entirely to blame for this approach. There were no computers for conducting research, and indeed books themselves were hard to come by: in the days before the printing press, books had to be painstakingly written out by hand, and they were closely guarded like the treasures they were. Nor was it easy for a historian to travel and conduct interviews. Furthermore, historians, like everyone else, are a product of their times, and tend to accept the prevailing views. In the Middle Ages, people in general were much more likely to seek spiritual answers to questions than to look for scientific explanations, and few historians thought differently.

These facts, however, do not fully explain the approach taken by Procopius (proh-KOH-pee-us; died c. 565) in his Secret History. A citizen of the Byzantine (BIZ-un-teen) Empire, which grew out of the Eastern Roman Empire in Greece, Procopius lived during the reign of the emperor Justinian (ruled 527–65). Many historians today regard Justinian as perhaps the greatest of Byzantine rulers, but one would not know it from the Secret History, which portrays him as a murderer and a thief. Even worse was Procopius's depiction of the empress Theodora (c. 500–548), Justinian's wife, whose sex life he described in terms that would make many a modern reader blush.

On the one hand, the Secret History is a genuine historical work; on the other hand, it is more like the tabloid newspapers of today that cover the deeds and misdeeds of Hollywood stars. Procopius had written other, more respectable, historical works, but in the Secret History he seemed to be saying what he really thought of the empire's royal couple. This bad feeling resulted from deep-seated political differences, but Procopius made little effort to hold his views in check. However, when he wrote that Justinian and Theodora were fiends (demons) in human form, he was not—by the standards of his time—making an outlandish claim. From the perspective of the Middle Ages, demons were a part of everyday life, and it was not farfetched to believe that one could assume the form of an emperor.

The role of magic and the supernatural was no less prominent in East Asia than in Europe, as an excerpt from Romance of the Three Kingdoms by Lo Kuan-chung (GWAHN-zhoong; c. 1330–c. 1400) illustrates. Describing events that took place more than a thousand years before, Lo Kuan-chung portrayed a period of great upheaval in Chinese history, when the country was torn apart by war. Yet in his version, the Three Kingdoms period of the a.d. 200s became a highly romantic, adventurous time.

Romance of the Three Kingdoms is of great value to historians, but it is not really historical writing: rather, it is a novel, an extended work of fiction. Thus although his book fell into the category known as historical fiction, Lo Kuanchung was not subject to the same sort of restrictions that govern (or should govern) the work of true historians. He was free to take liberty with the truth if it suited him, and readers of his book did not have to worry that he would allow the facts to interfere with a good story.

William of Malmesbury (MAWMS-bur-ee; c. 1090–c.1143), in contrast to both Procopius and Lo Kuan-chung, was doing work similar to that of a modern historian. In an excerpt from Gesta regum Anglorum, his chronicle of England's kings, he discusses the Norman Conquest of England in 1066, when invaders led by William the Conqueror (c. 1028–1087) from Normandy in France seized the English throne.

This event was one of the most important in the history of the English-speaking world, and Malmesbury wrote about the subject with the kind of serious, thoughtful approach that it deserved. Instead of blaming supernatural forces, or other causes that could not be explained, he looked for an explanation of the Norman victory in the events that preceded the invasion. Not only had the defenders of England been ill-prepared for their actual battle with the Normans, he indicated, but in fact all of England had grown soft from years of excessive luxury. Other historians might disagree with this analysis, but at least it was an idea that could be argued, rather than being a mere matter of belief that could not be disproved.