How to write history (4-6)

So in my own case, Philo, to avoid being the only mute in such a polyphonic time, pushed about open-mouthed without a word like an extra in a comedy, I thought it a good idea to roll my barrel as best I could; not to produce a history or even merely chronicle the events—I’m not so bold as that: don’t be afraid that I should go that far. I know the danger of rolling it over rocks, particularly a poorly baked little barrel like mine. Just as soon as it hits against a tiny piece of stone we shall have to pick up the pieces.

I shall tell you then what I have decided to do and how I shall take part in the war in safety, keeping well out of range myself. “From your spray and surge’’ [*] and all the cares that attend the writer of history I shall keep myself aloof and rightly so. In fact, I shall offer a little advice and these few precepts to historians, so that I may share in the erection of their building, if not the inscription on it, by putting at any rate my finger-tip on the mortar.

Yet most of them think they don’t even need advice for the job any more than they need a set of rules for walking or seeing or eating; no, they think it is perfectly simple and easy to write history and that anyone can do it if only he can put what comes to him into words. As to that, I’m sure you know as well as I do, my dear friend, that history is not one of those things that can be put in hand without effort and can be put together lazily, but is something which needs, if anything does in literature, a great deal of thought

if it is to be what Thucydides calls “a possession for evermore.” Now I know that I shall not convert very many: some indeed will think me a great nuisance, particularly anyone whose history is already finished and has already been displayed in public. And if in addition he was applauded by his audience it would be madness to expect his sort to remodel or rewrite any part of what has once been ratified and lodged, as it were, in the royal palace. Nevertheless it is as well to address my remarks to them also so that if ever another war comes along, whether Celts against Getans or Indians against Bactrians (no one would dare to fight us—we’ve beaten everybody already), they may write better by applying this yard-stick if they think it accurate; if they don’t, then they must use the same rule to do their measuring as now. The doctor will not be greatly annoyed if every man of Abdera [*] plays the “Andromeda” and is happy to do it.

Advice works in two ways: it teaches us to choose this and avoid that. So first let us say what the writer of history has to avoid, from what contaminations he must in particular be free; then what means he must use in order not to lose the right road that carries him straight ahead—I mean how to begin, how to arrange his material, the proper proportions for each part, what to leave out, what to develop, what it is better to handle cursorily, and how to put the facts into words and fit them together.

These and kindred matters will come later. But

now let us mention the vices which follow on the heels of shoddy historians. To recount the faults of diction in single and combined words, of meaning and other marks of bad workmanship which are common to all literary genres would take a long time and not be peculiar to our present enquiry.