On Philosophy of History

(Typed lecture text of uncertain date)

Spiral Galaxy M74, Hubble Space Telescope

Strictly speaking, there is history only where there is time. God has no history. We might speak of the history of divine
manifestations in time where there is succession, prius et posterius. But this succession is merely extrinsic to God in whom
all is absolutely simultaneous.
Neither can there be history proper in the angels, for, from the very beginning they are given wholly, once and for all: their
substantial duration, though distinct from their essence, is also simultaneous, instantaneous. There exists nevertheless a
discontinuous succession in certain acts of their intellect and will. We might perhaps speak of the history of thought and love
of Gabriel; or of a history of the conversations, that is, of the illumination and locution between Gabriel and Raphael; but not
only are these histories merely of the accidental order: they always rebound upon an identical and invariable “today.”

There is history proper only where things flow substantially in continuous duration. To have a history is therefore an
essential and specific property of our universe of space and time. So that if there is such a thing as a philosophy of history, it
will belong to the field of philosophy of nature.

The specific cause of history is nothing but the hylemorphic composition of spatio-temporal beings. A being whose essence
is composed of matter and form will have a history, for it must pursue an existence which it never has fully and
simultaneously. Its existence must be constantly innovated, and this innovation cannot be realised without projecting a past.

Our universe must enrich itself incessantly: it is essentially in a state of construction which consists in an increasing
determination. This pursuit of ever more intense determination takes time: and wherever things take time there is loss of
time.

History proper will be nothing but the debris of this ripening process of our universe: if there were no evolution in the general
sense of the word, there would be no history proper.

In this perspective, history is essentially provisional: it constitutes merely an intermediate stage between the absolute end of
the world and its beginning. Once this absolute end shall be attained, the world will cease to make history: our universe will
be eternally the same.

The stuff of history will therefore be constituted by the ensemble of past facts: the praeterita. Now, all this is unquestionably
banal: but we must begin by these elementary reflexions if we wish profoundly to understand the meaning of history.
The praeterita have a characteristic all their own: they participate henceforth of absolute necessity: it is henceforth
absolutely impossible that a thing which has been, have not been. Projecting a past, our world is being petrified for eternity.
The past has therefore an absolute meaning in the present. The present is the truth of the past. Not the present which flows
away into the past: but an eternal present: a present which will have no yesterday.

There is therefore no such thing as a pure past: that is, a past which has not somehow prolonged itself in the present: the
very possibility of the past is based upon the present: if there were no present, the past would be impossible. A fact of the
past may be devoid of a certain meaning, it may have been more or less important. But it will be eternally true that it has
been devoid of meaning and that it has been more or less important: and that is precisely what is important.

Unfolding itself in time, our universe is growing like a snowball rolling down hill: it is growing in truth: it makes, so to speak,
eternity, by joining in act the eternal divine decrees. The stuff of history is thereby profoundly sacred and divine.

To know that our every activity is constantly being transformed and petrified for eternity cannot fail to fill us with a certain
awe. By making history, things are recording themselves infallibly for a boundless present: they are describing a tableau
which will forever [be] in that present an object of contemplation.

We said that the praeterita have no meaning outside of their relation to the present. But that is also true of the absolute
present: that is, we cannot fully know the present without knowing its truth of the past which is henceforth as a part of the
present. In other words, it is impossible to know the present without knowing history: knowledge of the present is to a
certain extent historical.
If the whole of the past is quodammodo contained in the present, the praeterita do not have the same meaning in the
present. In history there is necessity and contingency, even if what was contingent is henceforth as necessary as what was
necessary. In order to anticipate whether or not a historical phenomenon is contingent, we must anticipate its realisation in
the past.
In order to make clear what I mean by necessity in history, let us imagine a supra-cosmic intelligence contemplating our
universe at a time when it contained no life. This intellect could predict with absolute certainty the advent of life, though it
could not give any precision as to the peculiar fashion in which it might be realized. It might predict infallibly that this
universe is ordained toward a humanity, that within this humanity there will be an evolution of life and thought; that this
evolution will not be linear, but that it will describe a spiral. This intellect could predict with absolute certitude the end of our
world. If it is a finite intellect, it will not be able to predict the date, but the end in a general way. For it is clear that no being
nor any ensemble of beings can have as their end the pursuit of an indefinitely remote existence: an indefinitely remote
existence is by definition impossible to realise: in other words, our universe would have the impossible as “end”. Hence
there must be a time when progress will reach a term, beyond which there shall be no history proper.

This intellect can thus foresee the general direction to be taken by the universe in the ascendancy toward its term: so doing
it is seeing history before history. These things may be predicted, because they are essential to our universe: because
without these it would be contradictory.

These absolutely predetermined ways which the universe must follow in its evolution will be the ultimate foundation of the
possibility of a historical science proper. By historical science I do not mean natural descriptive history, but history as a
science which explains as physics does. We will come back to this later.

But the necessary in history is not what constitutes history proper. It is really the contingent that is holding back the world,
and spreading out in time. When that intellect we imagined predicts life, it gives no specifications as to cabbage or its future.
And if it knows there will be an animal kingdom, it does not know the number and kinds of forms it will take. There shall be a
humanity, but this does not imply by just what individuals it will be realized. The drama of the world may be foreseen to a
certain extent, but from this point of view we could not foretell whether it will be a comedy or a tragedy, or both; we do not
know the actors nor their whims. - Thus the contingent and the necessary are closely bound up. In order to have a certain
temperature, we must have molecules, volume and pressure. All these are necessary to obtain temperature. But the
number of molecules we choose, so long as we adapt to it volume and pressure, is contingent. And the place occupied by
this one or that is contingent. All that is necessary is that the ensemble be in a state of agitation. If each individual molecule
is contingent — we might have chosen another one that would have done just as well — the ensemble is not. And in this
same sense, the necessary course of history may be made up by, and realized in, contingencies.

That necessary structure of history which is necessary before the unfolding of it, is not history proper: it is no more than
philosophy of nature a priori. The very unfolding of nature could teach us nothing new in this respect, supposing of course
that we have definite knowledge of what is essential to nature as such, knowledge which we have not.
I have said that it is to a certain extent the contingent which makes the world take time in reaching its ultimate term. If the
whole of the future was really predetermined in the present: there would be no future: that future would be really present:
and all that is to be would simultaneously exist. (Technically speaking: if prime matter contained and was of itself
determined to all the possible forms, and prime matter being a reality, though potential, all these possible forms could not be
really predetermined to exist without existing already, which is obviously a contradiction.)

The necessary commands the unfolding of our world, and it is in this light that we must contemplate the contingencies which
go into its realisation, if we desire to have a scientific knowledge of the past. This knowledge will be scientific in the measure
that it approaches necessity.

In other words, there will be historical laws. There must be laws, for the universe cannot progress at random, no matter how
much of the random element it may contain. The random element is in its own way function of law: just as in the physical
world, statistical laws give rise to very determinate states, even though the laws be objectively statistical. The law of great
numbers tends toward necessity: and this tendency is essential to it: without this orientation it would be neither statistical
nor law.

The essential currents of history are thus predetermined in nature itself. And actual unfolding of the world adds nothing to it
from the viewpoint of knowability. Just as the multiplication of human individuals, and their peculiar indefinite accidental
varieties, adds nothing to the definition of man as such.
But before going on to the knowability of history from our human point of view, I must say a word of the possibility of an
extrinsic intervention which might profoundly modify the course of history, not in its essence, but even more deeply. The
entire course of history might be assumed into another order, from the beginning to its very end. And this might be done
without destroying the essence of history. When we teach an animal certain things which it could never do without
participating of our reason, we are not changing the essence of this animal, and nevertheless its behaviour is profoundly
modified by participating in our reason.

Now it is of the essence of all creatures, to be capable of a direct or an indirect assumption into the supernatural order. A
rational creature may participate of what is essential to God’s own life, if He decides to communicate Himself in this manner.
This is not necessary. It depends upon His own free will. Now such an intervention would not be merely extrinsic, it is an
assumption, and pervades the whole of the nature which it assumes, without however suppressing it.

We know through revelation that this is actually the case, that from the very beginning all of creation has been assumed into
the supernatural order, and that all was destined to a supernatural end: that all intellectual creatures are ordained to an
intuitive vision of the absolute, of the divine essence. We call grace the gift by which our activities are elevated and may
terminate themselves in this vision.

In this manner the supernatural order embraces the whole of our universe: which means that all that takes place in it
becomes a function of this supernatural end. And given the present efficacy of grace, the course of history may be
profoundly modified. Taking only the most salient and obvious historical fact: the advent of Christ has given the course of
history a unique form, in which we all participate whether we will or not.

But all this has not changed the essence of nature: and what we say of history in philosophy of nature taken here as a pure
science, would still be true: just as man is still a rational animal. But as we have already said, history before history is not
history proper. And the light of philosophy of nature will no longer suffice to understand the actual course. There will
be praeterita which would make no sense in philosophy of nature: which make sense only in the light of faith and theological
science. Now we know that the whole of creation has somehow been assumed in the supernatural order, so that no
judgment can be absolutely final without this light.
Let us now pass on to the problem of the knowability of the past.

Absolute determinism, the philosophy which rejects all forms of indetermination — that of freedom, of spontaneity, and of
contingency — will hold that history is constituted by the ensemble of past phenomena so rigorously bound together, that a
sufficiently powerful intellect might deduct the whole of history from the present. In fact, sufficient knowledge of the past,
might give complete knowledge of the present and the future, and vice versa. It is clear that in this opinion, history might be
a pure science, just as mathematics. The unfolding of the universe is in itself absolutely intelligible.

But absolute determinists are rare. Some authors will restrict determinism to inorganic phenomena; others will make
exception only for the human will, and consider the behaviour of plants and animals as purely deterministic, denying thereby
all biological spontaneity. In this case, the history of the world before the advent of life or of man might be a pure science,
just as in the case of absolute determinism. It becomes problematic only when life or man obscures its course.

There is also the position of absolute indeterminists, or contingentists. According to these philosophers chance rules the
world. Not what we are wont to call the “law of chance,” which is not a law of chance at all — for law and chance are
exclusive of one another — if chance gives rise to an apparent law, then this too is chance. Chance might produce anything,
even a law. In this conception there can be [no] other than natural history, a purely descriptive and material recording of the
past. And when a group of facts coincides with a propounded historical theory, this again is due to chance, just as in the
case of the law produced by chance. In other words, facts only become knowable when they have occurred. Tomorrow
might bring anything. That the sun may rise tomorrow may be probable, but it is probably only by chance.

According to the thomist school — and I cannot see where its doctrine differs fundamentally from that of the greater number
of our young scientists — the entire past is in itself determinately knowable, just as in all the preceding theories. But the
phenomena of the past are not, any more than those of the present and the future, rigorously bound by causal laws. It will
not do to know one determinate historical situation to derive therefrom all the others, no matter how perfect the intellect of
the knower. Knowledge of all past phenomena is not strictly causal. But neither is their relation purely casual, as in the case
of contingentism. There are laws, since there is finality: the paths leading to the end are merely relatively indeterminate.
We may go to Switzerland by way of France, or by way of Germany. When we have chosen the way of France, this does
not mean that we could not have chosen that of Germany. Therefore, the relation between Switzerland and France is not
absolute and unique. From the fact that our traveler is in Switzerland, we cannot deduct by which way he got there.

We have already seen how in the praeterita we may distinguish necessity and contingency. But it is important to note that
these two factors do not constitute a double history, as if on the one hand there were a series of necessary phenomena and
on the other a series of contingent phenomena: so that there might be a double treatise of history: one recording the
necessary phenomena, the other the contingent. The contingent is not in the necessary like a wedge. We have already
seen how the two are mingled together in the phenomena. There is, so to speak, a principal current of history, but this
current is constituted by phenomena which are contingent when we consider them in themselves. That is why it is so difficult
to disengage this current in the contingent phenomena, where it is obscured by the very contingencies which uphold it.
We may nevertheless conceive a discourse on history: and the title of Bossuet’s Discours sur l’histoire universelle is a very
appropriate one.

Discours sur l’histoire universelle, as published in Amsterdam in 1755

Paulus Swaen Auctions.
All we have said so far is very general. We have spoken of historical laws which may be determined a priori as essential to
the unfolding of our universe. I will now give an example of such a law, which will bring us closer to current theories, and
personal ideas or prejudices in this matter.
We might show a priori that the unfolding of our universe will describe a spiral. I will try to make this clear by first treating of
two theories opposed to this view.
There is first of all that of the univocists. These again are divided into two categories: static univocists, and progressive
univocists.
The former consider history as a cyclic movement which incessantly repeats identical situations. No historical situation is
really novel. The various cycles differ numerically only. It is difficult to say just to what extent Plato was of this opinion.
There have been various interpretations. But it was very definitely that of Nietzsche. The idea is expressed in the current
proverb: nihil novi sub sole: there is nothing new under the sun. Static univocists might give as an example of eternal
recurrence the fact that I am speaking to you now, in this room. Fortunately you do not know it, but I have spoken to you
before an infinite number of times in this very room, and I will do so again and again, for all eternity. This is, you will admit, a
very gloomy prospect. Fortunately, we have bad memories.
Progressive univocism does not consider the course of history as a lengthening tube, but rather as an indefinitely widening
funnel. The current of history is being indefinitely enlarged in arithmetical or geometrical progression, according to the haste,
the precipitation of the author. There is novelty in history, but the novel proceeds logically and directly from the old. History
might be compared to a table of multiplication. The future however is novel merely from the existential point of view: we
may know perfectly what is to be: existence adds nothing to knowability.

In the case of static univocism as well as in the case of progressive univocism, the whole of the future is already intelligibly
precontained in the past: the only difference consists in this: one holds that the present is merely an imitation of the past;
whereas in the other no historical situation has a precedent, although it is always a mere derivative of the past. In both
cases, all is absolutely predetermined, and we may lead them back to absolute determinism. I say “lead them back to”, for
few univocists deny freedom, although this denial lies in the logic of their system.

Univocism represents what we call a linear conception of history. We might sum up a critique of this doctrine in one line
which has more bearing than it would seem: “If all things are absolutely predetermined, what are we waiting for”, or to use a
metaphysical term, what is existence waiting for?

I would reject historical univocism, because in that opinion the universe pursues an indefinitely remote term. Now by
definition, the indefinite cannot be realised. It is incompossible. Although incompossible is not a synonym for impossible, it
is nevertheless a form of impossibility. A number may increase indefinitely, there is no greatest number. But an actually
infinite number is a contradiction.
If our universe was by its very essence ordinated toward an indefinitely remote end, then it would be ordinated toward an
impossible end, which means that the very essence of our universe would be contradictory, that is, impossible.

There is something profoundly vulgar about historical univocism, and that is undoubtedly the reason why it is so popular.

At the opposite extreme of univocism, we find the equivocist conception of history. I do not call it equivocal, because there is
nothing equivocal about it. It is merely a derivative of absolute indeterminsm. In this theory, historical situations are
absolutely heterogeneous, they are absolutely novel in every respect, intelligibly and existentially. Evolution is absolutely
creative, fortuitous, and casual. The only law of history is that of heterogeneity. The relations we might discover between
historical facts are merely accidental. They might have been absolutely different from what they were. The history of the
world is one by its difference only.

This conception is merely a logical derivative of contingentism: of philosophies which hold that chance rules the
universe. [the two following sentences are lightly marked out] But even Bergson might be pressed to profess this idea.
That, however, would require a good deal of logic, and he might easily evade the challenge by denying logic, which he
certainly does.
Equivocism is based on pure chance; and if all is chance, then it is quite useless to give reasons against it. Where all is
chance, reason itself ceases to exist. And we must be content to let the equivocist enjoy his impossibility, and ours.
The intermediary position is that of analogy. ( I will call it the analogic not analogical) theory of history. It is logically
contained in the thomist system, and Maritain is perhaps its most vigorous contemporary exponent. You may read about it in
his articles on “L’ideal historique d’une nouvelle chrétienté.” He does not, to my knowledge, explain the theoretical basis of
this doctrine, but he applies it admirably.
If all is absolutely predetermined, then there is no history proper. On the other hand, if all is absolutely novel, then all is pure
chance. To remain within reason, we must hold that historical situations must be both different and similar. That is precisely
the definition of what we call analoga: partim eadem et partim diversa. Not that there is a part which is identical, and then a
superadded part which is different. The old is virtually assumed in the new. The evolution of scientific theories may be used
as a typical example. Some people believe that a new scientific theory (I do not mean a hypothesis) is always a denial of the
preceding one. Popular authors would have us believe that Einstein’s theory of gravitation is a complete contradiction of
Newton’s theory: an interpretation which no one has taken more pains to refute than Einstein himself. Newton’s theory had
value, but Einstein’s has much more. They could be contradictory only if either of the two had no value at all. But neither is
Einstein’s theory a mere logical elaboration of Newton’s.
The expansion of history is not merely additional, as in the progression of numbers: what is added is new, and the old is
contained in the novel, not distinctly, but virtually. I cannot explain this precision here. It would take many lectures to do so.
I merely make the statement, in order to apply it to the present case under study.

In the course of history this analogy becomes more and more profound. That is there is more resemblance, and at the same
time more difference: more identity and more diversity. I will illustrate this idea by an example. An animal differs specifically
from a plant, but an animal is at the same time more plant than a plant: that is, the vegetative in the animal serves a higher
purpose than the vegetative in the plant. Man differs specifically from the brute, or if you prefer, the animal taken in the
antonomastic sense of the word: man differs specifically from the animal: nevertheless, he is more animal than the animal,
he is a higher animal. The mere animal is ontologically speaking but a derivative of man. In the same sense, we might say
that S. Thomas differs profoundly from Aristotle, but a good thomist will assure you that at the same time he is more
aristotelian than Aristotle himself. Now, the same must be true of historical epochs.

By this I do not mean that what we are wont to call a new epoch does, by the very fact that it is novel, contain the
acquisitions of the past, that it contains virtually the past because it is novel. I mean rather that a new epoch does not
deserve the qualification “historically novel” but in so far as it contains at the same time the richness of the past. A sudden
break with the past, so characteristic of our modern times, is not as such, an essential phase of evolution. We are merely
paving the way for true progress. Our epoch will become truly historical and significant only when we shall have assimilated
preceding epochs. We must combine both expansion and assimilation. The renaissance might be given in example. The
renaissance was an effort to assimilate the past. And if it did not fully succeed, it is because it fell back upon a part of the
past overstepping the middle ages, and all this in a univocal way. Thereby, it neglected both the novel and the old, and soon
developed into a monster, of which the later renaissance churches are striking examples. The nineteenth century, on the
other hand, is an example of an equivocal break with the past: it ignored the achievements of the past. One of the most
brilliant epochs was called the Dark Ages, not so much because of the scarcity of documents, as of inability to understand.

By becoming more and more other, the world is becoming more and more identical with itself. It may be compared to a mind
becoming more and more conscious of itself. The spiral of historical progression will finally close upon itself.

Another example of a historical law governing the making of history, is that of what is technically called “generation and
corruption”, which must be applied not only to growing and decaying individuals, but to historical epochs and civilisations.
Civilisations become fatigued just like individuals. None of them is an end in itself, but merely a phase of the progression.
Individuals do not die for the sake of not being. Corruption is not the primary intention of nature. It is a function of
generation. When things are being undone, it is for the sake of things to come. This is the basis of our historical optimism.
But we will come back to this point.

So far we have merely spoken of abstract theory of history, which is not history proper: it is as a science of the essential
form to be realised by history proper.

Now, can there be such a thing as a historical science bearing upon past facts as such? It is not enough to know the stuff of
history — the praeterita — in order to have a scientific knowledge of the past. Natural history is not a science in the strict
sense of the word: it is merely descriptive: it tells us that a thing was, not why. Scientific knowledge supposes
generalisations and deductions. It must explain.
By generalisations, I do not mean that history must repeat itself a certain number of times, insinuating thereby a general law.
Historical situations may individually suggest a general law, or be based on a law. When we generalise from a unique
situation, we mean that if the various factors entering into its composition were given anew, they would produce the same
results, or at least approximately the same. Situations suggest general laws in the measure that their factors are coherent.
In fact, to see the coherence of the components is to understand the ensemble, to have scientific knowledge of it. We may
have scientific knowledge of the French revolution, although the French revolution is unique. The certitude of the French
revolution as a more or less rational ensemble of facts is not absolute, but it is highly probable. That is, if the same premises
were given anew, they would probably lead to the same results. — The case of historical science does not differ essentially
from that of physics, which is itself partly historical. One total eclipse was enough to confirm Einstein’s theory of gravitation.
An eclipse is a tremendous macroscopic phenomenon. But in the microscopic field, experiments must be repeated. The
same is true of history. Large scale phenomena approach necessity. History will be scientific in the measure that the
phenomena themselves approach the necessary laws of history.

We have seen that the praeterita constitute the matter of history, and that they are its ultimate foundation. But how do we
know the things of the past, and how do they enter into the science of history? We cannot derive history in mathematical
fashion. History is an experimental science. We must accumulate [line cut off on bottom of page?]
Now, history treats of what has been and is no more. We must therefore have recourse to traces of the past in the present.
We will give these traces the general name of historical documents. By documents I do not mean, manuscripts or
inscriptions, but anything which might give information on the past. Cosmic rays may be considered as historical documents.
The light coming to us from the stars is a historical document. When I look at a star it is not where I see it. The light may
have taken millions of years to reach my eyes, and in the meantime, the star which emitted it may be millions of miles away
from where I see. This light is really indicating to me a “where” that is no more. It is giving me knowledge of the past.

It is easy to see that traces of the past are most inadequate. We must distinguish the knowable traces from the known ones.
Our science of history can only be based on known facts, just as cosmic reality only becomes formal object of physical
science when it is measured. Now all this is unquestionably obvious. But let us not forget that it has taken scientists
thousands of years to find out that measure-numbers are their object, and that physics must define properties by describing
the process of measurement of which they represent the result. Historical research moves between the known and the
unknown traces. This research might be called scientific when it is guided by a hypothesis, although in itself it is
prescientific.

There is evolution in history, not only by the discovery of documents and the elaboration of theories, not only because the
universe continues to make documents by projecting more and more praeterita. Prescinding from this growth, there is an
objective evolution of the document itself. I mean that the universe itself is improving its records, that it tends to preserve its
own past in an objective manner. I will give a very common example, so common that I would be honored by anyone who
would find it ridiculous. The cooling off of the earth has not only made life possible, it has preserved traces of life in its
pleats. It is [at] a certain stage of evolution that nature begin[s] to make documents of life, and preserve it for the mind, that
higher form of life. Man and the fossils are not just a coincidence. Life tends to reach itself.
 “Ammonite Replaced by Marcasite”
Cephalopod-Ammonite Photos
R.Weller/Cochise College
The advent of man however is the greatest source of historical documents. Not so much by the traces of intelligence in
carved stones, arms and debris of huts, etc. It is the advent of man the historian that constitutes the greatest of all historical
documents. Man constructing monuments to honour heroes and conquests. Herein he is fighting the destruction of time.
The world is striving to escape oblivion, and free itself of the past, by furnishing documents for the future. Henceforth there
will be intelligent communication between past and present. Building imperishable monuments, they believed both in the
past and in the future. The future must not be without the glory or the tragedy of the past.
 Statue de Jacques-Bénigne Bossuet, Église Saint-Jean de Dijona
Wikimedia Commons
In this perspective we see that the universe tends to embrace itself in mind, and to be present to itself with all its past. There
is no thought of the world that is not in part historical. History becomes more and more a necessity of life. The theologian
knows it best of all. No Christian can do without history. His credo is full of it. We were historians from the beginning. God
himself dictated our history in the Bible: he revealed a past with its profound meaning, a meaning which no natural
document could have revealed.

I suggest another platitude concerning documents: they are not all equally significant, or suggestive. I would say that the
suggestive formality of a document is the formal object of historial science. The historian will therefore make a choice of his
material. The suggestive value of a document may be obvious, but this is mostly not the case. And this is where the
historical sense comes into play, and the genius of the historian. Documents show a certain convergence to be explained by
a theory.

It is clear that there is much arbitrariness entering into the choice of material and the constuction of a theory. It is most
difficult for the historian to prescind from certain prejudices. He always has some kind of weltanschauung before
undertaking the study of history itself. And it is practically impossible for him to prescind from this vision when making a
choice and when building theories.
The eyes of the materialist are very different from the eyes of an idealist: history interpreted by a Christian will be radically
different from that interpreted by a non-Christian. The documents are the same, but their suggestive value is not the same,
because the light in which they see the documents is not the same. The modernists will find some rational explanation of the
sudden mass-conversion following the death and resurrection of our Lord. They will say that Christianity proposed a very
attractive ideal, they might attribute it to mob-hysteria, etc. But S. Thomas, for instance, will deem this sudden mass
conversion miraculous. And here is his reason. The majority of people are stupid. (The majority of course does not believe
this.) Now, Christianity proposes an ideal that is most difficult to follow, that demands great sacrifice and self-abnegation:
we must profess things which the majority will find stupid, and they always will: we must profess such scandals as the
Trinity, redemption, the sacraments, etc. The Catholic today must go through that most humiliating thing we call confession.
the Church wants to give him so much freedom that he cannot think all the stupid things he might want to think, and
certainly would, etc. Now,malum ut in pluribus in specie humana. As Aristotle had said, the majority is always doing the
wrong thing. But in this case the majority is doing the right thing. This we cannot explain without a miracle.
Now these are two theories, profoundly different because they start from two weltanschauungen directly opposed. And I am
merely giving them as an example. they will surely exist until the end of time.
It is clear from what we have said, that all natural sciences will be in part at least historical. There is not only a history of
physics, but all physics is always, to a certain extent, treating of the past. Lemaitre’s theory of the expanding universe may
be given as an example. In the perspective of history the present state of the universe is a trace of the past. There is a
history of the chemical elements. The theory of evolution is in part a historical theory explaining the data of paleontology.
Mineralogy is most historical.

Universal history does not begin with the human race. Before the advent of man there was history. And both are really one.
For our universe tends toward self-consciousness from the very beginning. This is more and more realised through the
hierarchy of natural species. And finally in man, our world may begin to think itself in its entirety. All progress is really
progress of thought, and all the rest is function of thought.

There is a history of economics, of politics, of art, of philosophy, of theology, etc. All these particular sciences must
collaborate in the construction of universal history.

Let us for a moment consider the philosophy of history as a science. This science does not try to show us what others have
thought, as is usually done. This may be very well: but it merely furnishes the stuff of history. It is not scientific. History of
philosophy becomes scientific only when we show why philosophers have thought what they thought, and what are the
causes of their thought. We must therefore take into account all factors which may profoundly influence philosophy. We
must have recourse to other branches of history, such as economics, for instance. The leisure of the Greeks was essential
to their philosophy. Where there is no leisure there can be no disinterested thought. Their philosophy cannot be understood
outside their poetry. Homer is very essential to the understanding of greek speculative thought, etc.
There is not only direct historical science. Historical science itself is subject to evolution, just as all experimental sciences.
Theories are always in part provisional. Thereby, the science of history itself will have a history. Historical science is
indefinitely superposing itself upon itself. It is an endeavor [at] an intemporal contemplation of the past. But history itself is
continually being drawn into the past. What we think of this world becomes part of history, and in a certain respect the most
important part. In this respect, it is not what things are, that is important, but what we think.

This phrase may smack of subjective idealism, but it is really profoundly realistic. I merely mean that thought too is a thing.
In the perspective of history, the historian is a thing, with all his thoughts, like a mule or a tree. What we think means
nothing to the world, and everything to us. And what we think and do today is but a shadow of the rock of yesterday that will
be true for all eternity. The making of history is a very serious matter, but the most serious of all is the history of history.

There will be a making of history of history so long as the world progresses. This idea is nothing short of terrifying. The
knowledge of the decrepitude essential to all our knowledge and our interpretation of the past must inspire the historian with
a great humility. This remark may not be devoid of utility. For history gives rise to a hidden pride by the very fact that its
viewpoint is always rather transcendental. The student of universal history is always trying to close the world in his own
peculiar manner, and to look upon it as a God. We have only to think of the incredible stupidities propounded by historians
since the advent of what we call the critical method of history. This was undoubtedly a great advancement. But in the 19th
century it was being materially exploited in favour of the most subjective of all philosophies. there is irony in the fact that
most of these theories bearing especially on the origins of christianity, have now been carried off in the past, and are there
petrified in eternal death, bearing witness to the drama of human thought, the most important part of universal history.
 * * *
So far we have spoken of history before history, and of history as a science. By Philosophy of history is usually meant the
general and provisional ultimate reflection upon the experimental science of history in the light of a philosophical system. Of
all modern philosophers, Hegel has given us the brilliant example of profound interpretation of History. We might call
Philosophy of History the Wisdom of History. Historical wisdom tries to interpret concrete history by its absolutely ultimate
causes.

Hegel’s philosophy of history contains much that is purely theological, although he brings it all under the title of Philosophy.

This is where our conception differs profoundly from his. The ultimate wisdom of history cannot be purely philosophical, for
nature, as it is, is not a closed system. As we have seen before, nature has been assumed into the supernatural order.
Therefore the light of philosophy cannot reveal the ultimate cause of history. The supernatural is not inserted in nature like
a wedge, so that even in the end, we might distinguish in history a part which is purely natural, and another supernatural.
This consideration may be true in restricted fields, but it is not ultimate. All things and events in nature are henceforth in
function of the supernatural end of man. This does not mean that we must have recourse to faith and theology for the
interpretation of all historical facts. This would be pure nonsense. We may easily isolate an ensemble in the light of pure
reason. But, relative to the whole of history, this isolation is artificial. When we desire to view anything in its absolutely
ultimate causes, then we must have recourse to the light of faith and theology.

To a thomist, the history of philosophy cannot be a purely rational science. Not that philosophy, considered in itself, is
Christian. As it has been said before, philosophy, considered in itself as a pure science, is no more Christian or non-
Christian than mathematics. But the history of Philosophy is not pure philosophy. There is no such thing as a philosopher
abstract. The state of man, and revelation play an important though extrinsic role in the thought of the philosophers.
Especially the modern philosophers, Descartes, Kant, Hegel, etc. cannot be understood without theology, although they
were its great enemies. The theology is in their systems and their origin, but in a confused manner.

When we speak of the history of philosophy, the whole of the philosopher, not merely as a philosopher, but as a man comes
into play. And this whole becomes a function of the supernatural end of the universe. Therefore the ultimate judgement and
explanation must be theological. The history of philosophy is therefore theological, and not philosophical.

The most striking example of a theology of history is still the De Civitate Dei of S. Augustin. Obviously, this essay must be
done over from beginning to end. Not only because history has grown, but because the very science of history has
undergone substantial changes. But the spirit and the light in which he saw the unfolding of the world was the true light.
When I say that historical wisdom must be theological, I do not mean that today there is a theology of History, a treatise you
might consult. There is no such thing today, just as there is today so little theology that deserves the name. But it is an ideal
we must strive to realise.

I would like to end this talk by a reflection on the end of the study of history. Why study history? We might give two reasons.
The obvious one is that from the past we might draw lessons for the future. This reason is true, but it is merely pragmatic. I
think there is a more profound one. The study of the past is worthwhile just for the sake of knowing it. We might study
history just as we study pure mathematics. The pure mathematician is not a servant of the physicist, as most practical
physicists would like to believe. Nor is the theoretical physicist a servant to the engineer. He studies the universe for the
sake of knowing it, and no more. the use of this knowledge is not the end. Action is not the end of thought. Action that is
not in the service of thought makes no sense. We do not think to act, but we act to think: that is, we should. But this is
bringing us beyond the scope of our subject.

What would we see if we knew ourselves intuitively, as the pure spiritual creatures know themselves? Angels know
themselves intuitively. Each of them constitutes a universe specifically different from the other. They are universes in which
there is no time and no space. They are absolutely present to themselves. If we had such an intuition of ourselves, we
would see that we are only fragments of a vast whole. And it is precisely because of this fragmentary character that we do
not know ourselves but in so far as we know the other. If each of us constituted a complete universe as angels do, we would
have this intuition of ourselves. This does not mean that being fragments of universe, we are not persons. We are persons,
but not as angels are. Each individual angel constitutes a separate species. We are many individuals in one species. It is if
nature did not succeed in gathering us into one individual species, and tried to compensate this lack of intensity by
multiplying individuals. An angelic universe is so complete in itself, that it is infinitely more perfect than the ensemble of all
things existing here below. If we could gather the whole of our astronomical universe together with all the life that creeps in
it, and all humanity, into one being, we would still fall short of the most inferior of all angels. We might compare our universe
to an angelic species which has exploded and scattered itself in a universe of space and time. I use this impossible image to
show the profound unity of our cosmos. This unity comprises the human persons which constitute its main parts. We are
bound together, not in our personality, but in our individuality, even if it were but by the ties of filiation and paternity.

Now, the most perfect natural form of knowledge which an angel has is that of his own essence, present to him in a unique
and eviternal instant. We could see ourselves in this manner, of course this is impossible, we would see that it is not
worthwhile, that we are but a fragment. Our essence comprises what is called materia prima, which is essentially obscure
and which renders us solidary with the rest of the universe.
If we desire a knowledge of ourselves as the angels have, this knowledge must needs be knowledge of the universe. We
will have to gather in our mind all the things and events that we are not. It is only the knowledge of the entire cosmos which
might be compared to that which the angels have of themselves individually. So that the very attempt to know ourselves is
implicitly an effort to know our entire universe. And this effort is in part historical.

We know ourselves but in so far as we know the other: the other must be intentionally present to us. From this we must not
conclude that the other is merely a means of knowing ourselves, as if the cosmos were present in us, but hidden, and that
knowledge of the other merely awakens our consciousness to this presence: as if the cosmos were wholly reflected in us, as
Schopenhauer held. It is precisely because we are not the cosmos that we must go beyond ourselves. To go beyond
ourselves to find our own deeper meaning, is in part a historical movement.
Our epoch may be called one of historical consciousness. Historical research is going on everywhere in all fields. But there
is no such thing as historical wisdom today. We are like physicists who withhold themselves from constructing theories until
the day when all possible experiments shall be performed. This day will never come. It is the same in history. We are losing
ourselves in the indefinite. Research must go on, and become ever more critical: but we must not forget to try and seize the
meaning of history, even if this meaning is always in part provisional. In fact, the reflexion on history is the most important
part of history, just as in physics experiments are in function of theories. We must try to understand history, not just know
what has been.

Our epoch is one of great progress, but it is also one of quantitative dispersion. This dispersion, however, must be function
of some new synthesis for the future. This temporary disintegration of values may be likened to the disintegration of
digestion. If digestion is in one respect a destruction, the truly important one is that of assimilation into a higher form of
being. Greater good must result from whatever happens. Our universe must enrich itself, whether we will or not. In truth,
we will not, for humanity is the greatest enemy of progress. The world progresses notwithstanding our conservatism or
spurious efforts toward monstrous progress, which is in fact regressive. For the day when corruptions will no longer be
overpowered by generation, by a more abundant life and greater freedom, that day will be the end of time and history.