Chronicles became richer in the later Middle Ages. They proved to be invaluable resources to later historians, especially in cases in which the chronicler had personal knowledge of the events recorded. The Greater Chronicle of Matthew Paris (died 1259) marks the culmination of the chronicle tradition. Indeed, it seemed so comprehensive that virtually all subsequent English chroniclers confined themselves to copying it. Paris made only one trip outside England and spent most of his time in the monastery of St. Albans. Yet he was well-informed about Western European as well as English history. He seems to have acquired this knowledge partly through his access to a vast number of previous chronicles and state papers and partly through his interaction with the many visitors who stayed at the monastery, including friars who had traveled on the continent. Paris combined his comprehensive knowledge with a lively writing style, which was modeled in some ways on classical historians (for example, he used invented speeches).
Reporting what actually happened was not necessarily the primary goal of even the best chroniclers. Emulation or imitation was valued, and criticism of sources was usually subordinated to copying. Nevertheless, changes in consciousness gradually developed as the Middle Ages wore on. Hagiographies increasingly began to resemble modern biographies, as their writers took more interest in the individuality and development of their characters. The chronicle form disappeared in the 15th century.
As chroniclers recognized human actions, rather than impersonal forces, as the stuff of history, it is not surprising that biography flourished, especially hagiography, or saints’ lives. The genre conventionally included details of the saint’s childhood, the miracles he performed, and his eventual martyrdom. Understanding of individual character was much less important than the moral lessons and encouragement conveyed by the story. New forms
Two writers who in very different ways pointed to new forms of historiography were Otto of Freising (c. 1111–58) and Geoffrey of Villehardouin (c. 1150–c. 1213). Otto, the uncle of the emperor Frederick Barbarossa, had received the best education available in his time, which meant studying dialectic and theology in Paris (perhaps under the theologian and philosopher Peter Abelard). Because history was not regularly taught in medieval schools or universities, it is not surprising that Otto adopted a more philosophical approach in his Chronica sive historia de duabus civitatibus (“Chronicle or History of the Two Cities”). As its title indicates, the work was inspired by Augustine. Beginning, as many chronicles did, with the Creation and ending in 1146, it reflects abundantly on the miseries of “wars and tottering kingdoms.” Otto, like Orosius, identified the City of God with the church. Yet the Chronicle deals with ecclesiastical affairs with remarkable objectivity, considering Otto’s kinship with the German emperors. He describes the Investiture Controversy between the German ruler Henry IV and Pope Gregory VII and states arguments both for and against the so-called Donation of Constantine (an 8th-century forgery that came to be the basis for papal claims to temporal power). Although he prudently avoids giving unnecessary offense, he defends writing that might anger his predecessors, because “it is better to fall into the hands of men than to abandon the function of a historian by covering up a loathsome sight by colours that conceal the truth.”
Otto participated in the Second Crusade (1146–48) but did not write about it. The Crusades raised interpretative problems that historians had not faced before. Because nothing like the Crusades had ever happened, they posed new issues of historical causality. They brought Europeans into massive—though not invariably hostile—contact with Islamic civilization, and they inspired new kinds of historical writing. Villehardouin, a French nobleman and military commander, was an eyewitness of the Fourth Crusade (1201–04). His Conquête de Constantinople (The Conquest of Constantinople) was the first sustained work of French prose and one of the first great memoirs in French.
Precisely because Villehardouin did not know how histories “ought” to be written, however, his work lacked the conventional preface modestly declaring the author’s lack of ability. His history is basically the memoir of a successful commander. It is free of the moral reflections beloved of monks and the rhetorical effusions indulged in by emulators of the Latin historians. With Villehardouin a new voice—vivacious, conventionally pious but impatient of theological niceties, and keenly interested in military and political strategies—entered historical discourse. Islamic historiography
The Qurʾān, the sacred text of Islam, contains allusions that constitute the basis of a providential history of humankind from Adam through Muhammad, the founder of Islam. Another valuable resource for Islamic historians is the Hadith (the traditions or sayings of Muhammad), which is arranged in such a way that lines of transmission can be traced back to those who knew the Prophet. Chains of authorities were thus integral to early Islamic theology and historiography, which naturally lent themselves to annalistic treatment.
Cairo Qurʾān, Maghribi script, 18th century.Corbis
Al-Ṭabarī and Rashīd al-Dīn
The greatest early Islamic historian, al-Ṭabarī (839–923), was reputed to have memorized the Qurʾān at the age of seven. Legend credited him with producing a 30,000-page commentary on the Qurʾān and an equally long universal history (both survive but are only one-tenth as long). His chief virtues as a historian were his accurate chronology and his scrupulous faithfulness in reproducing authorities. Like Christian annalists, he depended on the Hebrew Bible (as interpreted by Islam), though the world he inhabited was basically Egypt and Muslim Asia rather than Western Christendom. The Persian scholar Rashīd al-Dīn (1247–1318) composed a more truly universal history, Jāmiʿ al-tawārīkh (“Collector of Chronicles”), which covered not only the Islamic world (which by then extended from Spain to northern India) but also included data on the popes and emperors of Europe and on Mongolia and China. Ibn Khaldūn
The sophistication of Islamic historical thought was dramatically illustrated by the Muqaddimah (“Introduction”) of the Arab historian Ibn Khaldūn (1332–1406). This introductory volume of a universal history reveals Khaldūn’s ideas about history—something chroniclers hardly ever did. The subjects Khaldūn considered in his work include historical method, geography, culture, economics, public finance, population, society and state, religion and politics, and the social context of knowledge. Khaldūn held high office and was often exiled or imprisoned. Late in his life he had the opportunity to discuss history with the Mongol emperor Timur the Lame, who was besieging Damascus. Timur wrote his own memoirs, and he was evidently interested not only in what Khaldūn knew about North Africa but also in his philosophy of history.
Khaldūn lived with the Bedouins of North Africa and in the sophisticated Muslim cities of Granada and Cairo. These experiences were the source of one of his main ideas: that humans first lived in Bedouin tribes and then achieved civilization, but civilization became decadent with increasing wealth and luxury. No dynasty or civilization, he believed, could maintain vitality for more than four generations (though the only example he gives is the decline of the Israelites after Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, and Joseph). Khaldūn contrasted his writing with “surface history,” which was “no more than information about political events” and was used to “entertain large, crowded gatherings.” Historians of his day, he thought, were too credulous in accepting tradition. As for their frequent moralizing about the misconduct of certain caliphs, Khaldūn asserted that people like to justify their own misconduct by looking in histories for examples of the great who have done the same things. To reach the “inner meaning” of history, the historian had to be “speculative” and give “subtle explanations” of causes. To accomplish this, history had to be rooted in philosophy—or, as Khaldūn said of his own work, it had to be a new and original science. History in the Renaissance