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Before proceeding to discuss the relevance of history, it may not be far out of place to linger a little on the definition of this term 鈥淗istory鈥� itself. It has been changing from age to age and from writer to writer, based on their prejudices and predilections.

鈥淎ll history is a lie,鈥� according to Sir Robert Walpole, the first Prime Minister of England, himself not particularly known for veracity in his public life, nor for excessive scruples in his personal life. 鈥淗istory is bunk,鈥� quipped Henry Ford I, the American motor magnate, who had no use for it.

鈥淢any historians take pleasure in putting into the mouths of princes what they have neither said nor ought to have said,鈥� observes Voltaire. But this man, a philosopher and historian of eminence, leaves us guessing on the point if the phrase 鈥渕any historians鈥� includes himself.

For Edward Gibbon, the author of The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire, 鈥淗istory is little more than the register of the crimes, the follies and misfortunes of mankind.鈥�

It is not without reason that these remarks are made 鈥� as boots of history were until recently too full of the succession of dynasties and depositions, the egregious blunders of eccentric rulers and mass murders, miscalled victories in war.

A philosophical view of history is taken by Carlyle, who felt: 鈥淗istory is the first distinct product of man鈥檚 spiritual nature, his earliest expression, of what can be called thought.鈥�

Lord Macaulay, who practised the art of Historiography with a literary flair, next only to that of Gibbon, makes some useful observations: 鈥淗istory has its foreground and its ground and it is principally in the management of its perspective that one artist differs from another. Some artists must be represented on a large scale, others diminished. .... He alone reads history aright, who observing how powerfully circumstances influence the feelings and opinions of men, how often vices pass into axims, learns to distinguish what is accidental and transitory in human nature from what is essential and immutable.鈥�

In the later half of the 19th century in England, the philosophy of Liberalism, as propounded by John Stuart Mill, began to influence not only the course of politics but the study and the writing of history. The principles of individual liberty, the belief, in progress, with the prospect of the greatest good of the greatest number, and the gradualness of inevitability, were much in evidence not only in the political and social life of a large section of the people but in the writing of history as well. The idea of freedom broadening from precedent to precedent began to be incorporated in the interpretation of significant events from the French Revolution and the Battle of Waterloo to the Congress of Berlin and the extension and consolidation of the British Empire.

But 鈥渇acts鈥� were still considered of the utmost importance 颅in the writing of history and the task of their interpretation took only the seat, as it was considered only right and proper. The 鈥渉ard core of facts鈥� was always kept distinct from 鈥渢he surrounding pulp of interpretation.鈥� This was so with the liberal historian, Lord Acton, and with his successor in the Cambridge History Project, Sir George Clark. This philosophy was eloquently expressed in the favourite dictum of the great Liberal journalist C. P. Scott (Founder-Editor of the Manchester Guardian): 鈥淔acts are sacred, opinion is free.鈥�

The greatest revolution in the field of historical thinking, as in that of political action, however, was effected by the ideas of Karl Marx. It was he who said: 鈥淧hilosophers through the ages have tried to understand the world; the problem is to change it鈥濃�搊r words to that effect.

Marx maintained that the basic factor in history is at all times the economic factor. The mode of production and dis颅tribution, the division and consumption of wealth, the relationship of employer to employee, the class-war between the rich and the poor determine, in the long run, every aspect of life鈥撀璻eligious, moral, philosophic, literary, artistic, etc. Unlike the conventional historians, he did not divide human history, into ancient, medieval and modern periods, in a time scale, but into the hunting and pastoral stage, the agricultural and handicraft stage, the industrial and machine age. The great events, according to him, are not political, but economic.

There are no moral ideals, in the Marxian scheme of things, because in every case an ideal is a material need semantically disguised as a moral aspiration. Nor are there any heroes in the conventional sense. Thought is seen as the instrument of desire and in groups and nations, desires are always economic. Even Bismarck is quoted as saying that there is no morality between nations. Nor is there any room for truth as an objective concept in the materialistic interpretation of history, according to Marx, as understood by his authorised commentators.

The Marxist interpretation of history, though available in the basic writings of Marx, published in the 19th century, began to gain momentum only in the present century, and that too after the Bolshevik Revolution.

Almost the exact opposite of the Marxian view of History is the Spenglerian vision (that of the German philosopher, Oswald Spengler, who published his monumental work in two volumes, Decline of the West in the third decade of this century). He was a sworn opponent of the exaltation of the masses above the individual, the industrial proletariat of the cities above the aristocrats of culture, statesmanship and war. Everywhere in History, according to Spengler, the mass is the raw material; the form is determined by what he calls the will: the struggle is not between principles, but between men; not between truth, but between races, between repositories of blood. In the end it is individuals that determine history 鈥� Themistocles, Caesar, Richelieu, Frederick the Great, Napoleon, Bismarck. And, had Spengler lived longer into the latter half of this century, he might have included others as well. Were he alive today he might have added: Gandhi and Nehru, Churchill and Degulle, Kemal Ataturk, Nasser and Sadat and Indira Gandhi, nearer home.

Spengler was an intellectual aristocrat who had no faith in democracy as a system of government. Will Durant, in his beautiful paraphrase of his ideas, wonders what he would have thought of a later situation in the U. S., Europe and elsewhere, in which democracy was not the rule of the people, much less of the best, but the rule of money, the rule of butchers and bakers and bankers, the sovereignty of politicians, the typical state-form of the empowered middle class.

To him, history might well be a drama noble in its aimlessness as the course of the stars, the rotation of the earth, and alternance of land and sea, of ice and virgin forests and the rest upon its face.

In the cryptic words of Will Durant, Spengler was nothing if not metaphysical and mystical, hating capitalism like a socialist and socialism like a capitalist!

Now to turn our attention from the understanding of history to its relevance. And relevance implies contemporary relevance, as well. Not merely the reading of it for entertainment as we do with fiction or for information and human interest as we do with some kinds of biography, but for certain insights 鈥� social or political, that might be of practical utility to us. For which, one might ask the natural question 鈥� Does history repeat itself? That brilliant historian and biographer of the 20鈥檚 and 30鈥檚. Philip Guedalla, answered this question in his characteristically witty and epigramatic style: 鈥淲e do not know if history repeats itself; but we do know that historians repeat one another.鈥�

Arnold Toynbee, being a more serious-minded historian, would not allow himself to resort to such witticisms of doubtful validity. Nor would he unwittingly repeat other historians like Oswald Spengler. His answer, like that of his friend, Pandit Nehru, on some famous occasions, could be both 鈥測es鈥� and 鈥渘o.鈥�

Toynbee was no rigid determinist nor an unrelieved pessimist, like Spengler. Historical experience does not, in Toynbee鈥檚 view, repeat itself with a biological inevitability as in a determinist universe. But there is a recognisable pattern in the recurrence of historical phenomena. It may be loosely called a 鈥渞hythm鈥�, but not the 鈥�搁迟补鈥� of our Vedic ancestors, nor the 鈥�Rtu鈥漺ith the regularity of the cycle of seasons.

There was something of the biological principle of inevita颅bility in Spengler鈥檚 view of the decline and collapse of the West. In Toynbee鈥檚 scheme of things, which bears the impress of his innate humanism and studied optimism, man has the capacity for choice. Even Western civilisation, which was the only one to become worldwide, need not necessarily go the way of its predecessors, including the Graeco-Roman, provided it was willing to repent its sin of Hubris (or overweaning pride) which expressed itself in excessive nationalism, militarism and the tyranny of a dominant minority. This repentance could take the form of a qualified renunciation (rather like what Post-war Britain had done in relation to her erstwhile Empire, now transformed into the Commonwealth) and humility.

In this counsel of Penitence, Toynbee, the agnostic sage from the West, seems to come rather close to the 鈥淐hange of Heart鈥� theory of Gandhi, the man of God from the East, without pro颅fessing to be a disciple of the Mahatma. But Toynbee, the philosopher-historian, has, to my mind, points of closer affinity with Nehru, the contemplative man of affairs.

Nehru鈥檚 claim to be regarded as a historian (a claim that is vigorously disputed not only by a few soi-disant philosophers of a pugnacious temperament) rests mainly on his Discovery of India, which, however, remains mainly a personal testament. The similarity between Nehru and Toynbee is in the range of interest and approach to the subject of civilisations. This too must be rather limited as Toynbee went to the roots and had a whole lifetime to pursue the subject. Nehru, let us remember, read history mainly for his pleasure and wrote it partly for the pleasure of his daughter.

If Nehru had some kind of theory, limited though it may be in its application, it is that of the continuity of Indian culture as depicted in some chapters of his Discovery. He also saw in it a synthesis of varied cultures, representing the principle of 鈥淯nity in Diversity.鈥� He used his knowledge of the Panorama of India鈥檚 ancient history to see the living past from the dead. It was not given the circumstances of his hectic political life, possible for him to work out the theory in all its historical implications.

Both Nehru and Toynbee had thought deeply about the human predicament. They had solutions of their own for the problems of the day, as also the more basic issues. Nehru was never tired of invoking the 鈥淪pirit of Man,鈥� which was, to him, unconquerable, despite all the adversities, while Toynbee the humanist places the accent on the 鈥淔reedom of Choice鈥� and thus completes for us the harmony in duo.

The question yet remains: How is modern civilization (Eastern as well as Western, as of now) to be saved? And how far do Toynbee and Nehru agree on the way out of the crisis faced by it?

鈥淚n politics, establish a constitutional co-operative system of world government,鈥� suggested Toynbee. Nehru too had often thought on similar lines, though as a practising politician, he had perforce to be more pragmatic and less idealistic than the historian in his study or philosopher in his garret.

鈥淚n economics,鈥� prescribed Toynbee, 鈥渇ind working com颅promises between free enterprise and socialism.鈥� This was exactly what Nehru sought to achieve in his blend of Western democratic ideas with the imperatives of socialism, as reflected in a planned economy

鈥淚n the life of the spirit,鈥� added Toynbee, 鈥減ut the secular superstructure onto religious foundations.鈥� Secularism has been one of the cardinal principles of Indian polity, as conceived by Nehru. (It makes the State equidistant to all religious denominations and does not prevent the reinforcement of spiritual foundations.)

It could, therefore, be seen that the philosophy of history has found in Prof. Toynbee a deep exponent and in Pandit Nehru a dynamic exemplar.

This instance apart, what could be the relevance of history to us as intellectuals, no less than as ordinary members of contemporary society? We may ask ourselves again: Does history repeat itself? 鈥淣ever, or hardly ever鈥� 鈥� seems to answer H. G. Wells 鈥� with his pioneering flair for exercise in Futurism. The well-known social historian of England, G. M. Trevelyan, among the most readable of the practitioners of his art, was ready to confess that 鈥渙f the future, the historian can see no more than the others. He can only point, like a showman, to the things of the past, with their manifold and mysterious message.鈥�

But then what is that message? According to one view; which I find has been well-argued, it is that history repeats itself with a difference. In the onward march of events, the repetition of history is compared to the movement of a snow-ball, while it rolls downhill, gathering more and more snow all along the way. It gets more alike as well as more different in the process of repetition.

In whatever way you might choose to look at possible repetitions of historical experience, easily recognisable or difficult to recognise, knowledge of and training in history could give us the perspective that we cannot otherwise get.

Discussing the theory of causation, vital to an intelligent understanding of history, Prof. E. H. Carr, in his G. M. Trevelyan Lectures at Cambridge (in 1961) stresses the contemporary element implicit in any study of history. The historian of the past necessarily writes only for the present as he lives in the present. 鈥淭he dual and reciprocal function of history,鈥� according to him, 鈥渋s to promote our understanding of the past in the light of the present and of the present in the light of the past.鈥� Anything which, like Antony鈥檚 infatuation with Cleopatra鈥檚 nose, fails to contribute to this dual purpose is from the point of view of the historian dead and barren.鈥� To which he adds, 鈥淕ood historians, I suspect, whether they think about it or not, have the future in their bones. Besides the question 鈥榃hy?鈥� the historian also asks the question 鈥榃hither鈥�?鈥�

Prof. Carr lays as much store by the dynamics of interpretation as by the statics of fact for his ethic of historiography. He repeatedly underlines the reciprocity between present and past, since the historian is part of the present and the facts belong to the past. The historian and the facts of history are equally necessary to one another. 鈥淭he historian without his facts is rootless and futile,鈥� observes Prof. Carr, 鈥渁nd the facts without their historian are dead and meaningless.鈥� His answer to the question 鈥淲hat is history?鈥� is that it is a continuous process of interaction between the historian and his facts, an unending dialogue between the past and the present.

Dialogue, however, implies a certain integrity that has to be preserved at all cost, without being tampered with. The identity of the past, as a fact, no less than as a process, is retained, for the emergence of an all-round picture. The past has only to be interpreted; not disintegrated out of all recognition or intellec颅tually liquidated. For then, we are likely to lose all sense of history. We might have passed into the hands of contemporary politics, without knowing it.

Interpretation of the facts can never be equated with the twisting of facts to suit the convenience of the writer, to cater to the requirements of regional prejudice or parochial sentiment. This could operate both in terms of time and space.

At the temporal level, there is a tendency, both at the Centre and in the States, to re-write history, not so much to correct the past (by eliminating misreadings) as to glorify it to satisfy our own psychological needs of wish-fulfilment, to make our past look more ancient than it is known to have been, through available historical evidence. Sentimentalists have an engaging way of invoking the gods of astronomy and the god men of astrology. The attempts to ante-date the period of Ramayana on the basis of Rama鈥檚 horoscope and the period of Mahabharata on that of Krishna鈥檚 can hardly belong to the field of historical research. Literary evidence and that of legend and folklore have to be corroborated by archaeological, epigraphical, numismatic and other kinds of scientific evidence to be accepted as reliable by properly trained students of history and chronology.

At the spatial level, our regional empires of the past being to grow larger and larger, according to the aspirations of academics, who have developed into a fine art the practice of trimming their sails to the passing winds of partisan politics. They seem to forget that historical facts have a validity, unrelated to the political or ideological affiliations of the powers that be. The old history of South India, for instance, is re-read, and re-written, according to the whims and fancies of those with an axe to grind in the component linguistic States. According to this, contemporary rulers of centuries ago, might very well have ruled ever-expanding regions, substantially overlapping each other. What these new historians, or may be theologians and evangelists, are looking for are not facts of history, but props for self-assurance from the forgotten past.

This tendency would also affect a whole system of values and land the new theologians in varying degrees of anachronism. The events of 1857 could provide a case in point. There may be need for setting the record straight, after the accounts left by interested British writers. But to expect every historian and student of history to believe that what was known as the 鈥淪epoy Mutiny鈥� was indeed the first Indian War of Independence, could be an exercise in reading into it concepts of Indian nationalism and political freedom which began to influence the people at least a generation later.

As students of history, we can hardly do better than follow the advice of Will Durant, who wrote the story of civilisation, not of a nation, or a race or a region, with a disinterested interest and a passionate freedom from passion. His philosophic attitude of quiet optimism is expressed in his well-chosen words:

鈥淭o a philosopher, it is not necessary that his native city should endure forever, he will be content if his achievements are handed down, to form some part of the possessions of mankind.

鈥淲e need not fret, then, about the future. Never was our heritage of civilisation and culture so secure, and never was it half so rich. We may do our little share to augment it and transmit it, confident that time will wear away chiefly the dross of it and that what is finally fair and worthy in it will be preserved to illuminate many generations.鈥�