History is really nothing more than one contingency after another.
This leaves fertile ground for the "what-ifs." What if the Roman Emperor Titus -- who by all accounts was shaping up to be a pretty good leader -- had reigned for more than two years, instead of dying young in 81 C. E. and being succeeded by his cruel, paranoid brother Domitian? What if King Edward V of England, one of the "Princes in the Tower," had lived, and the Tudor Dynasty never come to power? What if Mehmed II lost the Battle of Constantinople in 1453, and the Byzantine Empire had survived? What if the Spanish failed in their attempts to conquer the Aztecs, Incas, and Mayas? What if the Confederacy won the American Civil War, the Cavaliers the English Civil War, the Republicans the Spanish Civil War, or the Nazis World War II?
Certainly some of these are more likely than others, but the fact remains that the threads of history are pretty fragile. Speculating about what would have happened otherwise is the realm of fiction writers, and "alternative history" is a popular topic. I remember reading one of the first stories to use that trope, R. A. Lafferty's brilliant (and hilarious) short story "Thus We Frustrate Charlemagne," when I was in college. In Lafferty's tale an avatar is sent back in time by some scientists to make sure that Charlemagne is assassinated at Roncevalles in the year 778 (one of the nearest of historical near misses) instead of surviving, winning the day, and eventually becoming Holy Roman Emperor.
The problem, of course, is that when the avatar returns, it appears that nothing has changed, because in altering history it had altered the scientists' knowledge of what happened at the same time. All it did was create a completely different set of contingencies leading to a different set of circumstances. So they do it again, and again, changing other seemingly pivotal events in history -- each time with the same results. Huge alterations, which none of the scientists are aware of, because their own memories shifted every time the past was changed. It simply became what they always had known.
Ultimately, they conclude that nothing in the past made any difference, because changing past events never has any effect on the present!
In reality, though, we can speculate all we want about the what-ifs, but it will always remain in the realm of speculation. As C. S. Lewis put it in Prince Caspian:
"You mean," said Lucy rather faintly, "that it would have turned out all right – somehow? But how? Please, Aslan! Am I not to know?"
"To know what would have happened, child?" said Aslan. "No. Nobody is ever told that."
Maybe it's because I'm a fiction writer myself, but my mind was bouncing along amongst the what-ifs when I read some recent research about the settlement of Europe. Back during the Neolithic Period, northwestern Europe had been settled by a culture called the Megalith Builders who had come there from the Balkans, and who were responsible for raising Stonehenge, Avebury, the Carnac Stones of Brittany, and the many other menhirs and stone rings scattered from Portugal to Denmark. (Contrary to popular misconception, Stonehenge was not built by the "druids" or ancient Celts; when the Celts arrived in the British Isles, Stonehenge was already two thousand years old.)
The Megalith Builders thrived for a couple of millennia -- then, around five thousand years ago, the entire culture collapsed. It was sudden, leading many historians and archaeologists to surmise that they'd been wiped out in a war. There's a significant flaw in that theory, though. The Megalith Builders were superseded by the Yamnaya, who came from the Pontic steppe and may have been the first speakers of an Indo-European language in Europe -- but there's at least a five hundred year gap (possibly more) between the sudden disappearance of the Megalith Builders and the first definitive archaeological traces of the Yamnaya.
So the collapse of the Megalith Builders didn't occur because the Yamnaya destroyed them; it seems like when the Yamnaya colonized northwestern Europe, they found the land already strangely depopulated.
A study this week in Nature has found strong evidence of what happened. DNA evidence from gravesites indicates that of the bones dating from that four-hundred year period between 3,300 and 2,900 B.C.E., during which the Megalith Builders disappeared, one in six showed evidence they'd died of bubonic plague.
"It’s fairly consistent across all of Northern Europe, France and it’s in Sweden, even though there are some quite big differences in the archaeology, we still see the same pattern, they just disappear," said Frederik Seersholm of the University of Copenhagen, who led the study. "All of a sudden, there’s no people getting buried (at these monuments) anymore. And the people who were responsible for building these megaliths (are gone)... These plague cases, they are dated to exactly the time frame where we know the Neolithic decline happened so this is very strong circumstantial evidence that the plague might have been involved in this population collapse."****************************************
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