I took my Units 3 and 4 History Revolutions exam recently, and while debriefing in the car with my mum, there was an initial sense of frustration and let down. My study score for History, and its contribution to my eventual ATAR will likely not reflect all the work I put into the subject. Despite all this, in hindsight (a whole week’s worth at the time of writing) I can appreciate that I wouldn’t change a thing. For me, History has been a labour of love, one which has instilled in me a greater appreciation for empathy and nuance.  

So, at risk of offending any STEM lovers, here is my testament as to why History is unequivocally the best subject.  

It is often said that history is valuable because it provides lessons for the future. I disagree. If you ask a historian to draw a modern parallel to an historical event or make a prediction based on past events, you’ll be stuck there for ten minutes while your eyes glaze over and you’ll emerge without a straight answer. Annoying, right?

Historians are insistent on context and specificity. In this way, the discipline of history is by nature resistant to generalisation, categorisation and modern-day application, and so many people discount it as impractical. However, it is for this reason that I believe studying history is so valuable right now.

History forces anyone studying it to think deeply about nuance.  

Another class I take at school is Global Politics. This semester we studied populism, which has exemplified for our class a growing momentum towards division. We seem increasingly eager to label and classify everything: to draw clear lines between heroes and villains, right and wrong or right and left, despite the inherent messiness of life where many things don’t fit cleanly into often arbitrary categories and binaries. There is a tendency right now to blame simple causes and offer simple solutions to hugely complex problems.  

I’m not trying to contend that the study of history can single-handedly best populism, but I believe that the way of thinking that history champions, with its focus on nuance and empathy, is invaluable right now. Without understanding the experiences and lives of all the different groups in society, history is nothing more than a string of dates.  

In our study of the French Revolution, we strove to understand the social, economic, religious, geographic, political and intellectual underpinnings of the daily lives of peasants, aristocrats, slaves and the bourgeoisie.  

Our study demanded we ask: Why did they revolt? What did they hope to achieve? How did the experiences of a peasant woman living in the North-West of France differ from those of a merchant living in its port cities? Why did some priests support the Revolution and others oppose it? Then it demanded we back up all our conclusions with detailed evidence.  

We have grappled to understand the motivations and actions of characters in our textbook and, in doing so, transformed them from characters into flesh and blood people.  

In my heavily annotated textbook, and in journals, letters and paintings, I have met a diverse cast of characters: noblewomen, peasants, journalists, artisans, labourers, clergy, merchants and soldiers. We met German guards defending a prison they had no connection to, women who, for the first time ever, were able to divorce their husbands, and slaves halfway around the world, throwing off their shackles. One character whose story I find myself mulling over again and again is that of King Louis XVI.  

King Louis XVI, whose death marked an end to the monarchy in France, is often painted, for simplicity’s sake, as the villain of the French Revolution – a hedonistic tyrant who lived in luxury while his country starved.  

Louis more greatly resembles your average dad than a cold-hearted despot. He liked tinkering and hunting, he was indecisive, he doted on his children, and he disliked public speaking. He had ascended to the throne with plans for reform but did not have the countenance to push them through.  

Louis was admittedly a poor king, but did he deserve to die?

Just a month before the Bastille fell, Louis’s eldest son died. Louis’ critics argued that his distraction and weakness in the subsequent month were what ultimately led to Revolution. Maybe this is true – but wouldn’t you be distracted if your son died?  

Georges Jacques Danton was a lawyer, orator and, later, revolutionary, who was one of the leading figures of the 'Terror', a period characterised by extreme state-sanctioned violence. With a build like a prize-fighter, a face scarred from a bull attack in childhood and a booming voice, he was a champion of republicanism and sought to tear down the absolutist monarchy. He and Louis could not have been more different. Yet, his infant son died within weeks of Louis’. Their paths did not cross until much later in the revolution, but I cannot help from wondering if for a while they shared in the same grief.  

The discipline of history is an exercise in empathy. The craft insists on precision, research, careful and scientific analysis, yet at its heart, it is about people. As completely lame as it sounds, King Louis is going to live rent-free in my head forever. My studies have taught me to be curious, to acknowledge and even appreciate complexity, and given me the skills to think critically and a passion for history, which I’ll carry throughout my life.  

So, take that HECS-HELP debt.