39 pages • 1 hour read
William H. McneillA modern alternative to SparkNotes and CliffsNotes, SuperSummary offers high-quality Study Guides with detailed chapter summaries and analysis of major themes, characters, and more.
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The key to McNeill’s definition of civilization is one of balance between the sort of bodies that live and do work and the sort of bodies who employ force or subterfuge to live off that work. Much of his emphasis is on the nonhuman preconditions for civilization; in a book about disease, microorganisms must, by necessity, take center stage. In this way—and given a sampling size of every human who ever lived (as the scope of McNeill’s narrative allows)—he describes very little variation or individual effect. When humanity is introduced to a new microparasite, therefore, the result is catastrophic within a limited community, and only the totalizing language of human evolution is sufficient to describe the effects. New diseases, then, cause epidemics; should host and parasite evolve resistance to one another over time as their biology and need demand—especially if no other host presents itself as a more fitting house for the parasite, then endemicity is the result. Endemic balance is reached when host populations can thrive in tandem with microparasitic life.
This broad view allows for little nuance, and when speaking in terms of microparasites, few people would find such a lack of nuance strange. It is little use to the historian of disease, looking for the balance of forces, to talk about the one person who survived an epidemic when 99 people before them died of it. However, McNeil metaphorizes this relationship to frame human-on-human interactions on the same scale. Viewed on an ecological scale, then, humans expend effort to achieve caloric and other survival balances. McNeill says that inevitably the largest and most voracious of these humans gives up working and instead takes, by force, the excess product of another’s work. When this process is epidemic (as when new territories are contested) violent war ensues. When this process is endemic (as when landlords and kings enter the picture), the process becomes political. Balance—that is to say, peace and prosperity—is reached when the host body is neither worked to death or made ill, and when the human parasite recognizes the limits to their power and the necessity of balance.
On the one hand, this is a wide enough view of civilization that it could quickly incorporate every political ideology. Confucianism, Feudalism, Capitalism, Communism, etc. are little more than technologically advanced versions of primitive despotism in this vision, with the only relief being the recognition that a balance must be struck, no matter how. On the other hand, this is a vision that does not allow for the nuance of culture, religion, or empathy to alter that balance. Just as vaccines complicate McNeill’s epidemiological narrative, so are there many examples in history of mutual aid and cooperation that contradict McNeill’s vision of eternal despotism.
McNeill’s history was done at a turning point in the American attitude toward environmental issues. Books like Rachel Carson’s 1962 book Silent Spring and the introduction of national events like Earth Day served to put ecological issues front and center in American intellectual life. The question posed by Plagues and Peoples is: Where does this emphasis on the environment leave the historiological profession?
“The long line of learned scholars whose work it was to sift surviving records from the past has not been sensitive to the possibility of important changes in disease patterns,” McNeill writes in his Introduction (21). At its best, this is an innocent mistake, a forgivable oversight considering the lack of available data. At its worst, McNeill suggests, this neglect by historians echoes the treatment of oceans and lakes by industrial manufacturers who continue a pattern of behavior which treats a resource integral to human life and health as if it were infinitely expendable.
This required a radical rethinking which places human history on a footing of ecological time, decentering humanity in its own story. In doing so, McNeill finds several useful and original ideas. The most striking of these is that disease endemicity—that is to say, the ongoing recurrence in human populations—requires an ecological foundation. Previous scholars assumed that plague-ridden rat populations simply came by accident aboard ships around 1346. This narrative ignored the path the plague took across Eurasia, past incidences of the plague which never reached endemicity, and solid scientific explanation. It took McNeill’s extremely broad view—one which could place rats in a harmonious family of disease with human beings—to bring these elements together
Plagues and Peoples is written using the broadest possible scope on human history—one in which individuals, no matter how powerful, are mere blips within the ebb and flow of time. McNeill takes this framework to an extreme, decentering humanity in the story of humanity’s rise across the globe, and only offering a sentence or two to figures such as the Emperor Justinian or Genghis Khan (and only in relation to their centrality in epidemiology).
For most of historiography, practitioners focused on names and dates, leaving science, culture, and landscape in the background. The apotheosis of this trend was in the “Great Man” theory of history in which history is seen as a series of points which pivot upon the wills of very famous people. Such biographical histories are very popular and read like novels, with story arcs ranging from birth to triumph and setback and finally to death. Early critiques of “Great Man” historiography tend to focus on the fact that they erase ordinary lives and the political and social networks of mutual aid that make human life possible. As such, those stories go untold, and become minimized in the present. Ideologically, they serve political narratives of powerful rulers who suffer the insignificant masses only when they must, obscuring the infrastructures contributing to these individual narratives.
McNeill takes this critique into extreme territory, minimizing not only the contributions of great emperors and scientists but also of humanity itself.