History didn’t have to happen the way it did. Unless you are the most dogmatically dull determinist, it’s clear that things could’ve gone otherwise. Franz Ferdinand’s driver might’ve not gotten confused, saving the archduke from his assassin. Hitler might’ve been killed in his car collision; Lenin might’ve not had a stroke. The course of titanic events depends on so many minor moments.
The question of ‘What if?’ has become an obsession of historians since the 1990s, what they call counterfactual history. The historian examines possible consequences of these non-events, thereby assessing their original assumptions and exploring the ways that some conditions weigh heavier than others, and why. For an elaboration of this, I recommend Niall Ferguson’s edited collection Virtual History (1997), an excursion down roads not taken.
This got me thinking about counterfactuals in my own life. Ferguson likens counterfactual thought experiments to a historian’s laboratory. Perhaps it’s best to think of one’s past decisions in similar terms: a means to learn about oneself, the conditions that created those circumstances, and what can be done now. What if I had decided to work harder? What if I had made that phone call? What if I simply lied?
For me, considering all the past possibilities that have gone into creating the present is life-affirming. At the bottom of any sustained rumination about the past and its unrealised alternatives is a sense of contingency. Contingencies signify everything that is the case but could have been otherwise: the accidents rather than the necessities. There is no world where two plus two doesn’t equal four; there are many worlds in which I made better choices. Dwelling on contingencies makes you realise that the present wasn’t inevitable. It is fragile and for that reason more precious.












