On the Use and Misuse of Primary Sources

Sometimes you come across someone making interesting claims about history, and it’s hard to tell whether you should take them seriously or not. If you’re not an expert in the field, how do you know whether to believe what you’re reading? There’s no perfect answer, and basic critical thinking will take you a long way, but here area few tips that can help set you on the right path.

Since I’m a historian of the ancient Mediterranean, my advice is particularly focused on the use of ancient texts when making claims about ancient history, but many of the fundamental principles outlined here are applicable to historical claims in any time period.

One important thing to look at is how people use primary sources, that is: documents and other texts written in the time period of the events or people in question. Here are some questions you can ask about the use of primary sources to help evaluate historical claims.

Do they engage with primary sources at all?

This is a basic one. All historical argument is based on evidence drawn from primary sources. If someone’s making claims without any primary sources to back them up, that’s reason to be suspicious.

A lack of primary sources does not necessarily mean that a historical claim is unfounded. People, especially non-historians, may cite secondary sources and modern research, but you should be able to trace the claim back through those sources and find the primary source evidence that it is based on. Some scholarship, if it is more historiographical and theoretically based, may not engage with primary sources directly, but then it will not be making claims about specific events, places, or people in history.

Do they cite their sources?

This is another basic one. In casual conversation, you don’t need to back up every assertion with footnotes and bibliography, but if someone wants their claims about history to be taken seriously, they should tell you what evidence those claims are based on. In particular, they should be able to point you to a source that you can look up for yourself to verify that it actually says what they claim it says.

Different kinds of sources have different standards for citation. With ancient texts, there are established ways of referencing specific passages. Shorter works are divided into sections or lines; longer works are divided into books, which are further subdivided into sections or lines. We never cite ancient sources by page number, since page numbers vary between different editions and translations. If someone is citing an ancient source by reference to the page numbers of a modern edition, that’s a warning sign that they may not be knowledgeable enough about the topic to interpret an ancient source with appropriate attention to its context, influences, and biases.

Do they use sources appropriate to their subject?

You should always use the right tool for the job and the right source for the claim. When someone is using a source that isn’t relevant to their argument, or isn’t using a source that is relevant, you should question whether they know what they’re talking about.

For example, our main primary source on the Peloponnesian war between Athens and Sparta is Thucydides’ History of the Peloponnesian War. Some other sources, like the comedies of Aristophanes, also provide relevant insights, but if someone is making a claim about the Peloponnesian war and doesn’t mention Thucydides, they should have a good reason why not.

Do they use non-literary sources?

The most accessible primary sources are literary sources composed with the intent of engaging readers, like the folk stories in Herodotus’ Histories or the palace gossip in Suetonius’ Lives of the Twelve Caesars. There are many other kinds of textual sources that are not literary, such as coin texts, building inscriptions, graffiti preserved in places like Pompeii, and dedicatory texts on religious offerings.

Specialized fields of study, such as epigraphy, papyrology, and numismatics, focus on finding, interpreting, and contextualizing such sources. Using such sources is often more difficult and requires more expertise and study than reading literary sources. Not every historical question has relevant non-literary sources to refer to, but if someone does reference non-literary sources in their arguments, that is a good sign that they have some real knowledge of the subject and have undertaken serious research.

Do they situate their sources in time, space, and social context?

All primary sources were produced by specific people in specific social and historical settings. We can use them most effectively as evidence for things that those people had good reason to know about. The farther the writer of a source is from the topic they wrote about, the less confidence we can have in what they tell us.

The Greek historian Herodotus and the Macedonian rhetorician Polyaenus give different accounts of how the Persian Empire conquered Egypt in 525 BCE. Herodotus traveled in Egypt less than a century after the Persian conquest and interviewed local priests about Egypt’s history. Polyaenus wrote in the second century CE, almost seven hundred years after the events, and, as far as we know, never traveled in Egypt or had any contact with Egyptians. These facts shape the weight that we should give to their different accounts, and anyone who does not acknowledge the difference is not practicing responsible scholarship.

Do they engage with the sources in their original language?

Many ancient texts are available today in good translations, and, simply for the sake of efficiency, most practicing historians will begin their research with modern translations. Serious historical scholarship must go beyond translations, however. The more that an argument relies on the meaning of particular words or on the details of what an ancient author did or did not say, the more crucial it is that we pay attention to the original words in the original language and linguistic context.

For instance, people sometimes make much of the fact that Herodotus describes the ancient Egyptians as “black-skinned.” This is a literal translation of the ancient Greek word Herodotus uses, melanchroies, but the Greek word has a different set of associations than the modern translation. To an ancient Greek, melanchroies meant ‘deeply suntanned.’ It had none of the racial implications that the English word Black has today, and historical arguments that depend on the modern translation risk misunderstanding what Herodotus was saying (and not saying).

Do they engage with sources that don’t support their argument?

Few things in history are simple. Almost any claim we can make about historical events, people, or societies is going to be contested, and there will be sources that both support and contradict it. People who want to put forth dubious claims tend to cherry-pick the sources that support (or can be made to sound like they support) those claims while ignoring the ones that don’t. How a historian deals with those contradictions is an important mark of good scholarship.

People sometimes make claims about the role of women in the Celtic-speaking societies of northwestern Europe on the basis of passing references in some ancient authors, but the writers who give us the fullest and most detailed accounts of societies in those regions—Polybius, Caesar, and Tacitus—do not describe societies in which gender relations were significantly different from those of the Mediterranean. There are sound reasons to critique those authors and question the accuracy of their ethnographic knowledge, but someone who doesn’t engage with those sources is not making a good historical case.

Do they critically examine the sources?

Just because someone wrote something down doesn’t make it true. Sometimes people don’t know what they’re talking about. Sometimes they lie. If a historian is relying on a primary source to support a particular claim, part of the argument they need to make is that the writer they’re citing actually knew what they were talking about and were telling the truth about what they knew.

The Roman historian Tacitus famously wrote that the Germanic peoples of Rome’s northern border were of pure stock, having never mixed their bloodlines with any other people. This claim has been uncritically and enthusiastically embraced by modern nationalists and racists of various stripes, but a critical reader needs to ask: how would Tacitus, a Roman aristocrat who didn’t speak any Germanic languages and probably never even visited the northern frontier, actually know anything about the long-term genetic history of the peoples he was writing about? What other ideological or literary agendas might Tacitus’ claims about the people of the empire’s northern frontier be serving–either for Tacitus himself or for whoever he relied on for his information?

As I said above, there is no perfect technique for separating good historical scholarship from bad, but these questions are a useful place to start, and applying them thoughtfully to both online discussions and claims you may come across in your research will help you find better historical arguments and avoid worse ones.

Reconstructing the Sutton Hoo Ship

In the seventh century CE, an early medieval noble was buried in a remarkable tomb at Sutton Hoo in Suffolk, England. The body and its treasures were laid to rest inside an intact ship some 27 meters long. The rediscovery of that burial in 1939 was one of the great moments of British archaeology in the twentieth century. Now there is a project to build a replica of the Sutton Hoo ship using the tools and techniques that would have been available to seventh-century shipwrights.

The Sutton Hoo Ship Project has been ongoing for the past decade. Its goal is to document for future research the processes, tools, materials, and challenges of early medieval shipbuilding as accurately as they can be reconstructed today. When the ship is complete, it will be taken through sea trials, river maneuvers, and overland hauling to help us better understand the capabilities and limitations of early medieval ships.

The project is ongoing in Woodbridge, England, just across the River Deben from the Sutton Hoo burial site, and is supported by a volunteer organization, The Sutton Hoo Ship’s Company.

Image: Ship under construction, photograph by The Sutton Hoo Ship’s Company

The Opening Lines of the Epic of Gilgamesh Performed in Sumerian

We have no direct evidence for how the epic of Gilgamesh was performed or what it sounded like to hear live, but this is a speculative reconstruction that helps open up our imagination. Canadian musician Peter Pringle performs on a reconstructed ancient lute called a gish-gu-di and sings the opening lines of the epic in the language of ancient Sumer.

The Epic Of Gilgamesh In Sumerian by Peter Pringle via YouTube

While this is an artistic reimagining, not a scholarly reconstruction (as Pringle himself has been clear about), it makes for a fascinating way of bringing the ancient text to life.

Worldbuilding: Food Production and War

A fundamental problem faced by pre-modern societies—and one which our own fictional societies may have to grapple with as well—is how to balance the demands of food production and war. The ways in which a culture managed this problem had deep effects on how that culture functioned, how its members related to one another, and how it dealt with outsiders. Thinking about how your fictional cultures deal with this problem is a useful worldbuilding exercise.

The problem is simple: the ability to produce food and the ability to protect one’s own food sources from other people who would take them by force are both essential to a society’s survival, but they compete for the same human resources.

Food production is labor. In societies without industrial technology, it is the main occupation of at least ninety percent of the population. Food production can take many forms, such as farming planted crops, tending domesticated animals, gathering wild resources, or producing trade goods to exchange for food from abroad. While nearly the entire population of a pre-industrial society must contribute in some way to food production, the bulk of the work rests on the shoulders of healthy adults without other callings.

War is also labor. It demands physical competence and endurance, just like ploughing a field, managing a herd of cattle, or hauling in fish from the sea. The prime contributors to the labor of war are the same as the prime contributors to food production: healthy adults who aren’t needed for more specialized tasks.

War and food production compete for the same pool of labor. Every day that a person spends marching on campaign, laying siege to a city, repairing their armor, or standing watch at an outpost is a day they aren’t milking cows, weeding a vegetable garden, picking mushrooms in the woods, or making trade goods to exchange for food from abroad. To successfully produce enough food to feed itself and protect that food from from hostile outsiders, a society has to find a way of balancing these two needs.

Every culture’s solution to this problem is unique, but we can categorize the possible approaches in a few broad patterns, each of which come with certain advantages and drawbacks:

  • Raiders. For raiders, fighting is itself a means of food production. A society can afford to spare people from food production to fight if the result of the fighting is bringing in at least as much food as those people would have produced had they stayed home and planted potatoes or gathered wild berries. The upside of raiding is that when it succeeds, the results can be extremely profitable. The downside is that the targets of raiding tend to respond by protecting their resources better or mounting a stiffer resistance, and when a raid fails it can lead to starvation and vicious internal conflicts over the limited resources left. Societies that live by raiding tend to be precarious and violent, and it is rarely a successful strategy in the long term.
  • Citizen militia. In a society with a citizen militia, the people who produce the food also do the fighting. Most people spend their day-to-day lives farming, herding, fishing, or practicing other essential crafts, but when there is a threat, they are called up to fight in defense of their homes. The advantage of this solution is that it puts a minimum burden on food production. Farmers and herders are not carrying the dead weight of full-time soldiers who don’t contribute to food production, and as soon as the fighting is over, they can get right back to their usual business. The drawback is that such society cannot sustain a long-term military effort or fight far from home. Every person in the militia needs to get back to their farm or ranch as quickly as possible or risk losing their harvest or herd. Societies that take this approach tend to have strong social cohesion and a sense of civic obligation among people, because without it they would never be able to get people to leave their homes and livelihoods to go fight. They also tend to face frequent wars, because the can rarely afford to commit the troops and supplies necessary to decisively defeat their enemies and eliminate threats to their territory.
  • Warrior aristocrats. Where there are warrior aristocrats, the people who do the fighting have people to produce food for them. A pre-industrial society can sustain a small number of full-time warriors if each one directly controls a food source, such as a spread of farmland or a large herd of cattle, and has subordinates whose job it is to work that food source for the warrior in addition to working for their own sustenance. On the plus side, this arrangement allows for a small but full-time fighting force without taking away from food production. Warrior aristocrats can be prepared to fight at a moment’s notice and can afford to be away from home for long periods. On the other hand, such societies tend to fragment, as each warrior aristocrat has good reason to stay close to their own resources and little incentive to risk themselves in defense of the farms or herds belonging to another aristocrat.
  • Professional armies. With a professional army, some central authority gathers food from the people who produce it and provides it to the people who do the fighting. Unlike warrior aristocrats, the soldiers in a professional army do not have their own food sources which they directly control; they depend on the state for their supplies. On one hand, this system can create a well-trained, experienced army that can operate in the field indefinitely and far from home, as long as they keep getting supplies. On the other hand, the process of gathering resources from producers, coordinating logistics, and delivering food to where it is needed is a substantial additional burden on state power and usually requires a whole professional bureaucracy dedicated to oversight and record-keeping, which itself is a further drain on the labor pool available for food production. A culture that maintains a professional army requires a high degree of centralized organization and control, which are likely to manifest themselves in other areas of life.

Food production and war are two of the most fundamental activities for most pre-modern societies. The different ways in which societies have historically reconciled the competing demands of these activities had deep effects on the lives of the people who lived in them. If you are writing about a pre-industiral society in your own imagined world, even if you aren’t writing directly about farming or fighting, it’s worth taking some time to think about how your culture solves this problem and what effects that solution has on the daily lives of your characters.

Image: Cincinnatus Leaves the Plough to Dictate Laws to Rome via Wikimedia (Prado Museum, Madrid; c. 1806; oil on canvas; by Juan Antonio Ribera)

Midnight Mysteries

Update: Midnight Mysteries is now available (for free) on itch.io. Find the link here: https://erikjensen.itch.io/midnight-mysteries

Here’s something I’ve been working on in the spring and summer of 2026: Midnight Mysteries. Midnight Mysteries is a table-top role-playing game inspired by the genre of the classic British fair-play mystery, whose famous authors include the likes of Agatha Christie, G. K. Chesterton, and Dorothy Sayers. In this game, players act as amateur sleuths solving a mystery, guided by one player who takes on the role of Narrator. While the Narrator keeps secrets and doles out clues, however, they do not know the solution to the mystery. In fact, there is no set solution to a Midnight Mystery; it is up to the players to work together to assemble the clues they find into a convincing solution of their own.

Midnight Mysteries is free to download, share, and play. You can find the complete rules and a sample mystery, “Murder at Muckleton Manor,” below as pdfs. Happy sleuthing!

Midnight Mysteries complete rules

Murder at Muckleton Manor

I also want to give my deep thanks to everyone who played “Murder at Muckleton Manor” with me at Ropecon 2026 in Helsinki. It was a pleasure to share my work with you, and all your reactions and feedback were extremely kind and helpful!

Thatching Around the World

I didn’t grow up in a place where thatched roofs were part of the local tradition, so to me they have always had a slightly fantastical, fairy-tale allure. I always associated them with cozy European cottages, but when I was idly searching for pictures one day I discovered how much more widely the tradition is practiced. Here’s a selection, very far from comprehensive, of some of the interesting thatches I stumbled across.

Of course, thatched roofs are perfectly in style for cozy cottages, like this one in Dunkineely, Ireland.

Thatched house at Bloody Bridge, Dunkineely, Ireland, photograph by Louise Price via Geograph

Thatching is also an option for larger houses, like this one in Charlevoix, Michigan, in the US.

Modern thatched house, Charlevoix, Michigan, US, photograph by Deb Nystrom via Flickr

These small thatched roofs in Bali, Indonesia, have decorative tops.

Thatched roofs in Bali, Indonesia, photograph by CEphoto, Uwe Aranas via Wikimedia

This house, on an elephant reserve in Mozambique, has many tiers of thatching that make the roof as decorative as it is practical.

Thatched house in Mozambique, photograph by Leandro Neumann Ciuffo via Wikimedia

And here is what an Incan thatched roof might have looked like, from a reconstructed house at Machu Picchu in Peru.

Reconstructed Incan thatched building, Machu Pichu, Peru, photograph by RG72 via Wikimedia

There’s a lot of thatching going on in the world!

Quotes: Illogical Does not Mean Inexplicable

The old Star Trek novel How Much for Just the Planet? is an odd book: an original-series Star Trek musical comedy farce in novel form. It concerns a planet called Direidi, where the eccentric local population reacts to the arrival of a Federation diplomatic mission and a rival Klingon deputation by putting both delegations through a series of increasingly wacky and nonsensical dramatic adventures (wacky and nonsensical even by the standards of original-series Star Trek, which is saying something).

In the midst of the general absurdity, though, the book delivers a poignant observation on life:

Spock sat alone on the bridge, contemplating the Direidi situation. He had been following the movements of the Enterprise crew to the best of his ability, given the effects of the background radiation. Terribly illogical things were happening on the planetary surface.

Spock had known for a long time, however, that when reasoning beings were involved, “illogical” by no means meant “inexplicable.” In fact, a great number of societal explanations required the suspension of logic, and sometimes working entirely outside its strictures.

– How Much for Just the Planet? by John M. Ford

What’s true of a planet of theatrical interstellar weirdos is true of life in general. Things don’t always make sense in the way we think they ought to make sense, but they always make sense in some way. There is wisdom in learning to respect other people’s sense, even when it seems like nonsense to us.

Ford, John M. How Much for Just the Planet? New York: Pocket Books, 1987, 172.