History is both a discipline of rigor, bound by rules and scholarly methods, and something more: the unique, compelling, even strange way in which we humans define ourselves. We are all the sum of the tales of thousands of people, great and small, whose actions have etched their lines upon us. History supplies our very identity — a sense of the social groups to which we belong, whether family, ethnic group, race, class, or gender. It reveals to us the foundations of our deepest religious beliefs and traces the roots of our economic and political systems.

History explores how we celebrate and grieve, how we sing the songs we sing, how we weather the illnesses to which time and change subject us. It commands our attention for all these good reasons and for no good reason at all, other than a fascination with the way the myriad tales play out. Strange that we should come to care about a host of men and women so many centuries gone, some with names eminent and familiar, others unknown but for a chance scrap of information left behind in an obscure letter, journal, diary, or document.

Yet we do care. We care about the lives of presidents and political leaders, rulers and monarchs, dictators and fascists, reformers and activists, pioneers and inventors, celebrities and performers, and the famous and the infamous that have lived and influenced life through the centuries. For examples, we care about George Washington, who was General of the Continental Army during the American Revolution and later became America’s first president. We care about Octave Johnson, a slave fleeing through Louisiana swamps trying to escape to freedom; we care about Clara Barton, a dedicated nurse who attended to wounded and dying soldiers during the Civil War.

We are drawn to the fate of the Chinese laborers working on the railroad aiding in connecting the east with the west or the immigrants who arrived at America’s Ellis Island to begin a new life. We follow, with a mix of awe and amusement, the fortunes and misfortunes of celebrities, performers, writers and artists. For example, the lives of Hollywood icons became a fascination both on and off screen, or Henry Ford, who created the factory system with the assembly line of automobiles.

To encompass so expansive an American history, historians have traditionally chosen narrative as their means of giving life to the past. That mode of explanation allows them to interweave the strands of economic, political, and social history in a coherent chronological framework. By choosing narrative, historians affirm the multi-causal nature of historical explanation — the insistence that events be portrayed in context. By choosing narrative, they are also acknowledging that although long-term economic and social trends shape societies in significant ways, events often take on logic or an illogic of their own, jostling one another, being deflected by unpredictable personal decisions, sudden deaths, natural catastrophes, war and destruction, and chance.

With the Cold War of the past half-century at an end, there has been increased attention to the world-wide breakdown of so many economies and, by inference, to the greater success of the market societies of the United States and other capitalist nations. American society and politics have indeed come together centrally in the marketplace. What Americans produce, how and where they produce it, and the desire to buy cheap and sell expensive have been defining elements in every era. That market orientation has created unparalleled abundance and reinforced striking inequalities making Americans powerfully provincial in protecting local interests and internationally adventurous in seeking to expand wealth and opportunity.

It goes without saying that Americans have not always produced wisely or well. The insistent drive toward material plenty has levied a heavy tax on the global environment. Too often quantity has substituted for quality, whether we talk of cars, homes, education, or culture. When markets flourish, the nation abounds with confidence that any problem, no matter how intractable, can be solved. When markets fail, however, the fault lines of our political and social systems become all too evident.

In the end, then, it is impossible to separate the marketplace of boom and bust and the world of ordinary Americans from the corridors of political maneuvering or the ceremonial pomp of an inauguration. To treat political and social history as distinct spheres is counterproductive. The United States managed to transform itself into an enduring republic both politically and socially.

In order to survive, a republic must resolve conflicts between citizens of different geographic regions and economic classes, of diverse racial and ethnic origins, of competing religions, ideologies, and political affiliations. The resolution of these conflicts has produced tragic consequences, perhaps, as often as noble ones. But tragic or noble, the destiny of America cannot be understood without comprehending both the social and the political dimensions of the story. Therefore, all good history like the tale of our America begins with a good story that is interesting and well-told.

Paul Colella is a published author and North Haven resident. His novels “Patriots and Scoundrels: Charity's First Adventure” and “The Undefeated” are available online at Amazon.com and BarnesAndNoble.com