Unlike Bryan Mercadente, who swore he would drop them as soon as GCSEs were over, and has done, I have continued with the sciences at A-Level. I sometimes wish I had followed his lead. The prescribed books are filled with climate propaganda. It finds its way even into Mathematics. None of this is science as reasonably understood. It’s political propaganda. Governments and the shady interests who stand behind the politicians use “the environment” as an excuse to raise taxes and treat normal people like cattle. It’s a racket. You can’t drive your car, but they fly to climate summits in private jets.

Even so, all this confected panic has had one interesting side-effect. Because no one important will shut up for more than about half an hour about the climate, some historians and scientists have started paying closer attention to how the environment shaped the past. There’s now serious work underway on how things like temperature, rainfall, and volcanic eruptions affected empires. It’s slowly moving us away from the idea that everything in history is a product of human action. Of course human decisions matter. Wars, ideas, trade, class conflict—these all had effects, and must still be studied for themselves and for their effects. But they are all increasingly seen as causes within a natural setting—and that setting can change in ways we can’t control.

This is another essay prompted by Dr Gabb’s recent lecture at my school on climate and history. My first essay looked in some detail at the plague of the third century. This one looks at the Empire as a whole—rather it looks at the Empire as it is commonly defined. I know that, if we define it in the broadest sense, the Empire lasted from the establishment of the Republic in 509 BC to the fall of Constantinople in 1453. As such, its length compares to Chinese history, and it goes though similar cycles of decay and renewal. But I will take the narrower definition that people mostly take in Western Europe—the first five centuries of the Christian era. This is a parochial view of a much larger history. However, taking this view, and accepting without objection that the Empire “fell” in the fifth century, at a time when its eastern half was in flourishing health, we have a long enough time to see these cycles of decay and renewal. And we have time enough to correlate these cycles with changes wholly external to human agency. In short, Rome was at its greatest during a time of warm, stable climate. When that stability vanished, everything else got harder.

A lot of the detail in this essay comes from an excellent article by Michael McCormick and others, “Climate Change during and after the Roman Empire” (2012). It’s technical in places, but it pulls together everything from tree rings and ice cores to volcanic sulphur levels and historical texts. I’ve also borrowed heavily from Kyle Harper and Walter Scheidel, to name only two scholars. I am not trying to be original. For reasons of brevity, I need to be superficial. But I do try to present an emerging historical consensus in a way that doesn’t assume my readers are either wholly ignorant or experts.

Before we get into climate, and for those who tend to the wholly ignorant spectrum of my readers, we need a quick sketch of Roman history. The Empire officially began in 27 BC, when Octavian—better known as Augustus—became the first emperor. It ended in the west in AD 476, when the last western emperor was kicked out. As said, the eastern half, based in Constantinople, carried on for another thousand years.

Broadly, we can divide Roman history as follows:

• 27 BC – AD 180: The golden age. Augustus and his successors took over and further expanded a huge empire. There was peace (mostly), trade flourished, and cities grew. People call it the “Pax Romana.”
• AD 180 – 284: Everything starts to fall apart. This is called the Crisis of the Third Century. Civil wars, foreign invasions, plagues, and economic collapse all hit at once.
• AD 284 – 395: The empire pulls itself together. Emperors like Diocletian and Constantine bring in reforms. But the empire is now divided for administrative convenience—east and west.
• AD 395 – 476: The west goes under. It’s invaded. It’s conquered and broken up. Very quickly, it disappears. Though, once again, a parochial view of history, we call this the Fall of the Roman Empire.

The standard histories still blame bad rulers or too many wars. That’s fair enough. There were some very bad rulers, and the wars without number. But if you look at the climate data—tree rings, ice cores, sediment levels—you start to see another pattern underneath what may be called the political and economic superstructure of Roman history.

When Rome came to greatness, the climate was unusually good. From around 200 BC to AD 150, there was a long phase of stable, warm, and mostly wet conditions. Scientists call this the Roman Climate Optimum. In Egypt, the Nile flooded regularly and well. That meant lots of grain. In the Alps, glaciers shrank. In northern Europe, people were growing grapes in places too cold for vineyards today. In the Middle East, the Dead Sea stayed high, showing good rainfall.

This kind of weather made everything easier. Crops were reliable. Surpluses could be taxed. Cities could be fed. Roads and aqueducts could be built and maintained. And because the army was well supplied, the Empire was protected, and could even continue a modest expansion. But, as McCormick and his team point out, the high phase of Nile flooding correlates exactly with the high point of Roman prosperity—and once those floods became less predictable, problems followed.

The good times came to an end. By the mid-second century, a wave of volcanic eruptions thew great masses of dust into the atmosphere, blocking sunlight. Solar activity dropped. The climate became less stable. Then came the Antonine Plague in AD 166. It probably started in the east and spread quickly. Some think it was smallpox. Whatever it was in terms of microbiology, it was almost certainly brought on by changes in the climate. It may have killed a third of the Empire’s population.

Worse was coming. By AD 200, climate records show more erratic rainfall and cooling. In Gaul and the Balkans, harvests became less predictable. Glaciers began to advance again. Speleothem data from Austrian caves shows sharp shifts in rainfall patterns.

At the same time, the empire started to shake. Between 235 and 284, Rome had over twenty emperors. Most were generals who seized power, then got killed. Civil wars broke out. Trade declined. Foreign tribes pushed harder at the frontiers. Coin hoards—money buried for safety—increased in number. That’s usually a sign of fear and instability. Cities shrank. The economy shrivelled.

Was this all because of climate? No—not wholly. A good definition of historical crank is someone who tries to explain everything in terms of one cause or set of causes. But as McCormick et al. argue, bad weather made everything worse. It weakened agriculture, strained supplies, and made people more likely to panic or rebel. In a world without modern logistics, you couldn’t afford bad harvests two or three years in a row.

The empire buckled in the third century, but didn’t collapse. And its survival probably was an effect of human agency. A line of competent Emperors rose from the army and stabilised the frontiers. This line culminated in the reigns of Diocletian and Constantine, who restructured the Empire. They fixed taxes. They reorganised the army. Constantine built his new capital in the east. His successors found Constantinople safer and more strategically useful than Rome.

This being said, around AD 290, climate records suggest a small rebound. Warmer temperatures and better rainfall returned—especially in the east. That helped the eastern provinces recover faster. They had stronger governments and better infrastructure. But climate helped. Dead Sea levels remained relatively high, which meant steady rain in the Levant.

The west wasn’t so lucky. Italy and parts of Gaul stayed unstable. In Britain, pollen records show that farmland was being abandoned. The archaeology matches this, with fewer building projects and shrinking urban centres. The killing shock for the west came in the fifth century. In Central Asia, a long drought began around AD 370. Steppe tribes like the Huns were hit hard. They migrated west, pushing other tribes like the Goths ahead of them. In AD 376, the Goths crossed the Danube into Roman territory. Two years later, they crushed a Roman army at Adrianople. This all happened in the eastern half. But greater wealth and better leadership allowed the government in Constantinople to push the barbarians west. Over the next century, the western empire was hit again and again.

Meanwhile, the weather got worse. Europe cooled. Rainfall patterns shifted. Flooding and crop failures increased. Volcanic sulphur levels spike in the ice core record from Greenland.

Rome was sacked in AD 410. Again in 455. Finally, in 476, the last western emperor was deposed. That was it. The western Roman Empire was gone.

The east survived. But was hardly untroubled. In AD 536, a huge volcanic eruption darkened skies around the world. The sun barely shone. Crops failed. Famines spread.

A few years later, the Plague of Justinian broke out. It probably started in Egypt and spread through trade routes. Some say it killed half the population in affected areas.

Climate and disease worked together. Hunger weakened people. Infection finished them off. As McCormick et al. put it, the event of 536 and the plague that followed created one of the worst demographic shocks in recorded history.

We like to think we are in control of our environment. Even the Greens work on the assumption that higher taxes can change the weather. But all civilisation, now as in the past, rests on things none of us can control, and perhaps still not fully understand: the sun, the rain, the soil.

Climate history tells us how fragile all our achievements are. When the background conditions change, systems break. If we want to understand the past—or protect the future—we need to look beyond politics and pay attention to nature.

It won’t stop the government using “climate change” as a stick to beat us with. But it might help us see what’s real, and what’s just another excuse.

Reading List

• Michael McCormick et al., “Climate Change during and after the Roman Empire: Reconstructing the Past from Scientific and Historical Evidence,” The Journal of Interdisciplinary History, Vol. 43, No. 2 (2012), pp. 169–220.
• Kyle Harper, The Fate of Rome: Climate, Disease, and the End of an Empire. Princeton University Press, 2017.
• Walter Scheidel, “The Roman Economy: What Do We Know, and How Do We Know It?” in The Ancient Economy: Evidence and Models, Stanford, 2010.
• Brian Fagan, The Fall of Rome: And the End of Civilization. Oxford University Press, 2004.
• Peter Heather, The Fall of the Roman Empire: A New History. Macmillan, 2005.
• Joerg R. Voigt et al., “Climate and Societal Resilience in the Roman World,” Nature Geoscience, Vol. 11 (2018), pp. 1–5.
• Hubert H. Lamb, Climate, History and the Modern World. Routledge, 1995.
• Neil Roberts, The Holocene: An Environmental History, 3rd ed. Wiley-Blackwell, 2014.
• Giovanni B. Sammartino, “Solar Minima and the Late Roman Crisis,” Historical Climatology Review, Vol. 12 (2016), pp. 45–59.