Transient Thoughts: Reflections Over the Atlantic
Somewhere over the Atlantic, cramped into an economy
seat, I asked: What is history for? Why do we study it? Who should tell it? Questions
that fill my mind during a 10-hour flight, in which I finish re-reading John
Tosh’s “The Pursuit of History”.
In his widely renowned work, Tosh lays out the arguments
for studying history and how one should go about attempting to do so. He
also relays and interrogates the opinions put forward by other historians. However, what strikes me most is the encouragement Tosh gives to history to expand
beyond the means of the academic circle. It must be embraced.
On page forty-five of his work, Tosh cites Richard Cobb,
who goes as far as to implore that historians – not stating by which merit
(academic or otherwise) – should aim to be “endlessly inquisitive and prying.”
This is interesting as it reveals what historians should intend to do. They must uncover the past by peeling back layers of evidence. This helps them understand the situations, people, and places they encounter—and, most crucially, analyse.
But what does it mean to analyse the past accurately?
Here, the tricky distinction between truth and plausibility becomes crucial. Tosh
clarifies that historians must analyse, not restate that X happened on Y date.
This is not the purpose for which the study is to be conducted. Instead, we are
tasked to compile fragmentary evidence and compare it to what we know best to
be accurate. You see, I have not used the word ‘true’ here. In this context, ‘true’
is almost an impossibility. We, as historians, cannot claim with absolute
certainty all details of events or challenges. Instead, we deal in
plausibility, not absolute truth; we weigh fragments of evidence against one
another to build the most convincing account. This analysis shapes the opinions of not just a small, insular group of academics, but also filters out to the broader world. Through this delicate approach interpreting dialogue from the period and beyond, history becomes increasingly complex.
Beyond methodology, historians also debate the scope of
their discipline. Some argue history is firmly within the humanities; others see it as a bridge to the social sciences. In truth, it thrives in this in-between space: narrative and analysis, evidence and empathy. It seems
that each historian reaches this judgement personally based on how they utilise
the historian's tool-kit of interdisciplinary theories to advance their arguments.
While these debates about the scope of history may feel
abstract, they ultimately influence how anyone engages with the past—trained
historians or casual observers alike.
Today, it’s easy for me to view the social interactions of past generations, cultures, and periods through the lens of accepted norms. Yet,
historians must put aside their biases to illuminate what happened, why it
might have happened, and how such events should be commemorated. This is not
just an action that the ‘trained’ historian can conduct, though.
The 'historian' does not just have to be trained in the art: families discussing at their dining room tables can offer
and exchange ideas of social practices and understanding, shaping their views
now and in the future. Talking about your great-grandparents can, as such, highlight
social challenges over time and test our memories. Historians have often looked
to memory studies to inform their judgements on the evidence they are provided
with. Romanticisation of the past can fundamentally alter the views of the individual
relaying oral memories. In turn, the historian is tasked with picking
these apart and testing these narratives against other evidence they have from
these periods. To achieve this, they must turn to their sources.
The struggle with letters is what Tosh and others have
categorised as the difference between the professional and the amateur. By
this, they mean that the amateur historian, with little training, will struggle
to pick apart the sources laid before them. As someone who has had to spend a
lot of time at the archive recently, I certainly fall into the latter category.
Source work is tedious: it demands concentration and stubborn persistence. Those who trudge through mountains of paperwork to find their gems of evidence are clearly striving to understand the past. They need to find evidence and also grieve for the things they cannot find. Amateurs and professionals alike care for the past in unique
and often differently sensitive ways – and it is this that divides them.
Uncovering the past is not just a stepping stone between
one society and another; it is the connectivity of human understanding through
our learned and built environment throughout the ages. Perhaps, somewhere over the Atlantic, that is what I was really asking: who is history for? The answer: everyone.
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Big thanks to William for proofreading... I'll be back soon, just got to add "endlessly inquisitive and prying" (Cobb) to my CV.
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