When does history become historic?
Father Komonchak had a very interesting post two months back called “Remembering 1989″ about trying to convey the sense of watching history being made (as we like to say) to those who were hardly born when historic events happened–like the fall of the Berlin Wall. I was put in mind of that post as I was reading what seems like yet another round of talk about an Anglican “schism”–I put the word in quotes because many don’t describe it that way, or want to cast what is happening in terms of a Reformation or something more prophetic-sounding. The talk regards a meeting of conservative Anglican leaders in Jerusalem ahead of the decennial Lambeth Conference in England of all the word’s Anglical bishops. (Well, all except a certain gay bishop and a schismatic African.) Here is The New York Times take. The Tablet cites the conservative bishops as calling this “a second Reformation,” while over at the America blog, Austen Ivereigh prefers “realignment.”
Yada yada yada. Which is actually my point: Perhaps it is the result of having covered this story for too long, and having attended too many Episcopal Church conferences on this and other topics (gays, homosexuals, lesbians) that promised a definitive answer of one sort or another, only to have the issue put out for further study, or a later deadline. And there is much to be said for that.
But is this really “it” this time? Is this really a schism, a split, a reformation? Will all those apocalyptic ledes I wrote years ago finally be true? Above all, how can we know when something is historic? I recall reading that Europeans at the turn of the second millennium had a Y1K panic of sorts. But was there a widespread historical consciousness of a “Great Schism” in 1054? Was Oct. 31, 1517 a momentous date only decades, perhaps centuries, later? Apropos of the coming holiday, I believe July 2 was actually supposed to be the memorable Day of Independence. But the Founding Fathers, though we now attribute omniscience to them, might have been aghast at the idea of being called Revolutionaries. Did Sassoon et al know it was the Great War? It surely wasn’t World War I back then. And on and on.
How possible is it to recognize something as historic when you are in the moment itself? And how much does our modern history-conditioned consciousness shape the way we view the present events? In this age of infotainment and commentary characterized solely by the use of the superlative, is everything historic? Or has the very concept been so overused it means nothing? And thus is it possible to know, until centuries later, the import of the events in, in this case, Jerusalem and Canterbury?
David:
Very good questions. In 1989, as the walls came tumbling down all over eastern Europe, it was fairly easy to conclude that this was an historic moment. But sometimes you need time for an event to unfold its consequences before you can say. You must know the story about Chou en Lai or Mao Tse Tung: when asked “What do you think of the French Revolution?” he is said to have replied, “It’s too soon to tell.”
Thanks, Father K. but you overestimate me: I wish I’d known the Chou or Mao story, but am glad I do now. Your comment does get to another aspect of this wide-ranging (perhaps too wide-ranging) topic, which is what kind of “historic” are we talking about? Three kinds come to mind. One, there are historic events that essentially reveal what had already happened–the Berlin Wall revealing the hollowing out of the Soviet Union, e.g. Then there are historic events that are catalysts to an epochal change whose ramifications we can only appreciate in retrospect. The American Revolution, perhaps? The Bolshevik Revolutoin, better still. Luther’s 95 theses? On the Origin of Species? The invention of penicillin? Maybe scientific/technological breakthroughs tend to operate more dramatically in this second “retrospective” category–Al Gore’s invention of the Internet, for example…(And which is 9/11? Too soon to tell?)
Then perhaps thirdly are events that are simply historic in and of themselves, and really difficult to pin to any world-shaking change: The assassination of JFK, Y2K, were all moments in time. But beyond that, hard to say.
Hegel wrote that the “Owl of Minerva takes flight at dusk,” by which he meant that philosophy (and perhaps any mode of understanding) can only come to appreciate a historical epoch in retrospect.
With respect to the Anglicans, I think there are some precedents in their own history. I don’t think that one can really see the break with Rome as truly decisive until at least the reign of Elizabeth. In light of the course of history, one can see Henry VIII’s Act of Supremacy as an important turning point. But if history had turned out differently (and I think this is one of those cases where it could have), we would understand Henry VIII’s Act of Supremacy in a different light.
While we’re talking, and since Joe is participating, I’ll put in a plug for his article “Vatican II as an ‘Event,’ which was published in Theology Digest in 1999. One of the things that Joe was trying to do here (and, Joe, please correct me if I’m wrong) was to appropriate for the study of Vatican II some trends in historiography that favored a greater appreciation of ‘events’ (as opposed to focusing primarily on broader historical forces, the so-called Long Duree).
I suspect that, in retrospect, we will come to see the TEC’s consecration of Bishop Gene Robinson as an important “event” in the history of the current dispute between Anglican ‘progressives’ and ‘traditionalists.” Even though those disputes are long standing, the Robinson consecration internationalized them in a way that was new and thus brought enormous pressure to bear on the Anglican Communion’s somewhat fragile structures of unity. If not for the Robinson consecration, some of the broader theological issues (e.g. the salvific uniqueness of Jesus Christ) may have continued to be papered over in the interests of unity.
Will the recent GAFCON meeting be seen as a similar “event?” I’m not sure I have any clearer ideas on this than David, Joe or Austin Iverleigh. In the same way that the continued progress of the English Reformation depended on who was on the throne, I might suggest that the actions of the -next- Archbishop of Canterbury are going to play an important role in how we end of assessing the actions of the current one.
Watching BXVI and the Orthodox Patriarch of Constantinople together yesterday in St. Peter’s Basilica during the Mass for the feast day of Sts. Peter and Paul certainly looked historic to me, but I guess only time will tell whether the event was truly of historic ecumenical proportions or just a blip on the radar screen of Catholic-Orthodox relations.
Thanks, Peter, for the reference to my article on Vatican II as an “event,” which has now been republished in the volume edited by John O’Malley: “Vatican II: Did Anything Happen?” I did make use of the “return to the event,” as it has been called, in French historiography in particular. I also made use of the two wonderful chapters on history in Lonergan’s “Method in Theology,” where he maintains that history has to move beyond the mere cataloguing of historical experience to the point that the historian can say “what was going forward”, something which may be quite unknown to protagonists and even quite contrary to their intentions. I use the example of Gorbachev’s “glasnost” which he certainly did not think would or should end in the dismemberment of the Soviet empire. Similarly, I don’t think that the popes and bishops of Vatican II intended revolution, but it could be argued that some of the decisions they made turned out to be revolutionary in consequence.
Then, of course, there’s Gandhi. Asked what he thought of “western civilization,” he is said to have replied: “I think it would be a good idea.”
William Collier, I think the B16 & Bartholomew photo was eye-catching, but doesn’t compare to the 1964 meeting (and photo) in Jeruslaem between Paul VI and Athenagoras (which was followed some time later by the lifting of the anthemas). There have been blips–or events–of varying import ever since.
Thanks Peter for the Anglican reflections. That brought to mind another perspective, which is whether–in largely religious terms, I am thinking, though it could have implications elsewhere–in this culture of choice, as per Peter Berger et al, we can really have a good old fashioned schism anymore, or if it would just be a yawn. Are many religions already in de facto schism, as it were? On the other hand (I too often get like this, at least when sober), perhaps we are so self-aware and aware of the rest of the world that all manner of declarations, broadcast via the internet, can make us feel like there is fragmentation everywhere. We long for the organic whole of the mediveal world. But was it so aware of itself that the suppression of the Albigensians caused tsurris in, say, Hanover? We are decentralized, religiously speaking. So were they, of that age, though perhaps bound by common assumptions we do not share and thus cannot sunder.
The Bart and Ben appearance was certainly eye-catching. Most liturgists that have ever really studied the subject would say it was so in an alarming and embarrassing way.
But leaving that topic aside, I ask, “What was historic?”
The Pope and Patriarch did absolutely nothing that has not already been done before. In fact, the shared homily, the recitation of the Creed in Greek and the joint final blessing was a repeat performance of the same Mass in 2004. Like then, only the Pope of Rome celebrated the Liturgy of the Eucharist, while the Ecumenical Patriarch was shunted to the sidelines.
The addition of white-gloved and red caped candle-bearers flanking Benedict XVI as he distributed Holy Communion on the tongues of the devout faithful kneeling on a prie-dieu… now, that was something “new” (well, actually old), but would one call it historic?
Did something happen yesterday in St Peter’s Basilica — of real theological significance — that has not happened before?
I did notice that a Byzantine archbishop received the pallium in the Ecumenical Patriarch’s presence — something that was denied + Judson Procyk (God rest him) in 1995. John Paul II gave the archbishop his pallium privately the evening before so his Orthodox guest would not boycott the next day’s Mass.
Maybe the ecumenists out there would highlight this as historic?
Hegel and Peter Nixon have said what I might have said (pereat qui ante nos nostra), had Peter not been there first, but it won’t do. From our (admittedly provincial) perspective the fall of the Berlin Wall was at once historic because of what it encapsulated. We had no need for the bird of Athena to take flight. But in the larger sense it is a question of perspective. The events of 1066 in England are different from the vantage point of a Vietnamese farmer or a Confucian scholar from what they are to us. “Historicity”, if I may abuse that word, is in the eye of the beholder, unless the eye is the eye of God, who knows all, or in the eye of one who shares the divine perspective.
I think most of you want to talk about what makes a historical event rather than the shape the Anglican Communion is in now, but I’ll take a stab at the latter.
I think the ordination of Bishop Robinson was a historic footnote compared to the American Psychiatric Association’s declaration more than 40 years ago that it no longer consider homosexuality a mental illness. That was followed fairly quickly by the repeal of anti-sodomy laws throughout the latter half of the 1900s. The secular “normalization” of homosexuality has been, in my view, more significant, in moving incrementally, slowly but steadily forward. Churches are now slowly, often reluctantly, trying to wrestle with their own attitudes, if not teachings about homosexuality. So I guess it falls into the catalytic kind of historic event David outlines above.
Whatever “schism” might occur within Anglicanism over homosexuality will be more organizational than doctrinal. Anglicans may exclude the clergy of maverick churches from Lambeth, but they won’t exclude any baptized Christians, including those from maverick churches, from the Eucharist. Everybody’s still at the table together (however ticked off they are) in a way that none of them are at the table with Catholics.
Jean, you make good points. What you say of homosexuality could, of course, also be said of the role of women. Your note about the schism being organizational rather than doctrinal also gets to the change–and difficulty–in declaring today what is a schism, or when, as opposed to back in the day when splits were actually over the filioque (finally resolved, judging by the vespers service) and the like, rather than sex ‘n stuff. There’s a good chance that historians will date the Anglican/Episcopal schism to the ruling by a judge in Virginia or some place who says that the diocese can keep a parish’s property, or not.
David G.–
Thanks for the reminder about Paul VI and Athenagoras in Jerusalem. That certainly was more historical than yesterday’s (partial) concelebration. Still, the personal rapport and goodwill Benedict and Bartholomew are building up will hopefully be all for the good.
The apparently friendly relations between Bartholomew and Benedict may have larger significance given the tug-of-war between Constantinople and Moscow over leadership within the Orthodox communion. Moscow refused to take part in the revived international theological discussions between Orthodox and Catholics, and the meeting went on without them. Moscow has far more Orthodox under its jurisdiction than does Constantinople, and to pursue a dialogue without them will be greatly diminished in significance. Is Bartholomew looking for support from Rome?
From my friend Perry Miller, The New England Mind vol 2 –on how the Witch Trials became recognized as significant only later: (p. 191).
“The most curious of all the facts in that welter we call Salem witchcraft is this: if you expunge from the record those documents that arise directly out of the affair, and those which treat it historically, like the Magnalia or Hale’s and Calef’s accounts, and a few twinges of memory as appear in Sewall’s Diary, the intellectual history of New England up to 1720 can be written as though no such thing ever happened. It had no effect on the ecclesiastical or political situation, it does not figure in the institutional or ideological development. Aside from a few oblique lamentations in election sermons (briefly noted amid the catalogue of woes) for twenty-eight years this cataclysm hardly appears in the record–until summoned form the deep from the opponents of inoculation as a stick to beat the clergy for yet another “delusion.” Only in 1721 does it begin to be that blot on New England’s fame which has been enlarged, as much by friends as foes, into its greatest disgrace.”
There’s an old question on this blog: what is a prophet?
This thread suggests to me a working definition. A prophet is someone who can accurately read the significance of what is happening as it happens, distinguishing by instinct between the trivial and the lasting. Who can trace the path of the hawk in flight.
Here’s a perhaps related question. When does the “pre-historic” become historical? See the sad article about the Lascaux cave paintings in today’s Washington Post: http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2008/06/30/AR2008063002363.html?hpid=topnews
Since the history of art must certainly include these wondrous paintings, they are no longer “pre-historic.” But there is so much of the apparently arbitrary about history–e.g., periodicization.
Kathy, your note about prophets as interpreters of the signs of the times is interesting. But if one thinks about it in a traditionally religious context, that role seems more about denouncing what is wrong–especially spiritually rather than politically or sociologically–and prescribing conversion and repentance rather than a program.
The Salem witch trials seem like a good example of events becoming historic later on, influencing us and history post hoc. (And see Dan Brown–if you must–for the ways in which history can be twisted: When the legend become fact, print the legend…was that the last line of “Liberty Valance”?) In that sense, were John Paul apologies/regrets over various sins of the church as historic as those sins?
As for Lascaux, I’ve read that there is a perfect replica nearby that tourists can now visit. If the cave paintings disappear it would be a tragedy. Would it change our experience of history?
The Benedict-Bartholomew encounter is worthy of another thread, perhaps. It is significant, in that I think Benedict’s real eceumenical effort and his legacy will be toward the East. His own spirituality is as Eastern Orthodox as it is Latin, methinks. And Joe Komonchak’s point about the Patriarch’s plight is a good one. He is the primus inter pares, but the see is a heartbeat from going vacant for the foresseable future. Turkish regulations forbid (I recall) a patriarch from taking office without Turkish citizenship, which they are not granting, and the restrictions have nearly emptied the seminary at the Phanar, I believe. Bartholomew is in a very tenuous situation, and the Russian Church is far more powerful–and intransigent. Rome has made strides with most other Orthodox churches, from the Greeks to Romanians etc. Relations vis-avis the Russians is a potentially historic development, I’d say.
David,
That’s what they end up doing a lot of the time, because of our recalcitrance, but I don’t see that as their exclusive biblical role. Poor Jeremiah, aka “terror on every side,” he was a prophet in a bad year. But the job description of 2nd Isaiah was different because the times were different; it was a year of restoration.
These days we’re reading Amos at daily Mass. This morning’s reading from Amos 3 may be the best retort I know of (besides Ecclesiastes 12) to my college Chinese Communist atheist physicist friend who was disappointed because he said he at least thought the Bible was going to be good literature!
1 Hear this word that the LORD has spoken against you, O children of Israel, against the whole family which I brought up from the land of Egypt, saying:
2 “ You only have I known of all the families of the earth;
Therefore I will punish you for all your iniquities.”
3 Can two walk together, unless they are agreed?
4 Will a lion roar in the forest, when he has no prey?
Will a young lion cry out of his den, if he has caught nothing?
5 Will a bird fall into a snare on the earth, where there is no trap for it?
Will a snare spring up from the earth, if it has caught nothing at all?
6 If a trumpet is blown in a city, will not the people be afraid?
If there is calamity in a city, will not the LORD have done it?
7 Surely the Lord GOD does nothing,
Unless He reveals His secret to His servants the prophets.
8 A lion has roared!
Who will not fear?
The Lord GOD has spoken!
Who can but prophesy?
David:
I think you are right that “schism” as an event has less force than it once did. This is obviously true for Christian communities with what one might term “low” ecclesiology and essentially congregational governance. A leadership split in a congregational church leads to one leader setting up shop a few blocks down the road in a school gym and no one sees this as having broad historical ramifications.
Obviously the stakes are higher for churches with a “high” ecclesiology, such as the Catholic, Orthodox and Anglican communions. If the Archbishop of Constantinople decided to reunite with Rome over the objections of Moscow and Mount Athos (very unlikely, I admit), it would certainly be a historic event. Schism among Anglicans is probably of more historic import than schism among Baptists.
The question of whether some churches are already in “defacto schism” is an interesting and complex one. Certainly the existence of theological diversity–even to the point of heresy–may not be sufficient. In the wake of Nicaea, large swaths of the Church persisted in Arianism for decades while considering themselves orthodox. I suspect large portions of the average Catholic congregation gathering on Sunday hold–albeit casually–beliefs about the Trinity that are probably at variance with orthodoxy. I think that one thing that characterizes schism is its public and definitive nature.
As an aside, I would say that if you can have defacto schism, you can also have “defacto reunion,” which is what exists in many places in the United States, even among Catholics. Denominational boundaries among U.S. Protestants have become much weaker in recent decades and, in the case of some of these newer churches, some worshippers may not even be aware of the denominational tradition of the community they are worshipping with. Catholics these days are more open to absorbing the theology and piety of their Protestant neighbors, often without realizing its tensions with orthodox Catholicism. It’s an interesting phenomenon.
These are some interesting thoughts that seem related. Pre-historic becomes historic; schismatic becomes reunited. Per JAK’s reminder from B. Longergan – history is the subjective interpreation that rises to objectivity – it passes muster and points to the future: it brings meaning and wisdom.
So, to add and broaden this discussion – thought you might enjoy an article by Daniel O’Rourke that reminds me of the quote: “One person’s revolutionary (or terrorist) is another’s reformer!” Think about the periti at Vatican II who were the driving force behind much of the documents – they had been silenced, banned from teaching or writing by prior popes and now they were “historic”. One issue today becomes the norm tomorrow. Enjoy:
Troublesome priests – we need them
by Daniel O’Rourke
Observer, Dunkirk, NY, 05/22/08
“Who will rid me of that troublesome priest?” An angry and probably drunk King Henry II shouted. He was referring to his old friend Thomas Becket now the Archbishop of Canterbury. Becket from his powerful position in the church was politically opposing the King. Four knights overhearing the King’s intemperate outburst mistakenly thought King Henry wished to have Beckett killed. They set out to murder the Archbishop and hacked him to death with their swords at the altar of his Canterbury cathedral. Almost immediately devotion to the martyred Archbishop spread throughout Europe and pilgrims flocked to his tomb.
Last month in the democratic presidential primary, some editorials with creative license placed King Henry’s infamous wish in the mouth of Senator Obama. Barack Obama, of course never said of his former pastor, “Who will rid me of that troublesome priest?” But considering the political difficulties the Rev. Jeremiah Wright was giving him, he may well have thought it. At that time sound-bites of Wright’s most outrageous rantings were flooding the media and derailing the Obama campaign.
I have just listened on the Internet to Rev. Wright’s entire forty-minute sermon. He entitled it “Confusing God and Government.” It surprised me. Although the raw emotion and the shouting-out of chapter and verse made me uncomfortable, for the most part the contents of his sermon were coherent and reasoned.
As Wright certainly intended, his sermon was also disturbing. He dramatically listed our nation’s failings: our mistreatment of Native Americans, our initial acceptance of slavery, the discrimination of African Americans after their emancipation, the incarceration of Japanese American citizens during World War II, our colonialism and CIA violence in Latin America. If he had soberly concluded his dark litany with “God condemns America for its racism and imperialism”, I would have nodded agreement. Instead he shouted, “God damn America” and lost me and almost every one who has heard him — giving the media the most infamous sermon sound-bite in recorded history.
Like most Americans and Obama himself, I reject the Rev. Wright’s widely reported outburst. I understand that Black liberation theology explains Wright’s sermon and may explain his explosive conclusion, but it does not excuse it. Wright’s anger may have been righteous but his rantings pushed him over the line. Yet we need “troublesome priests” like Jeremiah Wright — and history has always provided them. The most famous was Martin Luther who gave Pope Leo indigestion if not apoplexy, but whose troublesome preaching ultimately reformed (for a time) all of Christianity.
I fear that some clergy will take the media’s denunciation of Rev. Wright’s most extreme words as a justification for not addressing the real issues of the day. If clergy do not preach social justice from their pulpits, however, it would be a tragedy for society itself. We need troublesome clergy to confront our apathy. The theologian Karl Barth, also a “troublesome priest” in Nazi Germany, once suggested that pastors preach with the Bible in one hand and the newspaper in the other. Some do. Many don’t.
Those clergy who say that politics and spirituality should be strictly separated are mistaken. There is nothing spiritual which is merely spiritual; there is nothing political which is only political. Spirituality takes on flesh in the political and social. Effective preachers know this. The Hebrew prophets knew it. The environment, immigration, and the minimum wage have spiritual implications. If our spiritual values are mute in the pulpit before terrorism, famine and war, what good are they? Despite the complexities of the issues, we need troublesome preachers to address them. And despite their faults – and they all had them, we need clergy like Wright, Barth and Becket.
There is an insightful story by Dostoevsky in “Brothers Karamazov.” Dostoevsky retells the third temptation on the mount. The devil took Jesus to a high mountain, and showed him the kingdoms of the world and the glory of them; and said to him, “All these I will give you, if you will fall down and worship me.” (Matthew 4: 8-9)
Dostoevsky argues that unlike Jesus, the Christian church has succumbed to that temptation. The power and glory of this world have seduced it. The political and cultural biases of society have co-opted it. Despite the good the churches do and they do much, they have lost their wider influential voice.
Rev. Martin Marty, Rev. Wright’s former teacher and professor emeritus at the University of Chicago Divinity School, had a telling test. He told his students to compare the church bulletin with the newspaper. Today the papers speak of the genocide in Dafur, the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, health care for the poor, and the hundreds of thousands dying of famine. Yet church bulletins typically list the ladies tea, the need for volunteers to paint Sunday school classrooms, and the spaghetti dinner fundraiser. No wonder so many dismiss the main-line churches as “out of it” and irrelevant.
The churches even more than the state need “troublesome priests,” and God has provided them too. In Nazi Germany and right-wing El Salvador, for example, Dietrich Bonhoeffer and Oscar Romero were troublesome clerics. The Lutheran and Roman churches in those nations were either timid before the evils of their day or busy currying favor with the influential and powerful. Many in those churches were seduced by the prestige and power of the state. They put flag and nation before justice and right. Bonhoeffer and Romero identified with the oppressed and powerless and opposed the establishment. That opposition cost them their lives. The Nazis stripped Bonhoeffer, a Lutheran minister, and hanged him naked on the gallows. Romero, a bishop was shot dead by a government assassin as he celebrated mass.
Should we be surprised? Jesus too was troublesome and executed by the state. No wonder so few Christians — and so few preachers — follow his example.
“Should we be surprised? Jesus too was troublesome and executed by the state. No wonder so few Christians — and so few preachers — follow his example.”
All the more should we admire Hans Kung who has taken on the Vatican for the past forty five years. Sadly, many theologians haven’t a clue as to the courage of this great man. He may be difficult at time but no one really equals his prophecy and scholarship. And it is all in print.
Glad to be able to agree with Peter Nixon on this one:
“As an aside, I would say that if you can have defacto schism, you can also have “defacto reunion,” which is what exists in many places in the United States, even among Catholics. Denominational boundaries among U.S. Protestants have become much weaker in recent decades and, in the case of some of these newer churches, some worshippers may not even be aware of the denominational tradition of the community they are worshipping with. Catholics these days are more open to absorbing the theology and piety of their Protestant neighbors, often without realizing its tensions with orthodox Catholicism. It’s an interesting phenomenon.”
The people know the heart of the religion. Amazing that such joy and unity gives those who revere power, heart attacks.
Paul Veyne says that one can speak of an event only in the context of a plot of which it is an episode. Here is Carl Becker on Caesar’s crossing of the Rubicon: “It can’t mean anything except as it is absorbed into the complex web of circumstances which brought it into being…. Apart from these great events and complicated relations, the crossing of the Rubicon means nothing, is not an historical fact properly speaking at all. In itself it is nothing for us; it becomes something for us, not in itself, but as a symbol of something else, a symbol standing for a long series of events which have to do with the most intangible and immaterial realities, viz.: the relation between Caesar and the millions of people of the Roman world.”
An add-on to Fr. Komonchak’s July 1 comment. Historians construct plots using “archives,” i.e., traces of some sort that remain from previous events. Something of any event that’s even relatively recent is irrevocably lost. So the archive is always “incomplete.” The historian’s task is to pose a question or working hypothesis to the archival material and report how the hypothesis fares when confronted with the archival material. He or she then faces the task of emplotting the results of his/her research. “Objectivity” is assured by the recognition that the archival material does show that something happened in the past that has left traces behind. Furthermore, if the historian deals with all the parts of the archives relevant to his/her topic in a fairminded way, then again, there is “objectivity.”
In the end, though, it makes no sense to claim for any piece of historical writing the kind of definitive objectivity that can be claimed for specific mathematical results. What the historian ultimately has to offer is a more or less plausible “substitute” for the now past and in some measure lost events. To recognize these limits to historical “objectivity” is not to denigrate the historian’s work. It is, rather, to appreciate how well one can be faithful to the archive and how much we need the plausible plots that the historian gives us. Without them, we’d bein total darkness.
I owe these remarks to the work of Paul Ricoeur.
I don’t get how Becker parts from the normal interpretation of this ‘historic’ event. Of course the event has to be in relationship to someone or something else. So what is Becker saying that is new? I am not objecting since there is a point here somewhere that I am not getting.
Becker was reacting to a positivism that suggested that you first establish the historical “facts” and then put them into some order. His argument is that you can’t discover the facts unless you bring a question to the traces left by the past.
Historic events are memorable events, and generally events are memorable only if they stand out, if they are different. But they have to be different in a way that will be recognized by those who come after, or they will not be remembered.
So events are historic only if they change the people who come after. Contemporaries, who have not been changed as much, find it harder to recognize how historic an event is.
This all reminds me of the encyclopedia my parents bought when my older brother was born. They faithfully bought an annual update to keep up to date. I sat down once and went through the annuals from 1950 on to see when Watson and Crick made an appearance. It was a good 12 years after the discovery of DNA’s double helix before a related event was considered newsworthy. One of the most historic events of the 20th century was not important enough to mention until the consequences of it became noticeable in biology, medicine, botany, etc.
Jim, interesting experiment. Any event that happened in the past can be historic; it’s up to the historian to pull out those events that created a change in the direction of human history in some way.
Do you think that our notions of what’s significant in the past change over time as events in the present play out? Cathleen’s note about the Salem Witch Trials above seems to suggest so.
The parallels between historians and prophets is also an interesting idea to play around with, though, of course, a historian seeks to explain events, where a prophet seeks to assign a moral value to them and follow their “flight” to some sort of conclusion that people need to be warned against (or encouraged toward).
The problem with prophets in their own time (as with historians) is that even using the compass of Church teaching to trace the flight of events (to strain all the bird metaphors on the table) is that you can’t really know how events will play out until they do.
The explanation by Bernard Dauenhauer is excellent – would have liked you in my MA History courses at DePaul. Jim & Jean – keep in mind that history is written by historians from different perspectives. You have schools of history – history of business; history of science; history of politics, etc. Unfortunately, most general histories used in education are written following the great men/women or war/politics as the prime movers of history. In this approach, historic events such as double helix, radium, penicillin, blood transfusions, achievements by women, minorities, histories written from a third world or East Asian perspective are completely lost. How much does the average American know about the growth and development of Islam? How about Hindus or Buddhists?
St Columcille once intervened in a dispute between the bards of Ireland and the kings. He advised the High King to keep and support the bards, since without them he would be forgotten. He might think he has power, but without the bards, he has no influence at all.
Jean wrote: “Any event that happened in the past can be historic; it’s up to the historian to pull out those events that created a change in the direction of human history in some way.” That is pretty much my definition of history amd of historic. Many more things have happened that do not appear in history books, but what we remember is called “history”.
To say an event is historic is to say it is worth remembering. There is ome meaning or value to it that shapes our lives. If we are not shaped by it, it is probably out of our memory.
[...] a brief addendum to my earlier post on the meaning of “historic,” which prompted many fine insights: One of my favorite [...]
Is it true that Hans Kung criticizes Gene Robinson as a church-divider? I recall how Kung himself was sneered at when he raised the issue of the RCC attitude to gays 30 years ago.