Literature and History
Preliminary Thoughts
When studying literature over the years I have found myself almost allergic to studying the history of the time period of the author I am reading about. For example, when studying Nathaniel Hawthorne, I almost studiously avoid learning outside information about America the 1840’s.
Why?
Because I think that the great authors—the ones who deserve to be read in any time and place—are worthy of being read precisely because they are more liberated from the thought of their time and place than others alive in that time and place. That yes, Hawthorne as an American, undoubtedly was shaped by the moral opinions of his time; however, is not the Scarlet Letter a reflection on the American past and present? He calls the preface to his novel the “Custom House.” And the book is an investigation into custom. Such an investigation of custom or moral opinion, properly conducted, leads one, partially—in some cases wholly—outside the constraints of such opinions.
So, I have avoided studying the history of Hawthorne’s time because I do not want to historicize him. I insist and try to demonstrate through my interpretations of great thinkers that thought is not necessarily bound by time. In other words, I do not want to be tempted by reading a historical sketch of the period that says: “Americans of the 1840’s believed X.” The temptation is to move from here to insisting that:
Americans of the 1840’s believe X.
Hawthorne was an American of the 1840’s.
Therefore Hawthorne believes X.
Without doubt, Hawthorne will likely engage with idea X. He will probably even present characters who believe idea X. He may even go out of his way to present idea X as attractive and compelling. But he might not believe it. He might be showing why such an idea is tempting to believe. And even or especially if you wanted to convince someone that an idea they believe is wrong, one would need to look at that person’s experience from the inside; to see why a decent person would believe such a thing in the first place.
Part of the temptation to historicize thinkers is that it makes them easier to understand. Once I know what Americans in the 1840’s think, I just need to search for those beliefs in Hawthorne’s work and show repeatedly how he also holds such ideas. By historicizing him, I already know what I’m looking for before I read the book. By historicizing him, I prevent myself from perceiving the possible radicality of his thought.
Another “advantage” of historicizing thinkers is that those who do so, usually think that their own time or set of moral opinions is more enlightened than those of the past. So while the logic of historicism ought to tend toward seeing the thought of each period as equally constrained by time and so not ultimately responsible for what it thinks, instead, the average historicizer is likely to wittingly (“It is 2024!”) or unwittingly (“I can’t imagine judging Hester like that”) bring in a progressive view of history. This person also probably does not walk around thinking to themselves: I am a product of my time. But they are happy to attribute this to others.
By historicizing the past, we condemn ourselves to be products of our own time. If we instead, open ourselves up to the possibility that thinkers of the past can perceive parts of the truth that are harder to see in our time, then we open ourselves to thinking untimely thoughts; or to seeing fundamental alternatives to our own way of life that compels us to defend our way of life.
Part of what I am presupposing is that the greatest thinkers aim to produce what Thucydides called his own work: “A possession for all time.” In order to do this, a thinker would have to design his work such that its most important teachings or ideas could be understood without reference to things external to the work. Thucydides in particular knew that Athens and the Greek world would eventually perish, leaving only impartial records.
On the other hand, there are some books in which knowing the allusion is indispensable for grasping its meaning. The most obvious example that springs to mind is when Machiavelli tells the story of David and Goliath, suggesting that David did not just bring his sling, depending principally upon God, but that he also brought a knife. The Biblical version of the story makes no mention of the knife. To bring a knife is to depend on one’s own arms instead of God’s providence. Though to defend my position some, Machiavelli makes a similar point in different ways throughout The Prince; nevertheless, a familiarity with the Bible and with the Roman historian Livy seem to be necessary pre-requisites for fully grasping his thought.
Though I clung to the position outlined above for many years, I think that it is not quite right. It is more or less the right spirit, for it is a spirit that is determined to avoid a significant error for the sake of the truth. Unfortunately, though, I must cede some ground to the historians.
If history is read in the right spirit, as a living inquiry rather than a stale of body of facts, it can be exceedingly helpful. Indeed, thinking about what we saw before, by noting the general trend of thought in a specific time, we can be more attuned to a how a great thinker is reflecting on and moving beyond the constraints of his time. One might be much better suited to understand what kind of rhetorical technique a thinker is making use of to quietly conceal his more radical thoughts. One might be able to understand a single page of Charles Dickens’ A Tale of Two Cities, which is so dense with historical allusions as to almost unintelligible without some knowledge of the period.
Furthermore, the historian will accuse the great books approach I outlined above as being particularly vulnerable to projection—that is, to ignorantly and unwittingly project our present moral opinions onto the past precisely because we unaware of the opinions held in the past. The man who is a feminist may desperately search the pages of Aristotle in pursuit of evidence that vindicates Aristotle as believing everything that a 21st century liberal believes. He may even come up with a very sophisticated and complex reading that apparently proves this.
In other words, no matter how we approach the great thinkers, we must constantly make ourselves keenly aware of the problems that plague accessing their thought; and we must constantly strive to know ourselves, and to try see what we are adding to the text that is not there.
All of this began as an essay on Emerson’s “History” essay, but the preface to that essay sort of took on a life of its own and is what you see above. So look out for more on this soon; I’m also working on Alexander the Great right now. I read Arrian’s history of him, Plutarch’s life of him, and am making my way through a scholarly treatment. Hopefully I’ll have out a 45 audio introduction to his life sometime around January 5th.
Related essays:
How to Approach the Great Books
Thanks. This is an important article. I myself avoid self-consciously "modernized" interpretations of earlier works of art or myth. They are done with the idea that they, i.e., liberal modernists, are viewing the past from a superior height and have a much better understanding of human nature. Mainly because of technological advancements I would think, but also bizarre ideas about race, sex, drugs and even the weather. It's quite possible they're all mad.
I suppose there is some interest in finding out about the life of an artist but in the end you should look at the work for what it is – the form and content. Would Michelangelo be a Hollywood director if he were alive today? Say, doing things like Ridely Scott maybe? I think he would so there's the idea that nobody can escape being "modern." This particular modern world is mass-materialist. You swim in it regardless of how you want to deal with it as an artist. Self-consciously trying to engage with the past is hubris.
The final paragraph of the Preface to House of Seven Gables deserves mention here!!