What is history? The answer to this seemingly innocuous question continues to evade consensus, spurning impassioned debates as historians continue to struggle over the meaning of the term.
One of those who have made such a valiant attempt was E.H. Carr, tackling the issue in his widely influential essay ìWhat is Historyî, penned in 1961. Carr understood that history was not a term to be taken for granted, that it influences and is influenced by those who create it, and those who record its tracks.
Anyone attempting to make sense out of social phenomena, whether current or historical, is left with the responsibility of determining what history means to them, and how an understanding of history will affect their work. As I prepare to embark on my research for my Masterís Thesis ñ on the consequences of utility privatization in modern-day Armenia ñ I too must take up this challenge. I will begin by examining some of Carrís musings in this essay, reflecting upon what they mean for my research, my writing, and my own perception of history.
Objectivity is subjective. This brief phrase could serve as a crude summary of Carrís views on the process of writing history. ìWhen we attempt to answer the question ëWhat is historyíî, Carr states, ìour answer, consciously or unconsciously, reflects our own position in time, and forms part of our answer to the broader question what view we take of the society in which we liveî (Carr: 8). Historiansí claims of objectivity, therefore, are either conscious deceptions or reflections of delusional understandings of history.
Objectivity may very well be the greatest myth in the West, as journalists, politicians and pundits, academics, talking heads and TV ads all claim to have ìthe truthî. These ìtruthsî, however, are often received with open arms by the populace, who are well trained in accepting the mass media at face value. The faint notion of questioning authority is left far removed from conscious reality; the subtle stigma of sedition keeping honest inquiry at bay.
To paint a picture of truth, one must first gather a palette of facts from which to work with. This process, however, is far from random, exhaustive, or inclusive. Nor are facts always as easily accessible as one may like. Carr equates facts with ìfish swimming about in a vast and sometimes inaccessible ocean; and what the historian catches will depend, partly on chance, but mainly on what part of the ocean he chooses to fish in and what tackle he chooses to use…î (Carr: 23). Whether one turns to CNN or Al-Jazeera for the ìfactsî on American military activities in the Middle East will have a profound influence on whether they view such actions as humanitarian or imperialist in nature, whether one sees America as Liberator or Oppressor.
These logistical decisions of the fisher, however, are not left to chance; ì[they are] determined by the kind of fish he wants to catch.î The fisher cum historian will, generally speaking, ìget the kind of facts he wantsî (Carr: 23). This notion should have profound implications for anyone engaged in the practice of social understanding. In my research I have already encountered the explicit reality of this concept, as I seek to find sources that are critical of privatization in Armenia. A surface treatment of the literature reveals documents from the usual suspects of neo-liberal globalization: the World Bank, the IMF, the World Trade Organization, et cetera. Lost in the fray, however, is any material that challenges the rationale and rhetoric given by these financial monoliths. Finding substantial critical resources will involve travelling to Armenia and digging deeper into the literature. Extending Carrís metaphor, we need new tackle to reach the small fish at the deepest depths of the ocean.
One need not be a particularly critical reader to see my own biases in the preceding paragraph. This mark of political preference, however, is to be expected, and although I attempt to keep an open mind and consciously seek out material that I expect to disagree with, there should be no shame in admitting my partiality. While my research findings are far from a foregone conclusion, it must be acknowledged that the way I approach my thesis, the facts I select, the people I interview, and the analytical frameworks I choose all reflect my values, my ideologies, and my ìposition in time.î
This contextualization of historical fact is not meant to imply that research must be rigid or dogmatic, nor that objective reality cannot exist beyond our imaginations. Much to the contrary, some ìsubjectiveî realities may be more or less legitimate than others. ìIt does not follow that,î Carr argues, ìbecause interpretation plays a necessary part in establishing the facts of history, and because no existing interpretation is wholly objective, one interpretation is as good as another, and that facts of history are in principle not amenable to objective interpretationî (Carr: 27).
It is interesting to view Carrís statement in light of the Armenian Genocide, a historical event that will no doubt have an influence on my research, however indirect. Almost ninety years later, the 1915 Genocide that was perpetuated by Ottoman Turkey and claimed the lives of 1.5 million Armenians is denied by the modern-day Turkish government. They claim truth to a different set of historical ìfactsî, one that describes a civil war or an uprising that the Ottoman regime was forced to repress. The Armenian deaths were simply casualties of armed combat between equals.
Most historians, however, disagree with the Ottoman apologists, and cite much historical evidence and fact to the contrary, showing that the mass murders were indeed a planned Genocide against an ethnic and religious minority living within the regimeís very own borders. The governments of many Western states have also publicly acknowledged and recognized the Armenian Genocide, despite the threats of diplomatic retaliation on behalf of the Turkish government.
As you can see from my somewhat gratuitous use of quotation marks, my bias lies with the majority of historians. Is quite obvious that I view one interpretation of history as more accurate and objective than the other, and therefore reject the Turkish denial of this historical fact.
Deciding whether certain facts are valid or not must surely depend, however, on more than sheer popularity or superior debating skills. In discussing the subjectivity of history, the overarching question remains: how do we determine which historical interpretations are valid? Carr provides an answer. ìKnowledge is knowledge for some purpose. The validity of the knowledge depends on the validity of the purposeî (Carr:27). While remaining wary of self-righteousness, Carrís point is well taken. Of course, what one views as a valid purpose is also a subjective judgement, but this method of evaluating historical interpretation brings us one step closer to answering the question Carr has originally posed.
Carr is not alone in his interpretation of historical validity. Historian Howard Zinn argues that historical objectivity is not only impossible, but also undesirable. ìThat is, if [objectivity] were possible it would also be undesirable, because if you have any kind of a social aim, if you think history should serve justice in some way, then it requires that you make your selection on the basis of what you think will advance causes of humanity. And at the same time, be firmly open about the fact that you are making your selections on that basis.î (Barresi, 2004). I wholeheartedly agree with both Carr and Zinnís musings. In evaluating the various facts that will be presented to me as I continue my research on privatization, I will be viewing them though a particular lens, my interpretation influenced by what I believe will, in Zinnís words, ìserve justiceî and ìadvance causes of humanityî.
Indeed, my understanding of what will accomplish these aims may differ from those of my various interlocutors, but they are free to evaluate my arguments according to my biases, beliefs and judgements, which will be made transparent to my audience. Otherwise, my intentions would be murky, my goals ambiguous, and any potential impact my research could have may be stunted.
Perhaps as equally as important, however, I would be guilty of perpetuating a persistent and ongoing myth ñ that an objective analysis of social phenomena is both possible and desirable. Promoting such a fallacy would be a crime much greater than that of serving humanity through the selective interpretation and use of our worldís vast ocean of motley facts.
References:
Carr, E.H. (1987) What is History? London: Penguin Books.
Barresi, David (2004) îThe History You Always Knew, But Never Read Aboutî, Digress Magazine, http://www.digressmagazine.com/zinn/zinn1.html
Download date: March 16, 2004.