At the beginning of “In Praise of Fragments: History in the Comic Mode,” Caroline Walker Bynum asserts that the historian’s task “precludes wholeness” (14). Like fish of the sea, she says, men and women engaged in such labour are only ever able to “regurgitate fragments” of a whole and while I find that this perspective articulates what can be frustrating about the historical approach, I also think that it presents what can be liberating (14). In the midst of research, I think that knowing when to accept that certain elements of the past remain inaccessible to even the most determined of historians is sometimes difficult. Yet, the “limitation” that this realization places on what one can understand about the past simultaneously creates an environment where Bynum’s “comic stance toward doing history” is made possible (25). All of the benefits of this particular method—the embrace of contradictions, objections and even re-evaluations of what it means to “do history,” for example—are invitations to engage in the historical task without being crippled by an unspoken expectation that demands the presentation of a whole, indisputable truth (25). The comic mode of history accepts “the partial as partial” and consistently makes room for the possibility that what any given historian posits may be wrong (25).
I find this philosophy consoling in its generosity towards the historian, in its willingness to all at once entertain various versions of the same historical occurrence. But I also wonder what this generosity and this willingness do to the ways in which historians and their audiences view/practice the historical task. Does the comic mode of history, in having pluralism instead of “the total” as its goal, change the “responsibility” of the historian and what one can reasonably expect from him or her (25)? Does the comic mode of history attempt to overwhelm the discipline’s emphasis on accurate information about the past with something else? If so, does this effort matter?
In discussing the relationship that their twentieth-century vantage point bears to the pursuit of their historical interests, both Bynum and Huntington present methodological outlooks that help one in thinking further about what contemporary historians are “responsible” for. I found each author’s espousal of meeting subjects of interest on their own terms informative. Bynum’s refusal to read medieval devotional fasting as a branch of anorexia nervosa, for example, displays the same commitment to faithfully reconstructing a particular socio-historical context as Huntington’s decision to adopt a methodology that he feels openly exhibits a “Buddhist hermeneutics” (Bynum, Holy Feast…4-5; Huntington, “Methodological…” 8). Notably, each author prioritizes (and searches for) an interpretive framework that sympathizes with the historical-cultural context of the subject matter.
Coupled with Bynum’s and Huntington’s more explicit advocacy of understanding texts within their own contexts, this practice betrays a kind of anxiety regarding how modern methods and theories are to be employed in the study of historical phenomena. When Bynum asks whether or not we can intellectually extend beyond our own “twentieth-century perspective” and get at the intentionality of a particular historical text, her question suggests that our own historical-cultural situation has the ability to blind us to the authenticity of the past (“In Praise…” 21). Similarly, Huntington’s reference to D.S. Regg cautions scholars against imposing their own historical circumstance and subsequent worldview on an era that existed outside of that particular frame of reference (“Methodological…” 8). Given these concerns, I wonder whether or not assuaging anxiety over the application of modern methods and theories is part of what Bynum and Huntington directly (or indirectly) attribute to the historical task?
Although neither of these authors go as far to say that the concerns that motivate twentieth-century methods and theories make them irrelevant to subjects in the historical past, I am interested in the amount of room that some of their methodological concepts leave for establishing meaningful connections between the practices of “then and now.” For example, in Holy Feast and Holy Fast, Bynum states that she prefers “understanding the [medieval] women by their context and the context by the women” (Holy Feast… 7). I do see the value of this approach in terms of the historically accurate findings that it aims to produce, but I wonder whether or not it would support an in-depth comparison of contemporary and medieval devotional fasting (Holy Feast…7). While it may teach the reader to think “medievally,” will it teach one about what to do with this new way of thinking? If Bynum says that one is to avoid drawing “direct answers to modern problems” from an examination of medieval practice, what is one to do about those instances where such a thing may actually be possible (Holy Feast…9)? How might Bynum’s approach discourage adopting certain forms of medieval practice into contemporary ones?
In reading these articles and thinking about historically approaching the study of religion, I am prompted to ask (more generally) what one is to do about the role that tradition plays in religious practice? Does a specific religious tradition somehow extend beyond the scope of historical particularity and make it possible to speak of contemporary and non-contemporary religious society on common ground?
5 comments:
Natalie, I agree with you, the idea that historians can only "regurgitate fragments" is something that may be very frustrating about scholarship. I would be more interested to hear exactly how you find accepting this idea liberating?
Well put, Natalie. I think you have expressed what many of us have thought at one point or another in reading the author’s introductions. I agree that we would do well to consider what is being lost in linking the ‘then’ to the ‘now’ when applying these methodologies. I hope we can unpack this during the seminar discussion.
“Does a specific religious tradition somehow extend beyond the scope of historical particularity and make it possible to speak of contemporary and non-contemporary religious society on common ground?” I think all religious traditions have this potential through a theoretical framework. We can talk about the meaning of a religious text, how interpretations have evolved, and use this as a basis for creating a dialogue between the past and present. But on the other hand, historicity is a necessary element, in a variety of ways, to any comparison. The names “contemporary” and “non-contemporary” imply a historical relation, two particular places in history. So does common ground imply that they would share a belief and understand it in the same way, or that they share the belief while understanding it differently?
"So does common ground imply that they would share a belief and understand it in the same way, or that they share the belief while understanding it differently?"
This is a good question, Rebekah. I think it may depend how far apart the two are in history. The early Jesus movement and modern Christianity, for example, share the belief that Jesus is the messiah, but what the messiah is and does/will do is understood in completely different ways.
Foremost, a well-written commentary.
The point most forcefully brought to my attention concerns the question "Does the comic mode of history, in having pluralism instead of “the total” as its goal, change the “responsibility” of the historian and what one can reasonably expect (25)?". To me, pluralism appears a substitute term for 'the total', an exculpatory replacement which in reality shares the same value. What is the goal of method? Surely not to have a multitude of truths? For then we wouldn't need methods whatsoever. Instead, pluralism appears just another modern attempt at objectivity, without the same manifest commitment. What am I aiming at by employing pluralism?
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