Entering the (theory) fray

In Logics of History William H. Sewell argues for an interdisciplinary approach to the study of history.  An historian with a social sciences background and theoretical leaning, Sewell argues that “Only if historians enter the fray and develop systematic critiques and reformulations of the theories we borrow from social scientists can we expect to build social theories adequate for grasping the ever-changing world that is our common object.” (6)  Sewell examines both the impacts of historical study on sociology, as well as sociological and anthropological interpretations of historical events.  In a unique call for a reevaluation of study through a common dialogue between historians and social theorists, Sewell presents an integrated approach to the pursuit of a common goal.

In reading the various essays that make up the chapters of Sewell’s work, I was particularly struck by his analysis of the taking of the Bastille on July 14, 1789.  Sewell establishes the taking of the Bastille as an “event,” or as he defines it, “a sequence of occurrences that results in transformations of structures.” (227)  Amidst his definition of events and the wide range of causes and effects of these structural transformations, I was particularly interested in his concept of contingency.  This is a topic that we have discussed at length in another graduate seminar I am currently taking, yet have not analyzed extensively in this course.  It seems that his entire analysis of the taking of the Bastille, from the conditions that led to the event itself, to the responses of the National Assembly, the king, and the people all hinged on contingency. 

Admittedly, one could analyze nearly any historical “event” and identify some element of contingency.  Moreover, it seems as if the theoretical component of history, which Sewell sees as an integral component of its analysis is ultimately what determines these contingencies.  The structures inherent within cultures and societies, be they economic, social, or political, determine the particular conditions of a given historical moment, and as such, dictate the characteristics, or the contingencies, of the moment itself.  As such, it seems that the study of historical events is not so much a study of the events themselves, but rather an examination of the structures and conditions of the societies and cultures in which events take place.  While there are certainly contingencies within the action of the event itself, it seems that historical analysis is fundamentally an examination of the structural determinants in a given society, and the events that follow. 

As this is my last weekly blog for the semester, I can’t help but feel like this assertion is somewhat of a fitting end to this course.  Throughout the semester we have been introduced to models and theories that attempt to grasp the shaping of historical events.  As a first semester graduate student, my prior experience with historical study had been about the events themselves.  This semester, however, has shown me far more about the shaping of the contingencies surrounding those events. 

The Archive: Just the Beginning

In the course of this week’s readings I was struck by Carolyn Steedman’s concept of history as “the only story that has no end.” (Dust, 148)  This notion especially resonated with me in light of the essays collected in Antoinette Burton’s Archive Stories.  Both works discuss the archive itself and the historian’s use of the archive, identifying its scholarly values as well as its possible pitfalls.  It seems however, that no matter how “objectively” scholars are able to analyze archival material, however effectively they incorporate Derridean deconstruction into their interpretations, what they, and subsequently their readers, are left with is ultimately a point of departure for further exploration.

Steedman’s concept of history as “something without an end, possessing only an ending” seems to me a rather valid point. (Dust, 149)  Take, for instance, Peter Fritzsche’s essay on the German archive in Archive Stories.  Fritzsche chronicles the evolution of the archive in Germany and the impact of both history and current events on the archive’s contents, thereby hiding, fabricating, and in many cases erasing documentation, and thus, creating an opportunity for scholars to uncover these lost histories.  This is a common theme for Steedman in Dust, as well as in Burton’s collection of essays.  Another example is Ann Curthoys’s identification in her essay regarding “the history wars” of colonial Australia-the debate over the historical factuality of British atrocities in early nineteenth-century Tasmania-of the importance of critique and reinterpretation within the historical profession.  Discussing the current state of debates on the issue she states, “How we view the colonial frontier is necessarily in a constant state of revision and reformulation…and it is clear that we still have a great deal of historical work to do.” (Archive Stories, 368)  Certainly this is true not only of colonial Australia, or even of colonial histories in general, it is true of all historical studies.

As these two works indicate, the archive, as a human constructed collection of human constructions, is not a final solution to the quest for historical facts.  However, by using the archive as a starting point for historical inquiry, historians can produce written histories that serve to further stimulate intellectual debate and exploration.  By producing an endless stream of stories without ends, and subsequent revisions of them, perhaps we can get a little closer to Jules Michelet’s charge of “History as the care and protection of the forgotten dead.” (Dust, 39)

The Confines of Contract

In the course of this week’s readings, I found Carole Pateman’s critique of the social contract to be not only an enlightening exposition of contract theory’s neglect of the sexual contract, but also applicable to both Butler and Arondekar.  Butler, in Gender Trouble: Feminism and the Subversion of Identity, argues that the socially constructed notions of gender and sex mask the true identity of the individual.  This assertion is logically similar to Pateman’s understanding of the sexual contract as “displaced onto the marriage contract.” (Pateman, 110)  Similarly, Arondekar’s examination  in Without a Trace: Sexuality and the Colonial Archive seems to speak to a similar notion of historical phenomena, hidden within the confines of the colonial archive, or the imposed British “civil society.”  It seems as if Arondekar, in identifying “homosexuality as the structural secret of the archive,” and calling for a reinterpretation of the use of the archive, is identifying an element of the established social structures of contract imposed by the British, and thus manifested in the archives of colonial India. (Arondekar, 16)  Clearly, the context of each of this week’s readings involves an established, capitalist civil society, perpetuated through contract, as established by Hobbes, Locke, and Rousseau.

The presence of civil society, and thus patriarchal contract, in Gender Trouble and Without a Trace returns us to Pateman’s critique of the social contract and its neglect of the sexual contract.  At the heart of her argument, is the classic contract theorists notion of the individual in civil society as a masculine individual.  As such, civil society and the social contract, while generally interpreted as the victor over old world paternal rule ushering in freedom and equal exchange, in reality merely upholds and indeed perpetuates modern patriarchal society.  Women, not being free-born individuals, can thus not enter into contract and therefore are forced to remain obedient to their husbands in exchange for protection.  As such, masculine protection becomes the “wage” provided for the woman in return for the husband’s dominion over her domestic and sexual labor power.  For Pateman, the pervasiveness of patriarchy, both in the private, domestic and the public, political sphere results ultimately in the continuation of the age-old male control of the female’s body, manifested both in the home and in its most glaring public example: the importance of the industry of prostitution in modern capitalist societies.

All three of this week’s authors discuss socially constructed modes of normative behavior.  As Pateman implies in her concluding chapter, the story of the social contract can be applied to a variety of socially constructed confines. (Pateman, 221)  In this manner, the sexual contract serves as a model for a social critique based upon the foundations of contract theory.  A model which can be applied to the colonial archive as well as the concepts of gender and sex.

The Ambiguities of “Gender”

Both Denise Riley and Joan W. Scott examine the inherent inconsistencies within the social and political construct of gender and the implications of these inconsistencies both in terms of enacting social change and analyzing the historical concept of ‘women.’  Riley’s Am I That Name analyzes historical and social conceptions of gender and the shifting nature of feminist interpretations.  Similarly, Scott’s Gender: A Useful Category of Historical Analysis illustrates the inherent shortcomings within traditional theories of gender. 

A central element of Riley’s work is her descriptions of the varying manners in which feminists have traditionally approached real or perceived differences between the sexes.  According to Riley, the female suffrage movement, despite its accomplishments, only served to further widen ”the abyss between ‘women’ and ‘human.” (94)  This confirms for Riley that ”the ambiguity of ‘women’ could not be resolved.” (95)  As such, for Riley, this ambiguity becomes a central facet of modern feminism.

Joan Scott’s essay echoes the inconsistencies and ambiguities outlined by Riley.  Scott outlines the development of theoretical models into the analysis of gender paradigms and assesses their validity.  Of particular interest, given our topics in recent weeks, is her examination of the differences between the Anglo-American and French schools of psychoanalytic feminist theory.  A major difference between these two schools of thought is the structuralist and post-structuralist (French school) emphasis on Jacques Lacan’s concept of the unconscious.  “For Lacanians (those of the French school), the unconsciousness is a critical factor in the construction of the subject; it is the location, moreover, of sexual division and, for that reason, of continuing instability for the gendered subject.” (1062)

I doubt many of us continually think of ourselves as “gendered subjects.” I imagine also that this lack of gendered self-analysis, presumably present throughout history, has contributed markedly to the perpetuation of patriarchal societies and institutions as a continuation of the status quo.  As such, much of society’s gender constructions seem to fall in line with the Lacanian concept of the unconscious, and seems to contribute, at least to a degree, to the insurmountable ambiguity of ‘women’ identified by Riley.

French Theory in America: Beyond the University?

In French Theory, Francois Cusset examines the impact of French theory in America, and America’s subsequent impact on its influence across the world.  Cusset argues that the exile of French intellectuals and artists in America during World War II laid the foundation for the 1966 John’s Hopkins Conference- “The Language of Criticism and the Sciences of Man.” (29)  At this conference the French and American intellectuals present “attended the live performance of its [French theory] public birth.” (31)  The offspring of this “public birth” however, did not in fact become public immediately.  Confined to the universities, themselves isolated from the public sphere, it was not until the social upheaval of the 1970′s that the influence of French theory became more publically accessible. 

In the 1970′s French Theory began to appear in academic journals, namely Diacritics (Cornell) and SubStance (University of Wisconsin) and created, within the social context of the 70′s campus culture, the emergence of French theory in the American classroom. (62, 65)  The significance of French theory’s impact on the American intellect, however is its departure, however moderate, from the exclusivity of the university.  Cusset critiques the American university system as the exemplar of a Foucauldian power system dominated by capitalist ideals manifested in a continual drive to hire the most widely published, highly acclaimed professors and to admit only elite students in an incessant competition between institutions to acquire the most intellectual capital.  This effectively furthered the isolation of the American university. (46)

So how did the reaches of French theory venture beyond the university system and become such an important element of the American intellectual sphere?  Cusset’s chapter in Section II entitled, The Politics of Identity seem to point to the introduction of French theory not only as a staple of American academia, but as a developing influence on the analysis of society.  From the Civil Rights struggles of the 1960s to the feminist and homosexual movements of the 1980s and 90s, and their prominence within mainstream American political and intellectual debate, French theory (and resistance to it) has become deeply ingrained in the American psyche, consciously or otherwise. 

As a first semester graduate student, I have not been exposed to the majority of the individuals discussed in French Theory.  In fact, I was not exposed to the concept of French theory in my undergraduate courses, at least not defined as such.  However, I would argue having been born in 1985 and growing up in America during the 90s, the politics of French theory are deeply ingrained in my mind.  Indeed, I would say that it seems as though many of the reaches and impacts of French theory are such a part of American political and intellectual culture that many of us are, at least, marginally indoctrinated with the American constructs of French theory. 

Power in Practice Theory

One of the pervasive themes of our study this semester has been the concept of power; the different forms of its manifestation and the its implications on society throughout history.  In Reading Pierre Bourdieu’s Outline of a Theory of Practice, I found power to again play an integral role in this week’s material.  Utilizing his field observations in Kabylia to provide a contextual example of his practice theory, Bourdieu presents power, or some form of it, as a central component of social interaction.

Notions of power are immediately presented in Bourdieu’s discussion of challenge and riposte in Kabylia.  The author invokes the process of gift giving and receiving as a specific example illuminating inequalities of power in Kabylian society and the constructed conciousness by which the system perpetuates itself.  Through these interactions, power is exerted, albeit indirectly, through the challenge to a man’s honour by his response to a given gift.  The giver’s power over the receiver is thus manifested through the indebtedness of receiver to giver.  Once a riposte has been made, power shifts from the original giver to the original receiver, and thus through a continual process of preserving one’s honour the actors become locked into a perpetual struggle for power.  Of course, if the original receiver is unable to respond with a gift of his own, “a gift which is not matched by a counter-gift creates a lasting bond, restricting the debtor’s freedom and forcing him to adopt a peaceful, co-operative, prudent attitude.” (195)

In her essay Toward a Feminist, Minority, Postcolonial, Subaltern, etc., Theory of Practice Sherry B. Ortner critiques Bourdieu’s practice theory for its lack of focus on power struggles.  Ortner argues that the “practices of power” in Bourdieu’s analysis are not true manifestations of power, as they “are largely utilitarian and economistic.” (4)  However, it seems that these relations too, despite the absence of violence and other characteristics of power exertion, certainly constitute a viable form of power, within the social framework of a pre-capitalist society.  Power, it seems, is an integral aspect of all social interaction and it is the nature of that interaction that constitutes the specific manner in which power relations manifest themselves.

Self-Perpetuating Power

In Discipline and Punish Michel Foucault presents a historical analysis of the philosophy of punishment in the West.  Foucault illustrates the evolution from punishment of the body, as exemplified through physical torture, to that of punishment of the soul, as exemplified through the prison system.  Throughout the entirety of the work, punishment is presented as the manifestation of power.  Whether the power of the sovereign, the bourgeois, or that of society, the illegality is an assault against this power.  With the rise of detention through the prison system as the “penalty par excellence” and the subsequent movement to correct, to normalize, in order to prevent further illegalities, the prison system evolves into the self-perpetuating carceral system. (231)

Foucault argues that the prison system, through its continual emphasis on observation and surveillance gave rise to the carceral system, a system permeating the entirety of society.  For Foucault, the flaw of the prison system is that the prison is a self perpetuating machine producing a delinquent class that is both subjugated by the system and essential to its existence.  Foucault argues that the prison system created institutionalizes delinquency by rendering the family destitute (after the removal of the father from society to the prison) and by creating a pervasive surveillance force dominating the prisoner upon release, ultimately resulting in widespread recidivism. (267-268)  With the establishment of a delinquent base, usually composed of individuals from the lower classes, Foucault argues that delinquency becomes an apparatus of power for the dominant class. (280)

And here we have the final step in the evolution of panoptic social surveillance.  As Foucault states, “Delinquency…constitutes a means of perpetual surveillance of the population: an apparatus that makes it possible to supervise through the delinquents themselves, the whole social field.” (281)  Furthermore, Foucault identifies the publicity of crime through newspaper reports and the development of the crime novel as agents in the creation of societal fear of ever-present delinquency.  While not explicitly stated by Foucault, this seems to create a sense of society’s dependence on a police force, hence society’s acceptance of constant surveillance, and therefore further exertion of power by the dominant classes.

This evolutionary line of reasoning seems to have real implications for our lives today.  As Americans, we have been conditioned to accept government surveillance as a means of controlling “delinquency.”  Following the terrorist attacks of September 11, 2001, Americans endorsed constant surveillance in order to identify a specific mode of delinquency.  Perhaps today one could substitute “delinquent” with “terrorist” and “panopticism” with “The Patriot Act.”

The Process of Ethnohistory

In the course of this week’s readings, the common thread that I found pervasive in both works is that ethnohistory, both its occurence and subsequent study, involves a highly complex process.  While the contributors to Brian Axel’s From the Margins primarily discuss the processes inherent within ethnohistory itself, Russell Barber and Frances Berdan focus on the complex process of analyzing ethnohistory in The Emperor’s Mirror.  As such, ethnohistory and indeed the process of its scholarship seem to be a complex series of synchronic events, ultimately resulting in a diachronic phenomenon. 

The essays presented in From the Margins certainly present this notion of process in their analyses of historically specific cultures.  In his essay, Annals of the Archive Nicholas B. Dirks discusses the development of ethnography in India within the context of the ethnographic process of the archive.  For Dirks, the archive itself is an essential element of the ethnohistory of colonial India.  “The archive is a discursive formation in the totalizing sense that it reflects the categories and operations of the state itself.” (58)  This theme of process is further emphasized by Michel-Rolph Trouillot in his essay Culture on the Edges examining the creolization of African slaves in the Caribbean.  Though the creolization of these slaves took place in a historically specific setting, that of the Caribbean plantation system, its development is nonetheless a distinct process.  Trouillot explicitly states, “Creolization is a process rather than a totality.” (204)  These are only two of the examples presented in this volume which take place in historically specific settings (synchrony), yet occur as a diachronic process.

The Emperor’s Mirror seeks to explain the development, evolution, and purpose of ethnohistory; in short- its process.  As Barber and Berdan illustrate, the development of the discipline itself is a continuing process.  However, the focus of this week’s selection, and it seems the entirety of the work itself, is on the different processes ethnohistorians employ to study cultures.  Ultimately, the authors present a model they refer to as The Reality Mediation Model, which emphasizes a process of description, mediated by deconstruction.  The authors believe that deconstrution is capable of  “leaving a residue of description that has some basis in reality.” (44)  In Part 2 of their work they discuss the methods utilized in The Reality Mediation Model.  Acknowledging that reality is an impossibility in description, this model presents a process by which at least parts of reality may be viewed.  It seems to me that though perhaps overly optimistic, ethnohistorians must at least marginally subscribe to The Reality Mediation Model or a model similar to it.  I think its attempt at capturing a semblance of reality distinguishes ethnohistory from “ethnotheory” or “ethnophilosophy.”  Thoughts?

Objective Anthropology?

In the spirit of last week’s readings, I found that the authors for this week, while dealing with immensely theoretical material each sought a semblance of objectivity in ethnography and anthropology.  By attempting to interpret culture beyond a theoretical notion, each author contributes to an understanding of objective anthropology and ethnography.  In the realm of social history, this is incredibly valuable.

The study of human interactions, an inherently historically specific function at its core, is invariably transformed into a theoretical, trans-historical endeavor by the infinite and continual differences in individuals, and thus societies.  Similar to Postone’s critique of traditional Marxism, one must ground social theory in a historically specific context in order to apply it trans-historically.  Geertz, for instance, stresses the importance of studying behavior as social action. (Geertz; Thick Description: Toward an Interpretive Theory of Culture; 10)  As Geertz argues, culture must be studied objectively by ascertaining what an action brings to a situation, or as he describes it, what the “import” is. (Geertz 10)  Quoting Ward Goodenough, Geertz identifies the most common means by which objectivity in anthropology is destroyed-the notion that “culture is located in the hearts and minds of men.” (Geertz 11)

Similarly, this week’s authors seem to if not directly (Sahlins and Geertz), indirectly subscribe to Mark Bevir’s method of comparison as a means by which to objectively ground theoretical material.  In Waiting for Foucault, Still, Marshall Sahlins directly states that, “No good ethnography is self-contained.  Implicitly or explicitly ethnography is an act of comparison.  By virtue of comparison ethnographic description becomes objective.” (Sahlins; Waiting for Foucault, Still; 12)  Moreover, in Other Times, Other Customs: The Anthropology of History, Sahlins explicitly declares that it is through the study of  a wide variety of cultural structures that our understandings of history are advanced.(Sahlins; Other Times, Other Cultures: The Anthropology of History; 534)  How else, if not through some method of comparison?

With culture an inherent component of any social history, anthropology and ethnography must be objectively grounded in order to be made useful for the historian.  While this is certainly a tall order, it appears that these authors have not abandoned hope.

Subjective Objectivity

Both Peter Novick and Mark Bevir examine the importance of objectivity in historical pursuit.  Novick, in That Noble Dream: The “Objectivity Question” and the American Historical Profession, as the title implies, explores objectivity within the specific framework of the development of the professionalization of historical scholarship in America.  Bevir, on the other hand, in his article Objectivity in History published in Volume 33, Issue 3 of History and Theory takes a far more general approach in assessing the possibility of objectivity in history.

Novick’s, That Noble Dream  can best be described as a history of the profession of history in America.  At the heart of the development of the profession however, is the question of objectivity.  Novick begins by tracing the roots of American historical pursuit, and thus the quest for objectivity, to that of Germany as exemplified by Leopold von Ranke.  Out of this admiration for a devotion to sources and the pursuit of historical truth developed a deep committment to the scientific method as the model by which to pursue historical fact.  Synonymous with the obsession for objective historical analysis was the movement towards the professionalized American historian.  At the heart of this relationship between objectivity and professionalization is according to Novick, the association of objective knowledge with authoritative knowledge. (51)  By embodying objectivity, American professional historians could begin to distinguish themselves from the ranks of the amateur.

In an ironic testament to the powerful influences of an individual’s personal experience upon their worldview, and thus the impossibility of complete objectivity in its truest sense, the development of World War I and the inter-war years prior to World War II challenged much of the profession’s emphasis on “disinterested objectivity.”  Large-scale events such as the Great War itself, the critique of capitalism, and the rise of the Nazi Party proved incredibly destructive to the doctrine of unbiased objectivity.  However, Novick argues that perhaps equally as destructive to objective historical pursuit, and thus the historical profession, were the domestic in-house problems facing historical professionals.  Strong anti-Semitism, lack of quality and quantity of scholarship, and powerful sectional divides during the inter-war years were equally as devastating.  Out of this decline in objectivity rose the acceptance of both skepticism, “denying that true knowledge is possible”, and relativism, “stressing the plurality of criteria of knowledge.” (167)  These rejections of objectivity, specifically relativism, championed by Charles Beard and Carl Becker, carried the American historical profession into World War II and the Cold War era.

Again, as a function of worldly experience, the fight against Nazi and Soviet totalitarianism greatly defused the strength of relativism within the historical profession.  Accompanying the “re-rise” of objectivity was significant progress in the professionalization of historical study.  This return to objectivity, paralleled by a strengthening of the profession reverted the guild back to the original purpose of professionalization: autonomy. 

While Novick examines objectivity as a function of American historical professionalization, Mark Bevir explores the possibility of objectivity in historical pursuit.  While many philosophers such as Hans-Georg Gadamer, Michael Foucault, and Jacques Derrida reject the notion of objectivity in history as impossible, Bevir asserts the contrary, at least to a degree. 

Upholding the empiricist critique of the philosophers, Bevir rejects historical knowledge based upon facts obtained through pure experience, stating that, “because our experiences embody theoretical assumptions, our experiences cannot be pure.” (331)  However, he upholds the doctrine of historical objectivity through a process of comparison.  Distinguishing between facts and truth, a relatively subjective distinction in and of itself, Bevir believes that through comparison of accepted facts, and critique of opposing opinions, historians can objectively dissect historical events.  Key to Bevir’s theory is the processes of criticism, which he believes promotes progress. 

After providing the historical example of Locke’s Two Treatises and addressing potential criticisms, Bevir comes to the point in his argument that I believe is deeply flawed.  While I accept his conditional objectivity in recognizing that truth can never be purely understood because of personal experience and his method of comparative objectivity, its validation is a different matter.  According to Bevir, humanity’s continued existence is evidence that “our perceptions are generally reliable.”  From here he justifies his argument by asserting that “we can ground interpretations in facts, facts in perceptions, and perceptions in our ability to interact successfully with our environment.” (341)  I agree with the first two statements in terms of historical pursuit, but I do not believe that the continued existence of humankind provides any evidence of accurate perceptions with regard to the academic study of history.

Finally, both Novick and Bevir emphasize the importance of objectivity in history.  Without it, there can be no profession dedicated to its pure pursuit.  While we can never completely escape our personal and cultural biases, Bevir’s method of comparison governed by critique is a worthy substitute, albeit inherently subjective.  Indeed, it is quite a paradox; the impossibility and simultaneously the necessity of historical objectivity.