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| [a] Historical Santa Anna-ctment RF |
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| [b] "Play" RF |
I want to talk about re-enactment, to be sure, but it is the essay of a certain philosopher of history that has my attention. It is one of the most famous—and seminal—middles ever published in a history book, and everyone who has ever thought about the nature of the past (or of dressing up like Napoleon) should be familiar with it. If you are not, your education in history (and historiography) is incomplete. It's that simple. You need to know this.
Now, don't think that by telling you that this stuff is absolutely central (hence its inclusion in today's "Middles" entry) means that you need to agree with it. Far from it. R.G. Collingwood took plenty of heat for his assertion that history is the re-enactment of past experience. Like all powerful philosophical ideas, it is worth pondering deeply...and criticizing relentlessly. There is probably not a more famous and persistent idea in the philosophy of history, and you may realize where I am going with this. You see, you can't really think about anything that has already happened (from the Bay of Pigs to the debt-ceiling debate) without considering this little idea of re-enactment.
If you are an anthropologist, take note—the discipline has ignored these matters long enough. There is nothing defensible about avoiding a rigorous engagement with the pastness of all culture. Dive in. If you are a student of history, you absolutely must acquaint yourself with Collingwood's argument. Eventually, you must read all of The Idea of History, from which this segment is taken, and ponder the many debates on this topic in volumes such as History and Theory. Even if you are not, say, a history major, this stuff matters more than you may ever have realized. Take a look at two pages from R.G. Collingwood's text, and commit to reading more...soon. It is a middle that you can't afford to ignore (even sixty-five years after its publication).
R.G. Collingwood
History as Re-enactment of Past Experience (1946)
History as Re-enactment of Past Experience (1946)
How, or on what conditions, can the historian know the past? In considering this question, the first point to notice is that the past is never a given fact which he can apprehend empirically by perception. Ex hypothesi, the historian is not an eyewitness of the facts he desires to know. Nor does the historian fancy that he is; he knows quite well that his only possible knowledge of the past is mediate or inferential or indirect, never empirical. The second point is that this mediation cannot be effected by testimony. The historian does not know the past by simply believing a witness who saw the events in question and has left his evidence on record. That kind of mediation would give at most not knowledge but belief, and very ill-founded and improbable belief. And the historian, once more, knows very well that this is not the way in which he proceeds; he is aware that what he does to his so-called authorities is not to believe them but to criticize them. If then the historian has no direct or empirical knowledge of his facts, and no transmitted or testimoniary knowledge of them, what kind of knowledge has he: in other words, what must the historian do in order that he may know them?
My historical review of the idea of history has resulted in the emergence of an answer to this question: namely, that the historian must re-enact the past in his own mind. What we must now do is to look more closely at this idea, and see what it means in itself and what further consequences it implies.
In a general way, the meaning of the conception is easily understood. When a man thinks historically, he has before him certain documents or relics of the past. His business is to discover what the past was which has left these relics behind it. For example, the relics are certain written words; and in that case he has to discover what the person who wrote those words meant by them. This means discovering the thought (in the widest sense of that word: we shall look into its preciser meaning in § 5) which he expressed by them. To discover what this thought was, the historian must think it again for himself.
Suppose, for example, he is reading the Theodosian Code, and has before him a certain edict of an emperor. Merely reading the words and being able to translate them does not amount to knowing their historical significance. In order to do that he must envisage the situation with which the emperor was trying to deal, and he must envisage it as that emperor envisaged it. Then he must see for himself, just as if the emperor's situation were his own, how such a situation must be dealt with; he must see the possible alternatives, and the reasons for choosing one rather than another; and thus he must go through the process which the emperor went through in deciding on this particular course. Thus he is re-enacting in his own mind the experience of the emperor; and only in so far as he does this has he any historical knowledge, as distinct from a merely philological knowledge, of the meaning of the edict.
Or again, suppose he is reading a passage of an ancient philosopher. Once more, he must know the language in a philological sense and be able to construe; but by doing that he has not yet understood the passage as an historian of philosophy must understand it. In order to do that, he must see what the philosophical problem was, of which his author is here stating his solution. He must think that problem out for himself, see what possible solutions of it might be offered, and see why this particular philosopher chose that solution instead of another. This means re-thinking for himself the thought of his author, and nothing short of that will make him the historian of that author's philosophy.
It cannot, I think, be denied by anybody that these descriptions, whatever their ambiguities and shortcomings, do actually call attention to the central feature of all historical thinking. As descriptions of that experience, their general accuracy is beyond question. But they still require a great deal of amplification and explanation; and perhaps the best way of beginning this is to expose them to the criticism of an imaginary objector...
Note
From this point on, Collingwood engages the imaginary objector, and I strongly encourage you to pick up the book (it is widely available). While it is true that objections abound, even to the complete argument, the very nature of Collingwood's point makes it relevant for any thinker (and that is what we all are, after all) at any time. It would be a great mistake to do what, for example, several anthropologists have done, and dismiss the entire concept because of its very real flaw of not engaging cultural difference. While that is a very valid criticism, I suspect that Collingwood might say that the critic has a good deal of the argument left to internalize. Criticize away, though. Six decades of readers have done so, and Collingwood...would likely have been pleased. The only thing that is indefensible (now that you have been introduced to it) is not considering the argument from this day forward. RL for RSQ.
My historical review of the idea of history has resulted in the emergence of an answer to this question: namely, that the historian must re-enact the past in his own mind. What we must now do is to look more closely at this idea, and see what it means in itself and what further consequences it implies.
In a general way, the meaning of the conception is easily understood. When a man thinks historically, he has before him certain documents or relics of the past. His business is to discover what the past was which has left these relics behind it. For example, the relics are certain written words; and in that case he has to discover what the person who wrote those words meant by them. This means discovering the thought (in the widest sense of that word: we shall look into its preciser meaning in § 5) which he expressed by them. To discover what this thought was, the historian must think it again for himself.
Suppose, for example, he is reading the Theodosian Code, and has before him a certain edict of an emperor. Merely reading the words and being able to translate them does not amount to knowing their historical significance. In order to do that he must envisage the situation with which the emperor was trying to deal, and he must envisage it as that emperor envisaged it. Then he must see for himself, just as if the emperor's situation were his own, how such a situation must be dealt with; he must see the possible alternatives, and the reasons for choosing one rather than another; and thus he must go through the process which the emperor went through in deciding on this particular course. Thus he is re-enacting in his own mind the experience of the emperor; and only in so far as he does this has he any historical knowledge, as distinct from a merely philological knowledge, of the meaning of the edict.
Or again, suppose he is reading a passage of an ancient philosopher. Once more, he must know the language in a philological sense and be able to construe; but by doing that he has not yet understood the passage as an historian of philosophy must understand it. In order to do that, he must see what the philosophical problem was, of which his author is here stating his solution. He must think that problem out for himself, see what possible solutions of it might be offered, and see why this particular philosopher chose that solution instead of another. This means re-thinking for himself the thought of his author, and nothing short of that will make him the historian of that author's philosophy.
It cannot, I think, be denied by anybody that these descriptions, whatever their ambiguities and shortcomings, do actually call attention to the central feature of all historical thinking. As descriptions of that experience, their general accuracy is beyond question. But they still require a great deal of amplification and explanation; and perhaps the best way of beginning this is to expose them to the criticism of an imaginary objector...
Note
From this point on, Collingwood engages the imaginary objector, and I strongly encourage you to pick up the book (it is widely available). While it is true that objections abound, even to the complete argument, the very nature of Collingwood's point makes it relevant for any thinker (and that is what we all are, after all) at any time. It would be a great mistake to do what, for example, several anthropologists have done, and dismiss the entire concept because of its very real flaw of not engaging cultural difference. While that is a very valid criticism, I suspect that Collingwood might say that the critic has a good deal of the argument left to internalize. Criticize away, though. Six decades of readers have done so, and Collingwood...would likely have been pleased. The only thing that is indefensible (now that you have been introduced to it) is not considering the argument from this day forward. RL for RSQ.
[1] R.G. Collingwood, The Idea of History (New York: Oxford University Press, 1994), 282-283. All italics mine.
Bibliography
Collingwood, R.G. The Idea of History. New York: Oxford University Press, 1994.
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