History
I was listening to my son’s podcast GiantPanda this morning the latest episode of which is an interview with the Mexican author, Sofia Segovia. Her most recent book is The Murmur of Bees which might be categorized as a historical novel although one can listen to the authors comments about that. At any rate, as I was listening, I was again reminded that history is subjective. Even if reading a textbook which purports to be factual one knows that someone has decided what to include or exclude. A list of dates and facts do not, in and of themselves, tell one much about history.
What is meant when one uses the word history? The ancient Greek word istoria meant “knowledge acquired by investigation, inquiry”. The word was used by Francis Bacon to mean the knowledge of objects determined by space and time. In Middle English the meaning was story. The current use of the word as defined by Oxford Dictionary is “a series of past events as connected by a person or thing.” At times the word is used to refer to any past event. One has or needs to be clear when using the word history without referencing the story teller and the possible conscious or unconscious motive of the story teller. When I attended public school in a regional rural school I do not recall learning any United States history as told by a slave or descendant of a slave, a native American, women, homosexuals, or any other minority group. I do not recall hearing stories of the arrogant invasions of other cultures and nations by representatives of these United States. I do not recall any stories about how the German people felt about how they were treated by the Allies following World War I. I never learned about the influence of the eugenics movement in the United States on the thinking of the Nazis.
Even in terms of my family history there were many secrets or, at the very least, the neglect of certain perspectives or incidents which were essential to an approximation of “shared history”.
There are historical facts. For example, I was born in 1940 in a hospital in Chicago, Illinois according to my birth certificate as a result of the sperm of Floyd Jim Pickett hooking up with the egg of Daisy Ethel Pickett. I have no reason to doubt the validity of these statements. On the other hand, there is no DNA evidence to substantiate this claim. I know the names of the siblings of my mother , the story of my father being the only child who lived, and the siblings of my paternal grandparents. I know less about the history of my material grandparents. There are many antidotes about both sides of the family, but do these constitute history. They do tell several possible stories depending on who is sharing them and who is listening.
Back to the historical novel which makes no pretense to be other than what it is. It is a story told to possibly entertain and which has the potential of challenging one to consider the potential journey of the intersection of people, very personal events and other part of the universe in which the story is located.
In my office individuals and even families lay their historical novels at my feel. They often wrap them in bright, colorful packages and carefully place them at the altar of the “wise therapist or coach” demanding that one validate the “true story” of their relationship(s) history. If I fall into the trap of validating one package and discarding others there are going to be some very unhappy family members. While there be kernels of truth there are many truths. For example, one may have been hit with words, fists or some objects and have the scars to “prove” this part of the story. I may still not know anything of the “negative space” in the story – all he events leading up to the verbal or physical violence. I am not suggesting that violence is ever justified or okay. I am suggesting that there is more to the story that either of the parties is able to communicate to me. They can each tell me what they heard, felt, observed or even recorded but not what the other heard, felt, or observed. There is no objective truth or facts other than someone does have a black eye or other visible or invisible injury.
Perhaps we need to listen carefully and lovingly to each other’s stories without demanding that one pass the test of universal truths.
Written May 9, 2019
Jimmy F Pickett
coachpickett.org
I was listening to my son’s podcast GiantPanda this morning the latest episode of which is an interview with the Mexican author, Sofia Segovia. Her most recent book is The Murmur of Bees which might be categorized as a historical novel although one can listen to the authors comments about that. At any rate, as I was listening, I was again reminded that history is subjective. Even if reading a textbook which purports to be factual one knows that someone has decided what to include or exclude. A list of dates and facts do not, in and of themselves, tell one much about history.
What is meant when one uses the word history? The ancient Greek word istoria meant “knowledge acquired by investigation, inquiry”. The word was used by Francis Bacon to mean the knowledge of objects determined by space and time. In Middle English the meaning was story. The current use of the word as defined by Oxford Dictionary is “a series of past events as connected by a person or thing.” At times the word is used to refer to any past event. One has or needs to be clear when using the word history without referencing the story teller and the possible conscious or unconscious motive of the story teller. When I attended public school in a regional rural school I do not recall learning any United States history as told by a slave or descendant of a slave, a native American, women, homosexuals, or any other minority group. I do not recall hearing stories of the arrogant invasions of other cultures and nations by representatives of these United States. I do not recall any stories about how the German people felt about how they were treated by the Allies following World War I. I never learned about the influence of the eugenics movement in the United States on the thinking of the Nazis.
Even in terms of my family history there were many secrets or, at the very least, the neglect of certain perspectives or incidents which were essential to an approximation of “shared history”.
There are historical facts. For example, I was born in 1940 in a hospital in Chicago, Illinois according to my birth certificate as a result of the sperm of Floyd Jim Pickett hooking up with the egg of Daisy Ethel Pickett. I have no reason to doubt the validity of these statements. On the other hand, there is no DNA evidence to substantiate this claim. I know the names of the siblings of my mother , the story of my father being the only child who lived, and the siblings of my paternal grandparents. I know less about the history of my material grandparents. There are many antidotes about both sides of the family, but do these constitute history. They do tell several possible stories depending on who is sharing them and who is listening.
Back to the historical novel which makes no pretense to be other than what it is. It is a story told to possibly entertain and which has the potential of challenging one to consider the potential journey of the intersection of people, very personal events and other part of the universe in which the story is located.
In my office individuals and even families lay their historical novels at my feel. They often wrap them in bright, colorful packages and carefully place them at the altar of the “wise therapist or coach” demanding that one validate the “true story” of their relationship(s) history. If I fall into the trap of validating one package and discarding others there are going to be some very unhappy family members. While there be kernels of truth there are many truths. For example, one may have been hit with words, fists or some objects and have the scars to “prove” this part of the story. I may still not know anything of the “negative space” in the story – all he events leading up to the verbal or physical violence. I am not suggesting that violence is ever justified or okay. I am suggesting that there is more to the story that either of the parties is able to communicate to me. They can each tell me what they heard, felt, observed or even recorded but not what the other heard, felt, or observed. There is no objective truth or facts other than someone does have a black eye or other visible or invisible injury.
Perhaps we need to listen carefully and lovingly to each other’s stories without demanding that one pass the test of universal truths.
Written May 9, 2019
Jimmy F Pickett
coachpickett.org
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