17. Ephemeral but legendary histories
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History is, of course, far more than books describe. Histories are carried by people in many ways, and they change over time. Our understanding of the past is continuously revised by our experience of the present. Hence, history is under constant revision and rarely in agreement with itself. When I say history, I do not mean "facts" I do not mean a mere list of occurrences, measurements of population, temperature, random photographs or observations. History exists in the present through the stories people tell about the past. The arcs of stories give history its shape and meaning. Without the story it would just be a collection of data. Because histories are shaped by that meaning-giving instrument, the story, they do not conform perfectly to facts, in some sense, they cannot conform to the facts.
But, the purpose of history is not to accurately reproduce some aspect of reality, but rather to accurately lend meaning to reality by translating it in to the kind of stories people use naturally in their thought processes to understand everything they encounter, including the evidence of the past. History is a story that requires a person to tell that story. History requires people to witness its passing. In a place with no people there is no history, beyond whatever we might deduce from layers of sediment and the stones.
The bulk of history emerges in places filled with people. Again, a history need not be momentous enough to take up space on the shelfs of a library to be a history. It need only be a story of real events worth recounting to someone, anyone. A story from life, a personal history, a company history, a universal history of human beings.
Most of the time, we make our history without even realizing it, but from time to time there are moments where we are aware of ourself and our place in the greater story of all people, and perhaps the planet and even universe. We might feel, suddenly, all of the intertwining histories that have led up to us, that are moving through us, as we make the choice that creates the future. In that kind of moment we simultaneously see our actions and the significance of our actions as a part of some greater story. This is a ephemeral and legendary moment.
In the city these moments are everywhere, we may watch the theatre of strangers in the street, or make our own stories for the crowd.
Standing on a roof at night one may see slices of many histories. On every roof and terrace there is life, people flicker by a narrow ally way, a young man smokes on the fire escape, in the street a man with a brief case drops it and a flurry of papers cover the street. Then a woman with a tiny dog tries to help, the young man is still smoking slowly watching the cars on the bridge in the distance, he looks up a waves, an ephemeral moment.
All of their histories became a part of our own history. And our history is theirs, observed, remembered, told in fragments, perhaps some flicker of the spirt of who we are remains in all this even after we are gone.
From: The Urban Naturalist
I never thought this essay really clicked. I've reworked it a bit. There is something in here, and I think it's worth including.
History is, of course, far more than books describe. Histories are carried by people in many ways, and they change over time. Our understanding of the past is continuously revised by our experience of the present. Hence, history is under constant revision and rarely in agreement with itself. When I say history, I do not mean "facts" I do not mean a mere list of occurrences, measurements of population, temperature, random photographs or observations. History exists in the present through the stories people tell about the past. The arcs of stories give history its shape and meaning. Without the story it would just be a collection of data. Because histories are shaped by that meaning-giving instrument, the story, they do not conform perfectly to facts, in some sense, they cannot conform to the facts.
But, the purpose of history is not to accurately reproduce some aspect of reality, but rather to accurately lend meaning to reality by translating it in to the kind of stories people use naturally in their thought processes to understand everything they encounter, including the evidence of the past. History is a story that requires a person to tell that story. History requires people to witness its passing. In a place with no people there is no history, beyond whatever we might deduce from layers of sediment and the stones.
The bulk of history emerges in places filled with people. Again, a history need not be momentous enough to take up space on the shelfs of a library to be a history. It need only be a story of real events worth recounting to someone, anyone. A story from life, a personal history, a company history, a universal history of human beings.
Most of the time, we make our history without even realizing it, but from time to time there are moments where we are aware of ourself and our place in the greater story of all people, and perhaps the planet and even universe. We might feel, suddenly, all of the intertwining histories that have led up to us, that are moving through us, as we make the choice that creates the future. In that kind of moment we simultaneously see our actions and the significance of our actions as a part of some greater story. This is a ephemeral and legendary moment.
In the city these moments are everywhere, we may watch the theatre of strangers in the street, or make our own stories for the crowd.
Standing on a roof at night one may see slices of many histories. On every roof and terrace there is life, people flicker by a narrow ally way, a young man smokes on the fire escape, in the street a man with a brief case drops it and a flurry of papers cover the street. Then a woman with a tiny dog tries to help, the young man is still smoking slowly watching the cars on the bridge in the distance, he looks up a waves, an ephemeral moment.
All of their histories became a part of our own history. And our history is theirs, observed, remembered, told in fragments, perhaps some flicker of the spirt of who we are remains in all this even after we are gone.
From: The Urban Naturalist
I never thought this essay really clicked. I've reworked it a bit. There is something in here, and I think it's worth including.