Making things happen
... with integrity
Monday July 26, 2004 Volume VI Number 30
|
by Ken Kemp |
t’s a phrase my friend George
conjured up. A historian himself, by profession, Dr. George understands that
history is dynamic and not static.
There is a static element in history, to be sure. What happened, happened. It can not be changed. The past is over and by definition, unalterable. History is the record of those events. History is also the study of those records. Not all of the records are in written form. Some are contained in oral accounts and traditions and story. In the study of the historical record, there is room for interpretation. There is also the possibility of error. History can even be abused. That’s why, we might say, there exists both good history and bad history. A good historian aspires to good history.
Good
history is accurate. It is true to the events themselves, and then true in the
interpretation and the significance of those events. Bad history doesn’t care
so much about accuracy. It poses as history, but really is a
masquerade. It’s a recounting of events in a form that appears credible, but
isn’t. It has been designed by the “historian” to serve another purpose – to
bolster a legend or to sell tickets at a shrine or to maintain loyalty to a
political figure or political faction or to inflame a rebellion or even a
revolution. We sometimes call such “history” propaganda or indoctrination.
So the role of a good historian, then, is to sort through the data and first confirm what really happened. He must determine the credibility of his sources, and then comprehend the presuppositions that may drive the conclusions drawn from the source material. He also must appreciate his own biases. In this sense history becomes dynamic. It is always open to the impact of new information. It is eager to know more, to broaden the scope of its awareness, and expand its ability to see events in the context of an ever widening sweep in the drama of human aspiration.
History is dynamic in another sense. History could be called the record of surprise. It’s what happens at the intersection of the predictable and the unexpected. Most of life is fairly routine. Even mundane. But then something astonishing comes along, something unanticipated. Perhaps someone. Someone with extraordinary persuasive power and charisma, someone who, by sheer grit or overwhelming insight, manages to upset the whole order of things.
It may also be a calamity or disaster, by natural or man-made causes. It may be an unimaginable assault on the universally assumed rules of civil, human behavior. An attack on decency. When that happens, we are thrown off course. Off balance. Off track. The unexpected; the unanticipated; the surprise hits. We change forever.
Dynamic history on the move.
How
many of us, sitting before the flickering television screens on that fateful
Tuesday morning of September 11, 2001 with the pale expression of shock on our
faces uttered the words – “We are witnessing history today” - as we sat there
in stunned perplexity before the image of the twin Towers as they collapsed?
We knew it. We somehow knew at the moment of impact that this would be a story
we would be telling and retelling for generations to come. The perpetrators
were well aware of the enormous power of their ghastly deed; the seduction of
history-making too great to resist. With fire in the belly and flames in the
eyes, they imagined the unthinkable and implemented their shocking scheme, and
the world will never forget.
So my friend George the historian, invited us to participate in a sort of pilgrimage to the epicenter of human history and see for ourselves.
We’ve only read about them. Jerusalem. Athens. Rome. My world has never been so aware of the clash between East and West as now. The bloodshed in Baghdad is but a footnote in the centuries old drama of conflict between opposing world views. When will it end? What are the root causes?
George made a modest proposal. Let’s go back. Let’s walk the streets, visit the shrines, meet the people, read the documents. Let’s talk it through. Let’s find out what history can teach us.
Let’s allow history to surprise us.
And let’s do it together.
* * * * * *
I suppose it shouldn’t surprise me. Our oldest daughter, our first born, has never been one to shrink back from a challenge.
She is now the mother of two boys. Just ten days after she delivered William David Duncan, early morning, we bobbed around on Lake Perris in a nineteen foot Bayliner with a one-hundred fifty horsepower outboard turning a high torque propeller.
Her husband, Ben, our pilot, nodded in her direction.
“Ya wanna give it a go?” he asked. He knows her well.
“Sure,” she smiled, and reached for the life-vest.
On cue, I tossed a slalom ski into the water. “Ya sure you’re gunna be OK, honey?” I felt an obligation to play the concerned parent. Grandma Carolyn was back on shore tending to William in the shade on the knoll above the sandy beach. Uncle David held little Kenny in his arms in the seat beside me, as the little boy watched his mother suit up for action.
It reminded me of those days off road on our mountain bikes, how fearless she was along the edge of the trail. And when she took up distance running, she wouldn’t quit. And that summer day up in the Colorado Rockies on the Alpine slides – how she would open up the sled full speed down the concrete luge, winding back and forth down the switchbacks. Me on the parallel track, and I could barely keep up with her… though I was determined to try.
Now,
I’m watching her get ready, slimmed down considerably just less than two weeks
after childbirth but still showing signs, minor distortions in body proportions
from the physical upheaval she’s been through, still a week away from her first
post-partum doctor visit (this will be an interesting confession there in the
examination room), and she dives off the stern into the fresh water, swimming
to the ski and after placing her foot in the boot, she turns for the tow line
grabbing the handle. Ben eases the craft forward, tightening the line.
I whisper a prayer as she shouts “Hit it!” and Ben pushes at the throttle and the five cylinder Chrysler pours fuel into the carburetor and cranks power to the prop. The Bayliner surges forward, and on her first attempt, Kris pops up out of the spray and gets her bearings and then flies immediately out over the wake. Upright and skimming across the surface.
Earlier, she complained that pregnancy had for too long limited her activity. This time, she told me, she was ready to get back into the swing.
And while I shared some of the fears parents feel when they consider the risks their kids take, I also felt the pride.
And when she stumbled over choppy water, and tumbled high speed headlong over the ski and into the lake, I stood up, and watched, not relaxing until I saw a hand appear waving gracefully. A signal: “I’m OK.”
Then she got up again. And then again.
The only one more proud than me was Ben. Kenny? From David’s lap, he watched quietly, intently.
He’ll figure it out soon enough.
* * * * * *
The world is a dangerous place. Historic tidal waves crash upon nations. Global tyrants wreak havoc on the masses. Religions compete for the hearts and minds of the faithful. Political firebrands seek to persuade recruits to rally to the cause. For thousands of years, the record has been argued.
Dr. George has invited us to come along.
We’re
going to read selected books in anticipation of our journey. We will walk the
streets of Tel Aviv and Jerusalem. We will visit the ancient sites where Jesus
taught a band of disciples who carried the message into the known world. We
will explore the ancient texts, where the prophets called on the people to turn
toward the God of creation. We will examine the political forces brought to
bear on Israel and the Middle East. And then on to Istanbul and the
development of Eastern Orthodoxy. On to Rome, and the heart of the Holy Roman
Empire. And Florence, the center of the arts.
Let’s to it together.
You are hereby cordially invited to come along.
* * * * * * *
It’s Monday morning. You are a leader.
History plays a considerable role in your sense of identity. You know your perspective is colored by the past. The older you get, the more curious you are about that past.
Back in those formative years, when history was mandatory as an element of your course of study, you probably endured it. You may have been one of those rare students blessed by a teacher who reveled in his or her subject, and made history come alive. Likely, you got lost in the tedium of dates and names and places that meant little to you.
But that’s different now. You know longer study simply to pass a test. You are curious. You want to know.
When children are born, your destiny is clarified. If you are a young parent, time comes soon enough when you strap on the skis, grab the tow rope and holler “hit it!” and you get back to the demands and challenges of your life. If you are a grandparent, you know that those kids are more than a job to do.
They are a destiny. A future and a promise.
They are and will become a part of the ebb and flow of history.
Posted in Valley Center, California
© Copyright Kenneth E. Kemp 2004
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