de bene esse: literally, of well-being, morally acceptable but subject to future validation or exception
It
is rare that one reads a history book so compelling and so stimulating
that one forgets to eat, but that was my experience of Geoffrey Parker’s
magnificent Global Crisis, a magisterial, near 900-page study
of the world in the 17th century that centres on the relationship
between climate and human conflict, of which there was a great deal.
Parker’s study is what I call Big History, though, judging by what
others mean by that term, I am plainly parochial.
At the
Anglo-American Conference held at London’s Institute of Historical
Research in 2000, Eric Hobsbawm was asked what field of history he would
concentrate on were he starting out as a historian today. He had no
hesitation in saying that he would set his sights on ‘Deep History’, of
the kind pioneered by Daniel Lord Smail and his team at Harvard: pushing
the barrier between history and pre-history ever further back, using
the science of genetics to establish new primary sources from the
language of genes. Anyone who saw the recent Ice Age Art
exhibition at the British Museum, which shone shafts of light on the
darkest, distant corners of human history, will understand the appeal of
such a project. But even ‘Deep History’ sets its sights low in
comparison with ‘Big History’.
‘To understand the integrated
history of the Cosmos, Earth, Life and Humanity’: such is the almost
ludicrously ambitious ambition of the International Big History
Association, founded in Italy in 2010. It is the brainchild of
historians such as David Christian, founder of the Big History Institute
at Macquarie University in Sydney, Australia, and Fred Spier, author of
The Structure of Big History (1996). Rather than limit the
historian’s remit to the mere 200,000-year existence of Homo Sapiens, of
which there is still so much to explore, Big History embraces the
entire 13.8 billion years from the Big Bang onwards, through the Earth’s
formation 4.6 billion years ago, right up to the present. It is a task
that demands a high degree of interdisciplinarity (an ugly word for a
noble ideal), embracing within its unwieldy remit chemistry, biology,
physics, geology, cosmology, climatology and much else.
Big
History, though recently christened, has a long lineage. Oswald Spengler
and Arnold Toynbee, though little read today and even less well
regarded, sought to create totalising histories. Fernand Braudel and the
French Annales school proved more fruitful, examining the interaction
of human societies with long-term geographical, geological and
meteorological change. Jared Diamond and Ian Morris have followed in
their footsteps, reaching a wide audience with erudite, genuinely global
histories. Yet all, successful or not, deferred wittingly or
unwittingly to Alexander Pope’s maxim that ‘the proper study of mankind
is man’. I wish Big History and its practitioners well and I am sure it
will add greatly to the sum of human knowledge, but will its
mind-numbing scope hinder rather than aid insight, reducing the vast
past to inhuman abstraction? To paraphrase Quentin Skinner, it is not
that ‘such histories can sometimes go wrong, but that they can never go
right’.
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