History as Corkscrew and Kaleidescope

I recently finished reading A Tale of Two Utopias: The Political Journey of the Generation of 1968 in which Paul Berman, once again, skillfully details the shifts in the New Left movements spawned by the student revolts of 1968, including second wave feminism, violent anarchist trends like the Weather Underground, the gay awakening following the Stonewall Riots, and the influence of both diplomats and cultural icons in the Eastern Bloc.  The finale of Berman’s account is “A Backward Glance at the End of History” in which the author examines the impact that the political journey 68ers made on ideas of what exactly “history” is.  Although I was familiar with the framework of ’68 outlined in Two Utopias (thanks to my research for senior sem in ’08), the final chapter presented an interesting and thought-provoking argument, one worthy of a bit of summation and reflection.*

In his conclusion, Berman expounds on two major theories of history.  First, the idea of history as a “corkscrew,” most famously championed by the Reagan-era intellectual Francis Fukuyama, the author of The End of History and the Last Man.**  The corkscrew theory suggests that history ultimately has forward motion and that, for all the apparent chaos, the series of events eventually becomes progress.  History is also finite; the events, or at least the progress, have to end somewhere down the line.

The second idea, championed by the French philosopher and former Maoist André Glucksmann in The 11th Commandment, suggests that history is best understood as a kaleidoscope.  All of the apparent chaos is just that–chaos.  Change happens and perhaps there are some similarities among events, but there is no way to fit everything together.  History is potentially infinite; it’s entirely possible that the series of events could continue eternally. 

Berman rightly observes that the two theories are irreconcilable, but also points out that both theories have their merit and we need not completely ignore the perspective allowed by one theory just because we side with the other.  Besides, it’s difficult to prove that either is entirely wrong or entirely correct. 

So then, what benefits can the readers and writers of history derive from each idea?†

The corkscrew theory, I think, legitimizes the formulation of narratives in an era suspicious of metanarratives.  Three different students might come up with three different narratives, but at least all of them think that can tell a story of how A led to B which became C.  This particular freedom satisfies a human need for purpose and creates the possibility of a story being passed on.  (Chaos might be interesting to observe, but it’s beastly to attempt to retell it.)  Furthermore, the idea of an end to the events plays well into the pervasive egoism and inescapable mortality of human beings.  It stands to reason that if there is an end to my own life, there must be an end to everyone else’s and to their actions and events.  Therefore there must be an end to history.

However, I don’t think historians or humand in general are always comfortable with confident narratives or admissions of mortality.  The kaleidoscope theory therefore satisfies some equally human, but paradoxical, sensibilities.  The idea of a history as a series of disconnected, but sometimes similar events, allows an historian to admit a limited perspective.  It frees the historian to notice similarities and make connections if it seems reasonable to do so, but there is absolutely no pressure to construct an overarching narrative.  One’s tale might not be quite so neat and tidy, but at least it’s honest and doesn’t attempt to force the events to fit a theory.   It also legitimizes new theories and perspectives on old stories; it becomes perfectly appropriate to formulate a new narrative when the viewer changes and the metaphorical lens shifts.

I’ve oversimplified Berman’s chapter and the original theories quite a bit here and might revisit them again at a later time.  In the meantime, I’m wondering if there are other applicable or prominent metaphors for history?  Do the corkscrew and kaleidoscope still make sense?  Or is there a better idea that describes the series of events we call history?  Just something to think about. 

*The following paragraphs are a very brief summation of section one of Berman’s final chapter.  He goes into far greater detail about Fukuyama’s and Glucksmann’s family backgrounds, education and political maturation.  The whole chapter is fascinating, but outside the scope of this blog post for the moment.

**Fukuyama is not himself a 68er, but Berman outlines the philosophical influences that connect Fukuyama to those actually involved in the revolts.

The last few paragraphs are my own musings.  Just so you know that the potentially flawed ideas are mine and not Berman’s.


“I’m Not Tryin’ To Cause A Sensation…”

The main cast of Star Trek: The Original Series, led by (a very young) William Statner starring at Capt. James T. Kirk

“…Just talkin’ ’bout my generation.”  Well, not my generation exactly.  The Sixties were long over by the time I was born, but they perpetually hold my fascination.  The music and literature of the decade speak to a mass culture of protest and political awareness that (as something of an idealist and would-be rebel) I find irresistible.

As a student of history, I also think that the way people “talk about their generation” in the 1960s provides some of the most interesting primary source documentation around.

Take the original Star Trek series for example.  I am not a “Trekkie” by any means; prior to this week, I don’t think I’ve ever seen more than a half-dozen episodes of any of the series and I couldn’t distinguish Captain Kirk from Captain Picard if you asked me to.  However, curiosity got the better of me and I ended up watching three episodes in a row—partly because some of the old “special effects” are just hilarious, but mostly because Star Trek turns out to be a surprisingly poignant social commentary.  (Okay, not every episode is oh-so intelligent, but many are.)

In “Turnabout Intruder,” for example, the overambitious Dr. Janice Lester overpowers her former love-interest Captain Kirk, exchanges bodies with him and commands the Starship Enterprise until her erratic actions and attitudes in the body of Capt. Kirk raise the suspicions of the hyper-logical Mr. Spock, the loyal Mr. Scott, and the cautious Dr. McCoy.  By sheer will-power, the real Capt. Kirk (in the body of Janice Lester) interrupts the life-transferance and wins the battle to reclaim his body.

Throughout the episode, Dr. Lester is portrayed as a hyper-emotional, power-hungry, and bitter feminist who refuses to be content with her own womanhood.  The men in command are, by contrast, always rational, steady, and courageous, and all possess a strong sense of loyalty and duty.  This strength of character apparently allows them to finally overcome Janice Lester, who collapses into a puddle of tears when she returns to her own body.  As she is led away by her co-conspirator, another man who agrees to “take care of her,” Capt. Kirk muses: “Her life could have been as rich as any woman’s.  If only…”

“If only” she had behaved as dutifully as the mini-skirt clad women of the Enterprise crew who obey their orders to administer sedatives and record court-martial proceedings (i.e., basic nursing and secretarial duties)?

The episode aired in 1969—arguably at the height of the Women’s Liberation movement.  Betty Friedan published The Feminine Mystique in 1963, women were on the front lines of nearly every social movement (civil rights, prison reform, Vietnam protests) throughout the decade, and by 1969 the National Organization of Women (NOW) was bringing lawsuit after lawsuit against businesses who discriminated against women laborers.  Intentionally or not, “Turnabout Intruder” was clearly responding to that movement in fascinating, and seemingly very hostile, ways.

Mr. Spock “reaches” the equivalent of “space hippies” as they explain their search for the planet Eden.

Interestingly, other episodes broach the subjects of civil rights (Stratus-dwellers vs. Troglites in “The Cloud Minders”) and the “hippie movement” (see “The Way to Eden”) in far less conservative (and often interestingly complex) ways.  In the former, Capt. Kirk fights tooth and nail against the oppression of the Troglites and the general assumption that they are an inferior species.  He eventually wins some political sway and new respect for the cave-dwelling race.  The latter episode clearly wishes to display social movement leaders as devious, selfish, malicious persons whose obsession with creating a “new world” trumps basic concern for other people.  The musical, free-spirited, idealistic (and of course scantily clad) followers, however, are portrayed as the hopeful, if easily misled, creators of a better life for all.  On the whole, a rather flattering portrait of the “space hippies.”

This is by no means an original discovery; the commentary is too overt to go unnoticed.  Still, Star Trek: The Original Series is, as it turns out, a fascinating lens through which to view the conflicts and transitions of the late 1960s.  I think it’s too soon to tell what 21st century media will prove to be so enlightening—though I’m not holding out any great hope that Twitter will be considered as interesting as Captain Kirk and company.

**My apologies for not crediting the images to anyone–I am unable to find the original sources, but discovered all of them through a quick search on Google Images.