What does History have to do with Ethics?
Taymiya R.Zaman
Taymiya R. Zaman, Associate Professor and Historian, University of San Francisco, USA.
Volume 14 Issue 2 December 2018
When most people think about the word “history,” they think history refers to “things that happened in the past.” But to historians, History with a capital H is a discipline that teaches you how to think about the past. To do so, we read sources written by people from the past as a means of understanding them on their own terms. Reading sources from the past (primary sources) is harder than it looks, not just because they are often written in languages we don’t speak, but also because of a human tendency to project our own norms and values onto others.
To people from the distant past, our norms would have made no sense. For instance, we live in a world made up of nations, fixed boundaries, and passports, but people living in say, the Mughal Empire in seventeenth century India, would find the idea of a nation strange. They would understand natural boundaries, such as those created by a river or a mountain range, but they would not understand boundaries that had to do with imaginary lines drawn across land by human beings. Similarly, modern people are likely to believe we should elect our leaders. But people in the past would have felt that a world in which anyone could govern was a world that had succumbed to disorder because governance was for those with divine lineage only. Consequently, when we ask questions of the past, we must make sure we are not imposing values that matter to us, e.g. equality or democracy, onto others to whom these values would not have held much meaning.
What does this have to do with ethics? Historians study change over time, and like everything else, ethical norms too change with time. When a historian studies ethics, she does not ask if something is right or wrong. Instead, she asks why a community believed something to be right or wrong and what vocabularies, frames of reference, and historical forces shaped that community’s beliefs. When studying ancient India, for instance, instead of asking whether people had equal rights (given that the notion of “rights” is a modern one), it is more germane to ask how people went about performing their duties in the world, based on their sense of what was right. When we alter our frame of inquiry to include the perspectives of those radically different from us, we harness history’s potential to teach us how to let go of how we see the world, and to take on the lens of someone else from an entirely different time and place. In doing so, we come back to ourselves anew. This is similar to coming back home to our country after having visited a foreign place; we have come face to face with difference and that has taught us more about ourselves.
In popular culture, I frequently hear the phrase “medieval barbarism.” When we wish to describe a norm or custom that is distasteful, we resort to describing it as though it was of the past and does not belong in a present that should ideally be better than the past. When I teach students about the Mughal Empire (1526-1857), for instance, or about the Ottoman Empire (1299-1922), students often say it was barbaric for princes to kill their own brothers on their way to the throne or for fathers to kill their sons. For many, the act of killing a brother is difficult to reconcile with the artistic, literary, and architectural achievements associated with Mughal and Ottoman kings. As students have often voiced, how is it possible for someone to take over the throne by killing his own and then proceed to feed the poor, build beautiful gardens and monuments, and even be committed to values of justice and mercy?
Historians frequently deal with questions beginning with “how could they?” in their classrooms, and these questions are usually directed towards people from the past believed to possess ethical standards inferior to our own. One way to respond to this is to point out that violence and mercy are part of the contradictions that make up the human story: All of us are capable of both good and evil. The more interesting exercise is to ask students to what they would do were they an ailing king struggling to keep his throne while surrounded by ambitious sons. Or if they were like the Mughal king Aurangzeb (d. 1707) a capable, competent military general who was constantly overlooked by his father in favor of a brother less competent? Which son would they choose in the first scenario? And what would they do to the less capable brother in the second, were he to be designated heir to a throne they didn’t think he deserved? Suddenly, a number of students find themselves making similar choices as people did in the past.
Much of our discipline consists of reading sources produced by people living through the times we are studying, connecting to what is universally human about these individuals the search for meaning or the articulation of a vision for justice, for instance while attuning ourselves to what is profoundly different about the times in which they lived. Eventually, the study of history makes the past feel familiar and this gives us new ways to view the present. We find ourselves responding to the “how could they?” that surfaces in history classrooms by turning the gaze on ourselves and asking instead, “how could we?” People from the past would likely be horrified by things we live with, such as nuclear warfare, the ability to kill another human being by pressing a button thousands of miles away, and the use of chemical weapons. The same may be true of people from the future: In a few hundred years, the world may well have run out of oil, and people might wonder why we fought wars and killed one another over it. If the discipline of history still exists, it would offer people from the future the possibility of evaluating us on our own terms as well.