“Time present and time past are both perhaps present in time future and time future contained in time past.”
T. S. Eliot
Coming back home…
In my previous posts, I’ve shared with you a travel story, a story about two friends, Alex and I, who left the (relative) comfort of a couch on a sweaty summer night to explore the refreshing land of historiography and get to know the historians who inhabit it.
On our journey of thought we have learned that historiography is the history of history: It studies how the work of historians changes throughout the centuries. But to what purpose? Well, in our imaginary journey we explored the idea that the work of historians is most useful to mankind when it’s not focused on giving answers, but rather questioning the past, the present, the future …
Now we were ready to return home. Our fantasy journey was coming to an end. But the very thought of going back home stirred us to move forward with our conversation. In fact, one step was still missing to complete our itinerary. We knew what home was for us: London, the torrid and lazy summer, and the Mexican takeaway down the street luring us in with the promise of excellent guac and salsa to accompany our drinks. But we still needed to answer a key, basic question. What was home for a historian? We resumed our walk pondering this question and talking it over until we finally reached home.
