My Too (Many) Cents

 This is my attempt to understand EH Carr's Chapter on 'The society and the individual' by articulating my thoughts about it.  There are mainly two arguments that the chapter seeks to make. The first is whether the historian himself is an individual. The second is whether history itself is made by great men or not. Carr's reaction to both of these is in the negative, with a little bit of nuance to it.  The first movement is to point out the false dichotomy in statements like those made by John Mill that "individuals are not different when brought together". This implies that there is a possibility of an individual without society or a society without an individual, which is impossible. 'No man is an island onto himself'. Though we may express our individuality in the ultimate freedom by commiting suicide as shown by the protagonist in Dostoevsky's devil, it is still bound by social forces.  The author points out that ethnonationalism based on racia...

I have been assigned the reading 'What is History' by EH Carr. This is my interpretation of the first chapter as I attempt to make sense of it in my head.  The chapter is arranged quite similarly to a dialectical movement that flows through different phases. In the beginning, the author presents a dilemma, two opposing views: That of Lord Acton and that of George Clark - differentiated only by a span of 60 years.  Where acton represents the 'optimism' and 'clear-mindedness' characteristic of the end of the Victorian Age, Clark represents a pessimistic view, expressing concern about whether an 'ultimate history' could exist at all and whether any serious historian of their times would consider it a tractable problem to solve.  In the backdrop of this contradiction, which the reader must hold in their heads, the author raises the question 'What is history' which we slowly start a dialectical movement into.  However, what we start with first is ...

The kids played by the river. For that is how they had grown.  The wisp bearded guru watched in stoic solitude with his legs crossed, as the seasons passed.  He watched as the boys grew up; From scratching their knees as boys, running around for no reason.  To sturdy, young princes - sharp of intellect, resplendent of valour and strong of morals - through whose bodies ran liquid steel as they went to war.  The guru had taught them all he could, about all he knew.  And in this process of growth itself, he himself evolved having given his all - in tending to their feistiness, in his devotion for the truth that had rubbed off on them.  And yet, all that had been bestowed upon them was Shakti, Durga, Kali.  The boys were themselves just vessels, for channeling what was gifted to them.  As they sunk under the surface of her many mysterious contours, the fire at their core kept their spine upright and perception focused - they started seeing something m...