Curiosity and attunement
This is the first of three articles about Seven Habits of Historically Conscious People—the basis of a forthcoming book of the same working title.
Do you ever feel lost, like the world makes no sense? The truth is, without historical thinking, it really doesn’t. Oh no, you think, you’re talking about history? Boring! If you think history is boring, it’s probably because no one told you how much it’s messing with your life right now. I’m here to tell you. But fret not. I have seven healthy habits to develop your historical consciousness. In this article, I offer the first two of the seven habits: curiosity and attunement — simple habits you can implement in your own life.
I often discuss historical consciousness because it is the greatest gift that studying history can offer. I refer to it as a learned superpower or the secret sauce of engaging with history. One of my mentors-in-print, historian John Lukacs, wrote a compelling and original book — something I also find loads of fun — published in the late 1960s called Historical Consciousness and the Remembered Past.
Historical consciousness refers to living with a constant awareness of how the past influences the present. To be historically conscious is to live humbly, gratefully, and responsibly in time—remembering the past, reflecting on the present, and preparing for the future. Lukacs said that we might define history not as the remembered past, nor as today, nor as this minute, but that it hasn’t always been that way; it became the remembered past when people began to realize that the past affects us in profound ways. That means there was a time when human beings behaved without consciously recognizing that they were shaped by what had happened before. By “remembered past,” he means the things that happened in the past that we are presently aware of.
Modern people like you and me will have one of two reactions to what I just said. The first response is from people who, in a sense, are still in the old way of doing things: ignorant of the past that shapes their daily lives. They live for the present moment and perhaps give some thought to the future. This first group, which is a diminishing majority, thinks that talk about developing a historical consciousness is, at worst, gobbledegook and, at most, a waste of time. Who cares about the past? It’s old news. What have you done for me lately? They do not realize that they actually dishonor people of the past, their future selves, and their own contributions to the larger story of history by their contempt for the past. This group is embracing “presentism,” judging the past by present standards. Presentism reminds me of that most arrogant of Mark Twain’s books, A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court. Sound harsh? I don’t mean to, but I will talk about this issue in the next episode of this series and unpack it a bit. And by the way, I have designed this series so you can jump in at any point and won’t feel lost. Each episode stands on its own.
Here is the second response of a growing minority who are at least drawn to the past to learn something more about themselves. I am on a mission to convince you that this is the group you want to be in, and you will find this is the “brand” of all my podcasts, vlogs, and blogs. And I am embarking on this mission at the age of seventy, so I am running out of time. I am being too dramatic and self-important there. The second group basically thinks history matters and wants to learn more about it, conscious of its sometimes unperceived impact on our lives. So if you are in this second group, well, we need to talk. So let’s continue to unpack habits that help us step into this advanced role of historical sensitivity.
By the way, those who diminish the past sometimes like to quote the apostle Paul as an ally because he famously said, “Forgetting what lies behind, I reach forward for the upward call of God.” But they are mistaken because what St. Paul was saying was that he had spent his past life building the legalist’s resume to earn his way to participate in the resurrection. But when St. Paul encountered Christ, he learned that one comes to God and the resurrection from the dead not according to one’s personal righteous deeds, but by God’s grace, which led him to faith in something that happened in history —something that — guess what —would affect him now and forever. Paul, at the time he wrote the letter to the Philippians, believed in a historical event that Jesus is God’s Son, lived a perfect life, died on a Roman cross for him, and became the firstfruits of a resurrection that Paul could take part in. So, Paul had to repent by jettisoning his hard-earned resume to receive the free gift of righteousness, acceptable to the One who raises people from the dead: Jesus. Ironic that implicit in Paul’s exercising faith in what Jesus did in history meant leaving Paul’s historical-agnostic position of his own righteousness. In short, St. Paul’s forgetting what lies behind does not mean the whole past, just the defective theology he held up until his conversion.
We all have some awareness of the past, but it can sometimes feel overwhelming to learn history deeply enough to become happier, healthier, and more confident. Think of historical habits as processes to put in place, allowing yourself time to integrate them. You may already have some of these habits or be able to adopt new ones, which may then lead you to others. These habits include curiosity, filling knowledge gaps, reading widely, embracing the golden rule of storytelling, prioritizing history, and seeking to expand your understanding.
To be curious, we must be present with people, both living and dead, and give them our genuine, careful attention.
Interesting stories occur all around us, but often we fail to notice them. We hear people say intriguing things, but we rarely think twice because we are too focused on our own agendas. I speak from personal experience; I often get so caught up in my own projects or become obsessed with my own problems that I neglect to notice those around me. This neglect applies to history as well. We cultivate curiosity by being present, which means giving our full attention to others.
Years ago, I asked my father to share his memories of his childhood in the 1920s and 1930s. He began talking about the neighborhood grocery store owned by my grandfather. My dad worked at the store after school and on weekends. While describing the store, he mentioned, “There was a gas station across the street, where Charlie pumped gas.” My father laughed and added, “The old men always talked about him while they sat around the stove, wondering where he got his money.” He then continued with his story. I interrupted, asking, “Hold on, Dad. What about Charlie? Was he rich or something?” My father replied, “Oh no, nothing like that.” I probed further, asking, “Well, why did they wonder where his money came from?” I remember my father pausing, lifting his shoulders and eyebrows while pushing out his lower lip—a ritual he performed before answering. “Well,” he said, “I guess it was because Charlie would close down the station for a few minutes at noon every day to come across to the store.”
I was curious: “Why did that make the old men think he was secretly rich? Did he load up on groceries?” Dad made a shushing sound, a sign that he was amused. “No, he just came into the store and bought one thing—a five-cent bottle of Coca-Cola. He’d pull it from the ice chest machine, use the bottle opener, and drink it right there in the store because he didn’t want to leave a deposit on the bottle and go back to the station.” I learned a great deal about Depression-era habits from this, but a pressing question remained. “But why did the old men think he was rich? Did you think he was rich?” His reply was, “Oh, I didn’t think he was rich. I just thought he was wasteful, I suppose.”
I was confused. “But Dad, he left the bottle. How was he wasteful?” He explained, “Things were different then. The old men thought it was strange that anyone —let alone a young guy —would spend a nickel a day on a Coca-Cola. And it wasn’t just the nickel, Liam; it was the fact that he was an addict.”
“What?” I exclaimed. “I thought they stopped using cocaine in Coca-Cola by that time.” Dad shook his head. “Yes, you’re right about that. But we thought it must be an addiction for anyone to do something as silly as drinking a soda every day. Why throw away a quarter or thirty cents a week on sugar water that could rot your teeth?”
In that moment, the past came alive. I was not only with my father, but I felt as if someone had opened a door. I could visualize the old men sitting around the stove, looking through the store’s front windows, watching Charlie cross the street. “Here he comes again!” I imagined the red Coca-Cola ice chest lined with galvanized metal, filled with ice and little green bottles capped with red and white. During the Depression, folks treasured those bottles for special occasions of celebration and refreshment. A bottle of Coke would cost nearly a dollar today, which seems almost insignificant now, but during that time of scarcity, even enjoying a daily soda felt extravagant. This sense of excess was prevalent during the Great Depression, which shaped my father’s life and influenced his habits, attitudes, and actions. He never wasted anything. Leftovers were a staple; he saved boxes, hoarded fuses, and made sure everyone in the family used toilet paper efficiently. When my grandfather passed away, we discovered boxes of Prince Albert pipe tobacco tins that he had saved, along with large balls of rubber bands. Hearing the story of Charlie, the Coca-Cola addict, helped me make sense of my father’s peculiar behaviors. It became clear that spending money was seen as irresponsible and extravagant unless the spender maximized it. One can carry frugality too far, but it isn’t a bad idea.
This interaction was a goldmine of information for me. It deepened my understanding of why my father was the way he was, which also allowed me to understand my own story better. I struck upon this rich vein of insight by exercising curiosity, which required me to be present. Because I was paying attention, I picked up on that seemingly strange remark about a gas station attendant. I gained profound insight not only into my father but also into how history impacted my family.
So, curiosity is an essential habit in developing the superpower of historical consciousness. To develop curiosity, we must be present with people, both living and dead, and give them our genuine, careful attention.
Next, let’s move on to attunement. We’re going to “Mind the Gap,” as they warn on the tube in London. The gap is in our knowledge, and we’re not only going to watch our step, we’re going to develop the habit of closing the gaps in our understanding almost painlessly and effortlessly.
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Have you ever been sure about a story, only to find out later you only knew half of it? That feeling—that shock of realizing there was more to the story—is precisely what I mean by learning humility in history.
In London, they remind passengers, ‘Mind the Gap.’ It’s a warning to watch your step before you board the train. History gives us the same warning: mind the gap between what we think we know about the past, and what really happened.” I’ll give you four attitudes to help you approach the past with respect and humility.
In a previous episode, I discussed the importance of curiosity as the first habit in developing historical consciousness. However, I would like to discuss another historic railway to illustrate our need for the second habit, attunement, which emphasizes respect and humility and arises from recognizing the gaps in our knowledge of the past. I discussed the importance of curiosity as the first habit in developing historical consciousness. However, I would like to discuss another historic railway to illustrate our need for the second habit, attunement, which emphasizes respect and humility. I love Christ Tarrant’s television series, “Extreme Railway Journeys.” He really understands how much history has been affected by building, maintaining, and travelling on railways.
In the following exchange about The Bridge on the River Kwai and the real “Death Railway” built by Asian slaves, and Allied POWs under Japanese control during World War II, the interviewer (CT) asks historian Andrew Snow how accurately the film reflects what happened. Eighty thousand forced laborers, including 130 Americans, died in its construction. Snow explains that the movie, based on a novel by the same author who wrote Planet of the Apes, takes significant liberties with fact. While some incidents occurred, the central idea of British prisoners teaching the Japanese how to build a bridge is pure fiction. In reality, Snow notes, the Japanese were already highly skilled engineers who knew exactly how to construct a railway. The discussion then turns to the site itself—CT observes that the flood of tourists in casual hats seems disrespectful, given the suffering that took place there. Snow agrees that many visitors do not appreciate the site’s history, often taking short excursions without understanding its background.
During the program, a clip shows a middle-aged Japanese woman tourist marching playfully to the “Colonel Bogey March” music, played by a solo Thai violinist to entertain tourists at the bridge. This familiar tune was the one that the British Commonwealth soldiers were supposed to have whistled to keep up their morale as their Japanese overlords used them as virtual slaves in the building of the railway line that connected Thailand to Burma (present-day Myanmar).
When asked about Japanese visitors, Snow explains that they typically view the bridge as an impressive engineering achievement, since Japanese schools rarely teach the full wartime story. When they do learn what truly happened, he says, they are usually shocked and apologetic, for “you can’t be responsible for something you were never told.”
Snow was very charitable, as a historian should be, toward people with gaps in their historical knowledge. To his credit, and to those he has revealed the full facts of the story, there is sorrow because knowing the truth forces one to reckon with “these were my people” — the truth. And there should be repentance. How can we be sure this never happens again? That kind of response is what we would call attunement; What I like to call “Mind the Gap,” to play on the wonderful warning from the London Underground.
In developing historical consciousness, we must recognize that we frequently do not know the stories of the past, and even when we think we do, our understanding is often incomplete.
The Second Habit that leads to historical consciousness (remembering the remembered past): “Mind the Gap” = attunement. Allow me to describe what I mean by attunement with the past. It comes from Music, the precise adjustment of instruments to produce the correct pitch, symbolizing harmony.
1. Attunement involves being mindful that we are neither omniscient nor detached when it comes to the past. We are characters within the story, not outside it.
History has affected us, whether we recognize it or not. French philosopher Gabriel Marcel believed it was essential to know our ancestors so we could understand their eating habits, which might explain not only how we should eat but also why we have the preferences we do. More significantly, history shapes how and where we find ourselves in this moment. For instance, why was I born in Kansas when my grandfather came from Ulster? My family used to be farmers, so why are none of them farmers today? My maternal grandparents married and lived their lives in ways that were completely different from their upbringing. Why did that happen? How did my town come into existence?
Because we are insiders in our own histories, we have an inherent bias regarding historical events. We cannot judge history, as that would be a proud pretense—unless we are corrupt judges. Judging can look something like these examples:
- “Medieval people were so ignorant; they believed in demons and thought the world was flat.”
- “We shouldn’t respect the founders; they were just racists and misogynists who allowed slavery and denied rights to women!”
- “Martin Luther favored class warfare and aided the knights in their oppression of the peasantry.”
- “Who cares whether the Holodomor—the Ukrainian famine of the 1930s—was intentional or not? Stalin is long dead, and that was a long time ago.”
We arrogantly stand above history when we view our present time as the most enlightened, advanced, and relevant, without considering the context of historical events. Additionally, when a crisis occurs in our time, we often claim it has no precedent, declaring, “This is the worst!” or romanticizing the 1960s as “the best time to be alive!” This attitude reflects pride.
Instead, we need humility: we live our lives within history, not beyond it. John Lukacs stated, “Humility begins when we see that we are not wiser than our ancestors; we are only later.”
2. Attunement also means recognizing that when we encounter the past, we are engaging with real human beings. We should approach their stories with respect, empathy, and caution.
The past is not meaningless; it is not merely useful for proving a point in our favor. Instead, it is complex, and there has never been a golden age we could or should return to. Simultaneously, one should not use history to justify any future utopian vision.
3. Attunement requires us to be truth-tellers regarding the past. Speaking the truth reflects humility in action.
Since we are not outside history, we must acknowledge our assumptions and admit when evidence is scant. Even when evidence is strong, we should refrain from claiming certainty about what happened if we do not have all the facts. We should also allow evidence to challenge our theories and cherished ideas, even if we tie those notions to our core identity.
The Southern writer Flannery O’Connor famously stated, “The truth does not change according to our ability to stomach it.” The true mark of sincere people of faith is their affirmation that “You shall know the truth, and the truth will make you free.” There is no need to fear the truth, even if acknowledging it requires a change. At the same time, the truth cannot be measured by whether it provokes anger, as Gloria Steinem once thought!
4. Attunement involves cultivating a genuine appreciation for the past.
You might wonder how it’s possible to love the past when much of it seems unlovable. Additionally, it’s easy to romanticize certain parts of history, often referred to as the “Golden Age.”
To love the past means acknowledging that the events and people of that time are worthy of understanding on their own terms.
I once attended a class taught by seminary professor John Walvoord, where students were required to present on various theological topics. One student chose to present on a historical figure who had profoundly disagreed with Walvoord on several critical doctrinal issues. Instead of providing a balanced view, the student attacked Walvoord’s opponent in a mocking tone, perhaps believing Walvoord would appreciate it. However, Walvoord interrupted the presentation, stating, “You need to be more charitable. The man you mention has his own story that deserves our respect. In scholarly debate, as in all aspects of life, kindness is essential because it fosters understanding—a quality we should all strive for.”
We may demonstrate our appreciation for the past by a genuine desire to be fair and to listen attentively. Loving the past does not mean idolizing it; instead, it means recognizing that every story, even if we don’t know all the details, is worthwhile and deserving of remembrance.
When reflecting on the past, we should approach it with humility. We can ask ourselves questions like, “How might people in the past have viewed the world?” and “What lessons can they teach us about our own blind spots?” Consider how you would like future generations to remember you, your loved ones, your community, or your country. Would you want them to apply their current standards to you and your experiences, potentially misunderstanding your life and the context of your time? This idea connects to the Golden Rule: we should treat people from the past as we would want to be treated ourselves.
5. Attunement also means being proactive in filling the gaps in our knowledge of the past.
We should strive to read widely and travel as much as possible. Cultivating curiosity can help with this. We should listen attentively and be present when others share their stories, and we may need to consider multiple perspectives on an issue. Don’t you want to continue growing and learning, regardless of what others might think?
We summarize our guiding principle for developing historical consciousness as “Mind the Gap.” Our understanding of the past, even for historians, is inherently imperfect and incomplete, which should encourage humility and a desire to attune to history.
Attunement involves humility (acknowledging that we are part of history and not above it), respect (valuing the past and its people), honesty (letting evidence shape our conclusions rather than preconceived notions), empathy (seeing past individuals as real human beings), love (remembering the past as an act of care for truth and understanding), and persistence (seizing every opportunity to hear others’ stories, both past and present).
Practicing humility means recognizing that both our understanding of the past and the past itself are fragile and human. It is the historian’s way of expressing, “I am part of this story too—therefore, I need to listen before I speak.” Curiosity is also part of attunement as we must be present with people, both living and dead, and give them our genuine, careful attention.
In the next installment of this mini-series, we will explore the third and fourth habits necessary for developing historical consciousness: reading and practicing respect by recalling the golden rule of historical consciousness.
