This is straight out of a class assignment, but it sums up nicely where my head has been for a few days. Feedback and/or questions welcome.
After one of my classes this morning, I started thinking about how
the discovery of some element of history – whether it is a site, an idea, or a
people group – is often the first step in its eventual destruction. I began to
wonder if it is unavoidable that humankind’s attempts to appreciate and
understand history would end up destroying it. I have seen this pattern repeat
in multiple ways. Physically, it manifests itself in the destruction of
Mesoamerican historical sites that stood for centuries before tourists started
visiting. Figuratively, it is shown in white America’s attempts to “remember”
and “honor” Native American culture, succeeding only in propagating images of
the censored version we are comfortable with.
In
Steinbeck’s piece “The Leader of the People,” he painfully describes
Grandfather’s repeated attempts to inspire his family to appreciate and
sympathize with his journey Westward. Carl’s angry outburst: “That time’s done.
Why can’t he forget it, now it’s done?”(p.890) caused Grandfather to see that
his eager retellings were only defiling the overarching story for the people he
most wanted to understand it. He sought to use specific incidents (Piutes and
the 35 horses) to illustrate what it felt like to surge Westward, he
desperately wanted the “movement” (p. 891) to be as emotionally meaningful to
them as it was, and is, to him. It was not until he sadly recognized that
“Westering isn’t a hunger anymore” (p. 891) that he could see his experiences
as the others saw them. I cannot help but wonder what the reaction would have
been if he had only told the story once. But who has the self-control or
humility to tell a story only once? Who can take only one picture of a
beautiful scene, who has been to only one museum? When we see something we
like, we want more, whether it is good for us or not. However, it is that
overexposure, that rabid appreciation, that does not enhance our enjoyment but
rather makes it mundane, untrue, or even damaged.
I
suppose it is an innate human urge, to cling to or draw near the stories and
experiences that move us, though that often means that we will defile or
corrupt them. It is almost as if we are small children with candy bars, holding
onto them so tightly and eagerly that we
melt them with our hot little hands, ruining it for ourselves or anyone else who
may have enjoyed it.
