“What I propose, therefore, is very simple: it is nothing
more than to think what we are doing.”
- Hannah Arendt, The
Human Condition (Chicago, 1958)
I want to start off my time here at the lounge by sharing
some thoughts on the relationship between theoretical reflection,
jurisprudence, and legal history. I want to do that because I just got back
from a conference where this relationship was the topic of much discussion(Legal Theory and Legal History: A Neglected Dialogue? Queen Mary, University of London, April 12-13, 2013), and one particular entry into these discussions
and others like them struck me as warranting further exploration.
And that is the work of Christopher Tomlins, with whom I had
the pleasure of an all too brief (at least for me) conversation about his
reading of Walter Benjamin, and in particular, his effort to imagine and
practice a materialist (and because materialist a post-critical) study of the
law. Tomlins, Chancellor’s Professor of Law at UC Irvine, has for some time
been urging scholars across a variety of related fields to move beyond the
model of scholarly practice associated with Critical Legal Studies, its
equivalent in what Tomlins calls Critical Legal History, and the broader, basic
idea that the job of the historian is to historicize- to situate chosen objects
of study within an ever-multiplying series of contexts that are declared by the
historian or other self-proclaimed critical scholar to be specific, plural, and
complex, and only responsibly understood as such. The effect of this kind of
practice is to neutralize the political potentiality of the material at hand,
and it has been part of Tomlins’ project to suggest that this has to do with
the ideological situation of the historical profession- it is in the interest
of a historian to show up and say “no, no, its more complicated than that,” to
display their specialized erudition, and to pave the way for a practice
explicitly limited to the further extension of the complicating,
contextualizing work that only we critical historicists are equipped to carry
out. For Tomlins, I take it, this enlists the historian in the perpetuation of
Benjamin’s “empty and homogenous time,” the result of which is a historical
profession that constructs a celebratory, progressive, and ironically
uncritical narrative of itself as doing the necessary work of recovering other
contexts, other voices, other agencies, and other identities, and we can be
assured, so the thinking goes, that this is self-evidently politically
efficacious in and of itself.
Against critique and contextualization, Tomlins presents
Benjamin’s concept of constellation: “There could be no apter evocation of the
disquiet that marks the beginning of any critique of history worthy to be
called dialectical, which must renounce a calm, contemplative attitude towards
its subject to become aware of the critical constellation in which precisely
this fragment of the past is found with precisely this present.”(1) The goal
here is to build a relationship to the past that is aware of just why this
particular thing is before us to consider at this particular moment- in short,
what its doing here, and how should we understand the fact that it is here- as
Benjamin elsewhere writes, of how this fragment of the past flashes up in the
moment of danger in which we find ourselves. Cultural history, Benjamin writes,
“may increase the burden of the treasures that are piled up on humanity’s back.
But it does not give mankind the strength to shake them off, so as to get its
hands on them.” (2) The historical practice of actualizing constellations is
explosive- it remembers and recovers something, a fragment of the past that
punches through the bounded character of the present. Tomlins is currently
moving beyond the expansiveness of his incredible recent book, Freedom Bound, and focusing on Nat
Turner and the 1831 slave revolt that he led in Virginia. In our own moment of
the confrontation of liberalism’s self-understanding with theological and
political violence, Turner explodes the image of the American past as the
perpetually expanding demand for and use of the language of liberty, even as
that image includes the history of active resistance to slavery. Like John
Brown, there is something unclassifiable about Turner- you cannot understand
him simply by describing the context or contexts in which he acted, social,
linguistic, or otherwise, if you can hope to understand him at all, and in this
age of creating and recovering multiplying alternative agencies and identities
there is something profoundly discomforting about that. To speak of redemption
in this case is to blow open what we would mean by redemptive
constitutionalism.
I hope I have done justice to the arguments Chris Tomlins
has been making. Where he and I touched bases was on the mutually felt need for
historians in particular to attend to the conditions of their own intellectual
practice, and to do so, in part, by attending to the history of intellectual
practice. Quite simply, we need to “think what we are doing,” to use the words
of another reader of Benjamin’s (I don’t know how much use Tomlins would have
for Arendt, but the fragment I’ve provided here seems apt).
Tomlins’ both historical and more explicitly methodological
work has been provocative for me, and I want to just note some of my reactions
to it as a way of opening up space for future thinking. I cut my teeth, or am
still cutting my teeth I suppose on a civically and historically conscious
approach to legal and political thinking in time that we can see mot
significantly (for me) in the work of J.G.A. Pocock. For Tomlins, I take it,
“Cambridge” historiography has become conventional and is reaching a point of
diminishing returns- a kind of conservative philosophical version of the
critical historicism practiced by CLS and CLH. There is a minor point to be
made that I don’t think there is a unitary school beyond what we generally call
Cambridge school history of political thought, but the larger point I want to
make is that it is difficult to actually rethink one’s practice without confronting
conditions of historicity and plurality, although that does not stop us from
trying. I take Pocock’s Gibbon project, soon to be consummated in a sixth
volume of Barbarism and Religion, to
be evidence enough that there is quite a bit to be done with the history of
thinking and writing in contexts. An even more important point is this- a study
of the past that is aware of the conditions of its practice will be one drawn
into confronting histories of thinking and acting differently as a crucial part
of any effort to do the same in the present. Benjamin’s constellations are
still critical, and it might be said that this time of multiplying and
reverberating fundamentalisms can ill afford to an age after critique,
howsoever we might reimagine the method and locations of critical activity.
What I take to be at issue here is the contested nature of
the common Nietzschean inheritance to the metatheoretical and metahistorical
project of Tomlins and the genealogical, historical, and sometimes archaeological
project (think of Foucault) that Tomlins is trying to get out of or away from.
But that is a discussion for another time. Chris Tomlins’ evocation of
Benjamin’s unique materialism is the place from which thinking about law and
legal history has to begin today- and that is because by materialism Benjamin
meant not just Historical Materialism but the actual stuff we use to make a
world. Benjamin’s writings invite a history of thought, and in particular, a
history of legal thought that is attentive to the material and revolutionary
dimension of practice. This would be a history of fragments, of texts and their
readings and rewritings, of materials and their collection and recollection. It
would be a history of law, but it would also be a history of the uses to which
the material of that history is put. When everyone is an originalist of one
kind or another, perhaps it is this emphasis on materiality itself, the idea of
getting one’s hands on the law, that flashes up as a memory fragment for our
own moment of danger.
In a few future posts, I’ll be discussing my own work on
Jefferson and the history legal and political thought, and how that fits into
this, among other things that pop up.
1. Benjamin, “Edward Fuchs: Collector and Historian,” One-Way Street and Other Writings,
Jephcott and Shorter, trans. (Verso, 1979), p. 351.
2. Ibid, p. 361.
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