One ideal of early anthropology
was that long-term ethnographic research could fully map the social structure
and meanings of a specific cultural space. The ethnographer could then give total
context for any individual action or social practice, and thus interpret such with
a capacity beyond either naïve outsider or self-interested insider. While the
realism of this ideal would be progressively deconstructed over time, it spawned
a durable holism that recognized the deep interconnection of
all material and symbolic contexts.
This holistic aspiration has been
recurrently challenged as anthropologists came to recognize the often global
interconnections and engagements which permeated the presumed isolation of even
“remote” cultural spaces. Anthropology turned to increasingly complex social
theories to try and reconcile the way in which its empirical subject became unmoored
from static spaces and times, and eventually encompassed the most intensely internationalized
settings. As a result great concern emerged for the practice of interpretation far
removed from the methodological confidence of anthropology’s pioneering works.
And the treacherous pitfalls of writing across stark asymmetries in power, often about
people unable to equally represent themselves, even inspired claims that modern anthropology
had paralyzed itself through a fetishization of the personal act of writing
itself.
It is much more difficult to
delineate the general trend of history as discipline, even at this high level
of generality. Certainly, interpretation is at the core of archival research,
and debates over sources and their meanings have roiled history as an academic
practice. No self-critical historian treats their textual sources as a direct
portal into the soul of their subject, and the focus of much graduate
historical training is the general education required to provide context for documentary interpretation.

But I would advance that the
anthropological engagement with history reflects a much greater uncertainty
about interpretation, as well as a general theoretical concern with how time
itself is structured as a social practice. In my own turn from ethnography to
history, I felt this disciplinary anxiety acutely as I tried to
reconstruct the creation of a cultural ideology, what I call American legal
internationalism, that was formed in spaces both fully transnational and only
lightly touched by global forces. Moreover, this ideology was premised on
cross-cultural interpretations of the character of foreign peoples and their legal
institutions. A further complication was that the driving force of this
ideology was literal lawyer-missionaries who carried with them a presumption
that their own good intentions would positively impact another society.

One highly influential book in my
process of wrestling with these issues was Fredrik Barth’s
Ethnic Groups and Boundaries, which theorized about how social identities were formed and
reformed through increasingly intense interactions with social “outsiders.” Moreover,
in the context of law such cross-cultural judgments had been central to
patterns of degradation and subjection in pre-modern empires and modern
imperialism alike. This trepidation led me to the writings of the recently
passed Tzvetan Todorov, who in his
The Morals of History grappled with the
ethics of practicing history, especially when intimately tied to cross-cultural
engagements.
No episode in the development of
historical anthropology outlines these tensions better than the controversy
over the arrival and death of James Cook in Hawai’i. In barest form, Cook arrived in Hawai’i for the third
time in 1779 during the indigenous Hawaiians celebration of the god Lono. A
month later, Cook was killed while attempting to take the local king ransom,
and then ritually preserved. The details in-between and their meaning became
the grist for one of the public controversies in modern anthropology between
Marshall Sahlins and Gananath Obeyesekere.