Febvre,
Lucien. The Problem of Unbelief in the Sixteenth Century: The Religion of
Rabelais. Trans. Beatrice Gottlieb. Cambridge: Harvard University Press,
1982.
On
the surface, Lucien Febvre’s The Problem
of Unbelief in the Sixteenth Century is a riposte to Abel Lefranc’s
startling 1922 denunciation of Francois Rabelais as an atheist. In Lefranc’s estimation, Rabelais’
light-hearted works were a cover for a serious attack on the Catholic Church
and of Christianity. Since he began
publishing in 1532, this placed Rabelais well ahead of a wave of later critics,
and also raises the question of why Rabelais, like so many others, were not
burned at the stake for heresy. Febvre
addresses Lefranc’s wild claims by both refuting their content, but also
attacks his methodology as a historian.
In many ways this is the most interesting aspect of Febvre’s work.
As
one of the founders of the Annales
school of historiography, Febvre argued for history that looked beyond high
politics, diplomacy, and war to examine the whole of society. This examination could not be a top-down
affair, which focused on the culture and practices of the elites, but should be
a bottom-up affair. The advantage of
this “history from the bottom” is that it provides a broader and clearer view
of the issues and attitudes of the vast majority of the people, rather than the
top ten percent (xxii). Because there
are fewer documents directly referring to the lives and thoughts of ordinary
people, this approach to history is very difficult despite the promise it
holds.
Febvre
focused on the trickiest aspect of history at the grass roots level, what he
called mentalite, or the thoughts and
feelings people and groups. In The Problem of Unbelief in the Sixteenth
Century, he uses the mentalite of
sixteenth century writers and their customers to strike blows against Lefranc’s
contention that Rabelais was an atheist.
On key example is this particular epithet. Febvre argues that in the sixteenth century
conservative polemicists used the word atheist
like later generations would use communist
or liberal to tar those with wild and
disruptive ideals. Lacking context,
Lefranc was unable to discern this bit of nuance (133). In this way, those who disagreed with
Rabelais sought to label him with terms that would evoke a visceral negative
reaction from emotional and non-critical.
Febvre insists that amassing this sort of contextual cultural map is a
key requirement before analyzing the past.
Without requisite knowledge of the mentalite
of the period, Febvre believes that Lefranc committed the unpardonable error of
projecting modern concerns and attitudes back on his subject.
Febvre’s
approach and concerns are valid for any era or approach to historical research,
despite, or even due to, the difficult of addressing them. Interpreting grand events, diplomacy, and war
based solely on the written documents of governments, businesses, and armies
seems cleaner and surer on the surface, and this is where my comfort zone
resides. The business of saying what
happened feels and looks surer and less dangerous than determining why those
things occurred beyond the most superficial level since they remove the
appearance of individuals from the analysis.
The
problem is that this approach skews the picture. Without delving into the softer, more hidden
aspects of actor’s personalities, even those clear documents only provide so
much information. This steps into the
realm of the unknown, the interpretive, and sometimes seems like divination or
guess work that too easily conforms to the prejudices of the historian. At the lower rungs of the social ladder this
tendency may become more pronounced – a historian of the Civil War examining
the reasons soldiers fought for the Confederacy may attribute motives that make
sense to him, rather than what may be sensible to those who actually fought due
to a lack of evidence. When looking at
the motivations of American or French soldiers fighting in Vietnam, I struggle
to view the conflicts through their interpretive framework rather than my
own. Since the past is gone, we have to
find a way to interact with it in ways that do not add additional layers of
distortion. By countering Lefranc’s
portrayal of Rabelais as an atheist, Febrve was attempting to both correct the
record, and show historians how to avoid the same errors.
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