100 books like Philology

This is one of the finest books I’ve ever read. It’s a monumental history of ideas about nature and culture from ancient times up to the end of the eighteenth century. I have consulted it countless times, and it’s now beginning to fall apart. But I hate discarding it, and I’ll likely end up with two copies when I soon have to buy it again.

I also had the great privilege of having a brief correspondence with the author when I was still a graduate student. Amazingly, he took the time to respond to my questions. So, it holds a special place in my heart. It convinced me of the huge importance of ideas about the environment and its history.

This book has long been my go-to guide on all matters related to the relationship between science and religion. Its beauty is that it takes a cool, clear-headed look at the history of a subject that frequently stimulates more heat than light.

It’s now over thirty years old but has aged extremely well–certainly better than I have! I still find it illuminating on episode after episode. The connections are subtle and complex; Brooke never allows us to settle for comfortable simplicity. 

What I love about this book is the way it challenges the taken-for-granted thought that ‘truth’ is easily discovered. With compelling examples from the past, Shapin works through the ways in which scientific knowledge is made–the struggles that its practitioners have to engage in to construct and consolidate credibility.

What the author reveals is that trust is as fundamental in science as it is in everyday life. A revolutionary thought: who do we trust, and why?

What struck me about this book was its enigmatic subtitle: A Metabiography. Here, I encountered not a biography of the great Prussian scientific traveler Alexander von Humboldt but a host of different Humboldts: Humboldt the liberal democrat, Humboldt the Aryan supremacist, Humboldt the anti-slavery Marxist, and Humboldt the pioneer of globalization.

What I discovered is that biographers construct their subjects in the image of their own time and place. This impressed me with two thoughts: that all scientific reputations are fundamentally unstable and that all of us are composed of multiple selfhoods.

Any book on language by John McWhorter is a worthwhile read, but this one, I think, is his all-time best! Who knew that a book that starts with a discussion of verb conjugation in Persian can be a page-turner, right?

I was struck by McWhorter’s appreciation for what lesser-known languages, like Ket in Siberia or Twi in Ghana, show us about how the human mind works. But the most mind-blowing thing about this book, in my opinion, is how well McWhorter succeeds in describing how complex every human idiom is in a way that is clear and engaging without being lost in the disheveled intricacies of Fongbe or Navajo. 

How can the humanities offer a space for moral reflection if they are heirs of a tradition that has often been discriminatory, oppressive, and blatantly Eurocentric? Archaeology of Babel offers a much-needed corrective to books like Celenza’s by drawing attention to colonial abuses of philological scholarship (with grammars, dictionaries, and translations serving as instruments of colonial rule). The book’s subtitle is, of course, exaggerated: the humanities are better conceived of as a multi-layered heritage than as an edifice built on a single foundation. But the exaggeration serves a purpose: Ahmed invites us to “see ourselves as inheritors of a colonial legacy.” Apparently, the humanist tradition to which we are heirs is a mixed bag. Continuing it requires careful stock-taking: what do we want to take with us into the future?

Foucault’s groundbreaking work from the 1960s looks at how systems of order and classification came into being during the age of rationalism with Descartes, culminating in the 18th-century Enlightenment’s project of subjecting every field of knowledge to its own self-enclosed order. It remains of the great works of theoretical synthesis, patiently dissecting the structures of knowledge, of order and priority, that western learning continues to take for granted. At half a century’s distance, Foucault is the one French thinker whose legacy remains intact for his lucidity, polemical edge, and refusal of esoteric linguistic games.

When I was researching my own book I had a bit of difficulty finding more detailed information on the Asklepions (Asklepiea)—healing sanctuaries named after Asklepios, Greek god of medicine. So I was overjoyed to come across this book, which satisfactorily fleshed out the information I already had. The practice I was interested in was known as dream incubation, or temple sleep. The patients slept in the temple with the specific intention of experiencing a healing dream, the cure effected by awakening a healing instinct in the sleepers themselves. Dogs and serpents roamed the temple floor where the sleepers lay, the dogs even licking the patients’ wounds. I’ve included this book for anyone interested in this practice which is still discussed today, especially in the field of Hypnotherapy.

I loved that Hamilton’s unpacking of the etymology of security led right to the notion of care.

This book had a shaping impact on how I think about care and its ties to security – a relation that continues to animate my interests. I learned that my cares (affections, attachments, worries) may mobilize me to enhance my security, which also may be done inadvertently at the expense of someone else’s. To put it another way, when we seek security, we are seeking to let go of our cares or to care less.

Security attends to the “inflated focus” on security as an instrument of control in contemporary cultural life and does so richly, drawing upon cultural forms such as fables, literature, and art in a beautiful and provocative text.

If anyone has helped establish the history of the humanities as a field of study, it is Rens Bod. His New History of the Humanities is a monument of erudition, covering the study of human meaning-making across disciplines, centuries, and cultures. It is admittedly a difficult pill to swallow for someone who believes that all understanding starts with in-depth listening and careful contextualization. Nonetheless, I admire the book for two reasons. Against the prevalent view that the humanities are a product of the nineteenth or twentieth century, Bod argues that we are late heirs to “a centuries-old humanistic tradition.” Also, Bod encourages his readers to step outside of their professional comfort zones. Historians of the humanities need to be comparativists, unafraid of tracing ideas or practices across time and space.