"Not a single man on earth knows from his own experience the how and where of his birth, only from tradition, which is often very uncertain"
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Hoffmann is quietly yanking the rug out from under the most basic story we tell about ourselves: that identity begins at a knowable, documentable point called “birth.” His point isn’t biological; it’s epistemic. No one can testify to their own origin. The one fact that seems to anchor the self arrives secondhand, delivered by caretakers, institutions, and paperwork. “Tradition” here doesn’t just mean folklore. It means the whole chain of narration - family memory, parish records, civic registries - the machinery that turns a body into a person with a provenance.
The bite comes from the phrase “often very uncertain.” Hoffmann, writing in the early 19th century, is surrounded by a Europe where records are uneven, borders shift, and social status can hinge on pedigree. In that world, uncertainty isn’t philosophical haze; it’s political and economic leverage. If origins can’t be personally verified, they can be revised, embellished, erased. Authority migrates to whoever controls the narrative.
As a critic steeped in Romantic-era anxieties, Hoffmann is also poking at the era’s obsession with authenticity and the “true self.” He suggests that even the self’s starting line is a kind of fiction we inherit. The subtext is almost modern: identity is less a private possession than a social artifact, stitched together from stories we’re told, then spend our lives defending as fact.
The bite comes from the phrase “often very uncertain.” Hoffmann, writing in the early 19th century, is surrounded by a Europe where records are uneven, borders shift, and social status can hinge on pedigree. In that world, uncertainty isn’t philosophical haze; it’s political and economic leverage. If origins can’t be personally verified, they can be revised, embellished, erased. Authority migrates to whoever controls the narrative.
As a critic steeped in Romantic-era anxieties, Hoffmann is also poking at the era’s obsession with authenticity and the “true self.” He suggests that even the self’s starting line is a kind of fiction we inherit. The subtext is almost modern: identity is less a private possession than a social artifact, stitched together from stories we’re told, then spend our lives defending as fact.
Quote Details
| Topic | Truth |
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