Despite extensive and laudable efforts over the past 60-70 years to broaden the scope of historical studies, the teaching of History at the college level (as with most of the other Humanities) is mired in depression and crisis. Reports and assessments of shrinking departments, fewer history majors and fewer students from other disciplines (aka ‘butts-in-seats’), and the public undermining of historical facts fill not only erudite academic journals, but the popular press as well.
I’ve talked previously about other problems in teaching history, including an overreliance on narrative, the primacy of names-and-dates, and contemporary social changes in the background, capabilities, and interests of students. Another, and perhaps more fundamental concern is that a fixation on power as the principal criterion for inclusion in historical narratives remains. It is a subtle shadow that limits our ability as teachers and our understanding of why we do what we do as Historians. Loci of power serve as ‘gravitational lenses’ distorting everything we see nearby or beyond.
Indeed, if History is about “change over time” and we understand that “power” is the label for any means of making change, then History is inherently about power and the changes its exercise causes. Not necessarily limited to political power (still less, to formal governmental structures and military competition), but about power writ broadly, including charisma, cajoling, epistemology, and inertia, as well as the more familiar coercion. History naturally looks for the biggest changes and, therefore, the biggest power centers. Even the late 20C shift towards “history from below” (i.e., examining the changes in the world from the perspective of those without much power), still takes power as its premise.
This foundational frame for history is problematic even beyond the other concerns noted above. Part of the apparently increasing irrelevance of History is that the stories that Historians tell are about the powerful, while those who spend the greatest amount of time learning History in our society are, generally, those with relatively little power: students, working/ middling sorts, non-whites, non-males; precisely those whose stories are usually absent from History. The argument goes that this absence limits the ability of History to connect to its students (i.e., they can’t see themselves in the stories (usually dominated by powerful white males)). This has distance between historical actors and History students has been exacerbated by Historical traditions which summarily dismiss the actions of women, people of color and others similarly situated. Conscious efforts at diversity and inclusion can help remedy this latter point at least.
The (relative) absence from History of those without power is due to several understandable factors. First—pretty much by definition—they don’t affect History all that much. Second, most people who have lived did so in traditional societies whose defining characteristic is the relative paucity of change (i.e., a) almost all people in traditional societies from 70,000 years ago until the last few hundred years and b) in modernizing societies until the past 100 years). Finally, their low literacy and infrequent contact with textual records makes them rare in the archives. Much has been done in recent decades to remedy this, by mining archives and revealing the ways such individuals and groups did, in fact, exercise power; at least within their own (relatively limited) spheres. However much this recent trend might continue (and I fully endorse it within its context), it operates within an epistemological structure premised on power and, in such an arena, those with no or limited power cannot very well compete. Their marginality is made all the more excruciating by the strained efforts to include them (of which innumerable ‘insets’ in textbooks featuring early modern female traders or African travelers are among the most common examples).
Even when we get past the fact that those without power have usually been written out of History, reinserting them under the rubric of power/significance retains that straightjacket. They are not allowed to stand on their own; we must insist on their “agency” (social science-speak for “power”). Those History students to whom these examples are offered to enhance “relevance” and “connection” can’t get much out of them. Most people in history didn’t have much power and now more of ‘them’ are History students. History of power (causation) written by “the winners” for “the winners” at least had intellectual consistency. But if History is now being taught to those “without power” then we need a different rationale.
But can we step away from the traditional touchstones of causation and “historical significance” without falling into the trap of antiquarianism? It is a rare History text that does not seek to tie into the “big questions” of modernity, the state, and capitalism or other major human developments. However, it often seems like a strain, an obligato. And, unsurprisingly, virtually all undergraduate courses partake of this same attitude. Much of this stems from what I call the ‘Santayanan fallacy.” In our eagerness to desperately believe that we have control over our lives, we turn to History (no longer religion) for guidance. Learning the “lessons of History” will surely save us. Nonsense.
History may strive to be scientific, but it is no science. Its predictive/precatory powers are several orders of magnitude below that of physics. And its descriptive powers are little better. We can limn causation (i.e. the exercise of power), but only in small bites. With all we know of contingency, lost archives, orality and ephemera, and with the little we know of psychology, how can we have confidence in causative stories? What are the lessons of Cajamarca, of the flight to Varennes, of the Archduke’s detour in Sarajevo, or the later Wilson administration?
This is a crucial difference between the History of research and scholarly writing and the History of the classroom. For the former, written for those with context and interest, the warnings and limitations have already been built-in. Most of the ‘butts-in-seats’ in History classes, however, belong to non-History majors (generally taking course for GenEd credit). Beyond that, in “upper-division” classes, few History Majors go on to History Graduate programs. So, are we really training “Historians”? Most will take precious little History from our classes; few will spend any time wrestling with the details of composition of the pre-Revolutionary Estates-General. They might absorb the general outlines of a narrative, they might internalize the contested/conflicting nature of multiple narratives; not much more. If we leave them with the glimmers of a narrative, we have done them a disservice. The impression of coherence will lead them astray. The story of power-driven causation is attractive and, in a sense, reassuring.
One alternative approach would be to start with a concept of individual human worth and dignity, without regard to effect. Indeed, as we each know from our own lives/families/experiences, much power is wholly invisible (and, even more, much is unconscious). If the teaching of History becomes about discovering the complexity of life (i.e. ‘philosophy teaching by example’) and developing analytic and human skills, based on a compilation of experience and insight, then a nanny is as good as Napoleon, a rice farmer as a Roosevelt, a serving girl as a Shogun.
I’ve talked previously about other problems in teaching history, including an overreliance on narrative, the primacy of names-and-dates, and contemporary social changes in the background, capabilities, and interests of students. Another, and perhaps more fundamental concern is that a fixation on power as the principal criterion for inclusion in historical narratives remains. It is a subtle shadow that limits our ability as teachers and our understanding of why we do what we do as Historians. Loci of power serve as ‘gravitational lenses’ distorting everything we see nearby or beyond.
Indeed, if History is about “change over time” and we understand that “power” is the label for any means of making change, then History is inherently about power and the changes its exercise causes. Not necessarily limited to political power (still less, to formal governmental structures and military competition), but about power writ broadly, including charisma, cajoling, epistemology, and inertia, as well as the more familiar coercion. History naturally looks for the biggest changes and, therefore, the biggest power centers. Even the late 20C shift towards “history from below” (i.e., examining the changes in the world from the perspective of those without much power), still takes power as its premise.
This foundational frame for history is problematic even beyond the other concerns noted above. Part of the apparently increasing irrelevance of History is that the stories that Historians tell are about the powerful, while those who spend the greatest amount of time learning History in our society are, generally, those with relatively little power: students, working/ middling sorts, non-whites, non-males; precisely those whose stories are usually absent from History. The argument goes that this absence limits the ability of History to connect to its students (i.e., they can’t see themselves in the stories (usually dominated by powerful white males)). This has distance between historical actors and History students has been exacerbated by Historical traditions which summarily dismiss the actions of women, people of color and others similarly situated. Conscious efforts at diversity and inclusion can help remedy this latter point at least.
The (relative) absence from History of those without power is due to several understandable factors. First—pretty much by definition—they don’t affect History all that much. Second, most people who have lived did so in traditional societies whose defining characteristic is the relative paucity of change (i.e., a) almost all people in traditional societies from 70,000 years ago until the last few hundred years and b) in modernizing societies until the past 100 years). Finally, their low literacy and infrequent contact with textual records makes them rare in the archives. Much has been done in recent decades to remedy this, by mining archives and revealing the ways such individuals and groups did, in fact, exercise power; at least within their own (relatively limited) spheres. However much this recent trend might continue (and I fully endorse it within its context), it operates within an epistemological structure premised on power and, in such an arena, those with no or limited power cannot very well compete. Their marginality is made all the more excruciating by the strained efforts to include them (of which innumerable ‘insets’ in textbooks featuring early modern female traders or African travelers are among the most common examples).
Even when we get past the fact that those without power have usually been written out of History, reinserting them under the rubric of power/significance retains that straightjacket. They are not allowed to stand on their own; we must insist on their “agency” (social science-speak for “power”). Those History students to whom these examples are offered to enhance “relevance” and “connection” can’t get much out of them. Most people in history didn’t have much power and now more of ‘them’ are History students. History of power (causation) written by “the winners” for “the winners” at least had intellectual consistency. But if History is now being taught to those “without power” then we need a different rationale.
But can we step away from the traditional touchstones of causation and “historical significance” without falling into the trap of antiquarianism? It is a rare History text that does not seek to tie into the “big questions” of modernity, the state, and capitalism or other major human developments. However, it often seems like a strain, an obligato. And, unsurprisingly, virtually all undergraduate courses partake of this same attitude. Much of this stems from what I call the ‘Santayanan fallacy.” In our eagerness to desperately believe that we have control over our lives, we turn to History (no longer religion) for guidance. Learning the “lessons of History” will surely save us. Nonsense.
History may strive to be scientific, but it is no science. Its predictive/precatory powers are several orders of magnitude below that of physics. And its descriptive powers are little better. We can limn causation (i.e. the exercise of power), but only in small bites. With all we know of contingency, lost archives, orality and ephemera, and with the little we know of psychology, how can we have confidence in causative stories? What are the lessons of Cajamarca, of the flight to Varennes, of the Archduke’s detour in Sarajevo, or the later Wilson administration?
This is a crucial difference between the History of research and scholarly writing and the History of the classroom. For the former, written for those with context and interest, the warnings and limitations have already been built-in. Most of the ‘butts-in-seats’ in History classes, however, belong to non-History majors (generally taking course for GenEd credit). Beyond that, in “upper-division” classes, few History Majors go on to History Graduate programs. So, are we really training “Historians”? Most will take precious little History from our classes; few will spend any time wrestling with the details of composition of the pre-Revolutionary Estates-General. They might absorb the general outlines of a narrative, they might internalize the contested/conflicting nature of multiple narratives; not much more. If we leave them with the glimmers of a narrative, we have done them a disservice. The impression of coherence will lead them astray. The story of power-driven causation is attractive and, in a sense, reassuring.
One alternative approach would be to start with a concept of individual human worth and dignity, without regard to effect. Indeed, as we each know from our own lives/families/experiences, much power is wholly invisible (and, even more, much is unconscious). If the teaching of History becomes about discovering the complexity of life (i.e. ‘philosophy teaching by example’) and developing analytic and human skills, based on a compilation of experience and insight, then a nanny is as good as Napoleon, a rice farmer as a Roosevelt, a serving girl as a Shogun.
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