Historical hubris? Guilty.
I take back everything that I’ve ever said about learning and sharing and teaching history…
I’ve always thought that creating an environment for anyone and everyone to connect to the people of the past is key in understanding history – in other words, I’ve always been in the camp of telling (hi)stories. Connect to a historical person, empathize with their plight, and learn about the greater historical narrative in which the person was living. I suppose it’s a notch above reading a sterile textbook and memorizing various trivia, but I can (and must) do better as a historian. One of the dangers in narrative history is that we, as historians, have a tendency to cherry pick what we think is important and organize the story accordingly, based on our own knowledge and preconceived notions, so there’s always a slant, no matter how hard we may try to maintain neutrality: not only can the selected facts be distorted, but their arrangement (notably the causal relation between events) could be misconstrued by historians, as a result of their own misjudgments or predilections. 2
There’s also this elephant in the room when it comes to narrative history – we’re exacerbating memory-history in the classroom, where we basically tell students what to think via this master narrative rather than providing the evidence and giving them the freedom to explore the past, choosing their own analytical paths and forming their own conclusions. A true understanding of history is not limited to (and is probably not, above all) the mastering of factual knowledge of the past, such as dates, names, characters, and events established by authorities in historical accounts. 2
I’m a little embarrassed disappointed in how I’ve oversimplified history, judging the past from a (very) liberal 21st-century vantage point. How arrogant, right? With my current research project, I’ve found myself downright angry at some of the key players, which is a right to which I’m not entirely sure that I’m entitled, especially given the inherent bias of the main “source of truth” for crafting the story. I should know better – not that it’s not OK to be frustrated with some of history’s less-than-honorable moments, but as historians, it’s our responsibility to dissect these sources, analyze them deeply, understand outside influences/contexts/biases, and be comfortable with knowing that our research will forever be a work in progress because we don’t have time machines.
Part of what has me spinning after our readings is so basic that I can’t believe I’m writing it: how do we tell history?
What’s historical thinking any way?
Historical thinking requires us to reconcile two contradictory positions: first, that our established modes of thinking are an inheritance that cannot be sloughed off; second that if we make no attempt to slough them off, we are doomed to a mind-numbing presentism that reads the present onto the past.1
Presentism is that tricky yet oh-so-easy-to-do thing of analyzing (and prematurely judging) the past through modern eyes. It’s important not to jump to conclusions too quickly on the people of the past so that we don’t shortchange our understanding of their historical world. We need to grant people in the past the benefit of the doubt by casting doubt on our ability to know them as easily as we know ourselves. 1 I originally read this as not having the right to judge some of the past, which isn’t what Wineburg is saying – it’s just that we need to take our time in understanding the past and not be too hasty in our conclusions. This same principle of slowing down to analyze thoroughly applies to modern life, which, Wineburg argues, is what makes history such a powerful discipline because it teaches empathy: [T]he study of history is so crucial to our present day and age, when issues of diversity dominate the national agenda. Coming to know others, whether they live on the other side of the tracks or the other side of the millennium, requires the education of our sensibilities.1
Sam Wineburg argues that history holds the potential, only partially realized, of humanizing us in ways offered by few other areas in the school curriculum. 1 This may be a little soap boxy of me to say, but I think that we all need a little reminder of what humanity looks like – it’s easy to lose it in the technological world in which we live. We must have the skills to place modern terms, like racism, progressiveness, and enlightened, into the proper historical time and place, otherwise we start to play a game of historical hubris, as Sam Wineburg puts it. In this game, we think and act and judge as though we’re smarter and more moral than our predecessors. Instead, we must cultivate empathy, first immersing ourselves in the opinions of the historical era, which requires immense imagination; selecting and reading historical sources implies re-enacting in the mind of the historian the thought of the author (to empathize).2
If we can get students interested in history and connected to the past, at least a little bit, then maybe they can start to leverage this understanding into present day life: By hitching our own stories to the stories of those who went before us, the past becomes a useful resource in our everyday lives, an endless storehouse of raw materials to be shaped for our present needs.1
Decoding the disciplines
When someone makes something look easy, odds are it wasn’t always easy – you have to work to be good at a skill, whether it’s riding a bike, cooking, or, in the context of our class, understanding history and historical thinking. When it comes to teaching, particularly at the collegiate level, professors are experts in their discipline, and experts, across the board, can inadvertently assume facets of their discipline that aren’t always so obvious to a novice. In the classroom, when a teacher’s able to step back and identify the “bottlenecks” – where students are collectively getting stuck – then they’re able to divide and conquer the issue(s) to help students overcome the road block(s).
The Decoding the Discipline video that we watched talks about teachers deconstructing their knowledge to see what they’re not teaching, and in doing so, they’re able to see what needs to be taught and what their students already understand. This teaching mode, however, requires engagement – it’s not a standard, in-the-box lesson plan kind of tactic. Teachers must be willing to step back so as to move forward with their students, which takes time and patience. Also, teachers shouldn’t take a fire hose to their students meaning too much information isn’t always a good thing; it’s important to have touch points with students to ensure that they’re grasping what teachers are hoping they’re grasping. Again, it comes back to planning the lesson and planning to adjust the lesson.
Threshold concepts
Piggybacking off of decoding a discipline, threshold concepts are the more complicated areas that novices may struggle at first to understand, but once they wrap their heads around the concept, they break through to a whole new level of thinking and understanding. This concept circles back to experts making assumptions, but teachers can help students unpack their difficulties and grasp the basics so that they may cross that disciplinary threshold.
Show me the evidence
Let our pupils be taught that proof must be insisted on in historical work, and that when proof ends history ends. Teach them that no matter how long a story has been believed nor by how many people it has been accepted as true, if it does not rest on trustworthy evidence it is not a historical fact, and cannot be classed as history.2
Turn students into history’s detectives and equip them with the tools they need to construct and analyze the past. We must analyze all of the sources – i.e., evidence – to identify commonalities, establish credibility, and piece together a picture of the past, which are all skills that students need to be responsible adults. (I’m thinking specifically of understanding current affairs – we must teach youth how to collect and analyze data.). History can contribute to democratic citizenship in at least four ways: (1) the study of political institutions; (2) comparative historical analysis; (3) comparisons of past and current events; and (4) development of democratic habits of mind.2 In an ideal world, if a student has a foundation in historical thinking, coupled with a working understanding of the past – good, bad, and otherwise – then they’re able to rationalize their current world more easily (theoretically!).
But presenting evidence isn’t enough. Students need to understand how to take this evidence and think about things like who created it, for what purpose, who’s voice don’t we hear, and so forth. Primary sources are great – my current research project relies almost exclusively on them – but I understand that there are obvious biases that are very much tainting the story because I’m acutely aware of the missing voices of the enslaved and free African Americans.
One of the ways that we can tackle historical hubris is through evidence. By encouraging students to become historical detectives, teachers shift the focus from ‘coverage’ to ‘uncoverage.’ 2 This inquisitive-teaching design, or backward design, also moves away from the narrative way of teaching where we stand at a lectern and tell students what historical facts they must memorize and instead seeks to find the less obvious facets of a story:
Instead of presenting an overview of the past by marching through a vast body of information and topics within a limited time (i.e., textbook coverage), educators who uncover the past make students inquire, interrogate, and go into depth, so as to find defensible answers to meaningful questions – just like scholars when they study and uncover a given problem.2
Without evidence, you’re left with solely opinion, so by teaching students how to get hands-on with history by delving into credible sources, you’re teaching them how to think and analyze and defend these opinions: The intellectual ability to collect, process, analyse, and cross-reference evidence is crucial to an informed citizenry. As part of its contribution to citizenship education,school history can favour the development of the attitudes and skills of democratic reasoning, using past or contemporary evidence. 2
So. Many. Questions.
How can we really know and understand the past if we assume that every primary source is slanted and inaccurate? It’s true, but how can we do our jobs well?
We’ll never be able to fully understand history because the society in which we live is so completely different from the society in which our predecessors lived, so there will always innately be a gulf between us and them. As historians, we must constantly be shocked by our research; it’s the only way we’re ever going to understand somewhat the otherness that’s baked into history. Simply put, the past is not and should not feel familiar because it’s not. Wineburg explains that the goal of historical study should be to teach us what we cannot see, to acquaint us with the congenital blurriness of our vision.1 Can we ever be sure that what we think we know and understand is valid, legit, responsible to share with the masses? Or is the only responsible way to handle history to add a caveat to everything that we say, This is our best guess today, and here’s our evidence?
How can public school teachers teaching history responsibly with the slew of mandated testing requirements? Is there any room for historical thinking? Is the “cognitive revolution” a thing of the past at this point?
[E]ven the best-qualified history teachers – with graduate degrees in history – do not necessarily engage their students in disciplinary historical thinking, so busy are they covering content for board and state examinations and controlling students’ behaviours.2
We must teach students how to think and question, not just sit around and accept the first thing that’s displayed in some generic search form. Stéphane Lévesque believes in the rise of teachers getting to know their students and not putting everyone in a box because, obviously, not every student learns the same way nor do they bring the same knowledge to every class.2 Perhaps that’s part of the answer – creating a lesson plan, knowing your required milestones, and allowing enough flexibility to adapt to student needs. I’m not a teacher, so maybe this is a bit too idealistic? Based on the teachers that I’ve talked with in recent years, their school year is so rigid that there’s not a lot of room for adapting and adjusting. In the Decoding the Disciplines video, they talk about planning a lesson and planning to adjust, but can high school history teachers (or any high school teacher, quite frankly) do this any more?
I’m still partial to the narrative of history because I love learning about the people. I’m a classic tale of an old dog struggling to learn a new trick. How can I still indulge my love of storytelling with responsible history sharing?
With my current project, I’ve tried to be transparent in the narrative by saying, in so many words, This is a best guess of what happened using these sources. Here are just a few of the outstanding questions. You’ll no doubt have more because it’s history.
Is there a better, more responsible way to handle a story like this local historical mystery that’s largely unknown and based on very biased primary sources?
Sources
- Wineburg, Sam. “Historical Thinking and Other Unnatural Acts.” The Phi Delta Kappan 80, no. 7. March 1999. p. 488-499.
- Lévesque, Stéphane. Thinking Historically. Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2008.
