[The Montana Professor 16.2, Spring 2006 <http://mtprof.msun.edu>]
Peter Charles Hoffer
New York: Public Affairs, 2004
287 pp., $26.00 hc
George M. Dennison
President and Professor of History
UM-Missoula
Well written and readable, Past Imperfect addresses an issue of increasing importance to academe and not just to historians--specifically, the issue of professional misconduct. Peter Charles Hoffer has the credentials for the task; he teaches historiography at the University of Georgia and mentors candidates for doctoral degrees. In addition, he served from 2002 to 2004 as a member of the American Historical Association's Professional Division charged "to inquire into suspected wrongdoing by all historians, popular and academic," hearing and deciding "complaints about a wide variety of alleged misconduct, including plagiarism, misrepresentation of credentials, and falsification of research findings" (x). However, the Association discontinued its inquiry process in 2002 in the "shadow" of the four cases identified in the title, thereby leaving the policing function to the glare of "publicity" and the institutions employing the historians (135-36, 138-39, 237-38). As Hoffer notes, if these cases had come before the Professional Division, the confidentiality requirement would have barred him from commenting. As it happened, the oldest professional association for historians in the United States abrogated all responsibility for professional integrity at a time of great need. Fortunately, in this reviewer's opinion, Hoffer chose to take the matter public.
Writing for the general public as well as professionals, Hoffer offers a ranging analytical review of the writing of American history as the context for understanding the four cases of historical fraud that surfaced early in the 21st century. On the basis of his analysis, he asserts that "in truth, what seemed to many at the time to be grave and almost inexplicable departures from the ethical canon of scholarship were in fact predictable, perhaps even inevitable[,]" within the context of "the often troubled and always contested evolution of historical writing in America" (ix). He argues further that the four cases, "and the profession's response to them, could not have happened at a time other than they did. History--the history of our profession--gave the four controversies their shape just as it dictated their outcome" (9-10). As a result, history--a term Hoffer uses generally to refer to the field of study involving analyses or stories in the form of narratives written in the present that purport to explain the past--no longer serves the public purpose it once had in American life. As he explains, people in the early republic viewed "history...not [as] just a field of study, [but more as] a treasure trove of political lessons and a means of social and intellectual self-justification. One could, and the founders did, use history to debate present goals" (14)./1/ Thus, arguments over the history of the "'great experiment' in republican self-government"--as Jefferson defined the founding (18)--figured prominently in the political disputes from the Revolution through the pre-Civil War period and beyond, with the proponents of varying agendas intent upon proving that their platforms manifested the true origins and ultimate destiny of the new nation. Hoffer emphasized what in his view changed by repeating verbatim the words that open the first chapter as the opening of the last chapter: "Once upon a time, history meant everything to Americans, and historians were revered and trusted. For everyone knew that history's lessons were immutable and inescapable. Those who did not know history were fated to suffer its judgment for their ignorance" (17, 231). He believes that almost everything changed, so that "today, and perhaps...tomorrow," various "fast-talking all-purpose pundits have taken the scholar's place as spokespeople for our past and oracles for our future" (231). This multifaceted thesis, while intriguing, does not suffice to explain the four cases of fraud.
In fact, Hoffer's analysis of the writing of American history demonstrates far more continuity than change. Whatever the changing foci, status, and methodology of American historians over a century and a half, through successive generations they have shared an instrumentalist approach to "doing history." Whether writing as proponents of the early or late, always patriotic, often self-serving, nation-building or nation-sustaining "consensus" history (14ff.), or as adherents of the "new history" paradigm beginning in the 1960s with its methodological and theoretical sophistication, they reflected an enduring awareness of "an essential relationship between the writing of history and current events" (at 62, and 62ff.). Certainly they differed in their methods and in their specific agendas or objectives, whether to provide and sustain the ideological foundation for "one people, one nation," as with George Bancroft, Francis Parkman, and Frederick Jackson Turner (21-31, 40-1); to reveal the "contentious and sometimes oppressive" aspects of the consensus and take note of conflict, as with Charles Beard (39); to reinforce the vision of "one people, one nation" in the context of the Cold War, as with Daniel Boorstin (44-53); to view and critique that vision from its "underside--the world falling apart," broadening the scope and borrowing from other disciplines to bring into focus tensions and ambiguities in American history, as with Richard Hofstadter, Perry Miller, and Oscar Handlin (53-58); to search for a new "synthesis" capable of encompassing the diversity of historical participants and perspectives, as with Bernard Bailyn (57-58, 133-34); or to support the "new history" in multicultural inclusiveness and the pursuit of social justice, as with Jesse Lemisch, Gary Nash, Howard Zinn, Eric Foner, Julius Lester, Darlene Clark Hine, and Mary Beth Norton, among others (62-92). Throughout, they agreed that history, by its nature and essence, served the public purpose of providing direction to the society. Thus, it has always mattered who controls the writing and use of history, as Hoffer correctly notes (7-10).
Hoffer's informative discussion of the methodological and theoretical sophistication and professionalism of the "new historians" does not demonstrate a difference in fundamental approach. As he observed, Eugene Genovese, almost alone among the radicals of the "new history" practitioners, "insisted that history must remain totally historically minded, however much the radicals might want to bash the bosses and the slave owners" (72). In fact, most "new history" practitioners followed their "consensus" predecessors in the determined effort to make written history serve a desired purpose in the present. Surely the modern practitioners developed more sophisticated tools, borrowing from various other disciplines. At the same time, the rise of professionalism--as in virtually all arenas--opened a chasm separating academic historians from the general public. As a result, historians and histories became segregated into two very different groupings, one for the general public and one for the professionals, with differing rules and expectations for each: "The result was a widening gap between what gained applause as popular history, often the work of journalists or historians who had left the classroom, and minutely detailed, methodologically involuted professional monographs that few outside the academy read" (94). In response to societal developments, the historical profession changed demographically as well. Enrollments in colleges and universities grew exponentially, thus providing new opportunities to people from different groups within the larger society. Simultaneously, the new aspirants insisted that only members of heretofore excluded groups had the insight and moral legitimacy requisite to do justice to their own history (73-75). In Hoffer's view, democratization led to a new divisiveness within the profession and the society at large about the meaning and relevance of history, particularly as rising numbers of practitioners invented new specialties in their search for recognition (90). Nonetheless, the purpose, the driving force, of the enterprise remained the same: to provide instruction to the society for the achievement of desired social or national ends.
Hoffer uses this analysis and ranging review to explain the "crisis" in the profession manifested by four political contests over control of history in the 1990s and the four notorious cases of historical fraud early in the 21st century (133). The four political contests resulted from: 1) the announcement of a national celebration of the Columbus quincentenary; 2) the abortive effort to develop standards for teaching history in the schools; 3) the sabotage of the Enola Gay exhibit at the Smithsonian Institution; and 4) the impeachment of William Jefferson Clinton. In all four instances, Hoffer noted the eagerness of the "new historians" to use history to promote their agendas, allowing the political or social ends in sight to justify questionable tactics and interpretations. Their willingness to do so evoked responses in kind from their critics (93ff.). Thus, even as they found acceptance within the profession, the "new history" practitioners forgot the lesson they had themselves taught: "no group or party could control how history was used or monopolize its production forever"(93). The advocates of "consensus" or popular history with its patriotic celebration of the American way found new allies among the talk show hosts and press pundits within a fragmenting society caught up in "culture wars" (94). Having seized possession of the profession, the "new history" practitioners entered into the public fray in the 1990s confident of their ability to win any debate (93, 128-30). The resultant clashes over the meaning of history led in the end to public questioning of "the very right of professional historians to speak with authority about the past" (98). In short order, academic historians found themselves under attack for all manner of alleged crimes, from "political correctness" to an inability "'to view American history as anything other than a woeful catalog of crimes and aggressions against the helpless peoples of the earth,'" as a Wall Street Journal editorial asserted in 1994 (121).
In the aftermath of these culture clashes, the four cases of historical fraud claimed national attention. The first two involved accusations of plagiarism against Stephen Ambrose and Doris Kearns Goodwin, well established and very prominent historians. The third turned on charges of misrepresentation and falsification of evidence against Michael Bellesiles, a rising young academic historian and winner of the Bancroft Prize in American history. Finally, the fourth alleged fabrication of his own personal experience against Joseph Ellis, a widely published and respected scholar as well as winner of a Pulitzer Prize and a National Book Award. These public controversies shocked the professional community and the public at large. As mentioned earlier, Hoffer views these cases of fraud not as "grave and almost inexplicable departures from the ethical canon of scholarship," but as "predictable, perhaps even inevitable [developments]" within the context of "the often troubled and always contested evolution of historical writing in America" (ix). As he asserts, "these cases, and the profession's response to them, could not have happened at a time other than they did. History--the history of our profession--gave the four controversies their shape just as it dictated their outcome" (9-10). These contentions demand a response.
To begin, any argument based on hindsight that certain events "were in fact predictable, perhaps even inevitable," substitutes an assertion for an explanation; and an assertion that certain events "could not have happened at any other time than they did" states the obvious. Precisely why these four historians engaged in fraudulent acts when they did requires far more explanation than these statements provide. Of course, Hoffer seeks to provide that explanation. As he argues, "historians of the 1990s found themselves in a public arena where image and spin control trumped nuanced, thoughtful scholarship, and terms like 'politicized' and 'politically correct' had no fixed meaning" (127-28). As the disputes about the significance of historical events, "over curriculum," concerning the content of historical exhibits, and probing the meaning of clauses in the Constitution "escalated into wars over public relations," "historians...tumbled willy-nilly into [a]...contest for control of language, a war of sound bites rather than sound reasoning" (128). According to Hoffer, they suffered the consequences of having lost the "mystique" formerly associated with their protected position in the distant "ivory tower." In the public arena, no one much cared that "'our profession is a profession of experts, of people who know that [sic, presumably what] they are talking about,'" in historian David Hollinger's description (130). The attacks on professional historians during the decade of the 1990s, even if partially self-induced, at once reflected and intensified a corrosive atmosphere within which even minor and unintentional errors became egregious offenses. The deterioration of civil discourse within the society at large weakened and ultimately subverted the sense of unity and common purpose within the profession of history, sating the appetite for such political warfare and sapping the will for common defense. As Hoffer concludes, historians no longer had the energy or will to "draft an honor code and be prepared to enforce it," the only sure means of revealing "the true defrauders" (134). This analysis helps to explain the response to the cases of fraud but not their occurrence.
Hoffer's analysis helps as well to understand the cases of Ambrose and Goodwin. From this perspective, Ambrose and Goodwin left the ranks of the professionals to become contemporary counterparts of the "amateur" historians of the early 19th century, the "consensus" historians of the late 19th century, and the popular historians of the 20th century (13-16). In a technical sense, both committed plagiarism in multiple instances by taking the words and constructions of others and using them as their own. Hoffer explains that they did so in the tradition of their predecessors who generally cited the works they consulted, often changing a word or two in the borrowed constructions. But, since in the view of popular historians, all history reflects a common set of facts, the historian need not make specific citations to identify the sources of those facts (18-19, 28-33). Ambrose and Goodwin, as their predecessors, wrote history for the general public, did not bother with the niceties of precise citations, quotation marks, and attribution--although they certainly understood the professional insistence on these practices--won wide readership and public acclaim, ignored their academic critics, and continued to publish (205-07, 233, 237). Because of their actions, which Hoffer describes as deliberate, persistent, and skillful, they suffered momentary embarrassment when exposed, assuaged by public acclaim and monetary gain. Nonetheless, Hoffer's thesis does not explain why these two established historians chose to ignore known professional standards.
In different ways, Hoffer's discussion throws some light on the cases of Bellesiles and Ellis. These two young scholars exhibited in their work the methodological and theoretical sophistication of modern historians (41-42, 208-12). Invoking quantitative methodology, Bellesiles nonetheless sought to use history for a political purpose by showing that Americans did not have a "gun culture" until after the gun industry created it in order to market guns, and he became so involved with the cause of gun control that he misrepresented and even falsified the evidence (142). Hoffer suggests that Ellis gained new psychological insight allowing him to explain more than the extant historical evidence warrants by fabricating his own personal experience so as to become more credible with his students (209-13, 220-25). As Hoffer explains, "historians must [all] be fabricators of sorts" because "they tell stories about things they could not possibly know of their own experience and ask their listeners and readers to believe them without blinking an eye" (210). But most historians stop short of deliberate deception. Thus, Bellesiles allowed a desired political objective to subvert his diligence and honesty, and Ellis sacrificed personal integrity for acceptance and a search for insight. Hoffer's thesis fails to explain why they acted as they did.
Although Hoffer's thesis and the context he provides do not suffice to explain why these four successful people failed to abide by the ethical mandates of the profession, he has the good sense and the courage to condemn all four as instances of egregious fraud, however popular the persons committing the frauds. In addition, he offers apt commentary on the state of the historical profession as evidenced by the professional response to the political controversies of the 1990s and these instances of professional fraud. Trends within the larger society undoubtedly influenced these developments, whether toward situational ethics, or the view that all "scholarship [and thus knowledge] is relative to the experiences" of the scholar, or that the perspective determines the "truth," or the time-honored guide that the end justifies the means (38, 72, 74-75, 122-27). During the same period, other professions experienced similar challenges and problems (237-38)./2/ Perhaps more importantly, the general public indulges little if any concern about the rules of evidence and scholarship in history, settling instead for the good story and entertaining diversion. As Hoffer cautions, to "ordinary readers..., reading history is not an intellectual act, but a form of entertainment...[in which] fabrication and borrowing are not only commonplace,...[but] taken for granted"(236).
Hoffer speculates that the failure of the professionals to seize the teachable moment when the frauds became public proved their undoing. They "fumbled the opportunity to construct a virtual national classroom...[and use] the cases to teach sound historical methods." Their failure allowed "the journalists and pundits...[to get] all the lessons wrong" and dismiss the frauds as "symptoms of a global meltdown of standards or proof of the cupidity of a few sneaks. Because they [the journalists and pundits] did not think in historical terms, or understand the long historical causes of the crisis, they did not see the long dark side of the American history writing" (237). In this reader's view, the "long dark side of...American history writing" fails to explain either the occurrences of fraud or the responses to them, leaving this reader unconvinced as to the suggested remedy. Why, after the disastrous experience of the 1990s, expect the professionals to regroup and rejoin the public battle that left them in disarray? Why expect the public to accept such instruction in light of the reaction to the controversies of the 1990s? In fact, Hoffer argues persuasively that "publicity seems to work the other way: it benefits the wrongdoer" (238, mentioning the examples of Stephen Glass, Jason Blair, and Monica Lewinsky as well as Ambrose, Goodwin, Bellesiles, and Ellis). He observes also that the "free marketplace of ideas" works for the professionals, but has limited applicability in the larger public arena because "poorly researched, tendentiously argued, and just plain fake histories may have an impact on the making of public opinion and public policy before the remedies of the free marketplace of ideas can take effect" (237). Why, then, expect much from a "virtual national classroom?"
In one specific sense, Hoffer's argument and context have persuasive power. As the professional historians developed their methodologies, borrowed extensively from other disciplines, and probed ever more deeply into obscure and heretofore unexplored areas, they lost touch with the general reading public and "by their self-absorption, undermined the trust that once they enjoyed among their fellow citizens" (130, 231). In a sense, they surrendered the field of battle even before the first engagement by dismissing popular history as unworthy of attention (133-39, 233-36). As they retreated from the savage attacks of the 1990s, they widened the chasm separating them from the public; and they also succumbed to hubris and became much more concerned about their own well being and that of their peers (94-95, 129-30). In fact, exposure of the frauds came from outside the profession, from persons and groups concerned about issues other than professional standards, and the profession responded initially by defending its own against "unfounded" allegations from the uninitiated (237). Only after the evidence mounted did the professionals react by condemning the historians who committed the frauds rather than their challengers.
In the end, however, the castigation mattered very little. Although Bellesiles lost his Bancroft Prize, NEH Fellowship, and position at Emory University, his slightly revised book remains in circulation, and he continues to publish for the general reading public. Ellis lost his endowed chair and endured one year of unpaid suspension, but has returned to teaching and scholarship, having regained popularity after admitting and apologizing for his indiscretions. Ambrose's books remain in high demand, and the Smithsonian Institution still lists him as an Associate, even after his untimely death. Finally, Goodwin continues to attract the reading public with her earlier and new works, to inspire glowing reviews and plaudits, to win more prizes (another Pulitzer), and to appear frequently on public television as an expert commentator (235). The public rewards and protects those who accept the desire for entertainment.
In his analysis of the development of American historiography, Hoffer noted and warned of the consequences of the widening gap between the public and the profession. If the professionals ignore the public need for history that not only informs but inspires and delights, others will respond (96-98). If the professionals abrogate the responsibility to maintain standards, governmental regulation offers the ultimate recourse. The professional response to date to these instances of egregious historical fraud suggests, however, that the historians have apparently acquiesced, leaving history where it began in the hands of the public. When in its 2004 annual meeting the Organization of American Historians "convened a panel of leading historians to discuss ethical misconduct in the profession," only "13 people sat through the proceedings" (239). To paraphrase Hoffer's twice-used statement: as at the beginning of the republic, history is far too important to leave to the historians. Neil Hamilton argues that this relationship reflects "the relentless reductive pressure of the market to define all professional relationships as nothing more than consumer/service provider or employer/employee relationships."/3/ In Hamilton's view, something very critical to the well being and vitality of American society hangs in the balance: "society and members of a profession form an unwritten social compact whereby the members of a profession agree to restrain self-interest, to promote ideals of public service, and to maintain high standards of performance, while society in return allows the profession substantial autonomy to regulate itself through peer review."/4/ Failure to self-regulate within the profession ultimately attracts external intervention. Leaving to the public at large the responsibility to judge the performance of all, or even some, practitioners will result in the disappearance of standards or regulation by government agencies. In a very direct sense, Hamilton's emphasis on "ideals of public service" and "high standards of performance," as applied to historians, underscores the imperative Hoffer suggests in his conclusion of making certain that the public gets it right: "it is long past time for all of us who teach and write history to take the...stand against professional malfeasance" among all historians, professional and popular alike (240). Those who accept the discipline and swear allegiance to Clio bear the moral and ethical responsibility to make his appeal more than a cry in the wilderness.
Notes
[The Montana Professor 16.2, Spring 2006 <http://mtprof.msun.edu>]