modern definition of history essay

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Philosophy of History

The concept of history plays a fundamental role in human thought. It invokes notions of human agency, change, the role of material circumstances in human affairs, and the putative meaning of historical events. It raises the possibility of “learning from history.” And it suggests the possibility of better understanding ourselves in the present, by understanding the forces, choices, and circumstances that brought us to our current situation. It is therefore unsurprising that philosophers have sometimes turned their attention to efforts to examine history itself and the nature of historical knowledge. These reflections can be grouped together into a body of work called “philosophy of history.” This work is heterogeneous, comprising analyses and arguments of idealists, positivists, logicians, theologians, and others, and moving back and forth over the divides between European and Anglo-American philosophy, and between hermeneutics and positivism.

Given the plurality of voices within the “philosophy of history,” it is impossible to give one definition of the field that suits all these approaches. In fact, it is misleading to imagine that we refer to a single philosophical tradition when we invoke the phrase, “philosophy of history,” because the strands of research characterized here rarely engage in dialogue with each other. Still, we can usefully think of philosophers’ writings about history as clustering around several large questions, involving metaphysics, hermeneutics, epistemology, and ethics: (1) What does history consist of—individual actions, social structures, periods and regions, civilizations, large causal processes, divine intervention? (2) Does history as a whole have meaning, structure, or direction, beyond the individual events and actions that make it up? (3) What is involved in our knowing, representing, and explaining history? (4) To what extent do facts about human history create moral responsibilities for the present generation?

1.1 Actors, structures, and causes in history

1.2 selectivity and scale in history, 1.3 memory, history, and narrative, 2.1 universal or historical human nature, 2.2 does history possess directionality, 2.3 hegel’s philosophy of history, 2.4 hermeneutic approaches to history.

• 2.5 Conceptual philosophy of history

3.1 General laws in history?

3.2 historical objectivity, 3.3 causation in history, 3.4 recent topics in the philosophy of history, 4. historiography and the philosophy of history, 5. historical understanding and the twentieth century, 6. ethics, history, and memory, other internet resources, related entries, 1. history and its representation.

What are the intellectual tasks that define the historian’s work? In a sense, this question is best answered on the basis of a careful reading of some good historians. But it will be useful to offer several simple answers to this foundational question as a sort of conceptual map of the nature of historical knowing.

First, historians are interested in providing conceptualizations and factual descriptions of events and circumstances in the past. This effort is an answer to questions like these: “What happened? What was it like? What were some of the circumstances and happenings that took place during this period in the past?” Sometimes this means simply reconstructing a complicated story from scattered historical sources—for example, in constructing a narrative of the Spanish Civil War or attempting to sort out the series of events that culminated in the Detroit race riot / uprising of 1967. But sometimes it means engaging in substantial conceptual work in order to arrive at a vocabulary in terms of which to characterize “what happened.” Concerning the disorders of 1967 in Detroit: was this a riot or an uprising? How did participants and contemporaries think about it?

Second, historians often want to answer “why” questions: “Why did this event occur? What were the conditions and forces that brought it about?” What were the motivations of the participants? This body of questions invites the historian to provide an explanation of the event or pattern he or she describes: the rise of fascism in Spain, the collapse of the Ottoman Empire, the occurrence of ethnic cleansing in Bosnia in 1992 and later. And providing an explanation requires, most basically, an account of the causal mechanisms, background circumstances, and human choices that brought the outcome about. We explain an historical outcome when we identify the social causes, forces, events, and actions that brought it about, or made it more likely.

Third, and related to the previous point, historians are sometimes interested in answering a “how” question: “How did this outcome come to pass? What were the processes through which the outcome occurred?” How did the Prussian Army succeed in defeating the superior French Army in 1870? How did the Polish trade union Solidarity manage to bring about the end of Communist rule in Poland in 1989? Here the pragmatic interest of the historian’s account derives from the antecedent unlikelihood of the event in question: how was this outcome possible? This too is an explanation; but it is an answer to a “how possible” question rather than a “why necessary” question.

Fourth, often historians are interested in piecing together the human meanings and intentions that underlie a given complex series of historical actions. They want to help the reader make sense of the historical events and actions, in terms of the thoughts, motives, and states of mind of the participants. For example: Why did Napoleon III carelessly provoke Prussia into war in 1870? Why did the parties of the far right in Germany gain popular support among German citizens in the 1990s? Why did northern cities in the United States develop such marked patterns of racial segregation after World War II? Answers to questions like these require interpretation of actions, meanings, and intentions—of individual actors and of cultures that characterize whole populations. This aspect of historical thinking is “hermeneutic,” interpretive, and ethnographic.

And, of course, the historian faces an even more basic intellectual task: that of discovering and making sense of the archival and historical information that exists about a given event or time in the past. Historical data do not speak for themselves; archives are incomplete, ambiguous, contradictory, and confusing. The historian needs to interpret individual pieces of evidence, and he or she needs to be able to somehow fit the mass of evidence into a coherent and truthful story. Complex events like the Spanish Civil War present the historian with an ocean of historical traces in repositories and archives all over the world; these collections sometimes reflect specific efforts at concealment by the powerful (for example, Franco’s efforts to conceal all evidence of mass killings of Republicans after the end of fighting); and the historian’s task is to find ways of using this body of evidence to discern some of the truth about the past.

In short, historians conceptualize, describe, contextualize, explain, and interpret events and circumstances of the past. They sketch out ways of representing the complex activities and events of the past; they explain and interpret significant outcomes; and they base their findings on evidence in the present that bears upon facts about the past. Their accounts need to be grounded on the evidence of the available historical record, and their explanations and interpretations require that the historian arrive at hypotheses about social causes and cultural meanings. Historians can turn to the best available theories in the social and behavioral sciences to arrive at theories about causal mechanisms and human behavior; so historical statements depend ultimately upon factual inquiry and theoretical reasoning. Ultimately, the historian’s task is to shed light on the what, why, and how of the past, based on inferences from the evidence of the present.

Three preliminary issues are relevant to almost all discussions of history and the philosophy of history. The first is a set of issues having to do with the "ontology" of history, the kinds of entities, processes, and events that make up the historical past. This topic concerns the entities, forces, and structures that we postulate in describing the historical phenomena, whether the medieval manor or the Weimar Republic, and the theory we have of how these social entities depend upon the actions of the historical actors who embody them. The second issue has to do with the problems of selectivity unavoidable for the historian of any period or epoch. Here we take up the question of how the unavoidable selectivity of historical inquiry in terms of theme, location, scope, and scale influences the nature of historical knowledge. The third issue has to do with the complicated relationship that exists between history, narrative, and collective memory. This topic addresses the point that real human beings make history. And, as Marc Bloch insists (1953), we humans are historical beings, we tell stories about ourselves, and those stories sometimes themselves have major historical consequences. The collective memories and identities of Serb nationalism were a historical fact in the 1990s, and these elements of mythic collective identity led to massive bloodshed, ethnic cleansing, and murder during the violent breakup of Yugoslavia (Judt and Snyder, 2012; Judt, 2006).

An important problem for the philosophy of history is how to conceptualize “history” happenings. What are the "objects" of which history consists? Are there social structures or systems that play a role in history? Are there causes at work in the historical process? Or is history simply an concatenation of the actions and mental frameworks of myriad individuals, high and low? If both structures and actors are crucial to understanding history, what is the relationship between them?

Marc Bloch (1953) provided a very simple and penetrating definition of history. History is "man in time". By this he meant that history is the product of human action, creativity, invention, conflict, and interaction. Bloch was skeptical about many other categories commonly used to analyze history—periods, epochs, civilizations, reigns, and centuries. Instead, he advocated for what can be called an "actor-centered" conception of history. If there are structures and systems in history, they depend upon the beliefs, attitudes, and actions of individual actors. If there are causes in history, they likewise depend upon the actions and interactions of human actors within a setting of humanly created institutions and norms. The task of the historian is to reconstruct the meanings, beliefs, values, purposes, constraints, and actions that jointly explain the moments of history, from the meaning of an ancient stele to the causes of the rapid defeat of France in 1940.

This perspective does not diminish the ontological importance of structures, systems, and ideologies in history. It simply forces the historian, like the social scientist, to be attentive to the problem of articulating the relationship that exists between actors and structures. A system of norms, a property system, and a moral ideology of feudal loyalty can all be understood as being both objectively present at a time and place, and being ontologically dependent upon the mental frameworks, actions, and relationships of the individual actors who make up these systems. This problem has been thoroughly discussed in the philosophy of social science under the rubric of "ontological individualism" (Zahle and Collin, 2014). Higher-level social entities are indeed causally powerful in the social world; and they depend entirely for their causal powers on the characteristics of the individual actors who constitute them. This is the requirement of microfoundations: extended social structures and causes depend upon microfoundations at the level of the individuals who constitute them (Little 2017). In particular, we need to have some idea about how individuals have been brought to think and act in the ways required by the structures and ideologies in which they function as adults. On this approach, history is the result of the actions and thoughts of vast numbers of actors, and institutions, structures, and norms are likewise embodied in the actions and mental frameworks of historically situated individuals. Such an approach helps to inoculate us against the error of reification of historical structures, periods, or forces, in favor of a more disaggregated conception of multiple actors and shifting conditions of action. This is the conception to which we are drawn when we understand history along the lines proposed by Bloch.

This orientation brings along with it the importance of analyzing closely the social and natural environment in which actors frame their choices. A historian’s account of the flow of human action eventuating in historical change unavoidably needs to take into account the institutional and situational environment in which these actions take place. Part of the social environment of a period of historical change is the ensemble of institutions that exist more or less stably in the period: property relations, political institutions, family structures, educational practices, religious and moral values. So historical explanations need to be sophisticated in their treatment of institutions, cultures, and practices. It is an important fact that a given period in time possesses a fund of scientific and technical knowledge, a set of social relationships of power, and a level of material productivity. It is also an important fact that knowledge is limited; that coercion exists; and that resources for action are limited. Within these opportunities and limitations, individuals, from leaders to ordinary people, make out their lives and ambitions through action.

Similar microfoundational accounts must be given in support of the idea of "causes in history". Once established, it is reasonably straightforward to see how a social structure such as a property system or an ideology "causes" a historical outcome: by constraining the choices of actors and contributing to their motivations and values in the choices they make, a structure or an ideology influences historically important events like social movements, market crashes, or outbreaks of ethnic violence. Structures influence individual actors, and individual actors collectively constitute structures. This approach gives a basis for judging that such-and-so circumstance “caused” a given historical change; but it also provides an understanding of the way in which this kind of historical cause is embodied and conveyed—through the actions and thoughts of individuals in response to given natural and social circumstances.

Are there large scale causes at work in historical processes? Historians often pose questions like these: “What were some of the causes of the fall of Rome?”, “what were the causes of the rise of fascism?”, or “what were the causes of the Industrial Revolution?”. These kinds of questions presuppose that there were grand causes at work that had grand effects. However, it is more plausible to believe that the causes of some very large and significant historical events are themselves small, granular, gradual, and cumulative. If this is the case, then there is no satisfyingly simple and high-level answer to the question, why did Rome fall? Moreover, astute historians like Bloch and his contemporaries recognized that there is a very large amount of contingency and path dependency in historical change (Pierson, 2004). Historical outcomes are not determined by a few large scale causes; instead, multiple local, contingent, and conjunctural processes and happening jointly come together in the production of the outcome of interest. It is possible, for example, that the collapse of the Roman Empire resulted from a myriad of very different contingencies and organizational features in different parts of the empire. A contingent account of the fall of Rome might refer to logistical difficulties in supplying armies in the German winter, particularly stubborn local resistance in Palestine, administrative decay in Roman Britain, population pressure in Egypt, and a particularly inept series of commanders in Gaul. Without drama, administrative and military collapse ensues. The best we can do sometimes is to identify a swarm of independent, small-scale processes and contingencies that eventually produced the large outcome of interest.

This approach might be called "actor-centered history": we explain a historical moment or event when we have an account of what people thought and believed; what they wanted; and what social, institutional, and environmental conditions framed their choices. It is a view of history that gives close attention to states of knowledge, ideology, and agency, as well as institutions, organizations, and structures, and examines the actions and practices of individuals as they lived their lives within these constraining and enabling circumstances. Further, it emphasizes the contingency and path-dependency of history, and it acknowledges the fact of heterogeneity of institutions, beliefs, and actions across time and place.

Historical research unavoidably requires selectivity in deciding what particular phenomena to emphasize. As Max Weber (1949) notes, there is an infinite depth to historical reality, and therefore it is necessary to select a finite representation of the object of study if we want to approach a problem rigorously. Let us imagine, for example, that a historian is interested in cities and their development over time. This might be pursued as an economic question, a question of regional geography, a question about cultural change, a question about poverty and segregation, a question about municipal governance, or a question about civil disturbances, and so one, for indefinitely many aspects of urban life. One generation of historians may be especially interested in cultural topics, while another generation is preoccupied with the organization of the economy at various points in history. The two orientations lead to very different historical representations of the past. Both inquiries lead to true depictions of the cities in question, but their findings and interpretations are very different. Likewise, the historian needs to make choices about location; is he or she interested in the cities of Britain, the cities of Europe, or all cities in the world? Further, the historian must consider whether to conduct a comparative history of cities, examining similarities and differences in the development of Paris and London; or instead restrict attention to a single case. Simply collecting “historical facts” about cities in the past is not a valid mode of historical inquiry. The question of how historians select and identify their subjects for research is an important one for the philosophy of history, and it has great significance for how we think about “knowing the past”.

Weber’s essays on methodology (1949) provide insight about these questions. Weber emphasizes the role that the scholar’s values play in his or her selection of a subject matter and a conceptual framework. So it is always open to historians of later generations to reevaluate prior interpretations of various aspects and periods of history. There is no general or comprehensive approach to defining the historical; there is only the possibility of a series of selective and value-guided approaches to defining specific aspects of history. We are always at liberty to bring forward new perspectives and new aspects of the problem, and to arrive at new insights about how the phenomena hang together when characterized in these new ways. This inherent selectivity of historical knowledge does not undermine the objectivity or veridicality of our knowledge; it merely entails that – like mathematics – history is inherently incomplete.

Doing history also forces the historian to make choices about the scale of the history with which he or she is concerned. Suppose we are interested in Asian history. Are we concerned with Asia as a continent, including China, India, Cambodia, and Japan, or the whole of China during the Ming Dynasty, or Hubei Province? Or if we define our interest in terms of a single important historical event like the Chinese Revolution, are we concerned with the whole of the Chinese Revolution, the base area of Yenan, or the specific experience of a handful of villages in Shandong during the 1940s? Given the fundamental heterogeneity of social life, the choice of scale makes an important difference to the findings.

Historians differ greatly around the decisions they make about scale. It is possible to treat any historical subject at the micro-scale. William Hinton provides what is almost a month-to-month description of the Chinese Revolution in Fanshen village—a collection of a few hundred families (Hinton 1966). Likewise, Emmanuel Le Roy Ladurie offers a deep treatment of the villagers of Montaillou; once again, a single village and a limited time (Le Roy Ladurie 1979). William Cronon provides a focused and detailed account of the development of Chicago as a metropolis for the middle of the United States (Cronon 1991). These histories are limited in time and space, and they can appropriately be called “micro-history.”

Macro-level history is possible as well. William McNeill provides a history of the world’s diseases (McNeill 1976); Massimo Livi-Bacci offers a history of the world’s population (Livi-Bacci 2007); and De Vries and Goudsblom provide an environmental history of the world (De Vries and Goudsblom 2002). In each of these cases, the historian has chosen a scale that encompasses virtually the whole of the globe, over millennia of time. These histories can certainly be called “macro-history.”

Both micro- and macro-histories have important shortcomings. Micro-history leaves us with the question, “how does this particular village shed light on anything larger?”. Macro-history leaves us with the question, “how do these large assertions about the nature of revolution or the importance of class conflict in mobilization apply in the context of Canada or Warsaw?”. The first threatens to be so particular as to lose all interest, whereas the second threatens to be so general as to lose all empirical relevance to real historical processes.

There is a third choice available to the historian that addresses both points. This is to choose a scale that encompasses enough time and space to be genuinely interesting and important, but not so much as to defy valid analysis. This level of scale might be regional—for example, G. William Skinner’s analysis of the macro-regions of China (Skinner 1977). It might be national—for example, a social and political history of Indonesia. And it might be supra-national—for example, an economic history of Western Europe or comparative treatment of Eurasian history. The key point is that historians in this middle range are free to choose the scale of analysis that seems to permit the best level of conceptualization of history, given the evidence that is available and the social processes that appear to be at work. And this mid-level scale permits the historian to make substantive judgments about the “reach” of social processes that are likely to play a causal role in the story that needs telling. This level of analysis can be referred to as “meso-history,” and it appears to offer an ideal mix of specificity and generality.

What is the relation between history, memory, and narrative? We might put these concepts into a crude map by saying that "history" is an organized and evidence-based presentation of of the processes, actions, and events that have occurred for a people over an extended period of time; "memory" is the personal recollections and representations of individuals who lived through a series of events and processes; and "narratives" are the stories that ordinary people and historians weave together to make sense of the events and happenings through which a people and a person have lived. Collective memory, the idea that groups such as Welsh miners, Serbian villagers, or black Alabama farmers possess a collective representation of the past that binds them together, can be understood as a shared set of narratives and stories about the past events of the given group or community. We use narratives to make sense of things that have happened; to identify meanings and causes within this series of events; and to select the "important" events and processes out from the ordinary and inconsequential.

What is a narrative? Most generally, it is an account of how and why a situation or event came to be. A narrative is intended to provide an account of how a complex historical event unfolded and why. We want to understand the event in time. What were the contextual features that were relevant to the outcome—the conditions at one or more points in time that played a role? What were the actions and choices that agents performed, and why did they take these actions rather than other possible choices? What causal processes—either social or natural—may have played a role in influencing the outcome? So a narrative seeks to provide hermeneutic understanding of the outcome—why did actors behave as they did in bringing about the outcome?—and causal explanation —what social and natural processes were acting behind the backs of the actors in bringing about the outcome? And different narratives represent different mixes of hermeneutic and causal factors. A crucial and unavoidable feature of narrative history is the fact of selectivity. The narrative historian is forced to make choices and selections at every stage: between "significant" and "insignificant", between "sideshow" and "main event", and between levels of description.

It is evident that there are often multiple truthful, unbiased, and inconsistent narratives that can be told for a single complex event. Exactly because many things happened at once, actors’ motives were ambiguous, and the causal connections among events are debatable, it is possible to construct inconsistent narratives that are equally well supported by the evidence. Further, the intellectual interest that different historians bring to the happening can lead to differences in the narrative. One historian may be primarily interested in the role that different views of social justice played in the actions of the participants; another may be primarily interested in the role that social networks played; and a third may be especially interested in the role of charismatic personalities, with a consequent structuring to the narrative around the actions and speeches of the charismatic leader. Each of these may be truthful, objective, and unbiased—and inconsistent in important ways with the others. So narratives are underdetermined by the facts, and there is no such thing as an exhaustive and comprehensive telling of the story—only various tellings that emphasize one set of themes or another.

When we consider collective memory and social identity, we are also forced to recognize that powerful institutions attempt to shape the narrative of important events in ways that serve political interests. A group identity can be defined as a set of beliefs and stories about one’s home, one’s people, and one’s past. These ideas often involve answers to questions like these: Where did we come from? How did we get here? And perhaps, who are my enemies? So an identity involves a narrative, a creation story, or perhaps a remembrance of a long chain of disasters and crimes. Identity and collective memory are intertwined; monuments, songs, icons, and flags help to set the way points in the history of a people and the collective emotions that this group experiences. They have to do with the stories we tell each other about who we are; how our histories brought us to this place; and what large events shaped us as a "people". Governments, leaders, activists, and political parties all have an interest in shaping collective memory to their own ends. Collective memories and identities are interwoven with myths and folk histories. And, as Benedict Anderson (1983) demonstrated, these stories are more often than not fictions of various kinds, promulgated by individuals and groups who have an interest in shaping collective consciousness in one way or another.

The philosophy of history must pay attention to the nexus of experience, memory, and history. There is no single “Civil Rights era” experience or “Great Depression” experience; instead, historians must consider a wide range of sources and evidence, including oral histories, first-person accounts, photographs, and other traces of the human experience of the time to allow them to discern both variation and some degree of thematicization of memory and identity in the periods they study. Second, attention to history and memory highlights the amount of human and individual agency involved in memory. Memories must be created; agents must find frameworks within which to understand their moments of historical experience. Museums and monuments curate historical memories — often with biases of their own. A third and equally important point is the fact that memories become part of the political mobilization possibilities that exist for a group. Groups find their collective identities through shared understandings of the past; and these shared understandings provide a basis for future collective action. Paul Ricoeur’s  Time and Narrative (1984-1988) sheds profound light on the profound relations that extend among memory, identity, narrative, and history.

2. Continental philosophy of history

The topic of history has been treated frequently in modern European philosophy. A long, largely German, tradition of thought looks at history as a total and comprehensible process of events, structures, and processes, for which the philosophy of history can serve as an interpretive tool. This approach, speculative and meta-historical, aims to discern large, embracing patterns and directions in the unfolding of human history, persistent notwithstanding the erratic back-and-forth of particular historical developments. Modern philosophers raising this set of questions about the large direction and meaning of history include Vico, Herder, and Hegel. A somewhat different line of thought in the continental tradition that has been very relevant to the philosophy of history is the hermeneutic tradition of the human sciences. Through their emphasis on the “hermeneutic circle” through which humans undertake to understand the meanings created by other humans—in texts, symbols, and actions—hermeneutic philosophers such as Schleiermacher (1838), Dilthey (1860–1903), and Ricoeur (1984-1988, 2000) offer philosophical arguments for emphasizing the importance of narrative interpretation within our understanding of history. Understanding history means providing a narrative that makes sense of it from beginning to end.

Human beings make history; but what is the fundamental nature of the human being? Is there one fundamental “human nature,” or are the most basic features of humanity historically conditioned (Mandelbaum 1971)? Can the study of history shed light on this question? When we study different historical epochs, do we learn something about unchanging human beings—or do we learn about fundamental differences of motivation, reasoning, desire, and collectivity? Is humanity a historical product? Giambattista Vico’s New Science (1725) offered an interpretation of history that turned on the idea of a universal human nature and a universal history (see Berlin 2000 for commentary). Vico’s interpretation of the history of civilization offers the view that there is an underlying uniformity in human nature across historical settings that permits explanation of historical actions and processes. The common features of human nature give rise to a fixed series of stages of development of civil society, law, commerce, and government: universal human beings, faced with recurring civilizational challenges, produce the same set of responses over time. Two things are worth noting about this perspective on history: first, that it simplifies the task of interpreting and explaining history (because we can take it as given that we can understand the actors of the past based on our own experiences and nature); and second, it has an intellectual heir in twentieth-century social science theory in the form of rational choice theory as a basis for comprehensive social explanation.

Johann Gottfried Herder offers a strikingly different view about human nature and human ideas and motivations. Herder argues for the historical contextuality of human nature in his work, Ideas for the Philosophy of History of Humanity (1791). He offers a historicized understanding of human nature, advocating the idea that human nature is itself a historical product and that human beings act differently in different periods of historical development (1800–1877, 1791). Herder’s views set the stage for the historicist philosophy of human nature later found in such nineteenth-century figures as Hegel and Nietzsche. His perspective too prefigures an important current of thought about the social world in the late twentieth century, the idea of the “social construction” of human nature and social identities (Anderson 1983; Hacking 1999; Foucault 1971).

Philosophers have raised questions about the meaning and structure of the totality of human history. Some philosophers have sought to discover a large organizing theme, meaning, or direction in human history. This may take the form of an effort to demonstrate how history enacts a divine order, or reveals a large pattern (cyclical, teleological, progressive), or plays out an important theme (for example, Hegel’s conception of history as the unfolding of human freedom discussed below). The ambition in each case is to demonstrate that the apparent contingency and arbitrariness of historical events can be related to a more fundamental underlying purpose or order.

This approach to history may be described as hermeneutic; but it is focused on interpretation of large historical features rather than the interpretation of individual meanings and actions. In effect, it treats the sweep of history as a complicated, tangled text, in which the interpreter assigns meanings to some elements of the story in order to fit these elements into the larger themes and motifs of the story. (Ranke makes this point explicitly (1881).)

A recurring current in this approach to the philosophy of history falls in the area of theodicy or eschatology: religiously inspired attempts to find meaning and structure in history by relating the past and present to some specific, divinely ordained plan. Theologians and religious thinkers have attempted to find meaning in historical events as expressions of divine will. One reason for theological interest in this question is the problem of evil; thus Leibniz’s Theodicy attempts to provide a logical interpretation of history that makes the tragedies of history compatible with a benevolent God’s will (1709). In the twentieth century, theologians such as Maritain (1957), Rust (1947), and Dawson (1929) offered systematic efforts to provide Christian interpretations of history.

Enlightenment thinkers rejected the religious interpretation of history but brought in their own teleology, the idea of progress—the idea that humanity is moving in the direction of better and more perfect civilization, and that this progression can be witnessed through study of the history of civilization (Condorcet 1795; Montesquieu 1748). Vico’s philosophy of history seeks to identify a foundational series of stages of human civilization. Different civilizations go through the same stages, because human nature is constant across history (Pompa 1990). Rousseau (1762a; 1762b) and Kant (1784–5; 1784–6) brought some of these assumptions about rationality and progress into their political philosophies, and Adam Smith embodies some of this optimism about the progressive effects of rationality in his account of the unfolding of the modern European economic system (1776). This effort to derive a fixed series of stages as a tool of interpretation of the history of civilization is repeated throughout the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries; it finds expression in Hegel’s philosophy (discussed below), as well as Marx’s materialist theory of the development of economic modes of production (Marx and Engels 1845–49; Marx and Engels 1848).

The effort to find directionality or stages in history found a new expression in the early twentieth century, in the hands of several “meta-historians” who sought to provide a macro-interpretation that brought order to world history: Spengler (1934), Toynbee (1934), Wittfogel (1935), and Lattimore (1932). These authors offered a reading of world history in terms of the rise and fall of civilizations, races, or cultures. Their writings were not primarily inspired by philosophical or theological theories, but they were also not works of primary historical scholarship. Spengler and Toynbee portrayed human history as a coherent process in which civilizations pass through specific stages of youth, maturity, and senescence. Wittfogel and Lattimore interpreted Asian civilizations in terms of large determining factors. Wittfogel contrasts China’s history with that of Europe by characterizing China’s civilization as one of “hydraulic despotism”, with the attendant consequence that China’s history was cyclical rather than directional. Lattimore applies the key of geographic and ecological determinism to the development of Asian civilization (Rowe 2007).

A legitimate criticism of many efforts to offer an interpretation of the sweep of history is the view that it looks for meaning where none can exist. Interpretation of individual actions and life histories is intelligible, because we can ground our attributions of meaning in a theory of the individual person as possessing and creating meanings. But there is no super-agent lying behind historical events—for example, the French Revolution—and so it is a metaphysical mistake to attempt to find the meaning of the features of the event (e.g., the Terror). The theological approach purports to evade this criticism by attributing agency to God as the author of history, but the assumption that there is a divine author of history takes the making of history out of the hands of humanity.

Efforts to discern large stages in history such as those of Vico, Spengler, or Toynbee are vulnerable to a different criticism based on their mono-causal interpretations of the full complexity of human history. These authors single out one factor that is thought to drive history: a universal human nature (Vico), or a common set of civilizational challenges (Spengler, Toynbee). But their hypotheses need to be evaluated on the basis of concrete historical evidence. And the evidence concerning the large features of historical change over the past three millennia offers little support for the idea of one fixed process of civilizational development. Instead, human history, at virtually every scale, appears to embody a large degree of contingency and multiple pathways of development. This is not to say that there are no credible “large historical” interpretations available for human history and society. For example, Michael Mann’s sociology of early agrarian civilizations (1986), De Vries and Goudsblom’s efforts at global environmental history (2002), and Jared Diamond’s treatment of disease and warfare (1997) offer examples of scholars who attempt to explain some large features of human history on the basis of a few common human circumstances: the efforts of states to collect revenues, the need of human communities to exploit resources, or the global transmission of disease. The challenge for macro-history is to preserve the discipline of empirical evaluation for the large hypotheses that are put forward.

Hegel’s philosophy of history is perhaps the most fully developed philosophical theory of history that attempts to discover meaning or direction in history (1824a, 1824b, 1857). Hegel regards history as an intelligible process moving towards a specific condition—the realization of human freedom. “The question at issue is therefore the ultimate end of mankind, the end which the spirit sets itself in the world” (1857: 63). Hegel incorporates a deeper historicism into his philosophical theories than his predecessors or successors. He regards the relationship between “objective” history and the subjective development of the individual consciousness (“spirit”) as an intimate one; this is a central thesis in his Phenomenology of Spirit (1807). And he views it to be a central task for philosophy to comprehend its place in the unfolding of history. “History is the process whereby the spirit discovers itself and its own concept” (1857: 62). Hegel constructs world history into a narrative of stages of human freedom, from the public freedom of the polis and the citizenship of the Roman Republic, to the individual freedom of the Protestant Reformation, to the civic freedom of the modern state. He attempts to incorporate the civilizations of India and China into his understanding of world history, though he regards those civilizations as static and therefore pre-historical (O’Brien 1975). He constructs specific moments as “world-historical” events that were in the process of bringing about the final, full stage of history and human freedom. For example, Napoleon’s conquest of much of Europe is portrayed as a world-historical event doing history’s work by establishing the terms of the rational bureaucratic state. Hegel finds reason in history; but it is a latent reason, and one that can only be comprehended when the fullness of history’s work is finished: “When philosophy paints its grey on grey, then has a shape of life grown old. … The owl of Minerva spreads its wings only with the falling of the dusk” ((Hegel 1821: 13). (See O’Brien (1975), Taylor (1975), and Kojève (1969) for treatments of Hegel’s philosophy of history.)

It is worth observing that Hegel’s philosophy of history is not the indefensible exercise of speculative philosophical reasoning that analytic philosophers sometimes paint it. His philosophical approach is not based solely on foundational apriori reasoning, and many of his interpretations of concrete historical developments are quite insightful. Instead he proposes an “immanent” encounter between philosophical reason and the historical given. Here is how W. H. Walsh (1960) describes Hegel’s intellectual project in his philosophy of history:

To accomplish this task the philosopher must take the results of empirical history as data, but it will not suffice for him merely to reproduce them. He must try to illuminate history by bringing his knowledge of the Idea, the formal articulation of reason, to bear upon it, striving, in a phrase Hegel uses elsewhere, to elevate empirical contents to the rank of necessary truth. (Walsh 1960: 143)

Hegel’s prescription is that the philosopher should seek to discover the rational within the real—not to impose the rational upon the real. “To comprehend what is, this is the task of philosophy, because what is, is reason” (1821: 11). His approach is neither purely philosophical nor purely empirical; instead, he undertakes to discover within the best historical knowledge of his time, an underlying rational principle that can be philosophically articulated (Avineri 1972).

Another important strand of continental philosophy of history proposes to apply hermeneutics to problems of historical interpretation. This approach focuses on the meaning of the actions and intentions of historical individuals rather than historical wholes. This tradition derives from the tradition of scholarly Biblical interpretation. Hermeneutic scholars emphasized the linguistic and symbolic core of human interactions and maintained that the techniques that had been developed for the purpose of interpreting texts could also be employed to interpret symbolic human actions and products. Wilhelm Dilthey maintained that the human sciences were inherently distinct from the natural sciences in that the former depend on the understanding of meaningful human actions, while the latter depend on causal explanation of non-intensional events (1883, 1860-1903, 1910). Human life is structured and carried out through meaningful action and symbolic expressions. Dilthey maintains that the intellectual tools of hermeneutics—the interpretation of meaningful texts—are suited to the interpretation of human action and history. The method of verstehen (understanding) makes a methodology of this approach; it invites the thinker to engage in an active construction of the meanings and intentions of the actors from their point of view (Outhwaite 1975). This line of interpretation of human history found expression in the twentieth-century philosophical writings of Heidegger, Gadamer, Ricoeur, and Foucault. This tradition approaches the philosophy of history from the perspective of meaning and language. It argues that historical knowledge depends upon interpretation of meaningful human actions and practices. Historians should probe historical events and actions in order to discover the interconnections of meaning and symbolic interaction that human actions have created (Sherratt 2006).

The hermeneutic tradition took an important new turn in the mid-twentieth century, as philosophers attempted to make sense of modern historical developments including war, racism, and the Holocaust. Narratives of progress were no longer compelling, following the terrible events of the first half of the twentieth century. The focus of this approach might be labeled “history as remembrance.” Contributors to this strand of thought emerged from twentieth-century European philosophy, including existentialism and Marxism, and were influenced by the search for meaning in the Holocaust. Paul Ricoeur draws out the parallels between personal memory, cultural memory, and history (2000). Dominick LaCapra brings the tools of interpretation theory and critical theory to bear on his treatment of the representation of the trauma of the Holocaust (1994, 1998). Others emphasize the role that folk histories play in the construction and interpretation of “our” past. This is a theme that has been taken up by contemporary historians, for example, by Michael Kammen in his treatment of public remembrance of the American Civil War (1991). Memory and the representation of the past play a key role in the formation of racial and national identities; numerous twentieth-century philosophers have noted the degree of subjectivity and construction that are inherent in the national memories represented in a group’s telling of its history.

Although not himself falling within the continental lineage, R. G. Collingwood’s philosophy of history falls within the general framework of hermeneutic philosophy of history (1946). Collingwood focuses on the question of how to specify the content of history. He argues that history is constituted by human actions. Actions are the result of intentional deliberation and choice; so historians are able to explain historical processes “from within” as a reconstruction of the thought processes of the agents who bring them about. He presents the idea of re-enactment as a solution to the problem of knowledge of the past from the point of view of the present. The past is accessible to historians in the present, because it is open to them to re-enact important historical moments through imaginative reconstruction of the actors’ states of mind and intentions. He describes this activity of re-enactment in the context of the historical problem of understanding Plato’s meanings as a philosopher or Caesar’s intentions as a ruler:

This re-enactment is only accomplished, in the case of Plato and Caesar respectively, so far as the historian brings to bear on the problem all the powers of his own mind and all his knowledge of philosophy and politics. It is not a passive surrender to the spell of another’s mind; it is a labour of active and therefore critical thinking. (Collingwood 1946: 215)

2.5 Conceptual history

The post-war German historian Reinhart Koselleck made important contributions to the philosophy of history that are largely independent from the other sources of Continental philosophy of history mentioned here. (Koselleck’s contributions are ably discussed in Olsen 2012.) Koselleck contributed to a “conceptual and critical theory of history” (2002, 2004). His major compendium, with Brunner and Conze, of the history of concepts of history in the German-speaking world is one of the major expressions of this work (Brunner, Conze, and Koselleck 1972-97). Koselleck believes there are three key tasks for the metahistorian or philosopher: to identify the concepts that are either possible or necessary in characterizing history; to locate those concepts within the context of the social and political discourses and conflicts of the time period; and to critically evaluate various of these concepts for their usefulness in historical analysis.

Key examples that Koselleck develops include “space of experience” and “horizon of expectation”. Examples of metahistorical categories in Koselleck’s account include “capacity to die and capacity to kill,” “friend and foe,” “inside and outside,” and “master and servant”. Koselleck represents these conceptual oppositions as representing conditions of possibility of any representation of history (Bouton 2016: 178).

A large part of Koselleck’s work thus involves identifying and describing various kinds of historical concepts. In order to represent history it is necessary to make use of a vocabulary that distinguishes the things we need to talk about; and historical concepts permit these identifications. This in turn requires both conceptual and historical treatment: how the concepts are understood, and how they have changed over time. Christophe Bouton encapsulates Koselleck’s approach in these terms: “[It is an] inquiry into the historical categories that are used in, or presupposed by, the experience of history at its different levels, as events, traces, and narratives” (Bouton 2016: 164). Further, Bouton argues that Koselleck also brings a critical perspective to the concepts that he discusses: he asks the question of validity (Bouton 2016). To what extent do these particular concepts work well to characterize history?

What this amounts to is the idea that history is the result of conceptualization of the past on the part of the people who tell it—professional historians, politicians, partisans, and ordinary citizens. (It is interesting to note that Koselleck’s research in the final years of his career focused on the meaning of public monuments, especially war memorials.) It is therefore an important, even crucial, task to investigate the historical concepts that have been used to characterize the past. A key concept that was of interest to Koselleck was the idea of “modernity”. This approach might seem to fall within the larger field of intellectual history; but Koselleck and other exponents believe that the historical concepts in use actually play a role as well in the concrete historical developments that occur within a period.

It is worth noticing that history comes into Koselleck’s notion of Begriffsgeschichte in two ways. Koselleck is concerned to uncover the logic and semantics of the concepts that have been used to describe historical events and processes; and he is interested in the historical evolution of some of those concepts over time. (In this latter interest his definition of the question parallels that of the so-called Cambridge School of Quentin Skinner, John Dunn, and J. G. A. Pocock.) Numerous observers emphasize the importance of political conflict in Koselleck’s account of historical concepts: concepts are used by partisans to define the field of battle over values and loyalties (Pankakoski 2010). More generally, Koselleck’s aim is to excavate the layers of meaning that have been associated with key historical concepts in different historical periods. (Whatmore and Young 2015 provide extensive and useful accounts of each of the positions mentioned here.)

Conceptual history may appear to have a Kantian background—an exploration of the “categories” of thought on the basis of which alone history is intelligible. But this appears not to be Koselleck’s intention, and his approach is not apriori. Rather, he looks at historical concepts on a spectrum of abstraction, from relatively close to events (the French Revolution) to more abstract (revolutionary change). Moreover, he makes rigorous attempts to discover the meanings and uses of these concepts in their historical contexts.

Koselleck’s work defines a separate space within the field of the philosophy of history. It has to do with meanings in history, but it is neither teleological nor hermeneutic. It takes seriously the obligation of the historian excavate the historical facts with scrupulous rigor, but it is not empiricist or reductionist. It emphasizes the dependence of “history” on the conceptual resources of those who live history and those who tell history, but it is not post-modernist or relativist. Koselleck provides an innovative and constructive way of formulating the problem of historical knowledge.

3. Anglo-American philosophy of history

The traditions of empiricism and Anglo-American philosophy have also devoted occasional attention to history. Philosophers in this tradition have avoided the questions of speculative philosophy of history and have instead raised questions about the logic and epistemology of historical knowledge. Here the guiding question is, “What are the logical and epistemological characteristics of historical knowledge and historical explanation?”.

David Hume’s empiricism cast a dominant key for almost all subsequent Anglo-American philosophy, and this influence extends to the interpretation of human behavior and the human sciences. Hume wrote a widely read history of England (1754–1762). His interpretation of history was based on the assumption of ordinary actions, motives, and causes, with no sympathy for theological interpretations of the past. His philosophical view of history was premised on the idea that explanations of the past can be based on the assumption of a fixed human nature.

Anglo-American interest in the philosophy of history was renewed at mid-twentieth century with the emergence of “analytical philosophy of history.” Representative contributors include Dray (1957, 1964, 1966), Danto (1965), and Gardiner (1952, 1974). This approach involves the application of the methods and tools of analytic philosophy to the special problems that arise in the pursuit of historical explanations and historical knowledge (Gardiner 1952). Here the interest is in the characteristics of historical knowledge: how we know facts about the past, what constitutes a good historical explanation, whether explanations in history require general laws, and whether historical knowledge is underdetermined by available historical evidence. Analytic philosophers emphasized the empirical and scientific status of historical knowledge, and attempted to understand this claim along the lines of the scientific standing of the natural sciences (Nagel 1961).

Philosophers in the analytic tradition are deeply skeptical about the power of non-empirical reason to arrive at substantive conclusions about the structure of the world—including human history. Philosophical reasoning by itself cannot be a source of substantive knowledge about the natural world, or about the sequence of events, actions, states, classes, empires, plagues, and conquests that we call “history.” Rather, substantive knowledge about the world can only derive from empirical investigation and logical analysis of the consequences of these findings. So analytic philosophers of history have had little interest in the large questions about the meaning and structure of history considered above. The practitioners of speculative philosophy of history, on the other hand, are convinced of the power of philosophical thought to reason through to a foundational understanding of history, and would be impatient with a call for a purely empirical and conceptual approach to the subject.

W. H. Walsh’s Philosophy of History (Walsh 1960 [1951]), first published in 1951 and revised in 1960, is an open-minded and well-grounded effort to provide an in-depth presentation of the field that crosses the separation between continental and analytical philosophy. The book attempts to treat both major questions driving much of the philosophy of history: the nature of historical knowledge and the possibility of gaining “metaphysical” knowledge about history. An Oxford philosopher trained in modern philosophy, Walsh was strongly influenced by Collingwood and was well aware of the European idealist tradition of philosophical thinking about history, including Rickert, Dilthey, and Croce, and he treats this tradition in a serious way. He draws the distinction between these traditions along the lines of “critical” and “speculative” philosophy of history. Walsh’s goal for the book is ambitious; he hopes to propose a framework within which the main questions about history can be addressed, including both major traditions. He advances the view that the historian is presented with a number of events, actions, and developments during a period. How do they hang together? The process of cognition through which the historian makes sense of a set of separate historical events Walsh refers to as “colligation” — “to locate a historical event in a larger historical process in terms of which it makes sense” (23).

Walsh fundamentally accepts Collingwood’s most basic premise: that history concerns conscious human action. Collingwood’s slogan was that “history is the science of the mind,” and Walsh appears to accept much of this perspective. So the key intellectual task for the historian, on this approach, is to reconstruct the reasons or motives that actors had at various points in history (and perhaps the conditions that led them to have these reasons and motives). This means that the tools of interpretation of meanings and reasons are crucial for the historian—much as the hermeneutic philosophers in the German tradition had argued.

Walsh suggests that the philosophical content of the philosophy of history falls naturally into two different sorts of inquiry, parallel to the distinction between philosophy of nature and philosophy of science. The first has to do with metaphysical questions about the reality of history as a whole; the latter has to do with the epistemic issues that arise in the pursuit and formulation of knowledge of history. He refers to these approaches as “speculative” and “critical” aspects of the philosophy of history. And he attempts to formulate a view of what the key questions are for each approach. Speculative philosophy of history asks about the meaning and purpose of the historical process. Critical philosophy of history is what we now refer to as “analytic” philosophy; it is the equivalent for history of what the philosophy of science is for nature.

The philosopher of science Carl Hempel stimulated analytic philosophers’ interest in historical knowledge in his essay, “The Function of General Laws in History” (1942). Hempel’s general theory of scientific explanation held that all scientific explanations require subsumption under general laws. Hempel considered historical explanation as an apparent exception to the covering-law model and attempted to show the suitability of the covering-law model even to this special case. He argued that valid historical explanations too must invoke general laws. The covering-law approach to historical explanation was supported by other analytical philosophers of science, including Ernest Nagel (1961). Hempel’s essay provoked a prolonged controversy between supporters who cited generalizations about human behavior as the relevant general laws, and critics who argued that historical explanations are more akin to explanations of individual behavior, based on interpretation that makes the outcome comprehensible. Especially important discussions were offered by William Dray (1957), Michael Scriven (1962), and Alan Donagan (1966). Donagan and others pointed out the difficulty that many social explanations depend on probabilistic regularities rather than universal laws. Others, including Scriven, pointed out the pragmatic features of explanation, suggesting that arguments that fall far short of deductive validity are nonetheless sufficient to “explain” a given historical event in a given context of belief. The most fundamental objections, however, are these: first, that there are virtually no good examples of universal laws in history, whether of human behavior or of historical event succession (Donagan 1966: 143–45); and second, that there are other compelling schemata through which we can understand historical actions and outcomes that do not involve subsumption under general laws (Elster 1989). These include the processes of reasoning through which we understand individual actions—analogous to the methods of verstehen and the interpretation of rational behavior mentioned above (Dray 1966: 131–37); and the processes through which we can trace out chains of causation and specific causal mechanisms without invoking universal laws.

A careful re-reading of these debates over the covering-law model in history suggests that the debate took place largely because of the erroneous assumption of the unity of science and the postulation of the regulative logical similarity of all areas of scientific reasoning to a few clear examples of explanation in a few natural sciences. This approach was a deeply impoverished one, and handicapped from the start in its ability to pose genuinely important questions about the nature of history and historical knowledge. Explanation of human actions and outcomes should not be understood along the lines of an explanation of why radiators burst when the temperature falls below zero degrees centigrade. As Donagan concludes, “It is harmful to overlook the fundamental identity of the social sciences with history, and to mutilate research into human affairs by remodeling the social sciences into deformed likenesses of physics” (1966: 157). The insistence on naturalistic models for social and historical research leads easily to a presumption in favor of the covering-law model of explanation, but this presumption is misleading.

Another issue that provoked significant attention among analytic philosophers of history is the issue of “objectivity.” Is it possible for historical knowledge to objectively represent the past? Or are forms of bias, omission, selection, and interpretation such as to make all historical representations dependent on the perspective of the individual historian? Does the fact that human actions are value-laden make it impossible for the historian to provide a non-value-laden account of those actions?

This topic divides into several different problems, as noted by John Passmore (1966: 76). The most studied of these within the analytic tradition is that of the value-ladenness of social action. Second is the possibility that the historian’s interpretations are themselves value-laden—raising the question of the capacity for objectivity or neutrality of the historian herself. Does the intellectual have the ability to investigate the world without regard to the biases that are built into her political or ethical beliefs, her ideology, or her commitments to a class or a social group? And third is the question of the objectivity of the historical circumstances themselves. Is there a fixed historical reality, independent from later representations of the facts? Or is history intrinsically “constructed,” with no objective reality independent from the ways in which it is constructed? Is there a reality corresponding to the phrase, “the French Revolution,” or is there simply an accumulation of written versions of the French Revolution?

There are solutions to each of these problems that are highly consonant with the philosophical assumptions of the analytic tradition. First, concerning values: There is no fundamental difficulty in reconciling the idea of a researcher with one set of religious values, who nonetheless carefully traces out the religious values of a historical actor possessing radically different values. This research can be done badly, of course; but there is no inherent epistemic barrier that makes it impossible for the researcher to examine the body of statements, behaviors, and contemporary cultural institutions corresponding to the other, and to come to a justified representation of the other. One need not share the values or worldview of a sans-culotte , in order to arrive at a justified appraisal of those values and worldview. This leads us to a resolution of the second issue as well—the possibility of neutrality on the part of the researcher. The set of epistemic values that we impart to scientists and historians include the value of intellectual discipline and a willingness to subject their hypotheses to the test of uncomfortable facts. Once again, review of the history of science and historical writing makes it apparent that this intellectual value has effect. There are plentiful examples of scientists and historians whose conclusions are guided by their interrogation of the evidence rather than their ideological presuppositions. Objectivity in pursuit of truth is itself a value, and one that can be followed.

Finally, on the question of the objectivity of the past: Is there a basis for saying that events or circumstances in the past have objective, fixed characteristics that are independent from our representation of those events? Is there a representation-independent reality underlying the large historical structures to which historians commonly refer (the Roman Empire, the Great Wall of China, the imperial administration of the Qianlong Emperor)? We can work our way carefully through this issue, by recognizing a distinction between the objectivity of past events, actions and circumstances, the objectivity of the contemporary facts that resulted from these past events, and the objectivity and fixity of large historical entities. The past occurred in precisely the way that it did—agents acted, droughts occurred, armies were defeated, new technologies were invented. These occurrences left traces of varying degrees of information richness; and these traces give us a rational basis for arriving at beliefs about the occurrences of the past. So we can offer a non-controversial interpretation of the “objectivity of the past.” However, this objectivity of events and occurrences does not extend very far upward as we consider more abstract historical events: the creation of the Greek city-state, the invention of Enlightenment rationality, the Taiping Rebellion. In each of these instances the noun’s referent is an interpretive construction by historical actors and historians, and one that may be undone by future historians. To refer to the “Taiping Rebellion” requires an act of synthesis of a large number of historical facts, along with an interpretive story that draws these facts together in this way rather than that way. The underlying facts of behavior, and their historical traces, remain; but the knitting-together of these facts into a large historical event does not constitute an objective historical entity. Consider research in the past twenty years that questions the existence of the “Industrial Revolution.” In this debate, the same set of historical facts were first constructed into an abrupt episode of qualitative change in technology and output in Western Europe; under the more recent interpretation, these changes were more gradual and less correctly characterized as a “revolution” (O’Brien and Keyder 1978). Or consider Arthur Waldron’s sustained and detailed argument to the effect that there was no “Great Wall of China,” as that structure is usually conceptualized (1990).

A third important set of issues that received attention from analytic philosophers concerned the role of causal ascriptions in historical explanations. What is involved in saying that “The American Civil War was caused by economic conflict between the North and the South”? Does causal ascription require identifying an underlying causal regularity—for example, “periods of rapid inflation cause political instability”? Is causation established by discovering a set of necessary and sufficient conditions? Can we identify causal connections among historical events by tracing a series of causal mechanisms linking one to the next? This topic raises the related problem of determinism in history: are certain events inevitable in the circumstances? Was the fall of the Roman Empire inevitable, given the configuration of military and material circumstances prior to the crucial events?

Analytic philosophers of history most commonly approached these issues on the basis of a theory of causation drawn from positivist philosophy of science. This theory is ultimately grounded in Humean assumptions about causation: that causation is nothing but constant conjunction. So analytic philosophers were drawn to the covering-law model of explanation, because it appeared to provide a basis for asserting historical causation. As noted above, this approach to causal explanation is fatally flawed in the social sciences, because universal causal regularities among social phenomena are unavailable. So it is necessary either to arrive at other interpretations of causality or to abandon the language of causality. A second approach was to define causes in terms of a set of causally relevant conditions for the occurrence of the event—for example, necessary and/or sufficient conditions, or a set of conditions that enhance or reduce the likelihood of the event. This approach found support in “ordinary language” philosophy and in analysis of the use of causal language in such contexts as the courtroom (Hart and Honoré 1959). Counterfactual reasoning is an important element of discovery of a set of necessary and/or sufficient conditions; to say that \(C\) was necessary for the occurrence of \(E\) requires that we provide evidence that \(E\) would not have occurred if \(C\) were not present (Mackie 1965, 1974). And it is evident that there are causal circumstances in which no single factor is necessary for the occurrence of the effect; the outcome may be overdetermined by multiple independent factors.

The convergence of reasons and causes in historical processes is helpful in this context, because historical causes are frequently the effect of deliberate human action (Davidson 1963). So specifying the reason for the action is simultaneously identifying a part of the cause of the consequences of the action. It is often justifiable to identify a concrete action as the cause of a particular event (a circumstance that was sufficient in the existing circumstances to bring about the outcome), and it is feasible to provide a convincing interpretation of the reasons that led the actor to carry out the action.

What analytic philosophers of the 1960s did not come to, but what is crucial for current understanding of historical causality, is the feasibility of tracing causal mechanisms through a complex series of events (causal realism). Historical narratives often take the form of an account of a series of events, each of which was a causal condition or trigger for later events. Subsequent research in the philosophy of the social sciences has provided substantial support for historical explanations that depend on tracing a series of causal mechanisms (Little 2018; Hedström and Swedberg 1998).

English-speaking philosophy of history shifted significantly in the 1970s, beginning with the publication of Hayden White’s Metahistory (1973) and Louis Mink’s writings of the same period (1966; Mink et al. 1987). The so-called “linguistic turn” that marked many areas of philosophy and literature also influenced the philosophy of history. Whereas analytic philosophy of history had emphasized scientific analogies for historical knowledge and advanced the goals of verifiability and generalizability in historical knowledge, English-speaking philosophers in the 1970s and 1980s were increasingly influenced by hermeneutic philosophy, post-modernism, and French literary theory (Rorty 1979). These philosophers emphasized the rhetoric of historical writing, the non-reducibility of historical narrative to a sequence of “facts”, and the degree of construction that is involved in historical representation. Affinities with literature and anthropology came to eclipse examples from the natural sciences as guides for representing historical knowledge and historical understanding. The richness and texture of the historical narrative came in for greater attention than the attempt to provide causal explanations of historical outcomes. Frank Ankersmit captured many of these themes in his treatment of historical narrative (1995; Ankersmit and Kellner 1995); see also Berkhofer (1995).

This “new” philosophy of history is distinguished from analytic philosophy of history in several important respects. It emphasizes historical narrative rather than historical causation. It is intellectually closer to the hermeneutic tradition than to the positivism that underlay the analytic philosophy of history of the 1960s. It highlights features of subjectivity and multiple interpretation over those of objectivity, truth, and correspondence to the facts. Another important strand in this approach to the philosophy of history is a clear theoretical preference for the historicist rather than the universalist position on the status of human nature—Herder rather than Vico. The prevalent perspective holds that human consciousness is itself a historical product, and that it is an important part of the historian’s work to piece together the mentality and assumptions of actors in the past (Pompa 1990). Significantly, contemporary historians such as Robert Darnton have turned to the tools of ethnography to permit this sort of discovery (1984).

Another important strand of thinking within analytic philosophy has focused attention on historical ontology (Hacking 2002, Little 2010). The topic of historical ontology is important, both for philosophers and for practicing historians. Ontology has to do with the question, what kinds of things do we need to postulate in a given realm? Historical ontology poses this question with regard to the realities of the past. Should large constructs like ‘revolution’, ‘market society’, ‘fascism’, or ‘Protestant religious identity’ be included in our ontology as real things? Or should we treat these ideas in a purely nominalistic way, treating them as convenient ways of aggregating complex patterns of social action and knowledge by large numbers of social actors in a time and place? Further, how should we think about the relationship between instances and categories in the realm of history, for example, the relation between the French, Chinese, or Russian Revolutions and the general category of ‘revolution’? Are there social kinds that recur in history, or is each historical formation unique in important ways? These are all questions of ontology, and the answers we give to them will have important consequences for how we conceptualize and explain the past.

When historians discuss methodological issues in their research they more commonly refer to “historiography” than to “philosophy of history.” What is the relation between these bodies of thought about the writing of history? We should begin by asking the basic question: what is historiography? In its most general sense, the term refers to the study of historians’ methods and practices. Any intellectual or creative practice is guided by a set of standards and heuristics about how to proceed, and “experts” evaluate the performances of practitioners based on their judgments of how well the practitioner meets the standards. So one task we always have in considering an expert activity is to attempt to identify these standards and criteria of good performance. This is true for theatre and literature, and it is true for writing history. Historiography is at least in part the effort to do this work for a particular body of historical writing. (Several handbooks contain a wealth of recent writings on various aspects of historiography; Tucker 2009, Bentley 1997, Breisach 2007. Important and innovative contributions to understanding the intellectual tasks of the historian include Bloch 1953 and Paul 2015.)

Historians normally make truth claims, and they ask us to accept those claims based on the reasoning they present. So a major aspect of the study of historiography has to do with defining the ideas of evidence, rigor, and standards of reasoning for historical inquiry. We presume that historians want to discover empirically supported truths about the past, and we presume that they want to offer inferences and interpretations that are somehow regulated by standards of scientific rationality. (Simon Schama challenges some of these ideas in Dead Certainties (Schama 1991).) So the apprentice practitioner seeks to gain knowledge of the practices of his/her elders in the profession: what counts as a compelling argument, how to assess a body of archival evidence, how to offer or criticize an interpretation of complex events that necessarily exceeds the available evidence. The historiographer has a related task: he/she would like to be able to codify the main methods and standards of one historical school or another.

There are other desiderata governing a good historical work, and these criteria may change from culture to culture and epoch to epoch. Discerning the historian’s goals is crucial to deciding how well he or she succeeds. So discovering these stylistic and aesthetic standards that guide the historian’s work is itself an important task for historiography. This means that the student of historiography will naturally be interested in the conventions of historical writing and rhetoric that are characteristic of a given period or school.

A full historiographic assessment of a given historian might include questions like these: What methods of discovery does he/she use? What rhetorical and persuasive goals does he/she pursue? What models of explanation? What paradigm of presentation? What standards of style and rhetoric? What interpretive assumptions?

A historical school might be defined as a group of interrelated historians who share a significant number of specific assumptions about evidence, explanation, and narrative. The Annales school, established by Marc Bloch and Lucien Febvre in the 1920s, represented a distinctive and fertile approach to social history (Burguière 2009), united by shared assumptions about both topics and intellectual approaches to the past. Historiography becomes itself historical when we recognize that frameworks of assumptions about historical knowledge and reasoning change over time. On this assumption, the history of historical thinking and writing is itself an important subject. How did historians of various periods in human history conduct their study and presentation of history? Under this rubric we find books on the historiography of the ancient Greeks; Renaissance historiography; or the historiography of German romanticism. Arnaldo Momigliano’s writings on the ancient historians fall in this category (Momigliano 1990). In a nutshell, Momigliano is looking at the several traditions of ancient history-writing as a set of normative practices that can be dissected and understood in their specificity and their cultural contexts.

A second primary use of the concept of historiography is more present-oriented and methodological. It involves the study and analysis of historical methods of research, inquiry, inference, and presentation used by more-or-less contemporary historians. How do contemporary historians go about their tasks of understanding the past? Here we can reflect upon the historiographical challenges that confronted Philip Huang as he investigated the Chinese peasant economy in the 1920s and 1930s (Huang 1990), or the historiographical issues raised in Robert Darnton’s telling of a peculiar and trivial event, the Great Cat Massacre by printers’ apprentices in Paris in the 1730s (Darnton 1984). Sometimes these issues have to do with the scarcity or bias in the available bodies of historical records (for example, the fact that much of what Huang refers to about the village economy of North China was gathered by the research teams of the occupying Japanese army). Sometimes they have to do with the difficulty of interpreting historical sources (for example, the unavoidable necessity Darnton faced of providing meaningful interpretation of a range of documented actions that appear fundamentally irrational).

An important question that arises in recent historiography is that of the status of the notion of “global history.” One important reason for thinking globally as an historian is the fact that the history discipline—since the Greeks—has tended to be Eurocentric in its choice of topics, framing assumptions, and methods. Economic and political history, for example, often privileges the industrial revolution in England and the creation of the modern bureaucratic state in France, Britain, and Germany, as being exemplars of “modern” development in economics and politics. This has led to a tendency to look at other countries’ development as non-standard or stunted. So global history is, in part, a framework within which the historian avoids privileging one regional center as primary and others as secondary or peripheral. Bin Wong makes this point in China Transformed (Wong 1997).

Second is the related fact that when Western historical thinkers—for example, Hegel, Malthus, Montesquieu—have turned their attention to Asia, they have often engaged in a high degree of stereotyping without much factual historical knowledge. The ideas of Oriental despotism, Asian overpopulation, and Chinese stagnation have encouraged a cartoonish replacement of the intricate and diverse processes of development of different parts of Asia by a single-dimensional and reductive set of simplifying frameworks of thought. This is one of the points of Edward Said’s critique of orientalism (Said 1978). So doing “global” history means paying rigorous attention to the specificities of social, political, and cultural arrangements in other parts of the world besides Europe.

So a historiography that takes global diversity seriously should be expected to be more agnostic about patterns of development, and more open to discovery of surprising patterns, twists, and variations in the experiences of India, China, Indochina, the Arab world, the Ottoman Empire, and Sub-Saharan Africa. Variation and complexity are what we should expect, not stereotyped simplicity. Clifford Geertz’s historical reconstruction of the “theatre state” of Bali is a case in point—he uncovers a complex system of governance, symbol, value, and hierarchy that represents a substantially different structure of politics than the models derived from the emergence of bureaucratic states in early modern Europe (Geertz 1980). A global history needs to free itself from Eurocentrism.

This step away from Eurocentrism in outlook should also be accompanied by a broadening of the geographical range of what is historically interesting. So a global history ought to be global and trans-national in its selection of topics—even while recognizing the fact that all historical research is selective. A globally oriented historian will recognize that the political systems of classical India are as interesting and complex as the organization of the Roman Republic.

An important current underlying much work in global history is the reality of colonialism through the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, and the equally important reality of anti-colonial struggles and nation building in the 1960s and 1970s. “The world” was important in the early-modern capitals of Great Britain, France, Germany, and Belgium because those nations exerted colonial rule in various parts of Africa, Asia, and South America. So there was a specific interest in gaining certain kinds of knowledge about those societies—in order to better govern them and exploit them. And post-colonial states had a symmetrical interest in supporting global historiography in their own universities and knowledge systems, in order to better understand and better critique the forming relations of the past.

A final way in which history needs to become global is to incorporate the perspectives and historical traditions of historians in non-western countries into the mainstream of discussion of major world developments. Indian and Chinese historians have their own intellectual traditions in conducting historical research and explanation; a global history is one that pays attention to the insights and arguments of these traditions. So global historiography has to do with a broadened definition of the arena of historical change to include Europe, Asia, Africa, the Middle East, and the Americas; a recognition of the complexity and sophistication of institutions and systems in many parts of the world; a recognition of the trans-national interrelatedness that has existed among continents for at least four centuries; and a recognition of the complexity and distinctiveness of different national traditions of historiography

Dominic Sachsenmaier provides a significant recent discussion of some of these issues (Sachsenmaier 2011). Sachsenmaier devotes much of his attention to the last point mentioned here, the “multiple global perspectives” point. He wants to take this idea seriously and try to discover some of the implications of different national traditions of academic historiography. He writes, “It will become quite clear that in European societies the question of historiographical traditions tended to be answered in ways that were profoundly different from most academic communities in other parts of the world” (17).

As should be clear from these remarks, there is a degree of overlap between historiography and the philosophy of history in the fact that both are concerned with identifying and evaluating the standards of reasoning that are used in various historical traditions. That said, historiography is generally more descriptive and less evaluative than the philosophy of history. And it is more concerned with the specifics of research and writing than is the philosophy of history.

Every period presents challenges for the historian, and every period raises problems for historiography and the philosophy of history. The twentieth century is exceptional, however, even by this standard. Events of truly global significance occurred from beginning to end. War, totalitarianism, genocide, mass starvation, ideologies of murder and extermination, and states that dominated their populations with unprecedented violence all transpired during the century. The Holocaust (Snyder 2010, 2015), the Holodomor (Applebaum 2017), the Gulag (Applebaum 2003), and the cultural and ideological premises of the Nazi regime (Rabinbach et al 2020) have all presented historians with major new challenges of research, framing, and understanding. How should historians seek to come to grips with these complex and horrifying circumstances? These occurrences were highly complex and extended and often hidden: many thousands of active participants, many groups and populations, millions of victims, conflicting purposes and goals, new organizations and institutions, numerous ideologies. Moreover, through too many of these novelties is woven the theme of evil – deliberate destruction, degradation, and murder of masses of innocent human beings. The historian of virtually any aspect of the twentieth century is confronted with great problems of frame-setting, explanatory purpose, and moral reflection.

These facts about the twentieth century raise problems for the philosophy of history for several reasons. They challenge historians to consider the depth, detail, and human experience that the historian must convey of the events and experiences that war, genocide, and totalitarianism imposed on millions of people. The discovery and truthful documentation of the extent and lived experience of these crimes is a painful but crucial necessity. Second, historians are forced to reflect on the assumptions they bring to their research and interpretations – assumptions about geography, political causation, individual motivation, and behavior resulting in these crimes. Third, historians must reconsider and sharpen their hypotheses about causation of these vast and extended crimes against humanity. Fourth, it appears inescapable that historians have a human responsibility to contribute to worldwide changes in culture, memory, and politics in ways that make genocide and totalitarian oppression less likely in the future.

The ways in which historians have sought to understand the Holocaust have undergone important historical realignment in the past twenty years. Raul Hilberg (1961) and Lucy Dawidowicz (1975) captured much of the postwar historical consensus about the Holocaust. However, recent historians have offered new ways of thinking about the Nazi plan of extermination. Timothy Snyder (2010, 2015) argues that the Nazi war of extermination against the Jews has been importantly misunderstood—too centered on Germany, when the majority of genocide and murder occurred further east, in the lands that he calls the “bloodlands” of central Europe (Poland, Latvia, Lithuania, Ukraine, the Soviet Union); largely focused on extermination camps, whereas most killing of Jews occurred near the cities and villages where they lived, and most commonly by gunfire; insufficiently attentive to the relationship between extermination of people and destruction of the institutions of state in subject countries; and without sufficient attention to Hitler’s own worldview, within which the Nazi war of extermination against Europe’s Jews was framed. Alexander Prusin (2010) conceptualizes the topic of mass murder in the period 1933–1945 in much the same geographical terms. Like Snyder, Prusin defines his subject matter as a region rather than a nation or collection of nations. The national borders that exist within the region are of less importance in his account than the facts of ethnic, religious, and community disparities that are evident across the region. Thus both historians argue that we need to understand the geography of the Holocaust differently. Snyder believes that these attempts at refocusing the way we understand the Holocaust lead to a new assessment: bad as we thought the Holocaust was, it was much, much worse.

Another strand of re-thinking that has occurred in the study of the Holocaust concerns a renewed focus on the motivations of the ordinary people who participated in the machinery of mass murder. A major field of research into ordinary behavior during the Holocaust was made possible by the availability of investigative files concerning the actions of a Hamburg police unit that was assigned special duties as “Order Police” in Poland in 1940. These duties amounted to collecting and massacring large numbers of Jewish men, women, and children. Christopher Browning (1992) and Daniel Goldhagen (1996) made extensive use of investigatory files and testimonies of the men of Reserve Police Battalion 101. Both books came to shocking conclusions: very ordinary, middle-aged, apolitical men of the police unit picked up the work of murder and extermination with zeal and efficiency. They were not coerced, they were not indoctrinated, and they were not deranged; and yet they turned to the work of mass murder with enthusiasm. A small percentage of the men of the unit declined the shooting assignments, but the great majority did not. Another important example of research on ordinary people committing mass murder is Jan Gross’s (2001) case study of a single massacre of Jews in Jedwabne, a small Polish town during the Nazi occupation, but not ordered or directed by the German occupation. Instead, this was a local, indigenous action by non-Jewish residents in the town who gathered up their Jewish neighbors and then murdered large numbers of them. Gross’s account has stimulated much debate, but Anna Bikont (2015) validates almost every detail of Gross’s original narrative.

As a different example, consider now the history of the Gulag in the Soviet Union. Anne Applebaum (2003) provides a detailed and honest history of the Gulag and its role in maintaining Soviet dictatorship. Stalin’s dictatorship depended on a leader, a party, and a set of institutions that worked to terrorize and repress the population of the USSR. The NKVD (the system of internal security police that enforced Stalin’s repression), a justice system that was embodied in the Moscow Show Trials of 1936–38, and especially the system of forced labor and prison camps that came to be known as the Gulag constituted the machinery of repression through which a population of several hundred million people were controlled, imprisoned, and repressed. Further, like the Nazi regime, Stalin used the slave labor of the camps to contribute to the economic output of the Soviet economy. Applebaum estimates that roughly two million prisoners inhabited several thousand camps of the Gulag at a time in the 1940s, and that as many as 18 million people had passed through the camps by 1953 (Applebaum 2003: 13). The economic role of the Gulag was considerable; significant portions of Soviet-era mining, logging, and manufacturing took place within the forced labor camps of the Gulag (13). Applebaum makes a crucial and important point about historical knowledge in her history of the Gulag: the inherent incompleteness of historical understanding and the mechanisms of overlooking and forgetting that get in the way of historical honesty. The public outside the USSR did not want to know about these realities. Applebaum notes that public knowledge of the camps in the West was available, but was de-dramatized and treated as a fairly minor part of the reality of the USSR. The reality—that the USSR embodied and depended upon a massive set of concentrations camps where millions of people were enslaved and sometimes killed—was never a major part of the Western conception of the USSR. She comments, "far more common, however, is a reaction of boredom or indifference to Stalinist terror" (18). Wide knowledge in the West of the scope and specific human catastrophe of the Gulag was first made available by Aleksandr Isayevich Solzhenitsyn (1974).

Similar references could be offered concerning Stalin’s war on the kulaks in the Ukraine (1930s), mass starvation in China (1958–61), the widespread violence of the Cultural Revolution in China (1966–1976), and the use of violence in the American South to enforce Jim Crow-era race relations (1930s–1960s). In each case terrible things took place on a wide scale, and barriers exist that make it difficult for historians and the public to come to know the details of these periods.

The twentieth century poses one additional challenge for the historian because it falls within the human memories of the living generation of historians grappling with its intricacies. When Tony Judt writes (2006) about the fall of Ceaușescu in Romania in 1989, or Timothy Snyder (2010) writes about the murderous actions of German order police in Ukraine in 1940, or Marc Bloch (1949) writes about the “strange defeat” of France in 1940, they are writing about events for which they themselves, or their parents, or Poles and Ukrainian Jews with whom they can interact, have direct lived experiences and memories. Timothy Snyder’s style of historical writing suggests that the nearness in time of the killings in the bloodlands both supports and warrants an especially personal and individual approach; thus Snyder’s use of many individual stories of victims of the killings of peasants, Jews, and other human victims of the killing machines of Hitler and Stalin suggests that he believes it is important for the historian to make an effort to convey the individual meanings of these events affecting millions of people. How does this accessibility of the recent past affect the problems facing the historian? Does it influence the ways in which historians select events, causes, and actions as “crucial”? Does this experiential access through living memory provide a more secure form of historical evidence than other sources available to the historian? Does it give rise to an experiential content and detail to historical writing that solve an interpretive problem for the reader – for example, how to put oneself in the position of a Ukrainian peasant slowly starving to death? Did the stories told in the Judt household in London in 1942 about beloved cousins then facing deadly threats in Brussels shape the historical consciousness of the adult historian (Judt and Snyder 2012)? Did Marc Bloch’s own experience as a French army officer in defeat at Dunkirk influence the way that he understood war and violence? Access to individuals who lived through the Holodomor or the Spanish Civil War is of course valuable historical evidence. Here too, however, Marc Bloch has important insights, for Bloch specifically challenges the idea that participants have an inherently more reliable or complete form of knowledge than more temporally distant historians (1953: chapter II). Memories and personal accounts are valuable for the historian, but equally, historians have access to other forms of historical evidence (archaeological, archival, government records, …) which may be comparably important and epistemically secure in attempting to piece together the complex history of Stalin’s war on the Ukrainian peasantry.

These topics in twentieth-century history create an important reminder for historians and for philosophers: a truthful understanding of inhuman atrocity is deeply important for humanity, and it is difficult to attain. We learn from Judt, Snyder, and Applebaum that there are powerful mechanisms of deception and forgetting that stand in the way of an honest accounting of these periods of the recent human past. Discovering and telling the truth about our past is the highest and most important moral imperative that history conveys.

As the previous section suggests, there is an ethical dimension involved in the quest for historical knowledge. Historians have obligations of truthfulness and objectivity; peoples have obligations of honest recognition; and nations have obligations of memory and reconciliation.

Historians themselves have obligations of truthfulness and objectivity in the accounts they provide of the past. This topic has occupied much of the discussion of history and ethics in the past few years (Fay 2004). Much of this discussion has centered on the intellectual virtues to which historians need to aspire, such as truthfulness, objectivity, and persistence (Creyghton et al 2016, Paul 2015). Perhaps more generally, we might argue that historians have an obligation to deliberately and actively include those aspects of the past for further research that are the most morally troublesome—for example, the origins and experience of slavery during the eighteenth century in the American South, or the role of the Gulag in the Soviet Union in the twentieth century. We may reasonably fault the historian of the American South in the nineteenth century who confines her investigation to the economics of the cotton industry without examining the role of slavery in that industry, or the historian of the USSR who studies the institutions of engineering research in the 1950s while ignoring the fact of forced labor camps. Historians have an obligation to squarely confront the hard truths of their subject matter.

There is a broader ethical question to ask about history that goes beyond the professional ethics of the historian to the responsibilities of the public in relation to its own history. The facts of genocide and other crimes against humanity make it clear that there are moral reasons for believing that all of humanity has a moral responsibility to attempt to discover our past with honesty and exactness. In particular, the facts of past horrific actions (genocide, mass repression, slavery, suppression of ethnic minorities, dictatorship) create a moral responsibility for historians and the public alike to uncover the details, causes, and consequences of those actions.

The thread of honesty and truthfulness runs through all of these ethical issues. Tony Judt (1992) argues that a people or nation at a point in time have a collective responsibility to face the facts of its own history honestly and without mythology. Judt’s points can be distilled into a few key ideas. Knowledge of the past matters in the present; being truthful about the past is a key responsibility for all of us. Standing in the way of honest recognition is the fact that oppressors and tyrants are invariably interested in concealing their culpability, while “innocent citizens” are likewise inclined to minimize their own involvement in the crimes of their governments. The result is "myth-making", according to Judt. Anna Wylegala (2017) illustrates the moral importance and complexity of this kind of investigation with regard to collective memory in post-1991 Ukraine. The history of the twentieth century has shown itself to be especially prone to myth-making, whether about resistance to Nazi occupation or refusal to collaborate with Soviet-installed regimes in Poland or Czechoslovakia. Judt (1992) argues that a very pervasive process of myth-making and forgetting has been a deep part of the narrative-making in post-war Europe. But, Judt argues, bad myths give rise eventually to bad collective behavior—more conflict, more tyranny, more violence. So the work of honest history is crucial to humanity’s ability to achieve a better future. Judt expresses throughout his work a credo of truth-telling about the past: we have a weighty obligation to discover, represent, and understand the circumstances of our past, even when those facts are deeply unpalatable. Myth-making about the past is not only bad history and bad politics, it is morally deficient.

This observation brings us to a final way in which moral questions arise in the context of honest history. The crimes of the past have consequences in the present. The facts of trans-Atlantic slavery continue to have consequences for millions of descendants of the men and women who were transported from Africa to the Americas; the facts of the Rwandan genocide have consequences for the living victims of these mass killings and their kin; and the fact of colonial exploitation of the Congo or southern Africa has consequences for the current poverty of much of Africa. Does knowledge of the crimes of the past create for the current generation an obligation of engagement in contributing actively to healing those wounds in the present and preventing their recurrence in the future? Does “truth and reconciliation” require more than simply recognizing ugly truths about the past? Does it require that we act differently, individually and collectively? It is of course a tragic and immutable reality of the human condition that the past cannot be changed; the murdered cannot be unmurdered, and the primary perpetrators of horrific crimes within a few generations are certainly beyond the reach of justice. The future is deeply contingent, while the past is fixed and unchangeable. But does this immutability imply that the present generation has no obligations created by past crimes? Or rather, does knowing the truth about our past create for us the obligation to learn from those tragic human actions how to avoid such crimes in the future? Does honest knowledge of the human crimes of the past bring with it an obligation to strive in good faith to address the consequences of those crimes in the present? Finally, can knowledge of history help us to become more empathetic, more just, and more farsighted in our dealings with each other in the grand affairs that make up future history? One would hope so; and perhaps this is the most pressing moral obligation of all that is created by our recognition of our own historicity.

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How to cite this entry . Preview the PDF version of this entry at the Friends of the SEP Society . Look up topics and thinkers related to this entry at the Internet Philosophy Ontology Project (InPhO). Enhanced bibliography for this entry at PhilPapers , with links to its database.

• History and Theory , at historyandtheory.org.
• UnderstandingSociety , maintained by Daniel Little (University of Michigan-Dearborn).

Berlin, Isaiah | Dilthey, Wilhelm | Hegel, Georg Wilhelm Friedrich | Hempel, Carl | Herder, Johann Gottfried von | hermeneutics | -->historiography --> | Ricoeur, Paul | Vico, Giambattista

Acknowledgments

Acknowledgement is offered to Christopher Bouton for valuable feedback on section 2.5.

Copyright © 2020 by Daniel Little < delittle @ umd . umich . edu >

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1.1: What is History?

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• Page ID 174462

• Gregory Kosc
• University of Texas at Arlington via Mavs Open Press

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Though you have likely spent a good part of your education sitting in history classes and reading history books, you probably have not really thought deeply about how to define the subject. In many ways, it’s easier to start with what history is not: It is not simply a record of what happened in the past. For one thing, clearly too much happened yesterday alone—let alone ten, one hundred, one thousand years ago—to record. People ate meals, chose which socks to wear, kissed someone new, scanned their Twitter feed, etc., etc. History is not even a record of important things that happened in the past, because that definition raises the question of what counts as important and who gets to decide. If those new lovers kissing for the first time were Antony and Cleopatra—whose relationship redirected Egyptian history—or if the meal inspired an immigrant activist by reminding of her roots, then those seemingly mundane actions were critical. Deciding what is important—which among myriad of past events should be retold, the order to put them in, how to phrase stories so that they reach the right audience—that is what history is. As historians James Davidson and Mark Lytle put it, “History is not ‘what happened in the past;’ rather it is the act of selecting, analyzing, and writing about the past.”

Historians are tasked with finding evidence about the past and then deciding what to do with it. They research, evaluate, and write using what past actors have left behind. That means that the historical narratives scholars (including you!) create actually depend upon scholars’ interpretations of extant evidence— on what we call “primary sources.” Primary sources are those produced by the actors of the time and can run the gamut from oral histories to government documents to Hollywood films to material culture and beyond. Historians also keep in mind other historians’ writings, or secondary sources . Historians seek as many sources from as many different perspectives as possible, and scrutinize each one carefully, in the attempt to overcome any biases infusing those sources. Yet, no matter how skilled the researcher there will be gaps in the sources that require interpretation. Gaps or silences in the record merit attention, meaning that historians must consider why some perspectives are not found in archives or in published scholarship. The reason may be perfectly harmless, such as the warehouse fire in 1921 that destroyed the 1890 U.S. Census manuscript schedules (the millions of records left by enumerators who went house-to-house with questionnaires). The resulting silence about literacy rates among immigrants (or a number of other topics that rely on Census records) for that decade is frustrating and has certainly diminished our knowledge of the past, but historians do not need to explain the silence beyond noting this accident of history. At other times, silences speak directly to the experience of those under study, such as the shortage of written records by enslaved peoples. In this case, the silence must be explained by the pernicious decision by White legislators to limit the literacy of enslaved Americans and is itself a part of the history of slavery. In sum, historians must be adept at not only ferreting out sources and assessing their meaning, but also evaluating the meaning of what remains hidden. Writing history is at heart the art and science of deciding how to stitch together what remains of the past in a way that is meaningful to readers in the present.

Where does the (social) science part come from? Though gaps in the record mean that we can never know everything about the past–and thus a certain amount of art and interpretation is necessarily a part of history–historians mimic scientific processes, posing and testing hypotheses and placing weight on the use of peer review before publication. Guidelines about the value of a source, rules about how you record where you find it, and advice on how to present your findings when you present them to the public (or just your instructor) are all part of an effort to create reliable scholarship that can be replicated—the key elements of reason. Writing and teaching history successfully depends upon your ability to understand and master those guidelines. Indeed, your obligation to take this course reflects the opinion among historians that while we know a good deal of art shapes our interpretations, we still value the role of scientific inquiry in our discipline. You have been assigned this book because your instructor wants you to think like an historian.

The philosophy of history

It’s worth pointing out that while the present-day discipline of history is marked by shared standards of practice, historians as a group debate virtually everything, from what should be studied to the precise cause and effect of almost every event. While historians today no longer embrace the notion of cyclical history (that time is not linear, and events reoccur repeatedly) or providential history (that God is directing all events for a particular outcome), they do sometimes accept a progressive view (that humanity is constantly improving). Most contemporary historians, however, exist somewhat closer to a postmodern view of history—that is, that a pure understanding of the past is unknowable, but that learning as much as we can about the past from our current (changing) perspectives helps us learn more about ourselves and our own time.

These different philosophies of history are part of the long-term history of history. In the past century though, with the rise of professional history , the history of history involves chronicling and analyzing historical debates–discussions in which some historians lobby others to revise previous interpretations of past people and events for a range of reasons. Some of these debates stem from differences in political perspective, some emerge out of access to new sources or new ideas about how to read old sources. Other conflicts between historians happen because of a difference in epistemology—roughly speaking, because some historians emphasize the ability of culture and ideas to shape the importance of economic/material infrastructure, and other historians see it the opposite way around (that is, that certain geographies or other material structures permit or promote what sort of ideas and cultural artifacts develop).

History graduate students and professional historians spend a good deal of time thinking about the implications of these different philosophies. While the really old philosophies (cyclical or providential history) are seldom discussed, the newer ones based upon political and epistemological differences are at the heart of many lively debates among historians. For most readers of this text, it’s enough to understand that such distinctions exist, and to be aware of the fact that historical interpretations vary not only over time, but between competing points of view. The section below, which explains historiography, and guidance in the next part Reading Historically, will give you some tools for discerning interpretive points of view. Awarness of differences and understanding where they come from will be among the most important critical thinking skills you develop as a history student.

historiograPHY

Writing about the past has changed over time. In other words, history has a history, and the fancy term for how historians recount and analyze previous interpretations of the past is “historiography.” Historiographical change refers to the fact that over time, historians have altered their explanations of past events, and the discipline of history keeps track of, and continuously reconsiders, these changing interpretations; writing about historians (or the history of history as opposed to the story of the past) is called historiography .

One of the easiest ways to grasp the importance of historiography involves looking at a subject such as slavery in the United States, for which the history has changed dramatically over the last one hundred years. The first professional historians of slavery wrote in the very years in which state and local governments were establishing and justifying racial segregation. Their interpretations of the “peculiar institution” (as slavery was sometimes called) fit in with their society’s world view, and often suggested slavery was benign or at least a critical part of the process of “improving” those of African descent. As legal segregation, the concept of eugenics, and other types of racialized thinking came increasingly under attack over the course of the twentieth century, such views were criticized and the historians of slavery more often focused on the violence and dehumanizing elements of the institution. As the Civil Rights Movement led to the outlawing of segregated education, it opened the door to new scholars with new perspectives. Critical race studies today–scholarship that assesses the many ways that the justification of racial slavery has shaped U.S. politics and society–has a decidedly different view of enslaved peoples than did the history written in the past. The scholarship about the history of race also actually has within it a variety of perspectives, including differences between historians about how the global economy, technology, religion, gender and/or disability shaped the experience of the enslaved, those who claimed ownership, and those who fought for and against the institution of slavery.

Though other historical topics may not have seen shifts as dramatic as the scholarship on slavery, every subject has experienced some shifting over time. As you read secondary sources on historical topics that interest you, try to become conversant with some of the most prominent historiographical debates for your own periods of interest. Most scholarly history essays have an historiographical section, that is a section near the beginning that notes how previous historians have approached the same topic, or ones closely related to the subject under study. Historians touch on earlier interpretations in order to show how their own work will add to what we already know, perhaps by pointing out errors in the use of a primary source or how a particular philosophical or political assumption unfairly limited analysis. More likely for student researchers, this reference to earlier interpretations will point to a gap–by place, or era, or perspective–that the student’s research can help fill. Because it will fill a gap in what we know, the historical research presented is thus more meaningful, a positive reason to be aware of the historiography of your subject. A negative reason also exists: Those who don’t consider current knowledge risk “reinventing the wheel” or worse, erring in interpretation because of unfamiliarity with a major finding by an earlier historian. Whatever side motivates you as a student, it’s important you attempt to learn the historiography of topics in which you hope to specialize.

What is modern history?

by Professor Rana Mitter FBA

15 Feb 2021

In Britain, history emerges like waves that occasionally burst over the edge of the shore and soak you, but then retreat. So we’ll have a bout of debate about the empire, or commemorate an anniversary, and then things move on.

Yet as with the sea, there’s always a huge expanse of water that we could dip into much more deeply if we wished. And the national culture of at least some countries does venture out deeper than we generally choose to go. In the US, the issue of race and the history of enslavement, a practice that still took place a century and a half ago, are closely linked and hard to escape in public life. In China, much of the country’s national identity is tied up in the idea of a century of ‘ National Humiliation ,’ referring to the idea that a succession of foreign countries had been invading China ever since the Opium Wars of the 1830, thereby staining the nation with a shameful past – before the Second World War, China even had a national day commemorating this state of affairs.

For historians, though, it’s not just the histories of the individual countries that matter, although that is, of course, often fascinating and important. We see modern history more as trying to understand how a whole variety of processes have come together over the past few centuries to create a present we often don’t think about as more than a few years or decades old. For a long time, in the western world, we assumed that ‘modern’ history was our history. In this version of events, in the 16th to 18th centuries, Catholics and Protestants fought each other and developed a scientific and industrial revolution along the way; in the 19th century the west then hoovered up large parts of the rest of the world and in the 20th it gave it back, fighting two global wars along the way.

Of course, that version of modern history is a caricature, although it has more than a bit of truth to it. But historians have come to realise more clearly in recent years that this was never just a story about the western world. It’s probably not a coincidence that the shift in understanding has happened at the same time that economic and military power are shifting from west to east – China and Japan are the second and third biggest economies in the world . We have also come to realise that many of the things we associate with the ‘modern’ world – for instance, sophisticated trading links across the seas – were happening in large parts of Asia long before the Europeans had colonised the region. West Africa had sophisticated and rich kingdoms, such as Kongo, that sent diplomatic missions to Brazil in the 17th century , long before Europeans controlled the region.

In our own era, modern history has become a story about how the world came to be the way that it is now, where the views of the west are no longer the only dominant ones. Of course, the story of an industrial revolution that arose in Europe has to be one key part of the story of modernity. But the history of the 19th century, when that dynamic reached its apex, can no longer be treated simply as a proxy for the whole modern period. Today, for instance, as we see Asia rise, with China, India and Indonesia set to become huge powers alongside the existing economic might of Japan, a country which in many areas from culture to technology has epitomised modernity for decades, we can look back at the longer history of our ‘modern’ period and realise that we have to rethink its basic premises. That is what modern history does – it enables us to understand the past few centuries while understanding ourselves in the west not as external, somehow objective, unconnected readers of that history, but as products of the processes that have made the modern world.

Rana Mitter is Professor of the History and Politics of Modern China at St Cross College, University of Oxford. He was elected a Fellow of the British Academy in 2015 and is our Vice-President-elect (Communications). His most recent book, China’s Good War: How World War II Is Shaping a New Nationalism , was published in 2020.

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Why Study History? (1998)

In 2020, Peter N. Stearns revisited his “Why Study History? (1998)” essay with “ Why Study History? Revisited ” in Perspectives on History .

By Peter N. Stearns

People live in the present. They plan for and worry about the future. History, however, is the study of the past. Given all the demands that press in from living in the present and anticipating what is yet to come, why bother with what has been? Given all the desirable and available branches of knowledge, why insist—as most American educational programs do—on a good bit of history? And why urge many students to study even more history than they are required to?

Any subject of study needs justification: its advocates must explain why it is worth attention. Most widely accepted subjects—and history is certainly one of them—attract some people who simply like the information and modes of thought involved. But audiences less spontaneously drawn to the subject and more doubtful about why to bother need to know what the purpose is.

Historians do not perform heart transplants, improve highway design, or arrest criminals. In a society that quite correctly expects education to serve useful purposes, the functions of history can seem more difficult to define than those of engineering or medicine. History is in fact very useful, actually indispensable, but the products of historical study are less tangible, sometimes less immediate, than those that stem from some other disciplines.

In the past history has been justified for reasons we would no longer accept. For instance, one of the reasons history holds its place in current education is because earlier leaders believed that a knowledge of certain historical facts helped distinguish the educated from the uneducated; the person who could reel off the date of the Norman conquest of England (1066) or the name of the person who came up with the theory of evolution at about the same time that Darwin did (Wallace) was deemed superior—a better candidate for law school or even a business promotion. Knowledge of historical facts has been used as a screening device in many societies, from China to the United States, and the habit is still with us to some extent. Unfortunately, this use can encourage mindless memorization—a real but not very appealing aspect of the discipline. History should be studied because it is essential to individuals and to society, and because it harbors beauty. There are many ways to discuss the real functions of the subject—as there are many different historical talents and many different paths to historical meaning. All definitions of history's utility, however, rely on two fundamental facts.

History Helps Us Understand People and Societies

In the first place, history offers a storehouse of information about how people and societies behave. Understanding the operations of people and societies is difficult, though a number of disciplines make the attempt. An exclusive reliance on current data would needlessly handicap our efforts. How can we evaluate war if the nation is at peace—unless we use historical materials? How can we understand genius, the influence of technological innovation, or the role that beliefs play in shaping family life, if we don't use what we know about experiences in the past? Some social scientists attempt to formulate laws or theories about human behavior. But even these recourses depend on historical information, except for in limited, often artificial cases in which experiments can be devised to determine how people act. Major aspects of a society's operation, like mass elections, missionary activities, or military alliances, cannot be set up as precise experiments. Consequently, history must serve, however imperfectly, as our laboratory, and data from the past must serve as our most vital evidence in the unavoidable quest to figure out why our complex species behaves as it does in societal settings. This, fundamentally, is why we cannot stay away from history: it offers the only extensive evidential base for the contemplation and analysis of how societies function, and people need to have some sense of how societies function simply to run their own lives.

History Helps Us Understand Change and How the Society We Live in Came to Be

The second reason history is inescapable as a subject of serious study follows closely on the first. The past causes the present, and so the future. Any time we try to know why something happened—whether a shift in political party dominance in the American Congress, a major change in the teenage suicide rate, or a war in the Balkans or the Middle East—we have to look for factors that took shape earlier. Sometimes fairly recent history will suffice to explain a major development, but often we need to look further back to identify the causes of change. Only through studying history can we grasp how things change; only through history can we begin to comprehend the factors that cause change; and only through history can we understand what elements of an institution or a society persist despite change.

The Importance of History in Our Own Lives

These two fundamental reasons for studying history underlie more specific and quite diverse uses of history in our own lives. History well told is beautiful. Many of the historians who most appeal to the general reading public know the importance of dramatic and skillful writing—as well as of accuracy. Biography and military history appeal in part because of the tales they contain. History as art and entertainment serves a real purpose, on aesthetic grounds but also on the level of human understanding. Stories well done are stories that reveal how people and societies have actually functioned, and they prompt thoughts about the human experience in other times and places. The same aesthetic and humanistic goals inspire people to immerse themselves in efforts to reconstruct quite remote pasts, far removed from immediate, present-day utility. Exploring what historians sometimes call the "pastness of the past"—the ways people in distant ages constructed their lives—involves a sense of beauty and excitement, and ultimately another perspective on human life and society.

History Contributes to Moral Understanding

History also provides a terrain for moral contemplation. Studying the stories of individuals and situations in the past allows a student of history to test his or her own moral sense, to hone it against some of the real complexities individuals have faced in difficult settings. People who have weathered adversity not just in some work of fiction, but in real, historical circumstances can provide inspiration. "History teaching by example" is one phrase that describes this use of a study of the past—a study not only of certifiable heroes, the great men and women of history who successfully worked through moral dilemmas, but also of more ordinary people who provide lessons in courage, diligence, or constructive protest.

History Provides Identity

History also helps provide identity, and this is unquestionably one of the reasons all modern nations encourage its teaching in some form. Historical data include evidence about how families, groups, institutions and whole countries were formed and about how they have evolved while retaining cohesion. For many Americans, studying the history of one's own family is the most obvious use of history, for it provides facts about genealogy and (at a slightly more complex level) a basis for understanding how the family has interacted with larger historical change. Family identity is established and confirmed. Many institutions, businesses, communities, and social units, such as ethnic groups in the United States, use history for similar identity purposes. Merely defining the group in the present pales against the possibility of forming an identity based on a rich past. And of course nations use identity history as well—and sometimes abuse it. Histories that tell the national story, emphasizing distinctive features of the national experience, are meant to drive home an understanding of national values and a commitment to national loyalty.

Studying History Is Essential for Good Citizenship

A study of history is essential for good citizenship. This is the most common justification for the place of history in school curricula. Sometimes advocates of citizenship history hope merely to promote national identity and loyalty through a history spiced by vivid stories and lessons in individual success and morality. But the importance of history for citizenship goes beyond this narrow goal and can even challenge it at some points.

History that lays the foundation for genuine citizenship returns, in one sense, to the essential uses of the study of the past. History provides data about the emergence of national institutions, problems, and values—it's the only significant storehouse of such data available. It offers evidence also about how nations have interacted with other societies, providing international and comparative perspectives essential for responsible citizenship. Further, studying history helps us understand how recent, current, and prospective changes that affect the lives of citizens are emerging or may emerge and what causes are involved. More important, studying history encourages habits of mind that are vital for responsible public behavior, whether as a national or community leader, an informed voter, a petitioner, or a simple observer.

What Skills Does a Student of History Develop?

What does a well-trained student of history, schooled to work on past materials and on case studies in social change, learn how to do? The list is manageable, but it contains several overlapping categories.

The Ability to Assess Evidence . The study of history builds experience in dealing with and assessing various kinds of evidence—the sorts of evidence historians use in shaping the most accurate pictures of the past that they can. Learning how to interpret the statements of past political leaders—one kind of evidence—helps form the capacity to distinguish between the objective and the self-serving among statements made by present-day political leaders. Learning how to combine different kinds of evidence—public statements, private records, numerical data, visual materials—develops the ability to make coherent arguments based on a variety of data. This skill can also be applied to information encountered in everyday life.

The Ability to Assess Conflicting Interpretations . Learning history means gaining some skill in sorting through diverse, often conflicting interpretations. Understanding how societies work—the central goal of historical study—is inherently imprecise, and the same certainly holds true for understanding what is going on in the present day. Learning how to identify and evaluate conflicting interpretations is an essential citizenship skill for which history, as an often-contested laboratory of human experience, provides training. This is one area in which the full benefits of historical study sometimes clash with the narrower uses of the past to construct identity. Experience in examining past situations provides a constructively critical sense that can be applied to partisan claims about the glories of national or group identity. The study of history in no sense undermines loyalty or commitment, but it does teach the need for assessing arguments, and it provides opportunities to engage in debate and achieve perspective.

Experience in Assessing Past Examples of Change . Experience in assessing past examples of change is vital to understanding change in society today—it's an essential skill in what we are regularly told is our "ever-changing world." Analysis of change means developing some capacity for determining the magnitude and significance of change, for some changes are more fundamental than others. Comparing particular changes to relevant examples from the past helps students of history develop this capacity. The ability to identify the continuities that always accompany even the most dramatic changes also comes from studying history, as does the skill to determine probable causes of change. Learning history helps one figure out, for example, if one main factor—such as a technological innovation or some deliberate new policy—accounts for a change or whether, as is more commonly the case, a number of factors combine to generate the actual change that occurs.

Historical study, in sum, is crucial to the promotion of that elusive creature, the well-informed citizen. It provides basic factual information about the background of our political institutions and about the values and problems that affect our social well-being. It also contributes to our capacity to use evidence, assess interpretations, and analyze change and continuities. No one can ever quite deal with the present as the historian deals with the past—we lack the perspective for this feat; but we can move in this direction by applying historical habits of mind, and we will function as better citizens in the process.

History Is Useful in the World of Work

History is useful for work. Its study helps create good businesspeople, professionals, and political leaders. The number of explicit professional jobs for historians is considerable, but most people who study history do not become professional historians. Professional historians teach at various levels, work in museums and media centers, do historical research for businesses or public agencies, or participate in the growing number of historical consultancies. These categories are important—indeed vital—to keep the basic enterprise of history going, but most people who study history use their training for broader professional purposes. Students of history find their experience directly relevant to jobs in a variety of careers as well as to further study in fields like law and public administration. Employers often deliberately seek students with the kinds of capacities historical study promotes. The reasons are not hard to identify: students of history acquire, by studying different phases of the past and different societies in the past, a broad perspective that gives them the range and flexibility required in many work situations. They develop research skills, the ability to find and evaluate sources of information, and the means to identify and evaluate diverse interpretations. Work in history also improves basic writing and speaking skills and is directly relevant to many of the analytical requirements in the public and private sectors, where the capacity to identify, assess, and explain trends is essential. Historical study is unquestionably an asset for a variety of work and professional situations, even though it does not, for most students, lead as directly to a particular job slot, as do some technical fields. But history particularly prepares students for the long haul in their careers, its qualities helping adaptation and advancement beyond entry-level employment. There is no denying that in our society many people who are drawn to historical study worry about relevance. In our changing economy, there is concern about job futures in most fields. Historical training is not, however, an indulgence; it applies directly to many careers and can clearly help us in our working lives.

Why study history? The answer is because we virtually must, to gain access to the laboratory of human experience. When we study it reasonably well, and so acquire some usable habits of mind, as well as some basic data about the forces that affect our own lives, we emerge with relevant skills and an enhanced capacity for informed citizenship, critical thinking, and simple awareness. The uses of history are varied. Studying history can help us develop some literally "salable" skills, but its study must not be pinned down to the narrowest utilitarianism. Some history—that confined to personal recollections about changes and continuities in the immediate environment—is essential to function beyond childhood. Some history depends on personal taste, where one finds beauty, the joy of discovery, or intellectual challenge. Between the inescapable minimum and the pleasure of deep commitment comes the history that, through cumulative skill in interpreting the unfolding human record, provides a real grasp of how the world works.

Careers for History Majors

Through clear graphs and informal prose, readers will find hard data, practical advice, and answers to common questions about the study of history and the value it affords to individuals, their workplaces, and their communities in Careers for History Majors . You can purchase this pamphlet online at Oxford University Press. For questions about the pamphlet, please contact Karen Lou ( [email protected] ). For bulk orders contact OUP directly . 

What You'll Learn with a History Degree

What do history students learn? With the help of the AHA, faculty from around the United States have collaborated to create a list of skills students develop in their history coursework. This list, called the "History Discipline Core," is meant to help students understand the skills they are acquiring so that they can explain the value of their education to parents, friends, and employers, as well as take pride in their decision to study history. 

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Article contents

Modernity and modernization.

• Robbie Shilliam Robbie Shilliam School of Politics and International Relations, Queen Mary University of London
• https://doi.org/10.1093/acrefore/9780190846626.013.56
• Published in print: 01 March 2010
• Published online: 30 November 2017

Modernity is defined as a condition of social existence that is significantly different to all past forms of human experience, while modernization refers to the transitional process of moving from “traditional” or “primitive” communities to modern societies. Debates over modernity have been most prominent in the discipline of sociology, created in the nineteenth century specifically to come to terms with “society” as a novel form of human existence. These debates revolved around the constitution of the modern subject: how sociopolitical order is formed in the midst of anomie or alienation of the subject; what form of knowledge production this subject engages in, and what form of knowledge production is appropriate to understand modern subjectivity; and the ethical orientation of the modern subject under conditions where human existence has been rationalized and disenchanted. In its paradoxical search for social content of modern conditions of anomie, alienation, and disenchantment, sociology has relied upon Émile Durkheim, Karl Marx, and Max Weber. Sociological inquiry of modernity and the anthropological/comparative study of modernization have provided two articulations of sociopolitical difference—temporal and geocultural, respectively—that have exerted a strong impact upon approaches to and debates within IR. The attempt to correlate and explain the relationship between temporal and geocultural difference presents a foundational challenge to understandings of the condition of modernity and the processes of modernization.

• modernization
• sociopolitical order
• knowledge production
• Émile Durkheim

Introduction

Modernity refers to a condition of social existence that is radically different to all past forms of human experience. Modernization refers to the transitional process of moving from “traditional” or “primitive” communities to modern societies. IR is by and large a derivative discipline when it comes to debates over modernity and modernization. However, these debates have influenced IR in two main ways: firstly, via the exploration of continuity and change in the international system; secondly, and at a more subterranean level, via some of the “great debates” of the discipline and the development of contending theoretical approaches.

Debates over modernity have proceeded most influentially in the discipline of sociology. In fact, the category itself is largely a product of this discipline, and scholars created the discipline in the nineteenth century specifically to come to terms with “society” as a novel form of human existence. These debates have impacted upon IR primarily in the deployment of the contrast between traditional and modern forms of sociopolitical order in order to ascribe and explain the different constitutions of the domestic and international spheres. The sociology of modernity tends to approach different forms of human existence in temporal terms, specifically, the rupture between traditional community and modern society. Indeed, there has often been an implicit assumption in sociological literature that the historical experiences of Western Europe are the defining experiences of the ruptures that created modernity, hence universalizing a particular geocultural experience. Because of this, sociology has usually been reluctant to relate the chronological difference of tradition/modernity to the persistence of synchronous geocultural difference in the modern world order. It is this later form of difference that theories of modernization have directly addressed.

The investigation of modernization as a process has pluralistic intellectual roots: methodologically it utilized a comparative form of analysis in order to illuminate transitional processes between and within Western and non-Western (mainly excolonial) polities in broadly political-economic terms. In fact, the intellectual space available for comparative analysis of different socioeconomically organized polities was provided by social anthropology and its turn to ethnography as a way of exploring the continued existence of “primitive” communities in the modern world. While cognate investigations certainly precede World War II (for example, Veblen 1939 ), it is in the postwar period that modernization theory really developed as a form of comparative analysis that specifically targeted the political transitions of ex-colonial states towards modern societies. While such analyses experienced their heyday during the Cold War, the legacies of modernization theory – both its insights and its oversights – are still felt in both IR and IPE via the attempts to capture the geoculturally pluralistic character of modern world development.

Together, then, the sociological investigation of modernity and the anthropological/comparative study of modernization have provided two articulations of sociopolitical difference, the former temporal, the latter geocultural. These two articulations of difference have impacted significantly upon approaches to and debates within IR; in many ways, the as yet unresolved relationship between temporal and geocultural difference provides one of the deepest challenges to the investigation of the form and content of international relations.

The first part of this essay investigates modernity by reference to historical and contemporary debates within sociology and illuminates, where appropriate, the influence of these debates upon IR. To begin with, the part sketches out the sociological investigation of the modern subject interpolated as an individual inhabiting an impersonalized society. Subsequently, a number of important debates over the constitution of this modern subject are discussed: how sociopolitical order is formed in the midst of anomie or alienation of the subject; what form of knowledge-production this subject partakes of, and what form of knowledge-production is appropriate to understand modern subjectivity; and finally the ethical orientation of the modern subject under conditions where human existence has been rationalized and disenchanted.

The second part of the essay starts by placing the emergence of modernization theory within the intellectual space provided by social anthropology for investigating continued geocultural plurality in an apparently “modern” world. Subsequently, the part documents the rise of modernization theory focusing on the Third World during the Cold War. The grounding in modernization theory of present-day debates in IR over the security/development nexus (especially the notion of “failed states”) is drawn out, as well as the interface between modernization theory and evolving notions of globality. Critiques of modernization theory are then documented, notably the rise of dependency theory and notions of underdevelopment. The second part finishes by drawing attention to current critiques of the way in which social anthropology has inherited the narrative of temporal rupture from sociology, in so doing conflating the traditional and primitive so that the persistence within modernity of supposedly premodern social relations of, for example, race and religion cannot be adequately accounted for.

Sociology and the Modern Subject

Sociological inquiry starts with the assumption that modernity is temporally distinct from tradition (Shils 1961 :1425; Habermas 1987b :8). Although chronological notions of the “modern” existed for centuries before, sociologists have usually placed the beginnings of modernity – and thus their own discipline – within the tumultuous effects of the “dual revolutions” that occurred within Europe at the end of the eighteenth century (Nisbet 1967 ). In fine, the rupture thesis of modernity states that the (French) democratic and (British) industrial revolutions radically undermined preexisting localized communities and their traditions by profaning sacred values and dismantling associated sociopolitical hierarchies.

The new science of sociology was charged with investigating the theoretical, practical, and ethical challenges deriving from the interpolation – through the abovementioned revolutions – of the “individual” as the subject of an impersonalized organizational form of human coexistence, “society” (Elias 1978 :34–7). Standing on the modern side of the chasm, sociologists have claimed that the condition of human being must be thought through without the comforting sureties of timeless tradition and spiritual faith. Rather than considered as part of an enchanted objective whole, the individual must be examined by prizing open its interior life. Subsequently, the development of the modern subject must be investigated in terms of an open-ended, constantly shifting process rather than embedded within an eschatological narrative; and meaning – if there is to be found any meaning – must be understood as immanent in this new human existence rather than transcendental (Lash and Friedman 1992 ).

With this in mind it is interesting to note that, similarly the sociology problematique, the core problematique of IR theory has always been the paradoxical search for order under conditions of anarchy. However, for this task, sociology has not relied upon a Realist canon of classical political thinkers, but upon Émile Durkheim, Karl Marx, and Max Weber.

Order, Anomie, and Alienation

For Durkheim, traditional societies exhibited a mechanical form of solidarity because the individual was bound to the “collective conscience” directly instead of through a series of mediating institutional nodes. With no room to become authors of their own agency, individuals were effectively inorganic matter, hence Durkheim’s mechanical metaphor (Durkheim 1964 :130). Alternatively, industrialization prompted the specialization of tasks that, with a more complex division of labor, resulted in institutional differentiation (pp. 354–61). As the totalizing moral code of tradition was replaced with an instrumental approach to social interaction based on institutionalized specialization, individuals came to understand their social existence in terms of anomie (Durkheim 1964 :128, 361; 1970 :382) Durkheim claimed that the new form of solidarity, unlike the mechanical type of traditional communities, gained its strength by encouraging the development of individual personality, a requirement of the complex division of labor. Because both the parts and the whole were “living,” modern society exhibited an “organic” form of solidarity (Durkheim 1964 :124, 131).

Durkheim’s claim regarding the radically different constitution of sociopolitical order in modernity has been mobilized in IR as a way of mapping out the divided terrain of politics so that the “international” is effectively rendered as a premodern space in opposition to the modern space to be found within the state. In the pivotal chapter 6 of his hagiographic neorealist script, Theory of International Politics , Kenneth Waltz ( 1979 ) argues for the different structural qualities of domestic and international politics by referring to Durkheim’s distinction between mechanical and organic solidarity (see for example Waltz 1979 :115). Waltz claims that the international realm is characterized by the mechanical form of solidarity. Populated by an array of non-differentiated functionally like units, the international realm lacks a complex division of labor and can therefore only be composed of relations of thin interdependence, because the functional likeness of parts leads to systemic competition: anarchy is the condition of anomic relations between parts. Alternatively, the domestic realm for Waltz is characterized by an organic form of solidarity wherein a functional differentiation of units allows the parts to be bound together in a socially thick integrative hierarchy. But Waltz radically misinterprets Durkheim’s schema by reversing the social integrity of the two forms of social solidarity. That is to say, contra Waltz, that the more anomie among parts, the thicker their social integration (see Barkdull 1995 ). By Durkheim’s sociological reading, “anarchy” is at least as socially constituted as “hierarchy,” which puts into question Waltz’s seminal division of the substance of domestic and international politics.

Marx marked capitalist modernity in distinction to precapitalist modes of production, wherein the division of labor was organized through the direct access of the producer to communally regulated land and wherein exploitation – the appropriation of surplus product – proceeded through localized hierarchical relations of personal dependency between lord and serf (Marx 1973 :156–66). “Primitive accumulation” was the term Marx gave to the violent and conflict-ridden historical process of privatizing property and, via the “enclosure” of the commons, divorcing the producer from direct access to the means of production (Marx 1990 :873–940). In the capitalist mode of production, Marx argued, land and labor became commodities, “things” disembodied from personal and communal attachments. Concomitantly, exploitation proceeded through non-hierarchical relations between impersonalized individuals exchanging commodities, especially labor, via wage contracts (see, for example, p. 179). The capitalist mode of production required a differentiation of spheres to be upheld by the state apparatus (see Wood 1981 ): between the public sphere of civil society, which allowed for exchange amongst equal individuals as political subjects, and the private sphere of the economy, which allowed for exploitation of contracted workers as their labor power was alienated (Marx and Engels 1973 :70) by the owners of the means of production for the accumulation of capital (Marx 1990 :270–306). In this respect, the pursuit and amassing of social power in the form of capital accumulation proceeded in the “economic” rather than the “political” realm.

Marx’s thesis on capitalist modernity has been influential to IR in providing both structuralist and agential explanations of the making of the modern world order. Robert Cox ( 1987 ) has written an influential argument on this movement using a neo-Gramscian framework to delineate the structural interlocking of political, economic, and ideological aspects of power that made up the capitalist hegemony of the twentieth century Pax Americana (see also Rupert 1995 ). Justin Rosenberg ( 1994 ) has used a classical Marxian standpoint to construct a structural explanation of anarchy which competes with that provided by Waltz. Rosenberg argues that the apparent anarchy of geopolitics – a horizontalized space of like units pursuing their self-interest – is an effect of the global social structure of capitalist modernity, a structure that depends upon the differentiation of economic (the world market) and political (interstate relations) spheres. For Rosenberg, anarchy is not a presocial condition, but the geopolitical condition of possibility for the global instantiation of capitalist social relations and the accumulation of social power on a world scale in the form of capital. Alternatively, agential explanations of the global rise of capitalist modernity are most evident in the Historical Materialist critique of the neo-Liberal policy of the last 25 years as the instrument through which the capitalist class of advanced economies have mounted a new wave of “enclosures” (Midnight Notes Collective 1990 ). In IR/IPE this interpretation of the socially transformative content of capitalist globalization has been pursued most forcefully by a broad range of neo-Gramscians (for example, Gill 1995 ; van der Pijl 1998 ).

Weber developed a sociology of religion in order to understand why and how modern forms of social action and political rule took on the content of “instrumental rationality.” The Protestant calling, for Weber, was historically peculiar among spiritual maxims in that it did not encourage an indulgence in the pleasures of the earthly world, nor did it approve fleeing from the world, but rather demanded an ascetic of methodological labor within the world (on this narrative see Weber 1963 :216–21; 1982b ; 2001 ). However, the pursuit of methodological labor led to a “disenchantment” of the world that the subject inhabited. Ultimately, the Protestant ethic produced a self-conscious privileging of predictability and calculability as the means of social interaction over the value-laden ends that such conduct was mobilized towards. Crucially for Weber, this “instrumental rationality” that became the preeminent form of modern social interaction was also distinguishable from other types of political authority, namely charismatic and traditional, by the way that it allowed for a domination of technical means over moral ends. Thus, for Weber, modern political authority was unique in that the form of social solidarity it regulated was a disenchanted one devoid of moral ends, and the epitomic organizational structure of instrumental-rational political authority was the modern bureaucracy. The bureaucratic accumulation of information on society was a legitimate exercise of authority not by dint of its direct moral ends but because it provided for calculable, predictable, and deliberate means of social planning (see Weber 1978a :66–8, 215–26; 1978b :958–75).

Although profoundly influential in organization theory and sociology, Weber’s main impact upon IR has been in historical-sociological accounts of the development of the modern state that do not, by and large, pay attention to the importance that his sociology of religion holds for making sense of his typologies of modern political authority (but see, suggestively, Hurd 2004 ). Nevertheless, Weber’s articulation of the instrumental-rational form of modern political authority has been used in IR to problematize the neo-Realist and neo-Liberal institutionalist debate regarding the standing and power of international organizations. Specifically, scholars have used Weber to inject the dimension of legitimate rule into the debate: international organizations can be said to hold a relative autonomy from the states that constructed them due to their particular modern purpose of accumulating and disseminating knowledge of the international realm and their claim to legitimacy justified by the instrumental-rational pursuit of this purpose (for example Finnemore 1996 ; Barnett and Finnemore 1999 ; and in general see Ruggie 1998 ).

In fine, all three figures – Durkheim, Marx, and Weber – have been used in sociology to uncover the paradoxically social content of modern conditions of anomie, alienation, and disenchantment, and these uses have been influential on debates in IR over the peculiar substance of the international sphere of relations.

There has, however, developed a sustained and foundational critique of the gender-blind character of the classical sociological approach to modernity (for example, Pateman 1988 ; Murgatroyd 1989 ). Absent from these inquiries is a sustained examination of the affective and personalized social relations of the family, and, what is more, an inquiry into the hierarchies of power that construct these relations through the institution of patriarchy. A number of feminist scholars have argued that modern society structurally requires the reproduction of segregated spheres: the public (including both the political realm of civil society and the economic realm of wage contracts) and the personal (especially the family). The latter sphere cannot, then, be understood as a premodern relic; and, because of the substance of its social relations, neither can it be analyzed as simply one more institution within a generic functionally differentiated division of labor. This critique then begs some questions: (1) how rupturing of traditional communities were the revolutions that produced modernity? and (2) how might a focus on the co-constitutive relationship between, for example, anomie and affection, patriarchy and capitalism, or emotive authority and that based, on instrumental rationality affect understanding of the condition of modernity? Various feminist works in IR have addressed these questions (for example, Elshtain 1987 ; Enloe 1990 ).

Knowledge Production and the Modern Subject

The epistemological concern for Verstehen , that is, an interpretive understanding of the first-person perspective, was a mid to late nineteenth-century critical response by German intellectuals to the popularity of natural-scientific explanations of the social world that, by positing universally applicable cause–effect models, seemed to rob social explanation of any need to engage with the particular subject. For example, Neo-Kantians of the Heidelberg school took to heart Kant’s claim that abstract universal reason could never be substantively manifest within a pluralistic and imperfect political world, but went further than Kant by claiming that no system of meaning could hold universal validity. Neo-Kantian epistemology allowed scholars such as Georg Simmel (for example 1980 ) and Weber (for example 1975 ) to investigate a plurality of culturally specific systems of meanings and values .

Out of these concerns, Karl Mannheim ( 1936 ) created a new academic subfield in the interwar period called the “sociology of knowledge.” For Mannheim, any attempt to inject understanding ( Verstehen ) into social policy would have to recognize that meaningful worldviews were culturally differentiated amongst groups so that morality in the social realm would always be radically relative and could not claim universal anchorage (Mannheim 1936 :17–21, 32) In fact, Mannheim proved influential in what has come to be known, retrospectively, as the “first great debate” in IR. In large part, E.H. Carr translated Mannheim’s thesis into the famous Realism/Idealism conundrum in his Twenty Years’ Crisis (Jones 1998 ): Realism’s purpose for Carr was to uncover the idealism of liberal thought in its positing of a universal morality; yet Realism itself required some idealism – some principled engagement with meaning – because without this, Realism could not inject any direction into political affairs (Carr 2001 ). If Carr and his retroactively identified Realist ilk are said to have won the debate, then, in this respect, it was decidedly not objectivism that triumphed over idealism (contra Mearsheimer 2005 ).

Another, related, intellectual current was the rise of a new hermeneutics with scholars, most famously Wilhelm Dilthey ( 1996 ), seeking to understand (rather than explain) the inner experience of the individual by reference to his or her particular external historical-social milieu. In the USA, George Herbert Mead utilized Dilthey’s hermeneutics in part to construct a social psychology of “object relativism.” For Mead ( 2002 ), the inner meanings held by the individual subject became object when his or her gestures invoked the same responses in other individuals as they had in the subject. Through this aspect of language, subjective meanings became socially constructed as objects. Indeed, the legacy of the Verstehen approach is perhaps strongest in the rise of “social constructivism” as a contender approach to both neo-Realism and neo-Liberal Institutionalism. The intellectual sociological sources of IR constructivism are many and disparate, and have by no means been understood as complementary in their originating academic spheres. But for the purposes of explicating the influence of the sociological debates over Verstehen , the discussion will focus upon Peter Berger and Thomas Luckmann’s Social Construction of Reality ( 1966 ), a text that has proved influential for much constructivist theory in IR.

Berger and Luckmann accepted Marx’s claim that what is specific to humanity is the social and historical organization of its relationship with nature (p. 51). And they took from Mannheim the point that meaning is not a question only for philosophers but is constitutive of the everyday social life of the subject (p. 9). They expanded this position by drawing upon the symbolic-interactionist school of sociology, heavily influenced by Mead’s object-relativism, in order to claim that through language, subjective meanings become constructed as social objects. With all this, Berger and Luckmann proposed a dialectical approach to hermeneutics: subjects apprehend the objectified social reality but in turn are involved in an ongoing production of this reality so that the social construction of reality is effectively institutionalized through social roles organized by reference to symbolic universes (pp. 66, 73–4, 103). Berger and Luckmann noted that in traditional societies, there was little room for uninstitutionalized actions within a totalizing symbolic universe; but they argued, in a Durkheimian manner, that with the differentiation of institutional tasks associated with modern society the symbolic universe splits into many particular sub-universes. This, they claimed, makes the process of the integration of subjects into a social whole driven not by functional requisites but primarily by the need for legitimation . In fact, legitimation becomes the prime mode of politically ordering societies due to the constantly transformative hermeneutics that are required for modern subjects to take on meaningful roles in a complex division of labor. Thus modern society was qualitatively more amenable to constant changes within its symbolic universe (pp. 79–86, 199).

It is precisely these specific qualities of modern rule that Nicolas Onuf uses in the book that introduced constructivism to IR ( 1989 ) in order to critique the “premodern” focus of Realists on the coercive play of self-interests in world politics rather than on the social construction of meaning. Similarly, although there are other intellectual sources of Alexander Wendt ’s constructivism (for example, Anthony Giddens ’s structuration theory and Roy Bhaskar ’s Critical Realism), Wendt himself ( 1995 :76) seems to suggest the greater importance of Berger and Luckmann for constructivism. Invoking the above dialectic of hermeneutics, Wendt argues ( 1992 :397) that collective meanings constitute structures that organize actions; and actors acquire identities – “relatively stable, role-specific understandings and expectations about self” – through these collective meanings. With this interpretive approach, Wendt critiques the neo-Realist understanding of anarchy as a purely objective structural feature of international relations and posits, instead, the socially constructed nature of anarchy between (anthropomorphized) states. As such, even if anarchy has become an objectified social meaning within world affairs it cannot be said to be objectively timeless.

In all these ways, then, the “third debate” in IR has relied heavily upon existing sociological investigations into the unique character of modern subjectivity and the forms of knowledge that derive from, and are adequate to represent, this character. And this influence is most clearly exampled in the development of Constructivism, the most popular recent challenge to neo-Realism and neo-Liberal Institutionalism.

Rationality and Freedom

Enlightenment thought posited that human beings could be freed from tradition and blind faith by the use of reason so as to reorder their relationship to nature and other humans according to rational principles (Kant 1991 ). In short, control over – and improvement of – the social and natural worlds, spurred on by the amassing of scientific knowledge, were considered to be the causes of progressive freedom. However, this optimistic viewpoint was, and has always been, countered by a more pessimistic assessment that the very means for promoting the ends of freedom – knowledge and control – might, instead, end up producing a modern form of unfreedom (Mills 1959 ). The claim that the promise of Enlightenment turned into the reality of modernity seemed to be empirically confirmed by two world wars, Nazism, Stalinism, and the increasing autonomy of economic activities and industrial advance from public oversight (see especially Marcuse 1964 ; Bauman 1989 ; Horkheimer and Adorno 1997 ).

While Marx ( 1990 :272–3) alluded to the substantive (if not formal) conditions of unfreedom that capitalist modernity placed upon the working class, Friedrich Nietzsche directly explored the socio-psychological dimension of this unfreedom. For Nietzsche ascetic ideals, especially those that seek to regulate action through positing a metaphysical god or transcendent truth, were life-denying in that they rendered the meaning of existence secure and circumscribed; and ascetic ideals found their nadir in the Enlightenment creation of a disenchanted scientific outlook. While Nietzsche argued that the “death of god” should be seen as an opportunity to radically affirm social existence in its contingent and fluid characteristics, i.e. to call the value of truth into question, instead, he observed, the ascetic aspect of modern life produced a self-forgetfulness in the subject by interpolating him or her as an impersonal element in mechanical activity that would be valued for its absolute regularity (see especially Nietzsche 2003 :97–8).

Nietzsche ( 1997 ) contrasted the possibility immanent in modern subjects of becoming “over-men” who celebrated the open-ended possibilities of living after truth with the tendency for modern subjects to become “last men” – stagnant, herd-like, and contented with a mechanical life. Philosophy failed the “over-man”; instead, the positing of truth as unity had to be understood as a will to power – the will of a particular perspective to dominant others. Accepting this then made the embrace of ontological pluralism an ethical imperative once God was found to be dead ( 1967 : bk. 2:III, bk. 3:III). Taking Nietzsche’s critique of truth and power to heart, Weber believed that in a “polytheistic” world, social science could and should help to answer why the ethical ends of human action had become a problem for modern subjects to believe in (1982a:143). Echoing Nietzsche, Weber argued that the promise of modern freedom lay, paradoxically, in the space opened up by disenchantment and the “death of God” for the cultivation of an awareness of the ethical and practical limits of one’s own subject position. This would help to stem the colonization of social action and interaction by a purely means-oriented instrumental rationality (Weber 1982a ).

Nietzsche and Weber have been mobilized in IR to fundamentally challenge the neo-Realist assumption that undistorted knowledge of political action must exclude ethical concerns over those actions (Walker 1993 ; Barkawi 1998 ). Instead, scholars have argued that rationality needs to be seen as a value-system peculiar to modernity rather than a transcendental entry-point to “truth.” In fact, such critiques have been used to retrieve Hans Morgenthau ’s Nietzschean and Weberian influence and to reinterpret the “godfather” of Realism as not a proto-positivist but ethically anti- positivist (Pichler 1998 ; Peterson 1999 ; Bain 2000 ; Williams 2005 ). Both of these lines of attack on neo-Realism have cleared the way for the current development of a non/anti-positivist realist position on the ethical character of formulating prudential foreign policies for a polytheistic world (Lebow 2003 ; Williams 2005 ; Molloy 2006 ).

Also gathering pace in the 1980s was an attempt by cultural and political theorists to recover a dialectical approach that presented modernity as constituted by tendencies towards both creation and destruction of freedom (for example, Berman 1983 ). Subsequently, buoyed by the new possibilities emerging from the end of the Cold War, many scholars began to likewise reinterpret the historical roots and legacies of modernity. Stephen Toulmin ( 1990 ) claimed that modern thought had skipped over the skeptical and critical attitude of sixteenth century humanism and instead had selectively appropriated the seventeenth century pursuit of mathematical and logical rigor. In a seminal address to the International Studies Association, Hayward Alker ( 1992 ) used this focus on humanism to reclaim an ethical orientation for IR theory in the new world order.

The debate still unfolds regarding the extent to which an ethical promise of freedom can be understood to be immanent in – or transformative of – the modern subject, and it has defined much of the terrain of “post-positivist” debate within IR (Hoffman 1987 ; George and Campbell 1990 ; Devetak 1995 ). But perhaps the most consistent and dominant voice in this debate has been that of Jürgen Habermas. Habermas accepts the Weberian narrative of disenchantment leading to an increased dominance of means-oriented instrumental rationality in the governing of modern society so that reason loses its emancipatory content by robbing the modern subject of an ends-orientation to the social world. In fine, politics becomes the management of technological progress (Habermas 1970 ). However, Habermas argues that the Weberian narrative should not be understood as the telos of modernity; rather, it is possible to retrieve an ends-oriented rationality within modern society.

To this effect, Habermas ( 1971 ) divides up knowledge-constitutive interests – that is to say, the means by which subjects organize social life – into three cognitive areas: technical interests that inform work life; practical interests that inform social life in terms of inter-subjectivity and norm-based communications; and emancipatory interests that inform notions of freedom from existing social constraints including distorted communication between subjects (Habermas 1983 : pt. III). For Habermas, the problem arises when means-oriented rationality expands out of the technical realm to “colonize” the practical realm of intersubjectivity and communicative action wherein consensus amongst individuals is arrived at intersubjectively through free and equal dialogue of truth claims and the judgment of existing norms (Habermas 1987a :196). Thus Habermas describes the dialectic of modernity in terms of the dual and frictional development of the instrumental rationality of the social “system” and the communicative rationality of the “life-world” (Habermas 1987 ). The moral imperative of political thought and action is to recover and promote the latter (Habermas 1987 ; 1997 ).

Habermas’s thesis on communicative action has occupied a central position in IR’s “third debate,” especially in the critique of positivist epistemology and its evacuation of ethical considerations from the study of foreign policy (for an overview see Diez and Steans 2005 ). The most sustained engagement with Habermas in IR probably comes from Andrew Linklater , who has increasingly argued that a thin moral universalism is transforming the nature of the international sphere, and that this transformation is driven by the spread of dialogic reasoning via the universalization of the modern subject across polities (Linklater 1992 ; 1998 ; 2005 ). Habermas himself has now contributed directly to the debate on the possibilities of “global citizenship” with a set of discussions on the development of the European Union. Habermas notes that the EU experiment proceeds through the frictional development of two forms of integration – functional (instrumental-rational) associated with the advance of capitalism, and social (communicative-rational) associated heretofore with the rise of the welfare state but now holding the possibility of developing a post-national constellation; and one that holds a cosmopolitan promise of cultivating a consensual and inclusive foreign policy at stark odds to the self-interested and violent nature of recent US adventures (Habermas 2001 ; 2006 ).

There are a number of problems, however, with the universal assumptions that underwrite such cosmopolitan positions, problems, moreover, that example the longstanding parochialism that has accompanied sociologies and social and political theories of modernity. First, Habermas, like many of the “modernist” theorists, renders the dialectic of freedom in purely masculine terms as the struggle over/for rationality in the public realm, yet pays little attention to how this dialectic might play out in the feminized personal realm, for example over libidinal desire (Felski 1995 ; Hutchings 2005 ). This makes it difficult to explore the complexities of women’s experiences of social change, as if the personal realm of social existence is immune from the dialectics of modernity. In fact, one might even say that it is in this realm that the struggle for freedom foundationally lies: the revolutionary ruptures responsible for the modern condition, while perhaps creating new opportunities for freedom for (some) men, created new unfreedoms for women by driving them into social roles associated with the nuclear family unit (see Kelly 1984 ).

Second, and to presage the core issues that accompany theories and narratives of modernization, despite a focus on dialogic politics Habermas shares with many normative political theorists within and outside of IR a peculiar insular geocultural outlook on modernity. For example, Habermas reads the European project of cosmopolitanism as a contestation with its own production of nationalism and barbaric fascism, but does not directly invoke the colonial dimension of European history. In effect, Habermas posits the dynamic of the dialectic of modernity firmly within European history. This sharp temporal and geocultural circumscribing of the formation and condition of the modern subject is by no means a constraint unique to Habermas. Indeed, the temporal openness that many sociologists as well as social and political theorists have ascribed to modern society has always run into tension with the selfsame sociologists’ circumscription of its geocultural origins within (Western) Europe. This has been both a theoretical and practical challenge to understanding modernity in global terms, and it is a challenge that lies at the heart of modernization theory.

Modernization

Anthropology and the primitive.

There has long been an implicit division of intellectual labor between sociology and anthropology such that the former has studied the individual in modern society, while the latter has studied the primitive in his or her community. However, even the classic sociologists – for example, Durkheim – developed their inquiry of modern social being by direct comparative reference to the non-European “primitive” milieu as much as by reference to the European traditional milieu (for example, Durkheim 1964 :58–9; see also Durkheim’s nephew and student, Mauss 1979 ). With the development of its ethnographic method in the interwar years (Malinowski 1922 ) English social anthropology opened up the primitive to detailed first-hand observation through the claim that primitive community could be scientifically assessed as a Durkheimian social system composed of roles and types (see especially Radcliffe-Brown 1948 :229–34). And with this advance, understanding of the primitive condition shifted from mythic-historical to contemporaneous-sociological, and on this basis the comparative analysis of qualitatively different political institutions could proceed both within primitive societies and between primitive and modern societies. Indeed, Meyer Fortes and Edward Evans-Pritchard ( 1940 ), although anthropologists, were amongst the first scholars to produce what would be recognized nowadays as a text on “comparative politics.”

Of special importance in this volume for IR was the difference that Fortes and Evans-Pritchard encountered within the African primitive world between centralized political authorities that displayed administrative machinery and judicial institutions and decentralized sociopolitical networks that displayed no sharp divisions of rank, status, or wealth and, crucially, seemed to lack government. The challenge presented by this latter type was to explain “what, in the absence of explicit forms of government, could be held to constitute the political structure of a people” (Fortes and Evans-Pritchard 1940 :23). Roger Masters ( 1964 ) used these musings to explain the thin sociality of the international sphere in terms of a primitive form of governance in the absence of government. Hedley Bull ( 1995 :57–62) later used Masters’s musings to, in part, inspire his influential “English School” concept of the “anarchical society.” Alternatively, Aaron Sampson ( 2002 ) has argued that the reason why Waltz could paradoxically produce a Durkheimian structural-functional theory of an anarchic state system owes much to his readings of the English school of social anthropology: Waltz’s anarchy was, in short, conceived as a “tropical anarchy.”

Thus the primitive community has been as influential a contrast to modern society as the traditional community in the attempt to describe and explain the difference between the international and domestic spheres. But what is just as important to note is that while sociology approached difference in primarily temporal terms – i.e. the rupture between the traditional and the modern – Social Anthropology sought to address difference in geocultural terms – i.e. the synchronic comparison of primitive communities and modern societies.

Explorations of Modernization

The persistence of the “primitive” in the modern world took on a geopolitically charged dimension with the emergence of the Cold War. The containment of the Communist threat required American political scientists to consider the trajectories of colonies once they had became independent (see for example Pauker 1959 ). The stakes were high: would the modernization of ex-colonial societies be so disorderly as to lead them towards the Communist orbit, or could there be an orderly management of the rupturing of old forms of social solidarity such that modernization would lead them into the American orbit? Primarily, the different geocultural bases upon which modernization in the Third World proceeded were investigated via the comparative method of political science, an approach that, as already indicated, drew significantly upon the preceding and cognate work of social anthropology (for example, Almond 1960 :3–4). Modernization theorists held to the historical narrative that posited and expected a uniformity in development patterns (manifest primarily in the rationalization of bureaucratic structures of fledgling independent states) as well as in the expansion and thickening of social relations through a complex division of labor (for example, Deutsch 1961 ). But what modernization theorists were much less sanguine about was the uniformity of trajectories towards modernity.

Of special concern, in this respect, was the fact that Third World elites inherited a state that, due to colonialism, had developed no institutions that could provide the seedbed for the modern form of political legitimacy. The attempt to retain order and stability in the midst of modernization could therefore result just as easily in authoritarian, rather than democratic, rule (see Almond 1960 , and especially Pye 1966 ). In search of a solution, Gabriel Almond and Sydney Verba looked towards England’s own transition period in the seventeenth century to recover the mix of rationalism and traditionalism that produced a “civic culture” within which both old elites could retain their legitimacy at the same time as allowing newly enfranchised members of the political community to join (Almond and Verba 1963 ). A militaristic path was posited by others (Pye 1962 ; Janowitz 1964 ), and most notably by Samuel Huntington ( 1968 ).

Political scientists were mistaken, Huntington claimed ( 1968 :5–8), if they believed that modernization in the Third World entailed the gradual diminution of government and coercion in civil affairs. In fact the opposite was the case, because the military was the one political institution that had been modernized during colonialism. Moreover, its institutional functionality was not exhausted by the exercise of violence but extended to technological advancement and industrial production as well as exhibiting a Weberian ideal-typical rationalized administration that recruited from the new middle class and not from traditional sources of authority (Huntington 1968 :201). Recruits could be acculturated into the army, trained in the ways of citizenship, and taught how to identify with a larger political self. In short, modernization through militarization would lead to a “responsible nationalism” (Pye 1962 :82) instead of a disorderly populism that might create a gravitational pull towards the communist orbit.

Indeed, the militarization of Third World development also became an issue for IR scholars who imported the notion of weak and strong states from modernization literature. Against the Realist assumption that the international system was populated by functionally like units, these scholars used the notion of weak/strong states to bring attention to the fact that not all governments enjoyed sovereign command over the internal regulation of social life, or the rational mobilization of domestic resources to pursue the national interest. Indeed, the putatively sovereign status of many Third World states depended effectively upon the guarantees of international law and material aid from First and Second World “strong” states (Buzan 1988 ; Migdal 1988 ; Jackson 1990 ). Cognate to the concerns of modernization theory, the heterogeneity between First World and Third World states was considered to be a legacy of colonial rule and the result of late entry into an already formed society of states (Ayoob 1995 ).

In the early 1990s, however, investigations of the “weak” state started to be replaced by a concern for the phenomenon of “failed” states (see for example Holsti 1995 ). But in contrast to the concern for path dependency in modernization theory this shift has reintroduced a universally applicable typology of political authority wherein failure is judged according to an ideal-typical Weberian form of modern rational authority (see for example King and Zeng 2001 ). Concomitantly, the investigation of the threat that Third World instability poses to the security of the West has now become firmly grounded in the idea that the “failed state” is a breeding ground for general social ills such as disease, crime, migrants, and most recently terrorists (Kaplan 2001 ; Rotberg 2002 ; Krasner and Pascual 2005 ). Modernization theory has effectively transmuted into the “securitization of development” discourse (see Duffield 2001 ). Indeed, back in the late 1960s Robert McNamara , reflecting upon his stint as the US Secretary of Defense and thinking forward to his “fight on poverty” as President of the World Bank, astutely noted that “in a modernizing society security means development” ( 1968 :149).

Alternatively, many scholars by the late 1980s were noting that the shift from a Fordist mode of production to flexible accumulation, the globalization of the production process it entailed, and the new international division of labor it had constructed, was giving rise to a new intensification of “time-space distantiation” (Giddens 1990 ; Jameson 1991 ). In IR, aside from the rise of globalization theories and risk analyses, treated elsewhere in this Compendium, in part this debate influenced John Ruggie ’s seminal discussion ( 1993 :144–8) on the relationship between territoriality and modernity. Out of these musings has also arisen the idea of “reflexive modernization,” which posits that agents in the original age of modernity – the industrial age – understood their task to be the dissolution of the existing stable traditional order and the reconstruction of a maximal state of human existence; however, once tradition faded into historical memory modern subjects have increasingly come to face the consequences of modernization itself. In this respect, contemporary subjects who now live in a global age might experience cognitive dissonance with the identifying categories of society and the nation-state (Featherstone et al. 1995 ; Albrow 1997 ; and in IR see Shaw 2000 ; Palan and Cameron 2003 ).

Political Economy Critiques of “Modernization”

The most concentrated and influential critique of modernization theory emerged out of the Latin American experience after World War II, wherein population growth had exceeded economic growth, raising the specter of social disorder amongst the masses. The critique finds its immediate origins in the UN-sponsored Economic Commission for Latin America, wherein economists such as Raúl Prebisch ( 1963 ) claimed that modernization was not a spontaneous but rather a politically induced process. Moreover, political intervention and regulation had to tackle the disequilibrium caused by an international division of labor that placed manufacturing in the First World and primary commodity production in the Third. Some scholars versed in Marxist-Leninist theories of imperialism argued that in the peripheral economies, unlike the core economies, capitalism had to be understood as effecting the “development of underdevelopment” (Frank 1971 ; Amin 1976 ). In other words, the condition of possibility for capitalist accumulation in the center (ex-colonial) societies was the denial of an endogenously based growth process in the periphery. Other scholars argued that this condition of dependency had, itself, a semi-autonomous developmental logic to it because much depended upon how external economic forces were mediated by the politically powerful national bourgeoisie of particular peripheral states (Dos Santos 1970 ; Cardoso and Faletto 1979 ).

For the purposes of this essay, there are two important challenges that arise from the underdevelopment and dependency critiques. First, they presented a challenge to the accepted chronology that placed Latin American societies since 1492 in the “premodern” period and that were only now, belatedly, modernizing. Secondly, dependency and underdevelopment theorists were adamant that political-economic structure could not be adequately examined only by reference to national units; instead, there was a global structure of uneven development that governed at the same time the interaction between national units and the political-economic dynamics internal to each unit. These critiques of modernization theory have been most widely disseminated throughout the social sciences by Immanuel Wallerstein ’s “world systems theory” ( 1974 ). And although they do not figure in Yoseph Lapid’s ( 1989 ) influential assessment of the “third debate,” it is interesting to remember that Wendt’s seminal contribution to the agent–structure debate in IR structure/agency debate (Wendt 1987 :335–6) began by contrasting and critiquing both Waltz’s structural realism and Wallerstein’s world systems theory.

Political-economy critiques of the unilinear modernization narrative have persisted beyond the 1980s. There has been a resurgence in interest over the theoretical challenge that the condition of structural unevenness presents to understanding the development of capitalist modernity (Rosenberg 2006 ). But such interest has also been driven by empirical phenomena. For example, the fact that slums have become the dominant mode of integrating rural dwellers into the “modern” urban milieu has given rise to a new ethical critique of the progressive assumptions of modernization theory that has been termed “post-development” (see Latouche 1993 ). In fine, the way in which neo-Liberal discourse colonizes the meaning of progress and development with the practices of capitalist modernity has never ceased to be highlighted and problematized (Escobar 1995 ).

But, again, the gendered dimensions of modernization have been consistently underexplored. A number of feminist scholars argued from the 1960s onwards that assumptions held in the Western Academy regarding the naturalness of the gendered division of labor informed much development policy to the detriment of the social standing of women in many modernizing Third World societies (Boserup 1970 ; Rogers 1980 ). Subsequently, feminist political economists introduced the patriarchal family unit to the global structure of uneven development posited by world systems theory (Mies 1986 ). And at the same time as Marxists and “post-development” scholars have critiqued the “new enclosures” of the 1980s and 1990s, feminist scholars have argued that the neo-Liberal discourse is most dangerous in its avoidance of the harm done to the social institutions of care and nurturing by structural adjustment and privatization (Sassen 2000 ; Bakker and Gill 2003 ).

The Anthropological Critique of Modernization

Social anthropology, the intellectual wellspring of modernization theory, has also come under attack (and often by anthropologists themselves) for intellectual complicity in the European colonial project (Asad 1973 ). For example, Johannes Fabian ( 1983 ) argued that, through a stadial narrative of history, ethnography places the contemporaneous object of study – cultural groups – paradoxically in the past, thus rendering them as primitive and feminized objects to be scientifically represented by the modern masculine subject in the form of the ethnographer (for the gender dimension see MacCormack and Strathern 1980 ). Such critiques of social anthropology have also been mobilized in IR to argue that the positing of an anomic international state of nature standing in contradistinction to a domestic commonwealth was a necessary ideological plank for colonial disavowal of the practical and ethical coeval relationship of colonizer and colonized (Jahn 2000 ; Inayatullah and Blaney 2004 ).

The geocultural coordinates of the primitive/modern divide have been increasingly denaturalized, and this has had the effect of bolstering a long-existing critique of the standard definition of modern subjects as – in categorical opposition to the primitive – disembedded from immediate context, thus abstracted, disenchanted, impersonalized, and universalistic in their social action and interaction. Interesting work has been done, for example, regarding the congenital racialization of modern New World identity formations built upon the legacies of slavery (for example Gilroy 1993 ). But perhaps of more significance for IR, because of the current obsession with “political Islam” due to the “global war on terror,” is the questioning of the assumption that modernization equals secularization (Philpott 2002 ).

It is becoming increasingly difficult to take as a starting point Habermas’s Weberian claim ( 1998 ) that the problem of pursuing a modern ethical life arises from the loss of the religious foundation of moral traditions; even Habermas has recently ( 2008 ) qualified – if not entirely disowned – his own secularization thesis. Furthermore, this challenge to one of the central planks of modernization theory undermines the Orientalist assumption – that religious public spheres can only ever exhibit stultified, parochial, and non-progressive ethical codes and thus must be secularized in order to take part in the modern world (see Lerner 1958 ). Although, back in the 1980s, Edward Said ( 1985 ) criticized the neoconservative acceptance of such assumptions, they were again mobilized in the 2000s by the Bush regime to justify its Middle Eastern democracy promotion agenda. While the “civic culture” argument of modernization theory accepted, for the sake of political order, a necessary – but transitional – entwining of old and new social forces in the public sphere, it might be necessary, now, to understand this combination not as a moment of transition but as the enduring substance of the modern public sphere itself. And even from a conservative standpoint, this fraught combination is effectively acknowledged in Huntington’s “clash of civilizations” argument ( 1993 ), an argument that we might also consider to be a logical endpoint of his engagement with modernization theory: Westernization is but one form of modernization.

Indeed, Huntington’s argument fits into a broader reinterpretation of modernization theory, amongst sociologists especially, that attempts to reconcile the singular concept of modernity with the existence of an array of culturally particular path trajectories. “Multiple modernities” is a thesis that attempts to allow for cultural variances – often explored through, or lifted from, ethnographic studies – while still retaining a fidelity to the sociological understanding of modernity (Eisenstadt 2000 ). While scholars of the “multiple modernities” thesis claim that it addresses the plurality of human development, it has been criticized as effectively a modernization narrative in anthropological disguise (Englund and Leach 2000 ). For example, the threshold for when a civilization can be understood to have reached its modernity is determined not by reference to the cultural codes and understandings of that civilization but by reference to an abstracted description of a particular stage of human development that is itself anchored, ultimately, in an ideal-typical reading of the West European modern experience (Bhambra 2007 ).

These disputes indicate that understandings of the condition of modernity and the processes of modernization are still foundationally challenged by the attempt to correlate and explain the relationship between temporal and geocultural difference. The challenge can be no less significant for scholars who believe that the structures, processes, and agents of international relations are quintessentially modern in form and content.

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Acknowledgments

My thanks to Gurminder Bhambra , John Holmwood , Adrienne Roberts , and especially Robert Deuchars for their erudite guidance on readings.

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How to write an introduction for a history essay

Every essay needs to begin with an introductory paragraph. It needs to be the first paragraph the marker reads.

While your introduction paragraph might be the first of the paragraphs you write, this is not the only way to do it.

You can choose to write your introduction after you have written the rest of your essay.

This way, you will know what you have argued, and this might make writing the introduction easier.

Either approach is fine. If you do write your introduction first, ensure that you go back and refine it once you have completed your essay. 

What is an ‘introduction paragraph’?

An introductory paragraph is a single paragraph at the start of your essay that prepares your reader for the argument you are going to make in your body paragraphs .

It should provide all of the necessary historical information about your topic and clearly state your argument so that by the end of the paragraph, the marker knows how you are going to structure the rest of your essay.

In general, you should never use quotes from sources in your introduction.

Introduction paragraph structure

While your introduction paragraph does not have to be as long as your body paragraphs , it does have a specific purpose, which you must fulfil.

A well-written introduction paragraph has the following four-part structure (summarised by the acronym BHES).

B – Background sentences

H – Hypothesis

E – Elaboration sentences

S - Signpost sentence

Each of these elements are explained in further detail, with examples, below:

1. Background sentences

The first two or three sentences of your introduction should provide a general introduction to the historical topic which your essay is about. This is done so that when you state your hypothesis , your reader understands the specific point you are arguing about.

Background sentences explain the important historical period, dates, people, places, events and concepts that will be mentioned later in your essay. This information should be drawn from your background research . 

Example background sentences:

Middle Ages (Year 8 Level)

Castles were an important component of Medieval Britain from the time of the Norman conquest in 1066 until they were phased out in the 15 th and 16 th centuries. Initially introduced as wooden motte and bailey structures on geographical strongpoints, they were rapidly replaced by stone fortresses which incorporated sophisticated defensive designs to improve the defenders’ chances of surviving prolonged sieges.

WWI (Year 9 Level)

The First World War began in 1914 following the assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand. The subsequent declarations of war from most of Europe drew other countries into the conflict, including Australia. The Australian Imperial Force joined the war as part of Britain’s armed forces and were dispatched to locations in the Middle East and Western Europe.

Civil Rights (Year 10 Level)

The 1967 Referendum sought to amend the Australian Constitution in order to change the legal standing of the indigenous people in Australia. The fact that 90% of Australians voted in favour of the proposed amendments has been attributed to a series of significant events and people who were dedicated to the referendum’s success.

Ancient Rome (Year 11/12 Level)  

In the late second century BC, the Roman novus homo Gaius Marius became one of the most influential men in the Roman Republic. Marius gained this authority through his victory in the Jugurthine War, with his defeat of Jugurtha in 106 BC, and his triumph over the invading Germanic tribes in 101 BC, when he crushed the Teutones at the Battle of Aquae Sextiae (102 BC) and the Cimbri at the Battle of Vercellae (101 BC). Marius also gained great fame through his election to the consulship seven times.

2. Hypothesis

Once you have provided historical context for your essay in your background sentences, you need to state your hypothesis .

A hypothesis is a single sentence that clearly states the argument that your essay will be proving in your body paragraphs .

A good hypothesis contains both the argument and the reasons in support of your argument. 

Example hypotheses:

Medieval castles were designed with features that nullified the superior numbers of besieging armies but were ultimately made obsolete by the development of gunpowder artillery.

Australian soldiers’ opinion of the First World War changed from naïve enthusiasm to pessimistic realism as a result of the harsh realities of modern industrial warfare.

The success of the 1967 Referendum was a direct result of the efforts of First Nations leaders such as Charles Perkins, Faith Bandler and the Federal Council for the Advancement of Aborigines and Torres Strait Islanders.

Gaius Marius was the most one of the most significant personalities in the 1 st century BC due to his effect on the political, military and social structures of the Roman state.

3. Elaboration sentences

Once you have stated your argument in your hypothesis , you need to provide particular information about how you’re going to prove your argument.

Your elaboration sentences should be one or two sentences that provide specific details about how you’re going to cover the argument in your three body paragraphs.

You might also briefly summarise two or three of your main points.

Finally, explain any important key words, phrases or concepts that you’ve used in your hypothesis, you’ll need to do this in your elaboration sentences.

Example elaboration sentences:

By the height of the Middle Ages, feudal lords were investing significant sums of money by incorporating concentric walls and guard towers to maximise their defensive potential. These developments were so successful that many medieval armies avoided sieges in the late period.

Following Britain's official declaration of war on Germany, young Australian men voluntarily enlisted into the army, which was further encouraged by government propaganda about the moral justifications for the conflict. However, following the initial engagements on the Gallipoli peninsula, enthusiasm declined.

The political activity of key indigenous figures and the formation of activism organisations focused on indigenous resulted in a wider spread of messages to the general Australian public. The generation of powerful images and speeches has been frequently cited by modern historians as crucial to the referendum results.

While Marius is best known for his military reforms, it is the subsequent impacts of this reform on the way other Romans approached the attainment of magistracies and how public expectations of military leaders changed that had the longest impacts on the late republican period.

4. Signpost sentence

The final sentence of your introduction should prepare the reader for the topic of your first body paragraph. The main purpose of this sentence is to provide cohesion between your introductory paragraph and you first body paragraph .

Therefore, a signpost sentence indicates where you will begin proving the argument that you set out in your hypothesis and usually states the importance of the first point that you’re about to make. 

Example signpost sentences:

The early development of castles is best understood when examining their military purpose.

The naïve attitudes of those who volunteered in 1914 can be clearly seen in the personal letters and diaries that they themselves wrote.

The significance of these people is evident when examining the lack of political representation the indigenous people experience in the early half of the 20 th century.

The origin of Marius’ later achievements was his military reform in 107 BC, which occurred when he was first elected as consul.

Putting it all together

Once you have written all four parts of the BHES structure, you should have a completed introduction paragraph. In the examples above, we have shown each part separately. Below you will see the completed paragraphs so that you can appreciate what an introduction should look like.

Example introduction paragraphs: 

Castles were an important component of Medieval Britain from the time of the Norman conquest in 1066 until they were phased out in the 15th and 16th centuries. Initially introduced as wooden motte and bailey structures on geographical strongpoints, they were rapidly replaced by stone fortresses which incorporated sophisticated defensive designs to improve the defenders’ chances of surviving prolonged sieges. Medieval castles were designed with features that nullified the superior numbers of besieging armies, but were ultimately made obsolete by the development of gunpowder artillery. By the height of the Middle Ages, feudal lords were investing significant sums of money by incorporating concentric walls and guard towers to maximise their defensive potential. These developments were so successful that many medieval armies avoided sieges in the late period. The early development of castles is best understood when examining their military purpose.

The First World War began in 1914 following the assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand. The subsequent declarations of war from most of Europe drew other countries into the conflict, including Australia. The Australian Imperial Force joined the war as part of Britain’s armed forces and were dispatched to locations in the Middle East and Western Europe. Australian soldiers’ opinion of the First World War changed from naïve enthusiasm to pessimistic realism as a result of the harsh realities of modern industrial warfare. Following Britain's official declaration of war on Germany, young Australian men voluntarily enlisted into the army, which was further encouraged by government propaganda about the moral justifications for the conflict. However, following the initial engagements on the Gallipoli peninsula, enthusiasm declined. The naïve attitudes of those who volunteered in 1914 can be clearly seen in the personal letters and diaries that they themselves wrote.

The 1967 Referendum sought to amend the Australian Constitution in order to change the legal standing of the indigenous people in Australia. The fact that 90% of Australians voted in favour of the proposed amendments has been attributed to a series of significant events and people who were dedicated to the referendum’s success. The success of the 1967 Referendum was a direct result of the efforts of First Nations leaders such as Charles Perkins, Faith Bandler and the Federal Council for the Advancement of Aborigines and Torres Strait Islanders. The political activity of key indigenous figures and the formation of activism organisations focused on indigenous resulted in a wider spread of messages to the general Australian public. The generation of powerful images and speeches has been frequently cited by modern historians as crucial to the referendum results. The significance of these people is evident when examining the lack of political representation the indigenous people experience in the early half of the 20th century.

In the late second century BC, the Roman novus homo Gaius Marius became one of the most influential men in the Roman Republic. Marius gained this authority through his victory in the Jugurthine War, with his defeat of Jugurtha in 106 BC, and his triumph over the invading Germanic tribes in 101 BC, when he crushed the Teutones at the Battle of Aquae Sextiae (102 BC) and the Cimbri at the Battle of Vercellae (101 BC). Marius also gained great fame through his election to the consulship seven times. Gaius Marius was the most one of the most significant personalities in the 1st century BC due to his effect on the political, military and social structures of the Roman state. While Marius is best known for his military reforms, it is the subsequent impacts of this reform on the way other Romans approached the attainment of magistracies and how public expectations of military leaders changed that had the longest impacts on the late republican period. The origin of Marius’ later achievements was his military reform in 107 BC, which occurred when he was first elected as consul.

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Introduction to Modern European History

History 102d.

The Essay: History and Definition

Attempts at Defining Slippery Literary Form

• An Introduction to Punctuation
• Ph.D., Rhetoric and English, University of Georgia
• M.A., Modern English and American Literature, University of Leicester
• B.A., English, State University of New York

"One damned thing after another" is how Aldous Huxley described the essay: "a literary device for saying almost everything about almost anything."

As definitions go, Huxley's is no more or less exact than Francis Bacon's "dispersed meditations," Samuel Johnson's "loose sally of the mind" or Edward Hoagland's "greased pig."

Since Montaigne adopted the term "essay" in the 16th century to describe his "attempts" at self-portrayal in prose , this slippery form has resisted any sort of precise, universal definition. But that won't an attempt to define the term in this brief article.

In the broadest sense, the term "essay" can refer to just about any short piece of nonfiction  -- an editorial, feature story, critical study, even an excerpt from a book. However, literary definitions of a genre are usually a bit fussier.

One way to start is to draw a distinction between articles , which are read primarily for the information they contain, and essays, in which the pleasure of reading takes precedence over the information in the text . Although handy, this loose division points chiefly to kinds of reading rather than to kinds of texts. So here are some other ways that the essay might be defined.

Standard definitions often stress the loose structure or apparent shapelessness of the essay. Johnson, for example, called the essay "an irregular, indigested piece, not a regular and orderly performance."

True, the writings of several well-known essayists ( William Hazlitt and Ralph Waldo Emerson , for instance, after the fashion of Montaigne) can be recognized by the casual nature of their explorations -- or "ramblings." But that's not to say that anything goes. Each of these essayists follows certain organizing principles of his own.

Oddly enough, critics haven't paid much attention to the principles of design actually employed by successful essayists. These principles are rarely formal patterns of organization , that is, the "modes of exposition" found in many composition textbooks. Instead, they might be described as patterns of thought -- progressions of a mind working out an idea.

Unfortunately, the customary divisions of the essay into opposing types --  formal and informal, impersonal and familiar  -- are also troublesome. Consider this suspiciously neat dividing line drawn by Michele Richman:

Post-Montaigne, the essay split into two distinct modalities: One remained informal, personal, intimate, relaxed, conversational and often humorous; the other, dogmatic, impersonal, systematic and expository .

The terms used here to qualify the term "essay" are convenient as a kind of critical shorthand, but they're imprecise at best and potentially contradictory. Informal can describe either the shape or the tone of the work -- or both. Personal refers to the stance of the essayist, conversational to the language of the piece, and expository to its content and aim. When the writings of particular essayists are studied carefully, Richman's "distinct modalities" grow increasingly vague.

But as fuzzy as these terms might be, the qualities of shape and personality, form and voice, are clearly integral to an understanding of the essay as an artful literary kind. 

Many of the terms used to characterize the essay -- personal, familiar, intimate, subjective, friendly, conversational -- represent efforts to identify the genre's most powerful organizing force: the rhetorical voice or projected character (or persona ) of the essayist.

In his study of Charles Lamb , Fred Randel observes that the "principal declared allegiance" of the essay is to "the experience of the essayistic voice." Similarly, British author Virginia Woolf has described this textual quality of personality or voice as "the essayist's most proper but most dangerous and delicate tool."

Similarly, at the beginning of "Walden, "  Henry David Thoreau reminds the reader that "it is ... always the first person that is speaking." Whether expressed directly or not, there's always an "I" in the essay -- a voice shaping the text and fashioning a role for the reader.

Fictional Qualities

The terms "voice" and "persona" are often used interchangeably to suggest the rhetorical nature of the essayist himself on the page. At times an author may consciously strike a pose or play a role. He can, as E.B. White confirms in his preface to "The Essays," "be any sort of person, according to his mood or his subject matter." 

In "What I Think, What I Am," essayist Edward Hoagland points out that "the artful 'I' of an essay can be as chameleon as any narrator in fiction." Similar considerations of voice and persona lead Carl H. Klaus to conclude that the essay is "profoundly fictive":

It seems to convey the sense of human presence that is indisputably related to its author's deepest sense of self, but that is also a complex illusion of that self -- an enactment of it as if it were both in the process of thought and in the process of sharing the outcome of that thought with others.

But to acknowledge the fictional qualities of the essay isn't to deny its special status as nonfiction.

Reader's Role

A basic aspect of the relationship between a writer (or a writer's persona) and a reader (the implied audience ) is the presumption that what the essayist says is literally true. The difference between a short story, say, and an autobiographical essay  lies less in the narrative structure or the nature of the material than in the narrator's implied contract with the reader about the kind of truth being offered.

Under the terms of this contract, the essayist presents experience as it actually occurred -- as it occurred, that is, in the version by the essayist. The narrator of an essay, the editor George Dillon says, "attempts to convince the reader that its model of experience of the world is valid." 

In other words, the reader of an essay is called on to join in the making of meaning. And it's up to the reader to decide whether to play along. Viewed in this way, the drama of an essay might lie in the conflict between the conceptions of self and world that the reader brings to a text and the conceptions that the essayist tries to arouse.

At Last, a Definition—of Sorts

With these thoughts in mind, the essay might be defined as a short work of nonfiction, often artfully disordered and highly polished, in which an authorial voice invites an implied reader to accept as authentic a certain textual mode of experience.

Sure. But it's still a greased pig.

Sometimes the best way to learn exactly what an essay is -- is to read some great ones. You'll find more than 300 of them in this collection of  Classic British and American Essays and Speeches .

• What is a Familiar Essay in Composition?
• What Does "Persona" Mean?
• What Are the Different Types and Characteristics of Essays?
• Rhetorical Analysis Definition and Examples
• What Is a Personal Essay (Personal Statement)?
• The Writer's Voice in Literature and Rhetoric
• Point of View in Grammar and Composition
• What Is Colloquial Style or Language?
• What Is Literary Journalism?
• Definition and Examples of Formal Essays
• What Is Expository Writing?
• The Difference Between an Article and an Essay
• First-Person Point of View
• What Is Tone In Writing?
• An Introduction to Literary Nonfiction

Visiting Sleeping Beauties: Reawakening Fashion?

You must join the virtual exhibition queue when you arrive. We may not admit visitors near the end of the day.

Heilbrunn Timeline of Art History Essays

Impressionism: art and modernity.

Garden at Sainte-Adresse

Claude Monet

Porte de la Reine at Aigues-Mortes

Jean-Frédéric Bazille

La Grenouillère

The Bridge at Villeneuve-la-Garenne

Alfred Sisley

Edouard Manet

Madame Georges Charpentier (Marguérite-Louise Lemonnier, 1848–1904) and Her Children, Georgette-Berthe (1872–1945) and Paul-Émile-Charles (1875–1895)

Auguste Renoir

The Monet Family in Their Garden at Argenteuil

The Dance Class

Edgar Degas

Mademoiselle Bécat at the Café des Ambassadeurs, Paris

Côte des Grouettes, near Pontoise

Camille Pissarro

Mary Cassatt at the Louvre: The Etruscan Gallery

Allée of Chestnut Trees

Young Woman Seated on a Sofa

Berthe Morisot

Two Young Girls at the Piano

Dancers in the Rehearsal Room with a Double Bass

Young Girl Bathing

Young Woman Knitting

The Garden of the Tuileries on a Spring Morning

Margaret Samu Institute of Fine Arts, New York University

October 2004

In 1874, a group of artists called the Anonymous Society of Painters, Sculptors, Printmakers, etc. organized an exhibition in Paris that launched the movement called Impressionism. Its founding members included Claude Monet , Edgar Degas , and Camille Pissarro, among others. The group was unified only by its independence from the official annual Salon , for which a jury of artists from the Académie des Beaux-Arts selected artworks and awarded medals. The independent artists, despite their diverse approaches to painting, appeared to contemporaries as a group. While conservative critics panned their work for its unfinished, sketchlike appearance, more progressive writers praised it for its depiction of modern life. Edmond Duranty, for example, in his 1876 essay La Nouvelle Peinture (The New Painting), wrote of their depiction of contemporary subject matter in a suitably innovative style as a revolution in painting. The exhibiting collective avoided choosing a title that would imply a unified movement or school, although some of them subsequently adopted the name by which they would eventually be known, the Impressionists. Their work is recognized today for its modernity, embodied in its rejection of established styles, its incorporation of new technology and ideas, and its depiction of modern life.

Claude Monet’s Impression, Sunrise (Musée Marmottan Monet, Paris) exhibited in 1874, gave the Impressionist movement its name when the critic Louis Leroy accused it of being a sketch or “impression,” not a finished painting. It demonstrates the techniques many of the independent artists adopted: short, broken brushstrokes that barely convey forms, pure unblended colors, and an emphasis on the effects of light. Rather than neutral white, grays, and blacks, Impressionists often rendered shadows and highlights in color. The artists’ loose brushwork gives an effect of spontaneity and effortlessness that masks their often carefully constructed compositions, such as in Alfred Sisley’s 1878 Allée of Chestnut Trees ( 1975.1.211 ). This seemingly casual style became widely accepted, even in the official Salon, as the new language with which to depict modern life.

In addition to their radical technique, the bright colors of Impressionist canvases were shocking for eyes accustomed to the more sober colors of academic painting. Many of the independent artists chose not to apply the thick golden varnish that painters customarily used to tone down their works. The paints themselves were more vivid as well. The nineteenth century saw the development of synthetic pigments for artists’ paints, providing vibrant shades of blue, green, and yellow that painters had never used before. Édouard Manet’s 1874 Boating ( 29.100.115 ), for example, features an expanse of the new cerulean blue and synthetic ultramarine. Depicted in a radically cropped, Japanese-inspired composition , the fashionable boater and his companion embody modernity in their form, their subject matter, and the very materials used to paint them.

Such images of suburban and rural leisure outside of Paris were a popular subject for the Impressionists, notably Monet and Auguste Renoir . Several of them lived in the country for part or all of the year. New railway lines radiating out from the city made travel so convenient that Parisians virtually flooded into the countryside every weekend. While some of the Impressionists, such as Pissarro, focused on the daily life of local villagers in Pontoise, most preferred to depict the vacationers’ rural pastimes. The boating and bathing establishments that flourished in these regions became favorite motifs. In his 1869 La Grenouillère ( 29.100.112 ), for example, Monet’s characteristically loose painting style complements the leisure activities he portrays. Landscapes , which figure prominently in Impressionist art, were also brought up to date with innovative compositions, light effects, and use of color. Monet in particular emphasized the modernization of the landscape by including railways and factories, signs of encroaching industrialization that would have seemed inappropriate to the Barbizon artists of the previous generation.

Perhaps the prime site of modernity in the late nineteenth century was the city of Paris itself, renovated between 1853 and 1870 under Emperor Napoleon III. His prefect, Baron Haussmann, laid the plans, tearing down old buildings to create more open space for a cleaner, safer city. Also contributing to its new look was the Siege of Paris during the Franco-Prussian War (1870–71), which required reconstructing the parts of the city that had been destroyed. Impressionists such as Pissarro and Gustave Caillebotte enthusiastically painted the renovated city, employing their new style to depict its wide boulevards, public gardens, and grand buildings. While some focused on the cityscapes, others turned their sights to the city’s inhabitants. The Paris population explosion after the Franco-Prussian War gave them a tremendous amount of material for their scenes of urban life. Characteristic of these scenes was the mixing of social classes that took place in public settings. Degas and Caillebotte focused on working people, including singers and dancers , as well as workmen. Others, including Berthe Morisot and Mary Cassatt , depicted the privileged classes. The Impressionists also painted new forms of leisure, including theatrical entertainment (such as Cassatt’s 1878 In the Loge [Museum of Fine Arts, Boston]), cafés, popular concerts, and dances. Taking an approach similar to Naturalist writers such as Émile Zola, the painters of urban scenes depicted fleeting yet typical moments in the lives of characters they observed. Caillebotte’s 1877 Paris Street, Rainy Day (Art Institute, Chicago) exemplifies how these artists abandoned sentimental depictions and explicit narratives, adopting instead a detached, objective view that merely suggests what is going on.

The independent collective had a fluid membership over the course of the eight exhibitions it organized between 1874 and 1886, with the number of participating artists ranging from nine to thirty. Pissarro, the eldest, was the only artist who exhibited in all eight shows, while Morisot participated in seven. Ideas for an independent exhibition had been discussed as early as 1867, but the Franco-Prussian War intervened. The painter Frédéric Bazille, who had been leading the efforts, was killed in the war. Subsequent exhibitions were headed by different artists. Philosophical and political differences among the artists led to heated disputes and fractures, causing fluctuations in the contributors. The exhibitions even included the works of more conservative artists who simply refused to submit their work to the Salon jury. Also participating in the independent exhibitions were Paul Cézanne and Paul Gauguin , whose later styles grew out of their early work with the Impressionists.

The last of the independent exhibitions in 1886 also saw the beginning of a new phase in avant-garde painting. By this time, few of the participants were working in a recognizably Impressionist manner. Most of the core members were developing new, individual styles that caused ruptures in the group’s tenuous unity. Pissarro promoted the participation of Georges Seurat and Paul Signac, in addition to adopting their new technique based on points of pure color, known as Neo-Impressionism . The young Gauguin was making forays into Primitivism. The nascent Symbolist Odilon Redon also contributed, though his style was unlike that of any other participant. Because of the group’s stylistic and philosophical fragmentation, and because of the need for assured income, some of the core members such as Monet and Renoir exhibited in venues where their works were more likely to sell.

Its many facets and varied participants make the Impressionist movement difficult to define. Indeed, its life seems as fleeting as the light effects it sought to capture. Even so, Impressionism was a movement of enduring consequence, as its embrace of modernity made it the springboard for later avant-garde art in Europe.

Samu, Margaret. “Impressionism: Art and Modernity.” In Heilbrunn Timeline of Art History . New York: The Metropolitan Museum of Art, 2000–. http://www.metmuseum.org/toah/hd/imml/hd_imml.htm (October 2004)

Further Reading

Bomford, David, et al. Art in the Making: Impressionism . Exhibition catalogue.. New Haven and London: National Gallery, 1990.

Herbert, Robert L. Impressionism: Art, Leisure, and Parisian Society . New Haven: Yale University Press, 1988.

House, John. Monet: Nature into Art . New Haven: Yale University Press, 1986.

Moffett, Charles S., et al. The New Painting: Impressionism 1874–1886 . San Francisco: Fine Arts Museums of San Francisco, 1986.

Nochlin, Linda, ed. Impressionism and Post-Impressionism, 1874–1904: Sources and Documents . Englewood Cliffs, N.J.: Prentice-Hall, 1966.

Rewald, John. The History of Impressionism . Rev. and enl. ed. . New York: Museum of Modern Art, 1961.

Tinterow, Gary, and Henri Loyrette. Origins of Impressionism . Exhibition catalogue.. New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1994. See on MetPublications

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The Meaning of Gay: Identity and Expression in Contemporary Society

This essay about the evolution of the term “gay” in contemporary society explores its multifaceted nature across historical, cultural, legal, and personal dimensions. It discusses the transformation from a stigmatized label to a symbol of pride, highlighting the Stonewall Riots, media representation, intersectionality, and the impact of legal advancements like same-sex marriage. The text underscores the ongoing challenges and the significance of personal authenticity within the gay community, emphasizing a broader understanding of identity and human rights.

How it works

In modern society, the identity encapsulated by the term “gay” has evolved substantially, signifying a profound shift in both cultural perception and individual self-expression that transcends simple sexual orientation. This transformation mirrors significant societal progress and fosters a broader discourse on identity, acceptance, and human rights. Exploring the nuanced aspects of what it means to be gay today involves delving into personal identity layers, societal roles, and the continued fight for recognition and equality.

At its essence, being gay denotes romantic, emotional, and sexual attraction to the same sex.

In the past, this definition fostered both secretive solidarity and widespread discrimination. The late 1960s, particularly marked by the Stonewall Riots of 1969 in New York City, ignited the LGBTQ+ rights movement, turning the term “gay” from a pejorative into a banner of pride and resistance against societal and institutional prejudice.

Since Stonewall, the connotations of being gay have broadened and deepened. Adopting this identity now is often a source of pride, albeit paired with significant hurdles. The AIDS epidemic in the 1980s and 1990s, for instance, brought severe stigma but also sparked intense activism. This period of adversity galvanized the gay community to advocate for enhanced medical research, treatment options, and governmental policies, leading to increased visibility and stronger community solidarity.

The cultural understanding of “gay” has expanded from a limited label to an integral part of wider discussions about identity. Media portrayals have evolved significantly, shifting from stereotypical and marginalized depictions to more nuanced and central representations in films, television, and literature. This evolution in media not only mirrors but also shapes public perceptions, promoting a more nuanced understanding and acceptance of gay identities.

Moreover, today, being gay is seen as one facet of a multifaceted personal identity, intersecting with race, ethnicity, religion, and class. This intersectionality emphasizes the varied experiences and challenges within the gay community, illustrating how different factors such as race and socioeconomic status can profoundly affect individual experiences.

Legally and politically, significant strides, such as the legalization of same-sex marriage in many parts of the world, have reshaped societal discussions, moving from debates over basic rights to broader issues of equality and justice. Nonetheless, these advancements do not fully resolve ongoing discrimination and violence against LGBTQ+ individuals, underscoring the continued necessity for advocacy and change.

In the personal sphere, embracing a gay identity is profoundly about authenticity and self-expression. It involves the bravery to love openly, the liberty to form families, and the fundamental right to live without fear. This personal journey is a vital aspect of the gay experience, resonating deeply within individual narratives and collective experiences across the community.

In sum, to comprehend what it means to be gay in the modern world is to recognize its richly diverse nature. It’s a reflection of a spectrum of experiences that are continually shaped by historical events, cultural shifts, political changes, and personal growth. As societal understanding evolves, so too will the definition of being gay, capturing the ongoing interplay between individual lives and broader societal movements. This complex understanding not only deepens our insights into the LGBTQ+ community but also enriches our broader appreciation of human diversity.

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