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of the Present
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Intervention
One tries, one strives, but in the end it is not attained. Let none be im-
patient with this! The important thing [ . . . is always] how we deal with
humanity as it is, explicable or inexplicable; the life of the individual, of
generations, of nations; and at times, with the hand of God above them.
—Leopold von Ranke
The above quote by Ranke follows his more celebrated but also vilified his-
torical aspiration to show the past event wie es eigentlich gewesen—“how it
actually happened” or “how it actually was.” And it is here that I want to
begin my exploration of the fantasy of a historical science. I do not wish to
point to Ranke as indicative of scientific history. Instead, I want to empha-
size the way that Ranke’s later statement about the limitations of historical
inquiry has been effaced by his bolder, more positivist, and definitive claim
about presenting the past “as it actually happened”: just the facts.1 Historians
have always been adept at offering paradigms they know are unattainable
and then effacing those aspects that expose the instability or limitations of
their model.
What is under consideration here is the resurgence or return of science in
historical method, yet my focus is not on “science” per se but rather on the
fantasy of what science is or could be for the practice of history. This most
recent infatuation with science is new and troubling because I believe it
serves to close off discussion and debate between historians and scientists
rather than promote it, and also because the impetus for it is, to my mind,
primarily a financial one. But the fantasy of a historical science, even in its
most current incarnation, is in line with a tension that has haunted history
since the days of Herodotus. For Aristotle, the problem with history was not
that it was insufficiently “scientific” but that it privileged the particular over
the universal: “This is why poetry is more philosophical and more serious
History of the Present: A Journal of Critical History, Vol. 6, No. 1, Spring 2016.
Copyright © 2016 University of Illinois Press
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many of the participants in the roundtable to biology nor is it what has led
to the resurgence of scientific method for history in our current climate. In
his concluding comments to the roundtable, the paleontologist Norman
Macleod summarized the ground upon which the collaboration between
biology and history is taking place. Basing his comments on his reading of
the individual panelists’ contributions and incorporating as well the title of
his own essay, “Historical Inquiry as a Distributed Nomothetic, Evolutionary
Discipline,” Macleod harkened back in his remarks to the general (nomo-
thetic) explanatory laws at play in Hempel:
Biology, like all sciences, is grounded on the twin foundations of the discovery of new
facts and the testing of statements regarding the manner in which natural processes
operate. New facts are discovered (usually) by traveling to new locations either physi-
cally (e.g., trained experts gaining access to unexplored regions) or via technologies
that extend human senses (e.g., invention of the telescope, microscope, and synchro-
tron). Hypothesis tests are constructed, and evaluated, on the principles of inferential
logic and may use results obtained through the employment of advanced technologies,
though this is not always the case.14
The practice of science is in many ways identical to the practice of history. Scientists,
like historians, selectively choose which ‘facts’ they will pay attention to or collect. This
choice is informed by the theories and hypotheses that form the core structure of scien-
tific investigation, as well as by the backgrounds and personal histories of individual
scientists. As a result, scientists, like historians, are influenced by the society that sur-
rounds them, up to and including interpretation of the results of their investigations.
Science is philosophically committed to progressivism and deterministic causality,
despite in some cases admitting important roles for contingency and constraint.15
While there are several issues at play here, I first want to emphasize that
the rapprochement or conversation between biology and history here seems
quite one-sided as it takes place on the nomothetic grounds ascribed to sci-
ence rather than through an investigation of the ways such laws are rendered
problematic through historical inquiry.16 Interestingly, Macleod is aware
of this dilemma more generally; he questions the historian contributors’
emphasis on the light that biological concepts and theories can shine on
historical events but not on the light historical work can shine on concepts
and theories in biology. He comments: “Historians should not suppose that
they cannot, or should not, engage fully with this process of disciplinary
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I want to make several points about these claims. Firstly, after raising
serious doubts about the viability of behavioral modules, Smail nevertheless
deploys such a module based on primate studies. But secondly, in doing so
Smail, like McNeil, transposes research from one temporal scheme onto
another (research into baboon behavior and that of eleventh- and twelfth-
century European castellans) and thus creates a transhistorical and func-
tionally universal model that is applicable across time and space. He does
this even as he argues for a field of evolutionary adaptation in which certain
neural configurations are likely to evolve due to functional appropriateness,
implying significant change over time. Thus, the constancy of the explana-
tory mechanism runs contrary to the historically specific condition of evo-
lutionary adaptation at any given point in time or place. For neuroscientists,
these are speculative paradigms. But in Smail’s narrative they are natural-
ized, and what’s more, they become the unquestioned field of evolutionary
adaptation, outstripping the particular nature of the special sciences that
lack “universal laws.”
But there is a larger and more pernicious contradiction at work. Smail’s
rhetoric often presents the rapprochement of science and history as ca-
pable of dispelling the anthropocentric focus of the historical discipline. In
the co-written introduction to Deep History: the Architecture of Past and Present,
Smail and Shyrock write: “A century ago, modern historiography was built
on the scaffolding of progress, a story line rooted in the rise of civilization
and the break with nature that supposedly took place some five thousand
to six thousand years ago. This narrative enshrined a triumphalist account
of human reason.”25 The co-authors lament that human exceptionalism,
based on the opposition between “nature” and “civilization,” is still at work
in our modern historical models. By contrast, they argue that the turn to
scientific models for the practice of history will collapse this false binary.
Such a collapse would liberate us from human exceptionalism through a
deeper understanding of time that reaches back before textual historical
evidence, and would lead to a more broad acceptance of what and who count
as “history.” By collapsing the distinction between the natural and the human
sciences, such a move would also eliminate the privileging of written texts,
and would thus remove the cultural and intellectual biases that sustain the
narrative of the “powerful men of the past.” Following this logic, it is not just
our understanding of time but also the field of potential historical actors
(human or otherwise) that expands: “The logic that makes Neanderthals
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and other early hominins visible to a deep history is the same logic that has
made subalterns everywhere visible to modern historical practice.”26
But what appears to be an eminently democratizing sentiment is actually
deeply troubling because of the way it evacuates politics. The critique of rea-
son as the exemplar of the human is one that has animated many feminist,
queer, and critical race theorists, and historians have worked with this notion
since at least the 1970s. Here, though, Smail and Shryock ignore it and sub-
stitute instead a false promise of universal humanity, one that depoliticizes
history and historiography. What’s more, while Smail regularly presents the
argument for a rapprochement of history and science as one of increased tem-
poral distance and a more inclusive scope, it is an argument predicated on the
very “scaffolding of progress” he decries. This is because he understands our
contemporary moment as a privileged one—a time when science has suffi-
ciently advanced so that we can finally understand history in a scientific man-
ner, and we can thus cast away our antiquated ways of interpreting the past.
Whereas before a “critical absence of data made a deep history of humanity
methodologically unthinkable,” now “the accumulation of knowledge about
the human past has become so impressive that a rapprochement [between
history and science] is needed” because “the natural-selection paradigm
has enabled us to generate highly nuanced understandings not only of how
the hominin lineage has evolved but also of how social forms and cultural
capacities have developed over long stretches of time.”27
But from this enlightened position, the proponents of Deep History ac-
tually seem to do more to close off conversations between history and the
sciences than they do to foster them because they imply that those historians
who remain skeptical of the scientific model are simply unenlightented.
Those who question whether “history and biology share common ground”
are under the influence of “a history of disciplinary misunderstanding and
mistrust.”28 The idea of a split between the humanities and the natural sci-
ences is taken to be parochial, disciplinarily hidebound, or out of touch, and
this then suppresses the crucial question posed by Roger Cooter: is it really
in everyone’s interest to resolve the old ‘two cultures’ war with the victory
of science? Or is it simply culturally convenient to purport it to be so?29
The resolution takes place on the terms of the natural sciences evacuated
of politics and thus these sorts of critical questions are disallowed.
In Lynn Hunt’s contribution to the recent roundtable she follows Smail’s
lead, turning to neuroscience to stimulate “new ways of thinking about
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acquiring evidence and then putting them in the same buckets. We are not
innovating the historical discipline with the data, codes, or maps we now
can acquire, nor are we doing the epistemological work of inquiring as to
what is happening to key historical apparatuses such as the archive, and how
this effects our discipline. When looking at visual imaging of the brain, are
we questioning the nature of visual appropriation or coding that delivers
us this information, or are we taking it as brute fact? Data is a “given,” but
by whom and to what purpose?36 After all, the image is not the thing; there
is a way in which the historian can lose track of the object that is the past
by creating a map of it and then assuming the map to be the determinative
guide and not a secondary representation.
This lack of critical self-awareness in the appropriation of scientific mod-
els, along with its possible consequences, was made painfully apparent in
Ian Hesketh’s recent article “The Story of Big History,” which appeared in
this journal. In his article, Hesketh demonstrates the ways that, despite the
claim to bridge the gap between the humanities and the sciences through a
grand synthesis, “big historians borrow not just the facts that are produced
in these disciplines but, more importantly, the rhetorical tropes of the sci-
ence literature that popularizes this work, tropes that in a very general way
imbue the science being popularized with an anthropomorphic quality.”37
But a larger question looms. Why give pride of place to the hard sciences,
a discourse and set of disciplines so fraught with problems of hierarchy,
gender bias, and presentism? The history of these sciences is profoundly
troubling in relation to social programs and politics, and one need only think
of Victorian racial theory or Nazi eugenics to give one pause.
At the most cynical level my answer is that despite the many good inten-
tions of those scholars seeking to expand the horizons of the historical dis-
cipline, the question is primarily an economic one. The criteria to determine
which disciplines are considered “serious” are no longer those of Aristotle,
but rather pertain to funding, though it seems to be the case that present-
ing a universal and unifying explanatory platform is a key to success in that
arena, so perhaps Aristotle was right all along. Over the past twenty years,
historians have moved increasingly toward affiliation first with the social
sciences and then with the hard sciences; such movement tracks the rise
of the STEM initiative and the perceived crisis of the humanities. It is not
surprising or even a coincidence that as federal, state, and local governments
have invested increased amounts in the “hard sciences,” enrollments in the
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humanities and history in particular have declined. This is then coupled with
a logic of impact assessment where funding agencies measure the question
of whether research is worthwhile on a metric of funds previously gained.
The money follows the money and, in this current incarnation, the ideas
follow the funding and not vice versa.
The pursuit of capital stimulates ideas and paradigms, and one result
is that historians now run toward science in search of those funds. To my
mind, the interpretative choices of Lynn Hunt, Daniel Smail, and the other
members of the “neurohistory group” at UCLA, or the Bill Gates-supported
proponents of Big History must be seen in this light, whatever the merits of
their particular interpretations. Such choices also point to the way that their
supposedly insurgent position against the mainstream of historical work
is actually, in the larger sense, aligned with the most mainstream trends
in emphasis and funding. It is also worth noting that arguments about the
“utility” of history or other forms of knowledge actually build in a time frame
wherein the knowledge-making must be helpful, useful, or actionable in the
short-term. This time frame is measureable specifically by grant cycles or
funding requests, not in terms of the longue durée, big history, or deep history.
I would further argue that what we are seeing in this run to the sciences is not
a rapprochement between the sciences and the humanities, though talk of
interdisciplinary work between these divisions certainly helps raise funds,
but rather historians subordinating or sublimating the practice of history
to a fantasy of “scientific method.”
Perhaps funding is all that is left. Increasingly, I have come to read Fou-
cault’s lectures on bio-politics at the Collège de France in the light of a state-
ment he made at the end of The Order of Things about the disappearance of
the category of the human “like a face drawn in sand at the edge of the sea.”38
Later, in his lectures Foucault states: “Homo œconomicus is the one island of
rationality within an economic process whose uncontrollable nature does
not challenge, but instead founds the rationality of the atomistic behavior
of homo œconomicus.”39 It is the “economic process” that takes center stage
guiding homo œconomicus by the power of an invisible hand that conserves
rational choice devoid of political or economic agency.40 Here I take the
category of homo œconomicus not to indicate “economic man or human” but
instead I read homo as “same” to indicate a time of “œconomicus œconomicus,”
an order of economics for economics’ sake, a time where the human is ef-
faced, sublimated, or erased.
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ground to this fantasy of science, historians also cede the space for critical
intervention that is the strength and heart of our discipline.
Aristotle was wrong, at least in his assessment of history, because the
strength of our work does not rest on accounting for universal truths but in
assessing the ways that our understanding of such truths is always histori-
cally conditioned and thus subject to change. The power of history and the
humanities lies in our ability to provide a critical intervention and, spe-
cifically, to determine the ways that seemingly universal methodologies are
actually historically determined. This is what allows us to challenge para-
digms that are presented to us as “natural” and thus immutable—be they
evolutionary, biological, neuropsychological, or economic—and to show
them to be historically determined, contingent, and subject to critique. And
this of course includes the discipline of history itself.
It has never been “just the facts.”
I want to thank the anonymous readers of History of the Present for their comments and sug-
gestions. Hayden White, Laura Stark, and Peter Eli Gordon provided invaluable advice. I would
also like to thank Carolyn J. Dean for organizing the panel at the 2015 American Historical As-
sociation meeting where I presented this as a paper and my co-panelists Stefanos Geroulanos,
Samuel Moyn, and Joanna Radin.
Ethan Kleinberg is Professor of History and Letters at Wesleyan University and Ex-
ecutive Editor of History and Theory.
Notes
1. Felix Gilbert, among others, has addressed this issue as well as the contradictory
interpretations of Ranke and the ramifications of translating eigentlich by “actually’
as opposed to “essentially.” See Gilbert, “What Ranke Meant,” The American Scholar
56, no. 3 (Summer 1987): 393–397.
2. Aristotle: Selections, ed. Terence and Gail Fine (1995), 549, 1451a36–b11.
3. Isaiah Berlin, “History and Theory: The Concept of Scientific History,” History
and Theory 1, no. 1 (1960): 1.
4. The Gulbenkian Comission (Immanuel Wallerstein, Chair), Open the Social Sci-
ences (1996), 5–6.
5. Ibid., 35. See also 33–36.
6. David Armintage and Jo Guldi, The History Manifesto (2014).
7. Berlin, “History and Theory: The Concept of Scientific History,” 1.
8. Wilhelm Windelband, “Geschichte und Naturwissenschaft (Strassburger Rek-
toratsrede, 1894),” in Präludien: Aufsätze und Reden zur Philosophie und ihrer Geschichte Book
2 (1915), 136–160; Wilhelm Dilthey, Der Aufbau der geschichtlichen Welt in den Geisteswis-
senschaften: Gesammelte Schriften Book 7 (1992), 79–190. For a useful interrogation of this
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