Academia \'Pomophobia\'

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Academic Pomophobia, or the Apparently Decisive Question of "How can we just play around in the leaves when we see that trees exist?"

The academic historical profession is one that is neither impossibly rigid nor incapable of adaptation. In the history of our histories, the philosophies with which we ground our telling of the past have shifted with the ebbs and flows of the passage of time. From Macaulay's Whigghish progressivism, to Marx's unyielding faith in material life, to Ranke's Protestant historical orthodoxy, there has never been simply one sure method of doing history. One cannot take for granted the ascendance of Rankean scientism during the formation of American professionalization. It was not inevitable that empirical methods of history would win out from among the theoretical plurality. In fact, the historical approach first employed in American universities was based on a fundamental misunderstanding of Ranke's philosophy. The foundation on which professionals tout their seemingly legitimized status is not only based on a chance misinterpretation—albeit a widespread one, but also on an artificial standardization based in feelings of inadequacy. The endeavor was undertaken to create a model that would transform historians from drab peddlers of tales into unquestioned, respected scientists. This model was designed both to exclude nonconforming thought and to maintain the pretense of their newfound elevated social status. With exclusion forming the bedrock of the profession, it is no wonder that historians have attempted to silence their dissenters. Any non-Western conceptions of the past, any anti-objectivist notions, any inkling of dissent must be forced to the margins—these heresies could crack the edifice academic historians have labored so tirelessly to maintain. If their structure crumbles, has anything been accomplished? Why have we done history at all?
This is the point at which the illusion of a perfected standardization begins to break down. Over the last century, academic history has experienced a series of shake-ups, from the entrance of Jews, women, and African-Americans into the field, to the influences of New Left Marxist thought, to the advent of the new Social and Cultural histories. Somehow, despite traditionalist academic xenophobia, the profession has yet to collapse. Somehow, we still manage to do history. The introduction of outsiders and outside thought has always been met with resistance, but the field has eventually managed to absorb bits and pieces into the historical mainstream. Although conservatives would have preferred the profession remain in its 'purest' form, academic history is far from the Rankean ideal already. Debates among these differing philosophies are part of what makes studying history so vibrant and rewarding. Engaging with those who possess perspectives different from one's own is paramount to intellectual growth. Even if there remains disagreement, perhaps a common ground can be found on which to engage in fruitful debate. In the past, historical debate has proved useful to the profession—not destroying its fundamental values, but, in reality, expanding its horizons. So why, then, is postmodernism seen as a more potent threat, a force promising to decimate everything historians hold dear? Perhaps it is because postmodern theory, in its most orthodox form, lives in an entirely different philosophic universe from the one inhabited by traditional historians. Its intellectual grounds lie in language and discourse rather than evidence and past reality. While the prior challenges to traditional academic history still centered themselves in notions of objectivity and empirical evidence to form conclusions, postmodernism rejects almost every aspect of these paradigms.
Postmodern dismissal of a knowable past and a scientifically accessible history is posited to threaten the very basis on which historians work. The debates that crop up around these theories, a perceived "modernist vs. postmodernist" showdown, have proven to be heated, even vitriolic at times. Although it is intellectually stimulating to engage in debates concerning one's deepest held notions, these writings cannot possibly be productive if they exist in fundamentally different epistemological worlds. The polemic nature of the conversation between the strictly postmodern Ankersmit and the staunchly modern Zagorin points to the lack of understanding that creates the chasm between the two viewpoints. One can therefore conjecture that intellectuals at the extremes of the debate will never see eye-to-eye, being too dismissive of the other to engage in a productive dialogue. However, this does not spell the end for all historical debate. Postmodernism, although a rejection of frameworks, is still itself a framework—and is therefore subject to the usual conventions of examination and deliberation within the field. There remains the possibility of a more moderate middle ground, a pluralistic forum inhabited by writers such as Appleby, Harlan, Chang, and Scott. We must reject all extremism that is unwilling to hear any criticism of itself or that imagines to be at the end of all dialogue. Instead, we must forge a new path, one where historians may question the past in any intellectually rigorous way they like, and bring their findings to an accessible, fluid professional atmosphere. Plurality can be a blessing: allowing the historian and the reader to encounter and create infinite interpretations, whether they be modernist, postmodernist, or something else entirely. Any notions of exclusivity in the academic profession, any rigid standardization, only endeavor to bar outsiders from entering the field, maintaining and policing a power structure that has, time and again, show itself to be problematic.
Ankersmit's espousal of postmodern philosophy as the only way of moving forward in the historical profession fundamentally rejects and ignores almost all aspects of modern historical thought. Similarly, in his push back against the perceived threat of postmodernism, Zagorin refuses to acknowledge almost any possible merit in Ankersmit's proposals, really ignoring them altogether. The two men are so stuck in their inflexibly structured philosophies that, ultimately, they do not debate at all. The epistemological grounds on which each man forms his argument are so completely distinct that they leave no room for dialectic. This claim will be substantiated with a study of the points of divergence within each man's theory of history. Firstly, Ankersmit and Zagorin place history within decisively different frameworks, disagreeing on its place as either an aesthetic or scientific pursuit. Additionally, they either choose to acknowledge or reject the coming of the postmodern era. Finally, they disagree about the aim of history: is it to recreate an accessible past, or is it not utilitarian at all? Can it be done without interference from contemporary thought? The men are simply speaking different languages, unable to communicate properly. For this reason, it is more appealing to attempt to find a comfortable middle ground in plurality. In this theoretical multitude, perhaps the scholars at the extremes could continue the practices they are so attached to, but not try to impose their models upon others—any framework would be given a fair chance.
Let us examine the first divergence in the men's philosophies concerning the practice of history: what sort of a discipline is history? To Ankersmit, he feels that history serves no particular purpose, nor should it, because it is fundamentally an aesthetic pursuit, one that falls within the category of culture:
Along with poetry, literature, painting and the like, history and historical consciousness belong to culture, and no questions can be meaningfully be asked about the usefulness of culture…[It] is rather the background from which or against which we can form our opinions…Culture and history define use, but cannot themselves be defined in terms of usefulness. (139)

Within a strict postmodern conception, history is no different from literature. The only thing one can do with history is to examine the implications of the words with which we are provided. Therefore, he believes that utility should not be called into question, nor is it even a useful debate, because culture is inherently neither useful nor useless. It simply is. Equating history with literature serves to sever its ties to any notions of objectivity or correctness, attaching it instead to artistic pursuits that are judged on subjectivity. Given the empirical nature of academic historical inquiry, this categorization proves to be almost sacrilegious for traditionalists. Zagorin rallies back against Ankersmit's claims, confident in the scientific nature of historical writing. Zagorin views Ankersmit as a conspirator "in the attempt to aestheticize history," while, in reality, "historical interpretations are similar…to scientific theories and hypotheses." (264, 269) For Zagorin, history is written to prove a substantiated point. Historians must put a full and valiant effort into a claim, one that has been researched and may be proven by evidence from the past. From within this conception, the idea that historical writing is simply a creative endeavor is absolute anathema. Modern historical inquiry is not unlike an experiment: the historian is supposed to formulate a hypothesis based on her observations. One only needs to work harder and more precisely to get closer to a historical truth that is just beyond reach. To call this process artistic is to rob the hypothesis of any truth claim, leaving it simply as a collection of words subject to any possible interpretation. If either's theory is fully accepted as true, then it leaves the other without any merit at all. The two conceptions of history are such polar opposites that they cannot exist or engage with each other.
Similarly, on the topic of causal relationships, the men completely diverge. Within a modern, traditional viewpoint such as Zagorin's, events cause other events to occur and the historian can observe this process in their surveys of a particular time period. To him, "It is an illusion…to assume that historiography can dispense with the concept of causality." (270) Cause and effect are at the core of history, truly its driving force. However, because postmodernism posits a lack of pure causality in the universe, scientific 'rational' reasoning is no longer useful. Ankersmit, citing Nietzche's influence, advocates for an abandonment of the "traditional hierarchy of cause and effect." (143) To Zagorin and the strict modernists, it simply does not make any sense to believe there are no narrative threads running through the past, no causal relationships, because these are exactly what history aims to study. The past becomes nothing more than unrelated events floating around each other without purpose. In fact, Ankersmit even fails to realize the extent to which he rejects modern empiricism, saying that postmodernists "neither criticize nor reject science," but simply examine it as they would any text in order to explore its function as information. Ankersmit does not realize the implications of his statement—heretically calling science subjective—because he is solely thinking within a postmodern framework. Similarly, when attempting to disprove Ankersmit's rejection of causality, Zagorin responds, "The effect, in short, is the origins of my interest, but not of the cause." (269) Rather than engaging with postmodern anti-narrative thinking, he continues to require a narrative. He only flips cause and effect rather than actually attempting to disengage at all, missing Ankersmit's point almost entirely. The two men conceive of history so contrarily that it hardly makes sense to compare what are, ultimately, two different disciplines, let alone put them in dialogue with each other.
Another point of discrepancy barring them from cooperating is their recognition or rejection of the advent of a 'postmodern era'. For Ankersmit, the surest sign of the coming of the postmodern era is the "overproduction" of scholarly historical works. He reasons that, given the incredible volume of texts being produced, we now discuss the concept of text, of information itself, rather than the content of that text. This leaves the historian without "any texts, any past, but just interpretations of them." (137) Because of this, he says, "We have to realize there is no way back." (138) Confident in the necessity of postmodernism, Ankersmit both fully accepts its paradigm shifts and attempts to make modernism seem passé. He tries to highlight the anachronism he sees in academic history, referring to modernists almost entirely in the past tense and postmodernists in the present tense. For example, he states:
The epistemological naiveté of the of the historist doctrine of historical ideas was only possible in a time when the belief and faith in the perceptibility of the essence of the past were so easily taken for granted that nobody had an inkling of his own ontological arrogance. (148)

He posits, "One has to "let go of" the historical context" and "worn-out positivist ideas," and accept the indisputable postmodern revolution. (149-50) Instead of engaging with the possibility of modernism navigating the postmodern era, or even disputing why Ankersmit believes himself to be in a new epoch, Zagorin merely insults the notion that it could even exist. To him, postmodernism "carries with it strong connotations of decline, exhaustion, and being at the end rather than the commencement of an era." (264) This is the opposite of Ankersmit's thinking, seeing postmodernism as a positive opportunity for artistic exploration. Zagorin refuses any kind of engagement with the possibility, narrowing postmodern arguments to being mere reaction to late stage capitalism. He brings up Jameson, the author of "Postmodernism, or the Cultural Logic of Late Capitalism" and quickly dismisses him for dogmatically adhering to Marxism. Zagorin simply disregards his theories because Jameson fails to explain why we are in this late stage. He promptly negates any hope for debate, saying, "Needless to say, he does not [know]." (265) Continuing with his confused economic notions, he counters Ankersmit's beliefs about overproduction with an ode to capitalistic conceptions of competition:
Its effect is usually counteracted over time by a selective process which relegates trivial publications to obscurity and insures the more significant contribution will in due course become known to specialists and, if they merit it, a large part of the historical profession (267)

Ankersmit was not necessarily concerned with the quality of historical writing, but with its volume. Zagorin chooses to preach about the ways in which people are deemed successful within his professional world, rather than actually engage with Ankersmit's arguments wholeheartedly. The two men are simply not debating; they are merely reaffirming their own beliefs and dismissing the others' without much consideration.
Finally, the men cannot agree on what history actually aims to do: should it examine an accessible past? Can we study the past without present-minded interference? For Ankersmit, postmodernism requires that the historian turn to language and aesthetics rather than some unknowable past context, because language gives each reader a certain interpretation to study: "there remains nothing for us but to concentrate on the style embodied in every historical view or way of looking at the past…content is a derivative of style." (144) This language "nowhere intersects the domain of the past," but is instead its own area of discursive study. For him, modernist reasoning to a conclusion from examining "sources and evidence" is just one interpretation, not one definitive reality (145) There is no one grand picture of a past reality we must access, just reading and analysis. For this reason, he accepts present-mindedness, the most hated quality by Rankean empiricist, because "evidence does not send us back to the past, but gives rise to the question of what an historian here and now can or cannot do with it." (146) Zagorin strongly refutes this presentist use of historical evidence, explaining that there is a fundamental difference between fact and fiction. To him, truth—the truth born in a knowable past—is the guiding principle in historical inquiry, and truth requires justification through evidence. The historian's job is to convey the "conscious life of past societies" fully and clearly, a "task of extreme difficulty, requiring exceptional insight and imagination." (272) He cannot conceptualize the postmodern analysis of language over what he sees as actual fact being conveyed. Because he derives value from truth, this conception would cause history to lose all meaning whatsoever. He concludes, "It would be impossible to paraphrase or summarize a work of history without altering its substance or meaning" under postmodernism. (271) Zagorin's thinking remains rooted in a modernist need for one single explanation: he can accept either one legitimate answer, or no answer at all. He refuses to imagine a multitude of meanings, of individual interpretations of a text. Traditionalist history has left him unable to think outside of an imposed, singular interpretation of reality.
This is not to say that Ankersmit is any better at coming to terms with Zagorin's framework. He remains so strongly rooted in postmodern orthodoxy that he rejects meaning, or historical past, or really any other paradigm of academic history. In a moment of postmodern ostentatious aestheticism, he asks that we "compare history to a tree." (149) If we are to go along with his metaphor, the leaves are events all interconnected within a larger historical situation. Under postmodernism, "what remains now for Western historiography is to gather the leaves that have been blown away." Rather than try to reconstruct their place on the tree, we can only see "the pattern we can form from them now." Ankersmit wants us to rake the leaves and jump into the pile like children, grasping a few and deciding what they mean for us. The flaw in this model may be found in his blind optimism concerning postmodernism. In an attempt to wholly distance himself from Zagorin-style modernism, he forgets that the historian is not a child. We see a forest surrounding us and clearly observe that trees exist. Historians are educated adults with preexisting frameworks—they live in the world, and possess perspectives and schemas with which they approach their work. In a moment of postmodern bliss, he forgets that trees have strong roots to ground them. Besides, is there any real point in playing in the leaves like this? Can one even draw conclusions? His tree metaphor advocates not for rigorous analysis, but for the historian to put on the pretense of naiveté in her work.
Given their almost completely distinct epistemological grounds for historical study, it is doubtful that any extremist philosophies such as these could find common ground on which to create a productive dialectic. If Ankersmit were really interested in exploring multiple interpretations, one would think he would give modernism at least a semblance of a chance. Still, if we are to step into his shoes and use only his language as an indicator, it is not hard to see an absolute disdain for and subsequent dismissal of all modernist thought. He writes about the "the ludicrous nature of the pretensions of the social historians" and their "wild, greedy, and uncontrolled digging into the past" (148-9, 152) He holds such little respect for modernism that he surely cannot bring himself to engage intellectually with it. Zagorin is not immune from spitting such vitriol, infantilizing Ankersmit into a "philosophic trend-spotter" whose "logic and factual judgments…are far from convincing." (266) He even attempts to disprove Ankersmit with strange, anecdotal evidence:
I have also observed from conversations with historians and discussions with doctoral students in seminars on the philosophy of history that their response…is generally unfavorable. (264)

I venture to say that few historians would agree with Ankersmit's consignment of historiography to the category of the aesthetic. (271)

He endeavors to portray Ankersmit as a heretic who will be shunned from the academic historical profession, about whose membership and opinions he presents himself as omniscient. This is not a debate; these are merely diatribes against the other's philosophies.
Here we come to the question of standardization within the practice of history. Zagorin believes that "the expansion and fragmentation of historiography…has made the need for integration and synthesis greater and more important than ever before" (273) Like a leader during wartime, he calls for unity against a common enemy trying to destroy their way of life. Historians must provide the "best possible knowledge of the past" to future generations—one that, we can assume, can only truly be provided by himself and his peers. (274) Similarly, the preschool leaf collages Ankersmit wants us to create can really only be made by historians that have so completely rejected modernism to the point where they might no longer be historians at all—simply artists. Any full attempt to standardize the profession, modernist or postmodernist, remains rooted in a need for legitimation. Zagorin and his staunchly traditional colleagues are so afraid of postmodernism precisely because it questions the legitimacy of the Rankean toolkit they have worked their entire lives to perfect. If they were to let postmodernists into the profession, then they would no longer have the exclusivity that allows them to claim objectivity and preeminence. The power structure they have labored so tirelessly to maintain and police would collapse under the weight of pluralism. Ankersmit's postmodern extremism is no different. Even though it functions on different foundational assumptions, he is still asking for a restructuring of the standards of legitimation—one that would benefit him, and exclude the modernists. Standardization of the profession must, inevitably, exclude someone.
The vision for the future of the practice of history need not be so discouraging. Must we fear the collapse of the power structure of standardization? We live in a new millennia; one where, perhaps, we can accept plurality as the new standard. So what if academics like Zagorin and Ankersmit cannot sit at the same table? They are certainly not the only voices within historical thought to which we ought to be attending. Living at such extremes, they are the statistical outliers—the majority of historians likely fall somewhere between postmodernism and modernism. Additionally, we do not always need to conceive of the philosophies as opposites or even as mutually exclusive. While strict proponents of the theories may be unable to converse, it is possible that other historians could find ways of interweaving the theories. History as an academic endeavor has successfully integrated multiple viewpoints in the past, and postmodernism does not have to be a special case. Polarization is not inevitable. A postmodern text can be interpreted within a modernist framework, and vice versa. Gatekeepers are not required for the profession; no single right way of doing things need be enforced. To impose standards is to stifle debate, and to stifle debate is to stagnate the intellectual progression of the profession.
One can see hope in the writings of historians like Gordon Chang and Joan Scott. They, like Zagorin and Ankersmit, base their work on fundamentally different assumptions. Scott believes that we cannot take identity or any person's experience at face value. To her, "It is not individuals who have experience, but subjects who are constituted through experience." (779) Chang, although sometimes contradicting himself, allows himself to see the "insights and originality" that come from postmodern concepts like Scott's, which "[alert] us to the dangers of essentialism and overgeneralization." However, he ultimately feels that Asian-American history must remain a social history of experience in order to counteract their societal erasure. Chang not only chooses to engage in a productive discourse with Scott, genuinely using her reasoning to come to his own conclusion, but even finds areas where they can coexist. Perhaps Scott's evidence of experience truly can coexist with a more modern social history. One can imagine something akin to a two-part book, the first part being an examination of a certain identity's origins, and the second being individuals' experience within that identity. It could be useful for the historian to know how a consciousness is produced, but also to see it in action—the two frameworks are hardly mutually exclusive if they are working in tandem.
Harlan and Appleby, a postmodernist and modernist if we had to define them, are furthermore able to engage in a productive debate about the availability of historical context. In Harlan's espousal of words conveying a multitude of meanings, Appleby manages to change and extend the concept, explaining that, "In this endless intertextuality lies the record of human beings talking to and with and behind the backs of one another." (1332) Despite disagreements about foundation, the two manage to engage with and even genuinely learn from one another. These examples give support to the creation of a more fluid and flexible profession, one where multiple viewpoints could simultaneously feel legitimated. Harlan aptly likens this possibility of anti-standardization to Jewish thought:
Rabbinic Judaism begins not with the Word as the immaculate expression of God's will, the Word radiant with original meaning before every act of interpretation, but with Torah as the promise of multiple meaning, an invitation to continual interpretation and reinterpretation. (600)

Historians could act as Jewish scholars: still forming their own opinions, yet discussing them with their colleagues as a method of learning, not imposition. We do not necessarily need to search for one perfected framework, but instead strive for the coexistence of many frameworks all engaged in productive, respectful discourses with each other.
It is not impossible to imagine a historical profession that could facilitate more debates like these. If we reject a rigid standardization, we can accept multiple viewpoints and even create new ones. Postmodernism is merely another useful lens for the consideration of history, one that the field can absorb and utilize, without causing the end of historical debate. Those who wish to remain at the extremes could continue their work, but with a sense of respect for those who do not agree with them. In a more welcoming and equalized atmosphere, perhaps even the most extreme philosophies could begin to interact. Within an ideological plurality, the postmodernist could happily swim in a sea of discourses, and the modernist could construct a cohesive narrative, all without vehemently imposing on the other. Without any power structure deeming certain notions of history as right and wrong, coexistence and conversation could formulate new ideas—without any need to create a hierarchy. This anti-standardization would take careful effort and rearrangement, sending shockwaves through the rigidity of academia. Without a doubt, there would be resistance along the way, from the universities to the publishers. Surely, there is no one sure way of changing the academic climate, nor does this paper contain all the answers for doing so. However, that does not make it unattainable: people are capable of change. As long as historians continue to explore and question the past—whether it answers or we simply hear our own voice echoing back—the practice will live on and have been worthwhile.

Sophie Wunderlich


That Noble Dream: The Objectivity Question and the American Historical Profession, Peter Novick, p. 21-31