Eyler Coates

This examination of the Jefferson-Hemings controversy on these webpages has served as a window into the world of historiography. Through the exchanges on these pages and the outline of the Jefferson-Hemings matter, we can see how historians work with ordinary historical evidence, and especially how they handle controversial issues. The following analytical definition of historiography is a useful starting point for considering the problems that are encountered in the writing of history:
Historiography is:
The writing of history based on the critical examination of sources, the selection of particulars from the authentic materials, and the synthesis of particulars into a narrative that will stand the test of critical methods.

We begin with the idea that History is a descriptive record and an examination of the causes of past events. We recognize, of course that there is no way that a book can fully describe an actual happening, any more than a book can completely describe any natural phenomenon. Thus, we are talking about the difference between reality and the description of reality: an actual event and what some writer sees as important aspects of that event. The two can never be the same. Moreover, any given event can be described from any number of viewpoints, and evaluated on the basis of a variety of value systems, as the writer chooses. The historian works from a given point of view, and that point of view may vary from one historian to another and, most importantly, from one generation to another. Every new generation of historians feels compelled to present a new perspective on the past, a new analysis of the forces that made history happen. Such new perspectives may represent a brilliant insight into the past, or they may represent a conforming and conventional assessment that is directed by some generally accepted political concept that has imposed itself upon the current historical imagination.

Historians are highly educated, intelligent people, and like people everywhere, each has his or her own idiosyncracies that can easily express themselves in their historical writings. We often have the mistaken idea that highly educated, intelligent academics somehow rise above the prejudice, bias, narrow-mindedness, conventional thinking, and non-critical acceptance of political ideology that are common to most of us mortals. We expect them all to be completely objective, to examine ideas like a fascinated student might examine the wing of a fly through a microscope. In fact, all great minds do tend to function in that manner. But it would be foolish to think that all academics -- even all tenured professors in great universities -- always act in that fashion. One need only observe the pet peeves and petty spite that characterizes so many of the relationships in all college and university departments, to realize that such intellectuals are just as capable of entertaining the most small-minded ideas as any person one might select off the street, and sometimes they seem to be worse than average.

Using the Jefferson-Hemings controversy as a laboratory, let us try to examine the attitudes and actions that have been exhibited and what they demonstrate for our understanding of the inner workings of historiography. In general, we will be looking for the workings of bias and how it might manifest itself in historical thought and writing. We want to know if an accurate, valid history of the past can be written, or is authentic history just a myth? In order to accomplish this, we will examine what historiography is supposed to be, with especial reference to the Jefferson-Hemings controversy.

1. The Critical Examination of Sources

First we must ask, Is all history just a conscious or unconscious expression of the historian's bias? Do historians write history and use it as a weapon to promote their own political points of view? The Deconstructionists have told us that it is impossible that it be otherwise. But does this mean that historians have thrown up their hands, abandoned even an attempt at objectivity, and openly embraced the thought of using history to push a political agenda, with an attitude of, "If this be bias, then let's make the most of it"?

An argument has been made by Annette Gordon-Reed in her book, Thomas Jefferson and Sally Hemings: An American Controversy, that prominent Jefferson historians in the past were guided by their racial prejudices in rejecting the oral traditions of blacks in their assessment of whether Thomas Jefferson fathered Sally Hemings's children. Without deciding here whether that was true or not, we can say with some confidence that we believe past historians acted with integrity, and that they rejected oral traditions, not out of racist sentiments, but because they believed that kind of evidence was inferior to better evidence indicating the facts were otherwise. They acted out of what they at least thought was a search for the truth. In their conscious mind, it was not because the source of the evidence was black people, but because the evidence itself was insubstantial.

The question naturally arises, Shouldn't this always be the historian's quest -- a search for the truth? Since our unconscious processes are by definition not within our conscious control, isn't the search for the truth the best that we can ever do? And isn't a conscious attempt to follow other political intentions despicable? If historians set their sights on the Truth and give an honest assessment of all possible interpretations, how could we ask for more? Isn't it quite possible that someone who is trying to ferret out the biases and prejudices of past historians is in danger of themselves being guided by their own biases, especially if their intent is to overturn those past biases, not to present a balanced look at the issues in question?

Surely that is a primary failing we might run into in this study of the illusions of history. If historians begin a one-sided pursuit in an effort to support one particular theory in a controversy, are they not in danger of presenting just another biased account? And doesn't such a presentation naturally invite a counter-presentation that will show the weaknesses and errors of their own? And isn't that exactly what has happened in this Jefferson-Hemings controversy: the formation of two "sides" with one side as "paternity proponents" and the other as "Jefferson defenders"?

Our purpose here, however, is not to summarize the arguments pro and con, but to examine the kinds of points and arguments that have been made, with an eye towards discovering if these were or were not proper ways of searching for historical truth. Nevertheless, as a person who has taken a position on the issues involved, it is difficult -- and probably pointless -- for me to discuss these possibilities except from the point of view of how the other side appears to act out of their own biases. I, personally, think I am being objective in this assessment. Nevertheless I do not wish to be a judge in my own case, but only to initiate a discussion of these matters. This is an open forum, and if anyone thinks differently, I hope that they will express their differing views here. It is an easy rejoinder, but an unworthy one, to just assume because a person differs from oneself, that every issue that person raises is biased. If there are differences, let's back them up with examples and reason.

The first observation we can make on the critical examination of sources with reference to this discussion is the way in which the postings to H-SHEAR were controlled by the editor. The editor was careful to see that the wording in individual postings was not offensive to certain persons or interests. The discussion was carefully moderated. The editor, in my opinion, seemed to be led by his own bias favoring "affair proponents," however. Whether this was true or not is irrelevant for our purposes here, the point being that a person in a controlling position, such as an editor or committee chair, can easily show deference to one side of an issue and be restrictive to the other side, thus from the very beginning preventing some materials from being considered while giving carte blanche to those with which the gatekeeper agrees. This was also demonstrated when the chair of the research committee at the Thomas Jefferson Memorial Foundation instructed committee members to study the Gordon-Reed book, since their intention was to use that book as a study outline for the committee's work. There was no attempt at balance, no suggestion that other books also be used that presented an opposing view.

The first fatal error, therefore, that besets a historian is an assumption that is made about the source materials. This might be a jumping to a conclusion based on a superficial acquaintance with the facts, or an automatic adoption of the opinion of some authoritative source. The competent researcher holds back and lets conclusions develop out of the material itself. Nothing reveals the amateur more than a too-quick conclusion drawn from an insufficient acquaintance with the details. Apparently, police sometime make this erroneous kind of assumption, and are so sure of themselves, they falsify evidence just to make a "better" case out of a weak one, only to discover later that they have convicted the wrong man. This kind of mind set is possible in any field of endeavor, of course, but probably happens less often in science than in others. A good scientist will actively and deliberately seek tests to prove his theory wrong. Doing that goes against the grain of our personality, of course, because we tend to latch on to a theory or solution we have hopes for, and enthusiastically seek evidence to prove it true, not to discredit it. We then feel triumphant when we feel we "got him," as Fraser Neiman announced when he submitted his statistical study.

Student librarians have drilled into them the idea of building a collection by including both sides of the issues, so that a good librarian takes a kind of perverse pleasure in placing books side-by-side that contradict one another. Why can't a historian adopt a similar attitude? Why not make the process of analyzation and evaluation explicit? Why not present the evidence for all possibilities and keep the reader in suspense, more or less as a good detective story writer keeps the reader wondering to the very end whether or not "the butler did it." Then, after a thorough job of presenting both sides, explain the factors that are compelling to choose one or the other. Why not treat the reader as a participant in the process of historical discovery, rather than the receptacle for implanting the writer's conclusions? Historians, however, are more apt to approach the subject as Annette Gordon-Reed did in her book about the Jefferson-Hemings controversy. When providing genealogical tables, the tables in that book were headed, "Relevant connections only," but what were they relevant to? They were relevant to the theory Gordon-Reed had already formed before writing the book.

For a highly controversial subject with overtones of politics, race, and gender bias, the pressures upon a historian who attempts to examine critically the sources for historical data become enormous. Political correctness becomes a live issue, and the historical period is turned into a mine field. If the historian has the courage to enter this mine field at all, these usually create no problem in investigating the history, because the forces at work are so obvious. But if the historian is in agreement with those forces, it presents a very great danger because there is too much influence and support for following the politically correct path, and the historian can too easily be swept along that path.

Making the task of the historian even more difficult when evaluating evidence is the fact that the standards for acceptable fact in historical writing are much lower than in a subject area such as Science or the Law. This means the historian will accept something as sufficient evidence that the scientist or the lawyer would not give a second look. To the historian, any evidence is better than nothing at all, provided of course it meets certain standards of rational consistency. It is when the evidence is contradictory, and some evidence must be allowed whereas other must be rejected, that the historian's task is pushed to the outer limits of the capabilities of historiography. And it is at such points that the scientist or the lawyer can come in and assist the historian in separating the wheat from the chaff. But if the historian rejects such assistance and attempts to make these decisions on the basis of inadequate criteria, it is then that the historian's biases and prejudices are more likely to determine what evidence is acceptable.

Therefore, a proponent's motives automatically become suspect when additional scientific data is refused or neglected. The failure of Dr. Foster to obtain blood samples for DNA testing from more than one descendant of Eston Hemings indicates a degree of bias: proponents were willing to forego additional tests that might be used to verify the results obtained, since the tests already performed supplied the data they were hoping for. Similarly, the refusal by descendants of Madison Hemings to allow testing of Madison's son, William, reveals their bias, since they were not interested in performing tests that held the potential of indicating that Madison was not descended from any Jefferson male. The DNA testing of William Hemings has the potential for providing proof positive that the charges that Thomas Jefferson had a 38-year affair with Sally Hemings were a complete hoax. In both of these cases, and especially in the last, the bias of those involved acts as a roadblock to acquiring the complete information needed in order to determine whether, as a historical fact, Thomas Jefferson had an affair with Sally Hemings.

Just as Nature "abhors a vacuum," so historians seem to abhor a void that might be filled with even the skimpiest evidence. But this abhorrence of a void leads to another historiographical pitfall. When the evidence is lacking, the historian has the temptation to fill the void with speculation and supposition. This is especially obvious in the Gordon-Reed book. The Jefferson-Hemings controversy is notable for its lack of solid evidence, and Gordon-Reed as well as E. M. Halliday (Understanding Thomas Jefferson) and other writers tend to fill their pages with "might-have-been" suppositions with which they try to fill in those blanks. This, again, is another opportunity for the writer's biases and prejudices to take over and shape the "history," and unwary readers can easily be fooled into thinking they are reading what happened in the past, when they are really reading only the product of the historian's imagination.

Another incorrect approach to evidence is to take an interpretation of evidence and then use that interpretation itself as evidence to draw other conclusions. For example, several historians have suggested that Madison Hemings got his information about who his father was from his mother, Sally Hemings, and therefore that information must be accurate. But Madison did not say that in the Wetmore interview, and there is good evidence indicating that Sally did not tell any of her children that Thomas Jefferson was their father. Thus, through a lack of careful attention to evidentiary details, some historians have assumed something as evidence when there is no good reason for believing it except the historian's own speculation.

2. The Selection of Particulars From Authentic Materials

The selection of materials to use in the writing of history is another area in which the historian's biases, whether conscious or unconscious, can easily manifest themselves. If the historian has a theory, he or she generally allows that theory to be a guide for selecting the material to go into the book. As a rule, one cannot use everything. It is necessary to eliminate irrelevancies (or what the historian thinks is irrelevant) and select data that contributes to the theme of the article or book. It is a fundamental principle of good writing that an article or book must be organized around a theme. But if the theme takes precedence over the materials, there is a danger that a distorted view will emerge.

Jefferson's thoughts on race and slavery is a good example. If a person sets out to show that Jefferson was a racist slaveholder who did not believe in freedom for his slaves (except for a small handful) and thought that blacks were not equal to whites, there are lots of materials that can be selectively used to suggest that view. But there is one quotation from Jefferson that is never chosen by those trying to demonstrate that he was a racist and believed that blacks were not equal to whites, because it undermines the very point they are trying to make. And that highly significant quotation is:

"My doubts were the result of personal observation on the limited sphere of my own State, where the opportunities for the development of their genius were not favorable, and those of exercising it still less so. I expressed them therefore with great hesitation; but whatever be their degree of talent, it is no measure of their rights. Because Sir Isaac Newton was superior to others in understanding, he was not therefore lord of the person or property of others." --Thomas Jefferson to Henri Gregoire, 1809. ME 12:255

In this quotation, Jefferson shows clearly that he believed that "All men are created equal" applied to blacks as well as whites. Nevertheless, many historians will use things that Jefferson said about blacks not having equal intellectual talents as whites in an attempt to show that Jefferson believed the Declaration of Independence applied only to whites.

By careful selection, a historian can bend history in almost any direction the historian wishes. But that could hardly be termed intellectually honest history. A good writer must have a theme or point around which the writing is organized; but a good historian cannot be so consumed by that theme and so devoted to the result that he or she will omit relevant evidence and distort the outcome through a carefully designed selection. When that happens, we usually say that the historian has a "political agenda," and that, no doubt, is a fair judgment.

Another pitfall for the historian that is related to the selection of evidence is the assumption that, because no evidence was found by the historian for a particular event, that is proof positive that the event did not occur. The error here is obvious. The problem could easily be that the historian was careless or lacking in good, thorough research techniques, and simply did not discover evidence that a competent researcher would be able to locate. The lack of evidence may be indicative of something important when it is almost certain that the evidence would be there if, in fact, a given event occurred. But to argue that an event did not occur because there is no record of it, when there probably would be no record even if it did occur, is not a very astute way to proceed. We see this kind of argument being made frequently in the Jefferson-Hemings controversy. Randolph, for example, was invited to Monticello just before the conception of Eston, but paternity proponents assert that there is no evidence recorded that he actually went to Monticello at that time. As it happens, there is never any recorded evidence of Randolph's visits except when incidental to some other significant event, such as Thomas helping Randolph make his Last Will and Testament -- a document that by its nature will be signed and dated, and therefore provide irrefutable evidence that Randolph was present. If we assume that Randolph went to Monticello only when his visits were recorded, his visits would have been few indeed, in spite of the fact that Thomas Jefferson asserted in a signed affidavit that he assisted Randolph with all his major decisions.

Another peculiar idea that arose in this debate over the Jefferson-Hemings matter was the suggestion that because no one in the past accused Randolph of being the father of Sally's children, investigators are therefore precluded from proposing him as a possible father today. Such a view may be seen as presentism-in-reverse. Perhaps we might designate it as "pastism" -- the idea that later investigators may not introduce new theories or new explanations to account for why something happened in the past. Historians suggesting that had no problem with the introduction of new evidence, such as DNA evidence. Their problem was with a new theory that accounted for both old and new evidence. But the senselessness of such a view can be clearly seen when one recognizes that investigators in later times often have available to them information that was not available to contemporaries. For example, how many people at the time knew that Randolph was invited to Monticello shortly before Eston was conceived? Or, how many calculated the date that Eston was conceived, and then remembered that Randolph was present at that time? This kind of information was not known until many decades later.

Sometimes a historian is guided in the selection of evidence by the impact a certain piece of evidence will have. This may mean turning to sensationalism in order to promote one's ideas or one's own career interests. Dr. Eugene Foster, for example, knew full well before he announced his DNA findings to the world that Thomas Jefferson had a brother named Randolph who could have been the father of Eston Hemings. He told Herb Barger that "this is exactly the kind of information that will have to be considered if it turns out that the Jefferson Y chromosome is in the Hemings descendants." He also knew ahead of time that the DNA test results did not and could not identify any particular individual as the father of Sally's children. He told Barger "The DNA evidence in itself can't be conclusive for a variety of reasons." Yet he accepted the misleading headline for his article, "Jefferson fathered slave's last child," because of the sensational effect it would have. Then, two months after that effect had spent itself, he submitted a "by the way" kind of note, informing those who still cared that actually the DNA tests did not prove it was Thomas Jefferson who was the father after all. In this instance, it was not carelessness but a desire for fame and to secure a footnote in all future histories attesting to the fact that Foster was the one who performed the DNA tests that indicated etc., etc. Thus we see in this instance that the historian's self-serving interests can also be a determinant in the critical examination of sources.

3. The Synthesis of Particulars Into a Narrative

If the historical information has made it past the first two hurdles without being distorted by the historian's bias, it must finally be pieced together to form a story. This is where the writer describes the connections between events and the influences one event has on another. It is also where comparative analysis occurs and the writer investigates influences and causes. The story at this point either has balance, or is manipulated to deliver a particular message. And this is where the story runs the risk of being turned into a work of fiction, even if the basic facts are correct.

Without a doubt, the writing of history involves a lot of guess work, and when historians begin to connect the pieces of evidence together, it is as easy for bias to slip into the connecting ideas, just as it can determine what evidence is relevant and what evidence shall be chosen. For example, the Gordon-Reed book has a section titled "Would Thomas Jefferson Tell a Lie?" but there is no corresponding section, 'Would Madison Hemings (or Sally, if you believe she told the story to Madison) Tell a Lie?' If Madison Hemings lied in his interview with Wetmore, that would hardly be the first time a former slave claimed a former master as his father, not to speak of the many cases throughout history in which someone has falsely claimed a famous person as a parent. Yet, Gordon-Reed did not explore this viable possibility -- and other historians have commended the Gordon-Reed book for its "balance."

4. Conclusions: Discovering Historical Truths

Without a proper methodology, without a clear grasp of the pitfalls that await the writer of history, evidence becomes a palette with which historians paint their own prejudices. A good writer should always have a theme that forms the focus of a book, and that theme should be used to select materials that go into the book. Yet at the same time, the writer must maintain some degree of detachment from the theme so that the material shapes the theme, not the other way around. Obviously, this is very difficult for a subject about which the author feels strongly. But it is at least made possible when the danger is fully recognized and an attitude of detachment is consciously followed. The librarian, trained to build a collection by selecting materials on all sides of issues, is trained to do that, first, by being told in unmistakable terms that this is the way it is done, and second, by being assigned to create model collections that do precisely that. Historians can only be trained in a similar fashion by understanding the principles of objective evaluation, selection, and synthesis, and then by performing assignments that put those specific principles into action.

The first observations about the processes and methodology of historiography that we make after examining the discussions on the previous pages are that they often betray a level of banal, mediocre thinking that would not be a compliment to any profession. There is nothing ingenious about the proposition that, because no previous investigtor had mentioned Randolph as a possible father of Eston, he should therefore not be considered as a candidate. It also seems particularly trite to try to ridicule the use by Jefferson "defenders" of common decriptive terms when discussing the attacks that have been mounted against Jefferson as if those terms denote something absurd. Such low-level approaches, combined with condescending descriptions of "defenders" as desperate when they are only trying to investigate all possibilities, come across as attempts to belittle an opponent but without employing any substantial intellectual arguement. Thus, many of the proponents of Jefferson's paternity reveal a decidedly ordinary, rigid way of thinking that easily lends itself to bias, and appears petty rather than perceptive. It often happens that a person, unable to mount a reasoned argument, hopes to persuade by pretending that the opponent is just someone to be laughed at.

One of the most corrupting influences upon the critical examination of sources is the use of history to promote a political purpose. The presence of such a purpose will corrupt every stage, since determining what is evidence, selecting the elements to be included in the writing, and piecing together all the parts will be performed with that object in mind. Of course, the Deconstructionists will tell us that every written history has such an ulterior purpose, whether consciously adhered to or not, and that it is impossible for someone to make social commentary outside their own social context. But in practical terms, this is what historians' broad general education must train them to do: to eliminate the narrow focus of presentism, to open the mind to a wide range of viewpoints and possibilities, to evaluate ideas and events that crop up in even distant ages, and to present these many possibilities without becoming an advocate for a theory, save as that theory is made manifest in the materials themselves.

There are some partisans who have the idea that if you think your cause is just, any lie, any deception, is acceptable if it advances your "just" cause. Such partisans will deliberately ignore evidence that tends to contradict their theory, will make accusations about opponents and their writings which are based on their own partisan views of the opponents, not on a careful analysis of the opponent's writings. These are tactics that are easy to fall into when a person adopts a partisan theory and pursues it relentlessly. But the astute historian recognizes that every partisan thinks their cause is just, and true historians attempt to detach themselves from their material enough to avoid the corrupting influence of partisan interest. Moreover, whenever historiography is corrupted by these tactics, we know that we are dealing with a political agenda, and that the writing of history has become a propaganda tool in pursuit of specific political ends. Is it possible to conceive of a greater betrayal of their trust than such examples of historians who display such a lack a moral focus and who use history in the pursuit of partisan ends? Surely, this is the primary corrupting influence in historiography, and the most egregious violation of the historian's responsibility to students, the public, and the nation.

There is a vast difference between advocacy and historiography. The history writer seeks fairness and objectivity; but the advocate seeks to gather materials in order to promote a particular idea, and all too often tries every ploy and uses every trick to suppress evidence and to defeat the opponent. Historians betray their craft when they become advocates, becoming in the process little more than propagandists. All sides must be represented if fairness is to prevail, and the historian either presents all sides or the product is a travesty. Certainly, the historian may take sides, but it should be clear that there are indeed different sides, that all sides have been presented, and then the reasons for choosing one over another have been made plain. In the case of the committee report issued by the Thomas Jefferson Memorial Foundation, it is obvious that this was a piece of advocacy. It cried out for a rebuttal in the form of a critical analysis in order to have both sides represented, and, indeed, this was the task that was undertaken by the Thomas Jefferson Heritage Society. In the case of the book by Annette Gordon-Reed, this was obviously another piece of advocacy. In fact, it was used as the source and model for the work done by the TJMF, and we have the case of one piece of advocacy being used to create another. We then have historians, under the guise of doing historical investigation, merely participating in "groupthink" and joining in a partisan campaign begun by others.

To a great extent, historians cannot escape their own context of values, and this is to be expected. If, indeed, human civilization is making progressive advances, historians today should be able to bring to the past a better insight into the dynamics of civilization and the causes behind historical events than could earlier historians. But those insights are quite distinct from the narrow-minded presentism that seeks to impose today's values on the historical past and that fails to understand past actions in the context of their time. Those condemnations of the past by the lights of the present in order to promote today's political ideas are a blatant form of advocacy. It is in such presentism that the Deconstructionists have their most justifiable arguments.

But presentism is not an inevitable condition of those who would investigate the past; it is merely the state of mind of those who are in fact ignorant of the past, and who possess a provincial and dogmatic attitude towards past societies. Society changes with every new generation, and the astute observer cannot take the latest changes for granted and castigate the past for not being the present. The historian that does that has become an advocate, a propagandist, and a pusher of political dogmatism. It is just such historians who turn history into illusion by refusing to treat it with openness, and imposing upon it their own values.

The writing of history, therefore, becomes a search for truth -- the truth of the human condition as understood through the active forces in the past that give history its forward movement. It does not become a matter of "Whose truth?" except when history is distorted for political purposes. History that abandons truth becomes a matter of spin, of careful selection, and of manipulation. Debate is stifled, opposition is suppressed, and the truth itself is twisted and altered, and then replaced by calculated speculation and supposition, whenever history is used for political purposes. Those historians who use history in this way do an enormous disservice to their readers and students, because ignorance is less damaging than the products of an historian's imagination. Or as Jefferson wrote:

"He who knows nothing is nearer to truth than he whose mind is filled with falsehoods and errors." --Thomas Jefferson to John Norvell, 1807. ME 11:225

How can a reader tell when a historian has stopped writing history and has begun inventing evidence using supposition and speculation? When the historian starts using words like "possibly this happened," and "this might have been," and other similar constructions that indicate the writer has begun extrapolating. Not all speculation is improper, of course. If reasonable and based on available evidence, it can help to broaden the reader's concept of a situation and its impact, describing things that would almost certainly result, even though there is no real evidence for it. But when speculation is used to bend the evidence to fit a theory which the writer obviously holds, such as happens so frequently in the Gordon-Reed book, the reader should be put on alert and eye all such "evidence" with suspicion.

Is history an illusion? It can be that -- and something worse -- when the historian's bias is allowed to creep in, as it can at every point in the process of writing it. But surely historians can be trained to treat the past with a balanced approach, just as librarians are trained to treat collection development by presenting all sides in a subject area. Perhaps the problem has been that this kind of emphasis on a balanced approach has been missing in history classes. Too often, the teaching of history means the historian's own view of things, not a multiplicity of views, and you'd better regurgitate precisely the teacher's views on the final exam if you expect to get a decent grade. We wonder how many students of Professor d'Entremont (Randolph-Macon Woman's College) are willing to challenge his view of the Jefferson-Hemings controversy when he has publicly compared those who don't believe Thomas Jefferson fathered the children of Sally Hemings to those who believe the earth is flat. The problem in historiography is the easy presence, even the embracing, of bias, and the way to overcome that is to recognize it, to identify the many ways that it can intrude itself into the writing of history, and to develop a style of historical writing that presents the readers with the task of reaching conclusions, rather than having historians make the conclusions for them.

August 10, 2001

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