Customer Reviews

The Landscape of History: How Historians Map the Past

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Gaddis examines the nature of history and the function of historians through a wide range of metaphors. By putting forth the question: How long is the British coast line? Gaddis immediately sets out that if we measure in miles we won't get to the alcoves and cubbyholes and we'll probably end up with a nice round number. If we measure in microns and millimeters, it'll take a while but we'll measure every single bend and dog leg and we'll have a much larger number. Many of Gaddis' metaphors spur philosophical discussions but he does not approach them with a philosophical background, instead he sets out to solve a functional question: What is history? Is it a natural science? If it is, then why can we not replicate any historical findings as biology and physiology can? Is it a social science? Then why do other social sciences like economics and anthropology try to find an independent variable upon which everything hangs when historians try to put out the bigger picture? Gaddis' conclusion then is that history is its own beast. It does not mirror either the hard sciences nor the social sciences although it may pick up some of their properties.

All in all, this book is very readable for a historiography and may appeal to non-historians seeking a perspective on history. The chapters read more like the text of a speech than a textbook so the minimal 140 or so pages will make this a very easy read.

A brief, but entirely enjoyable book on the craft of history. John Lewis Gaddis's book is really a collection of speeches he gave during a visiting professorship at Oxford. The speeches center on the art and science of historical research. He challenges the view held by many social scientists that downplay historians as storytellers whose craft lack the rigor of the scientific method. Gaddis claims that the historical method is more complex that most realize and that historians have more in common with evolutionary biologists and astronomers than economists and political scientists. Despite the academic nature of the subject, the chapters are very readable, since they were written as speeches. The only downside was his attempts at pop-culture humor in an attempt to seem hip to the Oxford audience. A man of his standing in the field of Soviet history has nothing to prove to a bunch of British 19-year olds.

Nevertheless, the book offers a unique glimpse into the mind of a master historian. Good history reads easily, with beautiful narrative, deep research, and thought-provoking analysis. This Gaddis book describes how complex the process can be. It made me appreciate first rate history even more.

John Lewis Gaddis' The Landscape of History is a scholarly yet very approachable work that successfully attempts to pick up the mantel of the famous scholars of historiography, specifically Marc Bloch and E. H. Carr. Gaddis' purpose is to encourage students and historians not only to reexamine the theories of Bloch and Carr in a more modern light, but also scrutinize the methodology that historians use, and more often than not, recoil from making explicit. Gaddis, in a veiled manner does refute some of the assumptions of postmodernism, primarily the extremist view that historians are unable to make conclusions about the past. Gaddis is content with inundating his work with metaphors, some of which span chapters to relate and clarify complex ideas and arguments to the reader since he claims that "we need all the help we can get" (pg 128). Gaddis, masterfully using this powerful tool, arrives at a concept of historical consciousness which he argues helps to establish human identity. In the course of this argument Gaddis explains how historians "achieve [this] state" (pg 129) through their manipulations of time and space, the mechanisms of structure and progress, and causation, contingency, and counterfactuals. He claims that the methodology that emerges, although long since said to be closer to the realm of the social science, actually uses methods and techniques more similar to paleontology, geology, and evolutionary biology since both require thought experiments.

One of Gaddis' achievements is his ability to convey complicated ideas in a crisp, persuasive, and well-supported fashion. His primary tool is the use of extended metaphors, the most important being the painting The Wanderer above a Sea of Fog by Caspar David Friedrich, comparisons to sciences such as paleontology, and the length of Britain's coastline. Gaddis' exploration of metaphor of The Wanderer above a Sea of Fog spans his carefully unfolding arguments from beginning to end and each subsequent interpretation is added to by the next, providing a vast framework. These metaphors provide a point of reference for the reader and a visual embodiment of Gaddis' arguments. It encourages active participation by the reader in the argument and the layered interpretation exemplifies the complexity of his arguments and the complexities the historian faces in general.

Gaddis argues that people cannot apply the `scientific method' to history, since historical events have already happened the causes cannot be proven with a physical experiment. But not all sciences use physical experimentation either. Paleography examines the remains and postulates from fossils that are millions of years ago. History and many sciences "start [s] with surviving structures;" the geologist studies an ancient formation, the historian his sources (pg 41). The conclusions are proven by thought experiments; however, the deductions made must be "tethered to and disciplined by their sources." Gaddis does not clearly state if history is a science, but declares that the "distinction would lie along the line separating actual replicability... from the virtual replicability that's associated with thought experiments" (pg 43). He is not skirting the issue for much it to be gained "by comparing what they do to what happens in other fields," namely, to illustrate facets of the historian's own methodology. This answer relates back to Gaddis' purpose, to argue that historians need to make their methodological approaches clear for "methodological innocence leads to methodological vulnerability" especially from the extremist critiques of the postmodernist (pg 51). Just as metaphors cannot convey the complexity in its entirety yet yield important benefits, comparisons to science allows the historian to examine their methodological methods.

A critic of The Landscape of History probably would argue that the well-read student or historian already puts into practice, sometimes without knowing it, most of Gaddis' conclusions about methodology. However, Gaddis' purpose is not to belabor the obvious but rather to argue that historians need to make "their methods more explicit" (pg XI). This book rather, makes a point to examine these unconscious workings that once pointed out to us are often obvious. Like many historians and students Gaddis' admits that he also has questioned the benefit of history, a study that he has devoted his life to, and partially because of his unease he decided to write this book to reestablish in his own mind the importance of history (pg x). He concludes with the following powerful statements of the purpose of history which his metaphors slowly revealed: "by breathing life into whatever remains from another time... we thereby assure it a kind of permanence" (pg 140), the study "helps establish human identity" (pg 147), and by "learning about the past liberates the learner from oppressions earlier constructions of the past have imposed upon them" (pg 146). The most remarkable part of the book, and unfortunately the briefest, occurs on the last few pages where Gaddis argues that the "single most important thing any historian has to do.... is to teach" (pg 149). Gaddis' The Landscape of History is a fascinating and illuminating read for both the student and the historian.

Gaddis is a well-published Cold War historian. His PhD (1968) is from the University of Texas. He now teaches at Yale. I have seen him on C-Span a couple of times; he has a flat, slightly nasal, Southwestern accent, is highly intelligent beneath his self-deprecating and slightly awkward manner.

This book is based on a series of lectures he gave on historical method while he was George Eastman Visiting Professor at Balliol College, Oxford, 2000-2001, before 9/11.

Although I have given this book a 5-star rating, there are a few negatives. He tries too hard to make a good impression on his Oxonian audience, with cornball humor and lame analogies. He obviously feels that he has to prove that he is a civilized, cultured person and not an ignorant Texas yahoo. He is too nice to the post-modern feminist deconstructionists who have tried to destroy Western culture and rewrite history. No doubt he is in an awkward position, surrounded as he is by such people at Yale. It's hard to blame him for trying to defuse their basic hostility toward everything he represents - caucasian, male, Texan, but he could have made his points without citing such trendy vacuities as "Shakespeare in Love", "Being John Malkovich", and Tom Stoppard.

That said, this is a serious book about a serious subject, the structure of historical thought and method. He gives most of the credit for the modern understanding of the subject to Marc Bloch and E.H. Carr, whose work he cites throughout. R.G. Collingwood The Idea of History: With Lectures 1926-1928, who actually preceded both Bloch and Carr with many of the same insights, also appears frequently, but almost as an afterthought.

Gaddis believes that while it is not possible to apply the experimental scientific method to history ("history" is past, done, over with, finished, by definition), it is quite possible to use the descriptive scientific method of collecting evidence and using reason to explain it, much like a physician, paleontologist, geologist, or field naturalist does, and by doing so arrive at a fair representation of the past. The more objective and thorough the historian, the more accurate the representation. He also shows that a PERFECT reproduction of the past is impossible, and probably not even desirable.

For the details of his argument, read the book, and ignore the lame analogies.

My opinion of Gaddis is heightened by his graceful admission that he failed completely to anticipate the peaceful and almost bloodless collapse of the USSR.

Highly recommended for those with a serious interest in history.

John Lewis Gaddis has written a superb book on "how historians map the past" and why we should care. Drawing on impressive erudition, he clearly and deeply shows how history relates to the human sciences and the natural sciences, yet his writing is very easy to follow and enjoyable, and not at all pretentious. At less than 200 pages, this is a short book, but there's insight on every page, so the attentive reader will learn a lot.

To give a better sense of the contents, let me try to summarize some of the main ideas:
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The first and most obvious challenge faced by the historian is that the past (the "landscape of history"), though real, isn't directly accessible to us, so we try to reconstruct a representation (a map) of it based on the traces it leaves for us. This requires inductive and deductive selection and interpretation of evidence, balancing details and generalizations, with the process iterated until an acceptable narrative has been produced, as judged relative to a chosen perspective and purposes. In this sense, there's no such thing as a "correct" historical narrative, but there are certainly less or more useful narratives, and pluralistically developing multiple narratives coming from different angles can enhance our overall understanding.

A further challenge for the historian is that the human and natural worlds consist of systems which aren't merely simplex or complex, but rather an interactive combination of both, with processes which are both linear and nonlinear, continuous and discontinuous, path-independent and path-dependant, predictable and unpredictable (with sensitive dependence on initial conditions). Moreover, unlike inert objects, people have consciousness, which can make their actions especially unpredictable. The result is that variables are generally interdependent, without the possibility of usefully separating out independent variables, and forecasting beyond some basic patterns and tendencies is usually impossible. This again highlights the need for narrative.

Considering these features, the historian's work is much like the historical sciences of astronomy, geology, and evolutionary biology (see especially Maps of Time: An Introduction to Big History (California World History Library) by David Christian), as well as the practice of clinical medicine, but it's notably unlike the social sciences, because of their aim for ahistorical universal generalizations.

With respect to why we should bother with history, the past always weighs heavily on the present and future, thereby shaping our culture and even our physical landscape, so studying history should have at least some benefit in helping us make better decisions. And more generally, the study of history helps to keep us well-rounded and balanced, with a better sense of our place in the scheme of things.
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If you have an interest in history or the craft of history, I very highly recommend this wonderful book. In fact, I rank it among the best books I've read on any subject and I look forward to reading it again. As further reading, I also recommend The Uncertainties of Knowledge (Politics, History, and Social Change) by Immanuel Wallerstein.

This book is an entertaining and easily readable book about how historians map that unusual and mysterious landscape known as the past. Examining the relationships between history and the 'hard' sciences and how their methods have become joined over the course of the 20th and early 21st centuries, and filled with well-thought and humorous barbs against both reductionism and relativism, this book gives historians the grounds to feel supremely proud and awesomely humble about their field and their approach. This book should be either required or recommended reading for any class in historiography as a brief but vital apologetic for the historical craft. Clio, that famous muse of history, would be proud to be defended so ably and so cleverly, and so should the proud student of history.

Gaddis is a giant in the field of history, most notably for his exhaustive studies on the Cold War. What he attempts to do here is give a detailed, scientific description of how the historian does what he does. Contary to some of the other reviewers, I did not find this an easy read. More on that in a minute, first I'll say what I did glean from the book. Gaddis starts off comparing the historian to a geographer. Much like a map-maker is incapable of mapping a large area of terrain while standing on that terrain, a historian cannot accurately describe an event if they are involved in it. You must be outside it, or above it to get all the perspectives and deliver an objective view of the overall situation. This section was good.

Gaddis also tries to argue that history is more of a scientific process than many people realize. In fact, he claims that the historical method has more in common with that of a geologist, physicist, or paleontologist than a social scientist. To argue this point, he uses an array of scientific jargon, analogies, and metaphors. He writes as if he is trying to convince a scientist of the scientific validity of the historian's craft. In fact I read that this book is essentially an expansion of some speeches he gave to science students, attempting to do just that. This is why I had some difficulty with the book. I have virtually no science background and therefore found much of the scientific jargon to be over my head. For Pete's sake, one of the reasons that I'm a history major is because I'm no good at science! Anyway, I do not dispute Gaddis' knowledge or talent in his chosen field, that is not an issue. But I would just offer the warning that if you are not reasonably well-versed in basic scientific concepts, this book will be a challenge. Needless to say, those with a basic understanding of science will no doubt get much more out of this book than I did.

John Lewis Gaddis has done all who read or make history a great service with his reflections on history: what it is and is not, its limitations, its purposes, its biases. As someone who gets paid for producing historical studies, I found this book particularly helpful with its insights. There are very few jarring notes--the worst being that Gaddis says he agrees with postmodernists that "all our bases for evaluating behavior [i.e. making moral judgments] are themselves artifacts of behavior." Ignore this bit of confusion and enjoy the rest, which is eminently lucid. I particularly liked his comparing what the historian does to what a cartographer does in making a map: first, choosing what landscape to depict, what the emphases will be, and what to leave out. I also liked his comparison of history as a discipline with sciences like paleontology, geology, and astronomy--where experiments cannot be conducted except in the mind. Overall, a significant book; highly recommended.

In Cretaceous North America a Tyrannosaurus Rex, using his small forelimbs to position a recently killed Apatosaurus, rips apart a piece of flesh with his razor sharp teeth. Was the Tyrannosaurus Rex a true hunter, or nothing more than a scavenger, impeded by his small forelimbs? John Lewis Gaddis's book The Landscape of History uses metaphors to place historians within the realm of paleontologists and the "new" scientists (41). Gaddis, by using an excessive amount of metaphors, explores the historical consciousness; the historical mind which is related more to "new" sciences than the methods practiced by social scientists. Gaddis also points out the tensions that arise by studying history; the tension between being liberated and oppressed, mastery and humility, detachment and engagement (129). Gaddis's work spans the fields of theoretical physics to political science, and history from the big bang to the personality cults of Stalin and Mao, and arguing throughout history's place is in the realm between art and science, while utilizing the tools of "new" science.
Gaddis uses Caspar David Friedrich's painting The Wanderer above a Sea of Fog, to describe history as a physical landscape (5). The job of a historian is to represent the landscape of history. The historian's ability to be both detached and engaged with the landscape provides the historian with the ability to be many places at once, and being able to compare those events (24-25). The historian's method in analyzing the landscape is the method of "new" science. "New" science is more detached from Newtonian theory and predictable experiments, by taking into account multiple variables in a given event, and at the same time realizing in the chaos there is order (76-77).
Gaddis describes Stalin's formative years of smashing a bird's skull, and causing the suicide of his wife, as fractal geometry (117-118). Gaddis overdoes his use of metaphors in describing historical methods. Although his use of sources is wide, ranging from different periods and different areas of history, it seems adolescent at times, especially when Gaddis uses movies that are questionable in their relationship to the methodology of history (113-114). It is distracting to move from Stephen Hawking's A Brief History of Time, Marc Bloch's The Historian's Craft to the film Being John Malkovich. Even though his wide range of sources are impressive, he over generalizes examples. For instance, he portrays Hitler, Stalin, and Mao as aliens, imposing their will upon an atomized society, but does not include the research done by social historians and the impact of the "bottom" upon the "top" (127). Gaddis is clearly at his weakest in his attempt to moralize history, and fails to acknowledge leaders such as Hitler, Stalin, and Mao were not aliens, but operated within larger historical and cultural contexts.
Gaddis definitely stays with his argument that history is a landscape and should be described by using the tools of the "new" sciences. By describing the landscape, historians are affected by tensions of historical study, such as, being both master of the landscape and its subject. Gaddis's disparate sources and use of metaphors is excessive, causing over generalizations. These over generalizations contradict Gaddis's argument that history is more closely related to the "new" sciences, because the variables that compose the larger picture are forgotten in Gaddis's attempt at being the Stephen Hawking of history. When Gaddis avoids these generalizations his interpretation of history can be both intriguing and provocative.

Gaddis takes an interesting look at how historians have developed the methodologies that make up history. This is an extended survey that considers aspects of biography and the natural sciences. While at times his comparisons can be a stretch there is useful information to be gleamed from this book. First let me start off by saying that this is only for those who really want to look at the philosophical side of why historians write about history. This is not necessarily a book on the how but it explores the perspectives that historians find themselves writing on throughout the course of their works. The comparisons to natural science are either a cry for a more streamlined system of causality or a plea for historians to look at the causal relationships of events. One of the more interesting points Gaddis makes is the idea that historians work backwards to write forwards. We take events that happen in the past and work backwards to find out how they occurred but we present them for our reader in a chronological cause and effect scenario. Overall this is interesting theory but the book wanders too much and really the things he discussed could easily have been said in 75 pages and not 150.