Annual Report of the American Historical Association/1912/The Reviewing of Historical Books
VIII. THE REVIEWING OF HISTORICAL BOOKS.
By CARL BECKER,
Professor in the University of Kansas.
THE REVIEWING OF HISTORICAL BOOKS.
By Carl Becker.
When I was invited to prepare a brief paper on book reviewing, it at once occurred to me that such a paper might well be entitled "How to review books, by one who never wrote any." I prefer not to dwell on the circumstances which make this title personally fitting; the more so as, in one sense, it is perhaps not inappropriate that the present discussion should be opened by one who is more familiar with reviewing than with authorship. The point I have in mind may be well brought out by relating a personal experience. Some years ago there fell into my hands, for purposes of review, a book of some pretensions, which unfortunately turned out to be largely pretentious. Shortly after the review was printed there came an anonymous communication inclosing clippings from any number of high-class journals, such as the Kansas City Star and the Boston Transcript, all of which had given the book a good character. The clippings had been pasted on a sheet of note paper, and underneath were written, very neatly, these words: "Big men write books; little men review them." The particular example which had so obviously inspired this crisp epigram I naturally thought to be unfortunately chosen; but I have often wondered whether the epigram itself, abstractly considered, is not truer than we like to suppose.
And yet, with all due respect to these eminent persons, I imagine the result would be much the same even if the big men wrote all the reviews as well as all the books; for, although the reproach of my friend is probably less apropos in foreign countries than it is here, I do not see that the reviews, in the Revue Historique for example, are very different from those in American journals; a little more effectively executed perhaps—hitting the mark a little more surely when the book has merit, less weakly amiable when it has none—but still of the same general type. Now if this type is what we want, there is nothing more to be said. The quality of our reviews is good enough, but it is just possible that their character, which is much the same everywhere, leaves something to be desired. Supposing this to be the case, it may not be amiss to ask what, essentially is the character of the typical historical book review.
Book reviewing is a term of variable significance. It may be defined as a species of writing which ranges from bibliography on the one side to creative criticism on the other. Matthew Arnold's essay on Amiel, an essay which is a little masterpiece of criticism, might be called a book review, inspired as it was by Mrs. Ward's translation of Amiel. If, however, I write 20 lines describing the latest text book, that also, I suppose, is not improperly called a book review. But there is a world of difference between these productions; the one is valuable only for bibliographical information, the other only for criticism. Now it seems to me a pretty accurate description of the ordinary historical book review to say of it that it aims to be both bibliography and criticism, and so ends by not being precisely either the one thing or the other: in substance it is an expanded bibliographical note, while in form it affects the mannerisms of the literary critique.
Just consider what it is of real value that one gets from the general run of book reviews. Is it not information of a bibliographical nature, information which can be briefly set down on a small card, thus enabling one to speak intelligently about the book without ever having seen it? All very well; but why is this information swelled to two pages instead of being compressed to ten lines? The reason is that the historical book review still maintains the traditions of the essay in criticism. The reviewer is expected to put his best pen for ward, and, besides giving all necessary bibliographical information, to make some remarks of a general nature appropriate to the occasion. Knowing what is expected, the faithful fellow does his best; opens perhaps with a kind of introduction, throwing in here an epigram and there a classical allusion; very likely begins an analysis or a comparison which there is not space to finish; hastily concludes with a falling inflection which not infrequently half withdraws the sting of a caustic introduction. One readily sees in these characteristics the stunted survivals of a once flourishing species; so that the typical historical review has often all the appearance of a leisurely essay ruthlessly deleted by some unfeeling editor.
Well, for my part, I wish our editors might be even more unfeeling and more ruthless. I wish they might altogether destroy this hybrid creature which is not bibliography simply, and is criticism only in appearance. Bibliographical information is an excellent thing, and historical criticism is an excellent thing; but they are very different things, and both would probably be better done if we did not boil them together in the same pot. Let us, then, in our reviewing, separate what is bibliography from what professes to be criticism: of bibliographical information let us have as much as possible, and of criticism let us have at least a little, and have that little excellent.
In respect to the bibliographical information which the professional student requires, the essential points are the author, title, and date of the book, the subject precisely indicated, the sources used by the author and his manner of using them, the plan or method of presentation, and the conclusions, if any, which the author thinks he has reached. Generally speaking, this information is contained in the book review as we now have it; but it might be given much more concisely. By adopting the condensed form used by constructors of scientific bibliographies, by rigidly excluding all superfluous matter, half the space now devoted to reviews would serve to chronicle twice as many books. And this is a consummation to be wished for. The great majority of teachers and students work in small and very inadequate libraries, and at present they find it difficult if not impossible to keep in touch with all the publications in any particular field. Doubtless it is impossible for any one journal to make a complete record of all the books and articles that appear in the field of history, but I believe the record could be made much more complete than it now is; and perhaps it would not be wholly impracticable for the four or five leading journals of the world, by cooperation, avoiding all unnecessary duplication, to make a record that would be very nearly complete.
But, desirable as it is to have more and more concisely stated bibliographical information, I am rather interested to have a little first-rate historical criticism. Perhaps critical reviewing is the better term, for I have in mind articles long or short, inspired always by currently published historical works, yet dealing with some subject of general historical importance, and discussing this subject critically, and with whatever of originality and constructive power the writer may possess. The critical review is occupied not so much with books for themselves, as with the general trend of historical thought and investigation, and with the relation of history to other branches of knowledge; it has to do with the entire intellectual activity of the time, and is concerned with books, therefore, only as they illustrate aptly some aspect of this larger subject.
From this point of view, many excellent books do not lend themselves, individually, to the purposes of the critical reviewer. But they may often be grouped in illustration of some prevailing type of investigation, or active interest in a particular field. In recent years many scholars, both here and in England, have been engaged in exploiting the sources which throw light on the imperial aspects of our colonial history. Valuable collections of documents, such as the colonial series of the privy council records, and many careful mono graphic studies, such as those of Mr. Beer, to say nothing of the comprehensive work of Prof. Osgood, have been published in the last decade. I am sure that some one who is thoroughly familiar with all this work might write an instructive, an illuminating critical essay about it, noting the changing attitude of both British and American scholars toward our colonial history, and attempting to find an explanation for this change in those present-day conditions that are determining the trend of historical scholarship generally, and, more particularly, that are bringing about, in England and tho United States, a marked revival of interest in colonial policy. And reviews of this sort, from time to time, in other fields of study would be equally instructive.
But the critical reviewer, being primarily interested in the main drift and tendency of historical thinking, finds his best opportunity in the appearance of books that depart from conventional methods of investigation or interpretation. Books of real originality, such as the "Ancient City" or the "Holy Roman Empire;" books that are less original than they profess to be, such as a well-known recent history of Rome; books, like those of Lamprecht or Taine, which reflect the influence of contemporary scientific thought; books that shock us by inviting the historian to learn something about man as well as about his past; great undertakings, such as the "Cambridge Modern History" or Prof. Channing's "History of the United States"—books of this sort we need to have critically reviewed, particularly in an age of specialization like the present, in order to clarify our ideas of historical method and of tho purpose and trend of historical scholarship.
I have mentioned the "Cambridge Modern History," and I return to it because it seems to me that the present method of reviewing has proved strikingly inadequate in dealing with this work. The reviewer, confronted with a single ponderous tome, appalled by the necessity of dispatching it in three or four pages, has felt tho hopelessness of the task. And yet this great undertaking might, under a different method, have inspired reviews of distinct value. Nearly every reviewer, for example, has felt bound to make a few obvious remarks about the advantages and disadvantages of the cooperative method; and by the time the "Cambridge Mediaeval History" is finished I don't doubt we shall know perfectly that the cooperative history is strong in respect to accuracy of detail and variety of treatment, but weak in respect to unity and coherence. Now, cooperative work is a marked feature of our time, but it is not peculiar to it; and I am confident that our knowledge of the advantages and disadvantages of such work would lose nothing in accuracy, while it would gain much in coherence, if some one competent to the task should undertake a critical estimate of the principal cooperative histories of recent years from the point of view of the history of cooperative scholarship in general. This would not preclude an extended critical review of each volume of the "Cambridge Modern History." The preface informs us that the plan of the work contemplated devoting each volume to some distinct movement or to some period possessing a certain unity in itself. The reviewer might well take his cue from this; and it would then be his task to bring into sharp relief the principal features of the great movement, such as the Reformation or the Revolution, or of the period, such as the eighteenth century, which is the subject of the particular volume in hand. Such a series of critical articles would enable us to understand European history better; and, besides, it might clear up certain obscure points in respect to the "Cambridge Modern History" itself—as, for example, why the work is more often commended in public reference than it is in private conversation, or why the execution of the work falls so far short of Lord Acton's ideal of it, or how it is possible for Englishmen to write so learnedly about the Revolution without being aware that there was a Revolution.
The great books, however, are not the only ones that enlist the attention of the critical reviewer. It sometimes happens that a slight book is significant for what it points to. I have in mind, for example, the little volume of Mr. A. M. Simons, entitled "Social Forces in American History;" not perhaps a very wise performance; written, it must be confessed, without fear and without research; written nevertheless with profound conviction, and significant because it is representative of what probably passes for history among militant socialists, but significant above all because in the next 50 years many histories of the United States, and better ones than this, will doubtless be written from the same point of view.
Critical reviewing, at its best, doubtless requires particular qualities: grasp and breadth of view as well as erudition; information meditated as well as catalogued; something of originality and constructive literary power. These are precisely the qualities which, in our talks to teachers, we are apt to say the study of history will develop. It would seem, therefore, that historians should be pre eminent in this species of writing. But the fact is they are little given to it, and when they attempt it not infrequently just fall short of something first rate. It sometimes happens, indeed, that the very historian who exhibits breadth of view and originality, sound judgment, and a certain constructive power in his own work fails in just these respects when he is concerned to estimate critically the work of another. There is a notable example of this, and I bring it forward in order to show more clearly what I mean by critical reviewing, and as a means of suggesting the reason why historians are less successful in this rôle than one might expect them to be.
A quarter of a century ago Taine published the second part of his "Origins of Contemporary France"—the part dealing more particularly with the French Revolution. Few histories have been more widely read or more passionately discussed. After so many years one might reasonably expect to find some comprehensive estimate of the work, some dispassionate yet profound and searching criticism of it, which is at the same time an illuminating discussion of the Revolution itself and of its principles. And to whom should one go for such a criticism if not to the man who has given his life to the study of the Revolution? Well, there is such a criticism of Taine. But did M. Aulard write it? No. It was written 25 years ago, when the book first appeared, by a professional critic and man of letters— M. Ferdinand Brunetière; an essay of 70 pages, as good an example of critical reviewing as you will readily find. It may now be read in the author's collected works and is rather better worth reading to-day than the book which inspired it.
But now, over against this short critique, for purposes of comparison, place the entire volume which M. Aulard has devoted to Taine. It can not be said of M. Aulard that he rushed into print. On the contrary, 20 years of study and meditation prepared him, if he could ever be prepared, to say the last word on Taine, to estimate him justly, to the hair's breadth; and 300 pages was surely space enough to do it in. Under the circumstances, the book should be a masterpiece; but I confess it strikes me principally as the failure of a master, and perhaps it may serve to illustrate, on a grand scale, the way in which historians are most in danger of failing, if they do fail, when they assume the rôle of critic.
The title of M. Aulard's book is, "Taine, Historian of the French Revolution;" but it is only with one aspect of this large question, or at most two, that the author really deals. M. Aulard found that Taine had a preconceived notion of the Revolution, and that his references were not always adequate to the proof of his assertions. These facts are important, certainly, but M. Aulard has allowed him self to be overwhelmed by them; and so he has written, not a balanced and judicious criticism of Taine, but a catalogue of the errors to be found in his book. It needs not 300 pages, nor 3 pages, to prove that Taine was prejudiced. The fact is obvious. Taine is so hard on the Jacobins that one ends by supposing there must have been something substantial about these men to justify so much hammering. That Taine's documentation is inadequate was not so obvious. It was well to point out the fact, if it is a fact, but it was not well to do nothing else. For by dint of patiently picking out and methodically chronicling error after error, monotonously, without haste, without rest, chapter after chapter, through 300 pages, the reader is left with the impression that Taine must have been either a very superficial charlatan or an imbecile. Criticism should render us the form and portrait of a man in right perspective. M. Aulard has collected all the surface imperfections, the moles and the warts, the scars; he has put them all together under a magnifying glass; he bids us look—"See," he says, "this is Taine. How repulsive!"
Thus, even if M. Aulard has not detected more errors in the hook than it contains, still the result is false criticism. But now it appears that M. Aulard himself is not always accurate; and so we have another book, by M. Cochin, in which is demonstrated conclusively that Aulard made mistakes in the process of proving that Taine made mistakes. It remains only for some one to prove definitively that Cochin made mistakes in proving that Aulard made mistakes in proving that Taine made mistakes. It is scarcely necessary to remind you that such a comedy of errors has been staged already, done into downright English by Messrs. Froude, Freeman, Round, and I don't know how many more besides. This, I maintain, is not historical criticism; it is only excess of historical method, tempered with professional amenity.
It is excess of method; and this, I take it, is the secret of M. Aulard's failure. M. Aulard, who has written if not brilliantly at least justly about tho Revolution, can not write justly about Taine because he has surrendered to the cult of method. Nothing but blind faith in method could have led him, from the fact that Taine cited a document incorrectly, to conclude that he never saw the document; or, from the fact that of 500 documents in a certain place in the archives Taine cited only 5, to conclude that he never read but 5. Common sense should have saved him this. But M. Aulard, who has no lack of common sense, does not bring it to the criticism of Taine; he brings method. It is not Taine's conclusions that offend M. Aulard, but bis method of reaching them. What M. Aulard can't endure about Taine is not the fact that he did not read the documents, but rather the fact that, professing to read them, he did not sit still in his chair and read them leisurely, methodically, without malice, and almost without interest—that is to say, as M. Aulard has read them. I suspect that Taine found the documents so interesting that he often forgot to take notes, and so suffered the mischance of having more ideas in his head than could be found in his card cases. But alas! It is even possible that Taine did not use cards.
And this devotion to method, which is the secret of M. Aulard's failure, may perhaps explain in part why our historical reviews contain excellent bibliographical information but very little genuine criticism. A natural reaction from the futile rhetoric which characterized much of the writing of the romantic historians has carried us somewhat too far in the opposite direction. We wish not to be classed with theorists and literary people. We wish to be thought Substantial and scientific. We are bound to have our work very solid even if it prove very heavy. And so in our reviewing we look a little too much to the footnotes and the bibliography, and judge a book to be good if its technique is up to the mark. The result is excellent for increasing our knowledge of books and of how they are constructed. But at the present time, when many thoughtful men, both within the guild and out of it, are asking what is the value of so many learned volumes that nobody reads, we need a criticism that shall go beyond technique. If such a criticism should take us even into the domain of the philosophy of history, let us not be dismayed; for it is possible that in seeking to avoid having a philosophy of history the historian does not succeed in not having one; perhaps after all he succeeds only in having a bad one.