Under the somewhat ambiguous title of this lecture the purpose is to discuss another of the indispensable aspects of historical analysis. Like time, space is a many-splendored thing. And like time it has received the specific attention of James C. Malin.
VIII. History: Global or Provincial
In 1943 Main published a portion of his presidential address to the Agricultural History Society under the title "Space and History." Almost in fulfillment of some of the observations that he made at that time, several airlines have instituted over-the-pole service from the United States to European countries and just a few days ago Trans-World Airlines published a map on which the Atlantic Ocean has been reduced to the width of a riverramatic, visual illustration of what has happened to space in the Air Age, or prospectively in the Jumbo-Jet Age. This is not a matter only of space-shrinking and certainly not of man conquering nature. It is a matter of man responding to the challenges of trackless seas and untraversed skies, of frozen tundras and broad expanses of land.
In the course of analyzing the many faces of space as related to American history, some attention will be paid to at least four of them. These are space as location or focus; space as closed; space as shift or change; and space as limit or boundary. The first of these, space as location or focus, will be illustrated by several perceptive editorials that appeared in the Atchison (Kansas) Daily Champion in 1867 and 1868, The general theme is repeated time and time again, but is summarized in particularly detailed fashion in two editorials. One of these is entitled "The Growth of Cities" and the other "Atchison Needs and Necessities." For sheer exuberance of spirit and utilization of superlatives it is difficult to imagine that the case for geographic determinism could be presented more dramatically. Partly because the Champion at different times drew upon the writing skill, or the reservoirs of "purple prose" of Franklin G. Adams, John
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J. Ingalls and John A. Martin, it is difficult to be absolutely certain of the authorship of the editorials. The quotations which follow contain some of the flavor of the argument.
Man aggregates. So do the beasts of the field and forest; the birds and insects of the air, and the fishes of the sea. Community is the law of existence. First the pair, then the family; finally, society and nations. This fact is [as] inevitable as gravitation. Bees swarm, buffalo move in multitudes, men dwell in cities. Climate, soil, nature, circumstance have some influence in determining the point of congregation. There must be a nucleus around which the individuals may cluster. The beaver does not seek the desert, the prairie dog the morass, nor the dolphin the wilderness. So with men. The city must have a focus; some ocean harbor, oasis, river bend, mountain slope, or fertile area, affording peculiar advantages for access, egress, and accumulation. Nothing is fortuitous.... Centres of population [grow] in obedience to a law as inexorable as that which controls the formulation of a crystal or a planet...)The remainder of the first article is devoted to the emphasis upon the human element and upon easy access and unrestrained trade. The premise that is always present in the argument is that there must be effective lines of communication between the focal point and the hinterland. Space as such must be traversed by goods and men.
The author of the preceding statement must have felt that he had not closed his argument because seven months later he returned to his theme. Prefacing the core of his presentation with a discussion of the significance of geographical location, good roads, entrepreneurship, and public confidence he proceeded:
The first of these essentials it is hardly necessary to say, our city enjoys in a peculiar degree. It is universally conceded that Atchison has the best geographical location on the Missouri. A noble river navigable for thousands of miles both above and below, curves grandly far into Kansas, and at the most interior point of its broad sweep is Atchison. A beautiful and fertile country, inexhaustible in its resources of soil surrounds us.2The timing of these editorials with reference to the shift from water to land transportation, from muscular to mechanical
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sources of power and from wood to coal as the primary source of energy makes these statements particularly interesting. The writer seems to be aware of adapting the modes of communication between the focal point of urban growth and its tributary area to the problems presented by space. That the space between producing community and market facilities had to be surmounted is taken for granted. That older forms of transportation were giving way to a more efficient one also seems to have been realized. Finally, he seems to have realized that the body politic and economic of his city had an indispensable part to play before the dream that he described so eloquently could be made a reality. In the end Kansas City and not Atchison became the "Great Railway Center" partly because people, and not the spatial relationship between center and hinterland, was decisive. In a somewhat fuller analysis of the problem in another place your present speaker has concluded,
But location or site whether on river or lake, on ocean shore or near to a mountain base, on `big bend' or on `elbow' or on a junction is not in itself determinative of a city's future, Like mine of coal or iron, or forest of pine or oak, or soil of clay or loam, location is just an aspect of nature until the `contriving brain and skilful hand' of man acts upon it and converts it into a natural resource. Until then location or site is of the same level of importance as crude oil in the strata and iron ore in the pit.3
But this is not to say that the space between center and periphery when translated into distance is not a significant factor in analyzing a broad range of historical problems. Grazing steers on the range must have supplies of water sufficiently close together so that they do not walk off all of their calories while searching for a drink. A mid-nineteenth century English writer using a somewhat crude ratio of pounds gained to pounds lost while driving livestock to market calculated the amount of income per year lost to English farmers on the one hand and the number of pounds of meat lost to English consumers of meat on the other. He concluded that a network of railroads would pay for itself over a short period of time, but the central aspect of his analysis for the purposes of this presentation is the problem presented by space as distance.
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Similarly the region from which a metropolitan area can draw supplies of perishable fruits and vegetables as well as dairy products and meats was sharply restricted by space as distance until the network of railroads was completed. But the network of railroads did not in itself provide a complete solution. Refrigerator cars and artificial ice-making machines to assure adequate supplies throughout the entire year had to be devised.
Obviously, illustrations of the impact of space-as-distance can be drawn from much broader and better known events in American history. The reaction of the farmers in Western Pennsylvania to the imposition of an excise tax on whiskey in the 1790s and the efforts of western Americans to establish a trans-montane republic are two of these. But historians have not been quite so ready to see the relationship between space-as-distance and certain political and economic problems of a later vintage. Those who write on the general question of agrarian unrest do not seem to understand that there was no such thing as the price of corn or the price of wheat in much of the period that they have under discussion. Prices varied according to the distance between market and producing point. In early days in Kansas when the military posts provided particularly significant markets the prices of grain and hay were higher near the posts than in outlying areas. Dishonest contractors and enterprising speculators might have been partly responsible, but the simple fact is that bulky farm products could not bear the costs of transportation from farm to market. On a broader scale corn prices in Kansas were quite low by comparison with prices in Iowa and Illinois not because of greedy Wall Street bankers and unscrupulous railroad operators, but because there were no market centers near at hand. If one takes the trouble to read some of the literature on the good roads movement, one will find that the major source of difficulty was not with railroads at all, but with muddy, well-nigh impassable roads between farms and towns. Wide swings in farm prices were not always caused by "corners." They were sometimes caused by the fact that a large percentage of the farmers hurried their crops to market when roads were frozen in winter or dry in summer. Moreover, the distance that grain can be hauled to
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market by team and wagon is as inexorably fixed as the distance that you can transport milk or cream without it spoiling.
Finally, space translated as distance has something to do with the monetary problems of the latter part of the nineteenth century although many historians do not seem to take it into account. The declining price of silver with relation to gold is a case in point. Historians have been too much concerned with the alleged "crime of 1873" and with other so-called plots and conspiracies to take a hard look at certain other factors that require sustained analysis. Obviously the demand for silver as a monetary metal was declining at precisely the time when the supply was increasing. But even this is too simple. There was not enough silver coin in existence in 1873 to sustain the resumption of silver payment when the relative prices of silver, greenbacks, and gold would have made it possible to place the jingling coins in the pockets of people.4 Moreover, there was great need for more money in circulation. The rate of growth in commerce and industry required it. In this "Silver Dick" Bland, of Missouri, William Jennings Bryan, "Boy Orator of the Platte," and W. H. "Coin" Harvey were correct. It should be clear that if an expanding volume of business must be done with a static or declining volume of circulating medium, prices must fall. But what is not generally recognized is that when the monetary conflict was at its peak the principal sources of silver were so remote from reduction and refining points that silver ore could not bear the costs of overcoming space whereas some of the sources of gold were much more strategically located. Obviously Cripple Creek, Colorado, with its gold, and the Silvery San Juans, with their silver, provide the best contrast. The one in combination with the cyanide process of extraction allowed gold producers to rush in with ever increasing amounts whereas so much of the much lower price of silver had to be allocated to transportation costs that the only alternative seemed to be an increase in the price per ounce. The writer is quite aware of the paradoxical and seemingly contradictory elements in this formulation but the point is that the problem requires much more sophisticated analysis than it has received.
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If pack trains of donkeys laden with silver ore wending their weary way down tortuous trails by contrast with ore cars loaded with gold ore moving down the fifty-mile railroad track from Cripple Creek to the mills in Colorado Springs suggests the need for further analysis of space as distance, then historians need to pay more attention to space as a dynamic, ever-changing influence on historical development. Perhaps people of today would not be upset so much by probes of outer space if they realized that the ever-shifting face of space on lower levels of magnitude has been a significant factor in several developments in American history.
One of these sudden shifts in space, sometimes called a geographic revolution, occurred in the 1840s. It has been one of the outstanding contributions of James C. Malin to relate this sudden shift in space to Indian policy, to the route of the transcontinental railroad, to the organization of Nebraska and Kansas territories, and to the settlement of the Pacific coast. If one takes a quick look at the geographic face of the United States in 1830 using federal Indian policy as one component and then another look twenty years later, what happened becomes reasonably clear. The segment east of the Missouri River was in process of rather rapid settlement and development. The country beyond the Missouri was looked upon by some at least as the Great American desert. In the minds of some writers its most important contribution would be to serve as a barrier to further western development. On the premise that wide diffusion of the population would not permit effective control by a republican form of government, this contribution of the trans-Missouri region was considered to be of considerable significance. Putting all of these ideas together the trans-Missouri west was looked upon as the hither edge, as space translated into barrier or buffer, or as space unadaptable to the needs of white, Anglo-Americans. Therefore it could safely be assigned to the Indians. Thus in one broad stroke of policy, the Indians could be removed from fertile lands east of the Missouri to low rainfall grasslands west of the Missouri; from cotton fields and gold producing regions in the south to less promising lands west of the river; and from settled communities to the open plains
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and prairies. As one result of these considerations in the first administration of Andrew Jackson, the Indian removal policy that had been in process of formulation since the presidency of Thomas Jefferson was brought to completion and a considerable group of displaced persons was created.
If one is inclined to weep over the peoples displaced by governmental decrees after World War II, and Americans should for their part in it, they ought to shed a tear for groups of Indians toiling westward over the Trail of Tears under the stimulus of federal military units. As a kind of consolation prize the Indians were promised annuities, gifts, and implements and also the land in perpetuity long as the grass is green and the streams flow. Of course western Indians had been displaced in order to make room for the displaced tribes from East of the Mississippi. But the Indians were out of the way, far out on the western border of the nation and the white population could be prohibited from entering their country except by special permission. Thus the Indian question was solved, but the premise upon which the solution was based would not stay put. Suddenly, within less than five years the far edge of the nation became the very center of a two-front empire. Superficially everything else remained the same, but the space between the Missouri and the mountains was raised to a new order of magnitude. After 1848 it became the connective tissue between two parts. If nature abhors a vacuum then the political concept of a continentally-based nation seems to abhor bifurcated parts. It was the annexation of Texas, the acquisition of Oregon, and the Mexican Cession all within the space of three years that produced the shift from edge to center, from periphery to pivot, from rim to hub; but in present context from space as barrier to space as connective tissue.
The ramifications of this development had far-reaching effects upon national problems as well as upon regional ones. Taking into account the mid-nineteenth century notions that the quieting of Indian titles to land must precede the political organization of the territory; that political organization must precede legal settlement; that political organization plus some settlement should precede railroad building; and that only railroads could unite the bifurcated parts of continental
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United States, the historian comes at last to understand more clearly why Stephen A. Douglas proposed the political organization of Nebraska territory as early as 1844. The student of history should be able to understand why the Indians had not only to be moved again, but had to be concentrated on reservations because there was no longer an out-of-the-way place to which to send them and why the slavery question had very little to do with the motives of Stephen A. Douglas to organize Nebraska and Kansas territories in 1853 and 1854.
Cast into an even broader context one can more easily understand why the area that had become the center of an empire of continental proportions assumed even greater significance in an age of air power by contrast with earlier ages of sea power and land-based military power. It is possible to see one reason for the location of several significant air command bases in the trans-Missouri West and one reason why some industries have seen fit to relocate some of their plants in the interior of the nation. In a sense these developments have validated the eloquently expressed visions of William Gilpin and the perceptive analysis of James C. Malin.
For teachers of American history and especially for those who teach courses in the History of the West or the History of the American Frontier, this concept of the changing face of space should have particular significance. Why after nearly three-quarters of a century a "closed space" view of "the west" or of "the frontier" should persist is at the least a dramatic tribute to the influence exerted by Frederick Jackson Turner. Although he never really defined what he meant by "the frontier" he did reach the conclusion that it had closed by 1890. Turner and those who became his followers and disciples have found it possible to place discrete lines on maps to delineate successive frontiers of free or unsettled land and at the last to say that after 1890 this could not be done because the supply of space viewed as unoccupied land was gone and gone with it was the force that had shaped American development. As reiterated over and over again this concept of space assumed rigid and inflexible characteristics. The frontier was gone. Space was exhausted.
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The door of opportunity was closed. An alternative must be sought. So ran the argument. And so it still runs almost demanding that all courses and all textbooks fit into the mold. Seemingly unimpressed by a wide array of evidence to the contrary, there are those who ignore major developments on the "frontier" or in the "west" after 1890. The magic date, like an iron curtain of the mind, has condemned significant segments of mining, ranching, lumbering, and agriculture to oblivion. And more recent developments in power sources, industry, air transportation, and recreational activities have suffered a similar fate.
But far more pernicious in its broader effects is the fact that the closed space concept rests upon a false premise, namely that man is a prisoner of his geographic environment. This is the point to which Malin addressed himself in his two-part article entitled "Space and History: Reflections on the Closed-Space Doctrines of Turner and Mackinder and the Challenge of Those Ideas by the Air Age." Many scholars will recognize that Mackinder with Haushofer contributed a significant segment of thought that was subsumed under the term geopolitics. Perhaps it is an over-simplification, but geopoliticians take a deterministic positionwho controls the heartland controls the world island and he who controls the world island controls the world. This is geographic determinism carried to the global stage. It is a determinism based upon a doctrine of closed space. It is a view of history that leaves little room for the creative powers of man. Without passing any sort of invidious judgment on Frederick Jackson Turner or seeking to minimize his contributions to the study of American history, it is possible to conclude that on the whole he was an advocate of the closed space doctrine that was so much in vogue in his day and has continued to play a dominant role in historical interpretation ever since he formulated it.
In many separate essays and especially in his book entitled The Contriving Brain and Skilful Hand, Malin has taken the "open" view of space. According to this view there are no closed doors unless and until man loses his creative capacity to devise new solutions to ancient problems, to utilize old materials in new ways, and to make effective use
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of aspects of nature that have remained undiscovered and untouched. In his view space is not something statically determinative for all time to come, but something perhaps inert in a sense until man learns another of its aspects. The intelligence of man and not the rigidity of nature is the key to his thought. Paralleling his "open" view of space and deserving brief mention is Professor Main's view with respect to what constitutes a natural resource. According to him there is no such thing as a natural resource until man has acted upon an aspect of nature and has discovered a way to utilize it. It is again "the contriving brain and skilful hand" of man that converts a facet or a component of the natural environment into a natural resource. On this premise it is clearly incorrect to speak of exhausting our "natural resources. Just as space is never "closed" as long as man retains his intelligence and expands his fund of knowledge, so natural resources can never be exhausted as long as man retains his capacity to discover new uses for old materials or to learn how to use that which has hitherto been ignored or passed over.
In a stimulating article on the present state of agriculture in Missouri, Roderick Tumbull, Agricultural Editor of the Kansas City Star, has synthesized the role of man and the impact of spatial relationships. Interestingly enough, the title is "Man, More than Land, Determines Growth." Recognizing that many factors will influence the future of agriculture in Missouri, Turnbull comments, "The most significant of these factors are man-made, rather than nature-made. Putting it another way, progress ahead will depend more on what man can and will do than on land itself, or the natural advantages in a certain areah as Missouri.
Time will permit discussion of only one more of the eighty categories devoted to "Space" in Roget's Thesaurus. This one is intended to bring into sharp focus space as a restrictive factor on topics for in-depth research. Put more directly, this concluding section is intended to emphasize the importance of learning more about state and local history through intensive research and creative teaching. In this area and in the context of this meeting it is scarcely necessary to demonstrate that state history can be written by skilled
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writers and richly informed craftsmen. Larson's Wyoming, Robinson's North Dakota, Schell's South Dakota, and Olson's Nebraska constitute on the one hand tangible evidence of what can be done, and provide on the other hand a kind of yardstick for what remains to be done in other states. It is hoped that these excellent volumes demonstrate that courses in state history need not be assigned to the latest addition to the staff and that research in state history is thoroughly respectable and impeccably honorable.
If concern with state history may be assumed to be well within the canon of respectability, the question turns to the status of local history. Here the problem is complicated to some extent by at least two currents of historical activity each of which is charged with a high level of motivational content. One of these, the tendency to convert outlaws, exponents of violence whether of arms or language, and colorful characters, into folk heroes can be disposed of quite simply and quickly. Surely if historical study produces any kind of perspective at all it means that practitioners of "triggernometry" like Wild Bill Hickok and Wyatt Earp; exponents of violence like John Brown and William Clark Quantrill; users of colorful language like Carrie Nation and Mary Elizabeth Lease, and peddlers of quack nostrums like John R. Brinkly have received all of the attention that they deserve. In view of the popular reception extended to the movie "Bonnie and Clyde" the process of converting criminals into folk heroes has not ceased.
The second current of thought or emphasis in the field of local history is that of pure antiquarianism. Serious genealogical studies are not included under this rubric because they can be of real assistance to students of local history. One can wish for broader perspective on the part of over-dedicated architects of family trees, but one cannot deny the presence of a high level of motivation, time-consuming persistence, a considerable amount of skill in using historical materials, and the generous support of historical organizations. The kind of antiquarianism that is sometimes regrettable is the over-concern with firsts and lasts. The first bathtub in a county or the first inside plumbing in a city, the first white child born in a particular
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township, or the first whistle of the first engine on the first railroad of these seem a bit trivial by contrast with what might attract the attention of local historians. Alternatively, knowledge of the last buffalo to be seen on the streets of Plum Grove or the last Indian skirmish in a particular county may be of considerable value, but only in the context of a larger study. In any case a collection of firsts or lasts, no matter how complete, would hardly qualify as the history of a community.
But it is possible to do research in local history with surprisingly significant results either as by-products or direct achievement. First of all it does motivate readers and learners of history ranging from junior high school students to members of the senior citizens' organization. For those at the younger end of the spectrum local history serves as an excellent introduction to the whole field of history. A high school teacher who regularly employs topics in family history has had some good papers and has rescued some family records from destruction. Another high school teacher set off a chain reaction of interest in the local history of his community by studying and talking about a particular facet of the history of his community. An undergraduate college student was paid an honorarium by the local newspaper for his essay on an aspect of local railroad history. The last illustration is simply a case of a self-selected and self-researched project.
Put another way, research into local history can provide an outlet for the lively curiosity and intellectual interests of some residents and can make possible the implementation of some of the premises of historical analysis that have been suggested in this paper. There can be no higher sanction for the study of history than the simple desire to know. If the products of such study can be made available on a broader basis, they can contribute a great deal to the fund of knowledge that is at the disposal of all learners of history.
For those who learn history by teaching it, the study of local history can provide a rich source of relevant illustrative material that will bring general historical developments nearer to his fellow-learners. To speak in general terms of the adaptation of farm machinery to the necessities of
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low-rainfall areas is one thing. To be able to refer to the development of the one-way plow in a small community in southwest Kansas by a real dirt-farmer or to a particular kind of lister in eastern Colorado, or to the development of dry-farming techniques by a particular land-owner in a particular community in the low rainfall area adds depth to the presentation.
This seemingly simple by-product of the study of local history can be described another way. It enables the student to deal with history as a folk process. It shifts the emphasis from the remote and distant to the here and now; from lords and ladies to men and women; from kings, generals, and magnates to teachers, preachers, and local merchants. What Constance Green has called the "non-dominant groups" get into the act not by some artificial device, but because they are residents of a community. Perhaps this is a way of saying that the study of local history will illustrate the richness and variety of the American experience. A reasonably intelligent college student or for that matter high school student knows that the American people did not spend all of their time fighting wars or participating in presidential campaigns, but does he know how they spent the rest of their time? Or on a smaller scale it is a source of dismay to some that students know much about the few weeks that John Brown spent in Kansas, but know nothing at all about the months that Frederick Remington spent there. Or put a bit differently students of history in Kansas generally hear something about meat packers like Armour and Swift, but do they hear anything at all about a Robert Hazlett, a rancher in the Blue Stem Pasture Region of Kansas, who became one of the leaders in the American Hereford Association?
If one were to think of a purely functional objective for the study of local history, one could say that it provides the S-Factor or Stability Factor in a community, a sense of belonging and a feeling of continuity. Much has been written about the M-Factor in this country, the Mobility Factor, and almost everyone will concede that Americans have been a people on the move. For many there has been no feeling of belonging; no roots in the past; no ties of tradition. Why cherish the unknown or respect the unfamiliar? To some
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small degree the serious study of local history might provide the S-Factor in American life.
As a preliminary to discussion of the principal justification for the study of local history, it should be said that such study can lead to corrections of erroneous generalizations and interpretations. The conclusions of great system-builders like Toynbee and Spengler and of synthesizers like Charles A. Beard and Arthur Schlesinger, Jr. have been called into question by the in-depth studies of historians working with local materials. In his studies of dust-storms in Kansas Malin has invalidated the premises upon which the producers of "The Plow that Broke the Plains" and the almost hysterical writers of popular conservation literature like Stuart Chase rested their cases. The writer discovered by concentrating on one township in Colorado that more land was entered under an obscure private land act of 1858 than under the homestead act of 1862 and a quick look at census figures will reveal that Colorado Springs did not deserve to be called "Little London" any more than Kansas may accurately be referred to as the daughter of New England.
But these examples are only part of a broader consideration. History, if it is to reflect correctly the past as a whole, needs to be written from the bottom up and not from the top down. Here it is that Constance McLaughlin Green and James C. Malin have made the most significant contributions. In her essay on "The Value of Local History" the former said:
For any true understanding of American cultural development, the writing and study of American local history is of primary importance. There lie the grass roots of American civilization. Because of our varied population stocks and their sharply differentiated cultural inheritances, the widely differing environments which the United States includes, and the rapidity of changes in our economic life, the problems confronting the social historian assume mighty proportions. American history in the past has been written from the top down, an approach feasible enough as long as scholars were content to write only political and diplomatic history. But the necessity of studying American life from the bottom up becomes obvious for the cultural historian. The story of how American people have lived as individuals and as communities must be told by details.5
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After placing the writing of local history in a broader historiographical setting and asserting that history in general must be written from the bottom up because "all history of human activity must necessarily start from the individual at a particular time and place -- locality," Malin brings together the whole matter in a few short sentences,
Here, in local history, the historian can, if he will, come to grips with reality in its most elemental forms and more intimately than at any other level of space organization. He can come nearer the ideal of dealing with his area and its materials as a whole than at any other level. In so doing, at the local level more clearly than at any other, the generalizations and frames of reference of national and world history, if not valid, are exposed as inadequate or false representations of historical reality.6Quite in harmony with this conclusion the most sophisticated analysts in the field of political historyse who use machine methods finding that their most valid sources of data are local election returns which when subjected to the best techniques available yield results that do not support popular generalizations. Lee Benson has used these sources for some pre-Civil War elections, and Samuel P. Hays and his students are using them for the late nineteenth century and early twentieth century elections.
Thus the study of local history has been used to bring into focus several facets of time and space. In his presidential address to the 1967 meeting of the American Historical Association Hajo Holborn declared the task of history to be
....to recognize man in time. Only through history are we able to transcend the limitations of our own station in time and space and become aware of our full potentialities. But this requires placing man in the midst of his total social environment, from which we shall learn about his civilizing strength and weakness. Aiming at the highest historical truth we shall fortify our courage to be free.7
To meet this challenge within the formulations utilized earlier in these essays the raw materials of history cannot be viewed as an intellectual resource until they are worked upon by "the contriving brain and skilful hand" of the historian. Until then they are like geographic location, like forest of
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tree, coal of mine and iron ore in the pit. The first prerequisite then of creative bedrock learning of historyearchan idea in the mind of the historian that historical facts are created in the mind of the historian, but that new sources of data are utilized, new methods of procedure are developed, and new processes of analysis and synthesis are employed. Like space and the frontier, the learning of history through teaching and research is wide open, especially to those who are willing to subject themselves to the in-depth studies of topics of manageable proportions.
1.Atchison (Kansas) Freedom's Champion, May 16. 1867.
2.Ibid., December 10, 1867.
3."Atchison: A City Divided and Uncertain," Kansas Historical Quarterly, 52 (Spring, 1969).
4.The writer published this interpretation of the coinage Act of 1873 in 1939 in "The Proposed Resumption of Silver Payments in 1873," Pacific Historical Review, 8 (September, 1939), 301-31 7.
5,In Caroline F. Ware, The Cultural Approach to History, Columbia University Press (New York, 1940), 275-287; quotation from page 275,
6."On the Nature of Local History," Wisconsin Magazine of History, 40 (Summer, 1957), 227-230; quotation from page 229.
7."The History of Ideas," American Historical Review, 73 (February, 1968), 683-695; quotation from page 695.
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