Historical Revisionism: Truth, Bias, and the Rewriting of the Past

Introduction: History as Interpretation

History is open for interpretation: it always has been and it always will be. Throughout time, history has been revised and revised again; some perspectives or "takes" on history stick with particular generations only to be revised by the next. The reasons this happens can range from a new theoretical approach to the past to new information uncovered that puts matters in a different light. The changing values of culture can cause historical persons and details to emerge from the past with a new representative character — with more or less luster. As societies and civilizations change, so too changes the way in which history is viewed.

One may take World War II as an example. The victors of WW2, the Allies, set about writing a history of the war that favored their side and painted them as the "good guys." Yet more recent revisionists have offered a less flattering portrait of the victors — one that is viewed as controversial because it does not support the "official" narrative or prop up the mainstream view. But this is only one example.

In the medieval world, the Christian perspective dominated the historian's viewpoint. History was read according to the light of the Redeemer. In today's world, that light is hardly as prominent. Historians do consider their audience when they set about describing the persons and places of the past. Like an artist on a stage, they most often attempt to cater to a particular set of expectations. Then again, there is another kind of historian who goes against the grain — one who does not accept what has been handed down through "official" channels and mainstream avenues. Considering that today's world bears a striking resemblance to the Orwellian depiction in 1984, it should not be surprising that revisionist historians seek to set the past right, to uncover the "truth" about what really happened and what it means for us today.

The Nature of Historical Truth and the Historian's Duty

But "truth" is itself a controversial matter. Pontius Pilate asked, "Quid est veritas?" ("What is truth?") many years ago, and it is a question that is often repeated even in our own time. There is no consensus. There is always a differing of opinion, and always the balance of the objective and the subjective — yet even these are never quite agreed upon by all persons. So the matter of history becomes for most a very personal affair. How one interprets the past depends upon one's own worldview, one's own suspicions, and one's own interpretive tendencies. Whether one judges the liberal reforms of the modern era in a positive or negative light, for instance, may make all the difference in how one views Catherine the Great of Russia.

One's tendency to be sympathetic or judgmental — or to become impassioned upon discovering weakness of character alongside intellectual aberrations — may serve as part of the reason why different views of historical matters emerge over time. We look through a glass darkly: darkly because our own eyes are filmed over with years of accumulated opinions, speculations, formative lessons, dispositions, flaws, and feelings. Yet the historian is not meant to be a judge, and that can sometimes be forgotten. It is the historian's duty to record history as it happened. Interpretation, when it occurs, should be as objective as possible — and that means as truthful as possible.

Even Socrates himself had difficulty conveying to others what he meant when he spoke of truth, and so the ancient question of Pontius Pilate continues to ring in our ears: What is truth? Truth, it might be said, is that which corresponds to reality. Uncovering reality, then, is what the historian should aim to do. Some come to the field with a shovel, others with a spade — neither instrument prevents the other from making pronouncements about the whole of the field, pronouncements that might be best left unmade if one were to truly be honest in assessing the past.

Cristen Congar offers a more simplistic explanation of what historical revisionism entails, using the old story about George Washington and the cherry tree as an example. Her take is that revisionism occurs when "scholars find inconsistencies or outright fallacies in historical narratives and make the necessary edits" (2). Yet deciding whether Washington was heroic depends, again, on how one defines "heroic." It is not merely a matter of uncovering facts and straightening out the story. One's own sense of what it means to be good or bad, right or wrong, inevitably enters the mix. Even if one refrains from all judgment, one is likely either to leave out some aspect of the story that might color it in one direction or to include so much information that the forest is missed for the trees. Congar does make one important point, however: revisionism as we know it today did not really get underway until after World War I. What happened at the end of that war that made revisionism necessary? That is a question certainly worth asking.

Looking back further, we can see how stories have been told and retold from one era to the next. Historiography — the study of how history is written — reveals that every age produces its own version of the past, shaped by the values and assumptions of its time.

Revisionism in Practice: The Aztecs and Nativism

The history of the Aztecs is a good example of how narratives shift across eras. Conquered by the Western world of Christendom, the story of the Aztecs was colored by a worldview very different from our own. Today one is more likely to sympathize with the Aztecs and show empathy toward their culture and achievements, largely because of an academic push in scholarly spheres to promote nativism. This is evident in Pohl's essay "Aztecs: A New Perspective," which begins with a depiction of the ritual sacrifice of captives at the Great Temple of Tenochtitlan. What Pohl does not do is attempt to paint this scene with condemnation. On the contrary, Pohl seeks first to see the scene through the eyes of the Aztec believer. This is the essence of nativism, and it is what gives this historical account its different character from accounts produced under earlier Old World regimes.

Pohl likens the Aztec ceremony of ritual sacrifice to the Roman triumphs — a stretch of the imagination, perhaps, but his point is understood: both were expressions of victory. Pohl goes on to describe the beliefs of the Aztecs, demystifying them for modern readers and treating them with an empathetic approach that is respectful rather than condescending.

From there, Pohl describes the people of this civilization, their land, and the Aztec capital, noting how it "was divided into four districts" much like a modern city (10). In doing so, Pohl makes the past recognizable — he relates the struggles of these peoples to the struggles any modern reader is likely to be familiar with. Impoverishment is one such struggle; invasion is another. For the Aztecs, invasion meant the arrival of the Spanish conquistadors. In the Old World, the Aztecs would have been described as "savages" by those who made no attempt to understand them or their practices. For Pohl, the Aztecs were a civilized people — and his assessment shows in the way he treats his subject, rationalizing their customs, such as their worship of the sun-god, with an earnest desire to have them appear fully human, like any other people of any other historical era.

Conclusion: What Revisionism Asks of Us

In conclusion, history puts forward controversial subjects so that people might discuss them and the ideas that surround them. History does not ask of the historian a judgment. It asks only that the historian be faithful to fact and as true to reality as can be humanly possible. While some may take this to mean that a sympathetic and empathetic approach is needed — such as Pohl's with the Aztecs — others may take it to mean that an objective and detached approach is needed, such as Lentin's with Catherine. Revisionist historians do not necessarily claim one single method: their endeavors are based on ridding narratives of falsehoods, whether those falsehoods concern Washington and the cherry tree or the Catholic Church and witch burnings.

Every history ever written has been written from a particular perspective, and revisionist histories are no different. What sets them apart from mainstream histories — particularly those produced after World War I — is that they do not seek to perpetuate an "official" narrative but rather to set forth reality as best as they see it, no matter how controversial that reality may be to others.