The Mathematical Historian

As it commonly goes, the relationship between history and math is comparable to, well, any non-existent relationship. Expectedly, the average history student, having left the world of mathematics long, long ago, struggles to recall the process involved in a simple long division equation, let alone making that pesky remainder disappear. We tend to scoff at math, shrug our shoulders and chuckle, unaffected by the fact that one of the most logic-driven sciences is all but lost on us.

Now, for most, this is of little concern, but maybe it should be. Sure, in our future careers as academics, curators, administrators, professionals, etc., basic math will sometimes be needed, but the calculator will see us through those little roadblocks. This is fine, even mathematicians use calculators, but what about math as a discipline that stokes the brain in a way that reading and writing does not.

As stated in a previous blog, my sub-group for the Digital 513 project is using Google Earth for our presentation on comets. As I worked with the KML interface Google Earth provides in order to create information balloons, I decided that I wasn’t satisfied with the set-up of the offered template. Through a series of trial and error, I worked through the KML code, rearranging the positions of photos and text to make a cleaner, more compact balloon. After a spate of epiphanies – even code can have such an impact – I quickly learned to recognize what certain tags and attributes represented and the necessity to arrange cells in a distinct and logical order – a similar revelation I’ve had while teaching myself basic html.

Here's a screenshot of the Google Earth balloon I created:


Although I was not working through equations or perfecting a trigonometric solution, I was performing what math is in essence: a series of logical processes. More specifically, it reminded me of my days as a student of algebra. In an algebraic equation, logic plays an immensely important role, similar to working with code. If something is added or taken away, it must have uniform correspondents throughout the equation. As in KML, there must be such tags as <> at the beginning of a cell and be closed with < / tr > at the end.

Although my ability to articulate how one works through algebra or code is quickly exhausted, it is apparent – or at least I hope it is – that they follow a similar series of input and output that require a uniform treatment of the equation or cell. If you alter a, then b and c must be adjusted or else the equation will wind up looking something like this.

On the same vein, working with code created experiences similar to those had when working with mathematical equations. After a series of errors and wrong numbers, or in the case of code, a header somehow floating between the margin and the nexus of the Internet, getting it right gives you a feeling of self-satisfaction and accomplishment. Furthermore, once you realize the mistake you were making, it becomes so obvious that you’ll never forget the logic behind the organization of the equation; a testament to the positive reinforcement of trial and error.

Well, amidst assured cries of blasphemy, I’m wondering if the historian’s apostasy and retreat from the world of mathematics - a discipline so ingrained in our little heads but soon forgotten as we entered the ivory tower of “higher learning” – should be so eagerly embraced.

We need to recognize the transferable skills that history alone cannot teach us, especially as digital humanities become increasingly important and necessary for all disciplines, including history. I’m not saying we force undergraduate or graduate students to pursue math as a secondary discipline, but a knowledge of some math, if even basic algebra, can go a long way in keeping our logic-driven left brain performing and aid us when working with the tools that will help make history more exciting, accessible, and digital.

So close that monograph on the Chilcotin Plateau, forget that lucid interpretation of Foucault, and try re-activating your left brain; don’t worry, you’re right brain could use the much needed repose.

Histrionics and New Media in History: Sometimes It’s Better to Fail

As the mission statement goes in my Digital History course, it’s better to reach further and experiment beyond known capacities and consequently fail, rather than perform within a comfortable sphere and succeed. In the constant progressive search to present history using both developed and developing tools, there exists a clash between those that fear the mal-construction of history and those who wish to explore and present history in new mediums.

Of course, anytime I, or some peers of mine, hear about this struggle, our instinct is to grab these Luddite historians and shake some sense into them. Nothing seems more frustrating to the young and aspiring historian – especially those working in the fields of public history and involved with new forms of historical dissemination – than the ivory towerian who waves their finger and cries that no one is paying attention to their concerns. And, histrionics and new media are a major concern.

However, there is a dialogue between the concern for ‘good’ history and ‘exciting’ history. The problem is that some are too afraid of botching it up. Yet, it is from the failure that we often learn the most. This isn’t necessarily a failure in manipulating and reconstructing history – there are enough voices, if one listens, raising concern over ‘bad’ history. What we need to fail at is attempting to create new forms of presenting history.

An excellent example of these trials and tribulations is the Abraham Lincoln Presidential Library and Museum in Springfield, Illinois. In a nutshell, the Lincoln Museum has employed the technological wizardry of BRC and their Holavision in an exhibit, Ghosts of the Library (Ghosts of the Library is only one portion of the museum that BRC designed. Journey, the most significant portion, is a life-sized walk through that allows the viewer to immerse themselves in the life of Lincoln). Holograms, voice recordings, and actors bring history alive for the audience who are not only forced to examine and understand why we study history, but they are also able to see and feel history in a completely new medium. Sure, these sound like gimmicks to attract and wow the audience, but are they presenting sound history? The answer is: maybe… It’s open to interpretation. A discussion group was created between the company BRC and historians (state historians, professors, and teachers). Concerns were addressed and an attempt was made to reach an understanding and develop a presentation that addressed both the complexities of the past and the need to attract and intrigue the audience. Now, of course, some are aghast with the presentation of history in this exhibit. However, there are others who are satisfied and enticed with the results. To learn more, see the Washington Post article, Histrionics and History.

Yet, what is really at stake here? What are the real concerns? Do we fear the dramatics and entertainment of history that may result in such things as a terrible historical-based film? Or, is it a showdown between the traditional methods and new ‘flashy’ ones? For me, however, what is of most concern is the audience. We must be primarily concerned with how our audience prefers to receive history. If we can present sound and interpretive history in a creative and new way, such as the Lincoln Library is attempting, then we must try. The only way to find out if it will work is to try, and possibly fail. Maybe the over-the-top dramatics of the exhibit may skew and warp history in an unfavourable way, but fear not, there are enough voices in both the field and in the ivory tower that will be quick to alert the presenters of their misdeeds. This history being presented is a part of the risk, but the greater leap is the attempt to incorporate new methods without the fear of failure.