By Nathaniel Knight, Seton Hall University
This past summer, quite expectedly, I found myself becoming obsessed with genealogy. At a time when I had no lack of other things to do, I spent hours scouring the internet in search of crumbs of information about long deceased ancestors. Family history, to be sure, was not a new interest. In fact, I am convinced that it is one of the reasons why I became a historian. It all goes back to a distant winter afternoon — I was probably about 11 years old — when my brother and I, rummaging through a trunk in the attic came upon a pile of papers bound in twine with the words “Family Genealogy” written on the front. We brought it out into the light, gingerly opened the brown manila cover and started poring through pages filled with the sloping cursive of a man educated in the 1880s—our great-grandfather. Much of what was written, references to eugenics and reflections on theology, went above our heads, but we were enthralled by the heroic exploits of our great-great grandfather in the Civil War and intrigued by long lists of names sprawling down page after page. And on the last page, written in later in a shakier hand a name appeared that we recognized instantly—our own father, born two years before the author of the manuscript passed away.
Eventually a photo album surfaced with an assortment of faded sepia-tone prints—a weary old farmer and his wife, a frightened boy in a Civil War uniform, a seated middle aged man with beady eyes, a pointed beard and a gaunt wife standing at his side. Pondering these faces, and the names attached to them from the family genealogy, I wanted to know more. If I could only find some kind of independent confirmation, records of some sort that showed these people had an existence outside the brittle pages of my great –grandfather’s memoir. I knew records were available, but somehow the prospect of spending hour upon hour in libraries pouring through censuses and tax records to find a few names, seemed both daunting and indulgent. By the time I had access to such libraries, I was already on my way to becoming a professional historian, making my way through graduate school, delving into historiography and critical theory, mastering a difficult foreign language and preparing to produce a dissertation. History, for me, was about engaging the big questions, unearthing neglected sources, crafting narratives and advancing the historiography, not chasing after lost relatives.
Then the internet made its appearance. After the first powerful search engines came into use, I would occasionally type in names of ancestors drawn from my great grandfather’s genealogy, which by this time I had digitized and stored as a pdf file. But the results were generally disappointing—one or two fleeting references and a mass of dead ends. I put the idea aside and went on to other things. This past summer, however, contemplating a family vacation through the Finger Lakes Region where my ancestors had lived, I typed some names into Google and was astonished by the results. The amount of material available had increased exponentially—US Census data, vital records, local histories, published genealogies, cemetery listings and more. Quickly, I found a wealth of references to ancestors, confirming and expanding upon information in the family genealogy. I was even able to find a distant relative, a fourth cousin, who had also been drawn into genealogical research and had posted extensive information on the internet. While I had limited myself to sources freely available, my relative had signed up for various commercial genealogical sites and had actually gone so far as to have his DNA tested. My appetite whetted by these discoveries, I threw myself into further research, only to emerge frustrated. Having harvested the low hanging fruit, the quest for additional information involved more and more effort with less and less reward. Eventually, my enthusiasm for family history waned, other obligations imposed themselves, and I put off the search for another time.
My encounter with genealogy, fleeting as it was, spurred me to think about the relationship between the pursuit of family history and more traditional forms of historical research and writing. To the extent that genealogy involves an investigation into the past, it would be hard to deny its connection to the historical profession. But to my knowledge, professional historians have largely stood on the sidelines as interest in genealogy has expanded exponentially over the past decade. A recent study has shown that in a single month, December 2010, over 17.5 million unique users visited the 10 most popular genealogy sites. 87% of American surveyed in a recent opinion poll said they would be interested in learning more about their ancestors. [1] Genealogical research has become a multimillion dollar industry. Clearly there is an enormous reserve of potential interest in learning about the past among genealogy buffs, and historians might do well to think about how better to reach this audience.
Yet, for all the overlap between genealogy and history, there is much about the practice of genealogy that historians may find unsettling. Genealogy fosters a kind of historical tunnel vision. Genealogists delve deeply into the past for very limited fragments of information—dates of birth and death, marriage records, places of residence—often with little or no consideration of the broader historical context. The types of questions historians like to ask about processes of change over time rarely play into genealogical research, and the historian’s penchant for narrative and argument, stories interwoven with explanation, is largely absent from genealogy. Indeed, the end product of genealogical research, more often than not, is some rendition of the classic family tree—a bare listing of names and dates with little space to characterize the lives of the individuals referenced. The fact that these listings are often produced using templates created by commercial enterprises that provide access to sources only widens the gap. Perhaps it’s best to say that genealogy is history halfway, capturing the excitement and obsession of the research process, but stopping short of the analytical synthesis that arises when historians weave their data into narratives.
But halfway history is far better than no history at all. Genealogy has the potential to act as a gateway toward a more holistic understanding of the past. History is often dismissed as arcane and irrelevant, but what could be more relevant than one’s own past? Even something as basic as remembering dates can be improved by genealogy. After all, we remember dates not through some feat of abstract memorization, but rather by the associations that they evoke. Family history can provide a chronological matrix that can hold in place a broader historical awareness. Perhaps it is unlikely that the average adult genealogist, left to his or her own devices, will look up from the tables and charts and start to pose broader historical questions. In the classroom, however, all sorts of possibilities come to mind. As I found out years ago with my great-grandfather’s manuscript, Genealogy has the potential to engage young people in history by drawing them into the past, arousing their interest and creating a sense of a personal connection. A skilled teacher could then channel this raw interest into historical research, pushing students to explore the backdrop against which their family history played out. Such an engagement could turn out to be the first step toward a lifetime of appreciation for history.
No doubt, I am not the first to think along these lines. I am curious, therefore, how teachers have used genealogy in the classroom. What sorts of techniques and strategies have been employed? What kinds of pitfalls have been encountered? Has the exercise led to the expected results? Given the explosion of interest in genealogy in recent years and the wealth of available tools, the use of genealogy as a tool for teaching history deserves further discussion and consideration.
Nathaniel Knight
Seton Hall University