How to Avoid Common Pitfalls: 5 Mistakes New Historians Make.

by

The thrill of discovery, weaving narratives from fragments, illuminating the past – that’s what drew me to history. Yet, as I embarked on this noble pursuit, I quickly realized it wasn’t just about passion. It’s also about rigorous discipline and knowing what common pitfalls to avoid. My journey from enthusiastic amateur to someone truly engaging with history wasn’t just about good intentions; it was about learning to identify and deliberately steer clear of those traps.

So, I want to share some critical lessons I’ve learned about the five mistakes new historians often make. I hope this guide pulls back the curtain and offers some clear, actionable strategies to navigate this complex and rewarding world of historical research and writing.

The Allure of Anachronism: Imposing Our Present on the Past

One of the most insidious errors I’ve seen, and certainly one I’ve probably committed myself, is unknowingly forcing today’s values, knowledge, and perspectives onto past societies. This isn’t just about getting a fact wrong; it’s a profound misunderstanding of the unique ways people thought, the social structures they lived within, and the technological limits they faced. Humans naturally interpret the unfamiliar through what they already know, but in history, that’s a direct barrier to genuinely understanding.

Why it’s a Pitfall:

This danger, often called “presentism,” can warp the past beyond recognition. When we judge historical figures by our current moral standards, we completely miss the nuances and complexities of their own time. It leads to overly simplistic judgments – either condemning or praising them – stripping away the very context that makes their actions understandable. More importantly, it undermines our main job as historians: to understand the past on its own terms, not just use it to reflect or criticize our present.

Here’s an example and what I’ve found helpful:

  • The Pitfall in Action: I remember a new historian studying 19th-century abolitionism who was amazed by the “hypocrisy” of abolitionists who still held somewhat paternalistic views towards formerly enslaved people. They judged them solely by 21st-century standards of racial equality, writing something like, “These supposed champions of freedom were actually deeply prejudiced, revealing their true colors.” While that sentiment is understandable from a modern viewpoint, it completely misses the revolutionary nature of their struggle within their own time. It doesn’t acknowledge that even these progressive thinkers were products of their era, operating within a very different framework of understanding race and societal hierarchy.

  • My Actionable Solution: Cultivating Historical Empathy and Deep Immersion.

    • Dive Deep into Primary Sources: Don’t just read about the period; read the period. I make myself immerse in contemporary letters, diaries, pamphlets, newspapers, legal documents, broadsides, and even popular literature. I pay careful attention not just to what is said, but how it’s said – the vocabulary, the accepted social norms, the unspoken assumptions. For the abolitionist example, I’d read the writings of both abolitionists and their critics, pay attention to the debates of the time, and understand the prevailing scientific and philosophical understandings of race then.
    • Understand Their Mindset (Mentalités): I research the dominant intellectual currents, religious beliefs, scientific understandings, and social anxieties of the era. What were their biggest fears? Where did they get their authority? How did they perceive time, space, and their place in the world? Intellectual and cultural histories are great for building this framework.
    • Analyze Material Culture: I examine period artifacts, art, architecture, and technology. What did people eat, wear, live in? How did these physical realities shape their daily lives and decisions? Understanding the practical limitations and opportunities of the past helps ground my interpretations.
    • Practice “The Stranger in a Strange Land” Mentality: I imagine myself as an anthropologist entering a completely foreign society, shedding all my prior assumptions. My goal is to understand that society’s logic from within, not to judge it by my own. I constantly ask myself, “Given their world, their beliefs, their tools, why did they act this way?” This doesn’t excuse historical injustices, but it allows for a deeper, more accurate understanding of their origins and development.

By diligently adopting this approach, I’ve found that I can really avoid the trap of presentism and truly engage with the past on its own terms, which leads to more profound and accurate historical analysis.

The Echo Chamber of Confirmation Bias: Seeking Proof, Not Understanding

Another significant hurdle, and this is a big one for new historians, is the human tendency towards confirmation bias – that urge to seek, interpret, and remember information in a way that confirms what we already believe or hypothesize. In historical research, this often means cherry-picking evidence that supports an early argument while ignoring or downplaying contradictory data. This isn’t usually intentional; it’s often an unconscious shortcut, a desire to quickly validate a good narrative idea.

Why it’s a Pitfall:

Confirmation bias undermines the very core of historical inquiry: the rigorous, objective pursuit of understanding. It turns research into a treasure hunt for proof rather than an open-ended exploration for truth. If I get caught in this echo chamber, I risk building a flimsy, unconvincing argument, easily torn apart by anyone who has looked at the full range of evidence. It also stunts intellectual growth, because genuinely challenging primary sources get dismissed or misinterpreted, preventing me from refining and evolving my initial thesis. The result is often a simplistic, one-sided narrative that lacks the depth and nuance of quality historical scholarship.

Here’s an example and what I’ve found helpful:

  • The Pitfall in Action: I’ve seen this when a new historian is fascinated by a particular historical figure and forms a strong initial hypothesis that this person was a visionary leader, far ahead of their time. During research, they diligently seek out and meticulously document every positive account, every success, every glowing tribute. But when they come across a critical letter, a failed endeavor, or a contemporary accusation of misconduct, they might dismiss it as “slander from rivals,” or interpret it in the most charitable light possible, perhaps even cutting it from their notes or giving it only a brief, dismissive mention. The final narrative becomes a hero-worship biography, not a nuanced portrayal, because the evidence was selected to fit a pre-conceived conclusion.

  • My Actionable Solution: Embracing Disconfirmation and Structured Skepticism.

    • Formulate Null Hypotheses: Before I even dive into research, I consider not just what I expect to find, but also what evidence would disprove my initial idea. I actively seek out sources that might challenge my assumptions. If my initial hypothesis is “Figure X was a visionary leader,” I also ask, “What evidence would suggest Figure X was opportunistic, flawed, or even a failure?”
    • Engage with Counter-Arguments First: When I’m tackling a complex issue, I deliberately read secondary literature that presents opposing viewpoints before fully committing to one side. I want to understand the strongest arguments against my initial stance. This prepares me to address them with evidence rather than ignore them.
    • Adopt a “Devil’s Advocate” Role with My Own Research: As I gather evidence, I periodically pause and deliberately challenge my own emerging thesis. I ask myself: “What arguments could another scholar make against my interpretation using this same evidence? Are there alternative explanations for what I’m seeing?”
    • Utilize a Multiplicity of Sources (and Source Types): I never rely solely on one type of record (like official documents). I seek out diaries, personal letters, satirical cartoons, gossip, economic data, court records, artistic representations, popular songs, and archaeological findings. Different source types often reveal different facets of a historical phenomenon, and their contradictions can actually be where deeper understanding lies. When sources conflict, I don’t ignore the conflict; I analyze why they conflict. Who created these different records? What were their biases, intentions, and perspectives? The discrepancies themselves become valuable historical data.
    • Systematic Note-Taking and Categorization: When I take notes, I don’t just record information that fits my narrative. I categorize all information rigorously, noting its source, its date, and its relevance, even if it contradicts my current thinking. I create tags like “Conflicting Evidence,” “Alternative Interpretation,” or “Unexplained Discrepancy.” This structured approach makes it harder to conveniently forget inconvenient facts.

By actively seeking out and engaging with disconfirming evidence, I’ve found that I can move beyond simply proving a point to genuinely understanding a historical landscape in all its complex and contradictory glory. This rigorous, inquisitive approach is the hallmark of true scholarship.

The Narrative Trap: Prioritizing Story over Substantiation

History, at its core, is storytelling. The ability to weave disparate facts into a coherent, compelling narrative is absolutely crucial for any historian. However, a common pitfall I’ve seen, especially with new practitioners, is to prioritize the narrative arc and literary flair over the meticulous, transparent, and rigorous substantiation of every single claim. This happens when a compelling story idea takes precedence, leading to insufficient evidence for crucial claims, unsupported generalizations, or even subtly twisting facts to fit a dramatic telling.

Why it’s a Pitfall:

When the desire for a good story overshadows the demand for factual accuracy and strong evidence, history can devolve into fiction or, at best, mere speculative commentary. Unsupported claims destroy credibility, making historical work vulnerable to legitimate criticism and ultimately untrustworthy. It also encourages intellectual laziness; I might invent logical leaps or smooth over evidentiary gaps with elegant prose rather than doing the hard work of finding conclusive proof or admitting ambiguity. Moreover, it misrepresents the historical process itself, which is often messy, unclear, and far less dramatic than a simplified narrative might suggest.

Here’s an example and what I’ve found helpful:

  • The Pitfall in Action: I remember a new historian who wanted to write about the relationship between two historical figures, sensing a dramatic rivalry. They uncovered several instances of disagreement and political maneuvering. Driven by the desire for a strong narrative of “bitter enemies,” they asserted in their writing, “Their animosity was deep-seated and personal, poisoning every interaction and driving their political decisions.” While some evidence of disagreement existed, there was no direct primary source — no personal letters expressing hatred, no witness accounts of a private outburst — to definitively prove the “deep-seated and personal” animosity. The historian made an inferential leap and stated it as fact because it made for a more compelling story, effectively prioritizing their narrative interpretation over the available evidence.

  • My Actionable Solution: The Primacy of Evidence-Based Claims and Transparent Limitation.

    • Every Assertion Needs a Citation (and the Right Citation): This is non-negotiable for me. For every factual claim, every interpretation, and every direct or indirect quote, there must be a clear, accurate citation to a primary or credible secondary source. I make sure I don’t cite a secondary source if I’ve found the primary source it discusses; I go to the original primary source myself. Even when synthesizing information, I am drawing from documented knowledge, and that must be referenced.
    • Distinguish Between Fact, Inference, and Speculation:
      • Fact: Directly verifiable information (“On May 10, 1869, the Transcontinental Railroad was completed at Promontory Summit.”). This is backed by direct evidence.
      • Inference: A logical conclusion drawn from multiple pieces of evidence, but not directly stated in any single source (“Given the rapid decline in trade after the embargo, it can be inferred that economic hardship significantly influenced public opinion.”). I make sure this is clear that this is an inference derived from evidence, not a bare fact.
      • Speculation: An educated guess or hypothesis the evidence does not definitively support, often used to bridge evidentiary gaps or suggest future research avenues (“It is possible that Figure X considered Y, but no direct evidence supports this.”). I use cautionary language (“perhaps,” “it is plausible,” “one might surmise”). I limit speculation severely, and label it clearly as such.
    • “Show Your Work”: I don’t just present my conclusions. I explain how I arrived at them. I illustrate my arguments with specific, direct quotes or detailed descriptions from my sources. When I make an interpretation, I explicitly connect it back to the evidence that informed it. I use phrases like: “This is evidenced by…”, “As detailed in…”, “Consider the remarks of…”, “Conversely, the diary of X suggests…”
    • Acknowledge Evidentiary Gaps and Limitations: It’s a sign of maturity to admit when the evidence is incomplete or ambiguous. Instead of inventing information or making unproven assertions, I state clearly: “While sources confirm X, direct evidence regarding Y is scarce,” or “The motivations behind this decision remain largely opaque due to the destruction of key documents.” Acknowledging limitations builds trust with my reader and signals intellectual honesty. It doesn’t weaken my argument; it strengthens my credibility.
    • Resist the Urge to Overdramatize: I let the history speak for itself. The human experience is inherently dramatic without me needing to embellish it. I focus on precision, clarity, and the meticulous construction of an argument that is wholly supported by the existing historical record. If the story isn’t compelling enough with the available evidence, it might be that the evidence doesn’t support that particular story, or I need to reframe my narrative around what the evidence does support.

By prioritizing rigorous substantiation over narrative convenience, I’ve found that I can build a reputation for reliability, accuracy, and scholarly integrity – foundations upon which all meaningful historical work rests.

The Isolation Trap: Neglecting the Historiographical Conversation

Many new historians, especially early in their journey, see historical research as a solitary excavation of primary sources, as if they are the first to encounter a particular cache of data. While engaging with primary sources is absolutely paramount, neglecting the vast body of existing historical scholarship – what we call “historiography” – is a critical mistake. It leads to redundant research, an incomplete understanding of ongoing debates, and a failure to position one’s own work within the broader academic discussion.

Why it’s a Pitfall:

Ignoring historiography is like trying to solve a complex math problem without consulting existing theorems or methods that other brilliant minds have already built. It leads to reinvention of the wheel, missing crucial intellectual debates, and failing to build upon the cumulative knowledge of the field. A historian who doesn’t engage with existing scholarship risks:

  1. Redundancy: Spending years researching a topic that has already been thoroughly covered, or arriving at conclusions already well-established.
  2. Lack of Nuance: Failing to understand the various interpretations and scholarly disagreements surrounding a topic, leading to simplistic or uninformed conclusions.
  3. Weak Arguments: Not knowing the strongest counter-arguments to their own emerging thesis, leaving their work vulnerable.
  4. Intellectual Arrogance: Unwittingly presenting their findings as groundbreaking discoveries, when they may merely be rediscovering old arguments.
  5. Inability to Contribute: Without understanding what questions have been asked and answered (and how), a new historian cannot effectively identify gaps in scholarship or pose new, meaningful research questions that genuinely advance the field.

Here’s an example and what I’ve found helpful:

  • The Pitfall in Action: I’ve seen a new historian decide to research the causes of the American Civil War. They spend months poring over primary documents from the period, meticulously cataloging economic differences, political tensions, and social structures. They then write their thesis, confidently proclaiming that the primary cause was “States’ Rights versus Federal Power.” While this is an aspect of the conflict, they completely fail to engage with the voluminous, nuanced, and extremely sophisticated historiography on the Civil War, particularly the centrality of slavery as a driving force. They might be unaware of the “Dunning School,” revisionist interpretations, neo-Confederate arguments, or the modern scholarly consensus. Their work, despite its primary source engagement, is shallow because it doesn’t show an understanding of how the field has grappled with this question for over a century.

  • My Actionable Solution: Becoming a Steward of the Scholarly Conversation.

    • Conduct Thorough Historiographical Reviews Early and Often: I start my research not just with primary sources, but with a deep dive into existing scholarship. I use academic databases to find journal articles, monographs, and edited volumes related to my topic. I pay close attention to authors who are frequently cited.
    • Identify the Major Debates and Schools of Thought: I don’t just list previous works; I analyze them. What are the key arguments? Who agrees with whom? Where do the disagreements lie? How have interpretations evolved over time? Understanding these “conversations” is crucial. For the Civil War example, a historiographical review would highlight the evolution from early political interpretations to economic analyses, then to the overwhelming focus on slavery, and then on to more recent cultural interpretations.
    • Read Introductions and Conclusions Carefully: These sections of scholarly works often explicitly outline the author’s argument and how it engages with, or departs from, previous scholarship. They are excellent roadmaps to the historiographical landscape.
    • Position My Work Explicitly: In my own writing, I always make sure to demonstrate my familiarity with the historiography. In my introduction, I state what existing scholars have said about my topic. Then, I clearly articulate how my work builds upon, challenges, refines, or introduces a new perspective to these existing debates. I use phrases like: “While Scholar X argued Y, this study contends that Z…”, “Building upon the work of A and B, this research reveals a previously underexplored facet…”, “This paper seeks to provide a corrective to the prevailing view, which has largely overlooked…”
    • Attend Academic Conferences and Presentations: This is where cutting-edge research is often presented and debated. It offers an invaluable opportunity to hear new ideas, engage with scholars, and see how historical arguments are constructed and critiqued in real-time.
    • Engage in the Scholarly Community: I don’t hesitate to email established scholars (politely and concisely) if I have specific questions about their work or a particular historiographical debate. Their insights can be invaluable.

By conscientiously engaging with the existing historiographical conversation, I’ve found that I not only avoid isolated and redundant efforts but also learn how to contribute meaningfully and credibly to the ongoing, dynamic project of historical understanding. This contextualization transforms individual research into a truly scholarly endeavor.

The Overwhelm of Data: Failing to Structure and Synthesize

The digital age, while incredibly helpful for historical research, also presents a new and often paralyzing challenge for new historians: the sheer volume of available data. From digitized archives to vast online databases and an explosion of secondary literature, the potential for information overload is immense. A common pitfall is to get buried under this avalanche of facts, anecdotes, and documents, failing to impose structure, identify core arguments, or synthesize findings into a coherent and compelling narrative. This often leads to fragmented research, rambling prose, or analysis paralysis.

Why it’s a Pitfall:

Being overwhelmed by data leads to a research process that’s unfocused and inefficient. It can result in a research project that never truly ends, as I constantly feel the need to consult “just one more document,” or one that completely lacks clear direction. When it comes to writing, this overload translates into:

  1. “Data Dumping”: Presenting an undigested mass of facts without clear analysis or thematic organization, leaving the reader to connect the dots.
  2. Lack of Argumentation: Drowning out my own voice and argument amidst a sea of undifferentiated detail.
  3. Loss of Focus: Drifting from topic to topic, failing to maintain a consistent thesis or line of inquiry.
  4. Writer’s Block: The sheer magnitude of material makes it impossible to decide where to start or how to organize thoughts, leading to procrastination and frustration.
  5. Superficial Analysis: While I might gather a lot of data, I don’t delve deeply into the significance or implications of individual pieces of evidence because I’m too busy accumulating more.

Here’s an example and what I’ve found helpful:

  • The Pitfall in Action: I once saw a new historian researching the social impact of a particular technological innovation in the 19th century. They discovered dozens of contemporary newspaper articles, personal letters, company records, government reports, and even some early photographs. They dutifully categorized everything, creating massive folders of raw data. However, when it came time to write, they struggled. The information felt like an unstructured pile. Their first draft might list facts about the technology’s development, then anecdotes from letters, then economic statistics, without a clear analytical thread connecting them or showing how these disparate pieces contributed to a central argument about “social impact.” They hadn’t synthesized what all this data meant collectively.

  • My Actionable Solution: Strategic Organization and Iterative Synthesis.

    • Develop a Research Question (and Hypotheses) Early On: Even a tentative research question acts as a filter and a compass. It helps me decide what data is relevant and what isn’t. As I research, my question and hypotheses will evolve, but having them initially prevents aimless data collection. For the technology example, a question like “How did the introduction of mechanical looms alter the social fabric of textile worker communities in New England from 1820-1850?” provides immediate focus.
    • Implement a Robust Note-Taking System (and Stick to it):
      • Contextualize Each Note: For every piece of information, I record the source (full citation), date, and briefly explain its relevance.
      • Identify Key Themes/Keywords: As I take notes, I tag or categorize information by emerging themes, ideas, or arguments. For the technology example, tags might include “impact on women workers,” “labor disputes,” “consumer habits,” “urbanization,” “health concerns.”
      • Distinguish Between Fact and Interpretation: I clearly separate direct quotes or factual summaries from my initial thoughts or analytical observations about that data.
      • Regular Synthesis Sessions: I don’t wait until the end to synthesize. Periodically (e.g., weekly or bi-weekly), I pause my data collection and review my notes. I look for patterns, contradictions, and connections. I write short memos to myself, summarizing what I’m learning and how it relates to my research question. This brings order to the chaos and helps ideas develop.
    • Outline Before You Write (and Refine Iteratively): Once I have a significant body of notes, I create a detailed outline. My main points should be arguments, not just topic headings. Each sub-point should be a piece of evidence or a sub-argument supporting the main point. The outline forces me to think about the flow, logical progression, and evidentiary support for each claim before I start writing prose. As new data emerges, my outline can be adapted.
    • Think in “Building Blocks”: I view my research as assembling distinct analytical sections that, when combined, form my larger argument. Each section should have its own mini-thesis, supported by specific evidence, and contribute to the overall narrative.
    • Practice Analytical Summaries: When reading a source, I don’t just extract facts. I challenge myself to summarize the source’s main argument and its key pieces of evidence in a few concise sentences. This forces synthesis at a micro-level.

By adopting structured research and iterative synthesis strategies, I’ve found that new historians can transform an overwhelming mass of data into a manageable, analytical, and ultimately compelling historical narrative. This proactive approach turns potential pitfalls into powerful platforms for insightful discovery.

The journey of a new historian is truly rich with intellectual challenges and profound rewards. While the allure of uncovering forgotten stories and deciphering the past rightly draws many of us to the field, it’s the mastery of fundamental scholarly practices that truly sets apart fleeting enthusiasm from enduring contribution. The five pitfalls I’ve discussed – anachronism, confirmation bias, prioritizing narrative over substantiation, neglecting historiography, and data overwhelm – represent common stumbling blocks, but I assure you, they are by no means insurmountable.

By embracing historical empathy, rigorously seeking disconfirming evidence, anchoring every claim in verifiable sources, engaging deeply with the existing scholarly conversation, and adopting systematic organizational strategies, historians entering this field can navigate these challenges with confidence and precision. This deliberate, meticulous approach not only fosters impeccable research and compelling writing but also cultivates the intellectual integrity and critical thinking skills that are the true hallmarks of a distinguished historian. The past awaits, but its secrets only truly reveal themselves to those who approach them with both passion and disciplined rigor.