Journalists and politicians are examples of two groups that are differently but equally susceptible to a desire for clarity and simplicity about the historical past. But the past is rarely clear and was never simple. We understand the motivation—in both cases they are eager for a usable past, a way of explaining in straightforward terms the context for the present.

That context, though, is almost always richer and deeper in ways it would be more useful to know and convey. This is particularly fraught when the subject is the American founding.

In essence, what happened with the New York Times is an example of how anyone—including journalists and politicians—can step into the stream of historical knowledge without acknowledging that the stream is moving. American history—indeed, any history—is actively created as researchers learn new facts and gain new perspectives on the past. History is unfolding chronologically: We each experience this in our lives as time moves inexorably forward. There is a tension between experiencing history—time moving forward—and representing history—holding time still. But how we represent the past is also moving; it never stays still for long, and it never has.

The other big stumbling block for some is when historical actors and situations seem contradictory to us. Although we tend to think of “slavery” and “freedom” as two separate ideologies and lived experiences, the Founding Fathers, and many others in North America, experienced both at the same time as intertwined features of their society.

Today, we imagine that the Founding Fathers had the same conceptions of freedom and democracy that we value. But it is vital to acknowledge that over centuries our nation has developed very different definitions of those “foundational” ideals. For example, not only did the founders exclude nonwhites and women from voting—they also excluded those white men who didn’t own property. This is very different from our current values about civic participation. To see how removed their reality was from ours, just imagine what the response would be if a politician suggested disenfranchising every renter, nursing home resident, college student or other adult who doesn’t own their residence.

Which aspect of this past is more important depends on many things—not least, what is important to our nation today. Which aspect is highlighted may depend on which history, and whose stories, we are telling. So the stream of historical knowledge keeps moving, and the histories we are telling can be different at the same time.

Journalists and politicians are examples of two groups that are differently but equally susceptible to a desire for clarity and simplicity about the historical past. But the past is rarely clear and was never simple. We understand the motivation—in both cases they are eager for a usable past, a way of explaining in straightforward terms the context for the present.

That context, though, is almost always richer and deeper in ways it would be more useful to know and convey. This is particularly fraught when the subject is the American founding.

In essence, what happened with the New York Times is an example of how anyone—including journalists and politicians—can step into the stream of historical knowledge without acknowledging that the stream is moving. American history—indeed, any history—is actively created as researchers learn new facts and gain new perspectives on the past. History is unfolding chronologically: We each experience this in our lives as time moves inexorably forward. There is a tension between experiencing history—time moving forward—and representing history—holding time still. But how we represent the past is also moving; it never stays still for long, and it never has.

The other big stumbling block for some is when historical actors and situations seem contradictory to us. Although we tend to think of “slavery” and “freedom” as two separate ideologies and lived experiences, the Founding Fathers, and many others in North America, experienced both at the same time as intertwined features of their society.

Today, we imagine that the Founding Fathers had the same conceptions of freedom and democracy that we value. But it is vital to acknowledge that over centuries our nation has developed very different definitions of those “foundational” ideals. For example, not only did the founders exclude nonwhites and women from voting—they also excluded those white men who didn’t own property. This is very different from our current values about civic participation. To see how removed their reality was from ours, just imagine what the response would be if a politician suggested disenfranchising every renter, nursing home resident, college student or other adult who doesn’t own their residence.

Which aspect of this past is more important depends on many things—not least, what is important to our nation today. Which aspect is highlighted may depend on which history, and whose stories, we are telling. So the stream of historical knowledge keeps moving, and the histories we are telling can be different at the same time.

Journalists and politicians are examples of two groups that are differently but equally susceptible to a desire for clarity and simplicity about the historical past. But the past is rarely clear and was never simple. We understand the motivation—in both cases they are eager for a usable past, a way of explaining in straightforward terms the context for the present.

That context, though, is almost always richer and deeper in ways it would be more useful to know and convey. This is particularly fraught when the subject is the American founding.

In essence, what happened with the New York Times is an example of how anyone—including journalists and politicians—can step into the stream of historical knowledge without acknowledging that the stream is moving. American history—indeed, any history—is actively created as researchers learn new facts and gain new perspectives on the past. History is unfolding chronologically: We each experience this in our lives as time moves inexorably forward. There is a tension between experiencing history—time moving forward—and representing history—holding time still. But how we represent the past is also moving; it never stays still for long, and it never has.

The other big stumbling block for some is when historical actors and situations seem contradictory to us. Although we tend to think of “slavery” and “freedom” as two separate ideologies and lived experiences, the Founding Fathers, and many others in North America, experienced both at the same time as intertwined features of their society.

Today, we imagine that the Founding Fathers had the same conceptions of freedom and democracy that we value. But it is vital to acknowledge that over centuries our nation has developed very different definitions of those “foundational” ideals. For example, not only did the founders exclude nonwhites and women from voting—they also excluded those white men who didn’t own property. This is very different from our current values about civic participation. To see how removed their reality was from ours, just imagine what the response would be if a politician suggested disenfranchising every renter, nursing home resident, college student or other adult who doesn’t own their residence.

Which aspect of this past is more important depends on many things—not least, what is important to our nation today. Which aspect is highlighted may depend on which history, and whose stories, we are telling. So the stream of historical knowledge keeps moving, and the histories we are telling can be different at the same time.

Journalists and politicians are examples of two groups that are differently but equally susceptible to a desire for clarity and simplicity about the historical past. But the past is rarely clear and was never simple. We understand the motivation—in both cases they are eager for a usable past, a way of explaining in straightforward terms the context for the present.

That context, though, is almost always richer and deeper in ways it would be more useful to know and convey. This is particularly fraught when the subject is the American founding.

In essence, what happened with the New York Times is an example of how anyone—including journalists and politicians—can step into the stream of historical knowledge without acknowledging that the stream is moving. American history—indeed, any history—is actively created as researchers learn new facts and gain new perspectives on the past. History is unfolding chronologically: We each experience this in our lives as time moves inexorably forward. There is a tension between experiencing history—time moving forward—and representing history—holding time still. But how we represent the past is also moving; it never stays still for long, and it never has.

The other big stumbling block for some is when historical actors and situations seem contradictory to us. Although we tend to think of “slavery” and “freedom” as two separate ideologies and lived experiences, the Founding Fathers, and many others in North America, experienced both at the same time as intertwined features of their society.

Today, we imagine that the Founding Fathers had the same conceptions of freedom and democracy that we value. But it is vital to acknowledge that over centuries our nation has developed very different definitions of those “foundational” ideals. For example, not only did the founders exclude nonwhites and women from voting—they also excluded those white men who didn’t own property. This is very different from our current values about civic participation. To see how removed their reality was from ours, just imagine what the response would be if a politician suggested disenfranchising every renter, nursing home resident, college student or other adult who doesn’t own their residence.

Which aspect of this past is more important depends on many things—not least, what is important to our nation today. Which aspect is highlighted may depend on which history, and whose stories, we are telling. So the stream of historical knowledge keeps moving, and the histories we are telling can be different at the same time.

Journalists and politicians are examples of two groups that are differently but equally susceptible to a desire for clarity and simplicity about the historical past. But the past is rarely clear and was never simple. We understand the motivation—in both cases they are eager for a usable past, a way of explaining in straightforward terms the context for the present.

That context, though, is almost always richer and deeper in ways it would be more useful to know and convey. This is particularly fraught when the subject is the American founding.

In essence, what happened with the New York Times is an example of how anyone—including journalists and politicians—can step into the stream of historical knowledge without acknowledging that the stream is moving. American history—indeed, any history—is actively created as researchers learn new facts and gain new perspectives on the past. History is unfolding chronologically: We each experience this in our lives as time moves inexorably forward. There is a tension between experiencing history—time moving forward—and representing history—holding time still. But how we represent the past is also moving; it never stays still for long, and it never has.

The other big stumbling block for some is when historical actors and situations seem contradictory to us. Although we tend to think of “slavery” and “freedom” as two separate ideologies and lived experiences, the Founding Fathers, and many others in North America, experienced both at the same time as intertwined features of their society.

Today, we imagine that the Founding Fathers had the same conceptions of freedom and democracy that we value. But it is vital to acknowledge that over centuries our nation has developed very different definitions of those “foundational” ideals. For example, not only did the founders exclude nonwhites and women from voting—they also excluded those white men who didn’t own property. This is very different from our current values about civic participation. To see how removed their reality was from ours, just imagine what the response would be if a politician suggested disenfranchising every renter, nursing home resident, college student or other adult who doesn’t own their residence.

Which aspect of this past is more important depends on many things—not least, what is important to our nation today. Which aspect is highlighted may depend on which history, and whose stories, we are telling. So the stream of historical knowledge keeps moving, and the histories we are telling can be different at the same time.

Journalists and politicians are examples of two groups that are differently but equally susceptible to a desire for clarity and simplicity about the historical past. But the past is rarely clear and was never simple. We understand the motivation—in both cases they are eager for a usable past, a way of explaining in straightforward terms the context for the present.

That context, though, is almost always richer and deeper in ways it would be more useful to know and convey. This is particularly fraught when the subject is the American founding.

In essence, what happened with the New York Times is an example of how anyone—including journalists and politicians—can step into the stream of historical knowledge without acknowledging that the stream is moving. American history—indeed, any history—is actively created as researchers learn new facts and gain new perspectives on the past. History is unfolding chronologically: We each experience this in our lives as time moves inexorably forward. There is a tension between experiencing history—time moving forward—and representing history—holding time still. But how we represent the past is also moving; it never stays still for long, and it never has.

The other big stumbling block for some is when historical actors and situations seem contradictory to us. Although we tend to think of “slavery” and “freedom” as two separate ideologies and lived experiences, the Founding Fathers, and many others in North America, experienced both at the same time as intertwined features of their society.

Today, we imagine that the Founding Fathers had the same conceptions of freedom and democracy that we value. But it is vital to acknowledge that over centuries our nation has developed very different definitions of those “foundational” ideals. For example, not only did the founders exclude nonwhites and women from voting—they also excluded those white men who didn’t own property. This is very different from our current values about civic participation. To see how removed their reality was from ours, just imagine what the response would be if a politician suggested disenfranchising every renter, nursing home resident, college student or other adult who doesn’t own their residence.

Which aspect of this past is more important depends on many things—not least, what is important to our nation today. Which aspect is highlighted may depend on which history, and whose stories, we are telling. So the stream of historical knowledge keeps moving, and the histories we are telling can be different at the same time.

Journalists and politicians are examples of two groups that are differently but equally susceptible to a desire for clarity and simplicity about the historical past. But the past is rarely clear and was never simple. We understand the motivation—in both cases they are eager for a usable past, a way of explaining in straightforward terms the context for the present.

That context, though, is almost always richer and deeper in ways it would be more useful to know and convey. This is particularly fraught when the subject is the American founding.

In essence, what happened with the New York Times is an example of how anyone—including journalists and politicians—can step into the stream of historical knowledge without acknowledging that the stream is moving. American history—indeed, any history—is actively created as researchers learn new facts and gain new perspectives on the past. History is unfolding chronologically: We each experience this in our lives as time moves inexorably forward. There is a tension between experiencing history—time moving forward—and representing history—holding time still. But how we represent the past is also moving; it never stays still for long, and it never has.

The other big stumbling block for some is when historical actors and situations seem contradictory to us. Although we tend to think of “slavery” and “freedom” as two separate ideologies and lived experiences, the Founding Fathers, and many others in North America, experienced both at the same time as intertwined features of their society.

Today, we imagine that the Founding Fathers had the same conceptions of freedom and democracy that we value. But it is vital to acknowledge that over centuries our nation has developed very different definitions of those “foundational” ideals. For example, not only did the founders exclude nonwhites and women from voting—they also excluded those white men who didn’t own property. This is very different from our current values about civic participation. To see how removed their reality was from ours, just imagine what the response would be if a politician suggested disenfranchising every renter, nursing home resident, college student or other adult who doesn’t own their residence.

Which aspect of this past is more important depends on many things—not least, what is important to our nation today. Which aspect is highlighted may depend on which history, and whose stories, we are telling. So the stream of historical knowledge keeps moving, and the histories we are telling can be different at the same time.

Journalists and politicians are examples of two groups that are differently but equally susceptible to a desire for clarity and simplicity about the historical past. But the past is rarely clear and was never simple. We understand the motivation—in both cases they are eager for a usable past, a way of explaining in straightforward terms the context for the present.

That context, though, is almost always richer and deeper in ways it would be more useful to know and convey. This is particularly fraught when the subject is the American founding.

In essence, what happened with the New York Times is an example of how anyone—including journalists and politicians—can step into the stream of historical knowledge without acknowledging that the stream is moving. American history—indeed, any history—is actively created as researchers learn new facts and gain new perspectives on the past. History is unfolding chronologically: We each experience this in our lives as time moves inexorably forward. There is a tension between experiencing history—time moving forward—and representing history—holding time still. But how we represent the past is also moving; it never stays still for long, and it never has.

The other big stumbling block for some is when historical actors and situations seem contradictory to us. Although we tend to think of “slavery” and “freedom” as two separate ideologies and lived experiences, the Founding Fathers, and many others in North America, experienced both at the same time as intertwined features of their society.

Today, we imagine that the Founding Fathers had the same conceptions of freedom and democracy that we value. But it is vital to acknowledge that over centuries our nation has developed very different definitions of those “foundational” ideals. For example, not only did the founders exclude nonwhites and women from voting—they also excluded those white men who didn’t own property. This is very different from our current values about civic participation. To see how removed their reality was from ours, just imagine what the response would be if a politician suggested disenfranchising every renter, nursing home resident, college student or other adult who doesn’t own their residence.

Which aspect of this past is more important depends on many things—not least, what is important to our nation today. Which aspect is highlighted may depend on which history, and whose stories, we are telling. So the stream of historical knowledge keeps moving, and the histories we are telling can be different at the same time.