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access to James Carey
86
its editors and editorial policies, when and how particular technology
was innovated and diffused, when particular judicial decisions or leg-
islative acts affecting the press were promulgated, under what circum-
stances and with what effect. There are innumerable such studies,
which, knitted together into a general history, create that documentary
record known as journalism history. This documentary record, when
subject to certain rules of interpretation, forms the positive content of
the discipline: an interpreted record of the events and actions of the
past. This is, in general, what we choose to remember of the past.
However, there is another dimension of the past, related to this
documentary record, but not simply derivable from it. This dimension
we call cultural, and I illustrate it with an artlessly simple example
drawn from John William Ward.
The documentary record of military history includes an attempt to
determine, for example, how, when, and under what circumstances
Caesar crossed the Rubicon. But this is not the only dimension of that
event and, for many purposes, not the most important dimension
either. The cultural history of that event is an attempt to reconstruct
what Caesar felt in crossing the Rubicon: the particular constellation of
attitudes, emotions, motives, and expectations that were experienced
in that act.1 To verify that Caesar crossed the Rubicon is to say nothing
of the significance of the event, a significance that derived from Cae-
sar's defiance of a convention giving Republican law authority over the
soldiers of the state.
Cultural history is not concerned merely with events but with the
thought within them. Cultural history is, in this sense, the study of con-
sciousness in the past.2 As such, it derives from three assumptions: first,
that consciousness has a history; second, that as Charles Cooley never
tired of arguing, the solid facts of society are the imaginations we have
of one another; and third, that while human actions illustrate in a gen-
eral way a certain uniformity across time and space, the imaginations
behind such actions illustrate a considerably wider variety. Most peo-
ple make love and war, have children and die, are educated and work
constrained by the physical limits of biology, nature, and technology.
But for us to understand these events we must penetrate beyond mere
appearance to the structure of imagination that gives them their signif-
icance. If most men march off to war, they do so in the grip of quite dif-
ferent imaginations: some march to recover holy lands for their god,
others to protect their nations from foreign devils, others reluctantly
demands of the profession but also to meet the needs of industry and to
turn out a mass-produced commodity. These canons are enshrined in
the profession as rules of communication. They are, like the methods of
the novelists, determiners of what can be written and in what way. In
this sense the techniques of journalism define what is considered to be
real: what can be written about and how it can be understood. From
the standpoint of the audience the techniques of journalism determine
what the audience can think—the range of what is taken to be real on a
given day. If something happens that cannot be packaged by the indus-
trial formula, then, in a fundamental sense, it has not happened: it can-
not be brought to the attention of the audience or can be presented
only in distorted fashion.
When we study the history of journalism we are principally study-
ing a way in which people in the past have grasped reality. We are
searching out the intersection of journalistic style and vocabulary,
created systems of meaning, and standards of reality shared by writer
and audience. We are trying to root out a portion of the history of
consciousness.
Journalism as a cultural form is not fixed and unchanging. Jour-
nalism has changed as it has reflected and reconstituted human con-
sciousness. Journalism not only reveals the structure of feeling of previ-
ous eras, it is the structure of feeling of past eras, or at least significant
portions of it.
For example, my colleague Albert Kreiling has tried to show how
the history of the black press is much more than the documentary
records of black papers and editors, successes and failures, or quarrels
among black editors and writers. He has tried to describe the black
press first and foremost as a record of black consciousness—its origins
and transformation—in modern times. We do not study the black press
because it passively reflects black consciousness; the press is not merely
a source of data about black social history. Black consciousness is
forged in, it exists in the black press: the arena where black conscious-
ness is created and controlled by the canons of black journalism. It is
not the only place, of course: one need not derogate art, pulpit, and
politics to show that black journalism does not passively reflect black
consciousness. To study the history of the black press or any other
press is to recover the consciousness of people in the past and to relate
that record to the present.
There is, however, another and better explored side to the cultural
history of the press. The press itself is an expression of human con-
sciousness. Whether we think of the press as an institution, a set of
legal prerogatives regarding expression, or a body of technology, it is,
first of all, an expression of a certain ethos, temper, or imagination. The
press embodies a structure of feeling derived from the past, and as this
underlying structure of feeling changes, the press itself is altered. The
press should be viewed as the embodiment of consciousness. Our his-
tories in turn must unpack how a general consciousness becomes insti-
tutionalized in procedures for news gathering and reporting, forms of
press organization, and definitions of rights and freedoms.
We have made some progress here for we have realized that any un-
derstanding of the freedom and rights of journalists must take into ac-
count the changing fortunes of general legal consciousness identified by
terms such as natural law, legal realism, and sociological jurisprudence.
That body of literature often called "four theories of the press" has
also attempted to show how general patterns of consciousness iden-
tified by political handles such as liberalism and Marxism have been
institutionalized into specific patterns of press organization, news per-
formance, and definitions of freedoms and rights. However, this work
has never gone far enough, either historically or comparatively, and
suffers from an overly intellectualistic cast. It has not shown how forms
of consciousness shared in narrow intellectual circles have become
generally shared and how they have been altered in this process of
democratization.
The cultural history of journalism would attempt to capture that
reflexive process wherein modern consciousness has been created in the
symbolic form known as the report and how in turn modern con-
sciousness finds institutionalized expression in journalism.
Our major calling is to look at journalism as a text that said some-
thing about something to someone: to grasp the forms of conscious-
ness, the imaginations, the interpretations of reality journalism has
contained. When we do this the presumed dullness and triviality of our
subject matter evaporates and we are left with an important corner of
the most vital human odyssey: the story of the growth and transforma-
tion of the human mind as formed and expressed by one of the most
significant forms in which the mind has conceived and expressed itself
during the past three hundred years—the journalistic report.
Notes
1. John William Ward, Red, White and Blue (New York: Oxford University Press,
1969), 4-5.
2. To do this requires that we overcome the prejudice against consciousness as a his-
torical fact. A useful place to begin this task is with Erich Neumann's The Origins and
History of Consciousness (New York: Pantheon, 1954).
3. Raymond Williams, The Long Revolution (New York: Harper and Row,
1966), 47.