I disagree. Writing about history involves making judgments like this all the time, whether one recognizes it or not.
Any causal statements one cares to make have
embedded counterfactuals in them.
For instance, if you claim that the Roman Empire in the West ceased to exist due to a cocktail of factors, most preeminent being a movement in the locus of imperial power from Gaul and Roman
Germania to Italy, then the automatic presumption is that if the locus of imperial power had
not moved from one place to another, things would have turned out differently for the western Roman Empire. Or, to take another example, the oft-criticized foreign policy of Germany has been stated as leading to a general estrangement of most Continental powers from the Germans and setting the stage for the First World War; this inherently implies that if the Germans had done anything differently with regards to their foreign policy, such an estrangement need never have occurred. (Sometimes in historical writings this is irritatingly explicit, of course.)
The only acceptable way to avoid counterfactual inference of any kind is to employ a purely noncausal narrative, which seems rather difficult at best (some might say impossible). These pathways have been explored in a much more exhaustive, logical way by actual historians and political scientists, such as Tetlock and Belkin, Elster, Schroeder, and Showalter. Counterfactual reasoning is not just a phenomenon of history and idiographic disciplines, but of nomothetic ones as well; it is impossible to avoid the statement that it is inherent in state policy, as well.
There is indeed a great gap between claiming that things would have been different in some way had something else happened, and determining whether that difference would have actually, to put it crudely,
mattered. That is perhaps more up to personal bias and one's own philosophy of history. Obviously there is no way to prove things one way or the other. (Which is the chief reason, by the way, history is not a science. One cannot falsify "experiments" such as these, and as such, history has little predictive power. The incredibly poor predictive power of historians and political scientists has been well documented, especially by those with interest in counterfactual reasoning. But I, obviously, am not one to argue for the predictive power of counterfactual scenarios.) That does not erase their
persuasive power, of course, much less their intrinsic merit.
Take idiographic counterfactuals, i.e. counterfactual scenarios based on particular moments in history with high levels of indeterminacy, which are perhaps the most popular scenarios, especially for writers of fiction. Tricks of the wind, a narrow miss with a bullet or arrow, an inconveniently timed illness - all with the potential to, as people tritely put it, change the course of world events. But in addition to this utility in entertainment, they provoke one to abandon simpler determinism and acknowledge the impact of unpredictable factors in history. (Not that determinism is inherently opposed to unpredictability, of course. Among historians, it usually is, but not always.) At the most basic, an idiographic counterfactual can be used as a check on cognitive closure. Whether certain things are inevitable or not, it is well known that "creeping determinism" exists even in situations in which it is difficult, even irrational, to justify it. Retrospective scenario generation can serve as a check on that.
Some attempts have even been made at combining idiographic counterfactuals centered around an event, with analysis by contributors from nomothetic disciplines, generally on the model of the speculation surrounding the K-T boundary extinction event and the Alvarezian hypothesis. A historian identifies a point with a high level of indeterminacy, and, say, a game theorist works out logical responses to it in terms of policy. Whether an individual is all that invested in the viability of game theory as a discipline with any predictive power is of course up in the air.
And, of course, counterfactuals have the potential to be used as elegant attacks on another's causal reasoning. This is more easily demonstrated in the natural sciences and in mathematics. Take Euclid's proof of the existence of infinite primes, for example: he went about it by arguing that the counterproposal, finite prime numbers, must be absurd, because it involves making contradictory claims. Attempts have been made at constructing models for various political-science scenarios to highlight logical flaws in certain arguments. The most persuasive, in my opinion, is Cederman's claim that the neorealist interpretation of international politics with regards to balancing is flawed, because in an anarchic system, hegemonic structures, not balancing, tend to emerge more often, especially in instances when defense-dominance prevails at the policy-making level, per constructed models. Of course,
pace Schroeder, this may just be art reflecting life, as it were.
On the issue of subjectivity, various efforts have been made at constructing a universally acceptable series of criteria for counterfactual scenarios in the social sciences; I'm afraid I don't know where this has gone, unfortunately, because I'm still extremely new to the attempts to systematize counterfactual reasoning. At the very least, these should be able to limit subjectivity and permit contributors to engage in meaningful dialogue without, as it were, talking past each other. Of course, given the nature of history, let alone the so-called social sciences, perhaps talking past each other is - ha - inevitable.
