These publications have only a limited circulation; despite their outward academic appearance (Butz and others use standard academic footnoting and references), these works have little appeal to academic specialists (see, for example, Smith, 1978). Their potential markets are the failed, or would-be intellectuals, and the amateurs who dream of intellectual success where the professionals fail. This theme of the amateur making good over the so-called expert occurs time and time again in the conspiracy material in general, and the Holocaust-denial publications in particular. For example, the former director of the Institute of Historical Review begins his pamphlet, "Exiles from History;' by recognizing that there are many "who will dismiss this study as the product of an unqualified author" (p. 3). He goes on to say that the qualified academics have failed in their duties and there is a need for "amateur dissenters": "the history of progress tells us that advances are often made by dissenters-very often amateur dissenters" (p. 3). However, it is not just a matter of the amateur triumphing over the professional, but of the amateur craving to be the respected professional. Thus, the "history-makers" who hold academic qualifications are always described by their titles; the author of "Exiles from History" refers to Dr. Arthur Butz and to Dr. Robert Faurisson, just as Historical Review Press's catalogue refers to Professor Arthur Butz, the scientist who combines "the historian's mastery of documents with the technical knowledge of a scientist."
Evidence from studies of the John Birch Society in the United States has suggested that the conspiracy theory appeals particularly to those who might wish to be perceived as educated, but who have received less education than might be expected from their socioeconomic position (Grupp, 1969; Rohter, 1969). The conspiracy theory offers the chance of hidden, important, and immediate knowledge, so that the believer can become an expert, possessed of a knowledge not held even by the so-called experts. Similarly, the conspiracy theorists themselves can attain their expertise speedily. Arthur Butz perhaps revealed more than he was aware in the foreword to Hoax of the Twentieth Century (1976): In early 1972, with only a rudimentary knowledge of French and German, he "sat down" and "started to read some of the 'holocaust' literature;' in order to satisfy "my long-lingering skepticism:' Having used his "spare time" in this way for the first part of 1972, "ultimately I spent the entire summer of 1972 working on an expose of the hoax, since by then I had penetrated and demolished the whole sorry mess" (p. 7). In this way Butz combined being the "spare time" amateur with being the professional scientist who is able to spend the whole summer at his task. The publisher's catalogue repeats the story, or at least the part about the entire summer, unaware that even an entire summer represents a brief academic moment. The conspiracy theorist, thus, is to the professional historian what the treasure-hunter is to the archaeologist; only in the case of the conspiracy theorists, there is no means of convincing them that their quick dig among the documents has revealed only false gold.
