Please stop telling me the humanities are dead.
No matter what that very well-written article tells you. Welcome to my new weekly newsletter.
Stop me if you’ve heard this one.
The humanities are in crisis.
The proof: A writer at a well-known magazine talked to people in higher education. Odds are that magazine is based in New York. You can bet the writer descended onto a campus or two to talk with undergrads, faculty members, and administrators. There will be data. It will be bad.
Common themes of such articles: When we say “the humanities,” we are talking about activities that take place at universities. Electives, tenure and graduate programs. The 99-pound weakling to the hulking STEM. Shakespeare. An exasperated philosopher at their wits’ end with students who don’t read. A stroll through Harvard. The collateral damage of skyrocketing tuition. Cursory mention of, and no visits to community colleges or high schools. Dwindling attention spans.
Common conclusions: We have reached the end of the line for the humanities. Sure, the future will feature a few plucky history students here and there. But it won’t be the same. With a shrug of the shoulders, we bid farewell to thousands of years of humans pondering the past and their place in the world. Sorry, folks. Undergrad numbers are in a free fall. Time’s up for all that. A microcosm of our collective collapse.
Wait, are we missing something?
Yes. I believe the humanities are alive and potent. They are also misunderstood and mislabeled in public discourse. I think the humanities are getting a bad rap just as their transformative powers are on the rise.
Listen, I’m concerned by the decline in degrees. It’s is deeply troubling that college students will miss a fundamental step in their journey as members of our democracy, largely because an industry made that step feel short-sighted and overpriced.
The loss of faculty jobs is harmful on every level. We live in a world of groundbreaking scholarship, energized by movements for social justice. I work in Massachusetts, where those job numbers impact the large education economy. Humanities faculty members are my friends, neighbors and colleagues; they coach my kid’s little league, too.
But the indicators from humanities departments are not the only vital signs for the humanities.
Off-campus, everyone from recent immigrants to small town mayors to people in prison are forging exciting paths for the humanities. Just as they have for literally thousands of years, human beings around the globe are asking questions about the roots and use of power, diving into the past and breaking down dusty assumptions, crafting narratives and translating texts, building new archives and and turning to history, literature, and philosophy to determine the best choices for themselves and their communities.
It’s high time we gave more critical attention and support to what my colleagues Matt Gibson (Virginia Humanities) and Carin Berkowitz (New Jersey Council for the Humanities) recently labeled “the humanities of the streets.” Instead of stewing over the latest eulogy, we need to embrace a new vision of what the humanities do, where they live, and what humanities expertise and practices look like.
We can begin with the words of the great humanist Danielle Allen:
“Every human being has to answer the question, ‘How should I live?’ And together we all have to answer the question, ‘How should we live?’ The humanities are the resources we use to answer those questions.”
That question—How should we live?—became deadly serious over the last three years. It will only grow in importance as every community faces the impact of climate change. It is the question A.I. cannot answer.
It’s a question posed by the humanities for millennia, in a million different ways (see also: What do we owe each other?), but the pandemic radicalized its importance. Your answer to that question informs your participation in everything from family feuds to protest movements to public health measures.
No matter how bad those conflicts get, we can still forge better answers when we take the opportunity to engage with the past, learn from our ancestors and our peers, and speak our truths.
That’s the humanities, folks. Why would we ever cede those opportunities to the dictates of the market? Why should we be so quick to wave a white flag when the moment demands more of these resources?
Those resources do not live under a glass case in the admissions office. We live in a time when the locus of power in the humanities is changing. The digital revolution has given rise to new delivery systems for engagement (example: podcasting). More importantly, that engagement is no longer reserved for those pursuing a four-year degree.
To save the humanities, we must embrace a future where the expertise and lived experience of community members stands shoulder-to-shoulder with the research of scholars, collaboratively growing our understanding of humanity. In solidarity, not despair.
Americans still go to the free public library and talk about the factory that closed and what to do about it now. They also turn on microphones and ask their neighbors about their experiences as LGBTQ+ residents in an earlier era; those stories form new archives and exhibits at the local museum. Americans craft walking tours that elevate the role of Latino residents in shaping their city. They make documentaries about Indigenous child removal that contribute to a national reckoning. They take night classes where they write about their own experiences as voters and parents.
People use the humanities tools of inquiry, close reading and critical thinking in senior centers, after-school programs and community health centers. They share stories in union halls and on town commons. Far (or not so far) from that shiny new institute in the Ivy League, the humanities aren’t dying. The humanities are giving people hope.
I know this because I work for Mass Humanities. A private foundation, our mission is to create opportunities for the people of Massachusetts to transform their lives and build a more equitable Commonwealth through the humanities. Every day, we see just how many ways communities look to the humanities to find common ground and build a better future. We receive more applications every year and we fund more projects than ever before, because the humanities are changing and so are the spaces where they take root. Since the outset of the pandemic, demand for these programs skyrocketed. It’s been a whirlwind three years and I’m honored to know the people we support.
But we need to do a better job. Scratch that. My team is top notch. I need to do a better job.
See, when someone reads an article about the dying humanities, they send it straight to me. Usually with a note, something like, Jeez, things are really bad, huh? Instead of sighing or clenching my fists, I need to do more to share the other stories. I want to show what we see, out there in the field that we call the '“public humanities.”
Because while we do hear a need for more resources (and we’re working on that!), we don’t hear that the humanities are dying. We hear a relentless call for the humanities.
I’m hoping you want to hear it, too.
So here’s what I’ll do.
Every Tuesday, I’ll send you a story about an organization or a person or a program that uses the humanities to help people deal with challenges they face in this ultra-challenging world. Most but not all of these stories will come from Massachusetts, a place with world class institutions and shocking disparities.
You’ll hear from people living in our small towns and people living in our cities.
I will end every story with links to weekly round-up of humanities events and content.
Lastly, I’ll point you to ways in which you can support the efforts of the local organizations and humanists I write about.
Here’s what I won’t do.
I won’t tell you, “Look, here, this is officially the humanities!” I’m not interested in being the definer of a field so protean and dynamic. I’m more interested in shifting power and resources to the people making these humanities projects thrive.
I won’t add more negativity to your world. Nor will I cheerlead relentlessly. Let’s use our critical thinking skills to look at how the humanities exist and evolve out there in the field. It’s OK to root for people to succeed. It’s also OK to point out when we miss the mark.
And I won’t charge you to read this newsletter or ask you to donate to MH. (But you still can!)
My asks to you…
Give me 90 days before you unsubscribe. And if you do, I won’t be mad.
Tell me what you think. I’m @brianwboyles on Twitter and Instagram. You can email me at bboyles@masshumanities.org. I’m around.
If you like what you read, please share it with a friend. If you don’t like it, please still share it with a friend.
Subscribe or keep subscribing to the MH newsletter. It’s a great source of news, funding opportunities, and stories about the foundation’s impact across the Commonwealth.
Send me suggestions for places or people doing great humanities work that relates to our theme, The humanities are not dead.
Thanks for reading until the end.
Let’s hope it’s the last time we pronounce something over.
Brian
bboyles@masshumanities.org