Graduating Seniors Remember Professor Shannon’s Conversatio Section

In addition to teaching history courses, some History faculty also teach in the first-year Conversatio program.  Because it is a required course for all first-year students, History faculty get to teach a wide variety of students with majors across all the disciplines. Four years ago, Professor Silvia Shannon had a particularly lively and engaged seminar.

Participant Theodore (Ted) Boivin ’18 described it “as one of the best highlights of my freshman year. We had a truly wonderful group with some excellent discussions on a wide array of topics, debating everything from ancient Greek tragedy to 20th-century bioethics, sharing diverse perspectives on the material.”

Four years later, the students still remembered the seminar and their experience together.  As Ted wrote, “While we were being lined up for the procession into the Honors Convocation [in May 2018], Andrew Bompastore and I noticed that, of the twenty-eight students who achieved Summa Cum Laude status this year, seven of us were all in Professor Shannon’s Conversatio section: Olive Capone, Maddie Dunn, Emily Garcia, Erin Krell, Olivia Thornburg, and Andrew and me. We took a picture to send to you as a Conversatio throwback with our thanks for such an amazing start to our four years! We couldn’t have done it without you!”

A Classics major and History minor, Ted is headed off to the University of Cincinnati for a PhD in classical philology (the study of the life, languages, and thought of the Ancient Greek and Roman worlds). Biology major and Neuroscience minor Erin Krell is pursuing graduate studies in psychology at the University of New Hampshire. Education Studies major and Philosophy minor Olive Capone is pursuing teaching positions in New York State.

All faculty know that the success of a seminar requires a combination of excellent teaching skill, careful listening, curious and engaged students, and a little luck. Congratulations to Professor Shannon and these class of 2018 grads on one great seminar.

Yet Another Post in Defense of History and the Humanities

Yes, One Thing after Another has been silent for some time. This blog has not been slumbering. Rather, our good blogger has been very busy performing a variety of tasks associated with his job, including research, service, and preparation for fall classes. Despite a very long “to do” list, One Thing after Another has been spurred to action by a recent article authored by Stanley Fish entitled, “Stop Trying to Sell the Humanities.”

Fish, who is professor of law at Florida International University and a visiting professor at Cardozo Law School of Yeshiva University, first attained prominence as a literary scholar, so he speaks (or writes) with some sympathy for the plight of the humanities. It makes sense to trace his argument before coming to terms with it.

Fish commences his essay by following the philosopher and political theorist Michael Oakeshott who, in turn, seems to be following Aristotle. Education, so the argument goes, should be pursued for its own sake, not some “ulterior motive” like job skills. Once education is inspired by ulterior motives of this sort, it is no longer education because it is no longer true to itself. So when the time comes for public universities to defend the humanities in front of the state legislature, these schools should admit that there is no defense—or at least no intellectually consistent defense that is outside of the humanities’ own frame of reference which is knowledge for its own sake.

Fish proceeds to demolish the various justifications for the humanities that are frequently adduced by its defenders.

  • To the belief that the humanities provide students with indispensable language skills that help uphold culture, hold society together, and produce knowledge, Fish counters that this is an “in-house argument” unlikely to sway legislators.
  • When confronted with the argument that the humanities are useful because they teach us important everyday skills (e.g. writing), Fish states that one need not study “Byzantine art or lesbian poetry” to learn those skills.
  • As for the idea that the humanities lead to the happiness that one associates with a “fuller experience of life,” Fish responds that years of study have not necessarily made him a better person inspired by the highest motives.
  • The argument that democracy needs humanities professors to guide it and that students who engage with the liberal arts are better citizens also receives short shrift from Fish; he believes the former smacks of “elitism” and “academic exceptionalism” while the latter is only incidental to a college educational (and questionable at best).

Better to admit that there are no defenses of the humanities extrinsic to itself than to build our citadel on sand or so Fish claims.

One Thing or Another has encountered somewhat similar arguments before. Some months ago, this blog responded to an essay by the classicist Justin Stover that also claimed traditional defenses of the humanities were both wrong and futile (although he made more of the fact that the humanities have always been about sustaining an intellectual class—something that Fish only alludes to). There is much validity to such arguments. After all, how can we declare that the humanities make us better citizens and people when Alcibiades, who learned at the feet of Socrates, turned out the way he did? (See the two above as depicted by François-André Vincent, who painted this scene in 1775.)

And yet . . . One Thing after Another is unable to capitulate to such arguments. Perhaps this blog continues to writhe like a worm on a fish hook, struggling against its fate, because it cannot accept the ultimate destiny of the humanities which, according to Fish and Stover, seems to be some sort of marginal place where lovers of books and arcane topics gather together to follow their cranky dreams.  In any event, this blog will leave it to the other disciplines in the humanities to defend themselves; what follows is a defense of history.

This blog will concede that it became interested in history for its own sake. And yes, if the study of history has given a fullness to this blogger’s life, that doesn’t necessarily mean he’s a better or happier person than other people. And maybe One Thing after Another has not been a model citizen. And sure, studying history was not indispensable to becoming a good writer—this blogger could have learned to write in many other disciplines. Having conceded all of these points, this blog still believes history is important and that everybody should study it. Why? First, because it is interesting, and since it is interesting, it can be the spur to learning how to read, think, and write. In other words, it is a convenient medium by which to teach all those skills that people need. Yes, the History Channel has gone downhill since its glory days, but do you ever wonder why there is a History Channel and, say, no Chemistry or Sociology Channel? Many people find history fascinating, and they will willingly write papers on the subject or read books about it when they might not be willing to do so in other subjects. Second, history shows us that the world has not always been as it is today. The discipline allows us to understand the different outlooks of various civilizations. That being the case, we can gain perspective on our own time and consider alternative modes to our present way of doing things. Third, history shows us how we got to where we are today. There is no understanding the European Union, the conflict in Gaza, or the Chinese government’s current outlook (to name just three contemporary examples) without some reference to the past. No matter where we live, we are in the middle of a long story with no beginning or end, but to understand the chapter we are currently reading, it helps to know the ones that came before. Finally, the study of history can sharpen our judgment of people and events. If we are careful, we can even make valuable analogies with times past. Learning these skills, obtaining this knowledge, and honing this judgment might be inspired by the love of history for its own sake (as Fish argues). But are these not valuable incidentals? Do they not have the potential to turn us into better citizens and leaders should we choose to be such? Is it not better to know a bit about history rather than be confined by both time and place, utterly bereft of any experience outside our own immediate ambit? One Thing after Another grants that these things could perhaps be learned outside the university—but the task of learning them would be that much more arduous. Perhaps the university is the place at least for history.

There is No Case for the Humanities–or is There?

Only a few days ago, the Chronicle of Higher Education published an article that originally appeared in American Affairs (Winter 2017) and which swims very much against the current. In “There is No Case for the Humanities,” Justin Stover, a lecturer at the University of Edinburgh (where he teaches Classics), claims that the arguments conventionally used to justify teaching the humanities at universities are not only wrong but also beside the point.

It’s hard to do justice to this long and interesting piece, but to summarize, Stover argues that the humanities live in difficult times. Assailed by both conservatives and liberals (although the humanities have defenders in both camps as well), it is becoming increasingly difficult for scholars to do “good work in their fields”—that is, “read things and think about what they mean; to tease out conclusions about the past and present through a careful analysis of evidence; to delve deeply into language, art, artifact, culture, and nature.” In other words, to do “what the university was established to do.” Stover believes many criticisms of the humanities lack perspective. To those who argue that overspecialization, overproduction, and a lack of emphasis on teaching indicate the decadence of the humanities, Stover counters that these qualities are central to the whole project. As Stover puts it, if professors stopped investigating esoterica, ceased churning out publications, and did nothing but teach, “we would have just high schools — perhaps good high schools, but high schools nonetheless.” Likewise, he claims, various defenses of the humanities that we hear these days are also off the mark. Defenders invoke the degree to which study of the humanities can help students unleash their creativity, formulate values, learn ethics, or find the truth. And then there is the ever-present argument that the humanities can teach skills. But Stover thinks a number of these goals are problematic and wonders whether the humanities are indispensable to achieving any of them.

It is easy to lose sight of what the humanities and the university are for, Stover intimates, because the university these days is, well, a university plus many other things. He writes:

In short, the contemporary university is a strange chimera. It has become an institution for teaching undergraduates, a lab for medical and technological development in partnership with industry, a hospital, a museum (or several), a performance hall, a radio station, a landowner, a big-money (or money-losing) sports club, a research center competing for government funding — often the biggest employer for a hundred miles around — and, for a few institutions, a hedge fund (“with a small college attached for tax purposes,” adds one wag).

The true university, Stover argues, it is to be found with the “people who read stuff and think about it.” More precisely, the heart of the university has always been the arts. When universities were first founded in the middle ages, the liberal arts were the curriculum, consisting of the trivium (grammar, logic, and rhetoric) and quadrivium (arithmetic, geometry, astronomy, and music). Since then, the liberal arts have grown by common consent to include what we call the humanities along with the natural sciences and all branches of mathematics. And what was—and still is—the point of this curriculum? Stover’s answer to this question is the key point in his essay. The humanities, he argues, “have always been about courtoisie, a constellation of interests, tastes, and prejudices that marks one as a member of a particular class.” This class is an international community that shares a common culture and similar preferences. “As teachers,” Stover writes, “what humanists want most of all is to initiate their students into that class.”

The problem, of course, as Stover quickly points out, is that “the mere existence of a class is . . . not a case for its existence in society as a whole.” Justifications for this class only make sense within “the internal logic of the arts themselves.” The public and the state can hardly be expected to fund the intellectual project of the humanities on these kinds of grounds. Still, all hope is not lost. Stover argues it doesn’t matter that no case can be made for the humanities; by definition, one cannot have universities without the humanities. If the contemporary university ceases to teach the humanities, it will no longer be a true university. Instead, wherever people “read stuff and think about it,” there the university will be.

There is much truth in Stover’s essay, and One Thing after Another hopes readers will look at it to clarify their own views on the humanities and the university. However, there is also something simultaneously clever and appalling about Stover’s argument. The university, so the argument seems to go, appears to be some sort of elevated book club for a class of people with intellectual and arcane tastes who seek to perpetuate a particular kind of culture. Regardless of what happens to the contemporary university, so long as we have these people doing these things, we will have the university (and the humanities). This is one way to “rescue” the humanities and assure those in the field that it will survive, but this deliverance seems more semantic than anything else. What will happen to professors in the humanities when they no longer find a home in the modern university? What institutional framework will support this project? Perhaps even more distressing is the fact that Stover’s essay seems to suggest that over the centuries, the humanities, or more properly, those who teach in these fields, have been engaged in some sort of confidence trick that has allowed them to thrive at everyone else’s expense. For the sake of perpetuating itself, it seems, an intellectual class has pretended that the humanities are good for everybody else.

This blog could respond to Stover’s argument in many ways, but at the end of the day, the main problem with his essay is that he dismisses the utility of the humanities. In other words, the humanities do not merely serve to promote the recondite intellectual interests of a class—a class whose existence this blog freely recognizes. Rather, the humanities have real value to everyone. One Thing after Another will confine its comments to history, but many similar observations could be made from the vantage point of other disciplines in the field.

One Thing after Another first became interested in history because it was full of good stories with much drama. This blog still likes a good story, but as years have passed and One Thing after Another’s tastes have matured, it has come to treasure the ways in which the study of history can mold our judgment and help us make sense of the world. History is an anthropological art that enhances our understanding of human nature. It allows us to draw on an extensive stock of knowledge that transcends our own immediate personal experience. We can then obtain a better understanding of human motives and their interaction with a variety of forces, whether they be political, social, economic, or cultural. History does not repeat itself, but an experience of studying history provides us with different ways of knowing and enhances our perspicacity when confronted by difficult questions as citizens of our community, our country, or our world. Surely, these are useful qualities that history professors should pass on not only to majors but also non-majors taking history courses as part of a general education requirement.

Recently, in a general education course, One Thing after Another assigned a paper asking students to discuss the relationship between the Roman qualities of virtus (aggressive, manly courage that involved risk-taking and seizing the initiative) and disciplina (a basket of characteristics that included obedience, training, and skill) as they appeared in Josephus’s account of the Siege of Jerusalem (70 AD) in The Jewish War. As a class, we discussed various primary and secondary sources associated with this assignment for over a week. Arcane, isn’t it? Just the sort of useless thing that one would expect from the humanities. For sure, it is clear now that the papers have been graded that some of the students were too lazy, uninterested, or ill-equipped to deal with the assignment. But a majority of the students understood how to tackle this question and did, at the very least, a credible job.

One Thing after Another was not attempting to “initiate” students into a “class” as Stover would have it. The majority of the students have already selected a major—and it isn’t history. The great bulk of them will not join the professoriate either. But it is important that they understand that there were once Romans who were not like us and who saw the world in a radically different way. In other words, things have not always been the way they are now, nor will they stay the same. Just this simple fact ought to open up a world of possibilities to these students. At the same time, the investigation of virtus and disciplina also ought to get their gears whirring. Such a study touches upon universal questions concerning how and why professional soldiers fight—surely a matter of no little import in an era where the United States has stretched its professional army to the breaking point with various commitments across the globe. Moreover, a discussion concerning the balance between virtus and disciplina provides fodder for a variety of analogies in different fields, whether they be management, politics, or something else. This blog has frequently criticized others for making inapt comparisons, but that does not mean that historical analogies cannot and should not be made; they should merely be formulated with caution. But the main point here is that history is useful, no matter who you are and what you intend to do, because it provides a multitude of ways of seeing the world.

History is not the only means of honing certain job-related skills, but this field can help foster significant all-purpose skills like thinking, reading, speaking, and writing. History is not indispensable to developing values and ethical training, although it certainly helps with these objectives. And history does not necessarily allow one to see the truth, whatever that happens to be. History, however, is extremely important in developing our judgment of people and things so that we are not mere babes without experience as we confront each new challenge that emerges before us. And everybody, no matter who he or she is, can benefit from that.

Furthermore, I consider that the myth of the unemployable History major must be destroyed.

Yet Another Post about Marco Rubio, Welders, and Philosophers


On November 10, at the Republican debate in Milwaukee, Sen. Marco Rubio declared that “Welders make more money than philosophers. We need more welders and less philosophers.” The internet came alive with all sorts of commentary, much of it disappointing.

A host of observers pointed out that Rubio was wrong. Welders do not make more money than philosophers. Of course, making such a determination depends on how one defines what a philosopher is. However, commentators established that, on average, professors of philosophy, who probably constitute the vast majority of professional philosophers in this country, do indeed earn more than welders. Others have also found that the average mid-career pay for philosopher majors is about $85,000, which far outstrips the median pay of welders, cutters, solderers, and brazers which amounts to around $37,000. Much commentary—too much—focused on these kinds of figures. Such a focus does not really answer an important question: if Rubio had been correct in claiming that welders made more money than philosophers, would that mean the United States needed more welders and fewer philosophers? The answer, as always, is both yes and no.

One could argue that in a free market, high wages in one area signify scarcity. So yes, if welders made more than philosophers, that would mean in one sense that we needed more welders than philosophers. Even though that is not exactly the case, in his own mistaken way, Rubio was sort of right. The United States does not have enough welders. According to David Landon, president of the American Welding Society, our country faces a shortage of more than 200,000 professional welders. Landon suggests that this shortfall is the result of a stigma against blue-collar labor, and indeed, it is this stigma that Rubio seemed to be driving at with his comments. Before he let slip his observations about welders and philosophers, Rubio commented, “For the life of me, I don’t know why we have stigmatized vocational training.” He has something of a point. There seems to be a kind of classism that depresses the demand for vocational training. Even so, especially compared with other developed states in Europe, the United States has fared poorly in meeting this demand. For example, according to a recent study by Northeastern University, technical high schools and community colleges in Massachusetts have been unable to produce enough skilled labor to fill the 1.2 million job openings that will become available by 2022. The point is, the sooner everybody stops thinking of blue-collar work as degrading, the better. As Martin B. Crawford has argued in Shop Class as Soulcraft: An Inquiry Into the Value of Work, the manual trades are a thoughtful place were one’s mind is often engaged. That being the case, the country should do a better job of preparing people whose inclinations lead them in that direction. In other words, not everybody needs to go to college and earn a B.A. or B.S. in order to find rewarding and stimulating work.

Clearly, America does need more welders, and in this sense, Rubio is correct. But what about philosophers? By drawing the contrast in the manner he did, Rubio seemed to indicate that philosophy was the opposite of welding. Crawford would argue that such a distinction is a false one: “the division between knowledge work and manual work is kind of dubious, because there is so much thinking that goes on in skilled trades.” Fair enough, but let us accept for the sake of argument that philosophical cogitation is fundamentally different from the thinking that goes on in the manual arts. Rubio seemed to imply that welding is more useful than philosophy (because welders make more money—although such is not the case) and that our education system is mistaken in placing a premium on the latter instead of the former.

Such a charge has been leveled against the humanities in general, and it is for this reason that One Thing after Another is so keen to refute Rubio. It is not for love of philosophy solely, but love of the humanities, of which history constitutes a part, that One Thing after Another decided to tackle Rubio’s comments in the first place. In what way are philosophy and the humanities useful? Why should they be taught in college? There is, of course, the oft-used argument that philosophy inculcates habits of mind that will help graduates in any career they choose to pursue. One could say the same about any of the disciplines in the humanities. It is no surprise, for example, that many lawyers are history majors. History majors learn to read large amounts of material, synthesize information, and present convincing and articulate arguments—exactly the kinds of skills lawyers need to develop.

Important as they are, though, let us stop thinking about job skills and earning power. After all, a number of commentators have argued that Rubio’s basis for comparison is fundamentally flawed: there are more ways to measure the value of a job than the earnings with which it is associated. Donald Trump earned over $350 million in 2014, 4,487 times the average salary of a firefighter in New York City ($78,000). Is Donald Trump’s job equivalent in value to those of 4,487 New York City firemen (about 44% of the city’s total)? In one way yes, but many of us would have a hard time accepting that claim because we know there is more to a job’s value than its salary.

Let us start thinking of value in a different way. What about the way in which philosophy and the other disciplines in the humanities turn us into good people and better citizens? In dealing with Rubio’s comments, Tom Morris, the prominent public philosopher, has presented the following argument:

When I first went to graduate school at Yale to become a philosopher, I remember seeing a newspaper clipping on a philosophy department bulletin board. It featured a photograph of a construction worker sitting on the ground, eating out of his steel lunch box, his hard-hat by his side, and with a copy of Heidegger open in front of him. I said to myself, “That’s it. That’s the role of philosophy—to help everyone become more thoughtful about their lives.” I spent fifteen years as a professor of philosophy in a great university and my goal was never to turn my students into wage-earning academic philosophers, but instead to help them develop a more robust philosophical dimension of their experience and thought, whether they went on to become doctors, lawyers, insurance agents, or welders.

All of us, he argues, need philosophy: “The good thinker should ideally be a proficient doer; and the active doer, a careful thinker.”

Morris, of course, has presented an apologia for philosophy because Rubio’s comments specifically addressed that discipline and Morris is a philosopher. But as we contemplate the much-discussed “Crisis of the Humanities,” we ought to think about his argument. It applies to all the disciplines in the humanities. The History Department’s main task does not consist of producing professional historians (although we have started a number of people down that path). In fact, the great majority of students that it teaches are not even history majors. The main point of our department (and the reason that historical reasoning is part of the core curriculum) is to enrich students’ judgment as well as their comprehension of the world around them. We are here to remind students that there was a past, that there are multiple ways of interpreting that past, and that this past not only facilitates our understanding of how our world came to be but also provides us with a stock of experiences that help us judge that world. To paraphrase Morris, we want to help students develop a more robust historical dimension to their experience and thought because it will make them better people and citizens. Such a perspective will aid them whether they become hedge fund managers, FBI agents, nurses, or journalists. And especially if they become politicians or presidents of the United States.