"The Machine Stops" is Only a Start
I was always a voracious reader with a preference for fiction. My family made regular trips to the library growing up, so I had a never-ending supply of books at hand. Yet, one story I read in my high school British Literature class stands out as influential: E. M. Forster’s short story "The Machine Stops." The story itself captivated me. In it, humanity lives underground, reliant on “the machine” for all means of life. There is no need to visit others face to face: all communication is carried out through video conferencing and messaging systems. There is no need to leave one’s room or rely on one’s own muscles for support: everything needed is delivered, including air to breathe. One young man is dissatisfied with this life. He develops his strength by walking the hallway and eventually visits the surface, wearing protective gear. Throughout the story it is palpable how much humanity loses in giving up a connection to each other and nature and in rejecting self-reliance. The other characters, however, don’t realize their weakness until the day the tragic machine stops.
This is the earliest book I remember prompting me to think in depth about the human condition and about what we might need for fulfilling and flourishing lives. Forster’s story didn’t just entertain me; it promoted an interest in questions that continue to vex me and which I now pursue through philosophy. It was also one of the first ‘school assigned books’ that made me want to learn about the author’s life and read everything else the author had written. Forster is still one of my favorite authors. Although none of his novels are science fiction, as "The Machine Stops" is, all his writing depicts the melancholic beauty of humans in search of authenticity. But it didn’t stop there. Most of Forster’s novels have been adapted to films, and in pursuing those I developed a more general love of Merchant Ivory films. My friends may tease me for being moved by “sweeping British landscapes and gents leaning on mantles,” but for someone who grew up in the working class Midwest, these movies and Forster’s novels helped open new worlds to me and nurtured questions and concerns that have followed me over the years.
E.M. Forster
"The Machine Stops"
Dawn Jacob, Ph.D. student in Philosophy
machine-stops-only-start
“Fern Hill”: the fleeting, eternal magnificence of Innocence
<p>I could do several Humanities Hours out of Humanities Moments – there are so many passages and ideas that have animated my imagination. I first find myself drawn to the heart-wrenching climax of Cervantes’s novel <em>Don Quixote</em>, but to describe that would be to reveal the ending, which I would feel queasy doing.</p>
<p>So I’m going with Dylan Thomas’s poem “Fern Hill” instead. Its lyricism conjures the innocence of youth that cannot imagine its own end. That’s kind of what innocence is: a brilliantly perfect inability to envision its own conclusion.</p>
<p>Thomas’s second stanza begins,</p>
<p>And as I was green and carefree, famous among the barns<br /> About the happy yard and singing as the farm was home,<br /> In the sun that is young once only,<br /> Time let me play and be<br /> Golden in the mercy of his means</p>
<p>We are “young once only” and we play and are golden. We all see this in the delight of children and also in the mesmerizing natural panoramas that remind me of a summer evening on a hilltop in Maine. It’s summer vacation all the time. It evokes the feeling that I think that character from <em>Friday Night Lights</em> has in mind when he says, “My heart is full.”</p>
<p>In a way, the ending of “Fern Hill” brings me to what I love so much about <em>Don Quixote</em> and the scene I mentioned a minute ago. Here I am, a middle-aged guy spending every day with teenagers, hoping to share and discuss with them truths about the human condition and our relationships and tragedy and beauty while they, children who are “green and golden” in their “heedless ways,” in their Eden of hope and vigor, start to gain insight about how Time holds them. They are looking toward college and work and beyond, and often they worry and fear, and although for many the curiosity of youth is sputtering, its flame is not out.</p>
<p>Thomas:</p>
<p>Nothing I cared, in the lamb white days, that Time would take me<br /> Up to the swallow-thronged loft by the shadow of my hand,<br /> In the moon that is always rising,<br /> Nor that riding to sleep<br /> I should hear him fly with the high fields<br /> And wake to the farm forever fled from the childless land.<br /> Oh as I was young and easy in the mercy of his means,<br /> Time held me green and dying<br /> Though I sang in my chains like the sea.</p>
<p>Whenever I read “Fern Hill,” and whenever I think of <em>Don Quixote</em>, I do so from the Experience side of the divide between innocence and experience. I peer longingly over at innocence, and I wish for it…and I feel it as if it were still here. It is the wonder of the poem, and of art, that in its presence we can be <em>both</em> green and dying.</p>
"Fern Hill," a poem by Dylan Thomas
I can trace it to several instances, including my original interaction with the poem, but the photo I use was taken in July 2012.
Carl Rosin, 51, teacher
fern-hill
“For the Sake of a Cloud”
The beautiful thing about the humanities is that the search for truth need not be a matter of “right” or “wrong” — there is room both for the mastery of facts as well as for creativity and innovation. Through Euripides’ play, I realized that the story of the war really belongs to everyone; if even the ancient Greeks had creative and radically different versions, that frees up modern classicists to similarly transcend the traditional narrative. This experience invited me into the field because I could finally see myself doing something new within the discipline, and I was eager to be part of a long tradition of reinterpreting the story in a way that resonated with my own experiences. In the years that followed, I have written poetry about mythological subjects, and the process of writing about mythology helped me see connections across the disciplines of the humanities. From history to literature and art to music, the myths of ancient Greece continue to be reinvented and Euripides’ imagination has passed on to a new generation of artists, scholars, and thinkers.
<p>While taking Latin in high school, I became fascinated by the story of the Trojan War. I loved the interconnected perspectives of soldiers, royalty, deities, and ordinary people. The family trees and catalogues of soldiers seemed endless, and I was thrilled to discover that each individual inspired stories, plays, and art. As I began to master the intricacies of the myths, I prided myself on recognizing the differences between movies like “Troy” or Disney’s “Hercules” and the original story. I watched eagerly to notice what they got wrong or right about the myth.</p>
<p>My beloved Latin teacher Dr. Fiveash soon introduced me to “Helen,” a play by the Greek playwright Euripides. The Trojan War is said to have started when Helen runs away to Troy with a prince named Paris. But in “Helen,” the story is turned on its head; she never goes to Troy. Instead, a cloud that resembles her was placed at Troy while the real Helen lived in Egypt and wondered when her husband could come to pick her up. I realized the story of the war is so complex that even the most fundamental aspects can be reinterpreted.<br /><br />The beautiful thing about the humanities is that the search for truth need not be a matter of “right” or “wrong” — there is room both for the mastery of facts as well as for creativity and innovation. Through Euripides’ play, I realized that the story of the war really belongs to everyone; if even the ancient Greeks had creative and radically different versions, that frees up modern classicists to similarly transcend the traditional narrative. This experience invited me into the field because I could finally see myself doing something new within the discipline, and I was eager to be part of a long tradition of reinterpreting the story in a way that resonated with my own experiences. In the years that followed, I have written poetry about mythological subjects, and the process of writing about mythology helped me see connections across the disciplines of the humanities. From history to literature and art to music, the myths of ancient Greece continue to be reinvented and Euripides’ imagination has passed on to a new generation of artists, scholars, and thinkers.</p>
Euripides
<em>Helen</em> by Euripides
2006
<a href="http://nationalhumanitiescenter.org/humanities-in-class-guide-thinking-learning-in-humanities/">Skye Shirley</a>, age 28, Latin Teacher in Boston, MA
for-the-sake-of-a-cloud
“This is Water”: Finding Empathy in the Banalities of Daily Living
I was first introduced to David Foster Wallace’s “This is Water” in a Language and Composition class. Our textbook was full of examples of rhetoric, categorized by topic. “This is Water” was originally a Commencement speech given at Kenyon College in 2005. A shortened version was transcribed in my textbook which I had to analyze and write about for my class. In reading DFW’s words I found a perspective that resonated with me and one that the world is often starved of. The speech opens with an anecdote about fish swimming in the ocean. Two young fish are asked by an older fish, “How’s the water?” and one young fish turns to the other and says, “what the hell is water?” Wallace uses this story to point out that often, like fish in the ocean, we’re not aware of what surrounds us. As humans each of us are predisposed to be self-centered, because our own thoughts and needs come to us much more urgently than anyone else’s. In the tedium and banality of “day-in, day-out” life we begin to see the strangers around us in traffic or at the grocery store as obstacles and annoyances rather than recognizing them as people whose reality is just as vivid and important as our own, with triumphs and tragedies of similar magnitude.
My favorite part of the speech is DFW’s perspective on freedom. While there are many ways to feel “free” (money, power, success, beauty, etc.), “the really important kind of freedom involves attention, and awareness, and discipline and effort, and being able to truly care about other people and to sacrifice for them, over and over, in myriad, petty little unsexy ways, every day. That is real freedom.” It’s easy to submit to our “default setting” (DFW), unknowingly considering ourselves to be the center of the universe, “lords of our own tiny skull sized kingdoms, alone at the center of all creation”. Our kingdoms do need some of our attention, you do need to focus on your own needs and ambitions. But to see the “water” around you as an annoyance or not to see it all, to forget about the billions of other mind kingdoms walking around, perhaps anxiety ridden kingdoms or dyslexic ones, maybe some are very similar to your own, is to miss out on connection that is uniquely human and beautiful.
I find it crucial to remember that the people wrapping my cheeseburger or standing in front of me in the self-checkout line or stopped next to me at a light, all have dreams and fears and insecurities and pains and joys, and maybe they’re battling mental illness or training for an Iron Man or their favorite color is orange like mine or they’ve just found out that they’re pregnant or they’re struggling to learn English. The point is that none of us are alone on this planet, and sometimes it just takes getting out of our own heads and looking at the water.
"This is Water," a speech by David Foster Wallace
My junior year of high school.
Avery, 18, Student
this-is-water-banalities-of-living
“You don’t just run, you run to some place wonderful.”
<em>From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler</em> turned Deborah Ross’s world upside down. Kongisberg’s book, which just celebrated its 50th anniversary, chronicles the adventures of Claudia and her brother, who run away to the Metropolitan Museum of Art. The book kindled Ross’s imagination so much that when she visited the museum with her parents, she retraced the protagonist’s steps in search of the Egyptian cat, the fountain, and Michelangelo’s sculpture.
<em>From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler</em> by E.L. Konigsburg
Deborah Ross, U.S. Representative for North Carolina's 2nd District
deborah-ross-someplace-wonderful
<em>People of the Book </em>Reminds Me Why I Love the Humanities
I read <em>People of the Book</em> by Geraldine Brooks a few days ago and I haven't been able to stop thinking about it. This book combined many of my loves: reading, historical fiction, and stories of survival and humanity.<br /><br />As a history teacher, with two young kids, I don't get much time to read for pleasure during the year. And this past year of the pandemic was the hardest of my career and I had even less time for reading. I have been so happy to slow down and relax this summer and to escape into the world of this book that was so captivating. <br /><br />This book had been sitting on my nightstand for months and once I picked it up, I couldn't put it down. It was such a powerful novel about imagined and embellished stories about a real live artifact, the Sarajevo Haggadah. The stories that the author created felt so real and I grew so attached to the people who helped protect this book. I learned so much about history and religion that I didn't know before. I also learned so much about the human condition. <br /><br />This is why I love my job. You can always learn more. I was so inspired by this book to keep reading others and keep learning more. I can't wait to travel and eventually see the real Haggadah. I want to share its story and hope others will get the opportunity to read this book!
Geraldine Brooks
<em>People of the Book</em>
July 2021
Natalie Hanson, 36, History Teacher
people-book-reminds-love-humanities
<em>The Fault in Our Stars</em> and my Dad - Living through Leukemia in my Dad's shoes
Between the years of 2012-2014, the book <em>The Fault in Our Stars</em> written by John Green was one of the most popular books and films for teenagers. The book was such a hit Hollywood decided to make it a film, and they did a great job sticking to the original novel. <br /><br />This novel is about two teenagers named Hazel and Augustus going through cancer and struggling to get through it until they meet each other through a support group, consisting of many other young cancer patients. My humanities moment happened in 2014 when my friend introduced to me this book. This included staying up all night, each night until I had finished reading the book so I could watch the film. At the age of 19, my dad had stage 4 Leukemia. This book always leaves me feeling emotional as it makes me think of my dad and all the battles he had to go through. Cancer is the hardest battle to fight and I’m so grateful that my dad, even though he was so close to death, continued fighting to survive. Without my dad, me or my siblings would not be here today. This novel is similar to my dad’s story because like the teenagers in the novel, they were fighting for their lives each day and going through lots of chemo and battling depression. <br /><br />To read the novel and watch the film gave me a better understanding of what my dad’s life looked like from his shoes, living his everyday life being once a cancer patient. It was laying in a hospital bed all day, eating the same foods, being sick and exhausted all the time, and taking so many medications that didn’t seem to help. It made my dad feeling depressed because he couldn’t do much from being so sick, similar to the character Hazel and her story. When my dad got sick, he lost his friends because they thought they can no longer hang around him or weren’t wanting to support him. The character Hazel had similar troubles like my dad and was always sad and alone, rereading the same book and watching the same tv shows, that is until she met Augustus from the support group that she was forced to go to because of her parents. <br /><br />If there is one gift I could give to my dad in the past, it would be to watch this film (not the story because he doesn’t like to read). I think watching this film would have gave my dad hope to know that he isn’t the only one fighting cancer and the characters Hazel and Augustus as well as millions of other teenagers in the world understand what he is going through.
https://docs.google.com/document/d/1ffrNqDDyEgLPHj5IMLH6OMcedcAki7mNHeRVFKKol10/edit?usp=sharing
The book <em>The Fault in Our Stars </em>by John Green
The year 2014 in my living room reading the book / watching the movie.
Cheyenne, 18 years old, living in Utah, a senior in high school
the-fault-in-our-stars
<em>The Jungle</em>: Personalizing the Historical Struggle of Workers
Sinclair famously quipped that he “aimed for the public’s heart” but accidentally “hit it in the stomach.” His novel hit Shedd in both places. <em>The Jungle</em> personalized the hopes and struggles of those living in the era that she would eventually study as a modern U.S. historian. Sinclair’s story prompted her to seek answers to questions: How did this novel prompt policy change? How did it capture the struggles of historical actors and immigrants in the early 20th century? What other novels did Sinclair write? What institutional structures need reform in order to be more just?
<span><span>An early encounter with muckraking American novelist Upton Sinclair’s </span><em>The Jungle </em><span>exposed Kristen Shedd to issues surrounding human rights and animal rights in the early 20</span><span>th</span><span> century. For Shedd, the 1906 novel exposed the intersections of fiction, policy, history, and social justice. Sinclair’s story prompted her to seek answers to questions: How did this novel prompt policy change? How did it capture the struggles of historical actors and immigrants in the early 20th century? What other novels did Sinclair write? What institutional structures need reform in order to be more just?</span></span>
<em>The Jungle</em> by Upton Sinclair
Kristen Shedd, Fullerton College & The John W. Kluge Center at the Library of Congress
shedd-jungle-personalizing-history
A Lifelong Love of Biographies
<p>Author, educational advocate, and entrepreneur David Bruce Smith recounts how his passion for reading biographies as a child instilled in him an enduring love of history and allowed him to overcome scholastic pressures he faced to deviate from his intellectual path. This exercise also connected him more strongly to a shared literary tradition within his family and granted him a level of insight and wisdom he has carried throughout his life.</p>
<p><em>Curator's note</em>: The Grateful American™ Foundation is dedicated to restoring enthusiasm in American history for kids and adults. Smith holds a bachelor’s degree in American Literature from George Washington University, and a master’s in Journalism from New York University. During the past 20 years he has been a real estate executive and the editor-in-chief/publisher of <i>Crystal City Magazine</i>. He is the author of 11 books, including his most recent title, <i>American Hero: John Marshall, Chief Justice of the United States</i>. The Grateful American Book Series for <i>children</i>, featuring historic couples that were partnerships, debuts in the fall with <i>Abigail and John</i>—a joint biography of the Adams's.</p>
David Bruce Smith, Founding Father of the Grateful American™ Foundation
david-bruce-smith-biographies
A Lifelong Passion and Appreciation for History
Vinson describes how a knowledge of local history—in this case, Mount Rushmore—transformed his understanding of the world around him. His mother, an elementary school teacher, would read her son stories of the monument’s construction, instilling a lifelong passion for history. Vinson goes on to explain how history provides a “much greater context to the things happening in our daily lives.”
Ben Vinson III reflects on how an appreciation for history can enrich our understanding of what he calls the “depth to our days.” Specifically, he recalls how the story of Mount Rushmore’s construction kindled his boyhood imagination growing up in South Dakota. His mother, an elementary school teacher, would read her son stories of the monument’s construction, instilling a lifelong passion for history. Vinson goes on to explain how history provides a “much greater context to the things happening in our daily lives.”
A story about the construction of Mount Rushmore
Ben Vinson III, Provost and Executive Vice President of Case Western Reserve University
ben-vinson-lifelong-passion-appreciation-history
A Lifetime of Humanities Moments
<p>Some years ago, I was asked to give a lecture to students enrolled in a small university’s humanities program describing the personal epiphany I experienced which led to my passion for the humanities. Try as I might, I could not think of an isolated, single experience but rather a series of moments that stretch back to my childhood and have “stuck to my ribs” over a lifetime.</p>
<p>A very early memory: perhaps at the age of six or seven, I became mesmerized by Schubert’s “Unfinished Symphony” and repeatedly played it on the phonograph (several 78 discs), deeply affected by the contrast between the brooding, dark and the happier, lighter themes.</p>
<p>Quite obviously, I was drawn to classical music. Some five or six years later, I had my heart set to hear Rudolph Serkin perform Beethoven’s “Emperor” Piano Concerto with the Philadelphia Orchestra under Eugene Ormandy. An ear infection, quite painful, almost prevented the experience. Against doctor’s orders, my aunt took me. I clearly recall how thrilled I was by the crescendo-decrescendo passage in the last movement—leaving the concert hall pain-free with the infection gone!</p>
<p>During these early years, I was somewhat of a bookworm, transported to different times and places by books which provided delight, wonderment and a number of deeply poignant moments. Initially, adventure stories such as James Fennimore Cooper’s <em>The Deerslayer</em> and <em>The Last of the Mohicans</em>, Alexander Dumas’ <em>The Three Musketeers</em> and Jules Verne’s <em>The Mysterious Island</em> were my fare, followed by Mark Twain’s <em>The Adventures of Tom Sawyer</em>, <em>A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court</em> and <em>Personal Recollections of Joan of Arc</em> and Willa Cather’s evocative novels <em>My Antonia</em> and <em>O Pioneers!</em></p>
<p>I also had the good fortune of being taken to theater in my pre-adolescent years, thrilling to the performances of Ethel Barrymore in <em>How Green Was My Valley</em>, Walter Hampton in <em>The Patriots</em> and a bit later, José Ferrer in Edmond Rostand’s romantic masterpiece, <em>Cyrano de Bergerac</em>. In my later adolescence, I experienced unforgettable performances of Laurence Olivier and Vivien Leigh in back-to-back performances of Shakespeare’s <em>Anthony and Cleopatra</em> and George Bernard Shaw’s <em>Caesar and Cleopatra</em>. I was bowled over by Vivien Leigh playing Cleopatra as the young, adoring female in awe of Julius Caesar in the Shaw play and her brilliantly played, contrasting characterization as a mature and majestic woman facing her demise in Shakespeare.</p>
<p>A life of theater-going has followed. Naturally, the works of the Bard—<em>Henry V</em>, <em>Macbeth</em>, <em>Hamlet</em>, <em>Merchant of Venice</em>, <em>Midsummer Night’s Dream</em>, <em>Othello</em> and <em>King Lear</em>—have been at the core. Perhaps one of my most memorable nights of theater-going was a performance by the great husband-wife team of Alfred Lunt and Lynn Fontanne in Friedrich Dürrenmatt’s <em>The Visit</em>—a dramatization of greed, revenge and the power of money among people of rectitude.</p>
<p>The visual arts, particularly painting, was an important part of my childhood, which continues to be nurtured by museum-going in my own city and around the world. Collecting has also been a joyous endeavor, centered on prints with a focus on Ukiyo-e. Two most memorable moments were encountering Goya’s paintings and prints in the Prado Museum in Madrid. These works riveted me, and I spent a whole day with them alone. Some years apart on a visit to the Kunsthistorisches Museum in Vienna, I found myself in a small gallery, just five paintings by Rembrandt—four self-portraits and one of his mother. I was overcome and could not contain tears—they spoke so deeply of the human condition.</p>
<p>Coming back to adolescent years and literature, Dickens, Thackeray, Melville, O’Henry, Herman Hesse, again Twain, were sources of adventure and insights to the human condition and heart. College years introduced me to Homer, the Greek playwrights, and the Roman poets, particularly Virgil, Horace and Catullus. A lifetime of reading followed—English and American novelists and essayists, German, Italian, French, Japanese and Russian authors, particularly Dostoyevsky and Tolstoy. Pages and pages of humanities moments!!</p>
<ul>
<li>Who can forget Hector’s farewell to his infant son in the <em>Iliad</em>?</li>
<li>Or be struck by George Elliott observing in <em>Middlemarch</em>, “No age is so apt as youth to think its emotions, partings and resolves are the last of their kind. Each crisis seems final, simply because it is new.” Or, “There is no general doctrine which is not capable of eating out our mortality if unchecked by the deep-seated habit of direct fellow-feeling with individual fellow-men.”</li>
<li>Who can forget Huck Finn introducing himself on the opening page of the eponymous novel and then later wrestling with his conscience and eschatology whether to report Jim as a runaway slave?</li>
<li>Of a different nature but just as memorable are the exquisite and subtle emotions experienced and described by Virginia Wolff in <em>Mrs. Dalloway</em> and <em>To the Lighthouse</em>.</li>
<li>And, most recently for me, the moment in Proust’s last volume, <em>Le Temps Retrouvé of A la Recherche du Temps Perdu</em> where he describes his epiphany that enables him to be a writer and thus realize his literary ambitions.</li>
<li>Finally, mention must be made of poignant moments so touching to me in Japanese literary gems. To read Shikibu Murasaki’s masterpiece <em>Genji Monogatari</em> is to be transported to another time (11th century), another world (medieval Japan) and sensibilities to be treasured. Love poems two centuries earlier capture the mood and the feeling. Consider these two gems by Ono no Komachi:<br />
<table>
<tbody>
<tr>
<td style="border-bottom: none;"><em>Did he appear<br />because I fell asleep<br />thinking of him?<br />If only I’d known I was dreaming,<br />I’d never have wakened.</em></td>
<td style="border-bottom: none;"><em>I thought to pick<br />the flower of forgetting<br />for myself,<br />but I found it<br />already growing in his heart.</em></td>
</tr>
</tbody>
</table>
</li>
</ul>
<p>Philosophy I came to in college through the suggestion of my father. What better introduction than Plato’s <em>Apology</em> and <em>Phaedo</em>? Socrates’ acceptance of the Athenian Assembly’s death sentence and later his refusal to delay drinking the hemlock spoke to me of transcendent self-possession and wisdom.</p>
<p>These stoic strains were fully developed over the ensuing five hundred years and come full-blown with the appearance of the stoic philosophers—Epictetus and Marcus Aurelius. How can one forget the admonishment in the <em>Enchiridion</em> of Epictetus to behave in private as one would want to be seen in public, and later the Roman Emperor Aurelius in his <em>Meditations</em> advising, “No longer talk at all about the kind of man that a good man ought to be, but be such.” These words speak deeply to such as myself who has been so greatly privileged. I went on to major in philosophy and have continued my interest over a lifetime, initially with special focus on Spinoza and Schopenhauer, and in later life centered on political and moral questions.</p>
<p>As can be surmised, music—orchestral, chamber, vocal and opera—has been my greatest passion. As I entered my adolescent years, my musical horizons were expanding, particularly with my introduction to Baroque music—J.S. Bach, Handel, Vivaldi, Corelli and Telemann. Handel’s <em>Messiah</em> was an early favorite, and the joy I felt on hearing the aria and chorus “O thou that tellest good tidings to Zion” is indescribable. This lead to Bach cantatas, his Passions, the Mass in B minor and the Christmas Oratorio with its joyful and triumphant opening chorus. No Christmas is complete without that ringing in my ears, and who cannot be moved by the opening aria, “Ich habe Genug” from the Cantata of the same name.</p>
<p>Then came opera, with a proliferation of humanities moments:</p>
<ul>
<li>Cherobino’s incomparable profession of adolescent love “Non so pia cosa son” and the Contessa’s “Dove sono I bei momenti” lamenting her lost love—both from Mozart’s <em>Le Nozze di Figaro</em></li>
<li>Wotan’s “Farewell” bringing to a close <em>Die Valkyrie</em>, the second opera of Wagner’s <em>Der Ring des Nibelungen</em></li>
<li>Hans Sachs “Wahn, wahn” monologue from this same composer’s <em>Die Meistersinger</em></li>
<li>Iago’s great aria “Credo in un Dio crudel” from the second act of Verdi’s <em>Otello</em></li>
<li>Schaunard, the philosopher, bidding farewell to his cloak in order to purchase medicines for the dying Mimi in Puccini’s <em>La Bohème</em></li>
<li>The transcendent trio sung by the Marschallin, Octavian and Sophie in the last act of Richard Strauss’s <em>Der Rosenkavalier</em>.</li>
</ul>
<p>Finally, in my more adult years, I am blessed to hear and play (violin) chamber music—string quartets, piano trios, various combinations of strings, winds and keyboard. The list of profound and touching moments is endless. I have only to mention Mozart’s Viola Quintets K.415 & 416, Beethoven’s late string quartets Op. 127-135; and Schubert’s quintessential Cello Quintet in C major as examples.</p>
<p>How fortunate am I to have lived, from earliest memory to present old age, a life filled with such a richness of Humanities Moments!</p>
Peter A. Benoliel, Chairman Emeritus, Quaker Chemical Corporation
benoliel-lifetime-humanities-moments
A Love That Follows You
<p>One of my earliest childhood memories is of a sweet voice reading sweet words to me from a simple children's book. The voice belonged to my grandmother and the words were ones of pure love. As for the book, its title is <em>Love You Forever</em> and its memorable blue cover has followed me from childhood to my young adulthood, saving me repeatedly.</p>
<p>A child may not be able to comprehend the notion or importance of unconditional love but the comfort linked to it is easily understood and craved, love is a universal language after all. The affection my grandma held for me then was easily found within her every action, her hugs and excitement to see me, spending her nights watching movies with me, and of course, reading to me my favorite, little book. The words “I’ll love you forever/ I’ll like you for always/ As long as I’m living, my baby you’ll be”, will forever invoke the purest, most childlike feelings of love and happiness. This love and understanding between my grandma and I is so important, and has become an important lifeline in times of trial.</p>
<p>Eventually, like we all do, I grew up and my memory of the book faded. My relationship with my grandmother did not fade, however, circumstances caused us both to move away from our home state of Arizona. While she was in Texas for work, my family was in Ohio to be an aid for my aunt during a hard time in her life. There I was, crammed in a house with ten other people, living in a state I’d never been to before, and on the other side of the country from everything and everyone I knew. It was, to say the least, difficult for me at 13 to cope with. My parents tried to make the best of it by taking day trips and getting occasional treats.</p>
<p>One small day trip in particular had us on the road to a little town I can’t remember the name of. As we explored, we found a quaint little bakery that sold donuts, so of course we went in. As my dad ordered, I found myself in the corner where there were some dusty books shelved up next to a fireplace. I glanced at the books and one blue cover caught my eye. At this point in my life, I was struggling to find peace or any kind of comfort. I know my family was doing their best but everyone was struggling to feel loved. This is the moment where I realized the importance of not only nostalgia but that eternal love I keep mentioning. All the warm, gushy feelings hit me at once as I pulled the familiar book from the shelf.</p>
<p>This book, on a dusty bookshelf, in a small bakery in Ohio had just changed my life, all because of the love a grandma has for her grandchild. To be brought back to such a perfect feeling of love in the midst of my unending depression was so staggering. This sudden change from despair to hope changed my life and my outlook from there forward. I was going to be okay because no matter what I did or who I became, there is someone out there who will always love me. This thought carried me through trials throughout my life to this point. Everyone needs somebody to love them without conditions. This is the reason for some people’s cruelty and others kindness, and I understand that now. This is why I will always choose kindness. This is my humanities moment.</p>
<em>Love You Forever</em> by Robert Munsch
Hailey Rogers, 18, High School Senior
love-that-follows-you
A Poem Remembered, a World Created
During the past several weeks I've been drafting some thoughts I've had for a number of years regarding the way we learn from nature and from other people's thoughts and writing. My Humanities Moment is a poetic description of a memory I had that was prompted by a poem from Alfred Tennyson -- "Flower in the crannied wall." The moment when this poem, this memory, and this essay came together is an example of the boundless and unpredictable infectiousness that operates between the minds of people and the objects and symbols of the natural world. I explain how the little flower in Tennyson's poem prompts my own memory of a little tree resiliently hanging onto its life in a canyon wall. While writing, this tree acquired more meaning for me when I addressed it in a personal way, almost as if to both a teacher and interlocutor. Prompted by Tennyson, I came to see in this tree the meaning and expression of human life and the nature of our struggle in defying the forces that oppose us and bring us to despair. I wrote this essay resembling the form of free verse, as I thought that was the best way to convey the tone and intimacy of my humanities moment. My moment is about the multi-lateral connection that is preserved by words and memory between the past and the present, between the natural world and the human world, and between human minds separated by the centuries. <br /><br /><strong>A Poem Remembered, a World Created</strong> <br /><br />I read a poem by Tennyson the other day. A very short poem. Only six lines: <br /><br /><em>Flower in the crannied wall, </em><br /><em>I pluck you out of the crannies, </em><br /><em>I hold you here, root and all, in my hand, </em><br /><em>Little flower—but if I could understand </em><br /><em>What you are, root and all, and all in all, </em><br /><em>I should know what God and man is.</em> <br /><br />Sometimes a very short poem can capture the desire of the human race. This flower took my mind to a tree I once saw growing in a rock. So I wanted to try what Tennyson did: <br /><br />Little pinion growing in the cliff, how you hang, how you droop, parch and slant. How you survive. I watch you crouch so high at the sun, and defeat it by your years. The needles of your humility still stay green. Each day you face the fall. And each day you cling to that sheer rock. The peace that city dwellers seek emanates not from you, but only the repose that comes from fear. The pain of the wilderness speaks in your sun-bleached bark. Without consolation is this heat. You preserve the mystery of existence and give no assurance that nature is my friend. The grandness of your story is found in the scarcity of your speech. Words from you are dumb, reminding me that I am not home in this world. I must be honest in your presence. You dare even as you stick. The passage of time, with its change and continuity, never escape your sight. You may tire of the cycles — the filling and drying of the winding creeks, the wetting and burning of the sand, or the traces of green, then yellow, of the trees and grass below. But you abandon them not. The hope you have comes only in these colors. For you do not see water itself. In you is that long war against gravity, against wind and the breaking of ice, against the fracture of rocks that choke a little more of your soil each year. In you is the secret of striving. Something whispers that what God would tell me he tells me through you. The clench of your roots teach me that the world is not meant to disintegrate, but to fight, to withstand, to last. Together we testify what will adds unto nature. You are the ambition of our poetry, the conceit to capture meaning behind the surface. We need you to see ourselves, and we need you to point us beyond ourselves. Little pinion, I speak to you in my memory. When I saw you those decades ago, a seed from your cone blew toward me and planted in my heart. That seed has grown into a sequoia of significance. I had neglected you until I read a poem by a man over the ocean, a man who lived in green and did not know this arid west, nor these mountains of rock. His soft flower became the pluck of your pine. And so across time and across this globe, the union between your kind and mine has solidified. Before you were a tree, but now you are a world.
"Flower in the crannied wall," a poem written by Tennyson and also an experience I had observing nature in the desert southwest
A few decades ago
Nathan Nielson, 44 years old, writer and director of Books & Bridges, a humanities nonprofit organization
poem-remembered-world-created
A Quiet Desperation
In my late 20s, I knew that I wanted to make a vocational shift, but I struggled to find the courage to do so. One day, I came across the lines of Transcendentalist philosopher Henry David Thoreau. “Most men lead lives of quiet desperation,” he wrote in <em>Walden</em> in 1854. <br /><br />Thoreau’s writing—a reflection on human nature’s tendency to reside in a “quiet desperation”—helped me to pinpoint my own misgivings about my professional path. This realization imparted me with the courage to face my self doubts, take a risk, and follow my vocational dream.<br /><br />Though Thoreau lapsed into an unfortunate gender bias (as women may lead lives of quiet desperation, too), I still took refuge in his words. Reflecting on my own life (which felt quietly desperate, I realized) imparted me with the audacity to make a change and follow my professional dream. My life, while still quiet, no longer feels desperate.
<em>Walden, or, Life in the Woods</em> by Henry David Thoreau
2013
Anonymous
a-quiet-desperation
A Requirement I Started to Love
To get an ALP (Arts, Literature, & Philosophy) credit I took an English class about books and short stories that were turned into movies. What I thought would be a fun, lighthearted class, led to an immense appreciation of the details that authors and directors choose to include in their work (while being fun of course). Anything I watch now causes me to think about the choices behind every aspect of production and allows me to explore a creative side that I never thought I would be interested in.
The works we read and watched all caused me to consider the different perspectives of the characters but also of the authors and directors that have to portray their message through techniques.
Alice Walker, Mario Puzo, Annie Proulx, Tod Robbins
<em>The Color Purple</em>, <em>The Godfather</em>, <em>Brokeback Mountain</em>, "Spurs"
Fall 2017
Liv McKinney, Duke '20, Biology Major
requirement-started-to-love
A Shared Poem
I discovered the poetry of William Blake on a bookshelf in San Francisco. Set beside the works of Charles Baudelaire, and other books I’ve long forgotten, Blake’s poems had rested on the shelf in my grandparents’ home for years. I was unfamiliar with Blake’s work at the time, but, during a visit in high school, I took his poetry from the shelf for some late-night reading. I flipped through the pages of Blake’s work without expectations, and I soon found what became my favorite poem, “The Human Abstract.”
I read through the poem countless times that night, and I found myself thinking about it still the next morning. By the time I returned home from my visit, I was eager to memorize the poem. I told my parents that I wanted to read more of William Blake’s work, and my father seemed somewhat surprised. His surprise wasn’t due to my interest in poetry, but rather in this particular poet. I explained that I’d recently discovered my new favorite poem, and launched into an explanation of what I’d read. My father quickly replied that “The Human Abstract” was his favorite poem, and it had been his favorite poem for many years.
I had unintentionally discovered my father’s copy of William Blake’s work, left in his parents’ home in his old childhood room. I never knew that he had read Blake’s poetry when he was younger, nor did I know that he’d taken a college course focused on William Blake. As it turned out, my brother’s name, William had even been chosen with William Blake in mind. These connections astounded me. My father and I don’t typically enjoy the same literature, and we’d never discussed poetry before that conversation. However, my coincidental discovery of the Human Abstract revealed our connection across generations. We shared the same fascination with the poem, and we found ourselves diving into a discussion of our thoughts on Blake and poetry. “The Human Abstract” has become an enduring topic of conversation for my father and I, and I’m grateful to have stumbled upon this poem on a night when I couldn’t sleep.
"The Human Abstract" by William Blake
2008/2009
Carolyn A. Levy, 28, PhD Candidate, Penn State University
shared-poem
An Unexpected Insight
Mr. Harvey was the most outstanding, demanding and humane teacher I studied with during my four years of high school. His course in world history first opened my eyes to the excitement of historical studies, to discussing the interpretation and meaning of historical developments, to independent and critical thinking, and to the challenge of writing [my historical essays] well. He would write copious comments on my papers, counseling me, e.g., to choose words wisely, especially verbs — remember what Voltaire said, he reminded us: “the verb is the soul of the sentence.” Receiving this recognition from him was so unexpected and so wonderful; the way I felt you might have thought I had won a Nobel Prize. And as part of this gift, he offered his final unexpected insight, with that quote from John Dos Passos. He was sharing another idea, giving me yet another view — a long and capacious view — of how and why the study of history is so valuable and important.
<p>At the end of my sophomore year in high school, during the awards ceremony in June, I received my varsity letter for playing football. And then my history teacher, Mr. Harvey, got up and gave three academic awards. To my complete surprise, I received one of those prizes. It was a book of <em>Plutarch’s Lives</em>, which was inscribed to me in part as follows: “This book ... represents his persistent toil toward clear, precise and meaningful expression in history at the Paris American High School.”</p>
<p>In addition, Mr. Harvey had also written the following quotation on the inside cover of the book, for me to ponder: “In times of danger and change when there is a quicksand of fear under men’s reasoning, a sense of continuity with generations gone before can stretch like a lifeline across the scary present.” –John Dos Passos<br /><br />Mr. Harvey was the most outstanding, demanding and humane teacher I studied with during my four years of high school. His course in world history first opened my eyes to the excitement of historical studies, to discussing the interpretation and meaning of historical developments, to independent and critical thinking, and to the challenge of writing [my historical essays] well. He would write copious comments on my papers, counseling me, e.g., to choose words wisely, especially verbs — remember what Voltaire said, he reminded us: “the verb is the soul of the sentence.” Receiving this recognition from him was so unexpected and so wonderful; the way I felt you might have thought I had won a Nobel Prize. And as part of this gift, he offered his final unexpected insight, with that quote from John Dos Passos. He was sharing another idea, giving me yet another view — a long and capacious view — of how and why the study of history is so valuable and important.</p>
<em>Plutarch's Lives</em>
June 1, 1956
Jaroslav Folda, N. Ferebee Taylor Professor emeritus, UNC
unexpected-insight
Answering the Question “Who Are We?”
In this short video, documentary filmmaker Ken Burns recalls having Robert Penn Warren read a passage from his novel <em>All the King’s Men</em> during the production of the Huey Long portion of his documentary series “Ken Burns’ America.” He notes that it is voices like Warren’s that have helped animate his work, bringing to life his own journey and that which he has tried to share through his films.<br /><br />For Burns, this particular passage from <i>All the King’s Men</i>—about dirt, creation, and man’s place and purpose on Earth—is a “wonderfully existential statement” that excavates the “emotional archaeology” of humanity. Warren’s writing serves as a compass that can help navigate what Burns calls “the specific gravity of our own self-destructive impulses.” In spite of the diverse range of his film topics, they are all united by a simple question: as Americans, who are we?
<em>All the King's Men</em> by Robert Penn Warren
1986
Ken Burns, documentary filmmaker
ken-burns-who-are-we
Baseball, Jackie Robinson, and Racial Identity Formation
Reading a short biography on Jackie Robinson and developing my own racial identity were important ways that the humanities helped me in this moment.
As I grew up in rural South Carolina in the 1980s, baseball was my favorite hobby and pastime. For most of my 7 year Dixie league/recreational league baseball career (ages 5 to 12), my dad was my coach. I don’t remember watching baseball on television because we only had three to four channels and did not have cable.
On my first baseball team, I was the only black player; and then after that most of my teams were majority black. At this time I only had vague notions about race, although I knew that I was black. Because both of my parents worked, my brother and I attended a day-care facility in town. The day-care provider was a thirty-something year old white woman and most of the children in her care were also white. Again, I had little sense of my blackness.
Of the many books on hand at the daycare, one day I discovered a children’s book about Jackie Robinson. By this time, I’m in the third grade and am a good reader, so I read the book very quickly. Just as quickly, it becomes one of my favorite books.
I was extremely excited for several reasons: Never before I had a read a book with a Black main character. I knew there were black baseball players, but did not feel like I knew any very well. The book discussed racism that Robinson faced and how he overcame it and became one of the best baseball players in his generation (Rookie of the Year and MVP). It was the first example of people facing hardships because they were black and Jackie Robinson overcame the hardships. And lastly, a big part of my own racial development and understanding was that being black was not just about facing hardships in the past and overcoming them.
I continued to study Negro league baseball. Read several books and became fascinated by these invisible men who participated in a separate but unequal league, but had equal or superior baseball talent.
N/A
A children's book about Jackie Robinson (I don't remember the title)
I was a third grader in the 1980s.
<a href="http://nationalhumanitiescenter.org/education-programs/teacher-advisory-council-2017-2018/">Jamie Lathan</a>, 39, teacher and school administrator, husband, father, son, brother, friend.
baseball-and-racial-identity
Be What You Want to Be
In this audio recording, graduate student Jingyi Li describes how a late twentieth-century academic study of the book in Japan upended her expectations by rejecting the Eurocentric and Orientalist bias of many comparable scholarly works. Her experience with this text inspired her to move beyond her own linguistic insecurities and to continue with her research on premodern Japan.
<em>The Book in Japan</em> by Peter Kornicki
2016
Jingyi Li
be-what-you-want-to-be
Bedtime Stories
My humanities moment is actually a series of memories related to reading children's books. The memory of numerous bedtime stories, library visits, and experiences of making my own books about the children's book are still vivid in my mind. I enjoyed every single bit of the memory: My mother playing different characters in the books, pointing at pictures on each page, sunshine penetrating through the library windows, the smell of the books, the sound of flipping the pages, and the excitement while coming up with creative ideas what would happen next to the characters in the book.
This active engagement with children's books led me to keep exploring novels and literature later in my life. I finally ended up cultivating my tastes in classic literature. My favorite part of reading is to discuss literature with others. This collective informal literary critique has developed my collaborative ability which has deepened and widened my perspective about life in general.
Deaun Shin, 26, Ph.D. student
bedtime-stories
Broccoli, Anthropology, and the Humanities
Caitlin Patton discusses how the work of Ted Fischer, an anthropologist focused on food culture, specifically the cultivation of broccoli in Guatemala, inspired her choice to study at Vanderbilt University.<br /><br />Fischer’s book, <em>Broccoli and Desire</em>, spotlights an anthropological case study of food culture: the surprising webs of connection between American consumer culture and the traditions of the indigenous Maya people of Guatemala. At first blush, broccoli may not have seemed like an intriguing reading topic, but the book’s methods and message ultimately shaped the course of Patton’s own scholarship.
<em>Broccoli and Desire</em> by Ted Fischer
Caitlin Patton, North Carolina Humanities Council
broccoli-anthropology-humanities
Can You Imagine a World Without Birdsong?
<p>In discussing Rachel Carson’s influence as a writer and activist, Williams notes the use of metaphor — the absence of bird song — as a means of conveying the profound impact of the widespread use of pesticides.</p>
<p>She further goes on to describe Carson’s ongoing influence on her own work as a writer and activist: “Her synthesis of science and art and lyrical language... she really set the bar for me as one who could never reconcile my love of the sciences and the humanities, and what Rachel Carson showed us is there is no separation.”</p>
In this video recollection, author and conservation activist Terry Tempest Williams describes her first encounter with Rachel Carson’s <em>Silent Spring</em> and the ethical questions shared by her grandmother about taking personal responsibility for the natural world. As she says of this moment, “On that day, I became an environmentalist.”<br />
<p>In discussing Carson’s influence as a writer and activist, Williams notes the use of metaphor—the absence of bird song—as a means of conveying the profound impact of the widespread use of pesticides.</p>
<p>She further goes on to describe Carson’s ongoing influence on her own work as a writer and activist: “Her synthesis of science and art and lyrical language... she really set the bar for me as one who could never reconcile my love of the sciences and the humanities, and what Rachel Carson showed us is there is no separation.”</p>
<em>Silent Spring</em> by Rachel Carson
Terry Tempest Williams, author, conservationist, activist
terry-tempest-williams-world-without-birdsong
Censoring Slaughterhouse-Five
In this excerpt of a talk given at the National Humanities Center, Robert D. Newman discusses an exemplary humanities moment, when Kurt Vonnegut responded to the banning and burning of Vonnegut’s book <em>Slaughterhouse-Five</em> by school officials in Drake, North Dakota in 1973. Newman notes that this series of historical events involving the kinds of literature we read and teach “reveals the enduring truths in a democratic culture.”
A letter written by Kurt Vonnegut about the censorship of his novel <em>Slaughterhouse-Five</em>
1973
Robert D. Newman, President and Director, National Humanities Center
robert-newman-vonnegut-censorship
Chimborazo and the Sublime
There is a term in the humanities known as “the Sublime” (Rabb). The Sublime specifically refers to a concept in art established during the Romantic era when landscape paintings thrived. The Sublime alludes to the beauty in the untamed and dangerous aspects of nature; it is the “awe and reverence for the wild…[it] can also be uplifting, but in a deeply spiritual way” (Rabb). My humanities moment occurred the first time I truly felt the Sublime. <br /><br />Even though my humanities moment was not associated with a painting or physical piece of art, it transpired in nature - allowing the sense of the Sublime. It took place in December of 2017 in Ecuador. I currently live in Ecuador with part of my family and around the Holidays, we decided to visit a city about two hours away called Riobamba. To get from Quito (where we live) to Riobamba, however, you have to drive past Chimborazo. Chimborazo is an active volcano sitting at about 20,000 feet and, because of the equatorial bulge, it is the furthest point from the center of the earth. This volcano is huge and magnificent and because of the altitude, it is rarely clear enough to see it as clouds usually perch at its peak. That day, as we drove closer to the base of Chimborazo, we reluctantly resigned to the fact that the opportunity was most likely gone and the clingy clouds would block our view that day. However, as we continued to drive, we turned a corner and found ourselves right below the colossal Chimborazo. At that exact moment, the clouds quickly parted and the sun shone down right onto its exposed crest. Instantly, everyone in the car went silent and my breath was physically taken away. The Sublime was so real in that moment. This towering, formidable, awe-inspiring mountain made my heart sink and tears come to my eyes. It was the first time I remember something not man-made and so coincidental evoke such a feeling and a reaction; something non-human or not created by a human could make me feel human. We all sat there staring at the majesty and grandeur and wallowing in the Sublime. <br /><br />As I look back on it now, I realize that there was a second element that elevated my humanities moment. As we turned the corner a song was playing; a type of song that had never made me feel anything before, but in that moment it did and it exalted the experience of the volcano even further. The song is called “On Earth As It Is In Heaven” composed by Ennio Morricone from the movie <em>The Mission</em>. This score has always been considered ‘celestial music’ in my family however, it never really spoke to me. In fact, classical music in general has never really spoken to me, until that day at Chimborazo. As the clouds parted and the sun shone and that song climaxed, the feelings were indescribable. I chose this experience as my humanities moment because multiple things impacted me in ways I had never experienced. First, nature had never before given me that feeling of the Sublime. I had never become so reverenced and awe-inspired by untamed and wild nature before, to the point of tears and speechlessness. Also, no piece of classical music had ever before made me feel something or evoke an emotional response until that day. I could always take or leave classical music and I never had a passion for it until then. Because of this experience, I have learned to appreciate more the natural and beautiful things in life. I have learned to allow myself to be moved by nature and art and to enjoy the world around me. Because of that music and the Sublime, I will never forget that day at Chimborazo. <br /><br />Works Cited<br /> <br />Morricone, Ennio. “On Earth As It Is In Heaven” The Mission Soundtrack, Virgin Records Ltd, 2004, 1. itunes, itunes.apple.com/us/album/on-earth-as-it-is-in-heaven/714408074?i=714408593, accessed January 10, 2019. <br /><br />Rabb, Lauren. “19th Century Landscape - The Pastoral, the Picturesque and the Sublime.” The University of Arizona Museum of Art and Archive of Visual Arts, 9 Oct. 2009, artmuseum.arizona.edu/events/event/19th- century-landscape-the-pastoral-the-picturesque-and-the-sublime.
A volcano called Chimborazo and a song titled “On Earth As It Is In Heaven”
December 27, 2017
Emma Barlow, 18, Student
chimborazo-sublime
Coming to Terms with the Experience of War
<p>For centuries philosophers like Glenn Gray have sought ways to make sense of the world and better understand our place in it — from the order of the cosmos to the nature of beauty to the chaos and brutality of war. And, for just as many centuries they have inspired, intrigued, and challenged us to consider new ideas, and offered perspectives on difficult issues to help us navigate our lives and set the course of civilizations.</p>
<p>As chairman of the National Endowment for the Humanities, William Adams has helped oversee the roll-out of an agency-wide initiative <em>Standing Together: The Humanities and the Experience of War</em> which seeks to use the humanities to help Americans understand the experiences of service members as they return to civilian life.</p>
<p>National Endowment for the Humanities Chairman William “Bro” Adams shares how philosophy professor and World War II veteran Glenn Gray and his book <em>The Warriors: Reflections on Men in Battle</em> helped him come to terms with his own experiences in Vietnam.</p>
<p>For centuries philosophers like Gray have sought ways to make sense of the world and better understand our place in it—from the order of the cosmos to the nature of beauty to the chaos and brutality of war. And, for just as many centuries they have inspired, intrigued, and challenged us to consider new ideas, and offered perspectives on difficult issues to help us navigate our lives and set the course of civilizations.</p>
<p>As chairman of the National Endowment for the Humanities, William Adams has helped oversee the rollout of an agency-wide initiative, <a href="https://www.neh.gov/veterans/standing-together">Standing Together: The Humanities and the Experience of War</a>, which seeks to use the humanities to help Americans understand the experiences of service members as they return to civilian life.</p>
<em>The Warriors: Reflections on Men in Battle</em> by Glenn Gray
William “Bro” Adams, Chairman, National Endowment for the Humanities
bro-adams-experience-of-war
Discovering How Literature and Art Place Demands on Us
<p>From reading <em>Crime and Punishment</em> as a high school senior and the Depression-era masterpieces <em>Absalom, Absolom!</em> and <em>Let Us Now Praise Famous Men</em> in college, Gil Greggs describes a personal journey of discovery about the ways literature connects readers to the real world.</p>
<p>Later, he describes how the portraits painted by Rembrandt and photographs taken by Richard Avedon help us notice and better appreciate the humanity of the people around us and to perceive hints of their inner lives.</p>
Dr. Gil Greggs, Director of Academic Programs, St. David’s School, Raleigh NC
gil-greggs-learning-to-read-in-order-to-see
Eyes on the Mockingbird
Without <em>Eyes on the Prize</em>, I would have never seen what was happening outside of my little hometown. I knew there were different cultures, ethnicities, and nationalities surrounding Durand, but I never came in contact with them. I certainly never knew that people had to fight to be able to go to school or that fire hoses were used to deter people from going to school. It also taught me that minority does not indicate a color or even social grouping; rather it indicates a lack of political power. By Lee showing that people in the minority were being harmed by those with power, I was able to see how important it is for me to stand up for human rights. Without the humanities, I would have been blind to the world.
I grew up in a very small town in rural Wisconsin. When I looked at my classmates it was like looking in a mirror. Because of that, I never realized that there were many people who were facing hardships because of their minority status and people who were taking advantage of them. Fast forward to my sophomore year of high school. Mrs. Shaw made it her mission to open our eyes. She wanted to expose us to the realities of this world. While I questioned it at the time, she showed us the entire <em>Eyes on the Prize</em> documentary. She would allow us to watch, and then she would force us to talk about it and face the facts. We had to face the fact that people could be cruel, especially if they felt they had power over others. The curriculum then went on to <em>To Kill a Mockingbird</em>. Mrs. Shaw made sure to show us that skin color is not the only way to dictate belonging in the minority. She made us see the importance of standing up for the fact that people are people, no matter what, no matter their political power.<br /><br />Without <em>Eyes on the Prize</em>, I would have never seen what was happening outside of my little hometown. I knew there were different cultures, ethnicities, and nationalities surrounding Durand, but I never came in contact with them. I certainly never knew that people had to fight to be able to go to school or that fire hoses were used to deter people from going to school. It also taught me that minority does not indicate a color or even social grouping; rather it indicates a lack of political power. By Lee showing that people in the minority were being harmed by those with power, I was able to see how important it is for me to stand up for human rights. Without the humanities, I would have been blind to the world.
Hampton, Henry; Harper Lee
<em>Eyes on the Prize</em> and <em>To Kill a Mockingbird</em>
1995
<a href="http://nationalhumanitiescenter.org/education-programs/teacher-advisory-council-2017-2018/">Sarah Arnold</a>, 38, English Teacher
eyes-on-the-mockingbird
Finding Freedom from the Familiar
<p>In 1979, at age 16, Hollis Robbins found herself enrolled at John Hopkins University. Though she was there as part of a program for girls who excelled in math, she signed up for a humanities lecture class. In that day’s class, drawing upon the epic of Gilgamesh, a guest lecturer expounded on the theory of “mimetic desire,” or the idea that we borrow our desires from other people. Unbeknownst to her, the speaker was none other than famed anthropological philosopher René Girard. Yet, Hollis disagreed. In her opinion, culled from reading stories such as those of Herman Melville and Charles Dickens, people actually like “very strange things.” They are drawn to things that are different from themselves.</p>
<p>Today, as a professor of literature, her conviction holds strong, supported by experiences such as teaching Melville’s <em>Moby-Dick</em>. She finds that contrary to present-day despair about their “slow attention spans,” students want to reach across centuries to worlds unfamiliar from their own.</p>
Epic of Gilgamesh; the philosophy of René Girard; Moby-Dick by Herman Melville
1979
<a href="https://nationalhumanitiescenter.org/meet-the-fellows/hollis-robbins/">Hollis Robbins</a>, Johns Hopkins University
robbins-finding-freedom-from-familiar
First Archival Visit
I hope I am not the only person who struggled to narrow their moment to a single episode. I am grateful for the prompt, though; in a summer full of dissertation writing and classroom prep, this prompt provided me an opportunity to appreciate how many times daily I interact with a humanities scholar or a piece of art, music, or literature. <br /><br />Certainly a moment that stands out among the rest happened when I was twelve years old. It was the summer of 2002 and I was home with my Mom and my younger sister. We lived in a rural part of southern Ohio and we were between visits to Winters Public Library so naturally I was bored out of my mind—the kind of boredom I find myself longing for now. I am certain that I spent the morning begging my Mom to take me to the public library again—though I know that we had already been that week. <br /><br />My Mom knew better, of course. As a consequence, I found myself re-reading a YA historical fiction book I had devoured the previous week. During this latest re-read, I must have focused on the latter half of the book because I remember reading the source page. And, that must have been when I saw it: the author had cited primary sources, a journal, from the Greene County Historical Society—that was in Xenia! That was within an hour’s drive! <br /><br />I do not remember what I said to my mother to convince her to go. I would like to think I was persuasive but I imagine I was just loud and persistent. We took her 1992 Subaru Justy—already ten years old. <br /><br />It would take me years to realize that her choice to take me to the archive that day was a risk and that it meant a sacrifice. We were, as I would learn later, one car repair away from “serious trouble” and this car was not in great shape. When she turned the key in the ignition, there was a sigh of relief: it had just enough gas to get us there and back. We only had one income at the time. I don’t remember the drive to the archive but I remember nearly every second of the visit once we stepped inside. I remember climbing the steps to the third floor and the warm smile on the librarian’s face who showed me how to fill out a call slip. She made me feel so welcome in that space, like I belonged there. And, like every good librarian wore a fantastic sweater, an orange cardigan to be exact. <br /><br />I also remember how my heart raced as I watched her disappear behind the shelves. I also distinctly remember imaging what the diary would look like and being surprised when the contents arrived in a manila folder. I stayed until closing and my mother waited patiently on the first floor for at least three hours, looking up obituaries in the microfilm collection. <br /><br />I think this moment stands out for two reasons: History seemed possible, it seemed comprehensible in that moment. It also stands out because over time and with coursework, I would come to understand how the book that brought me to the archive had flattened Ohio’s complex nineteenth century history—it had reduced this story to one of virtuous settlers and villainous Shawnee warriors. With coursework in history, English, and library and information science, I learned the vocabulary necessary to critique that book and how to find better books, better sources, and to tell more complete stories.
An Archival Trip
Summer 2002
Mary Wise, PhD Candidate in History at the University of Iowa
first-archival-visit