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"How I Came to Oppose the Death Penalty",,"Grammy-winning singer-songwriter Steve Earle discusses the impact of witnessing his father write a letter to the Texas governor on behalf of a condemned man in San Antonio. Having already begun to reflect on the importance of political engagement and the ethics of capital punishment, Earle felt especially moved by both the book and film version of Truman Capote’s In Cold Blood in the late 1960s. In tandem, these experiences contributed to his becoming a passionate advocate against the death penalty.","Truman Capote","In Cold Blood by Truman Capote",,1965,"Steve Earle, singer-songwriter",,,,,,steve-earle-how-i-came-to-oppose-the-death-penalty,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,"",,,"Capital Punishment,Capote, Truman,Ethics,Fathers & Sons,Film Adaptations,Gun Violence,In Cold Blood,Letter Writing,Literature,Musicians,Political Activism,San Antonio, Texas,True Crime Stories",https://humanitiesmoments.org/files/original/39/san-antonio-express-sept-12-1964.jpg,"Moving Image",,1,0
"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.
Fischer’s book, Broccoli and Desire, 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.",,"Broccoli and Desire by Ted Fischer",,," Caitlin Patton, North Carolina Humanities Council",,,,,,broccoli-anthropology-humanities,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,"",,,"Anthropology,Books & Reading,Broccoli and Desire,Fischer, Ted,Food Cultures,Nashville, Tennessee,Teachers & Teaching,Vanderbilt University",https://humanitiesmoments.org/files/original/4/40/broccoli.jpg,"Moving Image",Educators,1,0
"Fathers and Sons",,"In this video, Scott Gartlan discusses his reaction to seeing Arthur Miller’s 1947 play All My Sons and seeing deep connections between the play’s narrative and his own life story. He goes on to reflect on the power of storytelling to bridge generations and personal circumstances.
Witnessing the performance of Miller’s play was a “flashbulb moment” that deepened Gartlan’s appreciation of “what art can do in representing life.”",,"A performance of Arthur Miller's play All My Sons",,,"Scott Gartlan, Executive Director, Charlotte Teachers Institute",,,,,,fathers-sons,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,"",,,"All My Sons,Drama,Families,Fathers & Sons,Literature,Miller, Arthur,New York, New York,Performing Arts,Storytelling,Teachers & Teaching",https://humanitiesmoments.org/files/original/4/41/Arthur_Miller.jpeg,"Moving Image",Educators,1,0
"Eyes on the Prize",,"Kamille Bostick shares the moment when she first saw the PBS documentary Eyes on the Prize and discusses how the revelations of that film history have contributed to her career and her long interest in history, especially the lives and accomplishments of African Americans.
Seeing herself reflected in pictures and stories of African American history inspired Bostick to learn more about the lives and stories of those who came before her. In tandem, an Ebony magazine series and the film prompted two realizations for Bostick: first, the extent to which history matters; second, given how much African Americans have enriched U.S. culture, she “couldn’t not know more” about the history of those she saw depicted. In her own work, Bostick strives to honor and remember the songs, creations, and stories of African Americans throughout the nation’s history.",,,,,"Kamille Bostick, Vice President, Education Programs, Levine Museum of the New South",,,,,,eyes-on-the-prize,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,"",,,"African American History,Civil Rights Movement (United States),Documentary Films,Ebony Magazine,Eyes on the Prize,Hampton, Henry,History,Journalism,Magazines,Museums,PBS (Public Broadcasting Service),Storytelling",https://humanitiesmoments.org/files/original/4/42/Civil_Rights_leaders_marching_in_Washington_D.C..jpeg,"Moving Image",Educators,1,0
"Spreading the Love of Libraries",,"Librarian Deborah Jung describes the moment she discovered libraries and the riches they offer, which fueled her passion for opening the world of literature to children.
For Jung, finding a library as a child was like “going to heaven.” The beauty of Madeleine L’Engle’s writing introduced her to the world of science fiction, a genre that thematizes acceptance, empathy, and humanity. More recently, as a reader, Jung has turned to literature about immigration. As a school librarian, she strives to choose books—especially those that feature African American and Hispanic characters—in which students may see reflections of themselves. ",,"A Wrinkle in Time by Madeleine L'Engle",,,"Deborah Jung, Charlotte-Mecklenburg School District",,,,,,spreading-love-of-libraries,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,"",,,"A Wrinkle in Time,Books & Reading,Empathy,L'Engle, Madeleine,Librarians,Libraries,Multicultural Education,Science Fiction,Vocation,Young Adult Literature",https://humanitiesmoments.org/files/original/4/43/library-960x590.jpg,"Moving Image",Educators,1,0
"Unlocking the Code",,"In this clip, educator Kathryn Bentley discusses an early moment in her teaching career when she came to realize the role emotions play in learning to read and that for some students this is the key element of instruction.
Throughout several decades as an educator, Bentley has sought to impart her own love of reading with her students. Interactions with individual learners—especially those who initially resist or struggle with literacy—have illuminated the many different approaches to “unlocking the code of reading.” Bentley has come to realize that while some children need to learn more about the “science” of reading, others benefit from an introduction to its “art.” ",,,,,"Kathryn Bentley, Arts & Science Council",,,,,,emotional-impact-learning-to-read,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,"",,,"Books & Reading,Literacy,Teachers & Teaching",https://humanitiesmoments.org/files/original/4/44/Scrabble_reading.jpeg,"Moving Image",Educators,1,0
"What Happens When We Share Our Stories?",,"Teacher Theresa Pierce discusses how the accumulation and sharing of personal narratives help generate individual moments of realization among students as they also help build a sense of community.
Books, maps, and works of art consistently facilitate connection and shared experiences among Pierce’s diverse group of students. For example, Marjane Satrapi’s graphic autobiography Persepolis moved one young woman to reflect on her own family’s narrative. This communal sharing of stories helps Pierce’s students to realize that the world “isn’t a bubble” but a “huge interconnected thing.”",,"Persepolis by Marjane Satrapi",,,"Theresa Pierce, Rowan County Early College",,,,,,sharing-stories-fostering-understanding,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,"",,,"Books & Reading,Graphic Novels,Persepolis,Professors,Satrapi, Marjane,Storytelling,Teachers & Teaching",https://humanitiesmoments.org/files/original/4/45/Persepolis.jpg,"Moving Image",Educators,1,0
"Without Words",,"Teacher Christina Lohry describes a moment in which she realized how language (and other forms of communication) can profoundly change how we view others, breaking down misconceptions and helping us connect.
While volunteering at a cerebral palsy center as a teenager, Lohry took the time to literally look into another person’s eyes. In doing so, her sense of the world was forever changed. Reality, she realized, is “never solid, it’s never what we think it is.” Human connections—with or without the assistance of language—are always possible; in turn, the world can always be bigger.",,,,,"Christina Lohry, Chantilly Montessori School, Charlotte, NC",,,,,,taking-time-look-into-someones-eyes,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,"",,,"Long Island, New York,Nonverbal Communication",https://humanitiesmoments.org/files/original/4/46/flower-600.jpg,"Moving Image",Educators,1,0
"Feeling the American Revolution",,"History teacher Steve Oreskovic discusses how he gets his students to empathize with the feelings of injustice among colonists in the run up to the American Revolution, helping them gain a richer context for learning about history.
Through the practice of experiential learning—a simulation of a tax on school supplies—Oreskovic created an opportunity for his students to imagine the lived realities of American colonists. In doing so, he drew parallels with the Stamp Act imposed by the English government in 1765. The experiential activity “really gets them into the why,” he explains. By reflecting on the internal feeling of injustice, his students gained a richer understanding of the past that transcends the mere knowing of dates, names, and places. ",,,,,"Steve Oreskovic, Charlotte-Mecklenburg School District",,,,,,feeling-american-revolution,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,"",,,"Active Learning,American Revolution,Charlotte, North Carolina,History,Stamp Act of 1765,Teachers & Teaching,United States History",https://humanitiesmoments.org/files/original/4/47/Burning_of_Stamp_Act-600.jpg,"Moving Image",Educators,1,0
"What Does It Mean to Be Southern?",,"Community college teacher Julie Mullis describes how a classroom experience with students from diverse backgrounds and perspectives created a memorable and “multi-colored” sense of place and belonging. The conversations and debates that took place in a Humanities 122 class illuminated a profound truth for Mullis and her students: “we all had this common strand of humanity to us, no matter where we came from or how we grew up.” By considering a single topic—Southern culture—from a variety of perspectives, the classroom opened up a space for its diverse learners to celebrate both similarities and differences.",,,,,"Julie Mullis, Wilkes Community College",,,,,,what-does-it-mean-to-be-southern,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,"",,,"Community Colleges,Cultural Exchange,Professors,Southern United States,Teachers & Teaching",https://humanitiesmoments.org/files/original/4/48/Mason_Dixon_Line.jpeg,"Moving Image",Educators,1,0
"Studying the Jacobins and Rethinking my Political Leanings",,"My humanities moment came in preparing to teach a course on the French Revolution. I am by training a Byzantinist and medievalist, but got my job as a world history teacher. To fill in the gap and also since I could read French, the acting department chair gave me the job of teaching the French Revolution, even though I had gotten a D in that subject at Haverford College. So I did some background reading, and one of the things that I remember was the wild statements of Jacobin party leaders in their attempts to bring virtue to the French Republic, and their moralizing about the old Regime and the evils of the Church – I remember one document in which the Jacobin speaker raged on about the black deeds of the Spanish Inquisition. As I was preparing my lecture, I realized that the Spanish Inquisition executed approximately 3000 people in 300 years, and most of those were under Ferdinand and Isabella in their attempts to unify the kingdom. The Jacobins executed 40,000 people in a year. I had always been an American liberal until that moment. I did not change immediately, but the increasing shrill tone of progressives – the hatred that is displayed against people like Kelly Anne Conway – remind me of Robespierre.
",,,,,"Tim Miller, Salisbury University",,,,,,studying-jacobins,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,"Professors,Salisbury, Maryland",https://humanitiesmoments.org/files/original/50/GuerreVendee_1.jpg,Text,,1,0
"Placing Our Family in the Story of America",,"
Actor John Cho shares how the humanities reveal answers to the most important questions in life. He notes his fondness of reading and how, during his childhood, the Little House on the Prairie books helped him process and understand his family’s place in America.
To celebrate its 40th year anniversary of grant making, programming, and partnerships that connect Californians to each other, California Humanities invited a group of 40 prominent Californians to explore what the humanities mean to them. For more information visit California Humanities: We Are the Humanities.
",,"Little House on the Prairie by Laura Ingalls Wilder","California Humanities",,"John Cho, actor","Standard YouTube License",,,,,john-cho-little-house-on-the-prairie,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,"",,,"Actors,Books & Reading,Children's Literature,Empathy,Families,Immigration,Literature,Little House on the Prairie,United States History,Wilder, Laura Ingalls",https://humanitiesmoments.org/files/original/5/51/statue_of_liberty-800.jpg,"Moving Image","California Humanities: “We Are the Humanities”",1,0 "From Los Angeles to Guadalajara",,"Craig Watson, former director of the California Arts Council, reflects on the storytelling aspect of the humanities and the time he spent as a teenager in Guadalajara exploring public spaces painted with murals. He notes how people in the humanities help translate and open our eyes to what’s magical and unique about a place.Author and publisher Malcolm Margolin shares how the telling of stories helps shape and give meaning to the world. He also reflects on his time documenting American Indian life in the Bay Area and becoming captivated by the stories and histories from this experience.
To celebrate its 40th year anniversary of grant making, programming, and partnerships that connect Californians to each other, California Humanities invited a group of 40 prominent Californians to explore what the humanities mean to them. For more information visit California Humanities: We Are the Humanities.
",,,"California Humanities",,"Malcolm Margolin, author, publisher, and founder of Heyday Books","Standard YouTube License",,,,,malcolm-margolin-making-the-world-bearable,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,"",,,"Books & Reading,Cultural History,Love,Native American History,Oral History,Publishers,Publishers & Publishing,San Francisco, California,Storytelling,Violence,Writers,Writing",https://humanitiesmoments.org/files/original/5/53/Ohlone_Indians_in_a_Tule_Boat_in_the_San_Francisco_Bay_1822.jpg,"Moving Image","California Humanities: “We Are the Humanities”",1,0 "Writing is My Activism",,"Luis Rodriguez, Poet Laureate of Los Angeles in 2014, explains how his love for books and libraries rescued him from a life of trouble. He notes that through books, he discovered more about people and their lives, which encouraged his interest in writing about injustice and activism.
To celebrate its 40th year anniversary of grant making, programming, and partnerships that connect Californians to each other, California Humanities invited a group of 40 prominent Californians to explore what the humanities mean to them. For more information visit California Humanities: We Are the Humanities.
",,,"California Humanities",,"Luis Rodriguez, Poet Laureate of Los Angeles in 2014","Standard YouTube License",,,,,luis-rodriguez-writing-activism,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,"",,,"Activism,Books & Reading,Gangs,Immigration,Juvenile Delinquency,Libraries,Literature,Los Angeles, California,Mexico,Multiculturalism,Oral History,Poetry,Poets Laureate,Social Justice,Storytelling,Vocation,Writing",https://humanitiesmoments.org/files/original/5/54/LA_Public_Library.jpg,"Moving Image","California Humanities: “We Are the Humanities”",1,0 "Deciding Not to Be a Doctor",,"Larry Kramer, president of the William and Flora Hewlett Foundation, went to college expecting to become a doctor, but taking a course on religious ethics and moral issues shifted his direction. To him, the humanities allow us to be introspective and to understand our lives from a larger point of view, which leads to a more revealing and enriching human experience.
To celebrate its 40th year anniversary of grant making, programming, and partnerships that connect Californians to each other, California Humanities invited a group of 40 prominent Californians to explore what the humanities mean to them. For more information visit California Humanities: We Are the Humanities.
",,,"California Humanities",,"Larry Kramer, president of the William and Flora Hewlett Foundation","Standard YouTube License",,,,,larry-kramer-deciding-not-to-be-a-doctor,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,"",,,"College Students,Communication,Critical Thinking,Ethics,Introspection,Psychology,Religious Studies,Vocation,Writing",https://humanitiesmoments.org/files/original/5/55/Religious_symbols.jpg,"Moving Image","California Humanities: “We Are the Humanities”",1,0 "The Only Person of Color in the Room",,"At 95, Betty Reid Soskin is the oldest active U.S. Park Ranger. Having lived through wars, racial segregation, and other turbulent times in our history, she says empathy and world peace are possible through the humanities.
To celebrate its 40th year anniversary of grant making, programming, and partnerships that connect Californians to each other, California Humanities invited a group of 40 prominent Californians to explore what the humanities mean to them. For more information visit California Humanities: We Are the Humanities.
",,,"California Humanities",,"Betty Reid Soskin, U.S. National Park Service Ranger","Standard YouTube License",,,,,betty-reid-soskin-us-national-park-ranger,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,"",,,"African American History,American Civil War & Collective Memory,Ancestors,Collective Memory,Empathy,Historic Sites,Historical Memory,History,National Parks & Reserves,Peace,Race Relations,Slavery,United States Park Rangers,Women's History",https://humanitiesmoments.org/files/original/5/56/1985_ribbon_cutting_African_American_Park_Ranger.jpg,"Moving Image","California Humanities: “We Are the Humanities”",1,0 "“You Have to Be There”",,"Averill Corkin describes the moment she decided to major in the humanities after seeing a video performance of the song “Du måste finnas” (“You Have to Be There”), in which a female refugee, overcome with loss and fear, questions the existence of God. She notes, despite the language difference, she understood the woman’s experience through the melody and the nature of her performance. She goes on to talk about the power of the humanities to connect us through our appreciation of art regardless of geographic, cultural, and language boundaries.",,"The song “Du måste finnas” (“You Have to Be There”)",,,"Averill Corkin, Graduate Student, Harvard University ",,,,,,you-have-to-be-there,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,"",,,"Andersson, Benny,Du Måste Finnas (You Have to Be There),Music,Performing Arts,Refugees,Religion,Salt Lake City, Utah,Students,Ulvaeus, Björn",https://humanitiesmoments.org/files/original/57/averill-corkin.jpg,"Moving Image",,1,0 "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.","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 Plutarch’s Lives, 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.”
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
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.
According to the ancient Greeks, harmony is discord rendered concordant, a concept that applied not just to music but everything from the order of the cosmos to human relationships. I have always loved this idea for two reasons: it was predicated not on the absence or erasure of difference, but the reconciliation of it; and it was perfectly embodied in the activity that had occupied a significant part of my career as a college music professor and conductor—choral singing. Upon my retirement, alumni of my choral group from across the decades returned to campus to join current members for the final concert of my career, a performance of the sublime Duruflé Requiem. As the events of that concert unfolded, including something extraordinary and unexpected, I was moved to reflect upon the nature of harmony, and the power of collective singing.
Like many humanities moments, mine was the culmination of many moments that had accumulated over the years, and that suddenly came together under special circumstances that gave focus and meaning. When students I had always known only as 18–22 year olds returned for my retirement concert as adults in their 30s and 40s to sing, I realized that across all these years, in the course of the inglorious and often frustrating work of learning parts, shaping phrases, sharpening rhythms, and tuning chords, we had been engaged in the most deeply human of activities—forging concord out of discord, all the while participating in something that was both greater than ourselves, but also affirming of that most individual aspect of our humanity, our voice. Choral singing, like all harmonious human activity, thrived not on sameness, but on difference, willingly and lovingly brought together and reconciled.
",,"Maurice Duruflé's Requiem",,"Spring 2016","Blake Wilson, Dickinson College",,,,,,harmonia-est-discordia-concors,,,,,,"In 1971, when I was a 19-year-old undergraduate at Amherst College, I sang in a performance of Bach’s St Matthew Passion. I had grown up in a household with classical music, but this was something else, something from a different place of spirit and beauty. It converted me into a music major.
Forty-five years later, I retired from a career as a college music professor, during which I taught music history and conducted some fifty concerts of choral music. When I retired from Dickinson in the spring of 2016, my colleagues generously organized an event involving a performance of the exquisite Duruflé Requiem. It featured my collegium singers and an invitation extended to all past singers in the group to return as alums and take part in the performance. An astonishing number of them took the time to learn their parts on their own, extract themselves from their now complicated lives of work and family, and return to once again sing together.
After it was all over, and with the performance still playing in my memory, I reflected on what had happened and what had brought us together. Yes, the people, the place, the music, and the chance to sing again, but above all it was something deeper that goes to the core of our humanity. The urge to be a part of something greater than ourselves, something that takes us—even if only for a few hours in a rehearsal or a performance—takes us and our audiences beyond ourselves into a shared experience of beauty. I think we all seek this in the parts of our life we hold most dear: family, marriage, friendship, and, for some of us, choral singing. Of all the meaningful communal pursuits one could seek, choral singing strikes me as among the most accessible and democratic.
When we rehearsed and performed Josquin, or Victoria, or Britten, or Lauridsen, it was on the level playing field of equal-voiced part writing. Every voice had an equal role to play, each was of equal importance. But that is not all. There is a misconception about much communal or collective activity that to be part of something greater you must tamp down your own individuality in order to blend in. Maybe that’s true in some arenas, but what I learned over the years working with my young singers is that choral singing embodies one of the great paradoxes and mysteries of life, and the one that goes to the heart of the liberal arts education. That not only is our individuality not at odds with meaningful collective activity, it is essential to it. I think we’re possibly happiest when our authentic self can join with others and become part of that alchemy by which discord is turned into concord, and the whole is made greater than the sum of the parts.
This is just exactly what we did every rehearsal, every semester, for every concert. We each worked to learn our parts, shape the phrases, tune the harmonies, adjust the dynamics, all the while trying to do these things together and forging a sectional sound composed of the distinctive timbres and colors of our individual voices. There is no describing the disarming beauty of the young adult willing to share with those around them the pure, unguarded, utterly unique sound of their singing voice. It is not going too far, I think, to call this desire and will to come together week after week—to wave off fatigue, illness, and the occasional pain of our lives, to bare our souls and forge something beautiful together—to call this an act of love. Like the love that binds us to spouses, friends, and family, choral singing asks us not to deny or leave behind our selves, but simultaneously to retain them and give them away. To give them over to a collective sound that is audible as both the blended whole and the tapestry of unique voices.
The joy to be found in being both one and the many at once is, I think, what drew us back to sing together again. But that is not the whole story either. For something else happened that day that none of us could have foreseen. A first-year student, a foreign student far away from home, had just drowned while swimming in a nearby river surrounded by friends. It was a heartbreaking event for our small community, and the memorial service had been scheduled for the same afternoon as our concert. Unable to attend the service, we decided to insert a short piece into the program just before the Duruflé, and dedicate it to the young man. It was a sublime piece by the American choral composer Eric Whitacre called Sleep. I did not conduct the Duruflé, but I did conduct the Whitacre, and it would be the last time I conducted any of them. We had little rehearsal time, but it seems not to have mattered. They gave a breathtaking performance, one that opened the ears and hearts of all present, and that magically bestowed an intimacy and poignancy on the great liturgical work that followed.
That spring afternoon, events took on a life of their own, and it was for each person present to sort out for themselves what inseparable blend of joy, grief, beauty, longing, and affection each experienced. I only know that the transformative power of this collective artistic act, of fifty souls each willing their hearts into their voices, and their voices into the hearts of others, made it happen. It was a moment of both ephemeral and unforgettable beauty, and it reminded me of a lesson I had learned from Bach forty-five years before: that true harmony is not a thing that exists somewhere else, that we go seek and find, but something we must constantly forge out of discord. Or as the ancients put it, harmony is discord made concordant. It is the triumph of concord over discord.
",,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,"",,,"Carlisle, Pennsylvania,Choral Singing,Dickinson College,Duruflé, Maurice,Music,Professors,Requiem, Op. 9",https://humanitiesmoments.org/files/original/8/59/gaffurio-300.jpg,Sound,"National Humanities Center Fellows",1,0 "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,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,"",,,"Books & Reading,History,Keystone, South Dakota,Mothers & Sons,Mount Rushmore National Memorial,National Monuments,Professors,Teachers & Teaching,United States History",https://humanitiesmoments.org/files/original/10/60/mount-rushmore-900.jpg,"Moving Image","National Humanities Center Board Members",1,0 "Growing Up with the Humanities","Building on their shared love of Shakespeare, Horowitz’s mother taught her daughter how the act of writing can cultivate ideas, prompt questions, and nurture a deeper appreciation for literature. In this light, Horowitz reflects on how the practice of reading and writing about works such as King Lear and As You Like It provided an opportunity to engage with the world in a meaningful way.","Mirah Horowitz describes the lessons imparted from her mother, an English professor, on reading and writing as ongoing practices of critical inquiry. Building on their shared love of Shakespeare, Horowitz’s mother taught her daughter how the act of writing can cultivate ideas, prompt questions, and nurture a deeper appreciation for literature. In this light, Horowitz reflects on how the practice of reading and writing about works such as King Lear and As You Like It provided an opportunity to engage with the world in a meaningful way.",,"William Shakespeare's As You Like It and King Lear",,,"Mirah Horowitz, Russell Reynolds Associates",,,,,,mirah-horowitz-growing-up-with-humanities,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,"",,,"As You Like It,Books & Reading,Composition (Language Arts),High School,King Lear,Literature,Mothers & Daughters,Shakespeare, William,Teachers & Teaching,Writing",https://humanitiesmoments.org/files/original/10/61/king-lear-page.jpg,"Moving Image","National Humanities Center Board Members",1,0 "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 Walden in 1854.I like picnics. Picnics take us outside, to share food with people we like. Those are my three favorite things, and picnics offer all three with a minimum of fuss or cost.
Every picnic is a special occasion. But one stands out because it showed me how much we can learn from deeply observing the world around us. Such observation joins us to the experiences of those who have come before, and perhaps even see through their eyes. It is a humanities experience.
One summer day, to celebrate a birthday, my spouse and I packed up our little girls and went to California’s China Camp State Park for a picnic. China Camp is a few hundred acres of oak savannah and salt marshes on the Marin County shoreline of San Francisco Bay. It is a humble place, just a few buildings clustered around an old pier, but the sheltered cove offers one of the few calm wading beaches in San Francisco Bay. Settled at the lone picnic table under a feral plum tree buzzing with bees, we ate our food and then played with our toddlers on the gravelly shore.
But it wasn’t gravel, we soon realized. It was shell. Much of the beach was composed of tiny, sharp oyster shells of the California oyster, Ostrea lurida. Long thought functionally extinct, the bay’s native oyster still flourished on the Marin Shore and across the bay near the Chevron oil refinery. This humble state park, named for the Chinese shrimp fishermen who lived and worked here in the 19th and 20th centuries, represented not only a physical reminder of these men’s presence, but also the bounty of fish and shellfish that fed Californians for more than a century.
For me the picnic brought an epiphany. San Francisco Bay is not only the battered, polluted remnant of a majestic natural resource, as environmentalists often see it. It continues to be the living, thriving host to the West’s most productive wetlands and California’s green heart. The water that circulates through the bay sustains both the human and nonhuman communities of the region. The shell, and its place, tell an environmental history. They reveal the interdependence of humanity and nonhuman nature. What looks like a purely cultural space turns out to be full of nature. And what looks like a purely natural space turns out to be full of culture. San Francisco Bay, like the oyster and China Camp State Park, is a hybrid of human labor and natural forces.
I am not trying to be nostalgic. Such hybrids are not always peaceful, just, or safe. Indeed the Chevron refinery does more than shelter a threatened native species. The neighboring community, which is mostly nonwhite and disproportionately low-income, suffers from the presence of the refinery. The refinery site is the continuing site of contamination, illness, and hazardous exposure and a textbook case in environmental injustice. Living well with nature requires sharing the risks of our industrial society, not just dumping them on the vulnerable.
My “humanities moment,” then, is an oyster shell I found in an unlikely urban setting. The shell and its place taught me a lesson about nature’s resilience, about memory, and the imperative for social justice. All three are elements I associate with the humanities.
","San Francisco Bay","San Francisco Bay",,"May 2004","Matthew Booker, associate professor of American environmental history, North Carolina State University",,,,,,resilience-humility-picnics,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,"China Camp State Park, California,Ecology,Environmental Humanities,Environmental Racism,History,Nature & Civilization,Oyster Fisheries,Petroleum Industry,Picnics,Professors,San Francisco Bay,Social Ecology,United States History",https://humanitiesmoments.org/files/original/8/89/Fishing_Community.jpg,Text,"National Humanities Center Fellows",1,0 "Origin Stories: Or, Making Sense of Surprises in the Family Tree",,"My Humanities Moment happened when my husband and I received the results of the genetic testing kits we’d ordered. The stories that my husband’s DNA told matched up pretty closely with his family’s history, but mine delivered some surprises. In addition to indicating a lot of northwestern European and Central European ancestors, which I expected, my report pointed to Scandinavian, West African, and North African ancestors! This all came as news to my whole family. We wondered: how did these encounters happen? What were the circumstances under which these distant and diverse relatives met? The map that accompanied my DNA results was particularly striking to me. I was amazed to see how my ancestors emerged over the course of the last several centuries from that violent, complex, and fascinating region of interaction that stretched up from the west coast of Africa, across the Strait of Gibraltar, through Iberia into northern, central, and eastern Europe. My humanities moment came when I realized that although I may never know the details of my ancestors’ travels, I can indeed explain a lot of the context behind that map of my family’s origins. The migrations, the wars, the famine and curiosity and opportunities that pushed people out of one territory and into the next: I know those stories, because I am a historian! Trained in the history of the Atlantic world and now a university professor of world history, I rely on the humanities to help my students and myself interpret the past. Science can tell us a lot, but so can history. Data means little if we don’t know the context—the stories and histories—behind it. Humanities and the sciences can and should work hand in hand in our efforts to understand and explain the world we live in and our shared past.",,,,,"Molly A. Warsh, Assistant Professor of World History, University of Pittsburgh",,,,,,making-sense-family-trees,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,"Africa,Ancestry,Europe,Family Histories,Family Trees,Genetic Genealogy,Migration,Professors,Science & the Humanities",https://humanitiesmoments.org/files/original/7/90/Family_Tree.jpg,Text,#Humanitiesinclass,1,0 "“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.","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.
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.
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.