The world of the humanities is fluid, confusing and nebulous rather than consistent, predictable and measurable. The world of money relies on things like consistency, predictability and measurability. Thus, the humanities and the credit card tend to maintain a strenuous relationship.
Universities, as administrative institutions, concern themselves with, among other things, the financial continuation and feasibility of their function, which might be stated as providing education. In recent times, various national and international financial and political concerns have condemned universities to uncertain circumstances. Colleges across the United States have struggled to differing degrees with what Forbes calls the “College Collapse Crisis.” Humanities, unlike STEM disciplines, which have grown more popular recently, have had to battle to defend their worth to universities looking to cut costs.
One of the humanities disciplines that has struggled profoundly to defend itself is English. Between 1971 and 2019, the number of graduating English majors fell by roughly 40%. Facing a sharp decline in declared English majors, English departments have felt tremendous pressure from their universities to broaden the discipline’s boundaries and concerns so as to attract more students to the major (and thus avoid being cut altogether by the university). English majors at our institution have perhaps felt the effects of these pressures when they have read sociological or anthropological texts like Michel de Montaigne’s “Of Cannibals” or Kimberlé Crenshaw’s “Demarginalizing the Intersection of Race and Sex.” William M. Chace, writing for The American Scholar, comments that “English has become less and less coherent as a discipline.”
English has never been a coherent discipline. As I have mentioned, the humanities are simply not (generally) consistent, predictable and measurable. Predictability in the humanities can mean nothing more than a lack of innovation. University administration, which hopes to provide education for future generations by affording costs, fundamentally conflicts with the search for innovation, which requires time, patience and money. When little innovation occurs and fewer works of scholarship are produced, interest in English wanes along with students who declare the major. When innovations and scholarship don’t seem to attract new students and ideas, one option remains: to fabricate a new importance for English by relating it to other disciplines. Thus, sociology students might take an English class focusing on texts discussing race, gender or poverty.
Such topics are undeniably valuable to discuss, but administrations, departments and professors should tread carefully in defining English based on the missions of other disciplines. An English class can truly focus on whatever topic, fictional or non-fictional. But an English course must center itself on a discussion of the texts—their composition, their methods of conveying meaning—not the socio-historical-economic context that the text incorporates. Yes, granted, such context usually helps the reader understand the ways in which the author manipulates the text, but English classes should not be classes about context.
English academics possess a great variety of skills to address texts, or even write them, and they can leverage their English skills to work in almost any analytical field they choose. But the English student won’t learn those same skills unless they actually work with texts, not contexts.
Junior Charlie Burns is the Editorials Editor. His email is cburns1@fandm.edu.