My last post talked about why we need historical knowledge. (Short version: history tries to see reality whole, with all the details, contradictions, and complexity left in, and we need that kind of thinking — because reality IS complicated, in ways that few academic disciplines acknowledge.)
So far so good, but then we hit the big cloud hanging over history education in 2014. “We” may need historical knowledge, but “we” don’t do the studying or pay the tuition or try to get jobs after finishing college. Individuals do all those things, and individuals have to live with the results. It’s all very nice and uplifting to say that people should study history, but what if there are no jobs for them? Why should students rack up fees and debts if there’s not much waiting for them after graduation?
What follows isn’t exactly an answer to that question; I’m not even sure there really is an answer, in the usual sense of the term. Instead, I present here some thoughts on the question itself, and suggest that we need to place it in larger contexts than we usually do. The “why study history” question, I’m saying, is really a question about how individuals, communities, and knowledge intersect in 2014.
The first step is to recognize the seriousness of the problem. The jobs situation for history graduates isn’t good, and it’s probably getting worse. Back in the good old days, meaning until about 1975, big corporations liked to train their own people, and they welcomed candidates with liberal arts degrees; it was understood that training would cost money, but that was an investment that eventually would pay big dividends. Anyway, liberal arts graduates could always fall back on teaching if business didn’t appeal to them.
Things are different today. Schools at every level are in financial trouble, and they’re not hiring many historians. In the corporate world, job candidates are increasingly expected to show up pre-trained and ready to contribute; no one expects them to stay around long enough for training programs to pay off, so HR departments favor people with career-ready educations, in economics, technology, health sciences, and the like. (See here for an account.) In these circumstances, a history major may be ok those who don’t have to worry about jobs after graduation, or for those who can treat college as a preparatory course for professional programs like law. It’s not so great for those who need to start paying the bills right away.
In response, historians have publicized all the ways in which history actually is a good preparation for a real career in the real world. And we have some reasons for saying so– history courses teach you to analyze situations and documents, write clearly, think about big pictures, understand other cultures (something worth real money in today’s inter-connected global economy). Most of the history department websites I’ve visited (here for example) include some version of these claims.
The American Historical Association (the history profession’s official collective voice in the US) has taken this approach one step farther. With the help of a foundation, it has set up a program (which it calls the Tuning Project) designed to bring college history teaching into closer alignment with employers’ needs, by putting professors in touch with employers and other stake-holders. If professors have a better understanding of what employers want, the hope is, we can better prepare students for the real world and draw more majors into our courses.
But you can see the problem: some parts of a history education give you the skills to work in a big-money corporation, but many others don’t. Some history topics require knowledge that’s hard to acquire and not much practical use in the twenty-first century– the dates of obscure wars, or the dead languages needed to understand some ancient civilizations. Other topics are likely to mark you as a dangerous malcontent. Picture a job seeker showing up at Mega Corporation X (or at the Chicago Board of Education, for that matter) with her senior thesis on union organizing in the 1930s, or the successes of Soviet economic programs, or Allied war crimes in World War II. Whatever her skills of analysis and cultural negotiation, she’s not the kind of candidate HR departments are looking for. She carries intellectual baggage; she looks like trouble.
That thought experiment suggests the possibility that “tuning” the history major actually means changing its content– by cutting out the troublesome (discordant?) elements, those that might upset our conventional wisdoms. Of course, you could argue that “tuning” just applies to teaching, and therefore doesn’t change the basics of historical knowledge. Professors still get to research and write about whatever they like; in their books, they still get to be intellectual adventurers and trouble-makers. But that’s no real answer, because as American institutions currently work, history teaching eventually shapes history research. If history majors aren’t studying unions or war crimes, universities aren’t going to be hiring faculty in those areas either, and those books won’t be written.
That’s bad news, because American society has a strong collective interest in making sure that this kind of knowledge gets produced. All societies need need to think about difficult questions and disturbing ideas, for the reasons that John Stuart Mill laid out way back in the 1850s. Societies that fail to do so (he explained) do stupid and immoral things; they fail to develop intellectually or socially; even their economic lives suffer, since the choke-hold of conventional wisdom eventually stifles business too. For Mill, disruptive knowledge was as much a practical as a spiritual need.
But it’s not clear how this collective need is to be met by the American university as it increasingly functions nowadays. As the language of the individualistic free market becomes more prevalent within it, fields of knowledge risk being defined by calculations concerning “the employability of our graduates” (as a document from my own university puts it). Given the pressures that they face, our students are fully justified in focusing on their “employability,” and university faculty have a duty to help them toward it. But that’s not the university’s only duty. It has at least an equal duty to develop knowledge, including especially knowledge untuned to employers’ needs, even antithetical to those needs.
That means that eventually the “why study history” question shades into a political problem. Historical knowledge is a form of collective property, and its health is bound up with other elements of our communal life. In the increasingly privatized universities of our times– privatized in financing, mechanics, and measurements of success–the “why study history” question may not have an answer.