The Human of the Humanities

The Humanities effervescently proclaim to be human in nature and form. And thus encompassing all that we are, it seems that their bounds are as ill-defined as we are. Archeology, philosophy, the arts? The definition weaves a loose web around the word that doesn’t seem as binding as it ought. Why are not the sciences human too? They are clearly marked theories and procedures that are doggedly worshiped by students and scholars abound. Is it that the sciences are more of nature than human? Something more easily poked and prodded? Emotion can be so trivial thing and yet so profound. History, artwork and literature can be easily poked and prodded physically, but what of the emotion behind it? Maybe it is too lucid to warrant the devotion of a college education. But surely, it must mean something to us.

Wilfred McClay, in The Burden of the Humanities, asserts that the humanities serve as a guidelines for our actions. This seems extremely agreeable considering that we are always careful to study the past so that it is not repeated as oft as it is and the heavily symbolic literature and film that beats the audience with a moral. Literature is one of the more easy examples of the “teaching” aspects of the humanities on the human character. In stories we are told tragedies of children snatched up by the tiki man for disobeying their parents and the like, and are scared into obedience. But there are also stories which may touch the heart and persuade the reader to see through the eyes of another in order to be persuaded to some action. Take for instance A Child Called It, a horrific true story of a beaten child. It called upon or created sympathy and outrage over the abuse of children everywhere. In many other stories an attractive, moralistic character is created that the reader is encouraged to emulate and respect. So, in at least this humanity, there is the possibility to alter, perhaps favorably, the humanity of the audience.

However, people are heeding less and less the call of the humanities. What is the purpose of pondering the same questions over and over about the capabilities of the human heart, soul and mind? Have not the masters answered all these questions before? And why should we learn more about ourselves? It seems now that it is only the “me” that matters, and not the “we.” In our generation the people live in the now. They have no purpose for where we once were or where we could be. These things seem indefinite and infinite. But business is solid, as is chemistry, nursing and so on. The Humanities has lost its value, so McClay claims. Could it be that we are merely less human? Has the capitalism machine taken over? It seems that we are in a constant state of wont and ignorance of the world outside ourselves. We have not made value for it. Take diamonds for instance. They are but a lump of pressurized rock and yet they hold value be cause we assign it one. Can we not now assign the humanities a value? We are bound to learn from them, if not a vocation, then a way of life, a character. I am fairly sure that I am going to be a person far longer than I’m going to be an accountant.

McClay, Wilfred. The Burden of the Humanities.