Digital Humanities across the Curriculum, or How to Wear the Digital Halo

Donning the Digital Halo

Around 2015, buffeted by higher education industry headwinds as well as the allure of digital innovation, my college found itself wondering which urgent moves were needed to stay relevant. The discourses of “crisis” and “disruption” were particularly alarming for small tuition-dependent institutions that had seen significant growth during the 1990s. Leadership at colleges like mine were signaling that major transformations were needed, pointing to how some schools were shedding their liberal arts identities while others faced closure. Proclamations celebrating the end of the university and heralding an era of online degrees and credentials registered as existential threats for our residential college.

In the midst of this turbulence, the “digital” was a menace and promise my institution confronted. Purveyors of ed-tech hardware and software pitched ready-made (and expensive) solutions. Online certificates for new consumers were drafted. Cubicles of online course managers were contemplated. Many of my faculty colleagues were skeptical that ed-tech investments would translate into better undergraduate classroom learning or even better graduation “outcomes” (narrowly defined as employment). Unfortunately, evidence of past successes felt slight in the face of this market disruption. The fact that the vast majority of our graduates (even humanities majors!) quickly found gainful employment and entered their twenties with intellectual capacities essential for civic participation and a meaningful life somehow seemed less compelling when juxtaposed to the mythic quality of “digital innovation.” From our institution’s precarious perch, the logic of what Audrey Watters identifies as the “millennialism of disruptive innovation” held great sway. The inevitable “destruction of the old and the ascension of the new at the hands of technology” was a frightening prospect for our young school, whose curriculum was grounded in a traditional liberal arts education.3

In the grip of this thinking, a halo formed around the “digital.” Even if many people did not know precisely what the “digital” did or the future it would create, they were certain it was good and that the institution needed to do more in its name. The “digital” took on a nebulous but powerful meaning alongside other adjectival modifiers that signaled innovation, change, and progress. Although this urgency was greeted with some anxiety about how traditional teaching and scholarship would be valued among the buzz of these new digital contexts, the most dominant concerns at my college were framed in terms of how we might best serve our current students. This genuine care and concern for our students’ futures meant the “digital” was a powerful appeal for people well beyond the techno-futurists and market-savvy disruptors.

In spring and summer 2015, there was a sudden urgency to seize the widely refracting halo of digital innovation. The logic of the halo held that “digital” could be our salvation. Task forces were formed. Standing committees were consulted. Faculty development programming was arranged. Hastily conceived and expensive short-term responses were floated. Budgets were crafted around substantial investments in proposed digital initiatives, from one-to-one device deployment to student behavior monitoring systems coupled with predictive analytics.4 For many of us, these potential pathways for innovation were difficult to reconcile with how we saw our central academic mission and our unflagging dedication to pedagogy and scholarship. We wondered, how could “digital,” framed in vague terms and as the simplest abstraction, possibly advance our institution’s commitment to liberal education? Ignoring these developments and plodding along always seems like one avenue available for faculty. However, this would certainly result in our being left out of the institutional conversation, and the digital halo would likely be donned by someone or something else.

Armed with recent work about the promise of digital humanities teaching and digital pedagogy more generally, we “forked” the digital humanities “code,” to borrow Bryan Alexander and Rebecca Frost Davis’s evocative metaphor. As Alexander and Davis put it, “Liberal arts campuses have taken the digital humanities source code and built a different application with it than their research university peers are currently constructing. Their focus is often on teaching and learning, not open content production. Institutional shapes differ from the now-classic digital humanities center.”5 But instead of putting forward plans for a digital humanities center modeled on research centers at larger universities or smaller well-funded colleges, we sought to change the character of what “digital innovation” meant at our institution. We found much inspiration in José Antonio Bowen’s provocative claim that the future of residential campuses like Stonehill will hinge on innovative pedagogy: “If we want campus education to survive, then we need to focus on the experience of direct physical interaction in higher education and make it worth the extra money it will always cost to deliver.” He elaborates, “We need better pedagogy; only more learning will provide the extra value to justify the high cost of a bricks-and-mortar education.”6 Intentionally framing our “digital innovation” conversations about teaching and learning allowed us to engage in planning grounded in shared values.7 We looked at how other, similarly missioned colleges approached digital initiatives. We found inspiration in Middlebury College’s Digital Liberal Arts and Digital Learning initiatives and Whitman College’s Digital Arts Lab. We were energized by Joan Lippincott, Harriette Hemmasi, and Vivian Lewis’s extensive study of interdisciplinary digital scholarship centers.8 We found a partner in our Center for Teaching and Learning, which hosted numerous conversations about finding common cause with student-centered teaching and digital pedagogy. Pedagogy serves as an effective lingua franca at many small colleges like Stonehill. For this reason, “critical digital pedagogy” emerged as an appealing formulation. As the editors at Hybrid Pedagogy put it, “Digital Pedagogy is precisely not about using digital technologies for teaching and, rather, about approaching those tools from a critical pedagogical perspective. So, it is as much about using digital tools thoughtfully as it is about deciding when not to use digital tools, and about paying attention to the impact of digital tools on learning.”9 Stonehill’s culture made it fairly easy to talk about supporting student learning alongside faculty scholarship, turning the conversation away from scaled, prescribed educational technology solutions that ignore both.

It cannot be emphasized enough how powerful this rhetorical shift from “technology in the classroom” to “digital pedagogy” proved to be.10 In particular, in digital humanities pedagogy we found a form of “the digital” that is faithful both to critical inquiry and to liberal education. We risked appropriating tools from the emerging discipline to seed classrooms and curricula with digital humanities methods and practices, largely ignoring departmental and disciplinary boundaries. In our case, the modes of inquiry and general spirit of digital practices pioneered by digital humanists in the classroom gave us a vocabulary for a different conversation, one where the central values of digital humanities inquiry could be foregrounded and seen as complementary to the foundational aspects of good teaching. Not only did this fit within understood values of digital humanities, but it aligned with familiar high-impact practices in liberal education. Consequently, the digital halo formed around a belief in the transformational potential of undergraduate education and an enduring commitment to liberal education and the traditional liberal arts that are predominantly responsible for advancing it.

Building with Digital Humanities Pedagogy

In a few years (2016–19) several key things happened when Stonehill chose to infuse digital humanities pedagogy into its institutional approach to strategic and curricular planning under the sign of the “digital.” The flurry of task force and committee work rapidly transitioned to obtaining funding and finding anchors in the college’s strategic planning documents. We began the process of developing a digital humanities minor. A new director of educational technology was hired in IT who brought not only new life to technology support but also his extensive experience with text encoding and digital humanities. Suddenly, we were able to see the makings of a team that included IT, librarians, the Center for Teaching and Learning, and faculty. In spring 2016, a faculty-designed digital lab was established, and I was appointed faculty director. The lab formation was a logical umbrella—one that emphasized the experimental nature of our work, giving us license to position the lab as a place that pilots projects and hands them off for long-term maintenance and scaling.

The newly established Digital Innovation Lab (DIL) would be at the forefront of the digital initiatives, charged with nurturing and expanding digital teaching, learning, and scholarship by working directly with faculty and students on course design and projects. The lab took a role in shaping the digital life at the college, including faculty development and curricular interventions, while operating like a cross-disciplinary research center. As a faculty-led initiative, we were especially cognizant of how colleagues pursuing digital humanities research organized their projects as interdisciplinary collaborations as well as how transformative, critical digital pedagogy could be a vehicle for active learning. In the undergraduate classroom, digital humanities pedagogy found a home for cross-disciplinary experimentation.

When building the digital lab, we tried to envision what digital humanities would look like as an ethos. I use the word ethos to capture several elements within digital humanities: an intellectual and scholarly pursuit that resists academic reification, a cross-disciplinary or heterodox formation, practices that embrace distributed authorship and collaboration, and activities that prioritize experimentation and open engagement.11 For us, this ethos was distilled into four guiding principles that allowed us to make connections across the curriculum and institution:

1. Embrace the conception of undergraduate students as authors, creators, and curators in the digital realm and in a laboratory setting.
2. Adopt the notion that our projects and partnerships were always iterations and experiments, subject to ongoing assessment, thereby prioritizing prototyping over finished or scalable projects.
3. Stand up an alternative technical infrastructure as a sandbox operating outside standard information technology and with its own support gauged for the specific needs of small-scale projects.
4. Invite and cultivate unique collaborations beyond academics and across the structural divisions within the institution.

These elements do not come close to encompassing the range of activities that fall under the digital humanities umbrella. But their predominance in a field that embraces the rigor of humanistic (cultural, rhetorical, historical, material) critique renders them valuable principles for establishing footholds across an undergraduate curriculum. The result was the creation of something not quite properly digital humanities but nonetheless indebted to the work of digital humanists implementing emerging disciplinary practices in the undergraduate classroom. We were guided by Stephen Ramsay and Geoffrey Rockwell’s elaboration of the constructive impulse in digital humanities, where “building [i]s a distinct form of scholarly endeavor.”12 Building programing and curricular connections around these principles broadly conceived became our first task.

After securing modest operational funding and connecting with eager collaborators across the campus, the DIL at Stonehill started building. We built partnerships with librarians, the Center for Teaching and Learning, and archives. We built a team structure for apprentices in the lab and hired a dozen students to work in three different teams (podcasting, web building, and digital humanities). We built a podcast studio (at first a digital recorder and some microphones). We built a Domain of One’s Own program (Stonehill Domains). In 2017, we successfully applied for a grant to build a physical space within the library that allowed for a lab space and dedicated podcasting studio. The podcasting studio and a workflow for editing and distributing recordings made it possible for us to partner with multiple courses. We launched The Electro-Library, a public-facing arts and letters podcast featuring faculty and student writing. Several colleagues quickly incorporated student-created audio recordings in their courses. Others followed, building on these shared assignments. In many cases, the student recordings were part of a feedback loop of lower-stakes assignments. On the recording, a group of students would reflect on the class’s blog posts for the week; their recording was pushed out to the rest of the class and became part of the discursive community of the course, informing the next set of written student responses. One course experimented with a long-form recording project, where student groups recorded biweekly podcasts over the semester. Our evolutionary biology courses created a multiyear series of podcasts (everyday-evolution.org) where students translated scientific research into everyday language for the public. Not only did students oversee production of their own podcasts, they engaged in a new kind of writing and presentation for a broad audience of nonspecialists.

Access to shared hosting services allowed us to pursue some fruitful classroom projects. This toolset has made it possible for small-scale projects to operate independently as proofs of concept or as iterative projects. For instance, multiple semesters of a course on “global female education” built prototype websites for real and imagined nonprofit organizations while considering global digital inequities. In one course, students used Omeka to curate their own digital gallery of biblical artifacts as their final project for a religious studies and art history course partnership. Similarly, a museum studies course partnered with the college archivist, and students created a virtual museum for the history of student life at the college. A contemporary literature course used Scalar to build an interactive electronic book as well as a peer-review system for students to build the site over multiple semesters. Even a standard WordPress shell can serve as the building blocks for a robust student-authored critical work, as in Kristen Bennett’s Kit Marlowe Project, which incorporated her instruction of TEI encoding alongside early modern literature. The relatively low cost of shared hosting space made it possible to provide faculty and students with the tools needed to offer students space to deploy and customize web applications without requiring a chain of permissions or relying on already-burdened support staff. As Jim Groom and Brian Lamb have argued, “reclaiming innovation,” especially on the web, “is well within the power of educators.”13 Instead of pursuing these projects as opportunities to develop technological skills, we saw them as exercises in digital and authorial agency where students learn the underlying mechanics of digital representation. By foregrounding our lab’s “Terms of Service” and explaining the rationale behind some of the more idiosyncratic restrictions of the user agreement, we took steps toward denaturalizing a mindless click-to-agree mentality, giving students a glimpse into how agreements and data operate within structures of power and history.

Of the hundreds of students using Stonehill Domains, the majority are creating WordPress blogs. However, there is no barrier to continuing further, creating personal academic sites or running other applications in their own corner of the web. The cost of geeking out is borne by the institution, and the bar for students to become independent creators on the web is significantly lower. The blank canvas offered by Stonehill Domains has allowed a variety of projects to take shape and provided a chance for students to develop and reflect on their digital habits. Every Domains project is a mini-course in digital rhetoric. Questions about design aesthetics, site architecture, digital authorship and ethos, intellectual property and Creative Commons licensing, universal design and accessibility, and data privacy are baked into every student’s introduction to publishing on the open web. Their experience of the all-encompassing and mediating web is forever altered. Working with website analytics, they learn how much a click reveals about a user. They understand how data is harvested. On every occasion, students are introduced to the process of digital creation and representation as a cascading sequence of micro problem-solving tasks. Sometimes they learn their ambitions outstrip their timelines and technical capacities; they adjust accordingly. Embedded in each project are challenges for students to troubleshoot and think systemically about digital agency.

Unlike many siloed offices whose constituencies of students, faculty, librarians, staff, and administrators only occasionally overlap, the DIL was determined to be open to all, yet grounded in the pedagogy of active student learning. With workflows in place (from project charters to plans for handoffs) and a cohort of twelve to fifteen paid student “Digital Fellows” trained, we took on projects from every quarter of the institution: from podcasts for individual courses to the Office of Health and Wellness, from websites featuring faculty scholarship to Omeka and Scalar exhibits for cumulative course projects, from “toe-in-the-water” digital humanities projects to email accounts for courses simulating business correspondence and transactions among companies.

Digital Humanities Pedagogy across the Curriculum

Earlier I described the happy confluence that allowed us to think about digital humanities beyond the course, classroom, and assignment. Each institution will have facts that will necessarily alter the course of action. Indeed, this volume offers a record of the broad potential for digital humanities pedagogy, generating a clear signal of where efforts are leading. For us, translating the work of digital humanities pedagogy into a new, locally inflected register allowed us to align our efforts with three standing institutional commitments: writing across the curriculum, liberal education, and innovative cross-disciplinary teaching.

The history of writing across the curriculum offered a model for curricular development in response to emergency. After all, the luminous halo of writing and expression—also a product of anxieties about student learning from a century ago—gave rise to the dissemination of writing instruction across disciplines. The postwar expansion of American higher education was accompanied by concerns that specialization would outstrip fundamental literacy skills: “As more people raised the bar of success for themselves and society, a new quest for literacy excellence began and with it increased scrutiny on writing quality.”14 Over time, institutional investments in teaching writing, while often expensive or exploitive, became obligatory, and evidence of its necessity was presented in the students’ own written words. Recent scholarship on writing transfer has further demonstrated that writing has broad implications for students. This research finds not only that writing pedagogy modeled on transferability has measurable effects on student learning but also that specific transfer practices that demand synthesis of ideas within and across different discursive communities yield transformative learning outcomes.15 Paul Fyfe offers a compelling case study suggesting that a digital humanities pedagogy attuned to transferability helps students become aware of “their own learning ecology, helping them to realize and tactically access the knowledge work beyond their curricular strictures.”16 Importantly, success with transferability suggests a process of remixing and reconfiguration of concepts and ideas. Such is at the heart of multi- and cross-disciplinary endeavors like digital humanities.

If writing across the curriculum found a natural home in institutions where John Dewey’s notion of liberal education is still held as an ideal, then perhaps the same might be true in this digital wave of cross-disciplinary work. Many of the routine practices of digital humanities pedagogy work well alongside many of the curricular interventions of liberal education—for example, learning communities, writing-intensive courses, and collaborative assignments and projects. Various liberal education frameworks are amenable to the practices encapsulated in this chapter, where students are seen as collaborators and creators.17 In addition to the key liberal education outcomes of critical thinking and expression, a digital humanities pedagogy promises to situate students as critical participants in civil society and democratic practices. In fact, the elements of the ethos of digital humanities—student authorship, project-based learning, and broadly imagined collaborations—might hold the keys to developing student agency that general education programs might be seeking. Indeed, those troubled by the connections between digital tools and neoliberal academia mistakenly cast digital humanities as an outright assault on traditional humanistic inquiry, missing what is occurring in the undergraduate classroom and the transformative and transferable potential of digital humanities learning. Providing students with a contemporary toolset and habits of mind vital to critiquing the digital culture around them might be one instance of the radical potential of digital humanities.18

While it is conceivable that healthy debates about disciplinary integrity are a natural and even necessary function of the academy, they rarely serve the immediate needs of students, a point Ryan Cordell made convincingly while contending that “our concern with defining and propagating the field writ large can interfere with innovative but necessarily local thinking about digital skills, curriculum, and research at both the undergraduate and graduate level.”19 The focus on pedagogy allowed us to sidestep some of the more thorny disciplinary issues within digital humanities.20 Beyond these rarified debates, digital teaching and scholarship practices happen in large and small ways, and the boundaries between digital teaching and scholarship can be blurred in productive ways. Our experience, as well as those included in this volume, gives us reason to believe the promise and incorporative nature of digital humanities are most visible in the undergraduate classroom.

While this contribution primarily offers a case study of our deployment of a digital humanities ethos across the curriculum through the creation of the DIL, another aim of this essay is to offer a ground-level glimpse of the possibilities inherent in making connections among digital pedagogy, digital humanities scholarship, and liberal education. Importantly, this chapter articulates only what was politically possible and practical in our particular context. It is still unclear what is lost or gained when digital humanities becomes the next shiny object; however, I remain hopeful that it might fuel a revival of the liberal arts under another sign. All of this will upset purists of every stripe as much as it weighs on my own beliefs about what an undergraduate education ought to be (that is, critical, inclusive, accessible, free, and open). At the same time, it is essential to acknowledge the privilege of being able to do any of this. With limited resources, my institution chose to invest in an approach to the “digital” that was shepherded by faculty. It is impossible to predict what the future will bring for our lab at Stonehill and its initiatives. Given the turbulence of institutions today, there is no certainty about the future of these collaborations. Even if the focus on the “digital” shifts to an even more instrumental one and even if our iterative projects join the ranks of so many digital orphans, for a time we wore the digital halo and we made good things possible.

Notes

None of this would have been possible without the ongoing support from a team of current and former colleagues at Stonehill, especially Jared Green, Scott Hamlin, Bronwyn Bleakley, Linzy Brekke-Aloise, Kristen Bennett, Todd Gernes, Mary Joan Leith, Allyson Sheckler, Karen Teoh, Phyllis Thompson, Liz Chase, Jennifer Macauley, Cheryl McGrath, Peter Ubertaccio, and Joseph Favazza. I am also very grateful for the careful readings and helpful recommendations from Rebecca Frost Davis, Jacob Heil, and Victoria Szabo as well as the editors of this volume.

1. 1. Stonehill College (North Easton, Massachusetts) is a Roman Catholic, largely undergraduate liberal arts and preprofessional school established in 1948. The college is tuition dependent (roughly $200 million endowment) and enrolls around 2,500 students. In addition to undergraduate programs in humanities, arts, sciences, and business, the college has a small number of graduate programs in education, marketing, and data analytics.

2. 2. Alexander and Davis, “Should Liberal Arts?” See also Zorich, Survey.

3. 3. Watters, “Myth,” 50, 51.

4. 4. In retrospect, at least 2014–15’s urgency for digital transformation offered the luxury of deliberation. As the Covid-19 pandemic’s forced migration to emergency online teaching has made abundantly clear, major investments in technical infrastructure can be seen as essential for continued operation.

5. 5. Alexander and Davis, “Should Liberal Arts?,” 383. See also Davidson and Goldberg, Future of Thinking; and Brier, “Where’s the Pedagogy?”

6. 6. Bowen, Teaching Naked, x, 21–22.

7. 7. See Spiro, “‘This Is Why.’”

8. 8. See Lippincott, Hemmasi, and Lewis, “Trends in Digital Scholarship Centers.”

9. 9. Hybrid Pedagogy, “What Is Digital Pedagogy?”

10. 10. See Fyfe, “Digital Pedagogy Unplugged.”

11. 11. This ethos is very much in alignment with what Spiro describes in “‘This Is Why’”: “Grounded in humanistic values but catalyzed by Internet values, the digital humanities seeks to push the humanities into new territory by promoting collaboration, openness, and experimentation” (23).

12. 12. Ramsay and Rockwell, “Developing Things,” 77.

13. 13. Groom and Lamb, “Reclaiming Innovation,” 42.

14. 14. Bazerman et al., Reference Guide, 19.

15. 15. See Moore and Bass, Understanding Writing Transfer.

16. 16. Fyfe, “Reading, Making, and Metacognition,” paragraph 4.

17. 17. For instance, Locke’s “Digital Humanities Pedagogy” draws on the Association of College and Research Libraries’ 2015 Framework for Information Literacy for Higher Education.

18. 18. For a valuable study of the critical and even liberatory potential for digital humanities, see Berry and Fagerjord, “Towards a Critical Digital Humanities,” in Digital Humanities. See also Risam, New Digital Worlds.

19. 19. Cordell, “How Not,” 463.

20. 20. See chapter 6 in this volume for some of the challenges of and innovative solutions for doing digital humanities without a digital humanities infrastructure.

Bibliography

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