Throughout my college career I have noticed a real difference in the values, preferences, and modes of discourse between my peers in the humanities and those in the Sciences. I had previously thought that only the starkest individuals stood out from each group just by contrast, and that the groups as a whole probably shared more overlap than is seen. But after reading C.P. Snow it seems as if there is some evidence pointing to real differences, and not just truisms.
With his experience in both cultures Snow points out that, “when you meet the younger rank-and-file of scientists, it often seems that they do not read at all” (4). He hypothesizes, asking scientists about their reading preferences, “another says: ‘I always like to use my books as tools.’ (Difficult to resist speculating what kind of tool a book would make)” (5). I have a similar response to calculators, and Excel spreadsheets. While certainly entertaining, C.P. Snow has also brought me over to his point of two distinct cultures by delineating the differences.
But this begs the question: How does this paper relate to our class? Snow ends his essay with a unique call for scholars to emulate the unflappable “moral health of the scientist” (6), and to “limit the area of tragedy, to take nothing as tragic that can conceivably lie within men’s will” (6). I think Professor K is trying to remind us that learning new techniques and even (computer) languages is completely within our capability. I felt tragically put upon when asked to learn algebra. The same feeling popped up, (in a minor way of course) when I heard the letters, HTML.
What I got out of this paper in particular is that people in the humanities, myself included, had best overcome our mental inertia. If we don’t learn we may become redundant. I don’t agree with the notion that the two spheres must, or even will, come much closer in taste and training, but simply that we in the humanities will eventually add a few more basic programming courses to our ever expanding curriculum. It is true that scholarly angst was at an all time high when the printing press appeared to replace scribal training, and again when word processing removed the typewriter from typing. As specialists, we need to learn how to get more out of our machines, and not drag our feet in the process. The language of the discourse is changing again, we should learn how to keep up.
Do you guys agree, or am I missing something?
Frankly, I find it shocking and completely nonsensical that Snow would make the comment that it is “difficult to resist speculating what kind of tool a book would make” (5). As literary scholars, books are our primary tools. I got into this discipline because I love to read, yes, but as a scholar I don’t read for pleasure. I read to analyze, to find connections and support for my ideas and theories. In short, I (and every other scholar of literature) quite specifically use books as tools.
It seems to me that a great deal of what Snow says about scientists applies equally to those of us in the humanities. For instance, “no body of people ever believed more in dialectic as the primary method of attaining sense” (3). But what do we do in the study of literature but engage in dialogue (and argument) with one another to attain sense (and with less factual evidence to stand upon)?
Interestingly, I seem to have gotten the opposite out of Snow’s writing. While he overtly claims that there are greater differences than similarities between the “two cultures,” the way that he describes scientists and the scientific mindset is often exactly the way that I would describe those he is allegedly contrasting them with.
I do agree, however, that it is imperative for us to learn how to get more out of our machines, and to keep up with the times. As many of these writers have pointed out, digital technology IS revolutionizing the way that we interact with our world in general and, in particular for us as literary scholars, the way that we engage with texts. This is going to happen whether we like it or not, and whether or not we fight against it. Regardless of our individual feelings on the matter (and I am inclined to share McLuhan’s mixture of “total personal dislike and dissatisfaction” and optimism about the eventual outcome of this tumultuous transitional period (22)), we would be remiss in our obligations as scholars and seekers of knowledge if we did not embrace the future, if only, as Michael pointed out, to avoid our own redundancy.
I like how you each brought up interesting points relating to the distinction of the two cultures (or lack thereof).
Alissa, you bring up the fact that both communities see books as a tool for scholarship–an important point of commonality between the two cultures. However, what I wonder is: Do the two cultures differ not in their tools of scholarship, but in the principles that underly their research activities? Each culture has a “common purpose” that motivates developments in their fields, and it is this purpose, not the dialectic, which is the means by which their purpose is manifested. Yet, even though they have distinctly different purposes, the relationship of their content seems to be more complex. For example, Snow mentions that scientists are interested in “the sheer mechanics of living, how men ate, built, travelled, worked” and that scientists pride themselves on “knowing what not to think about” (such as philosophy). There seems to be a certain sense of utilitarianism in scientific thought, according to Snow, that has caused them to lack any real interest in the arts, excepting music (5). However, Snow seems to attribute a real sense of understanding, on the part of the scientists, when it comes to the human condition (as they can understand the physical) (6). Traditionally, this has been the territory of the Humanities. Any thoughts on this paradox?
Also, how did you feel about Snow’s article being written in 1956? It seems incredibly relevant today, as he predicted that “scientists are on the up and up; they have the strength of a social force behind them” and “they belong to something more than a profession, to something more like a directing class of a new society” (2). Does the prestige of science today reflect this?
Interestingly, the excerpt you’ve pointed to here, that scientists “regard it as a major intellectual virtue, to know what not to think about,” is another that I thought could describe the humanists equally as well (Snow 4). Do we not also exclude many types of knowledge from our purview? We do the exact same thing, just with different kinds of information. Much of the discussion here, in fact, has focused on our resistance to things that we have traditionally regarded as “what not to think about”: technology, numerical/statistical analyses, scientific method, computer programming…
But all of these things, as well as the types of knowledge that humanities departments traditionally value, are equally important parts of the human experience, especially as we find ourselves now in this age of inescapable technological advancement. The digital humanities, it seems to me, is attempting a more wholly integrative project than has ever been attempted (or even possible) before. It is more than just the merging of “scientists” and “humanists.” Isn’t it, at the core, more an attempt to look at, study, define, analyze, and understand the totality of the human experience? A new way that allows and encourages great thinkers from all disciplines and ultimately across language barriers (and even throughout time, via the written word that we so value) to share ideas and knowledge? As Mullen says, it is based on an ethos of “I’m a coder and you’re not, so let me teach you, or let me build the tools you need.”
As someone mentioned in another thread, we are talking about the old right brain/left brain divide. We don’t think like scientists, and part of the value of DH seems to lie in its recognition of the power of that fact. What new insight could a “scientific” mindset bring to issues or questions that are typically the realm of the “humanists,” and vice versa? Together we will undoubtedly discover entirely new paths of exploration that couldn’t be imagined without such a collaborative effort. As Mullen says, “the solution to these problems is not a rhetoric of binary.” In reality, there is no us versus them, though humans as a species are prone to drawing binary distinctions. We like to be able to categorize and put things into boxes – you’re either this or that. But in reality, we are incredibly diverse creatures who exist and experience life along a spectrum. DH seems to be a field that recognizes and capitalizes on the potential – or is it quickly becoming an imperative? – to blur the lines and broaden our thinking.
I’m intrigued by Kristin’s final question. Did Snow’s view make more sense in 1956 than it does today? Is there an historical narrative to the cultural developments we are examining? On that not, I should point out that the Department of History is not part of the College of Humanities at CSUN, even though history is arguably fundamental to the Humanities and included in the same academic unit at other universities. UCLA, for instance, has a College of Letters and Science. How do people think academic institutions affect the interaction of the “two cultures”?
While I definitely sympathize with the horror a humanities fellow might have looking at any kind of programming language, the need for us to expand our skill set is simply an inevitability caused by globalization. The prospect of our curriculum being wholly available in a digital (and hopefully professionally edited) format is exciting. Where I think the “dragging of feet” that you mention comes from is the fact that someone must pioneer the whole thing. It would be a lot of work that, in essence, makes jobs easier not for yourself, but for your scholarly descendants. Reaping the benefits of this labor sounds enticing, but the fruit must be planted first, I guess.