Those Rumored To Be Dead Live Longer

Dirk Hohnstraeter on Digital Change and the Future of Higher Education

Dear Republic,

Edumacation Week continues with Dirk Hohnstraeter’s meditation on how the modern university can modernize and save itself.

-ROL

THOSE RUMORED TO BE DEAD LIVE LONGER

My student years took place in the twilight of the Gutenberg Galaxy. While I vaguely recall occasional visits to a computer room where students would stare at green blinking screens, my fondest memories are of awe-inspiring buildings that testified to the dignity of knowledge; the dry air of the libraries, whose shelves opened up new worlds with every book I pulled out; and existential late-night conversations with fellow students about films, literature, and philosophy. Those years were marked by a strange mix of seriousness and nonchalance, in which we cared far more about the validity of an argument than about the usefulness of our endeavors.

I sympathize with those who grieve this magical world fading away. And yet, I have little inclination toward nostalgic narratives and do not cling to a dusty canon and teaching methods that become less effective with each new semester. Even before starting university, I felt embarrassed when teachers struggled to use a slide projector or a VCR, since the devices only came onto the market after they had completed their training. I pledged never to stand in front of a class so disconnected from technological developments, taught myself HTML and CSS, and ran a blog. I enthusiastically took online courses where I learned things that no one had taught me at university. Much of my reading shifted into the digital realm, even though I never stopped loving printed books, and most certainly never will.

When the pandemic made digital teaching unavoidable, I found myself better prepared than those colleagues who took pride in being computer illiterate. However, integrating digital technology into the syllabi turned out to be more challenging than anticipated. My students were constantly online, but not in the same places or in the same way that I was. I vividly remember a seminar session where, much to the group's surprise, I revealed that every Wikipedia entry has a version history that displays its conflict-filled creation process. The participants, who certainly considered themselves to have a “critical” mindset, had no idea how such a text comes into being.

It slowly dawned on me that my analog background equipped me with skills highly valuable in today's digital world. What exactly were they? And how could they be taught in the new environment? While I was still pondering these questions, the next leap in tech shocks arrived: AI. My hard-earned knowledge about how the web works suddenly seemed outdated; worse still, my role as a filter and processor of information felt obsolete. Was it time to embrace a post-human condition, surrender to the chatbot, and step aside?

I assume that, alongside economic pressure and attacks on academic freedom, the impact of digital technology represents the greatest challenge to the university in its traditional form and the humanities in particular, notwithstanding AI’s current deficiencies and matters of definition. Why, except to gain status and a professional door-opening certificate, should someone pursue an expensive degree in the liberal arts when the latest knowledge can be accessed far more efficiently online whenever and wherever needed, provided by an increasingly knowledgeable and friendly tutor?

Yet, confronting reality doesn’t imply endorsing the many obituaries about the academy currently circulating. Neither techno-optimistic cheers about personalized, yet widely accessible information transfer nor well-meant complaints about the loss of a well-rounded “Bildung” tell the whole story. I know, enrollment in the liberal arts is declining rapidly in the US and Europe. In Germany, where I’m a professor, the number of first-year students in the humanities has decreased by more than one-fifth over the past 20 years. Their share of first-year students has dropped significantly to just over 10% in the 2023 academic year. Furthermore, any university lecturer with more than a few years of experience will notice that the average student today (of course, there are always exceptions) has different prior knowledge, interests, drive, attention span, and resilience than previous generations. Complaining won’t help, though. It is up to us, the faculty, to convey what we consider relevant in a way that transfers our enthusiasm and creates conditions conducive to serious study. I believe that there is a place for the university and the humanities in our current, fragmented cultural landscape that goes beyond being a relic of allegedly better times, but only if we clearly reflect on their irreplaceable strengths and confidently translate them into appealing curricula under uncomfortable conditions. Academia is about cultivating a beginner’s mindset, so let’s face reality and rebuild this precious institution.

First and foremost, protecting the university from unreasonable external demands is vital. If we believe that a prosperous, free society should make room for long-term inquiry (including the exploration of novel sources that haven't been digitized yet), the detours of fundamental research, and scholarly quirks, we should defend this conviction against economic or political pressure, no matter which side it comes from. That being said, it’s also true that universities must deliver on their core promise, which is critical and creative thinking. This includes leaving ideological alignment aside, avoiding jargon, and steering clear of condescension towards the non-academic world. More than anything else, the humanities must continually scrutinize their practice to determine whether they truly live up to their values. To remain (or return to being) a place of open-mindedness, imagination, and creation, universities must freshly formulate their core proposition in the context of digitally enhanced post-factuality and polarization.

Let’s get practical. After many years of teaching, I have concluded that it is not a good idea to deny the existence of digital tools, ban them outright, or waste energy controlling their use for cheating on outdated assignments, especially when you secretly use them yourself. I am not advocating for superficial adaptation that disguises resignation as progress, like when schools claim that using iPads in class sets up students for success in the future. Having read numerous term papers, I’ve learned that many students have little clue how to find quality information or critically assess sources, as my Wikipedia anecdote illustrates. This is precisely why educators must engage with digital tools and discover how to use them well, if only to impart some understanding of the challenges. I’m convinced it’s crucial to teach using digital instruments in a way conducive to creative and autonomous thinking.

Secondly, lessons should be designed to encourage participants to step out of their siloed communities and filter bubbles. This can be done, for example, by comparing the strongest pro and the strongest contra positions on a topic, including how the ideas and texts are constructed. When I once asked a class whether they would be interested in a seminar called “Irritations,” which would present strong arguments for unpopular views by reading taboo texts, the interest was great. My general observation is that most students, often caricatured as passive, hypersensitive, or mindlessly activist, are very open to challenging content when you convincingly explain why engaging with it is worthwhile, especially if it helps them make sense of the complicated era they live in and address questions of orientation, meaning and purpose.

Thirdly, relieved from the transfer of widely available knowledge, educators should concentrate on enabling deep learning experiences. Being a tech-savvy instructor only makes this more credible. It might mean no gadgets for particular exercises that require absolute focus, it might mean research projects that depend on original, real-world reporting, it might mean encouraging students to crack at least one challenging book from cover to cover each semester (yes, just one for starters, no complaints about the deplorable state of culture, please). They won’t always succeed, but even failure can give a taste for not just acknowledging positions in a summarized form and having a random opinion about them. While routinely using AI tools can create a sense of human inadequacy, a deliberate, immersive reading experience that arrives at an argumentative assessment strengthens confidence in one's own capabilities and self-worth.

You might object that my suggestions sound nice and well, but if no students enroll in your class on Shakespeare’s sonnets anymore, the humanities will continue to shrink. That’s true, which is why I suggest replacing overly domain-specific subjects with thematic cross-sections tackling big questions and more experimental formats. This doesn’t mean that historical or demanding texts no longer have a place in the curriculum; they are just positioned differently. I also advocate making some form of “studium generale” a mandatory minor in more career-oriented degree programs. If we are convinced, and I surely am, that computer scientists who study philosophical ethics may become more responsible coders, that law students who read literature are more likely to become judges with greater empathy, that economists who understand culture have a better chance to become great managers and founders, it is vital to supply compelling curricula that reflect this belief. As unlikely as it may be for this proposal to gain widespread acceptance, I am convinced that it is a way worthy of consideration for the humanities to not just survive in an ever-shrinking niche for those who can afford to be a part of it but to significantly contribute to shaping the modern world.

What the liberal arts truly, uniquely teach—especially to those who don’t receive it at home—is not some particular area of ever-changing expertise, it’s the ability to reflect on your blind spots, a sense for “that messy, contextual, contingent element that often makes all the difference” (Hollis Robbins), the nuanced discernment of morally ambiguous decisions, the creation of surprising connections, and the provision of world-opening frameworks whether historical, cultural, or theoretical. If the humanities don’t fulfill their role, other entities will take it on (as they already do), driven by questionable ideologies and interests. What isn’t cultivated doesn’t disappear; it just gets done worse.

The current economic, political, and technological threats offer an opportunity to sharpen the university’s core under the conditions of the early 21st century. While I've argued for leveraging the latest tools, I don’t think that real-world (including on-campus) experience and human individuals are becoming increasingly obsolete. On the contrary, no LLM-delivered mashup of original content or opinion ping-pong on social media can replace the encounter with idiosyncratic role models, providing higher-level mentorship, motivation, inspiration, friction, and debate, especially in one’s formative years. I still remember, decades later, how one of my professors put aside one of his brilliant essays and instructed his class not to repeat the paper’s arguments but to rethink the topic from scratch. Experiences like these forever teach you what free thinking truly means. Universities must enable such intense learning moments to prepare students for future challenges. If they do so, I’m convinced that reports of their death will turn out to be greatly exaggerated.

Dirk Hohnstraeter is a writer and professor at the College of Architecture, Media and Design of the Berlin University of the Arts. He writes the weekly Substack

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