This is a defense of a liberal arts education, specifically aimed at STEM majors — many of whom are curious about why people find such an education fulfilling, or worth the cost. Their questions are real questions, and they deserve satisfactory answers.
This column was sparked by a recent article in The New Yorker titled “The End of the English Major,” which describes declining enrollment in humanities majors across the nation, relying on Arizona State University as a case study. My friends shared the article in our group chat (their majors are Finance, Accounting, and Engineering), and were genuinely curious why my response to the article was that this trend is worrying. Rather than respond to their text with a far-too-long text message, I decided to draft this short defense of liberal education (commonly dubbed “the humanities”) instead.
The New Yorker piece details the rise of STEM majors and the decline of majors like English and History. “From 2012 to the start of the pandemic, the number of English majors on campus at Arizona State University fell from nine hundred and fifty-three to five hundred and seventy-eight,” the article reads. That’s a precipitous drop. But what really is the problem? Aren’t English majors really just wasting their time, preoccupied with reading old, dead, white guys while the innovators in our society are focused on the future; on building space ships, buildings, biomedical devices, and new technological creations?
In our wonderful, innovative, vibrant, and dynamic society, we often deny ourselves the time to sit back and think about what exactly it is we are doing; what exactly it is all for. But this precious time spent contemplating what we are doing and why we are doing it benefits us far more than we can imagine — particularly in a society that is so often occupied with production, consumption, and the instant satisfaction of our pleasures.
In spite of our incredible material and technological progress, we have increasingly lost even the vocabulary to articulate what all this progress is for. Indeed, we’d find it difficult to articulate what “progress” even means, and why it is defensible, other than “that’s just the way things are.”
Why should we build rockets that launch human beings into orbit, and beyond? Why should we use public funds to promote research and development at state universities? Why should there be ethical guidelines surrounding biological research? Should there be any such guidelines at all? The question of “should” cannot be answered by science, no matter how hard we try. But science and scientific development can inform our moral reasoning.
An incredible example of this is the question of fetal personhood. While science cannot tell us when a fetus is to be accorded the status of “human being” under law, it can tell us that once a sperm cell fuses with an ovum, there exists a distinct organism with its own DNA. It can tell us that medieval European and Islamic theories about “quickening” — a belief that the fetus became a human being when the mother could feel it moving in her womb, typically around 12 weeks into a pregnancy — have no basis in biology.
Science cannot tell us what we ought to do. But science can inform our moral reasoning, working alongside it to create a more just and more rational society. And science unmoored from moral reasoning — the sort of moral reasoning that a liberal education informs, and instills — can quickly devolve into gross abuses of human dignity, and morality.
Engagement with texts old and new provide us with the vocabulary and grammar of the moral dimension of our lives, and our endeavors. Aristotle had not the faintest idea what the 21st century would look like, but his reflections on the role of human beings in political orders still informs how we might go about making and reforming political systems today. Saint Thomas Aquinas would appear like an alien if he appeared before us now, but his study of human nature and the relationship between faith and reason are as relevant in 21st century Las Vegas as they are in 13th century France.
Of course, you can disagree with the argument I’ve laid out in this short article. I welcome you to do so. But I only ask you one favor: as you form arguments to rebut my claims, recognize that you’ve already embarked on the journey of moral reasoning. You’ve already made your first step towards understanding why a liberal arts education is important.
An education in the humanities — a decent one, at least — acquaints us with the universal human questions that men and women have asked one another since the advent of human language. Mesopotamian citizens wondered, just like us, why they were alive, and what life was for. Shakespeare dealt with many of the same moral dilemmas we do, and he wondered, just like us, if life had meaning or if it was simply “a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.”
Our problems are not new. When we engage with our past, and the richness of the human moral and intellectual tradition, we benefit from the wisdom of those who have come before us. We recognize that some of the same problems that dogged the Roman Empire confront policymakers today. We come to understand that we ignore the moral universe at our peril, and should rather seek to engage the moral universe with rigor.
So, for all the STEM majors who are skeptical of the humanities, I encourage you to ask yourself, “What is science (or finance, or accounting, or economics) for?” The answer you seek — or at least the conversations that will lead you closer to the answer you seek — will not be found in a laboratory, or an Excel spreadsheet.
The moral universe, despite our repeated denials, is real. We inhabit it, whether we choose to or not. And now that you know that we live in the cave, you have a choice. Will you seek to leave it, or will you be satisfied with dancing shadows on the wall?