The Future of Humanities Research (Part III)

As a college student, I didn’t know why I loved history. I just did. Friends would often say to me, “There’s no future in history.” And from a purely practical point of view – an employment perspective – they were right. If one saw college as a ticket to a paycheck, then a degree in business, nursing, or even education was a much better choice. Anything but history. But somehow I didn’t get that memo, and I ended up with dual majors in History and French.

Looking back now, I better understand my fascination with history. I remember the day Professor Roland Blaich talked about the causes of the French Revolution in our world history class. We discussed various factors, including politics, food security, and even religion. The class set my brain on fire. So many dimensions. So little time. At the time, I lacked the vocabulary to articulate this interest. Now I have it. History is the nuanced study of causation in all its human complexity. The historian, in other words, is a student of complexity. And because of that, they need a medium to convey multivariate understandings. That medium is story.

And yes, I know. I just used a 25-cent word (multivariate). In statistics, a multivariate problem is one in which multiple variables have been identified as causing an effect or, in this case, a historical event. To make matters even more complex, variables can interact with each other, calling for the scholar to tease apart a Gordian knot of tangled relationships. No one said historical research was easy. For the historian, the underlying challenge is to describe a system in movement, one with a multiplicity of interacting parts. Analysis typically begins by sorting these parts into categories or dimensions. So far, I’ve identified at least seven causal dimensions. They are economic, geographic, political, cultural, religious, environmental, and technology. Each dimension has its say – even if that say is barely perceptible in a given situation – in the ebb and flow of human activity through time. Thus, we might consider time a flexible geometric plane whose ephemeral shape reflects the interplay of causal dimensions at work at each moment. More precisely, human actions mold and shape the plane of history with the causal origin of those acts arising from the underlying dimensions of existence.

So why did I start with a conceptual/theoretical exposition of the historical method? The answer is that we must first understand our research method and its working assumptions before we tackle the practical question of what tools might be helpful. Too often, this gets turned around. The technology, AI in this case, takes center stage while the researcher’s actual needs recede into the background. When that happens, we end up with technical solutions in the driver’s seat, looking for non-existent problems to solve. Just because AI allows me to do something new, it doesn’t follow that it ought to be done. From a methodological point of view, it might not make any sense. Or it might obscure what was once a clear albeit much simpler path to historical understanding. Technology, when used unthinkingly, becomes a complexifier, turning a simple trip to the archive into something much uglier. To avoid that fate, one must first embrace the principle that technology serves the historian, not vice versa. This assumes, though, that one knows where they’re going and what technical tools are needed to arrive there.

With preliminaries out of the way, I can now begin to describe the kind of research system that would benefit me. Professional historians may have other ideas, and I would welcome their input. First off, I want a system that is contextually aware. If history is indeed multidimensional, then our AI-enabled research system ought to facilitate serendipitous encounters with documents and texts tangential yet relevant to a line of inquiry. This kind of encounter happens all the time when I go to the library. I start off with a specific book in mind, arrive at the location where it's shelved, only to discover interesting items next to it on a nearby shelf. That secondary material, though tangential, is where new connections can be found.

Let’s illustrate this with a concrete example. Recently, I’ve developed an interest in the history and social world of Renaissance Venice, specifically the sumptuary laws designed to promote the republic’s egalitarian ethos. Unlike criminal law, the purpose of sumptuary law was the regulation of dress and appearance. These laws served as a type of luxury tax, limiting spending and the display of high fashion at all social levels. They also reflected moral concerns. Immediately, we realize that the study of fashion law in Venice is multidimensional. That is, it emerged from and was sustained by a unique and complex historical context.

An ideal research system, then, would proactively deliver context-relevant items from the seven dimensions identified earlier. Even if the link between a piece of content and my primary focus is somewhat tenuous, I still want to see it because it might offer an essential insight. As Steve Jobs once said, “Creativity is just connecting things.” That’s precisely what first-rate historians do. They connect things. They weave their narratives from a variety of threads, even a few that are unexpected. The final result is a nuanced and more accurate depiction of the past.

Before we end today’s post, let me briefly outline the links I currently see between sumptuary law and the dimensions identified earlier. The cultural dimension is obvious. Culture, not law, is typically the arbiter of what one puts on daily. The cultural dimension is further constrained by geography. Dress in Renaissance Venice looked different from that in London or Paris. The relation between fashion law and the economic dimension is also relatively straightforward. The regulation of what can and cannot be worn will affect the demand for luxury clothing, jewelry, and matching accessories. The political dimension is a bit more complicated. In Venice – at least what I currently know to be the case – the republic sought to enforce a dress code to reduce the friction between powerful families and social classes. The political dimension was also colored by religious/moral concerns. Pride was one of the seven deadly sins in the Middle Ages, and ostentatious clothing was thought to be an indicator of it. The natural dimension includes all the resources (wool, silk, precious metals, etc.) needed to sustain the fashion economy. And finally, all the tools Renaissance Venetians used to fashion their clothing and accessories are part of the technological dimension. Of course, the relationship between the technical and economic dimensions is close.

In future posts, we’ll continue our exploration of the historical research method with an eye to figuring out where AI-enabled tools make sense.