Hello, future student!

To tell you the truth, after a whole semester of this class, I’ve barely scratched the surface of what it means to study as a digital humanist. I came to this class knowing absolutely nothing about Digital Humanities. In fact, I felt a little scared. That said, let me assuage whatever doubts you have! This class is expertly designed to accommodate all levels of knowledge about technology and research in the Humanities. This semester’s class brought a couple of challenges because of the pandemic. Yet, even on a mostly online format, I learned so much. Digital Humanities is about the intersection of technology and research in fields like English literature, historiography, and communications… so… practically anything in the humanities! As for what you might encounter, it’s one giant survey of popular tools in the Digital Humanities– kind of like wine tasting, but with academic rigor and… no wine. I learned about the intricacies of certain tools like Scalar, Story Maps, and topic modeling. I think the most important thing I learned was that technology complements the humanities… they are not opposites at all! That said, you’ll probably have to ask yourself at some point: what software best presents my research? And what software can I use within my research? All of these tools you’ll encounter are incredibly useful! There is so much potential waiting for you!

My advice to you is that stay curious! Some of the articles are a bit dense, but they really do grapple with significant questions about all aspects of Digital Humanities and research presentation. Maybe some of the purposes of the tools seem a little futile or unnecessary. You’re not curious enough if you begin to think that! “Monkeys Writing Shakespeare” will probably make you feel this way… but it’s complemented with a lesson on code and has grand implications. You’ll be thrown headfirst into a variety of tools and you might accidentally break tools you are intending to use. It’s no big deal; you’ll learn something from it. You also have a lot of freedom in this class! My other advice is that you should try to think of how you might use these tools for your own interests!

In the future, I might use these tools. For a fact, I will use the skills that I learned and practiced. The most important skill I practiced was to look at things critically. I don’t mean that in a pedantic way, or like a pessimist would. What I mean is that you will be asked to question so many things: how can I improve the interface of this tool? What are the pros/cons of using it? Who would use it? How can I use it? Is the research suited for the use of this tool? The ability to critically deconstruct things is a skill for anything in life!

You’ll be asked to think outside of the box. In some ways, you are even innovating the nature of research inquiry! On top of that, the humanities is not one single subject. As you look at these tools and inspect projects, you will enter so many fascinating facts and research about the history, literature, and even technology itself! This class is an opportunity! And I sincerely hope you enjoy it.

Best,

Jon Paul L.

Virtual reality technology is much more than a novelty! Although, my experience with it has been generally limited. The last time I can remember playing with it was at Knott’s Berry Farm; the focuses of the game was Cowboy vs Indians. I certainly had fun, for a bit, but the charm quickly wore off when I noticed how ugly the graphics seemed and how clunky it felt to move around. I would (almost violently) flail my arms to dodge bullets and alien explosions. I also felt a little bit exposed; one, essentially, enters another world and leaves the immediate present. I felt nervous to be so defenseless– however, this probably stems from my general and existential anxiety. Even so, I’m sure there exist much more refined experiences with VR. Certainly, the technology has grand implications for the future of humanist research and presentation. That being said, it also inherently comes with a slew of positives and negatives.

For the Digital Humanities, as a field, the potential that VR offers is limitless. It can innovate the presentation of research and create a highly interactive experience for viewers. I can imagine, in the future, completely immersive virtual reality interpretations of medieval castles based on research in the digital humanities– not too far from a video game… just a little more academic. In terms of what we looked at in class, I think The Virtual Studiolo demonstrates a significant number of positives and negatives about VR. Obviously, its greatest feature is its accessibility. For those who cannot travel (or for times during a pandemic), this software deconstructs the intellectual elitism often associated with “museum-going.” On top of that, the interface is convenient and heavily informational. Yet, at the same time, its interface is also its detriment. Bluntly, virtual museum tours are a chore to run through. In my case, it makes me want to go there as if it were an advertisement. I get antsy and the novelty wears off after a few minutes. This might be a personal issue, though.

The section on 3D recordings and museums, written by Robson, MacDonald, Were, and Hess, emphasizes poignant concerns for the use of VR technology in the Digital Humanities. They question, “If a cultural object is reproduced as a 3D digital image, how do people relate to its derivative? (109). To an extent, VR might infringe on certain cultural sensitivities. The technology is already expensive, and heavily difficult to access. Moreover, translating sometimes sacred images or objects can disrespect the nature of the object. It will probably require the general consensus of the community affiliated with the object. The reading makes reference to religious idols, on this topic. On an opposite note, Kenerdine’s discussion on embodiment theory is particularly interesting in conjunction with VR. Projects like Pure Land elicit all sorts of philosophical questions about the nature of participant, body, and object. These discussions can probably innovate the implementation of VR technology in DH endeavors.

I feel like I do not know what code is. Or, I do— sort of, I think. I’m 20 years old, and a college sophomore. I contemplate my childhood and what I learned in elementary schooling. I’m not sure the districts I attended (La Habra, California) had the resources or the “innovation” to teach me coding at a young age. I think I was on the “cusp” of the generation of children being taught to code casually in school. I missed the mark! Thursday’s activity prompted me to ponder such memories.

Actually, I do know what code is (not really). It is a system of patterns (letters, numbers, and punctuation marks) that prompt some sort of computational change. As far as I know, sometimes it is legible to human readers, and other times not. Right now, I’m still a little confused by the idea that changes in the text of a code can prompt some other change. For example, as I played with the Monkeys Writing Shakespeare, I didn’t understand how the code that I played with on TextMate could manifest onto the program opened on Chrome. How are they connected? I know for a fact it’s not something very complex. Yet, I don’t know enough to be able to explain it. It is almost as if this assignment has made me want to learn code! … And I’ve never ever had an interest in STEM.

It also occurred to me that code is fragile. For example, as I tried to put in the lyrics to 911 by Lady Gaga, and therefore had to delete the Jane Austen excerpt, I deleted that last semi-colon… turns out that was super important to maintaining the program’s “health.” I wouldn’t work.

Do I think one needs to know how to code to be a proper Digital Humanist? Sort of. I think answering this question requires one to think about what Digital Humanities is. To me, it’s the digital presentation of Humanities research— oftentimes collaboratively and through innovative digital programs. There might be Digital Humanists, as well, that dissect the philosophical implications of using the digital to present “intellectualism.” Because, to me, Digital Humanities is rooted in computational tools, I think it’s important to know how they work “underneath the hood.” Without knowing, then wouldn’t one just be a humanities researcher who uses digital platforms? I know the distinction is blurry. It could be about the innovation of digital platforms to present Humanities research. In that case, coding is necessary knowledge!

I say “sort of” because gatekeeping would hurt the community. Digital Humanities could compose itself of builders, critics, and users!

As for “breaking things,” I think that’s a part of innovation. Presenting research in thought-provoking and new ways can lead to new questions about the research itself and about digital landscapes. I think they are intertwined. That having been related, I think it’s important to specify that breaking digital landscapes isn’t inherently a Digital Humanist’s main concern. I think it must include Humanist research. Otherwise, it sounds like the job of a computer scientist.

Scalar is a fantastic tool. I really appreciate its capability to expertly organize media and pages through paths and tagging. I can imagine how certain scholars find this software to be helpful for their production of academic discourses and presentations in the digital landscape. That being said, I’m not sure I can value the software to its maximum potential just yet. Being a Scalar novice, I find the interface to look dated. I consider the layout to not be intuitive and the use of paths and tags to be confounding. As I built my project, I got lost in pages and I’m not really sure that I successfully made paths for each page in my book. The constantly clicking back forth is tedious and while I continued to make my book, I became a little frustrated because, normally, most software online (like Weebly, or Wix, or Adobe Spark) are very intuitive for me! I also seriously disliked how I did not have much control over the presentation and location of images. I could place them in text, but Scalar only gives options like “size, description, right, left, or middle.” I found myself going back forth to try and test which option looked the best.

Despite these roadblocks, I have learned a couple of things about multi-modal publishing. For this project, I chose to re-format an essay of mine into Scalar. I quickly realized that, due to the linear nature and organization of my essay, the path construction of my book also had to be linear. My argument scaffolds in sequential order… perhaps it wasn’t the best paper to make use of paths to the most effective extent. For this reason, it is probably best to make use of explorative arguments versus linear arguments in multi-modal publishing that emphasizes freedom of choice through paths and tagging.

Another thing I learned is that media selection matters! The topic of my paper is a bit obscure, and selecting appropriate videos and images can be tough due to a sparse catalog of related materials. It prompts the question: what media can I select or create that helps amplify the digital experience on Scalar, and also contributes to my argumentations and research in a meaningful way. Above all, it best to create a project with the use of Scalar in mind! (… and also have all your media and text ready beforehand because searching for it “on the fly” is not convenient and you will probably get lost within everything on your screen… speaking from experience!)

Link to Scalar

Chapman University’s Center for American War Letters is an admirable and incomparable pursuit of one tragic aspect of the American experience— war. Through collecting wartime correspondence (be it letters, emails, or photographs), this archive is able to respectfully capture the vast array of human tragedy, suffering, and love. The archive memorializes intimate moments of wartime history. Of course, more than ever, the COVID-19 pandemic has forced academics to rethink how to present their archived materials. Despite increasing vaccination efforts, the future seems unstable at best. For this reason, the Center for American War Letters should invest in expanding its outreach and accessibility through digital mediums. This might be best achieved through a digital exhibition of an aspect of their archive!

Luckily, the Center has already begun something similar to this (from what I could find). Here, the Center does an adequate job of presenting a sample of their letters… but with much left for the imagination! I propose an intricate project of displaying war letters in a digital exhibition. The letters could be organized according to war period and presented with typed transcriptions of the original text. A unique facet of the project could utilize this transcript to allow users to make keyword searches according to the transcription. From the query, a list of letters would appear containing that keyword. Another potentially useful device could be tags! Tags can optimize the organization of the letters in that they allow artifacts to be juxtaposed according to a shared motif. This differs from keyword queries in that tags (AKA shared features) are already predetermined according to archivists—instead of the user searching the word. Melissa Terras writes that this, “allow[s] improved searching and analysis of primary sources, facilitating a researcher in their task and allowing new ways to synthesize, juxtapose and create knowledge” (57).

Some technicalities must be considered! How else can one organize the letters? Material? Type of letter? Importance? Subject? What digital endeavors can the letters encourage? Digital maps according to the movement and places mentioned in the letters? Timeline visualizations? Despite the vast opportunity for creative production, perhaps the most important aspect of the project is the process of digitization. Melissa Terras emphasizes, “Digitization programmes aim to create consistent images of documents and artifacts, which are fundamentally individual and inconsistent, presenting a variety of physical attributes and capture requirements to the digitizer” (54). Avoiding this inconsistency proves integral to the health of the project. Transcriptions can be time-consuming, but they can be outsourced to public platforms. This increases community engagement and gives an interested segment of the public to participate in the digital archive process. I am reminded of projects like the Bentham Project at University College London.

Pandemic or not, digital archives prove to be a worthwhile investment. They allow for creativity in presentation and give the public a more accessible means to engage with the artifacts.

My first thoughts direct me to feel more concerned over the idea of abundance. Rosenzweig points out that “the Google search engine … gets 300,000 hits [, which] should make us consider that future historians may face information overload.” Obviously, oversaturation of content overwhelms archivists and the cultural memory. For this reason, archiving digital landscapes is difficult. For example, the Hurricane Digital Memory Bank illustrates this issue. The project contains a section dedicated to letting users post their own photographs of Hurricane Katrina or Rita. I am not entirely sure how it is moderated, but it seems that some photos are somewhat insignificant. (Is it historically relevant to see someone with their significant other flipping a peace sign underneath a Mardi Gras banner?… Probably not because there already exists an oversaturation of photos like that all over social media) The 13,927 items included in the project cannot all benefit memory of the hurricanes to the same degree.

The notion of scarcity unsettles me more; this stems from a very significant irony. As technology advances, historians and archivists alike are continuing to lose artifacts because of this advancement. What digital spaces lose can be lost forever, whereas physical materials can last for thousands of years. Into the Future: On the Preservation of Knowledge emphasizes this point. Advances in computer sciences and constant forward “trajectory” neglect practices in preservation for its own sake. By nature, abundance is messy, but order can be made from disorder. Order cannot be made from something that no longer exists.

This issue of advancement (paradoxical, I know) harms Digital Humanities projects, too. The Graceful Degradation Survey calls this idea to attention. The project asks, “How are projects to be designed so that they can be maintained, or maintain themselves, through periods of change?” The solution is complicated, and it relates to scarcity, where items can be lost forever.

A simple solution is to preserve the hardware that stores the digital archive. Yet, this proves inconvenient. Rosenzweig shares, “If you have files created on an Apple II, then why not keep one in case you need it? Well, sooner or later, a disk drive breaks or a chip fails, and unless you have a computer junkyard handy and a talent for computer repair, you are out of luck.” Other scholars put their faith in “data migration.” Even so, time-consuming and expensive roadblocks prevent “data migration” from being worthwhile.

Personally, I am not sure that a universal solution will ever come about for preserving digital spaces (either physical artifacts represented in the digital, or digital artifacts that have always been so). Despite emulation being theoretical, as Rosenzweig notes, I think it might be the most efficient solution. Moreover, perhaps an aspect of relativity needs to be introduced? Archives are unique, and maybe their methods of maintaining their artifacts in the face of advancement can be too? Maybe preserving hardware, emulating, and using data migration? Whatever the future, I am certain that scholars must be careful and flexible to better remedy this issue.

I know that I’ve worked with Voltaire’s Candide in other assignments. Even so, I felt compelled to investigate Candide with a StoryMap since, like most picaresque novels, its plot unfolds in a chaotic number of places. Seeing the events of the narrative represented on a map interested me!

The novel makes peculiar use of a technique that mixes the real world with the mythic world. This is best exemplified through the events at El Dorado– the mythical golden city of infinite riches. Of course, this prompted the question: where could I map a mythical city? After some short research, I learned that the city was once believed to be in Colombia– so, I went with that! Besides this, mapping the plot brought out a few more issues. Certainly, pivotal points in the text take place in famous cities like Paris and Buenos Aires, however, the specificity ends there, which made it difficult to locate specific points on the map. Evidently, the novel doesn’t exactly compliment — to an acute and productive degree– analysis based on mapping techniques.

In essence, mapping significant plot points of the narrative is a form of visualization. Johanna Drucker calls to attention a number of significant developments in the nature of the use of graphic displays for topics in the humanities. In her article, she argues that schools of the humanities need to reevaluate how they make use of visualization graphics. She points out, “The digital humanities can no longer afford to take its tools and methods from disciplines whose fundamental epistemological assumptions are at odds with humanistic method.” According to her, to a certain degree, the process of visualizing research in the humanities fundamentally opposes the ideological premise of humanities research, where most discourse is subjective, and not objective enough to be visually displayed.

In her discussion on visualizing space, she emphasizes the inherent ambiguity in “mapping temporal experiences.” Obviously, Candide is a fixed text; fundamentally, the events of the plot and the literal words of the text do not change. However, reading a text like Candide, arguably, is a temporal experience. Reading is a unique and individual process. Therefore, the interpretation of space in the novel is subjective. Where is El Dorado? Where in Paris does Candide dine with the Abbot? What inn in Lisbon does he stay at? Probably, these are unproductive and insignificant questions. Yet, the point here still stands. The subjectivity, or, the ambiguity, makes visually mapping Candide slightly unavailing. Certainly, doing such gives a good sense of the plot and movement of location. However, the benefit is mostly minimal. I believe that Drucker hints at an idea like this.

I must admit! I certainly had fun! The illustrations I found for Candide are particularly interesting, I think!

Link to StoryMaps project: https://arcg.is/0uTqav0

Evidently, given the frustrating time I experienced while trying to get Java to run the Topicmodeling.jar program on my MacBook, I went with Voyant’s topic modeling feature for this week’s practicum! To insert into the program, I went with a rather large text that I am, to an extent, familiar with: Miguel de Cervantes’s Don Quixote de la Mancha. I figured that a large text would encourage me to contemplate deeper the meaning of my topic modeling analysis.

The novel recounts the epic tale of Don Quixote— an awkward and obtrusive amateur knight aspiring to revive the lost era of medieval chivalry and honor. He is accompanied by his sickly steed, Rosinante, and Sancho Panza, a peasant regretfully aware of his master’s delusions from reading far too many knightly tales.

Here are two key screen captures of the results:

(1) 

(2) 

The first topic modeling output (labeled as (1)) is untouched; it is exactly as Voyant put out with their assigned number of topics and terms. I’m not entirely sure how to interpret this new data. Present throughout are logical associations like: “sleep,” “inn,” “places,” “rest,” and “head.” It’s fascinating that the program could predict such words to fall under the same topic. Although not pictured, I did see at one point, while I was fiddling with the topic sliders, that the program put “lady” and “tower” in the same topic. The algorithm clearly picked up on a common trope in chivalric literature— fair maidens locked away and needing rescue from some overwhelmingly masculine and narcissistic hero. In some way, an association like this echoes Blevins’s work on the Martha Ballard Diary. Blevins’s analysis produced relatively logical topic lists and even maintained a connection between the season and the frequency of gardening in the text. Both demonstrate the program’s keen ability to find logical associations.

The second screen-capture, in my opinion, reflects a couple of issues with the program. As I increased the number of topics and terms, it assigned more and more numbers… Some of these numbers were the same term, but in a different topic (for example, 809). I do not know why this occurred, but I do think that a fault can be attributed to the fact that page numbers are present on my corpus; the program does not know how to distinguish it, and, frankly, neither do I!

From the term “liberation theology,” the neural network transformer came up with a peculiar series of texts: (here are two searches)

Liberation theology Today the basic categories of socialism have been mapped out in the concrete. In the West the basic tenet of socialism is class struggle and the satisfaction of material needs. In Spain and many other countries, a new comprehensive definition of socialism has evolved: the satisfaction of material needs without destroying culture, and without subordinating people to any social category.[37] One of the main features of this new definition is that it no longer envisages, in principle, the

Liberation theology I was drawn into liberation theology in my teens. I felt a mixture of confusion, awe, and wonder when listening to people passionately speak about things I could not see. I understood the need for justice and did not understand the desire to find a safe space to worship. My feelings of ambiguity have been replaced with the certainty of doubt and uncertainty when I reflect on these years. On the one hand, I was profoundly exposed to the charismatic movement in churches from Florida to South

Both seem to derive from two different sources— one a sort of academic article, and the other a type of blog post? Juxtaposing these findings is interesting since liberation theology is heavily associated with socialism, which the first entry discusses. The second entry seems far more personal and actually makes a relatively decent emotional appeal about liberation theology.

Tying this all together, for me, is the question: what are the ethics of data collection and algorithms? Certainly, in an assignment like this, my intentions are purely academic and curious, but what about the larger process of data collection separate from academic purposes? I’m drawing from a large text, but what about a large company drawing from a large pool of users with all their quantifiable information? Its sweeping and dangerous effects warrant a conversation on tech ethics, privacy, capitalism, prejudice, diversity, and bias. Danah Boyd from the US Department of Commerce breaks down this issue astutely. To summarize one example she gives, algorithms employed by Google were not coded as prejudiced. However, as their algorithms learned the behaviors of their users, they “learned society’s racism” and could spit back racist results from specific queries. A neutrally coded algorithm doesn’t always produce neutral results. This has broad, negative implications for the construction and perpetuation of harmful ideology and rhetoric online and in society.

I analyzed Voltaire’s Candide, or Optimism. This picaresque novel chaotically recounts the misadventures of the titular character, Candide, and his journey— spanning nearly the whole world— in pursuit of his dearly beloved, Cunégonde. Principally, the novel makes a scornful parody of the many philosophies coming about during the Enlightenment. It features a wicked sense of humor and wit, all compounded by a profound commentary on innocence, intellect, and gender.

After inserting the text into Voyant, the software program made apparent a few data points. Unsurprisingly, the novel’s most repeated names are Candide (409 times), Martin (118 times), and Cunégonde (109 times). The novel’s most repeated words other than names include: “said” (319 times), old (96 times), and “good” (72 times). Interestingly, a trend graph of the most frequent words reflects some key plot developments. Throughout the storyline, characters die, go missing, come back to life miraculously, and get separated from Candide. The rollercoaster-like shape of the graph reflects that chaos. By the end of the novel, all the characters unite. This is visually apparent in the downward trajectory of the graph as the plot slows down. Numerically representing the frequency of words and names, in a way, can make visual the momentum and direction of a plot.

Additionally, the graph also makes apparent that Candide expresses the highest number of dialogues. This is unsurprising, given that Candide functions as the main character. However, the verb most frequently associated with Candide’s expression of dialogue is: “said.” As a satirical element, Candide’s character functions as a vehicle for absurd optimism and innocence. Constantly, Candide feels ambivalent and neutral in the face of many conflicts. That element of impartiality is reflected in a verb like “said.” He does not, for example, yell, argue, respond, or banter— he only “says.” An association like this makes it linguistically and visually concrete that Candide operates as an epitome of conflicted neutrality.

Of course, Voyant makes apparent a few issues. The program uses a form of “Metadata Analysis” to compile its “Dreamscape” map. The program specifies keywords associated with places on Earth and visually represents them on an interactive map. A novel with many, many settings like Candide is perfect for such a tool! Nonetheless, the program labeled last names on the Guttenberg file as places mentioned in the plot. In my opinion, this is more a fault of the program than of the Guttenberg text file. The program cannot distinguish text of the plot versus text of the, for example, credits on the file— this is also apparent for “pg [page].” This “defect” in the program echoes failures in OCR programs in general, especially that of Google’s Ngram Viewer, where it can struggle to distinguish words and their variants from physical texts.

In a discussion post on the Wayback Machine Internet Archive, a user brings to attention that “distant reading,” in a way, involves us reading more closely than ever — because it is founded, ultimately, on searches for specific words.” They call it paradoxical. Their comment makes me contemplate how this could be applicable to Candide and Voyant. The irony is true: a distant reading of Candide forced me to look more closely than ever at the lingual structure of a text. Evidently, specific evidence requires even more specific analysis.