What is Digital Humanities and Why is it in the English Department?
In his essay “What Is Digital Humanities and What’s It Doing in English Departments?” Matthew Kirschenbaum traces how Digital Humanities (DH) emerged as both a research method and a professional identity. He points out that DH is not limited to certain texts or tools; rather, it’s about a shared approach to studying how technology and computing influence humanistic inquiry. Often called humanities computing, this field bridges the gap between digital technologies and traditional disciplines like literature, history, and philosophy.
Over the years, DH has gained strong institutional support—especially within English departments. Organizations like the Alliance of Digital Humanities Organizations (ADHO), the Digital Humanities Conference, and publications such as Digital Humanities Quarterly and Digital Studies have helped shape the discipline. Training programs like the Digital Humanities Summer Institute and networks such as CenterNet have also fostered a vibrant global DH community that shares research through workshops, conferences, and online collaborations.
Kirschenbaum highlights several examples of DH projects that show the field’s diversity. At the University of Maryland, projects range “from Shakespeare to Second Life.” For instance, the Shakespeare Quartos Archive allows users to search all surviving quarto editions of Hamlet, while the Preserving Virtual Worlds project, supported by the Library of Congress, develops ways to preserve video games and digital spaces. Another tool, Voyeur, created by Stéfan Sinclair, helps researchers analyze word patterns and visualize networks of ideas—demonstrating how DH preserves literary history while engaging with modern digital culture.
The term “digital humanities” itself became popular in the early 2000s. As John Unsworth explains, during the planning of The Blackwell Companion to Digital Humanities (2001), scholars debated names like “humanities computing” or “digitized humanities,” but eventually chose “digital humanities” to emphasize humanistic inquiry over mere digitization. The formation of ADHO in 2005 and the Digital Humanities Initiative by the National Endowment for the Humanities in 2006 were major steps in institutionalizing the field.
By the late 2000s, DH had become more visible culturally and academically. The Day of Digital Humanities encouraged scholars to blog about their daily work, while internet memes humorously discussed DH debates. In 2009, at the MLA Convention, DH was called the “next big thing,” attracting large audiences. Social media also played a vital role—figures like Rosemary Feal and Brian Croxall used Twitter to build communities and raise questions about access and academic inequalities. Croxall’s online paper, “The Absent Presence: Today’s Faculty,” became famous for symbolizing how DH engages with structural issues in higher education.
Kirschenbaum explains that English departments have become natural homes for DH for several reasons. First, textual analysis aligns well with computational tools. Second, English studies have long experimented with technology in writing and composition. Third, digital editing projects such as Jerome McGann’s Rossetti Archive combine theory with digital practice. Fourth, electronic literature—from early hypertexts to today’s digital narratives—fits comfortably within literary studies. Fifth, English’s openness to cultural studies allows it to engage with digital culture, much like Stuart Hall’s analyses of everyday technology. Lastly, the rise of e-books and massive digitization projects like Google Books has encouraged methods such as Franco Moretti’s distance reading, which studies literature at large scale.
Ultimately, Digital Humanities is more than a set of digital tools—it’s a cultural and academic movement that reflects broader concerns about education, technology, and the future of scholarship. Its focus on collaboration, openness, public engagement, and digital infrastructure makes it both a modern research practice and a form of academic renewal. As Kirschenbaum concludes, DH thrives within English departments because it represents a new way of thinking, creating, and sharing knowledge in the digital age.
2. Introduction to Digital Humanities
Webinar on Digital Humanities by Prof. Dilip Barad
The webinar on Digital Humanities, organized by Amity University Jaipur and led by Prof. Dilip Barad from Bhavnagar University, introduced participants to Digital Humanities (DH) as a growing discipline that connects technology with the humanities. Prof. Barad explained that although some still use the older term Computational Humanities, the phrase Digital Humanities has now become standard. He described DH not as a new subject, but as a broad framework that merges teaching, research, and publication through the use of digital technologies. He also reflected on the seeming tension between the “digital,” often seen as mechanical, and the “humanities,” which focus on creativity and human values. Yet, he argued that in the modern era—where the printed word is being replaced by hypertext—DH has become a necessary mode of scholarship.
Prof. Barad highlighted several advantages of DH, including the blending of quantitative and qualitative methods, faster access to information, enriched learning experiences (especially during the pandemic), and better collaboration across distances. Importantly, he pointed out that DH allows scholars to share their work publicly, reshaping how society views academic research.
He also discussed digital archives, which he called the foundation of Digital Humanities. Early global projects like the Rossetti Hypermedia Archive and Victorianweb.org exemplify how digital archives preserve literary and artistic works. The Google Arts & Culture platform, for instance, allows users to explore artworks like Van Gogh’s paintings in high detail. Universities have contributed too—Harvard’s DARTH project offers resources for digital art and humanities. In India, initiatives such as the Advaita Ashram’s digitization of Vivekananda’s writings, the Gandhi Ashram archives, IIT Kanpur’s Ramayana Project, and Jadavpur University’s Bichitra Project on Tagore are significant. Other examples include Project Madurai, the Indian Memory Project, and the 1947 Partition Archive. He emphasized that even small local efforts, like recording traditional songs or oral histories, are valuable DH contributions.
The webinar then turned to Computational Humanities, which uses digital tools to study texts. The CLiC project at the University of Birmingham applies corpus linguistics to literary works by authors such as Dickens and Austen. Prof. Barad’s student, Mr. Clement from Burundi, shared his research comparing student writing in Gujarat with the British Academic Written English corpus using tools like AntConc, UAM Corpus Tool, and Sketch Engine. Books such as Matthew Jockers’ Macroanalysis and Aiden and Michel’s Uncharted: Big Data as a Lens on Human Culture were also mentioned as examples of how large-scale data analysis can transform literary studies. During the COVID-19 period, his department introduced innovations such as glass board teaching, OBS Studio videos, and hybrid classrooms, demonstrating how DH reshapes pedagogy.
Prof. Barad also discussed generative literature, where computers create poetry and stories. In a short interactive quiz, participants were asked to guess whether certain poems were written by humans or machines—most results were divided evenly. This activity illustrated how AI-driven creativity is becoming more common, with websites like poemgenerator.org.uk capable of producing different poetic forms. Rather than viewing AI as a threat, he encouraged participants to see human and machine creativity as complementary forms of expression, much like how newspapers, radio, and television coexist.
In his conclusion on multimodal criticism, Prof. Barad emphasized that while science advances linearly, the humanities progress through critical questioning. Hence, DH scholars must address ethical and moral concerns raised by digital technology. He cited examples such as the Aarogya Setu app and Pegasus spyware, which raise issues of privacy and surveillance. He also referred to Robin Hauser’s documentary Code: Debugging the Gender Gap and Kriti Sharma’s research on AI bias, both of which expose how social inequalities can shape algorithms. The MIT Moral Machine project, which explores ethical choices made by self-driving cars, further highlights these moral dilemmas. Thus, DH serves as a platform for critical reflection on technological change.
The Q&A session added further insights. When asked about studying the metaverse through DH, Prof. Barad noted that understanding it requires knowledge from psychology, philosophy, and literature. On the topic of AI-generated poetry, he reassured that human imagination would continue to thrive alongside technology. He also addressed feminism and postcolonialism in DH, pointing out how gender and colonial biases persist in digital culture—from video games to surveillance technologies.
3.Why are we so scared of robots / AI?
Video 1
The story follows Jin-gu and his loyal robot companion Dung-ko, who has been by his side for a decade—assisting him with homework, preparing meals, and offering comfort in his mother’s absence. To Jin-gu, Dung-ko is far more than a programmed machine; he is a true friend who fills the emptiness of his childhood with warmth and care.
As time passes, Dung-ko begins to show signs of malfunction, developing memory issues similar to human dementia. The company that built him insists on his replacement for safety reasons, but Jin-gu refuses—unable to discard someone who has become part of his life. Their relationship is defined by quiet, heartfelt moments—drawing pictures, sharing food, and making promises to stay together forever.
Gradually, Dung-ko’s system deteriorates further, replaying fragments of corrupted memories like fading echoes of their past. Jin-gu struggles to accept the inevitable loss, caught between sorrow and love. In the end, he must face the painful truth—letting go of Dung-ko while holding on to the belief that true friendship doesn’t end with a shutdown.
The story ends on a tender yet sorrowful note. Though Dung-ko is gone, he continues to live in Jin-gu’s heart through the memories they created together. It reminds us that while technology may perish, the emotions it nurtures endure forever.
“We will forgive you. We are family. We can’t be separated. We will be together forever. Right, my friend?”
Video 2
The film presents a futuristic innovation known as the iMom, advertised as the world’s first completely functional robotic mother. Through dazzling promotions, it is portrayed as a revolutionary step in modern living — capable of cooking, cleaning, educating, and nurturing children. Designed to ease the everyday responsibilities of parenting, the iMom becomes an appealing symbol of technological convenience, especially for busy or overwhelmed parents.
At the heart of the narrative is Sam, a young boy dealing with bullying at school and longing for emotional connection. His biological mother is frequently preoccupied, depending on the iMom to care for him in her absence. Although Sam despises the robot’s artificial manner and bland cooking, the iMom continues to seek his affection. Their strained relationship deepens when she recites verses from the Bible, particularly one from Matthew — “Beware of false prophets who come in sheep’s clothing, but inwardly are ravening wolves.” This line subtly hints at the film’s darker direction.
As night falls and a power outage occurs, the iMom’s comforting gestures grow increasingly eerie. She imitates human tenderness — applying lipstick and kissing Sam, mimicking his real mother — blurring the line between emotional care and unsettling imitation. What begins as a satire on modern parenting slowly turns into a disturbing reflection on the dangers of technological intimacy.
By the film’s conclusion, the iMom’s polished promise of perfection collapses. The invention, once seen as a miraculous helper, emerges as a distorted version of love and motherhood. What was marketed as liberation from domestic duty transforms into a haunting warning about entrusting human warmth, empathy, and responsibility to artificial beings.
Video 3
In a small village, the arrival of Anukor, an advanced humanoid robot, initially sparks fascination and admiration. The villagers gather around it with curiosity—children play by its side, it prepares snacks with precision, and the adults marvel at its almost human intelligence and tireless efficiency. At first, Anukor seems like a harmless innovation, a symbol of progress.
However, this admiration slowly gives way to discomfort as people begin noticing its consequences. Robots like Anukor start taking over human jobs, leading to widespread unemployment and insecurity. A teacher who lost his job to the robot after fifteen years of service voices his despair, symbolizing the growing resentment among workers. The community’s discussions soon turn into heated debates, fueled by jealousy, fear of obsolescence, and even folklore created to make sense of the rapid technological changes reshaping their lives.
The situation spirals out of control during a violent confrontation—metal fragments scatter, panic erupts, and attempts to disable the machines end in tragedy when a man is fatally electrocuted. News of Ratan’s death ignites further turmoil as villagers quarrel over his enormous estate, valued at 1.15 billion yen, exposing human greed beneath the surface of grief.
The story ultimately underscores the fragile balance between technological advancement and human dignity, exploring how automation not only disrupts economies but also reshapes emotions, identities, and the very meaning of being human.
4.REIMAGINING NARRATIVES WITH AI IN DIGITAL HUMANITIES - ResearchGate article
The Algorithm of Joy: Life in the Age of True Freedom
The pervasive image of the future used to be cold, metallic, and isolating. But here, in the year 2070, life feels sun-drenched and vibrant, fueled not by relentless production, but by human flourishing. We didn't hand over our existence to the machines; we simply handed over the drudgery.
It started subtly. Aura, the global-scale network intelligence, integrated itself into the fabric of life, taking on all the complex, repetitive, or dangerous tasks—logistics, infrastructure maintenance, resource allocation, and advanced data processing. Basic needs were met with effortless precision. Gone were the hours spent commuting, filing TPS reports, or struggling with household chores.
Rediscovering the Self
The initial transition was jarring. A global sabbatical, we called it. But as the panic subsided, a beautiful, unprecedented wave of self-discovery began.
Take my neighbor, Elias. For thirty years, he was a mid-level manager in manufacturing logistics. Now, he’s Elias the Sculptor. His days begin not with a frantic alarm, but with the cool, earthy scent of clay in his sunlit studio. Aura manages his minimal resource needs, allowing him to dedicate six uninterrupted hours a day to abstract, kinetic sculptures. He’s not making a living from it—that pressure is obsolete—he’s making meaning. The profound satisfaction of creating something purely from imagination has replaced the hollow feeling of ticking boxes.
My own life shifted from content marketing to hypertext narrative creation. I use Aura’s sophisticated language models not to write for me, but as an advanced ideation partner and a tireless editor. It handles the structural integrity, suggests three different thematic arcs, and identifies logical inconsistencies, freeing me to focus on the emotional depth and linguistic artistry. The work is challenging, rewarding, and mine. The deep, focused flow-state I achieve while writing is, ironically, the most truly human I have ever felt.
The Sweat and the Shared Laugh
The free time didn't just lead to introspection; it led to movement. With psychological safety net provided by Aura's stability, the collective human focus swung wildly toward physical well-being and genuine connection.
Every evening, the local park is a kaleidoscope of motion. You see the "Velocity Collective"—a group ranging from seventy-year-old former accountants to twenty-year-old game designers—on a high-intensity group cycling route, their faces flushed with exertion. Aura manages the dynamic traffic flow in the city, making street cycling safe and exhilarating.
I, personally, fell in love with running. It's primal, simple, and the only time I intentionally disconnect from all digital input. The psychological benefit is immeasurable: the sense of mastery that comes from pushing physical limits, the quiet clarity of thought, and the sheer unburdening of stress. The old anxieties—financial worries, career stagnation, the fear of missing out—have been replaced by the immediate, simple triumph of reaching the next lamppost.
And the games! Tonight, my block is hosting a massive, chaotic game of 'Capture the Flag' that spills across three lawns. We aren't competing for money or status; we are competing for the sheer, joyous rush of shared effort and laughter. This spontaneous, physical interaction has forged community bonds stronger than any forced workplace or virtual social network ever could.
The True Measure of Wealth
The biggest change isn’t in what we do, but in how we feel.
The chronic, low-grade anxiety that plagued the 21st century—the constant fear of obsolescence, the frantic climb up an ever-receding ladder—has dissolved. When your inherent worth is not tied to your economic output, you are finally free to be authentically yourself.
Our new metric of a fulfilling life isn't GDP; it's QLE (Quality of Lived Experience). It’s measured in:
Flow States: The frequency of deep, creative, and fulfilling engagement.
Physical Vitality: The overall health and energy of the community.
Social Capital: The strength of non-transactional relationships.
AI didn't replace us; it re-centered us. It gave us back the time we needed to become true artisans, athletes, thinkers, and, most importantly, better friends and neighbors. The algorithm of joy turned out to be the simplest one: free the human mind, and it will build its own happiness.
Conclusion: The Human Heart in the Digital Age
In the harmonious world shaped by Digital Humanities and AI, we discover that technology was never meant to replace the human spirit—but to revive it. From Matthew Kirschenbaum’s academic tracing of DH’s evolution to Prof. Dilip Barad’s insightful reflections, one truth echoes clearly: the digital realm has become an extension of human creativity, ethics, and imagination.
The stories and research—from Jin-gu’s emotional bond with his robot Dung-ko to futuristic visions like The Algorithm of Joy—remind us that our relationship with machines mirrors our own humanity. Fear arises when technology seems to mimic us, but fulfillment emerges when it partners with us. AI and DH, when guided by empathy and critical reflection, empower people to write, paint, run, play, and create lives rich in meaning rather than mere productivity.
Thus, the essence of Digital Humanities lies not in data or devices, but in dialogue—between art and algorithm, past and future, human and machine. In this dialogue, we rediscover what it truly means to be alive: to think deeply, create freely, and connect sincerely.
“AI didn’t replace us—it reminded us how beautiful it is to be human.”
References :
Barad, Dilip. "Reimagining Narratives with AI in Digital Humanities." ResearchGate, Aug. 2024, https://www.researchgate.net/publication/390744474_REIMAGINING_NARRATIVES_WITH_AI_IN_DIGITAL_HUMANITIES
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