Digital Humanities

What are the digital humanities?

Digital humanities is a broad term for work that brings digital tools and methods and into conversation with humanistic inquiry. That conversation has taken many forms over the decades—from concordances and databases to text mining, mapping, 3D modeling, and interactive storytelling. What ties it together is less any single approach than a shared commitment: that the questions humanists ask about culture, history, language, and meaning can be enriched (and sometimes transformed) by digital approaches.

The term is intentionally capacious. Some digital humanities work looks like traditional scholarship augmented by new tools—a historian using GIS to map migration patterns, a literary scholar running computational analyses across thousands of novels. Other work is more experimental, building interactive archives, digital exhibits, podcasts, or immersive narratives that reach audiences well beyond the academy. The field has always moved between these poles of analysis and making, and both matter.

A brief history of the field

The roots of digital humanities stretch back further than most people realize. In 1949, an Italian Jesuit named Roberto Busa began working with IBM to create a computer-generated concordance of the works of Thomas Aquinas. The project took decades. It was painstaking, unglamorous, and utterly foundational—it demonstrated that computation could serve humanistic scholarship, not just scientific or military purposes.

For most of the second half of the twentieth century, this kind of work went by the name humanities computing. It was a small, specialist community focused on text encoding, linguistic analysis, and database construction. The work was rigorous and technically demanding, and it remained marginal to mainstream humanities departments. Most humanists didn’t encounter it, and many who did weren’t sure what to make of it.

The shift to “digital humanities” as a term—catalyzed by the publication of the Companion to Digital Humanities in 2004—signaled something more than a rebranding. It marked an expansion of scope. Where humanities computing had been primarily about applying computational methods to traditional scholarly questions, digital humanities began to encompass a wider range of practices: building digital archives and exhibits, experimenting with new forms of publishing, creating interactive media, and asking how digital culture itself reshapes what it means to be human.

The late 2000s and early 2010s saw a surge of institutional investment. The NEH Office of Digital Humanities (established 2008) began funding projects. Major universities created DH centers. Foundations like Mellon and ACLS launched fellowship programs. For a while, digital humanities carried an almost messianic energy—declarations that DH would “save the humanities” or that every humanist would need to code. Conference panels debated whether DH was a field, a method, a community, or a moment.

Where the field stands now

The methods have dispersed. Text analysis, mapping, network visualization, digital storytelling, and data-driven research are no longer the province of dedicated DH centers alone. They’ve been absorbed into departments, programs, and individual research practices across the humanities and social sciences. A historian who builds an interactive map for a research project may not call it “digital humanities,” but the methods and sensibilities come from that lineage. This dispersal is a sign of success, even if it sometimes makes the field harder to recognize.

The questions have deepened. Early DH work was sometimes criticized for being method-driven—applying tools because they existed rather than because they answered interesting questions. The best current work reverses this. Scholars start with humanistic questions—about power, representation, absence, memory—and reach for digital methods when they genuinely serve the inquiry. Critical data studies, algorithmic bias research, postcolonial digital humanities, and community-driven archiving have brought sharper political and ethical awareness to the field.

Public-facing work has gained legitimacy. Digital exhibits, podcasts, community archives, documentary projects, and interactive narratives are increasingly recognized as serious scholarly contributions, not just outreach or service. This matters enormously. It means that work aimed at public audiences—work that communicates, engages, and invites participation—can be central to a scholar’s intellectual life, not peripheral to it.

The institutional picture is mixed. Some DH centers have thrived; others have lost funding or been folded into libraries and IT units. The field continues to face structural challenges in higher education: tenure and promotion systems that undervalue digital work, precarious labor for the staff who build and maintain projects, and the ongoing difficulty of sustaining digital projects over time. None of these are solved. But the intellectual vitality of the field isn’t in question.

AI has changed the conversation. The emergence of large language models and generative AI has reshaped the landscape dramatically. Humanists are now grappling with questions about authorship, creativity, bias, and the nature of knowledge that have been core to their disciplines for centuries—but in a new and urgent register. At the same time, AI tools have lowered the barrier to technical work in ways that make digital humanities methods more accessible than ever. You no longer need to learn a programming language to do sophisticated text analysis or build a compelling interactive project. You need good questions and editorial judgment.

What Amaranth does differently

Much of digital humanities over the last two decades has explored tools and techniques to analyze materials at scale—text mining, topic modeling, network analysis. This important work pushed methodological boundaries and invited new questions across the humanities. But truly sharing humanities scholarship—how ideas take shape, how arguments find their form, how the work actually reaches people and whether it survives—has been a secondary concern.

Amaranth takes a different approach, one that reflects where the field has arrived—and where it needs to go.

Scholarship should reach people. The studio’s emphasis on public scholarship isn’t an add-on. It’s the starting point. The most powerful humanistic work doesn’t just produce knowledge—it communicates it. Amaranth supports faculty and students in building websites, digital exhibits, podcasts, oral history projects, and interactive narratives that bring research to wider audiences. The goal isn’t to simplify scholarship for public consumption. It’s to take communication as seriously as analysis.

Tools should serve questions, not the other way around. Amaranth provides access to equipment and training—3D printers, audio recording gear, large-format printing, VR headsets—but the studio isn’t organized around technology. It’s organized around what people are trying to do. A faculty member developing an oral history project gets support for the entire workflow: planning, recording, editing, archiving, and publishing. The technology is instrumental, not the point.

Course Integrations We know many faculty want students to engage with digital media and think outside the traditional academic essay. But how? We handle that question for instructors, setting up the appropriate kind of site or platformn for their course, training them on how to use it, providing instructions for students on exactly what to do, offering classroom visits and studio hours to provide technical support.

Digital humanities at UNM

UNM doesn’t have a formal digital humanities program or center, which makes Amaranth’s role both more important and more unusual. The studio functions as a hub for DH-adjacent work across departments—History, English, Art, Communication, and beyond—connecting people who might not otherwise know they’re working on related problems.

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Interested in what’s possible? Explore the studio or get in touch.