Stephen Turner calls some ideas good bad theories. They do little to explain the world and much to hold a group together. A good bad theory coordinates hiring, teaching, grants, and self-image. It tells the members who belongs and what to say. It earns its keep as social technology, not as an account of reality.
The Harvard English department and its sister concentration, History and Literature, run on a set of these. The emphases come from the current faculty and from a tutorial-driven, cross-field tradition. Glenda Carpio works on New World slavery and African-American and Caribbean writing. Homi Bhabha (b. 1949) anchors the postcolonial wing. Jesse McCarthy carries Black studies. New Historicist and affinity-group courses fill the catalog. Each belief below does good work for the coalition in a crowded elite humanities market. As an explanation of literature or culture, each does poor work. Here are ten.
Literature’s highest purpose is political subversion and the exposure of power and identity hierarchies.
This turns every seminar into a moral test. It justifies affinity-group courses over chronological surveys, the shape of the 2009 curriculum shift, and it lets faculty signal virtue while setting aside aesthetic judgment. It explains little about why some texts hold readers across centuries and cultures.
Expanding the canon by identity and geography carries no cost.
The post-2009 clusters, “Arrivals,” “Migrations,” and “Poets,” build this into the structure. It feeds hiring pipelines for identity specialists and meets student demand, and it answers the charge of elitism. It skips the question of trade-offs in coverage and depth.
Postcolonial, queer, and intersectional theory are the most rigorous tools available.
Bhabha’s orbit and graduate climate surveys that ask for more queer and anti-racist training make this close to doctrine. It coordinates citations, conference panels, and job letters. It reads modern categories back onto pre-modern texts with no falsifiable standard.
Interdisciplinary work stands above narrow literary study.
History and Literature, the oldest concentration, runs on its tutorial system and thrives on this claim. It flatters the Harvard brand and lets context swallow close reading. Nobody tests whether it explains more than old formalism did.
Cultural-studies contextualization reveals the real, ideological meaning of a text.
This rules both departments. It generates a steady supply of publishable interventions and dissertation topics. It ties every poem to empire, slavery, or sexuality even where the evidence runs thin.
Harvard’s standing obliges it to lead the charge against the Western canon and Eurocentrism.
This reconciles great institutional privilege with an activist self-image. It steers resources toward global and identity fields while the job-market value of its degrees rests on the prestige it attacks.
Workshops and student-centered tutorials serve artistic excellence and social-justice consciousness in equal measure.
The English site promotes this. It draws tuition-paying undergraduates and donors and markets the department as both high art and progressive politics. It rarely asks where the two goals collide.
The humanities crisis yields to greater relevance to current social movements.
Recent events, courses on monsters and on AI read through identity, and graduate surveys all echo this. It keeps enrollments and foundation grants flowing and steps around harder questions about philological skill and public readership.
Difficult prose and narrow specialization mark sophistication rather than a failure to communicate.
Bhabha-style writing and subfield fragmentation, both noted in the 2021 Arts and Humanities climate survey, live here. This guards the gate and the status order among the small number of readers who follow it, and it lets outside criticism be filed as anti-intellectual.
Internal trouble calls for more diversity and equity work rather than changes to method or curriculum.
Graduate alienation, thin community, and a brutal job market all press on the department. The climate survey’s recommendations, mandatory anti-racism training and more identity hiring, channel that discontent into coalition-preserving activity. They let the department avoid asking whether its theories explain anything or only confer status.
The combination is symbolic capital, low empirical accountability, and a post-2009 curriculum built around themes and identities rather than periods and authors. None of this is a conspiracy. These beliefs are the operating system that lets the department hire, tenure, teach, and raise money while holding its name as the place where literature counts for most. As social technology they work. As theories about literature or culture they explain little.
