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For over a decade, I’ve had the privilege of writing for Inside Higher Ed.

What began in 2013 as a way to reflect on the rise of MOOCs soon evolved into something far more meaningful: a space to think aloud about the purpose of education, the vocation of teaching and the shifting soul of the academy.

Over more than 1,000 posts, this became more than a column. It became a conversation—sometimes urgent, sometimes contemplative—with readers who care deeply about what it means to teach, to learn and to search for truth in institutions increasingly beset by bureaucracy, politics and distraction.

Now, I’m stepping away from this space—not out of frustration, but to follow a different rhythm.

You’ll still find me writing—now on Substack, where all my posts remain free. And while I still follow the policy debates that dominate the headlines—about accreditation, academic freedom, student mental health and the politicization of higher ed—I find myself increasingly drawn to something else: the world of ideas, of culture, of inquiry.

Lately, I’ve been writing in a different key: about the history of emotions, the inner lives of the young, the aesthetic imagination and the quiet revolutions underway within scholarship itself. I’ve written about T. S. Eliot’s “Prufrock” as a portal into adulthood, the spiritual ambiguity in Bob Dylan’s music, the emergence of historical consciousness, the myths embedded in Disney and opera, and the enduring role of literature in helping us navigate grief, beauty, loss and moral ambiguity.

IHE’s strength lies in tracking the political front lines of higher education: campus protests, legislation, free speech debates and technological disruption. Those conversations are vital. But my own work has taken a different turn. I’ve become less interested in reacting to headlines and more interested in asking the deeper questions that scholarship helps us frame:

  • What does it mean to pursue truth when truth is contested?
  • What books and arguments are helping us rethink justice, power, identity and time?
  • What cultural forms—films, poems, performances—are quietly reshaping public consciousness?

If there is a single theme in my writing now, it is this: The humanities, the arts and the interpretive social sciences still carry quiet power. They remind us not only how to think but how to feel, to reflect and to endure. They remain one of the last places where we can confront complexity without rushing toward easy answers.

And if I have had any success in these explorations, it is in no small part thanks to others—above all, to Michael Rutter of MIT, my intellectual thought partner. Michael’s insights, provocations and generosity of spirit have been a constant source of inspiration. He has been a true comrade in arms—challenging, encouraging and sharpening my thinking in ways I can never adequately repay.

So this isn’t goodbye. It’s a turning of the page.

I’ll keep writing—sometimes about history, sometimes about higher ed, sometimes about what it means to be human in a culture that too often forgets. And I’ll keep trying to make the case that education—real education—is still worth defending.

To those who’ve read my work over the years: thank you. For your time. For your attention. For believing, as I do, that higher education can still be a site of wonder, transformation and truth-seeking.

I hope you’ll follow me over to Substack. Let’s keep the conversation going.

With gratitude,

Steven Mintz

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