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　　In the past few years， I’ve taught nonfiction writing to undergraduates and graduate students at Harvard， Yale， and Columbia’s Graduate School of Journalism. Each semester I hope， and fear， that I will have nothing to teach my students because they already know how to write. And each semester I discover， again， that they don’t.　　The teaching of the humanities has fallen on hard times. So says a new report on the state of the humanities by the American Academy of Arts and Sciences， and so says the experience of nearly everyone who teaches at a college or university. Undergraduates will tell you that they’re under pressure — from their parents， from the burden of debt they incur， from society at large — to choose majors they believe will lead as directly as possible to good jobs. Too often， that means skipping the humanities.　　In other words， there is a new and narrowing vocational emphasis in the way students and their parents think about what to study in college.There is a certain literal-mindedness in the recent shift away from the humanities. It suggests a number of things.　　One， the rush to make education pay off presupposes that only the most immediately applicable skills are worth acquiring. Two， the humanities often do a bad job of explaining why the humanities matter. And three， the humanities often do a bad job of teaching the humanities.　　What many undergraduates do not know — and what so many of their professors have been unable to tell them — is how valuable the most fundamental gift of the humanities will turn out to be. That gift is clear thinking， clear writing and a lifelong engagement with literature.　　Writing well used to be a fundamental principle of the humanities， as essential as the knowledge of mathematics and statistics in the sciences. But writing well isn’t merely a utilitarian skill. It is about developing a rational grace and energy in your conversation with the world around you.