The essays in this issue point to possibilities. It is possible to bring new technologies, and more important still, new ways of thinking about the objects of humanities study, into our classrooms. In so doing, we will often find ourselves reinforcing the skills and strategies that are hallmarks of humanities education, especially in English. Teaching digital humanities means asking our students to exercise critical thinking both with and upon the technologies and media that have so quickly become part of our everyday lives. Sarah Ficke begins her discussion by highlighting the development of “fundamental reading and analytical skills” through an introduction to digital humanities work, and Amanda Gailey observes that in her class, from a pedagogical standpoint,“the computers are really incidental, and simply serve as an invitation to create research projects that ask students to think differently, discover, and create.” To the extent that digital humanities offers something both valuable and different to humanities teaching, however, it may do so most compellingly not in terms of possibilities but of limits, or rather, the odd mixture of gain and loss that digital technologies often present. I am thinking of such things as the capacity of digital humanities to expose limits in the process of trying to surpass them; the value of “breaking” technology in the effort to enact or improve it; and the foolishness of assuming that old, old problems can be fixed in a click, or vanquished via a string of code—an assumption, I must add, which is less characteristic of digital humanities practitioners than of those who critique the field from outside. The authors in this issue often indicate the ways in which digital humanities addresses or, more often exposes limits of our existing disciplinary methods and pedagogical tools—especially the texts that we teach and study. Wesley Raabe’s exposure of the “unruly” textuality of works “domesticated for literary anthologies” exemplifies the power of digital tools to reveal the limits of our existing pedagogical infrastructure: anthologies flatten literary works that exist in variant forms. Digital surrogates of manuscripts or multiple printed versions reanimate the messy histories of texts in the wild and allow students to grapple with their complexity. But digital text itself is, paradoxically, both a way to expand our understanding of texts and an often surprising reminder of the way that our technologies distance us from textual objects at the very moments that they seem to