As I come to the end of this exploration of archivists through the lens of saints and gods, I find myself reflecting on the connections between the figures examined on this site and those reading about them. Whether you’re an archivist, someone who loves one, or someone just beginning to explore the field, the stories of Janus, Saint Lawrence, Saint Jerome, and Mnemosyne are a testament to the complex, nuanced, and deeply human nature of archival work. Each figure illuminates a different facet of what it means to be an archivist: the gatekeeping of Janus, the courage, discernment, and comedy of Saint Lawrence, the scholarly rigor of Saint Jerome, and the creative memory of Mnemosyne.
Archivists are, in essence, bridge-builders. They connect the past to the present, ensuring that the stories of those who came before us can continue to inform, inspire, and challenge us. But this work is not always straightforward. The work of archivists can be messy, as they tackle the hard questions that complicate our lives. There’s no single roadmap that tells you which records will matter most in 50 years or how to perfectly balance preservation with accessibility. What we do have is a community of people who are curious, persistent, and dedicated to making sure that nothing—and no one—gets lost in the shuffle.
If you’re someone who knows an archivist, this guide might have pulled back the curtain a little. Archivists aren’t just filing papers in dusty basements (though some basements are involved). They’re negotiating with donors, collaborating with researchers, troubleshooting failing hard drives, and, sometimes, fighting to make sure that records from marginalized communities are preserved with the respect they deserve. It’s not glamorous work most of the time, but it’s meaningful. It’s also work that grows out of a love of people and their stories, a desire to ensure that everyone has a chance to find themselves in the records created around them.
If you’re an archivist just starting out, it’s okay to feel overwhelmed ( I am also saying this to myself). This field is vast and sometimes intimidating, full of technical jargon and theoretical debates that can make you question where you fit in. But here’s the thing: the fact that you care enough to be here is a good sign that you belong. Saint Jerome didn’t create the Vulgate in a day. Like the figures we’ve discussed, you’ll find your place over time, whether that’s digitizing photographs in a community archive, preserving rare manuscripts in a university library, or managing the metadata for a digital media collection.
For those considering the archival profession, know that it’s a field as diverse as the records it preserves. It’s a place for people who love details and those who love big-picture thinking. It’s a place for scholars, creatives, and advocates. It’s a field where you can find meaning in the smallest scraps of paper or the largest datasets, knowing that each piece has the potential to connect someone with a story they didn’t know they needed.
At its heart, this guide isn’t just about archivists; it’s about the potential for memory and meaning. Archives are more than the records they contain; they’re reflections of who we are and what we value. The work of an archivist is to honor that, to make sure the voices of the past aren’t drowned out by the noise of the present. It’s work that requires patience, passion, and a willingness to embrace complexity, and it’s work that has the power to transform how we see ourselves and each other.
As you’ve read through this site, I hope you’ve felt a little of that transformation too. Whether you came here as a curious outsider or as someone seeking their place in the archival world, I hope these stories—of gods, saints, and archivists—have offered you a sense of connection and possibility. This site may not have given us a concise answer, but I hope you have found the answer you were looking for. But then, as an future archivst, that's always my hope. I hope we all find what we are looking for.
