Jessai Flores

“So what’s your major?” we’ve all heard. 

After sharing my plans, I’m often told: “What are you going to do with that?”

It seems like a harmless question, but to an annually decreasing population of students, it remains a very grave offense — not actually, but still. 

Many humanities students at Yale may very well know what they plan to do after their New Haven reverie expires at the end of four years. Congrats! I will tell you now, unabashedly and with a sense of likely misguided confidence, I have no idea what I will do with that — my humanities degree. 

Assuming I graduate, I anticipate earning a bachelor’s degree in one or more subjects — though that may be the famous last words of a not-yet disillusioned first-year — such as history, history of art, archaeological studies or classical civilization. I’m not sure yet, but that isn’t my point. 

I swear to you that an interest in antiquity is not a backdoor into McKinsey or a slingshot into Wall Street. It can help, maybe, but if you ask a humanities major, I would wager they are not in it for the prestige or the thought of a career. Therein lies the essential issue: the humanities die when we regard Yale as solely an intermediary before corporate purgatory. 

We are not here for a long time. Can it feel like we are? Sure. But no, it’s not a long time at all. It’s natural to be cognizant of what lies at the end of the eight-semester road. However, at what point do we risk losing sight of our personal interests to hedge our bets against a competitive job market? 

In a recent argument on our favorite endemic app, Fizz, another nuanced argument ensued between the coalition of STEM and humanities students. While it is unusual for the app to contribute to meaningful dialogue, one user highlighted the lack of lucrative job prospects for humanities majors after graduation through the caption “POV: humanities majors after they graduate” above an image of a fast-food chain. To this, another user recalled Yale’s reputation as a primarily humanities-focused university; Yale’s first science class, chemistry, was not introduced into the curriculum until a hundred years after its founding. 

In more recent years, the share of humanities students has declined precipitously. In a recent survey of the last few decades of graduating classes, it was discovered that the percentage of seniors with humanities degrees fell by about 50 percent in the last 20 years. The decline and fall of the humanities empire may well be studied in recent decades by a minimized department, but for some, we plan on living through its abandonment to the fullest.

I have personally witnessed the destruction. Upon entering the academic fair, I was surprised to learn that only two other students were majoring in archaeological studies — shoutout to you two. Perhaps the Indiana Jones reboot lacked its proper potency. Either way, the department continues to offer engaging courses every semester while remaining open to students pursuing opportunities for fieldwork experience.

If the prospect of an essay or required reading has never appealed to you like the luster of a problem set, I get it — people are wired in different ways. I salute you on your pre-med journey or whatever you do on Science Hill. For many, though, I suspect, perhaps as a result of external or internal pressures, they abandon the humanities for a more “pragmatic” degree. I urge you to reconsider. 

The recent academic paradigm exalts a student of STEM. I understand it. Where would we be without science? However, the argument of overall utility to society is old and overtired — STEM and humanities are both needed. It’s been well established that one cannot live without the other, and vice versa. 

The complementary utility of both disciplines, however, is beginning to be misunderstood. Take Yale’s recent announcement of investment into STEM and engineering facilities. Are we self-conscious of our reputation for the humanities? No wonder we are witnessing an academic STEM invasion and the ultimate sack of the humanities. 

In the unlikely event you are consulting my article for career and academic advice, take another second before abandoning your personal interest in English, art or whatever it might be. With the proverbial scientific barbarians — sorry — at the gates, do not lose faith in what would otherwise be your perfunctory humanities or writing credit. Like most people, we will work for most of our adult lives; I am in no hurry to begin a career when there is so much else to do here in only four years.