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Interdisciplinary studies dilute, not enrich

By Larry Switzky

Except for "unexpected endowment check from the Taft family," few words get Yale administrators more excited than "interdisciplinary studies," as evidenced by the enthusiasm expressed recently by many of Yale's top dogs to make the University more academically unified. Many of Yale's upcoming tercentennial plans include conferences and lectures on how to bring the disciplines together into one big, happy family.

It's hard to disagree with such feel good eclecticism, especially with the practical value of a "liberal arts education" increasingly in question and many four-year colleges becoming little more than glorified trade schools. Yet at the same time, there is the sense that Yale is inadequately smoothing over social discord while sacrificing its credibility.

One of the problems may be that Yale doesn't really know what it wants. In an effort to appease groups that desire more diversity in their education, it has patched together ethnicity, race, and migration, a major with a Frankenstein's monster of courses from just about every department in the humanities. There is now serious debate over creating an urban studies major, and perhaps an Asian-American studies major as well. Yet, Yale also wants to break down the barriers between departments to form an überschool. Well, which is it—useful divisiveness or a melting pot?

The flavor of the month seems to be melting pot. The literature major led the charge into "applied diversity" two weeks ago when it announced that, as of the 2000-2001 school year, it would splinter off into three programs under one aegis: literature, comparative literature, and a new "interdisciplinary study of literature." The latter choice will allow students to study literature along with just about anything they want, from astronomy to forestry, provided that their intent is sufficiently "serious." This kind of thing used to be known as pursuing a double major. Now, you can get half the education and all the degree, nullifying the idea that a field of study involves gaining in-depth knowledge about anything at all. College is, apparently, little more than a pu-pu platter by way of Barnes and Noble.

The move towards radical interdisciplinary studies has, I am sure, the most noble of intentions, with the ultimate goal of broadening the horizons and applications of a Yale education. Professor Vilashini Cooppan, chairperson of the curriculum committee that recommended the reform, is also in charge of the World Literatures class, a two-semester survey of the interconnections between Western and non-Western writing. The class is a worthy step toward encouraging different ideas. The new major is not, mostly because it confuses progressivism with chaos. In an effort to embrace lots of different interests under one rubric, it risks diffusing a field of study into bits, and making an interdisciplinary utopia into an intellectual yard sale.

Despite its avowed altruism, part of the plan seems guided by a cynical consumerism. Supportive Yalies champion the new choices it offers them. The implicit argument seems to be that, since they are paying good money, they should be able to do as they like—Yale is a business and its students are clients. However, part of the meaning of any genuine education is the discipline and rigor it demands. There is a value to studying a subject in depth for a long time to learn specific information and methods. Otherwise, you might as well throw a Trivial Pursuit party and charge a $120,000 cover. If the humanities can't claim a certain degree of legitimacy, they lose credibility along with their ambient snobbery. Yale should respond to its students—it should not capitulate to them.

Perhaps the central reason for an established major, though, is that it forms a sense of community. Students within similar majors talk to each other about their subjects and their mutual experiences—and this is certainly as important as communication between different fields. Arguably, most learning takes place outside of the classroom; shared knowledge also means shared discussions, rather than countless disparate majors, each with their own agendas.

Before Yale adopts the simple stance that anything interdisciplinary must be good, it ought to consider the old maxim not to be so open-minded that its brains fall out. Increased awareness is desirable, but in order for each major to contribute to the great conflation of minds in Yale's future, it actually needs to have something to say.

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