As Yale students brace themselves for yet another beloved period of class registration, the unavoidable topic of fulfilling distributional requirements returns. Sophomores who haven’t already completed at least one Science credit see themselves browsing topics such as “Primate Diversity and Evolution,” “Geoarchaeology,” and “Galaxies and the Universe.” The vast array of possible subjects is seen by some as intellectually stimulating; for others, it’s overwhelming. However you view it, there is widespread distress when it comes to making sure one fulfills the required credits to graduate.
I’ve heard friends repeatedly complain about Yale’s distributional requirements. I have wondered whether they get in the way of students fully pursuing their interests. Why would an applied mathematics major enroll in a theater class? For what reason would a comparative literature student wish to develop their knowledge on reptiles’ reproductive lives? It seems that such divergent subjects would not serve students within their planned academic and professional journeys. But upon reflection, I realized that our curriculum is ultimately doing us more favors than we think.
When they enter Yale, many students are still uncertain about what their passions are. Even among undergraduates with declared majors, there remains a lingering doubt. Distributional requirements can either guide indecisive students in their academic journey, or can serve as an opportunity for the decisive ones to discover alternative paths in their years here.
The people who often criticize distributional requirements tend to be the most confident in their future. They have a four-year plan laid out, with classes organized on spreedsheets, and they hold strong expectations about their professional route. Even though students often choose their majors based on career goals, college expertise doesn’t define where students will end up and it certainly does not prevent life’s unexpected twists and turns. Requirements can thus serve as a safety net for its undergraduates, allowing students to foster a wide range of skills that will be applicable in whatever field they end up pursuing.
With the rise of generative artificial intelligence, it’s worth considering which jobs will resist the test of time and automation. In this context, a well-rounded, generalist education makes itself increasingly valuable. Faced with uncertainty and transformations in numerous industries, incoming employees should ideally be knowledgeable about a given subject, and also hold a comprehensive understanding of other topics. It’s not a coincidence that “interdisciplinarity” is trending in academic institutions. Yale has been dedicating resources to programs such as Cognitive Science and Global Affairs, fields at the forefront of innovation that cluster together various disciplines.
Beyond this utilitarian perspective, distributional requirements serve to make the college experience not so career-focused. They encourage exploration, reducing the need to concentrate on particular facts, and they highlight the importance of learning how to think more broadly. Students who delve into distinct subjects are more likely to cultivate a holistic interpretation of reality while being forced out of their comfort zones, which is key for personal development as well.
An undergraduate dedicated to applied mathematics would probably not decide to become an actor overnight. Granted, it is also improbable that a comparative literature major may end up working in a reptile refuge. But even if they don’t shift from their major’s typical career paths, it is likely that the first will project their voice before an amazed audience, and the latter will be able to write eloquently about how the embryos of bearded dragons can change sex depending on their incubation temperatures. After all, isn’t this the ultimate purpose of a liberal arts education? To shape interesting, multi-faceted individuals?
In our four years at Yale, we are pushed to expand our horizons, become adaptable, and prepare ourselves for an unpredictable and ever-changing world. Thus, we can overcome our temporary annoyance with choosing classes that fit distributional requirements. Who knows what we will learn? That’s for us to find out.
LAURA WAGNER is a sophomore in Benjamin Franklin College. Contact her at laura.wagner@yale.edu.