Many majors are put into classification schemes that limit the options of academic interest. There is often a dichotomy between the average humanities major and the average science major. Yes, clear distinctions tend to help with categorization, but defining majors by either being in the humanities or sciences is fallacious.

The Oxford English Dictionary defines “humanity,” in reference to the academic field, to be “the branch of learning concerned with human culture.” But shouldn’t this definition apply to all majors, then? In chemistry and physics, aren’t we simply studying the effects of humanity and how to better our species and interact with other species? I think that the distinction between humanities and sciences is a bit misleading because it assumes the field of science does not deal with humanity, when in reality science and certain fields of study are all about humanity.

The deciding factor in the debate of whether or not to major in humanities is money. People are generally steered away from majoring in the nonsciences with the justification being that humanities majors do not make as much money as science majors do. But is money really the true matter at hand? I think that worrying about a future salary while still in college is stressful, not to mention extremely petty. Money talk simply fuels the capitalist society in which we live. Before prematurely taking money into account, I find it valuable to reexamine why one pursues an academic career.

Do we go to school to get a better salary or to gain insight as to how we fit into society? Although the former is true, the latter exemplifies the bottom line: Society has normalized higher education. In high school, it feels like the next logical step to reaching adulthood is to enroll in a college of some sort. If we are expected to attain higher education, then we should have the freedom and support to explore different academic fields and focus on whichever pertains to us most. And I also think that it is healthy to leave the postcollege worrying until postcollege, regardless of finances and jobs.

In comparison to a science major, the average humanities major is faced with high unemployment rates and lower average wages. Although this is definitely something to take into account, having motivation will play a stronger role in changing such statistics. Our generation is typically pressured to go into supposedly successful fields such as medicine, law and scientific research — perhaps this will change in five to 10 years, because there might be an abundance of doctors and lawyers vying for the same jobs. Be motivated, and have a passion for what you study and enjoy doing, for young passion and eagerness will help you in the future.

So do all humanities majors go on to become professors in their fields? Definitely not. But many undergraduates in the nonsciences tend to enjoy their field so much that they seek a doctorate in the subject. People have admitted to me their fear of an overpopulation of people with doctorates in the humanities and not enough demand for them. While graduate school is a viable option for students in the humanities, don’t feel limited to a postsecondary education. But if you do find yourself seeking to continue onto a graduate program, the investment can be justified if you have an immense passion for the subject. If you want to go to graduate school for the humanities, do so if the fiery passion is there.

Am I worried about my future? Yes, but who isn’t? Before worrying about post-college, worry about college. I am trying to make the most of my time here at UC Berkeley and enjoy the humanities path. By exploring my academic interests in interdisciplinary fields, I have had the opportunity to further my knowledge of how society functions, and that is something I find invaluable to all “humanities” majors.

We, as college students, have the privilege to explore and choose our futures. Don’t feel obligated to classify yourself in the humanities or sciences binary. Challenge normative and capitalist ideals of the future — your future.

Contact Matthew Kirschenbaum at mkirschenbaum@dailycal.org or follow him on Twitter: @mpkirschenbaum.

The post Off the beat: Confessions of a humanities major appeared first on The Daily Californian.

See, Southside is the place I can live my bleary-­eyed Woodstock pilgrimage of hippie lore in peace and harmony and total disquiet.

It is the place where a 300­‐pound man with flowing black hair and a medium T‐shirt waits for sorority girls to pass so that he can growl loudly and then laugh.

And I get to sit against a wall covered in graffiti with red eyes (damn the allergies) and giggle to my heart’s content … and I like that.

I like Southside because there is a certain culture and promise to the place.

It’s a place flooded with seeds of the ’60s, which somehow sprouted and grew into the dystopian scene that Northsiders believe it to be.

But they are wrong. They are wrong with their scarves and Moleskines and clean white cups filled piping-hot with thick espresso crack.

They are wrong because munching on Blondie’s at 1 a.m. with your best friend after being attacked by a high girl who is friends with lots of drunk heroes is somehow infinitely more exciting than green tea strolls along moonlit rose garden paths.

Some say Southside is dirty.

I say that its smells and textures and shadows become something like home, no matter how bad they may sting your nose — something like your mom’s famous sauerkraut anchovies chilled onion soup, or your dad’s armpit in your face while you wrestle on the lawn.

Clean isn’t always better, and Northside doesn’t get that.

There is a place for trees filtering soft light through quaint cafe windows, but there also is a place for a man named Fidel who’s only got three teeth and who’s charmed because at least one person now knows his name.

And I know “It’s not safe”; my girlfriend has briefed me well.

But for the idealist with a hippie streak and an appreciation for the wisdom that springs from plight, Southside has its offerings, too.

Telegraph is hung across from campus like a dare, as if to shout, “Fix this and you shall learn the key to fixing the rest.”

On any given stroll, I can live a different me, sensitive more to this sight than that, aware of my place in a different sort of picture.

My education as a humanities man is packed tightly with tales of woe; I am nicely attuned to it. I am forced to read the likes of Hemingway and Eliot and Fitzgerald and Poe. I am also forced to read books about prison rape and incest and murder and hate.

But Southside is part of what makes the experience of Berkeley — well, the experience of Berkeley for engineers and math kids like my first roommate, Jin.

Southside is a reminder that there are inequities and realities that will continue to exist alongside that first paycheck earned after four hard book-learning years.

It’s a reminder that pain doesn’t only exist in that village in the Congo you saw in that video in that international justice seminar that one semester before you got that totally awesome Fair Trade Organic-grown. Like, to help the farmers, man.

It’s a reminder even to all of the academics in the pristine Northside cafes that their lofty theories need somewhere be applied.

But it’s also a place of hope and light, and it somehow promises peace.
Not because people go prancing down the street or hold each other’s hands while they sing.

I mean, that does happen quite a lot.

But it is also a place of hope because there are small evidences everywhere of a breathing, living optimism.

I know it’s hard to believe in it anymore.

Charities don’t actually use their money to help anyone, politicians care about policy more than their people and pundits care more about the color of skin than unity and recovery.

But students do leave their leftovers on top of trashcans, and we do leave our slightly longer cigarette butts sitting politely on window ledges and walls.

And every now and then, I do see the kind girl from the Christian club kneeling solemnly next to a homeless man who I know is a scammer, and yes, that does hurt.

But Berkeley is a light, right? I know that’s why I came here.

So I’m proud to say that I am of Southside claim and that when I look back on Berkeley, I won’t remember comfort or warmth or safety.

I’ll remember that Southside taught me to love uncertainty, because hell, ideas are more dangerous than any man named Fidel.

Contact D.J. Sellarole at dsellarole@dailycal.org.

The post Ode to Southside appeared first on The Daily Californian.

It’s at these moments that I picture myself after I’ve graduated from college and grad school and hung my B.A. and my Ph.D. up on the wall, out at a restaurant or on a plane or walking along the street, and hearing that cry — “Is there a doctor here?” “Yes!” I’ll proudly announce. “I am a doctor — of theater and English!”

While I could perhaps calm the victim down using some lighthearted improvisation games (“just pretend you’re not injured”) or by reciting some soothing poetry, my arts education has not equipped me with the ability to be of any practical use whatsoever in an emergency situation. My mother knows how to save lives, and I do not. This stark reality can sometimes make me feel like what I am learning in college is pretty irrelevant. “How will you ever help people and save the world with a degree in theater and English?” my inner voice inquires. Please shut up, inner voice.

Then I remember that I may not be a lifesaver, but I am an excellent slow-motion runner. I have actually taken a slow-motion running class. We had a slow-motion race at the end — the person who finished last was deemed the winner. Over the course of my studies, I’ve also read lots of poetry and novels and watched some movies and stuff. I have become quite proficient in yoga, written countless essays about dead writers and spent an unreasonably large amount of time lying on the floor with my shoes off, just breathing.

As I lie there, sometimes I wonder what I would be doing at that very moment if I had chosen to study medicine or law or business or engineering.

“Don’t you ever fear that you are destined for a life of poverty?” There goes the inner voice again. Whenever I converse with responsible, employed, tax-paying adults, they ask me, in a roundabout way, that very question: “You’re studying English?” I smile in the awkward pause and brace myself for what inevitably comes next. “Are there many jobs in … English?” “You’re majoring in theater? Oh, how … fun for you!” or my absolute favorite — “Well, you must want to be a teacher.”

I don’t want to be a teacher, actually. There is absolutely nothing wrong with wanting to be a teacher, but I resent the assumption that studying the arts commits you to a life of teaching the arts to students who will then be qualified to do nothing but teach the arts and perpetuate a never-ending cycle. The ironic thing is that an arts and humanities undergraduate degree by itself actually does not even fully qualify you to be a teacher.

In fact, an arts and humanities degree fully qualifies you for absolutely nothing. It makes you an educated and well-read person, perfectly suited for a highly paid job at the Institute of Educated and Well-Read People. The only problem is, I hear it’s pretty difficult to get jobs there because they receive so many qualified applicants.

However, you can also go on to do absolutely anything you want with an arts degree, if you set your mind to it. Instead of a clearly marked path unfolding in front of you, many doors are swinging wide open when you graduate. You could join the circus, or become a lumberjack. You could even go into academia and eventually become a teacher — I bet you never knew that was an option. You need to possess a potentially deluded optimistic mindset, along with a healthy dose of crazy, to study the arts. If you are a doctor or lawyer or dentist or engineer, you are virtually guaranteed to make a relatively profitable living.

But if you are an arts graduate, you will more than likely have to fight tooth and nail to secure an unpaid internship working in the field you have been training in for four years.

All arts and humanities students know that, in the long run, they have chosen the harder path to a stable career. But they don’t care, because most arts and humanities students could not imagine studying anything else.

I sometimes worry that while other people learn to make lifesaving drugs or life-changing decisions, I learn to run in slow motion. Are there any jobs in that? I don’t think so. But right now, I don’t care. I think I’d like to go to grad school anyway.

The post Running in slow motion appeared first on The Daily Californian.