Choosing a Concentration? Consider the Joint.

The cultural and curricular battle between STEM and humanities concentrators is an eternal one, long debated in Crimson columns, dormitories, and Harvard Yard.

In less than one month, sophomores will enter the fray and declare their own concentrations. With the rise of all things cross- and interdisciplinary, some may be feeling torn between two subjects. So, here is my advice to those stuck between two disciplines: Synthesize them and choose the joint.

At Harvard, the impetus for a joint concentration model — which blends two concentrations under one thesis advised by both departments and comprises fewer requirements than a double concentration — dates back to at least 1960, when The Crimson reported on the birth of a joint Economics and Government tutorial.

Despite its lasting presence, the joint has receded in popularity. In the Class of 2027 survey, 12.3 percent of respondents had their eyes set on a joint, whereas 19.6 percent planned on pursuing a double, which was implemented in 2022 and does not require a chimeric thesis.

So why should we return to the joint when it has now been eclipsed by the double? In my experience as a joint concentrator, I have come to see this offering as both a figurative and literal bridge between otherwise siloed disciplines

As recently pointed out to me by a professor of mine, the STEM and humanities subjects are geographically separated, inhabiting completely opposite ends of campus. The life sciences are confined to the north part of campus, above Harvard Yard. Most humanities departments reside in or near the Yard itself, and the two main social sciences buildings — Littauer Center and William James Hall — sit in the middle ground keeping the peace.

What a joint— as opposed to a double — concentration does is connect two disciplines. By having faculty from both departments advise and then read joint theses, the joint concentration forces each discipline to recognize how the adjoining field is contributing to a broader question.

A joint concentration between the natural sciences and humanities, for example, trains the invaluable skill of science communication, which is badly needed in an age where skepticism towards the scientific enterprise is ubiquitous. Rather than tailoring topics in the humanities to STEM students (e.g., the medical humanities) or vice versa, a joint concentration promises not only rigorous training in two separate disciplines but also their integration into a unique scholarly contribution. And because this thesis must be understood by faculty from both departments, joint concentrations must hone the skill of distilling both scientific and humanities thought into a coherent capstone.

Now, what if you want to pursue two different academic interests, but still aren’t convinced that a joint, rather than a double, is the preferred route? What the double offers in flexibility — the two concentrations can be completely unrelated — it sacrifices in course space, sometimes requiring more than 20 courses. Furthermore, a joint concentration offers students an opportunity to construct a personal plan of study shaped across departments, whereas a double lacks a throughline and thus can feel like living in two divorced worlds.

Yet it would be remiss of me to not note the pitfalls of the joint concentration. Students and faculty have complained about unnecessary paperwork, forced interdisciplinarity, and lack of infrastructure and guidance from the College.

Some even hold a deep disdain for the joint. I recall one time where a faculty member of the life sciences came up to me and naturally asked what I was studying. As soon as the “J” word escaped my lips, they proclaimed that a joint concentration is a ridiculous idea because it is simply too hard for students to mesh fields at the undergraduate level. Perhaps because of this concern, some departments (e.g., Psychology, Economics, and Integrative Biology) do not offer joint concentrations.

Although there is a certain truth to these worries – I’m still unsure how to combine Descartes and dendrites in my own thesis — the challenge is one worth embracing. Even if it may take a lot of walking — or biking.

Theo W. Tobel ’27, a Crimson Editorial editor, is a joint concentrator in Philosophy and Neuroscience concentrator in Dunster House.