Dissense

I write this inaugural essay in dissent and concurrence (a fitting posture for the recovering comparativist) with Felix York’s critique of a central “incongruity” in modern academia. Laying out this incongruity, Mr. York writes, “A field like English literature or intellectual history will, by its very nature, rely on original texts. At the same time, the hard sciences will eschew obsolete theories and antiquated historical sources. But what of philosophy, political theory, psychology, social theory, and the host of other disciplines that lie in between?” The answer (to a question notably disconnected from the supposed dichotomy), York writes, “is that to the extent they purport to seek ‘truth,’ even if only to disparage the idea, they should emphasize contemporary works and de-emphasize historical ones. ”

I emphasize the disconnect between the descriptive statements Mr. York uses to set up this “incongruity” and his “answer” to turn his argument on itself and thereby to examine a more pressing incongruity, or rather illness, within the modern academy. Mr. York presents two claims: 1) that fields like literature or intellectual history will naturally rely on original texts and 2) that “the hard sciences” will eschew obsolete theories and antiquated historical sources. These claims are set against one another as the poles of an academic dilemma, the two extremes of which, it is supposed, that the “fields in between” must choose. It is to this choice that Mr. York speaks with his answer: If we purport to seek truth (presumably within these “in-between” disciplines), we should emphasize contemporary works and de-emphasize historical ones. First, I challenge Mr. York’s initial claims. Second, I suggest that the qualification of his answer (“to the extent they purport to seek ‘truth’”) indicates a fundamental oversimplification of the project of the academy itself.

As to the first point, Mr. York begins by presenting the case of two professors, one of physics the other of metaphysics. The professor of physics, if he were to assign Aristotle, would be a “laughingstock” whereas the same assignment, if made by the professor of metaphysics, would be “typical.” (I would say such an assignment would not be typical but rather laudable but I digress.) The difference between these two, the reader is meant to infer, is in the nature of the two professors’ respective disciplines. I would dig deeper here, however, and question whether Mr. York’s reductio is indeed sound. If the physics professor, charged with fostering and demonstrating the inquisitive mind so central to that discipline, were to assign Aristotle’s Physics to her students as a case study of the scientific method at work, she would surely only be a “laughingstock” to those members of her faculty or student body who could not see past the antiquity of the text to the quality of its content. Book 1, Part 1 of the Physics states, “When the objects of an inquiry, in any department, have principles, conditions, or elements, it is through acquaintance with these that knowledge, that is to say scientific knowledge, is attained.” Has the modern study of Physics, with its search for ever more basic principles, particles and patterns, progressed beyond this formula in its path to “scientific knowledge”?

As to the second point, I take Mr. York’s argument to be misdirected but sound. Mr. York’s argument is misdirected in that it states that it is on the basis of the search for “truth” that texts such as the Physics should be de-emphasized. As is often the case, the use of a universal term (“truth”) here masks a dangerous oversimplification. In academic investigation, we strive for two useful goals (among others): the right answers and the right questions. The sign of a good academic is the ability to generate the right answers. The sign of a great thinker is the ability to generate the right questions. Yes, there are parts of ancient texts such as the Physics that should not be relied upon today. Aristotle’s descriptions of earthquakes being caused by underground winds should not be consulted by seismologists today. It is not, however, passages such as these that make classic texts such as this valuable today. Rather it is the questions he and other ancient thinkers pose, questions that plague us today, that justify these texts’ inclusion in the best Physics and Metaphysics courses today.

Mr. York’s argument is sound (begin my concurrence) in that it is precisely the sort of hollow, jargon-filled historicism he cites in his absurdist dialogues that makes many academics “laughingstocks” in the eyes of the public, the student body, and we members of the academy itself. Mr. York is correct. The modern academic’s penchant for “lionizing historical thinkers” is dangerous. And the blind citation of these thinkers’ ideas is bad reasoning and does indeed “squelch[] discourse”. (Though I think “because Will to Power/ressentiment/uebermensch” may be my new universal justification.)

At the heart of this problem is not, however, the historicism that Mr. York decries. It is instead the intellectual laziness that both Nietzsche and Derrida decried. I don’t dispute that “one need not even read Rawls to glean value from Nozick.” The latter’s libertarian framework is, indeed, an accomplishment in itself. Need one read Rawls (or Locke) to understand the strange irony of Nozick’s reliance on the Lockean Proviso to account for the reality of limited resources? Probably. Would a grad student’s arguments, if they relied on the buzzwords generated by Nozick, Derrida or Aristotle’s works rather than on an understanding of their work be laughably obtuse and counterproductive in academic conversation? Definitely.

Historicism is helpful. Placing authors in conversation with each other, with the each author’s lines of dialogue in historical order, can be useful for understanding the values, the context, the presuppositions and the fashions that are present in each text. The lionization of authors and the canonization of texts is not necessarily bad. The most prolific and influential of these authors or texts may warrant this treatment. It is when we forego critical engagement for memorization, when we forget that these authors were creatures of their time and begin to commit the “history-worship” decried by Mr. York that we become “laughingstock[s]“.

Mr. York may be correct. Many of the authors, texts, and indeed sections of texts that have previously been considered canonical may be cut from today’s curriculum. Whether it is because of a multiplication of canons, the increased demand for “useful” instruction or a robust set of contemporary examples, these texts may no longer be necessary for one to be a productive and conversant member of society. But let us not fall prey to the converse of Mr. York’s “history-worship”. The works of contemporary philosophers and political scientists are not necessarily superior based merely on their modernity. Although some texts must be sacrificed in the necessary abridgment that is a liberal arts education (or a human life) due to time and space constraints, let’s not toss out the baby because we don’t like reading the antiquated bathwater.