Anti-intellectualism, ignorance, “the unacknowledged pit underlying American democracy”—”A quibble” well worth reading
Harper’s Magazine is far and away one of my favorite magazines today, and the “Notebook” essays in Harper’s rank as one of the many invaluable sections in the magazine.
Photo courtesy of Steve Rhodes, Flickr
A few recent gems that have appeared in the “Notebook” section: Lewis Lapham’s superb essay “Elegy for a rubber stamp” on the late Tim Russert; Garret Keizer’s “Requiem for the private word” on our deteriorating privacy rights; and Literary Editor Ben Metcalf’s essay “Why I Pay My Taxes.”
Add to that Harper’s contributing editor Mark Slouka’s recent “Notebook” piece, “A quibble,” that appears in the February 2009 issue.
In this newly arrived era in which irony is out and Obama-brand hope is in, it’s refreshing—and sobering—to read a essay such as Slouka’s reminding us of where we really stand in this country. Yes, a brilliant, eloquent, charismatic rhetorician and leader like Barack Obama won the presidency (though not by all that much); but let’s not forget who his main contenders were, namely, an astoundingly ignorant politician such as Alaska’s governor.
Go read “A quibble” as soon as you can. After the jump I’ve picked out a couple of choice selections as well. This is a must-read.
On ignorance:
What we need to talk about, what someone needs to talk about, particularly now, is our ever-deepening ignorance (of politics, of foreign languages, of history, of science, of current affairs, of pretty much everything) and not just our ignorance but our complacency in the face of it, our growing fondness for it. A generation ago the proof of our foolishness, held up to our faces, might still have elicited some redeeming twinge of shame—no longer. Today, across vast swaths of the republic, it amuses and comforts us. We’re deeply loyal to it. Ignorance gives us a sense of community; it confers citizenship; our representatives either share it or bow down to it or risk our wrath.
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Not only do we believe that opinion (our own) trumps expertise; we then go further and demand that expertise assume the position—demand, that is, that those with actual knowledge supplicate themselves to the Believers, who don’t need to know. The logic here, if that’s the term, seems to rest on the a priori conviction that belief and knowledge are separate and unequal. Belief is higher, nobler; it comes from the heart; it feels like truth. There’s a kind of Biblical grandeur to it, and as God’s chosen, we have an inherent right to it. Knowledge, on the other hand, is impersonal, easily manipulated, inherently suspect. Like the facts it’s based on, it’s slippery, insubstantial—not solid like the things you believe.
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On American politics:
In American politics, as in the cafeteria, the crowd sets the tone. It doesn’t know much, and if you want in, you’d better not either. Should you want out, of course, all you have to do is inadvertently let on—for example, by using the word “inadvertently”—that you’re a reasonably educated human being, and the deed is done.
