THE INTELLECTUAL & THE CAN OPENER

As nearly as I can tell, the word “intellectual” means several different things. To some it’s people who think a lot, but doesn’t include any information as to what they think about. To others it’s a matter of certification: documents declaring that according to the standards of an institution, one qualifies as, say, a Doctor of Philosophy (Ph.D.). Of course, those who “know” will value one institution over another, so a Ph.D. from Harvard means one thing, the same degree from a state university (it matters which one and what field) means another, and one that you get through the Internet means nothing at all.

Another person might think that an intellectual is a person who doesn’t have to work with a shovel or hammer. In short, a white collar worker, especially management, of high status.

In my own family on my father’s side, “intellectual” means knowing a lot of stuff, like facts and history. We didn’t think about math much, though my mother always enjoyed it -- except that most people would have said she was doing arithmetic rather than math, meaning that she wasn’t doing theory or even high-level quantification. I’ve always suspected that my family’s “third rail,” which consisted of so many uncles from the same sibs that their parents became sort of adjunct grandparents, cared about math only in terms of calculating profit on the back of an envelope. To most of them intellectual means lazy.

And also probably broke. They do not associate post-grad-level thinking with financial success unless it’s in some practical field that will yield profit. Nevertheless, one of the third generation descendants is well on his way up the physics research hierarchy and doesn’t seem to be starving.

Until recently I’ve never really found an account of the way I have experienced my effort to be an “intellectual” in some sense until I came to Richard Rodriguez’ memoir about his own experience, “Hunger of Memory, The Education of Richard Rodriguez.” For him it was an assimilation into a new community, and he speaks of the joy of that, but also about the loss of the old community because that is, in fact, what happens.

In Rodriguez’ case the loss/gain equation is made more obvious because he was Mexican American, going from one language to another; he was gay, going from private to public; and he was local, going to global. Many of his issues came down to a loss of childhood family intimacy over to adult negotiated intimacy. He does not give up intimacy, nor does he stop valuing intimacy.

Some people will claim that intellectuals hide in books because they cannot deal with people or participate in society, but this is not the case for Rodriguez. It is that books take him to a place only the privileged can visit. Those without that privilege will speak of people who are “smart” -- absent-minded professors -- and soon redefine them as “arrogant” and “thinking they’re better than other people.” This is very hard on minority people, who are expected to stay with the group, reinforce solidarity. But even a run-of-the-mill white girl can tussle with this. I’ve lost friends.

Privilege is the problem. Especially when it is not buttressed with money, which people understand. When I try to explain to friends and relatives what it means to have learned a way to access a specialized realm, a way that takes years of work “in one’s head,” they get angry. When Hannah Gray (president of the University of Chicago) said to us, “I welcome you to the company of scholars!” that meant nothing -- or something mystical, which is about the same thing -- to anyone who had not earned entrance.

Anyway, it wasn’t a guarantee: only a hunting license. You have to keep working to keep up with new evidence, other people’s ideas, and the organization of one’s own work: “contributing.” And it is not free of prejudice from inside: women, dark people, gays, any other identifiers, or any non-conforming lines of thought can block “contributing.” Ask Galileo. An intellectual in a salary-paying institution is always at risk of suppression and exclusion.

Intellectuals of a certain kind are always intrigued by Third World cultures, subjecting them to exposure and questioning in a way nearly intolerable. Rodriguez is good at illustrating this. His parents are so sure that his success in white terms is great and good that they cannot grasp why his students would wear serapes and imitate their ways: it felt like mockery. Rodriguez is not embarrassed for his parents, but for his “intellectual” friends. And, of course, students totally misinterpret what they think they see in a different culture -- they lack humility. Even seasoned anthropologists get way off the track, esp. when the subjects of study evade and bamboozle them.

We’re in a peculiar time when super-subtle intellectual theories (po-mo) have been brought to bear on ordinary and ethnic matters without really being subjected to rigorous reflection as theories. The can-opener is so self-important that it doesn’t consider anything but the cans it opens, not its own entitlement or goals. This seems to be receding now.

Nevertheless, I notice a lot of local Republican resentment of Obama comes down to fear of intellectuals ("He’s too damn smart.") and resentment that he should bring his “transparency” can opener anywhere near their religion, their right to bear arms, etc. They are busy with defiant announcements and organizing to protect morality, faith and their grandparents’ ways from any attempts to get them out of the jar and sort their usefulness or “truth.” (They particularly resent the intellectual idea that truth is relative. Truth is REALITY! THEIR reality.)

Rodriguez wrote “Hunger of Memory” in 1982. That’s the year I left Chicago, more than a quarter century ago. I’ve only read short articles by him since then, so I don’t know how he’s handling aging or the huge shifts in world culture. One of the hard things about doing “intellectual” work is that one must narrow one’s focus to keep from being overpowered -- one must develop a “method.” I always resist that, though I see the wisdom and effectiveness of it, and that’s the real reason I’ll never be much of an intellectual. So I’ll settle for being a story teller and call that my “method” which will be embedded in the narrative but not “canned.” Just follow the story and ignore labels, because the heart of the story is always transformation anyway. Obama is tomorrow’s person, finding a new way.