OK, I'M A ROMANTIC

What does it take to be a good academic in the context of university and college life in the U.S.? And is it worth the cost to your own soul? I take these to be the critical questions raised by the essay by Timothy Burke, here, with comments from Invisible Adjunct, Kieran Healy, and Junius. For what it's worth, I agree with what I take to be Burke's main point: one of the reasons why specialization takes on such a dreary characteristic is that there are few incentives (and, perhaps, fewer opportunities) to engage in the process of integrating one's specialized work into a broader perspective, one that is related enough to the perspectives of existing communities both to make one's individual research intelligible to others and to infuse it with a sense of purpose beyond mere career advancement. Career advancement alone is empty (and I was surprised that Kieran Healy forgot to quote Weber's line about "voluptuaries without a heart" or however it goes; perhaps that's part of what Healy calls his "odd" romanticism).

The university as a whole could stand as a symbol for the promised integration either into a community of learners or into an account of the world that expresses in some fashion concerns that are also present outside the academy. University, universe, and all that. But integration takes time and effort, as well as the willingness to ask questions that are not informed by specialized, disciplinary knowledge and thus appear naive to the "disciplined" observer.

In an interview on the subject of their TV show that I blogged on a while back, Sloterdijk argues that it was Adorno in particular who bequeathed to German intellectuals a "hyperreflexivity" that requires a rejection of all forms of naivite; Adorno's attacks on jazz are a good example of a cultural-critical expression of that rejection. But Adorno is ultimately wrong, in my view: naivite is unavoidable and good. It may, of course, be necessary for careerist reasons to hide this fact, if a career is what you want.