When highbrow goes wrong
In a recent (and failed) attempt to elevate my level of thinking, I began reading highbrow literature. The Story of Philosophy, I Ching and The Art of War were but some of the works (alright, the only works) that would transform me from the plain-thinking girl that I was to the woman who thinks really deep thoughts that I aspired to be.
My short-lived expedition into the world of the “intelligent” was the corollary of a lunch date with some hip young things that I was trying to make friends with. At first, the conversations were fun-filled, middlebrow chats about everything from animal activists (I was practically crucified for being anti-fur, despite the fact that I’m not a self-righteous pain in the bum) to the large racial divide in Cape Town.
Everything was going well, as I was able to contribute to the conversation effortlessly. This was until someone brought up Existentialism. I started to feel a bit panicky when the other patrons at the table joined in the discussion enthusiastically. From the word itself, I figured that Existentialism had something to do with… existence. The meaning of life, perhaps?
Fearing that I would come across as an ignorant and simple-minded fool, I decided to do what any quick-thinking person would do: shut up and nod. What seemed like painful centuries later, I was very glad to go home to my non-judgemental and non-intellectual iPod. However, like any self-respecting journalist-in-training, I decided to do some research. Said research meant reading up on Existentialism and everything else that went along with it.
My foray into philosophy lasted a grand total of three weeks – and I was still only on page 14 of The Story of Philosophy. I do not think that my failure to launch my intellectual super-self was because I have no semblance of intelligence whatsoever, but rather because I found it all to be rather tedious, extremely boring. Was it boring because I failed to understand it? Or did I fail to understand it because it was so boring?
I have nothing against people with an interest in philosophy and the like. I do, however, have an issue with snobs who think that they are smarter than everybody else just because they know how to pronounce big words like ‘Syllogistics’ and ‘Hermeneutics’. Said people are the ones who use their brains to memorise the words of Nietzsche and Freud, instead of using their brains to actually think for themselves. Those people are not intellectuals, they are intellectual parasites.
Pragmatism, Positivism, Idealism, Existentialism… What’s your ism? Well, I have coined my own ‘-ism’: Assism [noun] 1 the practice of being an ass 2 common behaviour advocated by coffee-shop philosophers.
Following the “extensive research” conducted, this is my important conclusion: Stop plagiarising Kant and get a life, you intellectualised morons.
My short-lived expedition into the world of the “intelligent” was the corollary of a lunch date with some hip young things that I was trying to make friends with. At first, the conversations were fun-filled, middlebrow chats about everything from animal activists (I was practically crucified for being anti-fur, despite the fact that I’m not a self-righteous pain in the bum) to the large racial divide in Cape Town.
Everything was going well, as I was able to contribute to the conversation effortlessly. This was until someone brought up Existentialism. I started to feel a bit panicky when the other patrons at the table joined in the discussion enthusiastically. From the word itself, I figured that Existentialism had something to do with… existence. The meaning of life, perhaps?
Fearing that I would come across as an ignorant and simple-minded fool, I decided to do what any quick-thinking person would do: shut up and nod. What seemed like painful centuries later, I was very glad to go home to my non-judgemental and non-intellectual iPod. However, like any self-respecting journalist-in-training, I decided to do some research. Said research meant reading up on Existentialism and everything else that went along with it.
My foray into philosophy lasted a grand total of three weeks – and I was still only on page 14 of The Story of Philosophy. I do not think that my failure to launch my intellectual super-self was because I have no semblance of intelligence whatsoever, but rather because I found it all to be rather tedious, extremely boring. Was it boring because I failed to understand it? Or did I fail to understand it because it was so boring?
I have nothing against people with an interest in philosophy and the like. I do, however, have an issue with snobs who think that they are smarter than everybody else just because they know how to pronounce big words like ‘Syllogistics’ and ‘Hermeneutics’. Said people are the ones who use their brains to memorise the words of Nietzsche and Freud, instead of using their brains to actually think for themselves. Those people are not intellectuals, they are intellectual parasites.
Pragmatism, Positivism, Idealism, Existentialism… What’s your ism? Well, I have coined my own ‘-ism’: Assism [noun] 1 the practice of being an ass 2 common behaviour advocated by coffee-shop philosophers.
Following the “extensive research” conducted, this is my important conclusion: Stop plagiarising Kant and get a life, you intellectualised morons.
