I am a prospective Law and Society, Philosophy, and Politics major. I have participated in many Dungeons and Dragons games, Model United Nations competitions, and at least one moot court meeting. Needless to say, my bread and butter is taking the incomprehensible and leveraging that knowledge to my advantage. Whether it be in the heat of a D&D combat encounter, referencing an inane rule from the back half of a book no one has read, or citing a written agreement about radish imports to justify the use of chemical weapons in a Model U.N. conference — I have done it all, seen it all, and bent it all. 

I benefit significantly from such exclusive intellectual activities. Yet, despite all I have to gain, I am a fervent advocate against the gatekeeping of such knowledge. I believe that intellectualism, the use of jargon, and other forms of doublespeak within academia is a detriment to the field of education as a whole.

 In my life, the places where I have learned the most have not been inside of a classroom or within the confines of a textbook’s required reading. I have learned the most from second-hand experiences, tutors, YouTubers, and casual conversations with friends. 

Getting immersed in the murky rivers and streams wherein knowledge flows is a confusing and tiresome process. The second-hand method of learning avoids this murkiness and ends up sticking better within the brains of its recipients. Hearing someone who knows original information distill it down into consumable chunks allows for more clean understanding. When talking with friends about a topic you hold passionate in your heart, you do not give them all the little ruffles of nuance and confusion. You explain it in the most layman, simple terms possible. I have spent a good deal of time arguing about politics, policies, and pieces of media over the past year, most of which happened within the Mary Church Terrell Main Library. In every discussion, when a new concept is introduced into the conversation, the person who brought it up explains it plainly. If I were in a class, I would have to sit through eight classes worth of fluff to actually understand the concept. The worst part of this process is finding out that the concept can be summarized in a sentence or less. 

A perfect example of this is, when I was studying philosophy in high school, we learned about a concept created by philosopher John Rawls called the “Veil of Ignorance.” The subject initially interested me until we spent two weeks covering every single nuance of the theory, wading through the muck of intellectualism. Only afterward did we learn that the “Veil of Ignorance” is a philosophical shorthand for not knowing your personal standing when judging a situation. Using an analogy, it is making a decision, like dividing land between two countries, knowing you will be a citizen of one of those countries but not knowing which one. 

I personally believe that the extreme formality and exclusivity of intellectualism robs us of the ability to have a good conversation. It makes sure that the only people you could talk to who would understand your point are your academic peers. This process withholds information from the public, as the barrier to entry is expanded further by the need to learn the vocabulary of shorthand terms within that profession.

There is also the larger, more personally aggravating part of academia: the attitude. Here, I refer to the “holier than thou” outlook that people with knowledge use to put down those who have not jumped through the same academic hoops. These are the same people who keep inefficient learning models and traditions simply for the sake of prestige. This exclusivity is the reason higher education in America is currently seen as a privilege and not a right. It is regarded as a place for big thinkers and dreamers daring to warp society for better or worse. Knowledge should be shared freely, in a simple, understandable manner of speaking. Meaningless social norms, like professionalism and the feeling of self-importance, grinds new understanding to dust within the collegiate setting.

I have not been at Oberlin long, yet my point still holds true. The places where I learn the most are in libraries or dining halls, in dorms or out walking through the Arboretum. I learn and debate over Dominos at two in the morning, discussing geopolitical issues, using personal experiences and opinions as my resource. The classes where I learn the most are the ones where the professor teaches casually, casting aside status. The classes where I struggle most are those where lectures are one-sided conversations, interaction is unnecessary, and the air is thick with intellectualism.

I do not blame the professor who teaches like how they learned, replicating their graduate school professor’s style. I blame the arrogance of a system that leaves professors without the most important skill: how to teach. This system is so suffocated, so focused on status and prestige that learning makes the recipient forget what it was like to be the learner, that makes them view casual experiences as low-class and unprofessional while those very experiences are what ignited curiosity within the young professor in the first place!

The main takeaway I want to give in this hypocritically long and complicated article is that you should talk with your peers. Share your interests, and don’t worry about any academic minutiae or restrictions. We, as a collective, need to abandon our intellectualism. We should swear, curse, stutter, and murmur as we please! Only when having fun and enjoying something will we be able to learn it.