This is an analysis of that class of people called the "Know-Everythings." We all recognize this sort; these are the people who would rather die than admit that they are ever ignorant in any way.
They take a particular delight in referring to the neuroethnomusicology of New Guinean tribes, to Nigerian poets with whose names the four corners of the globe would ring had their brilliant careers not been cut short in Biafra and to obscure European film journals.
(Here we at Dartmouth can really one-up the competition: "But of course you know Wenders' comments in the April '73 Cahiers du Cinema?" "Oh come now, darling, don't you know he recanted all that in the Spring '95 Cahiers du Dartma?")
But mere accumulation of knowledge for superficial purposes is not the Know-Everythings only distinguishing feature. They seem to have an indistinct idea that intellectual virtue is a function of being up-to-date on every intellectual novelty; that there is infinitely more richness and variety to be derived from the study of theory than of mundane "facts." As a corollary of these two premises, they also seem to believe that clarity and lack of pretension in speaking and writing are anathema.
And this is where their relevance for us at Dartmouth comes in; for in this country there is no profession that represents the Know-Everythings better than that of college professor.
In their writings, the Know-Everythings take a perverse delight in using quotations to make a point that would be better and more clearly rendered in their own words. They also generally adopt, as a defensive mechanism, an inscrutable, reflexive irony. This is a useful shield since, of course, if one delivers one's remarks in such a tone as to make it impossible to determine one's true sentiments, one cannot be held accountable for their accuracy.
A few home truths might be welcome at this stage. It is estimated that the latest date at which a single person could in theory grasp the most advanced knowledge attained in every branch of science and mathematics was 1640; a date that, if anything, should strike us as quite late. If you add in the humanistic subjects, of course, the date would be pushed back considerably. So there is really no need to try and convince anyone that one is not fantastically ignorant about all but an extremely narrow range of subjects; we all know it, and the effort required to try and sustain the illusion more often than not makes one completely insufferable.
Indeed, one of the more amusing idiosyncrasies of the Know-Everythings is their sullen umbrage at the suggestion that they might have learned everything they know from somewhere. Very likely, lingering Romantic notions of the spontaneous genius, of knowledge leaping unbidden to the inspired mind, are behind such feelings.
But, really, it gets too ridiculous. If knowledge of the existence of the New York Review of Books and the ability to read it brilliance make, then we are in a parlous state indeed.
Does the phenomenon of the Know-Everything suggest no useful lessons? As a recovering Know-Everything myself (yes, here is the tearful confession), I feel I can offer one tentative answer.
There is no need to get into grandiose theories about how the great excess of collective over individual knowledge in the present era requires communitarian ideals and a new vision of man and society. But one can point out that the mad desire to "keep abreast" of one's field is so utterly hopeless that some revising of academic priorities may be in order (Senator Moynihan might call this "Defining Pedantry Down").
It has been the experience of many people at Dartmouth and elsewhere that the best professors are those who are content with patient, meticulous instruction of rudimentary facts, who are content to move gradually, piling one building-block upon another.
The Know-Everythings, by contrast, are often characterized by an impatience with what they consider the banality of any of the basic and concrete material that must be taught for students to get anywhere, and haughty disdain for those who are not in the "vanguard" of their field.
More emphasis on contentment with the lot of a workhorse rather than that of a thoroughbred would surely do much to overcome this distasteful arrogance.
