Standing proud on the intellectual sidelines

BY DAVID S. WERTIME

HYURA CHOI/YH

Yale's Mellon Forums, held by every residential college, bring together seniors to commiserate about their final theses. Over the last few months, seniors from disparate social groups have united in a transient but intense community of scholarly inquiry and debate. I, on the other hand, have come for the catered food. These divergent agendas became clear one night when, on a rare visit to Morse's Mellon festivities, I attempted to join the discussion, only to receive giggles for my subpar vocabulary and improper syntax. Although the delicious chicken dinner made my suffering worthwhile, I left with a new understanding of the pressures that face all Yale students—and preclude some from ever enjoying the intellectual resources the University has to offer.

"Casual" debates at Yale do not follow the traditional format. Instead of trying to learn about one another and, in the process, parcel out some kind of transcendent truth, Yalies unleash their verbal skills on each other like attack dogs. Usually, one argument destroys the other and stands victorious—strengthened in the Darwinian sense, perhaps, but no more inclusive or nuanced than it was before. In other cases, a grudging stalemate emerges. While watching this year's Super Bowl halftime show, I got into a protracted argument with a friend about whether Sting was a "sell out." Although the lure of Britney Spears and the umpteenth Kerry Collins sack eventually shut us up, I climbed into my Transformers sheets that night troubled by the lack of fraternity, or even respect, that our discussion entailed.

Sadly, this fierce debating spirit sometimes stifles classroom speech. When a green freshman comes to Yale from a town where people haven't even heard of Connecticut, how is he or she to respond to fellow students who affect English accents or wear ties to class? How can intelligent but straightforward thinkers cope with peers who use terms like "semipermeable membrane" in an English seminar? Too much intelligence hides in the corners of Yale classrooms because its bearers lack the brazen confidence of their mates.

That's not to say that Yale is inherently unfair. For the most part, professors actively seek to help students improve even as they reward the confident and flat-out brilliant. But a combination of self-motivation, peer pressure, and institutional prestige leaves some of us feeling, well, abnormal. At Yale, classic indulgences like mall shopping, sports playing, and TV watching become articles of shame, universally, disparaged even as they are universally practiced. Non-intellectualism stands as a cardinal sin, ostensibly either a shield for hypocrisy or a crutch for the less gifted. But for a large, silent contingent of Yalies, this sin is a way of life. Many of us do not wish to re-inhabit our ultra-competitive high-school selves. Others in our cohort remain uninspired by Yale academics, which range from the admittedly brilliant to the tragically pro forma. Why strive for excellence when we are rewarded for replicating a refined type of competence?

Of course, some Yale students take unfair advantage of the guarantees this place provides. Just as a superior secondary-school education should not permit the denigration of others, the promise of a cushy job on Wall Street can never excuse our intellectual sloth. But members of this community owe it to one another to look closely at their silent or seemingly inarticulate peers: the reason for their behavior is often timidity, not stupidity or laziness. Yale's students are its greatest asset. Learning to recognize different types of intelligence should be its greatest reward.

But non-intellectuals also must assume a more active role in this school's everyday discourse. Although I'm still scared to set foot in Durfee's, after four years I have learned to wear my status as a non-intellectual with pride. Certain professors have inspired me and meaningful subjects have consumed me, but these joys have come as they are, not as forced aspects of a false identity. That's the way it should be. A clear, unexpert viewpoint can add a great deal to discussions in the dining hall or the classroom—Yale's tortured intellectualism could use some Joe-Blow moxie. And beyond these rarified walls, where people either hate or fear the elitism we represent, accessibility trumps brilliance anyway.

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