In the course of my lifetime, a theory has floated around that society is secretly ruled by an intellectual elite ensconced in academia. These elites might seem to be set apart in some ways, attending their own conferences and publishing in their own journals. They obey a hierarchy in their own institutions, by which they get promotions and tenure. They seem set apart.
In reality, the theory goes, what happens in academia always trickles down to the rest of society, for good and for ill. The ideas promoted therein land in government, media, and high corporate layers of influence. They then travel to newspapers and become part of coffee shop talk. Then they influence who runs for office, what the candidates believe, and the voters, too.
In the end, this theory goes, it is academia that rules all—maybe not immediately, but eventually. And this fits with the ancient world’s exaltation of the philosophers as whisperers to caesars, princes, and kings. They might not be the highest paid. They often suffer for their unusual views. But in the end, they can have the satisfaction of knowing that what they think ultimately determines the shape and structure of the social order.
Before you dismiss this theory out of hand—and I grant that it all sounds a bit preposterous in times when populism has ascended and academia seems increasingly irrelevant—I can promise you that I’ve heard this defense (if you can call it that) of academia thousands of times. It is a primary model in what is called the theory of social change.
Its core presumption traces not just to the primacy of ideas—I can accept that—but something more troubling, namely an intellectual elitism that presumes that common people are incapable of high-level thought or knowing the best paths for their lives. This is precisely why academics specialize in creating new vocabularies that transcend the vernacular: They work as signaling systems for who matters and who does not.
Look up the history of Gnosticism and you will understand completely.
This penchant and attitude come to mind in part because I just laid eyes on a social media post of a friend of mine who has been deeply embedded in academia since graduate school. He is quite the success in that realm, even though you have likely never heard of him. He is an editor of journals, presider over academic events, and holder of chairs and titles and awards, with multiple books under his belt that no one can afford.
He has always been careful with his career. He has many strong views, lots of them interesting and sometimes ferocious. However, he never shares them outside a tiny circle he can trust. This is because he has an uncanny instinct for professional survival. He never speaks out on important political topics unless it is absolutely safe to do so.
The slightest pushback from higher-ups causes him to shrink back into his shell like a turtle in a thunderstorm. His every opinion in print is so overqualified that he will never get into trouble. His top value in life is collegiality, by which he means getting along well with those in his profession: academia within his discipline of study and teaching.
I would never begrudge anyone his choice of profession, but this particular gentleman often advanced to me the above theory of social change, one that places him in the driver’s seat of history. The reason he had to hide, and the reason his intellectual wardrobe has a thousand different changes of clothing, is that in the end he has a responsibility to his vocation to quietly and surreptitiously influence the course of events and the shape of the social order.
In any case, his recent post online celebrated another academic after whom he has modeled his career, and offered the highest praise of which he could think: “So and so shaped the conversation in the realm of a particular discipline.” That’s it. That’s the whole of it. I read it carefully because I was waiting for the other shoe to drop, such as, “And this person had great influence on something in the real world.” But the shoe never dropped. The post ended.
This is profoundly telling. For many academics today, success within the academic realm—their colleagues, their journals, their friends, their institutions, their ranking—is the whole point. There is no other. The idealism is gone. The hope of changing the world seems drained. The ambition to educate the public to rise above the muck seems rather hopeless.
Instead, they have mostly become functionaries within a system that is very much under fire. As a result, they have taken to hiding even more and finding satisfaction in the career climb within their realm, however tiny.
This is all rather tragic to me personally. Although I declined to go the full academic route at some point, maybe because I didn’t want to spend four more years in the great slog, I have always admired the academic profession and valorized its ideals. I get that the decline has been ongoing for decades, if not a century, but still, there seemed to be some substance there that could not be recreated elsewhere.
This presumption has changed for me dramatically over the past five years. Society was shut down by force, including all colleges and universities. Only a few stayed open, and they were harassed to no end. Everyone else was happy to go to Zoom U, with kids stuck at home or in dorms. When they finally reopened, most demanded that all their students mask up and then get the shot. Those students who declined were summarily dismissed.
There have been no refunds of tuition, no apologies, no institutional self-reflection, nothing. Meanwhile, during the darkest days of lockdowns, we heard crickets when it came to academia. They simply vanished from view, creating a bunker for themselves while awaiting the end of the crisis. Nearly all of them went along, and I get why: The few who spoke out against what was happening were often fired and lost their careers. Most simply took the safe path and stayed quiet, the entire time. Now they have reemerged, and act as if nothing happened.
Honestly, even I was shocked in those months and years by the academic displays of cowardice and complicity with regime priorities. My high view of this sector has not recovered. I now know for sure that academia cannot be depended upon to help in a crisis. It will choose career over principle every time. This is why all the protests on campus against President Donald Trump and so on now don’t impress me much: They are merely going with the flow, nothing more. They affect the posture of rebels, but the truth is otherwise: They are preening in the interest of professional survival.
As I think about it from the point of view of the average professor, this behavior probably makes sense. The crucial fact to realize is that the services of an academician have a highly limited market. If they fail in one institution by being rejected for tenure or promotion, they get one or maybe two more times at bat and that’s it. They simply must climb the ladder or they are toast. They live in proverbial golden handcuffs: prestige, salary, benefits, social deference, as long as they don’t step out of line.
This is unlike, for example, a welder, accountant, or hairstylist. They can move around and change jobs with ease. There is a huge and probably unlimited demand for their services. That’s why they can speak their minds. They are free to think and examine and say what they think. They can look objectively at the world around them and adapt to evidence. Academics cannot. They must fit in or else. Thus does their primary specialization become, over time, mastering the academic game, which means fitting in and not defying consensus.
When the consensus became hating Trump, that was it—they were in for the long haul for 10 years and counting, come what may. That meant even staying silent as schools were closed for a year or longer, holidays were canceled, people were locked in their homes, and whole cities were segregated by medical status. The absurdities piled up, but still the academic clan had to stick together and stay silent.
You might say that this approach—and it can affect everything from believing in climate change to embracing transgender mutilation—runs contrary to the spirit of science and freedom of thought. But this profession no longer has the luxury to indulge such old-fashioned values, especially in times of budget cuts. This is why academia will likely get worse before it gets better.
As it gets worse, it will certainly grow more separate from the values of the population, less influential over the culture, and less decisive in its influence over policy. That alone will bring about a wholesale reexamination of the core theory of social change that drives the modern academic pursuit. It becomes no longer a shining light, a city on a hill, a refuge and sanctuary for the highest ideals, but a dark dudgeon of thoughtless groupthink. You can see that forming right now, and it is quite pathetic.
None of this means that the academy is going to collapse anytime soon. Moms and dads will still pay the big bucks to send their kids to the highest prestige institution that is within their financial means. Young men and women will still spend their most valuable years sitting in desks, cramming for tests, staying out too late, and sleeping in, while cobbling together social networks that will mostly evaporate once they graduate and discover the realities of a grueling labor market. They will encounter the real world eventually, waving an expensive certificate about which few employers really care and without much in the way of real marketable skills. This crazy system will surely last and last.
What might not be so sustainable is the aspiration to join the academic guild as a full-blown member. Honestly, it’s not a good and happy life. Nor can those in this clan feel a sense of satisfaction that they are really modern philosopher kings who script the narratives of history through their high thoughts and prestige papers and conferences. These days, with populism on the march and the illusion that the experts know better now completely shattered, it’s not entirely clear who is listening.
