Whence Academia?

Speaking of academia--

Once upon a time, many moons ago (okay, maybe like 3 years ago), I thought deep thoughts. I whiled away my hours in coffee shops and in the Harvard Law School library, writing lengthy papers, attempting to opine on overly broad, pedantic questions such as:

• How has representative democracy played a role in the development of international relations (1648-1815)?
• Is there something inherent in sovereignty that makes demands for expansion and reciprocity? Is there something that makes sovereignty peculiarly appealing or coercive? Does international law arise from the foundational unit, the unit being the state? And is the state system still the system?
• Is the public/private distinction an analytical construct that emerged with the rise of the sovereign state or is it an organic, inevitable separation?
• Does the reversal of the traditional natural law narrative lead more logically to the Hegelian conception of the State as an end in itself, rather than to the conception of the State as a means to freedom?

Quite frankly, I barely know what any of that stuff means anymore. It's all foreign to me now.

Likewise, once upon a time, my reading list for a single week would consist of tomes such as:

• Tuck, The Rights of War and Peace: Political Thought and International Order from Grotius to Kant
• Hinsley, Power and the Pursuit of Peace: Theory and Practice in the History of Relations between States
• Kindleberger, A Financial History of Western Europe
• Haines, American Foreign Relations: A Historiographical Review
• Kloppenberg, Uncertain Victory: Social Democracy and Progressivism in European and American Thought, 1870-1920
• Gilbert, To the Farewell Address: Ideas of Early American Foreign Policy

How on earth did I read so many books at once? How did I digest such complicated and arcane topics in such short periods of time? There’s no way my brain could handle any of that now, to my great chagrin. These days, everything I read is work-related and brief--white papers, executive summaries, articles from The New York Times/Washington Post/Wall Street Journal. As such, my attention span has deteriorated to the point that it takes me considerable effort to get through one article in The New Yorker without being distracted. Time is of the essence in this town, and so I've learned to simplify (or oversimplify) complicated ideas and analyses into single page, bulleted memos. Sure, I drafted testimony and floor statements and now legal memoranda, but my ability to write long academic articles or engage in deep, critical thought has gone the way of the dodo. And it leaves me a little discomfited.

I don't regret my decision to leave--er, put on hold--the PhD program and work in DC. I'd always wanted to do public policy and with the change in political winds during the fall of 2008, the timing was right for me to get involved and find a job on the Hill. And I wouldn’t change a thing about my career over the past 2.5 years--I had an amazing experience doing voter protection work and working for two senators. I’ve learned so much about issues like steel and telecommunications and trade, which I never would have learned otherwise…but working in a world where brevity and the 30-second soundbite win the day has altered my neurological wiring and my way of approaching complex issues.

At some point, I’d like to return to a place where my mind can explore historical texts and fiction and engage in exercises of critical thinking at a more leisurely pace. I don’t necessarily need to return to academia for that; if anything, I’d prefer to avoid the self-congratulatory mental masturbation that pervades the ivory tower. I love reading books and writing papers, but as the “So You Want to be a Historian” video says, “If you love reading history so much, get a real job and buy all the books you want on Amazon.” Still, the point is, I do need to make time for reading and learning, my work schedule notwithstanding. I need to keep my neurons active and engaged on a variety of subjects and in a variety of capacities so that if one day I decide to crack open Kant's Groundwork for the Metaphysics of Morals, it won't feel like a giant struggle. One only has a finite quantity of brain cells, and I’d prefer that mine die a more noble death.