The Intelligence of a People by Daniel Calhoun is surely one of the most surreal books ever conceived. The word “written” is here less relevant than “conceived”, because written certainly is, and for much of the book’s argument, “written” is not only highly relevant but essential, as the work deals with literacy in the United States. United before the twentieth century. It is also expertly written by its author, who manages to maintain scholarly precision while using a sufficiently populist style to keep the reader wanting more of what soon becomes quite a scholarly discussion. On the face of it, this is a book about the history of education, and in two hundred of its three hundred and fifty pages it reads like a critical review of literacy teaching in the United States, grounded philosophically in the previous century, but focused by its he cited examples of the practice mainly from the 19th century. And much of it is fascinating, offering limitations on the application of the illustration, the predetermined and often contradictory realities of Hume’s tabula rasa, and the role of corporal punishment as an incentive.

But perhaps more interesting for the 21st century reader is the material that refers to the assumption of stereotypes of class, gender and race. Here we not only have a frequent depiction of 19th century attitudes towards the poor, women, and people of non-European origin, here we have these considerations presented through a lens that focused on the mid-20th century, a lens that could produce different effects. if used today.

And then, after two hundred pages, comes the bombshell. Anyone who reads this text without first researching the book is in for a scare that will require several visits to the text in question just to confirm what is being said. After several chapters of fairly strict arguments mixed with copious examples of philosophy and practice, Daniel Calhoun blithely announces that whatever is expressed through a culture gives expression to intelligence. As examples of such activity, he cites the selection of political candidates, the invention of household appliances, or the writing of philosophical treatises. He then sets a paradigm for the rest of the study by continuing: “For the sake of focus… this chapter deals in some detail with the changes that took place between 1750 and 1870 in two extreme types of professional products: the sermon and the design of supporting structures.” It could more easily have been lifting weights and knocking a reader down with a pen. At first glance, perhaps not the most obvious or most interesting source of significant contrast.

But what The Intelligence of a People finally communicates is a remarkable human capacity to conceive the seemingly inconceivable. And do it with interest. Whereas the structural engineer deals with measurable strengths and weaknesses, not at the time having the technology to measure much more than trial and error, the sermon writer uses essentially political skills to appeal to the strengths and weaknesses of a congregation that ultimately instance is malleable. , whose opinion can be formed in a manner metaphorically similar to that of the blacksmith hammering a horseshoe. The structural engineer, however, came to realize that materials and the methods of fixing them had definite and, in fact, measurable limits, and as his knowledge advanced, he learned to exploit these limitations to his advantage. The preacher, on the other hand, was presented with a permanent and perhaps inexhaustible source of power, being the individual psychosis related to the fear of death. The challenge for the sermon writer, it seemed, was to channel this individual response to create a social or community norm that could then engender cooperation or acquiescence to a defined common good. Whether that common good might be in the interest of those who accept it is for other writers to examine, but in essence the metaphor here is that the engineer assembles objects according to the demands made by the materials, while the writer of Sermons assemble social structures that bind communities to common action.

The structural engineer is always pushing the limits, but is also developing new materials that challenge existing understanding and practice. The sermon writer, on the other hand, may steer his (rewrite this as “his his”) likely guilty audience in any direction of manipulation for political gain. Whatever the author, there is always a final unknown that can be dragged into any argument to ensure the desired effect. The intellectual efforts involved in the two areas are therefore quite different. Although the metaphor that allows the comparison is still interesting, it collapses before the evidence. These are surely two very different forms of intellectual activity and are perhaps based on different skill sets. Eventually, the reader is forced to consider the role of testability, communicability, and transferability in one area of ​​the human intellect and the lack thereof in another, and it is this that comes to dominate the reader’s thinking as he proceeds. the argument.

But what shines through in Daniel Calhoun’s text is the potential for intellectual activity. Whatever the successes or failures of his project, what triumphs is the ability to conceive such juxtapositions and then carry them to their conclusions, however logical or illogical.