What Does "Very French" Really Mean as an "Intellectual Taste"?

Taking the French sociological work Distinction as an example, this essay attempts to understand what is meant by "very French" in the Anglo-American intellectual world, and, on that basis, to reflect on what kind of "intellectual taste" we are insisting on in our educational practice.

Whether through conscious construction or unconscious perception, we always hold certain "general impressions," or even "stereotypes," of a country. I chose to discuss this question because, when Bourdieu wrote the preface to the English edition of Distinction, he worried that his book would be considered too "French" by English-language readers. In my own personal life, I too have faintly sensed that Englishmen (the Anglo-Saxon world) harbor something not quite hostility, but at least a certain prejudice, toward French intellectuals and even toward American cultural circles. But as someone who grew up in the Chinese-speaking world, I feel I cannot immediately perceive the subtle emotions involved. All I know is that, in terms of philosophical tradition, the English-speaking world leans toward the empiricist tradition, unlike Continental philosophy. My writing here therefore aims to clarify: in a general context, what does it mean when the Anglo-American intellectual world says "that's very French"?

The most mainstream understanding is based on the classical Anglo-American empiricist tradition, represented by Locke and Hume, and the European rationalist tradition, represented by Descartes. The divergence between these two philosophical traditions is at root an epistemological one, namely the question of what constitutes the way credible knowledge is produced. For example, when Bourdieu was preparing to present his research findings to Anglo-American intellectual circles, he worried about whether the way he had produced this knowledge would be recognized by Anglo-American readers, and whether these findings would be accepted as a new kind of knowledge. In the book, for instance, Bourdieu did not present all of his data, nor did he emphasize the reliability of his research methodology in the way the Anglo-American academic tradition does, and his writing did not follow a certain "scientific rhetoric." Secondly, the object of study in Distinction is French society, so he worried that the specific cases he presented could not be directly understood by readers from other societies. His response was that, although the concrete phenomena of different societies differ, and this difference is like the difference between a Parisian boulevard theatre and a New York Broadway theatre, the basic framework and inner essence behind the phenomena are relatively stable.

The second aspect of "very French" is reflected in its writing style, and the differences in linguistic style are a concrete result of the epistemological differences. So what characteristics does the writing style of the French intellectual world have compared with the Anglo-American context, and why do these characteristics arise?

Bourdieu believed that his mode of expression displayed the classic features of French modes of knowledge production: the use of long and complex sentences; the simultaneous mobilization of the discursive systems of different disciplines for cross-disciplinary discussion; the acknowledgment of the complexity of reality as far as possible, and the refusal to write in a way that leaves readers with a sense of clarity, simplicity, and definite conclusions. It is never content to stop at "real" facts, because stopping there seems to imply a certain taken-for-granted "intellectual arrogance" that cuts off the possibility of continuing a discussion. This possibility refers to an "intellectual ambition" to pursue philosophical questioning at a more fundamental and more macroscopic level, while remaining wary of the concrete "scientific conclusions" reached through writing in "scientific rhetoric," and striving to avoid the individualistic smart essay and the simplistic political polemic.

Therefore, for the Anglo-American intellectual world, his writing is not "scientific" enough and not "clear" enough. But he explained that he was upholding the tradition of knowledge production in the French intellectual world and maintaining reverence for this tradition: namely, refusing to subject reality to simplifying "scientific packaging," and believing that the "complexity" and "sacredness" of socio-cultural research cannot be tamed by human reason into some kind of fact, but is rather the continuation of a grand discussion, just as the subtitle of the book indicates: this book is a response to Kantian aesthetics. Yet he also acknowledged that treating cultural life itself in a sociological way was already an affront to the tradition of the French intellectual world. This is because such a response is not a traditional philosophical one, even though his own academic training was "philosophical," and following the established trajectory he could have become a prestigious "philosopher" of that era, practicing intellectual life in the image of the Sartrean intellectual. But he believed that this tradition led French intellectuals not to "enter society," but play with their own "intellectual ambition," always looking down from on high in an attempt to answer totalizing questions about human society, power, and truth, which in essence is a game of thought based on genius individualism.

‍ ‍He therefore chose to respond to Kant "scientifically" through sociology, but this science does not wholly convert to "scientific data," and also refuses to use ever-subdividing scientific perspectives to deconstruct and objectify social life, which leaves people lost in fragmented knowledge, never able to see the whole picture of life, that is, having lost a holistic, philosophical sense of life. He thus occupied a doubly marginal academic position: identified by the Anglo-American intellectual world as a typical "French intellectual," yet regarded by the French intellectual world as a kind of "transgressor." Choosing to stand in such a position undoubtedly required greater "intellectual courage." Yet he accepted this external criticism of being "very French" while also bearing the pressure he faced from within the French intellectual world.

On a personal level, I find that I am by nature drawn to the French style of intellectual taste, because I often find it hard to feel satisfied by knowledge production in the mode of "scientific rhetoric," or rather, that satisfaction is only temporary. As in my study of education, I must clearly see a scholar as a living "person," who honestly explains the private motivations behind their academic choices, while being clearly aware of the social position from which they speak, not parading their neutrality and rationality but admitting that they have certain biases they cannot shake off. Only after coming to know them in this way do I feel ready to join their discussion and form my own understanding, rather than simply transplanting their theories to form a kind of "power" of knowledge.

As an educator, I have read Pierre Bourdieu almost devoutly, enshrining him in my heart as the ideal of what an intellectual should be. This is because he inspired me to keep paying attention to a phenomenon I believe cannot be ignored: how external social, economic, and cultural realities shape individual’s mind, how we can come to see this mechanism, and how we can understand the divergence between the minds that are ultimately formed. As educators, we cannot ignore this "elephant in the room." Compared with the era in which this book was published last century, the sensitivity and freshness of such a topic have been somewhat diluted, no longer intense enough to form any kind of "epistemological break." Yet this discussion is undoubtedly continuing in new forms. We should not lose our sensitivity to it, but should keep up this scrutiny, pursuing the new "epistemological break" of our own era, which is the whole reason for the practice of intellectual life in any age. Whether at the micro level of personal experience or the macro level of policy-making, we have both the space and the necessity to discuss on this. This spirit of intellectual life practice is what I personally pursue, but I also believe that, as educators, we have a responsibility to create opportunities for children, in concrete teaching practice, to touch upon this kind of reflective thinking, and to cultivate an overall intellectual taste, rather than letting individual minds get lost in the absorption of specific knowledge and forget to examine and understand why they began to learn, why we engage in this kind of cultural life, or, in a larger sense, why we live in this way.