No Knife, This Moon Night / Data Entry Mercenary
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In an attempt to justify my existence, I'm going to, once again, consult the wisdom of Miguel de Cervates, author of Don Quixote, who inspired my ruminations on insanity and dignity a few weeks ago.
My good and wise friend Alejandro Schtulmann recently told me to read a short story by Cervantes called El Licenciado Vidriera (The Glass Scholar). The story is about a particularly intelligent young man named Tomás Rodaja who leaves his hometown at an early age to seek an education in the city. On his way to his new life, he becomes friends with some soldiers who invite him to join them in their conquests. He tags along with them for a while, but determines that education is what he truly seeks. He goes to school in Salamanca and soon becomes very popular among his peers for his prodigious intellect and all around amicable demeanor.
Apparently the boy is handsome as well, as a young woman falls deeply in love with him. Unfortunately for her, Tomás is more interested in his books than in her. Unfortunately for him, her infatuation with him leads her to consult a shady Moorish woman and gets her hands on some variety of medieval date rape drug. Well, the drug not only does not work, but it fries Tomás so badly that he becomes convinced that he's made of glass and he won't let anybody near him for fear of breaking (this reminds me of some LSD urban legends that I heard when I was a kid).
Tomás makes himself famous once again, but this time it's for dressing up like Brian David "Emmanuel" Mitchell and cautiously skulking around town trying not to break. The poor guy still has his intellect, but the problem is that he's lost his reserve. His quick mind churns out a steady stream of witty Jesse Ventura-isms that knock at the Catholic church, academia, the Spanish caste system and just about anything else worthy of scorn. He's particularly hard on the poets and scholars, saying that they can say anything they want as long as they support one another's 'brilliance' and team up against their critics' 'ignorance.'
His friends in Salamanca protect him as much as they can, but his fame soon spreads abroad and an emissary from Castilla approaches him offering a position in the court in Castilla. He's packed into a huge crate full of hay and shipped off to his new position. His curious behavior soon attracts flocks of Castillians that follow him around town asking him his opinion on things, knowing that they'll get a quick, harsh and intelligent response. Much like the conflict in Don Quixote, there are some people mindful of Tomás' dignity and after a few months of his spectacle, a priest is able to attend to Tomás and cure him of his insanity.
Once cured, he goes back to Salamanca, gets his degree and returns to Castilla as a real lawyer in the court, however his career doesn't take off quite as quickly as it had before. His acumen is intact, but with it is his regained deliberation and consideration. In short, he's still smart, but he's uninteresting. His failure to draw attention leads to the loss of his sustenance, and he's forced to forgo his credentials and team up with his old soldier friends for some 'real' work.
Towards the end of the first part of Don Quixote, everybody's favorite knight errant makes a few arguments to defend his occupation. It seems that Cervantes used Quixote and his Licenciado Vidriera to argue the same point: it's better to be a soldier than a scholar. It seems like an odd assertion, but it's made me think.
Back in their time, there wasn't much else to do. The industrial revolution hadn't revolted yet and the lack of economies of scale kept many people busy with small projects and a limited number of trades. Most people were born as masons, farmers or smiths with little choice in the matter, however Tomás and Don Quixote are a couple of fellows who decided to make their own lots.
From what I've gathered from Cervantes, going it alone in his time gave people about three options: soldier, scholar or shepherd. Cervantes barely touches on the life of a shepherd in Don Quixote, but he gives us a good run down of why being a soldier is better than being a scholar as Don Quixote defends his noble title.
First of all, he argues that a soldier must be just as perspicacious as a scholar given that military strategies and management are just as mentally taxing as any scholarly activity, nullifying the argument that to be a soldier one merely needs brute strength. A soldier needs both strength and intelligence.
Next, Quixote posits that scholarship's ultimate goal is to "give a perfection to distributive justice, bestowing upon everyone his due, and to procure and cause good laws to be observed." He has no qualms with such a lofty goal, but the goal of the warrior is much more noble, as the warrior, like the Lord, seeks peace, without which any law would be irrelevant.
Finally, he points out that while a scholar suffers hunger, fatigue and poverty, a soldier suffers X-TREME poverty: no bed, little or no pay, disease. Furthermore, scholars have pretty good odds of securing a nice spot in a court somewhere while most soldiers end up dead. In case you're not sure if Quixote is arguing for or against military life here, keep in mind that medieval Spanish culture celebrated the Catholic ascetic ideals of nobility, and that he who suffers more is the winner. In the end, the Don admits that both scholars and soldiers are needed as war needs to be governed by law, and the rule of law needs to be maintained through force. That said, it's still better to be a soldier.
Now, what does this have to do with my existence? Simple. The old rules of the game don't quite apply anymore, but I'm still not settling for a cushy sell-out job in the 'smart person' club. Instead, I'm spending my days keying numbers into a database as a data entry specialist. I'm up in rural Emmitsburg, MD doing the 'real work,' ensuring that grant money is allocated to the proper fire departments all over this country, while monacled fancy-pants PhD's sit around their gilded offices down in Washington doing nothing but pretending that they're smart. I'm a data entry mercenary, suffering from my wrists to the tips of my fingers, sequestered in the middle of nowhere, eating cafeteria imitation rib sandwiches three meals a day, and jumping rope in the Sleep Inn parking lot in the evening. Does this justify my existence? I think so. Now step off!
May 03, 2003