The Role of the Intellectual in Nation-building1

Randolf S. David 2

I am deeply honored and grateful to be invited as your guest

speaker on the occasion of the Loyola Schools’ Faculty Day. I am
told that the purpose of this event is, among others, to provide the
faculty, the professional staff, and the administrators the chance to
gather as a community and to reflect on issues relevant to the
university and the nation. The invitation I received expressly
asked if I could offer some thoughts on the topic, “The role of the
intellectual in nation-building,” focusing specifically on some of the
issues that today confront us as a nation.

I admit to being initially intimidated by the title. It almost sounds

like an invitation to bare the ivory-tower arrogance of which
academics like us have often been accused. The highly charged
word in the title, of course, is “intellectual.”

Indeed, who among us will dare claim this appellation? We may

be writers, opinion-makers, pundits, political analysts, or
academics whose views on a broad range of questions are
routinely sought by the mass media. But, that would not entitle us
to the title, even in its more recent incarnation as “public
intellectual.”

I cringe when I’m sometimes introduced as a “public intellectual.” I

have encountered many forms of conceit in my life, but I have yet
to meet anybody who carries a calling card with the profession:
“public intellectual.” The concept “intellectual” is highly abused
enough as it is; one can only imagine what complex work it is
expected to do when paired with the equally contested term
“public.” Assuming we can agree on what it means, do academics
like us have a duty to play the role of public intellectual in nation-
building? If so, what expectations accompany the performance of
this role?

If the concept were meant just to refer to someone who relies on

her intellect more than on her instincts and emotions, it might

1 Lecture given at the Ateneo Loyola Schools’ Faculty Day celebration, Leong Hall
Auditorium, 27 January 2017
2 Emeritus Professor of Sociology, University of the Philippines
suffice to use the word “thinker.” A “thinker” would be someone
who spends her time creating, examining, or sorting out ideas,
rather than fabricating things. But this generic word would cast
such a huge net that it would surely fail to distnguish the kind of
work we tacitly expect of intellectuals.

Whatever it might mean, the word “intellectual” has been a favored

label throughout the 20th century, acquiring in the course of its
usage many other positive connotations like fearlessness,
autonomy, and even a contrarian bent. When paired with the term
“public” to form the appellation “public intellectual,” we have a
concept that is even more suggestive of a predisposition to stand
up to power whoever wields it, of someone who employs ideas as
weapons, and uses the arena of public discourse to wage war
against obsolete ideas, outright lies, official dogma, and
conservative ideologies.

One thinks of Western figures like Albert Einstein, Bertrand

Russell, Jean Paul Sartre, Simone de Beauvoir, Hannah Arendt,
Ralph Waldo Emerson, Mark Twain, John Dewey – or
contemporary ones like Noam Chomsky, Jürgen Habermas,
Amartya Sen, or John Rawls – as personifications of the public
intellectual. In like manner, the term might suggest the kind of
influence exerted by Filipino writers like Horacio de la Costa,
Renato Constantino, Hernando Abaya, or Carmen Guerrero Nakpil
on their generation – the way Jose Rizal did on his contempraries
and succeeding generations of Filipinos.

All of them went against the grain and questioned the conventions
of their time. But, more than this, in the intellectual, such as any of
them, we find someone who not only resists power but resolutely
disavows it. While she may be political in the broad sense that she
challenges power to explain itself, she cannot be called a
politician, because she is not herself in pursuit of political power. It
comes as no surprise then that while many of them have an
ideological affinity with the left, they tend to spell trouble to leftwing
parties.

In contrast to the private scholar, the public intellectual typically

establishes a presence in the modern mass media – something
that is not so difficult to do now because of the Internet. Unlike the
quiet academic who spends a lifetime to get published in refereed
journals, the public intellectual would be more keen to acquire a
foothold in the public consciousness. She gives interviews to the
mass media on a broad range of issues, and becomes known as a
social critic or a “political analyst.” Today, she might also be an
active “blogger.”

Acquiring a public image is not without its problems. By the public

nature of her interventions, the public intellectual gains, in time, not
just a mass following, but a constituency that expects her not only
to write or speak or criticize, but to lead. Michel Foucault, one of
the greatest French public intellectuals, who, in his time, was
avidly sought by the mass media for his views on many subjects,
was deeply aware of the dangers of the public adulation of
intellectuals.

In an interview he gave to the newspaper “Le Monde,” Foucault

made the unusual request that only his views be recorded; he
wished to remain anonymous in the interview. “In our societies,”
he said, “characters dominate our perceptions.... Why did I
suggest that we use anonymity? Out of nostalgia for a time when,
being quite unknown, what I said had some chance of being
heard….A name makes reading too easy.” 3

When intellectuals become public, they join the ranks of what we

today call “celebrities.” People start to assign value to what they
say not always because of the thoughts they express, but more
because of the person behind the words. Foucault said he had
nothing against intellectuals appearing on television, so long as
they, or the public, did not start to think that their works were worth
reading, or their views taken seriously, simply because they were
seen on television.

I believe this. When intellectuals allow themselves to be seduced

into becoming moral entrepreneurs or politicians, they end up
compromising the basic role they are expected to play in society.
And that role is to sharpen the public’s sense of reality in a world
bombarded by a plethora of information and so-called “alternative
facts.” This sharpened sense of reality, Foucault reminds us,
comes from “a certain determination to throw off familiar ways of
thoughts and to look at the same things in a different way; a
passion for seizing what is happening now and what is

3Michel Foucault, Politics, Philosophy, Culture: Interviews and other writings,

1977-1984, edited by Lawrence Kritzman, 1988, p. 324
disappearing; a lack of respect for the traditional hierarchies of
what is important and fundamental.”4 The moment an intellectual
seeks popularity, power, or profit, it will not take long before she
loses her autonomy, betrays her craft, and becomes no different
from a media star, a politician, or an entrepreneur.

Intoxicated by public adulation, she might be prodded to publicize

everything that comes to her mind, no matter in what state it is,
leaving no thought unpublished. Seeking constant affirmation, she
might be tempted to become a mouthpiece for all kinds of
advocacies, or, worse, a hack in the service of the moneyed and
the powerful. Soon she might allow herself to be enticed to run for
public office, convinced that she, indeed, is the embodiment of the
alternative. Before she realizes it, she gives up the hard work of
reflexive thinking, and begins to dwell in one comforting delusion
after another.

But, let me not overstate these dangers, lest we think the ideal
intellectual has to retreat into the hallowed halls of academe, or
find refuge in the aristocracy of incommunicable thoughts, in order
to produce worthwhile ideas. No, that would be farthest from my
conception of an intellectual’s vocation in society. I believe it is
important that an intellectual must engage her society and her
time. She must speak to the public, make herself understood.
She must learn to make use of all available media, never fearing
that the appearance of lofty ideas in the popular media cheapens
them.

My template for the quintessential Filipino intellectual is Jose Rizal,

this university’s foremost alumnus. It was he, among all the
thinkers of his time, who articulated the clearest vision of where
the emergent Filipino nation stood at that point in its history as a
Spanish colony -- what it could be, and what challenges it faced in
the course of its evolution. But, more than that, Rizal was also
fully aware of the need for an “enlightened class” that could
oversee the birthing of the new nation.

This he explains in one of his most important essays, “The

Philippines a century hence.” Allow me to quote a long passage
from this essay: “Today there is a factor which did not exist before.
The national spirit has awakened, and a common misfortune and a

4 Ibid, p. 328
common abasement have united all the inhabitants of the Islands.
It counts on a large enlightened class within and without the
Archipelago, a class created and augmented more and more by
the stupidities of certain rulers who compel the inhabitants to
expatriate themselves, to seek education abroad – a class that
perseveres and struggles thanks to the official provocations and
the system of persecution. This class whose number is increasing
progressively is in constant communication with the rest of the
Islands, and if today it constitutes the brains of the country, within
a few years it will constitute its entire nervous system and
demonstrate its existence in all its acts.” 5

It is difficult to find a more graphic description of the role of Filipino

intellectuals in nation-building. To persevere and struggle against
persecution, to increase their numbers, to remain in continual
communication with the rest of the people, to serve not just as the
nation’s brains, but indeed as its nervous system, conveying all the
vital impulses to act through the entire body of an awakened
people.

Clearly, this role-definition of the intellectual is drawn from the

early modern epoch of nationalist emancipation and nation-state
building. Rizal wrote his famous essay more than a century ago,
in the closing years of the 19th century. And yet the aspirations
that he associated with modern nationhood – namely, (1) the unity
of all the ethnic and racial groups in these Islands, on the basis of
a shared national identity; (2) the formation of a free and self-
governing polity and the building of a self-reliant economy; and (3)
the establishment of a just, modern, and democratic society on the
foundations of the rule of law and respect for individual freedom –
these aspirations seem as urgent today as they were during
Rizal’s time.

Indeed, every constitution we have had since Malolos has been a

reiteration of these values. At once, what this tells us is that the
building of the Filipino nation, after more than a century, has
remained an unfinished project.

It is not difficult to see how national unity in a multi-ethnic and

archipelagic society like ours has remained a formidable

5“The Philippines a Century Hence,” Jose Rizal’s Political and Historical Writings,
National Historical Institute, p. 140.
challenge. Nothing perhaps illustrates this more vividly than the
persistence of a secessionist movement in Southern Mindanao.
But, in a more subdued way, we might also see it in the
fragmentation of the national vote along ethno-linguistic lines every
election year. Similarly, we cannot ignore the persistence of
economic underdevelopment -- of a shallow, remittance-driven and
consumption-oriented economy -- as we try to find enduring
solutions to the basic problems of mass poverty and social
inequality. Nor can we be blind to the fact that despite the
modernity of our institutions, the practice of democracy, amid
gross disparities in wealth and opportunity, has been largely
illusory. Rather than vanish with the advent of modernity, political
dynasties and patron-client politics have continued to flourish
beneath the institutional cover of the modern political system
outlined in our Constitution.

Indeed, in view of all these realities, one cannot be faulted for

clinging to the same aspirations that once animated the
anticolonial struggles of our ancestors.

But, we cannot possibly be oblivious of the fact that the world has
changed tremendously in the meantime. Filipinos too have
changed in mind-boggling ways. More of our people are going
abroad, not as young students as in Rizal’s time, but as workers in
search of opportunity and a better life. For many of them, the
future of the nation they leave behind could be farthest from their
minds and irrelevant to their own personal plans. Abroad, the
Filipino passport they carry has sometimes impeded their mobility
and advancement instead of serving them as a badge of pride and
self-respect.

In the light of these developments, surely, it is fair to ask: Why are

we pursuing 19th century aspirations in a modern world order that
is far more complex and more interconnected than the one that
confronted Rizal and his generation? What does it mean, for
example, to pursue national unity and promote a Filipino identity in
a world that, because of the extensive migration of peoples, now
operates according to norms cognizant of cultural pluralism and
diversity? What would the pursuit of a self-reliant economy mean
in a world capitalist system that has long defied the artifice of
national borders, and ignores the ecological limits of the planet we
all share? What might national self-rule mean in a world where
international covenants, forged in the wake of devastating wars,
permit the scrutiny of the actions of nation-states and their leaders
in the name of universal values? What does the quest for
democracy and social justice mean in a world where the forces of
the market are allowed to determine ultimately who shall live and
who shall die?

In raising these questions, I do not wish to be misunderstood.

Nation-building is not passé, but the role of the intellectual cannot
be pegged exclusively to what Gianni Vattimo 6 calls “ultimate
points of reference in the most specific kinds of attachment (to
race, ethnic group, family, or class)….” To do so, he warns, would
be to “limit our perspective right at the outset.” The Italian
philosopher suggests that we can at least “show how wide the
horizons really are.” But, what would such awareness signify in
terms of the kinds of values we must pursue?

Very much aware of the relativism that is engulfing today’s world,

Vattimo proposes two modes of action that the intellectual might
consider adopting as an act of responsibility. The first is “to start
clearing away the dense undergrowth of metaphysical absolutes” –
i.e. belief systems that are founded on first principles – the most
recent specimen of which, Vattimo says, has come in the form of
so-called “laws of the marketplace.” And second, to cultivate an
alertness to the “content of our heritage and provenance,” meaning
to be sensitive to those core ideas and values “of which we
consider ourselves the heirs and by which we feel ourselves
summoned.”

Let me try to unpack Vattimo’s conception of the intellectual’s role

in society. It is, first of all, anti-metaphysical and highly critical of
arguments that refer back to absolutes, or ground themselves on
first principles. For, he sees in such absolutist beliefs all the seeds
of human violence. In the face of what he calls “the nihilistic
destiny of our epoch,” and the demon of relativism that has
accompanied it, Vattimo’s intellectual seeks answers, wages
reason, from the standpoint of what he calls “the ethics of finitude.”
He explains: “Respect for the other, in the ethics of finitude, is not
in the least grounded in the presumption that she (the other) is a
bearer of human reason equal and identical in everyone….
Respect for others is, above all, recognition of the finitude that

6Gianni Vattimo, Nihilism and Emancipation, Columbia University Press, 2003,

pp. 37-48
characterizes all of us and that rules out any complete conquest of
the opacity that every person bears.”

If we accept this, Vattimo says -- if we grant the nihilism that is now

upon us, while refusing to rely upon any ultimate foundation to
ground our positions, “then any possible legitimation of the violent
abuse of others vanishes.” Aware that this expectation is itself
ultimately ungrounded, Vattimo offers a consoling note: “The
temptation to violence may never be extinguished…. [but] the
difference here is that the temptation is stripped of all appearance
of legitimacy….”

In an age where violence is routinely justified in the name of

religious and political values, where disrespect and sheer
nastiness dominate everyday discourse, and where passions and
emotions take precedence over truth, there has to be room for
Vattimo’s notion of “weak thought.” But, the intellectual, in his
view, cannot pretend to be an aloof or ironic observer, detached
from any commitments.

The intellectual is, above all, heir to a legacy and is answerable to

her provenance, her origins. Therefore, her first duty is to be alert
to the content of that heritage – to deconstruct it if necessary – but
always to interpret what it summons us to do through changing
times.

We must aim to do this without seeking refuge in first principles, or

without lapsing into some kind of essentialism – even in the face of
so much violence and antagonism. We need to cultivate an ethics
that is responsible to its own epoch – an ethics that, at once,
excludes violence, particularly the type that thinks itself legitimate.
Most important of all, we must exclude from the values that have
been passed on to us the “authoritarian silencing of the other in the
name of first principles.” A very recent example of this, I think, is
President Duterte’s constant mantra: that anything is justifiable if
done for the good of the Filipino nation, as though the nation itself
were an unproblematic construct.

Let us take a moment at this point to briefly tackle the elephant in

the room. How would Vattimo’s intellectual deal with Rodrigo
Duterte -- and his penchant to disrespect every standing institution
that disagrees with him, to insult his critics, and to express blanket
approval of the summary killing of drug peddlers, and everyone
else who stands in the way of his righteous war on drugs?

I believe that if we don’t question his notion of what constitutes the

national good and what its pursuit requires, then it won’t be long
before we find ourselves unable to speak out against the summary
killing of illegal gambling operators, corrupt government personnel,
usurious money-lenders, rapacious oligarchs, and everyone else
he might label as a pest, as part of his comprehensive cleansing of
Philippine society.

In Vattimo’s view, it would be futile to respond to a ruthless

autocrat like Duterte by invoking first principles – for example, the
sanctity of life or the intrinsic inviolability of human rights. “These
drug dealers are no longer human,” Duterte has been heard to say
in response, and many believe him. Our aim rather should be to
bring back rational norms to the discussion, on the basis of a
commitment to reduce violence.

Let me elaborate by borrowing from what New York Times writer

Frank Bruni recently wrote7 in reference to America’s own new
president. “You know how Donald Trump wins,” he begins. “I’m
talking about the battle between incivility and dignity. He triumphs
when opponents trade righteous anger for crude tantrums. When
they lose sight of the line between protest and catcalls…. There’s
so much substantive ground on which to confront Trump…. Why
swerve into the gutter? Why help him dismiss his detractors as
people in thrall to the theater of their outrage and no better than he
is?”

Towards the end of his piece, Bruni observes: “If Trump’s

presidency mirrors its dangerous prelude, one of the fundamental
challenges will be to respond to him, his abettors, and his agenda
in the most tactically prudent way and not just the most emotionally
satisfying one. To rant less and organize more. To resist taunts
and stick with facts. To answer invective with intelligence. And to
show, in the process, that there are two very different sets of
values here, manifest in two very distinct modes of discourse.” I
couldn’t have put it better.

7 Frank Bruni, The New York Times, January 24, 2017

What is important – when one reckons the role of the public
intellectual – is the impact she creates on the self-understanding of
society. Her work consists in challenging dominant ways of
thinking, doubting all ideologies, and offering new ways of thinking
and speaking about old problems. She tells society where it is at
any given moment, and where it is headed. In this sense she
might be closer to a prophet than an ideologue.

Because of their shared affinity with the world of ideas, it seems

almost logical for academics to aspire to become public
intellectuals. But, it is interesting that the more prominent of public
intellectuals in the West have no ties with academe, although they
may have been professors at one time or another. I have often
wondered why.

I now think it has largely to do with the academic ethos, which

tightly binds us to the disciplines or branches of knowledge in
which we hold our professorships or academic appointments,
creating intellectual echo chambers in the process. There is
something about university disciplines that abhors popular
audiences. It is the snobbishness of the ivory tower. We not only
do not feel any obligation to be understood by the lay public, we
also often take a bizarre pride in our splendid isolation. As a
result, academics tend to look at their colleagues who appear or
publish in the popular media as lesser scholars. This charge is, of
course, not entirely without basis. Indeed, there are people who
have a habit of flashing their academic credentials and institutional
affiliations in the public sphere in order to gain the right to be heard
on a wide range of issues – including those in which they do not
enjoy any expertise.

But all this is changing very fast. Today, in Europe as in the US,
the trend is reversed. Well-endowed private universities have
been known to pursue intellectual rock stars who have made a
name for themselves not only in the academic world but also in the
public sphere. I think the massive penetration by the new media of
almost every aspect of our daily lives has a lot to do with this. This
has increased the pressure on academe to establish its presence
in the public square, to reach out beyond the classrooms and
campuses, in order to respond to the intellectual needs of diverse
communities in an increasingly complex world. Part of the labor of
speaking truth to power is being able to counter peddled lies with
the truth from our disciplines and sciences.
Herein, I think, lies a unique role for Filipino academics like us.
Many of our colleagues are already performing this role through
blogs, newspaper columns, and regular appearances as resource
persons in public affairs programs. But the route to the public
sphere need not always be through mainstream media. Most
academic units and faculties are well suited to issue “white papers”
or occasional studies that can enrich public discourse, challenge
attempts to revise history, or serve as the basis for the re-
examination of existing public policy. Such papers often do not
require new research, but only a perseverance to bring together
and synthesize the latest information on a given problem. What is
important is that the point of view of academe is communicated in
a language that is not too remote from that used by the general
public.

A university like Ateneo can very well hold regular press

conferences in which its scholars are given the platform to
articulate their own assessment of the State of the Nation. These
interventions may often antagonize the politicians and bureaucrats
who make decisions in our name, but they will also show our
people what it means to think hard about the nation’s problems. I
am convinced that this is very much a part of the vocation of
forming the consciousness of a nation.

Of course, let us not forget that our students are our principal
constituency. I will not speak here about the need to keep our
discussion of ideas inside the classroom always current – to take
pains to relate what we teach to the crucial issues we face as a
nation. But, more than teaching our students values – whether
moral or ethical or political – I would put the stress on the need to
show them the importance of thinking properly.

What do I mean? Let me end these reflections by turning to

Heidegger’s essay “What is called thinking?” 8 “We must not
imagine it to be enough,” he wrote, “for any man merely to inhabit
the world of his own representational ideas, and to express only
them. For the world of this expression is shot through with blindly
adopted and unexamined ideas and concepts. How could this

8Martin Heidegger, What is Called Thinking? Trans. J. Glenn Gray. New York:
Harper and Row Publishers, 1968.
confused manner of forming ideas be called thinking, however
loudly it may claim to be creative?”

To Heidegger, a thinker is someone who takes a critical view of

what is taken for granted as common-sense reason, especially her
own. This built-in skepticism at once puts the thinking individual at
odds with the moral and political conventions of her society and
time. To me, this is precisely the first function of a university – to
produce people who can think -- individuals who are not afraid to
examine prevailing views, including their own, and to take
responsibility for the way they think. This formulation may not
have anything directly to do with the task of nation-building. But, I
cannot imagine a better definition of the role of the intellectual than
this – to teach people how to think.