Writing for others is, except in the most exigent of circumstances, a fundamentally narcissistic act. The words we compose for others may be necessary, convenient, expedient, pleasing to the reader, and otherwise desirable. However, ultimately, writing for others is an act of narcissism, akin to all creative endeavors by which we seek to express ourselves, profit, or impress others.
If one writes with style, erudition, clarity, and aplomb, while simultaneously instilling a semblance of humility within that writing, one has grasped a technique that few have contemplated and fewer still have mastered. In a previous posting, it was noted that the Ursuline sisters early on admonished me and the other students at St. Luke Elementary School to avoid the perpendicular pronoun, and other first-person personal pronouns, at or near the beginning of sentences. Thus, contemplation of humility in writing persists, though I am fairly confident that I have not grasped this technique with any modicum of success.
The above is a precursor to commentary on some academic writing that I have observed in the past several weeks.
The first example is the most recent I have encountered and served as motivation to write this post. The text reads as follows:
“Or consider Matthäus Schwarz of Augsburg, who while still a child, at the age when the young Dürer painted his first known self-portrait, conceived the ambition of writing an autobiography, an ambition that would become a reality fifteen years later, after he had become chief financier for the Fuggers at age twenty-five. At that time he wrote an account of his private life entitled The Way of the World and simultaneously painted watercolors of himself in various costumes. A more narcissistic project can hardly be imagined. This brilliant mind, this confidant of one of the most powerful men of his time, led a full life yet deliberately chose to indulge himself by concentrating his attention on appearances and frivolities. Having achieved success, the adult cast an eye back on his childhood. His sentimental and mordant commentary suggests what feelings the men of the Renaissance, after generations of self-absorbed literature, harbored toward their youth.” (Braunstein, P. (1988). Towards intimacy: The fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. In G. Duby & P. Ariès (Eds.), A history of private life: Revelations of the medieval world (A. Goldhammer, Trans., Vol. II, pp. 555-556). Harvard University Press.)
How extraordinary it is that Professor P. Braunstein, a Frenchman writing in an age dominated by photography, high couture fashion, vapid celebrities, and best-selling autobiographies of such celebrities, could pen such a paragraph while seemingly unaware that his own writing—signed, no less—in the liberal arts, particularly medieval history, could likewise be called a frivolous indulgence and a narcissistic undertaking. Today, many would label the good professor an unproductive idler while viewing Schwarz of Augsburg as critical to economic prosperity as the accountant for one of the most important merchant and financier families of the era.
The second example, in two parts from another professor, comes from the first volume of the work cited above. After noting the Roman urban nobility’s preference for idleness and its adherence to rigid class distinctions, the author observes:
“True, we believe that work is respectable and would not dare to admit to idleness. Nevertheless, we are sensitive to class distinctions and, admit it or not, regard workers and shopkeepers as people of relatively little importance. We would not want ourselves or our children to sink to their station, even if we are a little ashamed of harboring such sentiments.” (Veyne, P. (1987). The Roman Empire. In P. Ariès & G. Duby (Eds.), A History of Private Life: From Pagan Rome to Byzantium (Vol. I, pp. 118). Harvard University Press. (A. Goldhammer, Trans.).)
The same author, reflecting the peculiarities of his class and profession, later indulges in sweeping generalizations, as evidenced by this statement:
“Apart from this proverbial wisdom of the people, Rome had an oral tradition of common sense, a tradition shared by all classes of society and pertinent to every sort of problem. It was a veritable philosophy, like Marxism or psychoanalysis, the two varieties of common sense most prevalent in the West today.” (Veyne, P. (1987), p. 178.)
Professor Veyne displays remarkable narcissism in both extracted statements, presuming that the reader shares his class prejudices against shopkeepers and workers, and embraces his social biases favoring Marxism and psychoanalysis. He scarcely considers that the reader may come from a different class or social background than his own, which is likely the case for the volumes translated into English. This vanity is compounded further when these assumptions are inserted without thought or hesitation into a scholarly work, which should strive to reflect objectivity rather than the exclusivity of social and class status, bias, and prejudice.
The third, and final, example is of a different sort—academic jargonistic exclusionist vocabulary. Or perhaps it is just muddled, unedited writing. In any event, the Cleveland Museum of Art (CMA) issues Cleveland Art: The Cleveland Museum of Art Members Magazine quarterly to communicate information about its exhibits and calendar events. Curators with appropriate academic backgrounds write many of the articles. One such article recently caught my attention due to the density and near inaccessibility of its prose for the average reader. The article discussed an art project which will be exhibited in the CMA’s atrium, which has been “activated with contemporary art at various points.” The latest project, and the artist selected for it, was discussed by the curator:
“Her signature ceramic figures represent a bold intervention in colonial legacies of dependency, erasure, and assimilation. The influence of her identity as a Native woman is evident in her work, but she balances her deep rootedness in her heritage with modern methods, materials, and processes, incorporating elements like metal and Pumice-Crete along with clay.” (Fellah, N. R. (2024). Rose B. Simpson’s Strata. Cleveland Art: The Cleveland Museum of Art Members Magazine, 65(2), 9.)
Academic concepts such as dependency, erasure, and assimilation within colonial legacy are not self-explanatory, and those with different educational experiences than the curator or artist may not grasp the meaning of the above, though they could hope to understand it were the presentation less muddled. For my undergraduate honors thesis, I researched and wrote on the socio-political-economic theory of dependency, and I found myself tripping over the excerpt, rereading it at least three times to discern the intent.
Given that the Cleveland Museum of Art has among its organizational values the statement, “Build an audience-centered culture,” and it states in its summary of its strategic plan that, “We must continue to enhance the visitor experience, affirming the welcome we extend to everyone who walks through our doors and providing joyful and enriching encounters with art for schoolchildren, teens, college and university students, families, and older adults,” it is peculiar that it would use highly academic, almost inaccessible language in a general publication. How much more accessible would it have been to write the above in a more straightforward, less narcissistic “I am an academic with a degree” style, such as:
“Her unique ceramic figures make a strong statement against the negative effects of colonialism, such as making people dependent, erasing their cultures, and forcing them to assimilate. You can see her identity as a Native woman in her artwork, where she mixes her deep connection to her heritage with modern techniques and materials. She uses things like metal and Pumice-Crete, along with clay, to create her pieces.”
The above rewrite may not fully explain the concepts of dependency, erasure, and assimilation, or the effects of colonialism, to readers not wholly familiar with them, but I suspect they would have a better sense of the meaning after reading the above than the original excerpt.
While scholarship and creativity inherently involve a degree of self-expression, they should not devolve into exercises in vanity that alienate the very individuals they purport to enlighten. If institutions like the Cleveland Museum of Art truly aim to build an audience-centered culture and enhance visitor experiences across all demographics, then it is incumbent upon them to adopt more accessible language. This shift would not only foster greater inclusivity but also ensure that the profound messages and insights contained within their works are appreciated by all, not just a select few.
The examples provided illustrate a broader issue within academic and artistic discourse: the propensity for language that obfuscates rather than clarifies, and for prose that serves to elevate the writer’s own status rather than communicate effectively with a diverse audience. This tendency reflects a deeper narcissism that pervades all writing, and much scholarly and creative work, where the desire to impress often overshadows the imperative to inform.
In revisiting the notion that writing for others is fundamentally a narcissistic act, it becomes evident that the true challenge lies in balancing this inherent self-focus with a genuine commitment to clarity and accessibility. The measure of effective writing lies in its ability to resonate deeply and universally, transcending the bounds of the page and embracing a shared human experience. By mitigating narcissistic tendencies, we can create works that are not only intellectually enriching but also broadly impactful and inclusive.
