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I was utterly convinced that an intellectual could never be anything but an intellectual, was simply not capable of being anything else, that his intellectuality would, sooner or later, erode his faith or erode whatever he’d masked it with . . . For example, intellectuals like to dress themselves up as peasants . . . but it never works. The intellectual’s constitution is impervious to such things – it permits only one object of worship – oneself. Generally speaking, an intellectual in the contemporary version is an exceptionally resourceful and, essentially, pitiful being.
