# Literacy is Decreasing Among the Intellectual Class

(Cross-posted from [my Substack](https://taylorgordonlunt.substack.com/p/literacy-is-decreasing-among-the); written as part of the Halfhaven virtual blogging camp)  
  
Oh, you read Emily Post’s *Etiquette*? *What version?* There’s a significant difference between versions, and that difference reflects the declining literacy of the American intellectual.

I looked into this because I noticed books published before the ’70s or ‘80s seemed to be written with an assumption of the reader’s competence that is no longer present in many modern texts.

Take Emily Post’s *Etiquette*. The force of her intellect and personality came through in the 1922 original:

> When gentlemen are introduced to each other they always shake hands. When a gentleman is introduced to a lady, she sometimes puts out her hand— especially if he is some one she has long heard about from friends in common, but to an entire stranger she generally merely bows her head slightly and says: “How do you do!” Strictly speaking, it is always her place to offer her hand or not as she chooses, but if he puts out his hand, it is rude on her part to ignore it. Nothing could be more ill-bred than to treat curtly any overture made in spontaneous friendliness. No thoroughbred lady would ever refuse to shake any hand that is honorable, not even the hand of a coal heaver at the risk of her fresh white glove. Those who have been drawn into a conversation do not usually shake hands on parting. But there is no fixed rule. A lady sometimes shakes hands after talking with a casual stranger; at other times she does not offer her hand on parting from one who has been punctiliously presented to her. She may find the former sympathetic and the latter very much the contrary. Very few rules of etiquette are inelastic and none more so than the acceptance or rejection of the strangers you meet. There is a wide distance between rudeness and reserve. You can be courteously polite and at the same time extremely aloof to a stranger who does not appeal to you, or you can be welcomingly friendly to another whom you like on sight. Individual temperament has also to be taken into consideration: one person is naturally austere, another genial. The latter shakes hands far more often than the former. As already said, it is unforgivably rude to refuse a proffered hand, but it is rarely necessary to offer your hand if you prefer not to.

The reader is assumed to understand basic ideas, and trusted to use their judgment to navigate social situations. Now take the modern *Centennial Edition* of *Etiquette* released in 2022:

> The handshake is the American standard for a respectful gesture of greeting. It is a gesture with deep symbolic roots, and says “I come in friendship, I mean you well, I have no weapon, please take my hand, you can trust me.” It is an offer to touch, something that is a rare occurrence among strangers, acquaintances, and colleagues. It is kept brief and contained within a simple gesture, and even so, the act of human contact means so much. When the social distancing measures of the COVID-19 pandemic pulled us apart, one of the biggest questions people asked about etiquette was whether the handshake would come back. Let us assure you, it is as important now as ever. It is a classic that is automatic to a great many. When someone reaches out a hand, it’s very difficult to refuse it. There are five elements to a good handshake: eye contact, a smile or friendly expression, a good grip, the right amount of energy, and letting go at the right time.

It then goes on to describe each of these five elements in detail in a numbered list. Modern readers love a good numbered list, or a bullet-point list. Much easier than paragraphs, which to the modern reader are like the open ocean, and carry a risk of drowning.

The empty sentences grate. The explanation of the obvious is painful. Notice how much focus is on the physical mechanics of shaking a hand, rather than on understanding of social rules. And does the reader really need to be told about the “deep symbolic roots” of the handshake, or that they need to put “the right amount of energy” into it? If so, is it really necessary to later explain in further detail exactly what that means? I’d have thought the phrase “the right amount of energy” itself was clear and didn’t require elaboration. But Emily Post’s descendants disagree.

A person might have been excused for thinking the 2022 version would be much like the original, only updated to account for modern etiquette. But unless you did your homework, you wouldn’t realize you’d been robbed! Instead of the vigorous style of classic Post:

> Nothing shows less consideration for others than to whisper and rattle programmes and giggle and even make audible remarks throughout a performance. Very young people love to go to the theater in droves called theater parties and absolutely ruin the evening for others who happen to sit in front of them. If Mary and Johnny and Susy and Tommy want to talk and giggle, why not arrange chairs in rows for them in a drawing-room, turn on a phonograph as an accompaniment and let them sit there and chatter! If those behind you insist on talking it is never good policy to turn around and glare. If you are young they pay no attention, and if you are older—most young people think an angry older person the funniest sight on earth! The small boy throws a snowball at an elderly gentleman for no other reason! The only thing you can do is to say amiably: “I’m sorry, but I can’t hear anything while you talk.” If they still persist, you can ask an usher to call the manager.

You get this:

> As an audience member at a seated performance, your biggest goal is not to disrupt anything—neither the performers nor the people seated near you. This definitely means turning cell phones off and double-checking to make sure they are. Don’t be that person whose phone rings in the middle of a performance. Don’t bring in anything to eat or drink that isn’t allowed, and even if it is allowed, avoid anything with a noisy wrapper or that will rattle in a box. Silent foods, if any, are the best choice, but usually you can’t eat during the show. Ushers may be present at a theater or larger venue to help you find your seat or guide you in and out of the theater when the lights are low or the show is going on. They can also help if you have a question or need assistance. If you are late and missed the dimming of the lobby lights that indicate the show is about to start, an usher may have you wait until a natural break in the performance and then help you to your seat. If an usher asks you to be quiet during a show, it’s important to politely take their cue.

Apparently modern people need to be told to ask questions when they have a question, and to not ignore an usher when he tells them to be quiet. If Emily Post had been less polite, maybe she’d have told her grandchildren they were nitwits and to keep their hands off her book.

Another book which has been continually published for more than a century is *Gray’s Anatomy* — the “doctor’s bible” that’s the namesake of the medical TV-show of the same name (though the show spells *Grey* with an ‘e’). I wanted to see if the same pattern held up as with Emily Post’s *Etiquette*. It’s a bit hard, since the book has expanded a lot since the original, which was only concerned with muscles, bones, and joints, and made nearly no mention of even the human heart! The modern version is a complete map of human anatomy. Nevertheless, I found some similar passages in the 1860 version:

> The Coccyx, so called from resembling a cuckoo’s beak, is usually formed of four small segments of bone, the most rudimentary parts of the vertebral column. In each of the first three segments may be traced a rudimentary body, articular and transverse processes; the last piece (sometimes the third) being merely a rudimentary nodule of bone, without distinct processes.

And the 2020 version:

> The coccyx is a small, triangular bone and is often asymmetric in shape. It usually consists of four fused rudimentary vertebrae, although the number varies from three to five, and the first is sometimes separate. The bone is directed downwards and ventrally from the sacral apex; its pelvic surface is tilted upwards and forwards, its dorsum downwards and backwards.

They are both quite information-dense (as is the human body). It’s not easy to say one of these quotations is better than the other, or more simplified. Look at this snippet from the introduction of the 2020 edition:

> Anatomy is the study of the structure of the body. Conventionally, it is divided into topographical (macroscopic or gross) anatomy (which may be further divided into regional anatomy, surface anatomy, neuroanatomy, endoscopic and imaging anatomy); developmental anatomy (embryogenesis and subsequent organogenesis); and the anatomy of microscopic and submicroscopic structure (histology). Anatomical language is one of the fundamental languages of medicine. The unambiguous description of thousands of structures is impossible without an extensive and often highly specialized vocabulary. Ideally, these terms, which are often derived from Latin or Greek, should be used to the exclusion of any other, and eponyms should be avoided. In reality, this does not always happen. Many terms are vernacularized and, around the world, synonyms and eponyms still abound in the literature, in medical undergraduate classrooms and in clinics and operating theatres. The 2nd edition of the Terminologia Anatomica, 1 drawn up by the Federative Committee on Anatomical Terminology (FCAT) and newly published in 2019, continues to serve as our reference source for the terminology for macroscopic anatomy, and the text of the 42nd edition of Gray’s Anatomy is almost entirely TA2-compliant. However, where terminology is at variance with, or, more likely, is not included in, the TA, the alternative term used either is cited in the relevant consensus document or position paper, or enjoys widespread clinical usage. Synonyms and eponyms are given in parentheses on first usage of a preferred term and not shown thereafter in the text; an updated list of eponyms and short biographical details of the clinicians and anatomists whose names are used in this way is available in the e-book for reference purposes (see Preface, p. ix, for further discussion of the use of eponyms).

It seems the 2020 *Gray’s Anatomy* is written at a similar reading level to the 1860 edition. I would have concluded from this experiment that I was wrong, and that Emily Post’s *Etiquette* was an unfortunate exception, but there was one thing that bothered me: I have met many doctors in my life. Some of them were quite bright. But many were simply not intelligent enough that I would believe they had ever read and understood an entire textbook written in this fashion. Some, I’m surprised they can tell a stepstool from a stethoscope.

I did some digging, and it turns out that while the original *Gray’s Anatomy* was written specifically for medical students, the newer version is used as a reference text, and is considered too dense for medical students. The reading level of the original has been preserved, but its purpose has shifted.

Even more digging revealed that there’s a new *Gray’s Anatomy for Students* that fills in the role of the original. Let’s take a look:

> Anatomy forms the basis for the practice of medicine. Anatomy leads the physician toward an understanding of a patient’s disease, whether he or she is carrying out a physical examination or using the most advanced imaging techniques. Anatomy is also important for dentists, chiropractors, physical therapists, and all others involved in any aspect of patient treatment that begins with an analysis of clinical signs. The ability to interpret a clinical observation correctly is therefore the endpoint of a sound anatomical understanding.

Ah, there’s that 21st-century hollowness! That disrespectful prose that tells the reader what they must already know! The 1860 *Gray’s Anatomy* needed no introduction at all. It was assumed the medical students would understand what was meant by the word “anatomy”. The modern *Gray’s Anatomy* opts for completeness and includes an introduction, but goes straight into important clarifications. But in the *for Students* edition, the reader apparently needs it explained to them that anatomy can help doctors diagnose diseases, and that *correct* interpretation of what they see in their patients’ bodies, rather than *incorrect* interpretation, would be a good thing.

Here’s the 1860 version describing joints:

> The various bones of which the Skeleton consists are connected together at different parts of their surfaces, and such connection is designated by the name of Joint or Articulation. If the joint is immoveable, as between the cranial and most of the facial bones, their adjacent margins are applied in almost close contact, a thin layer of fibrous membrane, the sutural ligament, and, at the base of the skull, in certain situations, a thin layer of cartilage being interposed. Where slight movement is required, combined with great strength, the osseous surfaces are united by tough and elastic fibrocartilages, as in the joints of the spine, the sacro-iliac, and inter-pubic articulation; but in the moveable joints, the bones forming the articulation are generally expanded for greater convenience of mutual connexion, covered by an elastic structure, called cartilage, held together by strong bands or capsules, of fibrous tissue, called ligament, and lined by a membrane, the synovial membrane, which secretes a fluid that lubricates the various parts of which the joint is formed, so that the structures which enter into the formation of a joint are bone, cartilage, fibro-cartilage, ligament, and synovial membrane.

Clear. Trusts the reader to be able to read. It’s hard to find directly comparable passages with the 2020 *Gray’s Anatomy for Students*, but this is close enough:

> The sites where two skeletal elements come together are termed joints. The two general categories of joints are those in which:
> 
> *   the skeletal elements are separated by a cavity (i.e., **synovial joints**), and
> *   there is no cavity and the components are held together by connective tissue (i.e., **solid joints**) Blood vessels that cross over a joint and nerves that innervate muscles acting on a joint usually contribute articular branches to that joint…

There’s that bullet-point list again. *Gray’s Anatomy for Students* makes heavy use of bold keywords and bullet-point lists. These techniques make any text easier to understand — for the barely-literate.

Obviously *Gray’s Anatomy for Students* is the better medical textbook, having been written in the 21st-century. There was a lot we didn’t know about the body in 1860. Likewise, *Etiquette, The Centennial Edition* is probably more applicable in the 21st-century than the outmoded and gendered rules of the original edition. But while the quality of information has improved, the delivery has not (aside from the addition of images and diagrams to the medical texts). Authors now feel the need to talk down to university students like they’re idiots. What’s changed?

Literacy rates in the USA have risen from only 80% in 1870, to 99% today.[^2ppi9kcistr] Literacy rates eventually became pointless to measure in America, because everyone could read at least a bit. Instead, they started measuring reading level in 1971. The reading level has barely budged since, increasing only slightly since the ’70s.[^0zga55dkypp]

If the average American has barely improved, what about the intellectual class? That is, those Americans who have at least attended some college?

Verbal/reading SAT scores of college-bound students have steadily decreased since the 1950s,[^ycoitzm1qcs] giving some indication that the average literacy of the intellectual class is dropping. Whether that’s because the same number of intellectuals are losing their ability to read complex texts, or because more people are entering the intellectual class, diluting the score, I don’t really care. The takeaway is that terms like “intellectual”, “college-educated”, or “expert” don’t mean what they used to, because the people these terms apply to increasingly cannot read.

To not seem like an elitist, I should say that I’m as much a victim of this effect as anyone else. I was raised on the same diet of picture-book textbooks and ChatGPT-tier hollow prose as every other academic student, and my literacy suffers as a result. Only recently am I making an effort to read things that are a little more challenging. Things written before the ’80s. Currently, I’m reading *Style* by F. L. Lucas. I also recently read *Class* by Paul Fussell, which was highly entertaining and a great place to start if you want to try out some pre-80s reading.

As a class, the real experts are still around, I think. But now they have the same titles and degrees as the countless “nouveau experts”, and so nobody can tell which experts are worth trusting. All we can do is develop our own literacy and do our thinking for ourselves.

[^2ppi9kcistr]: https://nces.ed.gov/naal/lit_history.asp 

[^0zga55dkypp]: https://nces.ed.gov/programs/coe/pdf/coe_cnj.pdf 

[^ycoitzm1qcs]: https://www.erikthered.com/tutor/historical-average-SAT-scores.pdf This table is a bit confusing if you just look at it. You have to know that SAT data was recentered in 1995 and again in 2016. It really does represent a continual decline, even though the scores suddenly jump up in 2017.