There’s a discussion going on at the moment about Analytic Philosophy, which is perceived as being in crisis for various reasons. I think there may be some substance to the crisis, but I also think philosophy may be the kind of discipline that enjoys thinking of itself as in crisis, so who knows?
What I was particularly interested in was this Tweet by @scottedgar:
“This debate about the state of analytic philosophy is hilarious.
It’s like a bunch of playwrights saying out loud that, up until now, they really thought they’d all be as big a deal as Shakespeare, but now they think they might not be. I’ve never seen so much cope.”
Scott is a historian of philosophy. His occupation involves reading work by figures prominent in their own time who we no longer ever think about. Some of them aren’t even mentioned in footnotes. Thus I do not begrudge Scott his cynicism.
Scott is responding to Liam Bright’s article on contemporary Analytic philosophy, which Liam sees as largely based on an attempt to combine different things together in syncretism- disciplines, ideologies etc. Liam argues this kind of syncretic work has a limited historic shelf life compared to other work. He concludes:
“ The attempt to rationalize new socio-ethical movements in the face of decaying empire mean that we join the Alexandrite’s in trying to provide comfort to a time that needs it. The failures and frictions of our attempts to syncretize will no doubt reveal anomalies that are worth attending to. But I think it is less likely to be of lasting interest than ambitious derivations from first principles. These sort of projects are designed to gain attractiveness from the inner plausibility of their premises, and thus gain a sort of independence from the immediacies of their age. Descartes, Hume, and Spinoza have far more secure places in history. I think this will be felt as a loss because for whatever reason lasting influence does seem to be sought after.
We must reconcile ourselves to a justly forgotten oblivion.”
Now I don’t know what to make of Liam’s claim that syncretism is ultimately doomed to oblivion, or what to make of his claim that our own time is particularly syncretistic. Both claims seem plausible on the surface, but I note there are exceptions. E.g. both Augustine (as Liam notes in passing) and Aquinas were fundamentally syncretic figures.
What I am interested in is the question of how the philosopher should view the project of their life.
Barring depression etc., you have a certain amount of control over the narrative you tell yourself about your own career and what it is aiming at. You can decide whether you think of yourself as aiming to be the next Kant or an under-laborer. How should you think of yourself?
Philosophy is, depending on your point of view, particularly kind or cruel to the aspirant in this regard, because whereas in science or mathematics, truly brilliant theoretical innovators usually show signs early, in philosophy it is not uncommon not to have your breakthrough until your forties or even fifties. How many philosophers have - furtively- reminded themselves that Kant didn’t do anything really world historical till his fifties? It wasn’t just Kant either- Descartes, Locke, Hobbes were all late bloomers, and while philosophy has its share of early prodigies (e.g. Mill) I am by no means cherry-picking. There are plenty of philosophers who didn’t get their really big works done until quite late. Most of them weren’t child prodigies in a general sense, and not all the child prodigies were consistent in their powers. Thus in philosophy it is much easier to guiltily tend a little flame of hope that maybe you are set for great things- there are so many late bloomers who are justly lauded
To answer the question of how the philosopher should regard themselves properly, I’d have to draw up a list of great philosophers- or maybe even of great thinkers across all disciplines, and compare how they thought about themselves, maybe with matched controls who worked in similar fields but never became prominent. Then I would have to perform a qualitative synthesis of the way these philosophers saw themselves and their lives to conclude what the most productive viewpoint is. This would give us some evidence on the right way to regard yourself, if you want to maximise the likelihood of doing something really great for humanity in an intellectual sphere.
However, I’m a philosopher, and therefore empirically lazy. What I’m going to do instead is give you my best guess as to the right approach.
Here’s my attitude:
I am a weird little gremlin, working with weird little gremlin ideas. I might have a breakthrough precisely because anyone might have a breakthrough. I don’t have a world historic spirit, but I might- through luck, and a stubborn insistence of following the thread of my ideas- reach something great. I genuinely don’t know where greatness lies. No one knows where greatness lies. If they did, they’d already have gone there. I’ll just keep tugging at my strings.
Socrates got at a similar spirit:
If I am the wisest man alive, it is for I know one thing, and that is that I know nothing —Socrates
In other words, I think my talents are nothing special, but I still aspire to be the next Hume. This is partly because I think that, in philosophy, the muse attacks quite randomly, and partly because this kind of hope is a strategic choice. It allows me to pursue bizarre threads to their end, or fossick in my stream for gold. Or if you prefer yet another metaphor, it’s like buying lottery tickets. The likelihood of anything working out is small, but if your best possible hope of making a contribution to humanity is winning the lottery, than you’ll want to buy a lot of tickets.
And the right way to buy a lot of lottery tickets is not convince yourself that you have a magic lottery ticket buying power- because either you will eventually grow disillusioned of that, or you are a narcissist(*)
The right way to buy a lot of lottery tickets is to convince yourself that, while you’re odds are small, they’re no worse than many others, and, given your interests, powers, background etc., this is your best bet for doing something for the human lot. You don’t need a lot of belief in yourself, you just need to believe in your chance.
Big hopes, humble heart.
Footnote:
(*) Why do I say it necessarily leads to narcissism? What if you really are a genius? No one has a true justified belief that they are destined to intellectual greatness in philosophy, thus such a belief can only lead to narcissism. There have been numerous absolutely brilliant and motivated figures who went nowhere very special. If you’re bright, it’s fine to think of yourself as bright, but that’s very different to thinking of yourself as destined for greatness.
Lots of good meat on these bones! I appreciate Chris’s and Jerden’s comments.
Another assumption worth examining: aiming to “Maximize the chance of doing something really great in the intellectual sphere.”
I think 21st century “elite” culture has a scalability fetish. It’s not enough to do good on a human, interpersonal level-- it has to be scalable. This is a huge part of academia’s appeal: I could write the paper that makes a huge difference! I really could make it big! I think the lottery is a great metaphor. But like the lottery, I think the expected value of participating is probably net negative: low pay, high stress, and-- in all likelihood-- relatively little impact.
What’s the alternative for a deep thinker? To extend the metaphor, what’s the equivalent of investing in a sensible portfolio of mutual funds and retiring comfortably? In my experience, the non-academic world desperately needs people who can conceptualize and problem solve in a systematic way. you could do this as a consultant (the prestigious version), but also as a participant.
Personally, I went from a BA in philosophy and Econ and an aborted PhD in Econ into teaching math and music at a small rural school. I help people learn to think more clearly every day. I’m also learning to grasp the fundamental dynamics of the education system and move my school in a healthier direction.
Is this going to get my name in the history books? Probably not. (Though I’ll admit to still harboring delusions of grandeur for when my bestselling book revolutionizes the education system). My impact is harder to quantify, but it is no less visible. Frankly, seeing it played out in personal relationships is far more fulfilling than any validation I experienced in academia. Perhaps seeing hundreds of citations of my papers would provide the same deep satisfaction, but I doubt it.
(Side note: I have also identified as lazy with respect to empirics at points in my life. How can one distinguish between empirical laziness and fear of getting one’s hands dirty? Food for thought.)
I would say another difference between philosophy and natural science is that science seems much more incremental and applied - even if you don't become one of the great figures (through some lack of talent, commitment or luck) it's reasonable to expect to make a small contribution to the overall body of knowledge. If Science is a building, with great geniuses laying out the the foundations for entire new wings of discovery, there's no shame in being a mere bricklayer that helps build it up. The main thing to avoid is shoddy work that'll have to be redone later, that undermines anything built on top of it. I feel like this applies to fields like history and economics as well - there's utility to small additions, even if they don't redefine the whole field.
Maybe this is an outside perspective, but philosophy seems to have the unique difficulty among academic fields that it's very focused on the biggest ideas - obviously there are niches, but it doesn't seem quite as valued as research into a specific biological molecule or historical period would be in the more incremental fields.
Reading about philosophers expecting to be the next Hume, Descartes or Kant feels weird to me as a biochemist, in my field we don't really expect to be the next Watson, Crick or Franklin - the structure of DNA has already been discovered! I think, in the heights of our hubris, the most we hope for is that after a long and distinguished career we might be awarded the 20XX Nobel Prize in Chemistry/Medicine, probably for something we didn't understand the significance of at the time, and with the implicit understanding that it's a little absurd to single out one or two individuals from a large team of contributors.