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air war against the Taliban, the anthrax scares, and the "one
hundred percent certainty" of further terrorist attacks in
the United States have tightened the already taut cords of public
tension. The best thing we could do is relax.
The ancient
Stoic philosophers advise us to try to maintain a sense of inner
tranquility as we face the perils of the times and go about our
duties. Television news prefers the faces of anguish, exhaustion,
and steely resolve to the face of tranquil determination, but here
and there we have caught glimpses of a fireman, a rescue worker,
or a soldier calmly doing his work. Americans tend to call this
"professionalism," but it is deeper than that.
In 524, the
neo-Platonic philosopher Boethius was charged with treason and imprisoned
by his erstwhile friend the barbarian King of Rome, Theodoric the
Ostrogoth. Boethius was suspected, perhaps accurately, of having
contacted the Byzantine Emperor in hopes of some kind of political
and religious reconciliation between the two remnants of the Roman
Empire. Cast into prison at Pavia, Boethius wrote his greatest work,
The
Consolation of Philosophy. It is a moving testament to the
idea that, despite apparent injustice, the highest good "strongly
and sweetly" governs the universe. Shortly after he finished
it, Theodoric had him executed.
These are somber
thoughts for a somber season, but the consolations of philosophy
don't all have to be Stoic meditations. In fact, American professors
of philosophy are pioneering another approach.
I recently
received a copy of an e-mail circulated by the Centennial Committee
of the American Philosophical Association. The APA is the scholarly
association for academic philosophy in the United States, and a
body we might reasonably look to for advice in troubled times. And
indeed the Centennial Committee, chaired by John Lachs, Centennial
Professor of Philosophy at Vanderbilt University, has been at work
developing a promising campaign titled, "Philosophy Matters."
I am relieved
to know. For many years I have wondered if philosophy matters. I
knew from the titles of many books that almost everything else matters.
Cooking matters. Farming matters. Sex, goodness knows, matters.
So does money. Cornel West has instructed us that Race Matters,
and inspired a whole train of epigones who tell us that class, gender,
beauty, and culture matter. Home electronics and peanut butter and
jelly seem to matter. But, in the absence of a strong affirmation
from the Philosophy Community (which I think is in southern Ohio),
I had doubts whether philosophy really matters.
But now John
Lachs and his colleagues have put that worry to rest. "Philosophy
Matters" shapes up as an eleven-point program of sensible self-promotion.
The APA will, for example, present a nationwide series of book signings
at Borders bookstores. Point #3 is "a letter from President
Bush indicating appreciation of the contribution of philosophy."
Point #5 is a series of "30-second radio spots presenting appetizer-size
philosophical ideas," to be recorded by former Monty Python
member John Cleese.
Cleese is,
I think, the perfect spokesman for this effort: witty, a master
of the distracted intellectual air, and adroit at combining the
pompous and the deflationary. These philosophers really do
know themselves.
Another APA
proposal is an agreement with Starbucks "to host coffeehouse
style discussions in their stores featuring philosophers."
Starbucks has yet to agree. I myself don't drink coffee, but I applaud
the idea of restoring genuine philosophical discussion to coffee
houses. I wonder, however, if the APA is missing an opportunity
in not getting important philosophical thoughts printed in pithy
form inside bottle caps. But perhaps the APA simply forgot to include
it on the list. That would explain all the Diet Pepsi caps I got
last summer that said, "Sorry, play again," which seems
a fairly succinct summary of modern philosophy.
At the higher
end of the promotional campaign, the APA is offering a $1,000 prize
"for the best letter to the editor written by a member."
Every society,
I suppose, remakes philosophy in its own image, and it would be
uncharitable to begrudge academic philosophers their chance to market
themselves to a broader public. But I am old enough to remember
when even lawyers considered it beneath their dignity (and unethical)
to advertise. It is a bit startling to see philosophers groveling
for a bit of public attention.
Still, I think
we should take this in good spirit. Contemporary academic philosophy
seems to have little to teach us in the way of profound truths or
governing ideas about how to lead our lives. The stock-in-trade
of some philosophers is an incomprehensible algebra of logical notations.
Others offer mummified bits of Marxist theory or strive like the
Sophists of old to find plausible reasons to support whatever happens
to be trendy on the political Left. When America is attacked, Americans
turn for help in many places — to their churches, to their
national leaders, to each other — but who turns to the academic
philosophers? We may not understand exactly what they do, but we
understand triviality when we see it.
And, of course,
we accommodate it. Triviality that announces itself as such is swept
up in our love of amusement and indulged for its own sake. We can
afford philosophy in our coffeehouses because, unlike the coffeehouses
in Paris, Prague, and Budapest, the venue isn't a breeding ground
for disaffected intellectuals dreaming of the day when they will
seize power. Most of Starbuck's customers have jobs.
So good luck
to you Professor Lachs and the APA. I'm sorry you are stuck with
a light-hearted campaign in a dark-feeling time, but it may be all
right. If philosophy teachers have little really to teach us about
philosophy in this perilous passage, at least they offer some distraction,
and that too is a consolation.
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