Читать книгу More Than a Rock, 2nd Edition - Guy Tal - Страница 13

There are nowadays professors of philosophy, but not philosophers. Yet it is admirable to profess because it was once admirable to live. To be a philosopher is not merely to have subtle thoughts, nor even to found a school, but so to love wisdom as to live according to its dictates, a life of simplicity, independence, magnanimity, and trust. It is to solve some of the problems of life, not only theoretically, but practically.

—Henry David Thoreau

Someone recently referred to me as a philosopher. Despite knowing that my own approach to philosophy is quite different from that of professional philosophers today, I admit this pleased me very much. In the words of philosopher Scott Soames, “Philosophy has become a highly organized discipline, done by specialists primarily for other specialists.” In recent decades, philosophy as a field of study has seen a transition similar to that of art—both once made it their goal to elevate life in pragmatic and practical ways; and as academic disciplines, both have since distanced themselves from such lofty pursuits. Both were, at times, beholden to religious and political ideologies, and both often progress by the heroic efforts of people outside of—sometimes even in opposition to—their respective formal/academic disciplines.

I once told someone that Nietzsche ruined my life, in the sense that studying his philosophy made me realize (among other things) that the life I had lived up to that point deserved to be ruined. I was reminded of this again some years ago as I listened to a Nietzsche scholar reviewing a paper he wrote to an audience of the Aristotelian Society. What struck me about the presentation was not Nietzsche’s wisdom but the presenter’s dry and dispassionate deconstruction of grammatical trivia, and the almost obvious avoidance of the practical implications of the philosopher’s ideas. I could not help feeling that if Nietzsche were in the audience, he would have booed the speaker off the stage. After all, Nietzsche was the one who admonished, “Is not life a hundred times too short for us—to bore ourselves?” It is the same sentiment I experience when reading discussions on art (and more so, photography) that focus entirely on minutiae and technicalities, and failing utterly to derive more profound conclusions ensuing out of the concepts discussed.

Certainly, I am not the first to point out such disconnects, in either philosophy or art. Roman philosopher Lucius Annaeus Seneca, writing about those who memorize maxims but do not live by them, pronounced, “I hold that there is nothing of eminence in all such men as these, who never create anything themselves, but always lurk in the shadow of others, playing the role of interpreters, never daring to put once into practice what they have been so long in learning.” In a similar vein, Alfred Stieglitz, lamenting the introduction of easy-to-use cameras and the resulting popularity of the medium, wrote, “In the photographic world to-day there are recognized but three classes of photographers—the ignorant, the purely technical, and the artistic. To the pursuit, the first bring nothing but what is not desirable; the second, a purely technical education obtained after years of study . . .”

Physicist Stephen Hawking went so far as to declare philosophy dead because philosophers have not kept up with advances in scientific knowledge. Indeed, what novel ideas can a philosopher not familiar with such things as quantum physics or neuroscience offer about the nature of reality and human perception, working from assumptions and intuitions that fail to consider newly established facts, especially when such facts contradict innate intuitions? What novel work can artists contribute to enlighten and inspire their audiences if beholden to traditional templates of so called “acceptable” art, or venturing no further than showcasing technical skill or travel budgets?

People naturally resist change, and many fear knowledge and theories that put to question their deeply held beliefs, no matter how factual or plausible. Worse still, at a time when more knowledge is available and accessible to more people than ever before, reading appears to be declining and many simply give in to confirmation bias and seek no further. Therefore, advances in philosophy, science, and art are not always received with popular acknowledgment. Anthropologist and philosopher Loren Eiseley wrote, “It is frequently the tragedy of the great artist, as it is of the great scientist, that he frightens the ordinary man.” But so what? Let ordinary philosophers, scientists, and artists worry about the ordinary man.

The concern for popularity is yet a greater hurdle for novel ideas than the concern for the fears of “the ordinary man.” Much of Seneca’s philosophy is contained in letters he wrote to his friend Lucilius. Among many pearls of wisdom found in these letters is this bit of advice: “Lay these words to heart, Lucilius, that you may scorn the pleasure which comes from the applause of the majority. Many men praise you; but have you any reason for being pleased with yourself, if you are a person whom the many can understand?” Nietzsche outright boasted, “Those who can breathe the air of my writings know that it is an air of the heights, a strong air. One must be made for it. Otherwise there is no small danger that one may catch cold in it.”

The most profound philosophy I read in recent years did not always come from ordained philosophers, and the most meaningful art I have seen in recent years most often did not come from graduates of art schools. It is here that I see another commonality between philosophy and art: the best philosophers I know are those who live their lives with the attitude of a philosopher, and the best artists I know are those who live their lives with the attitude of an artist. This has nothing to do with whether such people are “professional” philosophers or artists, and everything to do with their willingness and courage to shape their lives after what they hold to be true. In other words, these are philosophers and artists who practice what both philosophy and art were originally conceived for—to help answer the greatest question that any person can ask: what is the proper way to live? And by that distinction I am proud to be considered an artist and a philosopher, if only in the minds of some.