Note: The unpleasant tang of anger and bad faith in the following is evidence
of my ambivalence about leaving academics 15 years ago. The criticism I'm
replying to hurt because it confirmed my own fears. And so, dear reader, with
those psychodynamics in mind, you may proceed...
Jean-Paul Sartre once said that we choose our advisors. For example, if you're
wondering about premarital sex and you go to your priest for advice, you've
pretty well chosen the answer you're going to get. So, even when asking someone
else to decide there's just no escaping the awful burden of responsibility for
ourselves, or, as my tribe prefers to think of it, guilt.
Thus, I know my own hands are dirty when I tell you that I went to Chris Locke
(http://www.rageboy.com/index2.html)
for consolation after getting slammed in a way that was particularly hurtful
to me. When you call up RageBoy because someone's done you wrong, you're unlikely
to come away in a spirit of loving forgiveness. It was RageBoy, after all, who
advised Bishop Tutu that the "truth and reconciliation" trials were
ok so long as they could hang the bastards afterwards.
Here's what brought me to RageBoy:
A few issues ago, I pointed readers to a long-ish article I'd written called
"The New
Metaphysics of the Web." The article — an attempt to work out some
issues that are important to a book I'm writing — draws a contrast between
our traditional metaphysics that understands things in terms of their self-contained
limits and the hyperlinked metaphysics of the Web that sees things more in terms
their relationships. I use that basic idea to suggest that the Web ultimately
is spiritual or transcendent.
I was well aware when writing it that there have been 2,500 years of philosophical
thought about metaphysics, and that the container view has been trashed for
many decades. And I included a footnote at the beginning that tries to head
off some criticism by acknowledging that philosophers have said many of the
things I say in this article.
This drew a posting from someone logged in as "grimmelm" on my discussion
board. It's long, learned and correct. He produces antecedents for most of the
major ideas in my article. For example:
... The criticism of
"container metaphysics" is cogent. And it was cogent when Hegel
made it two centuries ago...
Martin Buber built
up an entire theology by deleting the self and replacing it with relation...Adam
Smith, whose entire _Theory of Moral Sentiments_ grounds all moral judgements
in our ability to empathize with others. The importance of conversation and
sociability to basic humanity? Goes back to Aristotle, at least. The illusion
of the "present" which must be understood in connection to the past
and the future? Augustine...
Not only do I agree with this, I actually knew most of it already. (The Adam
Smith work was news to me.) But what am I supposed to do with this information?
What does grimmelm want from me?
This was the question I posed to RageBoy. And I think his answer is basically
right:
"He wants you to shut the #$&% up."
In other words, only academic philosophers have the right to have this conversation.
I find myself torn. On the one hand, when I taught college philosophy for six
years, I argued vigorously for teaching the history of philosophy so that students
would understand that their ideas have histories. I still believe that.
On the other hand, I haven't read history of philosophy — or any academic
philosophy, actually — since leaving teaching. Oh, I manage to fit an
occasional intellectual work in between InformationWeek, The Simpsons and The
Girls of KM,, but I really don't know what's going on in the field. So, does
that mean I have to shut up?
Absolutely, if I were writing about new advances in academic philosophy. But
I'm not. I'm trying to think as best I can about what's remarkable about the
Web. And that has to be a possibility even for people off-campus. Otherwise,
only academic philosophers will have the right to talk about anything interesting.
This is, in fact, the game academic philosophers play. Whatever the topic,
the philosopher's role is to find the unquestioned assumption and raise it,
sometimes because the assumption is blocking genuine thought, but usually because
it makes the philosopher the smartest person in the room. So, if at some gathering
two architects are talking about designing a newel post, an ontologist will
subvert the conversation by asking, "But how can you really talk about
newel posts without talking about the nature of tools, the way in which we dwell
on the earth, not to mention the is-ness of posts and the as-ness of newels?
You know, Hegel had some insight here when he talked about..." And now
not only is the philosopher in charge of the conversation, but he's the only
one entitled to have it. As a lapsed philosopher you can trust me on this.
Grimmelm didn't even do me the service of advancing the conversation by showing
how Hegel's thought leads us to new insights about the Web. He didn't suggest
ways in which Buber's I-Thou can be fruitfully applied to Web relationships.
No, he's just marking his territory by pissing over my writing.
But here's the bad news for grimmelm: our trans-cultural culture now is bursting
with amateurs with ideas of every sort, most of whom only know that Hegel rhymes
with bagel. These ideas, good and bad, are tossed into the wind without asking
anyone's permission. Most are blown to desert regions, but some cause our noses
to twitch and we pay attention. And a thousand more voices jump in and say amen,
or extend the idea, or get it wrong, or do all of the above and then take it
as their own. The ideas take root and bear fruit. Are they right? We'll argue
about that forever. The real question is: are these ideas clarifying? edifying?
beautiful? funny? terrifying? transforming? (And, yes, I know that this idea
itself has a long history.)
I remain a true believer in the importance of understanding that our ideas
have histories. Everyone should understand this. Some of us should engage in
the full-time pursuit of these histories. Others should study the ways we think
and help us to be rational where rationality is called for. We'll lump these
folks together and call them "philosophers." And they'll have many
interesting conversations amongst themselves. And they may even venture into
the public fray of ideas — which has exploded out of the studies and quads
— where their contributions will be most welcome insofar as they illuminate
and extend and have the bite of passion in them.
But when they instead seek to shut down conversations for being unauthorized,
ungrounded or contrary to the tenets of schoolhouse debates, they'll be ignored.
Philosophy really doesn't have to be the deliberate pursuit of irrelevance.