The Philosophy of Wisdom: Daring to Know and Question Conventional Wisdom | Study notes Philosophy

Alex Betley

What’s the Use of Philosophy?

Philosophy’s etymology is well enough known, stemming from the Greek philosophia, meaning

“love of wisdom.” Prima facie, this doesn’t seem like such a terrible thing. After all, who would claim

not to love wisdom? Likewise, shouldn’t that seem to make philosophers of most us? And yet, besides

the fact that such propositions might put a good many college professors out of job, few would claim

themselves to be philosophers. On the one hand, there is the obvious practical limitation. Philosophers

usually write articles and books. They have graduate degrees. Somewhere in some library in some

untouched stack of books (probably left untouched) rests a bounded dissertation: “So and so, Ph.D.”

Others might say the limitation is more a matter of style. Philosophers are tweed-vest bearing

males, rubbing their forefinger against their thumb, pensive-faced and furrow-browed, cross-legged,

engaging in the dilemmas of the mind. Perhaps a century ago, we can see them in their office, bow-tie

laden across their neckline, pipe in hand. They contemplate big words most are unfamiliar with:

epistemology, existentialism, phenomenology, critical theories, virtue ethics and Kantian ethics and

utilitarian ethics. The list goes on. A philosopher, in one way or another it is pictured, is the intellectual.

A philosopher “questions everything.” Edward Said, in his lecture “Representations of the Intellectual,”

describes the intellectual as maintaining a “state of constant alertness.” Essentially, I take this to mean

the intellectual is always thinking, is always critical. However, Said also says embodying the lifestyle of

the intellectual “doesn’t make one particularly popular.” This seems quite odd. If the intellectual is the

philosopher, as almost none would doubt him or her to be, how could “loving wisdom” make one

unpopular? Surely we all love and respect the godly knowledge of our rather learned thinker mentioned

above.

A quick Google search of “wisdom” will bring up a rather sterile definition: “The quality of having

experience, knowledge, and good judgement.” Again, as in the case of philosophia, such a definition

seems rather uncontroversial and harmless. What does it tell us?

Socrates, Plato’s famous protagonist, no doubt, was a philosopher, that is, a lover of wisdom,

that is, a lover of “the quality of having experience, knowledge, and good judgement.” But who among

us would claim signing one’s own death warrant, as Socrates most famously does when he refuses to

I will routinely reference Edward Said, as his short collection of lectures entitled The Representation of the

Intellectual has led me to this meditative paper.

Partial preview of the text

Download The Philosophy of Wisdom: Daring to Know and Question Conventional Wisdom and more Study notes Philosophy in PDF only on Docsity!

Alex Betley What’s the Use of Philosophy?^1 Philosophy’s etymology is well enough known, stemming from the Greek philosophia , meaning “love of wisdom.” Prima facie , this doesn’t seem like such a terrible thing. After all, who would claim not to love wisdom? Likewise, shouldn’t that seem to make philosophers of most us? And yet, besides the fact that such propositions might put a good many college professors out of job, few would claim themselves to be philosophers. On the one hand, there is the obvious practical limitation. Philosophers usually write articles and books. They have graduate degrees. Somewhere in some library in some untouched stack of books (probably left untouched) rests a bounded dissertation: “So and so, Ph.D.” Others might say the limitation is more a matter of style. Philosophers are tweed-vest bearing males, rubbing their forefinger against their thumb, pensive-faced and furrow-browed, cross-legged, engaging in the dilemmas of the mind. Perhaps a century ago, we can see them in their office, bow-tie laden across their neckline, pipe in hand. They contemplate big words most are unfamiliar with: epistemology, existentialism, phenomenology, critical theories, virtue ethics and Kantian ethics and utilitarian ethics. The list goes on. A philosopher, in one way or another it is pictured, is the intellectual. A philosopher “questions everything.” Edward Said, in his lecture “Representations of the Intellectual,” describes the intellectual as maintaining a “state of constant alertness.” Essentially, I take this to mean the intellectual is always thinking, is always critical. However, Said also says embodying the lifestyle of the intellectual “doesn’t make one particularly popular.” This seems quite odd. If the intellectual is the philosopher, as almost none would doubt him or her to be, how could “loving wisdom” make one unpopular? Surely we all love and respect the godly knowledge of our rather learned thinker mentioned above. A quick Google search of “wisdom” will bring up a rather sterile definition: “The quality of having experience, knowledge, and good judgement.” Again, as in the case of philosophia , such a definition seems rather uncontroversial and harmless. What does it tell us? Socrates, Plato’s famous protagonist, no doubt, was a philosopher, that is, a lover of wisdom, that is, a lover of “the quality of having experience, knowledge, and good judgement.” But who among us would claim signing one’s own death warrant, as Socrates most famously does when he refuses to (^1) I will routinely reference Edward Said, as his short collection of lectures entitled The Representation of the Intellectual has led me to this meditative paper.

recant on his “corruption of the youth,” is an act of having wisdom or experience of knowledge? “Perhaps the act of a lunatic,” many will say. Or they will say: “That is all and well for Socrates, and I respect him for such commitment to his beliefs, but I could certainly do no such thing myself.” Or, maybe someone will rejoin, “Well perhaps this Socrates fellow was corrupting the youth after all! Seems to me these liberal college professors are doing the very same thing these days!” Love of wisdom. Love of “the quality of having experience, knowledge, and good judgement.” For Immanuel Kant it was more than just love. It was Sapere aude! —“dare to know” or “dare to be wise.” Loving wisdom, then, becomes more complicated. It is a dare, a challenge. It is not easy, it is strenuous. In daring to be wise, we seek enlightenment, “the human being’s emergence from his self- incurred minority.” Self-incurred, yes, because the mark of the minor is “laziness” and “cowardice,” that is, not having the “courage to make use” of one’s own “understanding.” To dare to be wise— Sapere aude —is to claim independence for oneself, to stand on one’s own two intellectual feet. To be wise (and perhaps one is not required to love this wisdom), to be a philosopher, can become rather discomforting. “Experience, knowledge, and good judgement” becomes burdensome. As Tolstoy, roughly paraphrased, lamented in his A Confession , “How can one bring themselves to unknow what they know?” How Tolstoy looks at the Russian peasants around him in admiration. They are simple. They show up to church. They don’t ask questions. And how he looks at many of the intellectuals of his day, himself once firmly placed within their circle, with disgust at their vanity and ego. But while Tolstoy is contemplating suicide, neither the peasants nor the egoistic intellectuals seem to face such distress, anguish, and desperation. After all, “it is so comfortable to be a minor.” Now perhaps we can begin to see Socrates a bit more clearly—experience and knowledge come with a price. In our philosophical martyr par excellence, the tragedy is not in his death. Rather, it is in his daring to be wise, his Sapere aude , his challenge, his commitment to his principles. This is critical. As plenty before me have remarked, principle in the face of indifference is little principle. Principle in the face of challenge comes to define principle. If we take Kant at his word, and we take Socrates’ death as our example of the philosopher or the intellectual “speaking truth to power,” as someone like Said says is the essential function of such people, the act of philosophy becomes inherently rebellious. In daring to know the truth ( veritas ), to have knowledge and to love wisdom, we oppose those attempting to exercise unjustified power and control. But it is also useful to ask: “How do we envision this ‘power’ or ‘control?’” Foucault would come to develop his le savoir-pouvoir , “knowledge-power.” That is one consideration which I believe fits the bill appropriately in describing how power and knowledge function—that the control of knowledge

that was his vindication—but he opposed its logic nonetheless. It was the ultimate act of speaking truth to power, indeed, the most powerful—those possessing the legal authority to take one’s life. To be a lover of wisdom, then, becomes no small task. It is one burdened with responsibility, at times loneliness and pain, but mostly with the indefatigable task of always pushing conventional wisdom, no matter its source. Ultimately, that is the use of philosophy.

The Philosophy of Wisdom: Daring to Know and Question Conventional Wisdom, Study notes of Philosophy

Related documents

Partial preview of the text

Download The Philosophy of Wisdom: Daring to Know and Question Conventional Wisdom and more Study notes Philosophy in PDF only on Docsity!