Philosopher, ATM

Recently, Conan O’Brien was asked what it was like to be a comedian at a time “like this” (oh, how we all wish it weren’t a time like this). He mused “There’s a lot that’s so bombastic and outrageous, and so unprecedented that how do you…Well, that’s not crazier than what really happened yesterday, so I don’t know how this is funny.”

It’s interesting to get a glimpse of how comedy, or really any profession, has been flipped on its head in the recent past. There’s a lot of “What’s it like to be this or that at a time like this?” What’s it like to practice medicine during an ongoing plague, especially one we’re not supposed to talk about anymore? What’s it like to be an educator when people seem utterly hellbent on being uneducated? What’s it like to be a scientist in the midst of so much distrust and disinformation? What’s it like to be a journalist who gets told what to say and when to say it?

And yes, what’s it like to be a philosopher, to doggedly go after reason in such decidedly irrational times?

Strangely, in some ways it’s almost…validating. All of those theories, those pertinent questions, those thought experiments we learned in undergraduate philosophy classes, the ones everyone assumes are just fodder for interesting dinnertime conversation, are now playing out in real time. In “times like these”, I’m surprised when I don’t wake up in the morning to hear about an enactment of the trolley experiment somewhere. I could make a bingo card with all the logical fallacies one can think of, and I’d have all squares filled in by noon.

“Times like these” are what a philosopher is trained for. This is the marathon for which we prepare. It feels like there’s never been a greater need for what we do (although we’re handy in any time or place). Like a comedian, I could say that “this stuff writes itself”. There’s just so much going on, so much that needs to be questioned and discussed, so many problems to solve that could use a philosopher’s touch.

But it’s not reason for celebration. There’s so much divisiveness, so much shutting down of dialogue, so little room for new perspectives. Even stocked with several thousand years’ worth of useful perspectives, a philosopher has to shout to be heard above the noise. We probably have to make a spectacle of ourselves to be noticed, which gives most of us the ick, because we aren’t really supposed to resort to cheap tricks. What’s going on out there is beating us to the punch, just as it’s taking away comedians’ opportunities for funniness. “Times like these” scream for a little order in the chaos, and then seek to discredit anyone who might be able to help.

What’s it like to be a philosopher right now? I didn’t think I’d have to do this much. I didn’t think the problems a philosopher is wont to explore would get this big.

There’s a book I loved when I was a kid, “A Fish Out Of Water” by Helen Palmer. A little boy gets a pet goldfish, and is warned to avoid overfeeding him. And of course, he winds up overfeeding him, by a lot. The poor creature gets bigger and bigger, needing a bigger receptacle each time he balloons up again, until finally, he’s placed in a backyard swimming pool and his exasperated young human heads back to the pet store for advice. The proprietor there has some sort of remedy that returns the fish to his original dimensions, and besides the little boy feeling somewhat sheepish and contrite, all ends well.

To be a philosopher in “times like these” feels a lot like being the pet store owner in this story . We know crap’s going to happen, and we have useful ideas of how to avoid it. And yeah, we get ignored. Fish buddy is probably gonna get unmanageably big, and we know it. Except in “times like these” it looks like he’s already outgrown even the swimming pool. What’s worse, no one seems to be calling us in for help. In fact, it’s become de rigueur to pretend that there isn’t a pet store owner at all, and that the fish is just fine.

There are philosophers who believe that our practice is meant to both highlight pertinent problems, and resolve them. If done right, it’s supposed to be self-terminating. In some sense, the endgame for philosophers is to put ourselves out of a job. I’m not sure philosophical questions have endpoints, but I do like the idea of there being so much discussion, so much collaboration, and so many creative ideas thrown at our problems from so many different sources that there’s at least room for a coffee break here and there. But it’s not looking likely.

I’d like to acknowledge that this isn’t the first time in history that philosophers have had to do their thinking amidst calamity. I know that it’s been this bad before, maybe even worse. Comedians of different eras have thought “Jeepers, this stuff writes itself.” Teachers have long argued the merits of learning to unwilling audiences. Physicians have wondered how they’re going to win against foes they can’t see. Scientists have longed to be taken seriously. Journalists have resisted being hushed. All of them have bemoaned the fact that their help isn’t accepted, and steeled themselves with some sort of platitude like “It won’t always be this way, right?”

But it might, for a long while, anyway. While I’m not ready to give up (and I’m not sure there is such a thing as giving up, for a philosopher), I am ready to admit that I’m overwhelmed. And to others in all sorts of occupations, I see your overwhelm.

I’m not sure what to do with “times like these” other than share a little more bookish wisdom (sing along, if you know the words):

“I wish it need not have happened in my time," said Frodo.

"So do I," said Gandalf, "and so do all who live to see such times. But that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us.” J.R.R. Tolkien