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What Good Is Philosophy Right Now - A Dabbler's Guide To Lockdown PDF
What Good Is Philosophy Right Now - A Dabbler's Guide To Lockdown PDF
By John Bailey
May 1, 2020 — 10.00am
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Plato wrote that anyone having a crack at philosophy before the age of 30 was like
a puppy who only knew how to play; at the same time, anyone who kept at it in
their 50s was going against the grain. In my teens and 20s, I'd gone through a
phase of studying philosophy, but for a long time now had been put off by the
sheer volume of hot air that seemed to hold the whole thing aloft. Like many who
dabbled too early, I concluded that philosophy was a waste of time.
Yet time we enjoy wasting is not time wasted, and a few years ago – right in the
Plato-approved sweet spot – I found myself distracted by philosophy again. I
wasn't looking for answers to life's great questions. Listening to a philosophy
podcast while dicing vegetables is an escape hatch from reality. Wondering if my
red is your red, pondering the utility of despair and ruminating on a bat's
experience of the world are great accompaniments to vacuuming, and both
involve bags of wind.
Diogenes and Plato, 1649. Found in the collection of the Musei Capitolini, Rome. GETTY IMAGES
But what use is philosophy in a crisis? It's weird to find yourself living in an
Historical Moment, but what better time to test the practical applications of
thinkers who found themselves in equally unprecedented circumstances? I
decided not just to refresh my understanding of some of the major schools of
philosophy, but to try to live them.
Socrates and Plato and Aristotle are the big three of Western philosophy, but they
did their head-scratching while Athens was in a period of prosperity and peace. A
year after the last of the trio shuffled off to answer the ultimate question,
however, Alexander the Great joined them in death and left no successor, and a
long era of total mayhem followed. The four major schools that ruled Greek
philosophy during that period turned away from metaphysical matters to
questions of more urgency. How should we spend our days? How should we treat
others?
That bit about avoiding politics, though? Sometimes politics comes for you.
Epicureans are isolated by choice, living in communes that turned their back on
the outside world. They knew that larger groups necessarily brought with them
differences of opinion, and sure enough it takes mere days before our
neighbourhood WhatsApp group is riven by factions, some calling for a complex
regime of splinter cells to be implemented, others arguing that it should be an
easygoing place to share memes. There is tension. People delete their own late-
night comments or quit without explanation.
It's fine to camp in the backyard and offer a toast over the fence, but to avoid
politics completely means living a life on the run, which hardly seems much like
the good life. Restricting life to close family and friends assumes, too, that both of
these don't bring stress, and I find the opposite is true as my epicurean week
draws to a close.
It's also a handy philosophy when you're reduced to sleeping on your four-year-
old's bed and waking three times a night to walk your mother to the bathroom.
Compelled to play the part of full-time nurse for a week, I find it much healthier
accepting that each day won't be mine to command. It's not a matter of putting a
positive spin on things. It's about remaining slightly indifferent to the good and
the bad alike.
This is going on elsewhere, too. The reality of social isolation and distancing this
week transforms the porch parties into curt, tight-lipped nods when neighbours
meet eyes. Previously, everyone had transformed into gourmands overnight; now
we're all committed runners.
Even social media enters a period of relative hush. It's as if the breath we once
spent carelessly is more precious now the content of your character is less
important than the content of your lungs.
The day before Mum is due to return home, she's in good spirits, able to walk, but
a minor medical issue leaves her with considerable discomfort. Without telling
me, she calls an ambulance and checks herself into hospital.
The time for stoicism has come to an end, and the sceptics usher themselves in.
Scepticism is alive and kicking today, but it's a distortion of the variety practised
in Ancient Greece. Early philosophical scepticism argued that since our senses are
unreliable and our thoughts no less prone to error, we can never be truly certain
of anything. Living well, given all that, means living without reliance on grand
truths and overarching beliefs. Always keep those grains of salt at hand.
By week three of this experiment, it's not hard to adopt a sceptical position. Zoom
turns out to be a privacy nightmare. I witness a public shaming as someone
shouts “one point five metres!” at a stranger. The weird sense of liberation so
many felt when forced to stay home has also settled into a fog of doubt.
A fortnight ago, everyone was juggling how they'd spend all of this newly freed-up
time, but who has actually learnt Norwegian, mastered qi gong, or just finished a
bloody book? For most of us, working from home means that our jobs have
colonised what privacy we still claimed. It turns out that work is a form of gas,
expanding to fill whatever space is available.
I try to follow the precepts of Ancient
Greek scepticism: reserving judgment
on all things can be a great relief. I
don't have to burn brain matter
weighing up the arguments of op-eds
and hot takes, since none will provide
any guarantees in the face of so many
unknowns. Suspending all beliefs,
however, can really leave you hanging.
The most famous cynic lived in a tub on the street. He wandered around naked.
He pissed and pooped and pleasured himself wherever the urge took him. Like his
cynic peers, Diogenes was of the opinion that conventional values and the
demands of society were BS. Instead, we should live in accordance with nature,
acting shamelessly and embracing the honesty of the dog.
I'm not sleeping in the bath but I'm not taking one either. When my first morning
as a cynic begins, I open the fridge to find last night's leftovers facing me, and
after wondering What Would Diogenes Do?, I eat a slice of pizza at 7.30am. Later
that day, I read that the cynic's renunciation of frivolous decadence also involved
a strict physical asceticism and by Zeus, I'm off to a bad start.
I stop paying attention to what I wear; on the street, people are dressing for their
new home offices as well. My partner reviews my outfits favourably, telling me I
look cute when I look cold.
I go for a run and forgo the urge to shower. She doesn't review that so well.
In honesty, I last just a few days as a cynic. The simple pleasures of epicureanism
are worth slowing down for, and stoicism offers insights into human resilience.
Scepticism is useful in building intellectual rigour, when tempered by scepticism
towards scepticism itself. Cynicism offers little to recommend it today, however,
at least in a moment when so many world leaders treat us with cynicism.
John Bailey
John Bailey is a contributor to The Age and The Sydney Morning Herald.