Philosophers and Preachers
The philosopher is not a preacher. He may listen to preaching, as I do; but insofar as he is a professional and responsible thinker, he remains a beginner, and his discourse always remains a preparatory discourse.
- Paul Ricoeur
Would I be accurate in observing that many of our political pundits, commentators, and officials act more as preachers delivering Good News than as philosophers exploring questions? I suspect so. Much of what I see presented as political thinking, including from myself, bears greater resemblance to religious kerygma than philosophical inquiry.
I expect this, of course. That matters politicians and other political thinkers face are often urgent, temporally and ethically. Economic recessions, healthcare injustices, system breakdowns, military aggressions and the like may demand immediate responses. We simply don’t have the time for philosophers to sit back in their comfy sofas, sip some whisky, ponder the roots of these complex problems in their contemporary instances, write and published peer-reviewed works, and influence the thinking of those tasked with taking action in the public sphere.
Still, while I cannot and should not expect cautious philosophical methodology in response to all our political problems, I remain nonetheless bothered by the complete lack of self-doubt, self-criticism, and self-suspicion of some those claiming to have the right solutions to our problems. These would-be political saviors, combining the airs of complete certainty and total truth, promise to lead us as close to paradise as humanly possible, if only we’ll follow their policies and programs. They approach politics as a quasi-religion in which they are the prophets, knights, and preachers leading the way through the wilderness and warring against the falsifiers, heretics, and other villains.
I don’t ask of our political thinkers that they comb the depths of political theory, but I do ask that they approach even our most pressing problems with a healthy doubt, humility, and self-criticism and with the recognition that there are more things in heaven and earth than our dreamt of in our philosophies.
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Mr. Cupp,
I suspect you are correct, but I think I would better understand if we examined a few concrete examples. Do you have any in mind?
A very well-written reflection, Kyle. They say truth is the first casualty of war, and I think a similar thing could be said about political controversy. The money and ratings tend to flow to whoever is talking the loudest and sounds the most confident.
I do, Aegis, and I agree that my post calls for analysis of some concrete examples. I think such analysis, though, merits a separate post or two. I should have something up in a few days, if not sooner.
Thanks, John Henry, and good point. There certainly isn’t much money to be made in philosophy, alas!
“There certainly isn’t much money to be made in philosophy, alas!”
WHAT!!! Why didn’t anyone tell me!
Kyle, I hope you don’t mind a digression. I’ve been thinking about that Ricoeur quote since yesterday. The notion of philosopher as beginner bothers me. I think of the giants in philosophy who built great structures of thought, and it doesn’t mesh with Ricoeur’s statement.
I know everything about Ricoeur that a person can learn from the first sentence of his Wikipedia entry. Did he think that a philosopher can’t *know*, so he can’t build on his knowledge? Or as a phenomenologist, that we can only know consciousness, or only the thing the consciousness perceives? Or is it something else? And whatever the answer, do you agree with him?
What giants? I know of none.
Sam and Kyle, it’d be fascinating to listen in on a conversation between you two, to the extent that I could follow it.
Pinky,
A friend of mine who’s done professional philosophical work on Ricoeur and has met people who knew Ricoeur very well, tells me that Ricoeur, despite publishing many, many works, considered himself a student of knowledge, but not its master.
Ricoeur believed that both phenomenology and hermeneutics were about the “interrogation into the meaning of being.” In the essay “Phenomenology and Hermeneutics,” found in From Text to Action, he explicitly rejected the transcendental idealism of Husserl’s later phenomenology and wrote about the “mutual belonging” of phenomenology and hermeneutics.
What Ricoeur did reject is that there is a direct, unmediated intuition of being or the eidetic structures of being. Understanding is always limited, perspectival, historically situated, linguistically mediated, etc. That doesn’t mean what we know isn’t true, but it does mean that no one may write the perennial philosophy. Ricoeur doesn’t deny that we can know things, but he’s rather critical of how we know them. He doesn’t think he (or anyone) possesses the truth; he rather hopes that he and other philosophers stand within its light. Philosophy is an ever ongoing conversation in dialogue with the truth.
I largely agree with his approach, but I also flirt with the likes of Derrida.
Then going back to the original article, such an approach would be appropriate for Congressional staffers, think tank workers, and college professors, I think. But legislators and executives should be doers. They should listen to the experts and act on the best advice. They should be aware of the points of contention and willing to alter their positions when mounting evidence suggests a new path, as President Obama has in Afghanistan. But it’s unrealistic and potentially detrimental for politicians to be philosophers by Ricoeur’s definition.