Things have been relatively quiet around here the past several days, in large part, I expect, due to the nature of summertime, particularly its nature for academics, viz. much needed vacations plus much-needed research time. Anyway, I, at any rate, have been slaving away at several research projects, and I couldn't help but reflect today, with some admiration but also some puzzled humor, at what we philosophers do for a living.
I have of course been critical on several occasions of how, in my judgment, our discipline sometimes overemphasizes rigor to the detriment of other philosophical virtues. For all that, however, I admire rigor, and admire even more how difficult doing it well makes our job as philosophers. It struck me today, as I was finishing up a hard-won first-draft of a new paper, that we philosophers have something of a uniquely difficult occupation. For while many difficult occupations are just that — difficult — requiring dedication, intense focus, time, and energy, philosophy seems to me uniquely difficult. Being a decent (let alone a good) philosopher requires so much self-criticism that life as a philosopher can amount to, more so I think than most other occupations, a life of constant frustration.
I once asked my graduate advisor, soon before graduating, whether "it ever gets easier" being a philosopher. His reply, to the extent that I can recall it, was essentially, "No – it will always drive you half-mad." This has resolutely been my experience. I love philosophy. I still have the same joie de vivre in doing that I had when I first started studying it at the age of 17. I feel very lucky in this regard — being able to do something with my life that I truly love. And yet, for all that, my life as a philosopher is indeed mostly one of frustration. Yes, there are moments of joy: moments of feeling like I have learned something important, made a worthwhile discovery, or solved a problem. But mostly there is frustration: frustration about this paper or chapter (whichever one I'm working on) never being good enough; frustration at myself for not good enough (for not being clearer, or more rigorous, or simply being blockheaded); etc.
Sometimes I wonder what kind of madness this is: choosing an occupation in which I'm constantly frustrated. But then I realize that it's in part because it's so frustrating that I love it. I don't know how precisely I agree with the common cliche "if it's not difficult, it's not worth doing." Be that as it may, it does seem to me that banging one's head into the proverbial wall, day in and day out, trying to arrive at a greater philosophical understanding of the world, as hard and frustrating as it usually is, is worth it.
I don't have much else offer today aside from these random musings and "taking my hat off" to all of you, who, I presume, bang your heads against the proverbial just as I do. I wish I had something else to write about, but I'm too frustrated with the papers I'm currently working on. ;)
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