Why study philosophy?

Going on two years ago I offered six reasons to study philosophy. Now that I'm a year and change into the process of becoming a philosopher, I think it's time to revisit my reasons.

A lot is different now. I'm reading less Discourses On Natural Religion and Euthyphro and more Parts of Classes and From Discourse to Logic. The questions I'm asking aren't the ones that sprang from a sophomore's crisis of faith. They're questions that are increasingly difficult to explain—€”sometimes even to other philosophers—€”and justify—€”sometimes even to myself. "Does space have simple parts?" "What does 'if' mean?" "What's the best way to describe quantum mechanical states?" "What makes arithmetic true?" More and more of my life is dedicated to the technical and obscure. What does this have to do with the deep questions?

And I'm making serious sacrifices to do this. I have one of the best stipends in the business, but it doesn't compare to what I made as an intern (and my rent is truly absurd). I've given up almost all control over where I'll live. I've moved twice in two years, I'm in a city of strangers, and I can probably plan on several more moves in the next decade or so. My girlfriend and I are doomed to at least another year of despicable long distance.

So a poignant question is, what the hell am I doing?

I'm studying philosophy. Here's why.

• I like it. And I think I'm reasonably good at it.


• Philosophers are entrusted today with caring for the twin virtues of reason and tolerance. There are few other corners of academia where you will find people so dedicated to pursuing the truth, governed by a common commitment to following good arguments where they lead, to logic and rigor and clarity—€”and who at the same time disagree with each other passionately, fundamentally, and respectfully. The world—€”in particular, my religion—€”desperately needs these traits. Part of my mission is to practice and promote them.


• More often than not, the questions I work on these days aren't the soul-eating questions I had in college. But neither are they disconnected from them. When you dig into a hard question, you quickly discover that a good answer depends on a more subtle question. Answering the new question demands some careful logic, or clearing up what some of your words mean, or solving some other puzzle that, if you had started out by asking it, would have seemed obscure and trivial. It's these last questions that philosophers spend most of their time on. That's good! We have a chance at answering some of the obscure questions, and if we can manage that, then we may have a real shot at the big game. Appropriating Dr. King: unclarity anywhere is a threat to clarity everywhere.


• Studying philosophy is good for me. The effects are a bit mixed now that it's my job—€”academia affords plenty of opportunity for selfish ambition, arrogance, and dishonesty. Still I maintain: philosophy is essential training in intellectual humility, in asking questions, testing assumptions, and charitably hearing out opponents. It makes me more useful to my church and better equipped to serve and worship God.


• When I'm tempted to think that philosophers don't matter, it's worth remembering: they mattered immensely to me. I'm not helping the most people I could in the most tangible ways I could. But leaving my part unplayed would silence a note in a chord and leave the whole piece hollower. Or to use a more familiar metaphor: "If the whole body were an eye, where would the sense of hearing be?"