On the Fashionable Form of Sophistry

The more I find myself cloistered in my studies, the more I suffice to find it that philosophy is not to be had in any classroom; for such wisdom as this quickly finds an institution inhospitable. It can as it were nourish itself away from it all, so that none will think anything of it even when it has labored and toiled to those lengths that it cannot be neglected — for it is too rare and too mighty for the likes of those who do not understand it, and still the more for those who dismiss it at once. Thus, as it were, to teach philosophy presupposes that no philosophy is being taught other than what is a mimicry; but institutions receive the appeal of many for they are far too indolent to seek it themselves, and rather need another to think for them, so that even the power of a hundred institutionalized minds cannot equate to the intellect who seeks the world in earnest. The latter follows beside this beautiful wisdom, and seeks its wellsprings directly, so that he becomes a martyr unto it — and he will rest among the seldom cases in which one wishes to truly and wholly sacrifice themselves, for he thereby has discovered something so great that he is both willing to live and die for it. On the contrary, the former seek this knowledge with ill motivation; for they only wish to assert themselves as something they are not, and so do they excite and provoke things with which they mustn’t meddle. They instead hopelessly follow derivatives of this divine wisdom, and thus do not pursue it squarely, for with each shepherd who follows behind it contributes only that which he understands, or thinks to understand, and hurriedly passes it behind him, so that with each exchange there is no resemblance of the original source. All that remains, once the remarkable ideas of the world’s highest minds have disappeared, are shallow assertions and empty words, reconstructed in such a way so as to suggest that they are deeply penetrative and profound, and it is precisely this which is the greatest disservice to philosophy. Such a philosophaster sees the world completely contrary to the genuine thinker, for with the former, they are convinced that their thoughts, which are often the thoughts of another redressed and adorned only with a new title, believe that their work must be well-read by the public, for then they will acquire the esteem which they so long, and the masses are merely a means of acquiring something for the self. The latter, however, produces his thoughts for the public, not for esteem nor recognition — though generally, if his work is so great, then it will be [si tanta, erit!] and so thence in his later life he will achieve such things — but for he understands more than any other that not sharing them would itself be a detriment to mankind, for the thoughts therein contained are invaluable and contribute to a much larger end, for which his work is itself a form of repayment, as opposed to those who thoughts cost but the price of purchasing their work, and which, regrettably, cannot be returned. It is so that if one wishes to pursue philosophy honestly, he must thoroughly consider whether its fruition is to be found in the lecture hall, and if he is so honest to himself and the discipline, I believe he will, without hesitation, flee from the sight according to his better judgment, for there is nothing than an institution can bequeath to him that he does not yet have, and he will rightly find pleasure in pondering a great distance away from these intellectual prisons, so that any and all desires which may have existence for them will be put to rout, and he will be left to examine the world freely as philosophy itself may well see it.

— An excerpt from Chronicle LXXXII