Let me make this admission right off the bat. Since my early days, I’ve always wanted to be a philosopher. The idea I entertained was that I would have the knowledge and discretion to break down complex modes of thinking into their simplest building blocks and thereby make this world a more desirable place to inhabit.
Many schools of philosophy have come and gone over the years. We have survived utopian and dystopian ones. Nihilism, existentialism, stoicism and socialism have had their day in the sun, although it’s useful to remember the old adage “if it’s an ism then it isn’t.” Almost anyone can become a philosopher, although it helps if you are German and your name is practically impossible to spell. Nietzsche, Wittgenstein and Kierkegaard belong in this category (although Kierkegaard was actually Danish but wore lederhosen most of the time).
You could argue that modern philosophy began almost 2500 years ago in ancient Greece. This was the age when Socrates, Plato (affectionately nick-named PlayDough), and Aristotle, known collectively as the “gang of three,” expanded our knowledge of truth as it exists in the material world and in the human mind. Socrates, who came first, taught Plato, who in turn passed the torch to Aristotle. All this serious philosophical knowledge was then squandered on Aristotle’s student, Alexander the Great, who was more interested in conquering the world than having an honest debate. There was quite a bit of animosity among these four famous Greeks and it is documented that the philosophers referred to Alex as “Alexander the Average” while he retaliated by naming them “the Three Stooges.” Hence the memorable Greek expression “nyuk nyuk nyuk,” which translates loosely to “who cut the feta cheese?”
A couple of centuries later, the realm of philosophy presented the world with Archimedes of Syracuse. Not only was he a great debater and logician, but he was also an inventor and master of physics, mathematics and astronomy. He is quoted as having said, “If you give me a lever and a place to stand, I can move the world.” Lucky for him, nobody ever trusted him with a lever. He is also famous for yelling “Eureka” (Greek for “you could definitely use a bath”) when he made the water in his bathtub overflow while searching for his missing bar of soap. As a result, he is credited with the discovery of Archimedes’ principle, the scientific theory which warns bathers to make sure they use only soaps that float. As intelligent and brilliant as Archimedes was purported to be, he did mess up royally when he yelled, “Don’t disturb my circles” at an invading Roman soldier in reference to some geometric circular figures he had outlined in the sand. The soldier promptly killed him.
Perhaps the best philosophers around these days are our kids. Even before they graduate from elementary school, you may find a group of boys debating the existential merits of being eaten by a great white shark as opposed to being stung to death by 10,000 African killer bees. Their counterparts of the female persuasion may eschew the topic of how they would rather die, and replace it with a tender discussion about whether Pegasus, the winged stallion, or a unicorn would make the better companion on a fantasy journey to a magical forest.
Long before there were towns and villages, and long before civilization, there was philosophy. Probably the very first philosophers in the history of our planet were the early homo sapiens cavemen. Even prior to the invention of the spoken language, and before they learned to grunt properly, the depictions of riddles and jokes on their cave walls precipitated what would become the art and science of philosophy. For example, the cave drawing showing a baby stegosaurus dinosaur emerging from its cracked eggshell can only be interpreted as that age-old philosophical quandary as to which came first: the chicken or the egg. Several millennia later, after the invention of the wheel, the cave drawing was altered to show the egg lying in the middle of one of the earliest roads. This, of course, gave rise to another historically significant philosophical discussion regarding why the chicken felt it had to cross the road.
Later philosophers successfully merged the chicken crossing the road conundrum with another popular cave painting showing a solitary tree lying on the forest floor. It became obvious to all the schools of thought at the time that the chicken was crossing the road to see the tree fall. Had the chicken remained on its side of the road, it’s quite possible it would have missed the falling of the tree. In that case, with nobody around to witness the tree falling, how would anybody know whether the tree actually fell? Chickens and dinosaurs the world over marvelled at how delicately intricate and promising this philosophy thing seemed to be.
Eventually, as many eons passed, the great religions of the world began adopting and adapting these older philosophies into their formal beliefs. For instance, Zen Buddhists began using an anecdotal paradox riddle, also called a “koan,” to promote enlightenment. To demonstrate how this works, consider this philosophical question: you’ve heard the sound of two hands clapping; what is the sound of one hand clapping? Meditating on this koan is bound to lead you on the path to enlightenment or give you a very bad headache. Personally, I came close to achieving this higher state of being back when I was practising stand-up comedy, but unfortunately I discovered the sound of no hands clapping instead.
Nobody asked me, but I don’t see any reason why it’s too late for me to become a philosopher. Not only do I have an infinite number of complex and unprovable thoughts circulating in my brain, but my name is already impossible to spell.
And by the way, in answer to that existential philosophical question as to whether it would be better to be killed by a great white shark or 10,000 African killer bees, my preference would be to die from 1,000 paper cuts.