The Philosopher as Shepherd
In my philosophy practice, I’ve come to regard myself as a “philosophical shepherd”: as someone who leads individuals out of old ways of life that have gone under and into new ways of life that are both flourishing and radiant. The way we do so is by examining our lives closely together. A few years ago I finished a Ph.D., then trained in philosophical counseling with the APPA. I’m now a philosophical counselor living on the Upper East Side in New York City. Leading a philosophical life, it seems to me, is an especially good way of getting back in touch with the world.
Two Modern Problems; Or, Why We Need Philosophy Today
Serious philosophical thinking only begins once an individual or collective way of life has gone under. Ours has gone under. When this happens, we feel estranged from our old routines, habits, and desires, as if we were only going through the motions, playing roles shorn of meaning and purpose. We’re confused, turned about, and unsettled. This line of thought leads directly from alienation to nihilism.
1.) Alienation. If human beings are social animals, then what do we make of our current estrangement from modern institutions? To which institutions, if any, are we still bound, especially after their authority has lost its footing? Traditional institutions–the family, the workplace, education, the marketplace, religious establishments, the state–all are in the midst of transition, with the result that we’re not sure where we stand in the modern world. And if our once taken for granted social world has come undone, then how should we go on?
2.) Nihilism. Where alienation unsettles us, nihilism unmoors us. ”Nihilism” is the name we give to our experience of being able to live however we’d like but not being sure how best to live. We want our lives to be anchored to ends of ultimate value, but how we determine which ends are of ultimate value remains very much an open question. This is especially true after the institutions that used to provide us with these answers (for instance, the traditional family with love, work with leisure and financial security, etc.) have themselves been called into question or have already collapsed.
Because alienation and nihilism now run rampant, philosophy has once again become vital.
The Three Starting Points of Philosophical Self-Reflection
Philosophical self-reflection only gets under way after you’ve been alienated from a settled way of life. This sense of alienation can be understood in one of three ways. First, you could sense that “something is missing in my life” and then add, “But I’m not quite sure what it is. Still, whatever it is it seems to be something that matters greatly, something without which my life would not be complete.” Second, you could assert that “My life is of joint, but yet I can’t figure out why this is so. What’s more, I don’t know what is necessary to overcome this sense of being out of joint.” Third, you could relate that “I’ve lost my way. When I was younger, I didn’t conceive of my life heading in this direction, and now that I’m older I’m not sure what to make of it or what to do now.” The first severance points to a loss of wholeness, the second to a desire to be at home in the world, and the third to a life’s having gone astray and needing to be set aright. All point to the need for philosophical self-examination.
The Three Necessary Conditions for Philosophical Inquiry
The paradox of philosophical inquiry has always been that philosophy is available to any basically, decently rational person but is practiced, and has only ever been practiced, by a select few. The paradox can be unraveled by appealing to 3 necessary conditions.
We can’t possibly examine our lives unless (1) we’re really committed to leading some fulfilling way of life, (2) we’re able to take a reflexive stance toward our desires, beliefs, and values, and (3) we’re willing to test those desires, beliefs, and values. The first condition indicates that something truly weighty is at stake; we’re not, like the young, just playing around. Even if we are lighthearted in spirit, we’re aware that the topics of our conversations matter to us greatly. The second condition concerns our capacity to take a step back from the scene in which our lives are unfolding, as if we were spectators simply looking on. And the third condition stakes the possibility of our thinking well on the indispensable virtue of courage.
We have to be strong enough to endure being in doubt about how to lead our lives. Most people aren’t; most can’t commit themselves to something (1), aren’t able to stand back from their lives (2), or aren’t willing to test their most basic beliefs (3). None of these things is easy, but few rare and excellent things are.
Ultimate Aims, a Radiant Vision
Philosophical practice aims at three ends. First, it helps us achieve a sense of meaning by moving us from our limited first-person perspective to a broader third-person perspective. Over time and through philosophical conversation, we’re able to get a better sense of how our life fits into the general order of things, how our story is a part of the story of the modern world. Second, it helps us achieve a sense of wholeness, a sense that our basic commitments and fundamental desires are now “coming together” or “fitting” into a cohesive pattern. We no longer feel out-of-joint or alienated but integrated and harmonious. And, third, it brings us a sense of “walking clarity,” the sort of good-enough clarity that allows us to get on with and move into our new ways of living. What we’re after, in short, is a way of living and being, a radiant vision of a flourishing life.
Conversation Partners
I call individuals I work with “conversation partners.” The conversation partners I’ve invited into my life are self-reflective, generous, beautiful people. Not just a few of them but all of them. I’m open to having a number of guests sit with me and stroll along with me for a time, but I’m careful about those whom I let become closer friends, those, that is, who will stay with me for a while. I now believe in dwelling for a while only with those who make for good company, only those individuals who are light, large-hearted, and liberal-spirited. (One could almost say that an impoverished life is one that is spent too long around poor company.)
The basic unit of my practice (which is to say, my life) is a conversation the beginnings and endings of which are inherently vague but by no means indeterminate. We may have a conversation in person, in the park, over email, via notes, through commentaries, in the form of letters, over Skype, at a coffee shop, during dinner, or with glasses of wine in hand. Throughout, we’re learning what it means to give warm greetings and make graceful exits. In this, we’re learning also, and more profoundly at that, about how to live well and die in peace. And so, we can imagine the examination of our lives taking place over the course of many conversations, over many strolls and during the onset of many twilights. Like good friends, we’ll know when it’s time to say our good-byes because we’ll see, wisely we hope, that you’re now fully in your new way of life. And one day we won’t be together, except in spirit. And that will be good thing too.
Gift Economy
Conversation partners and I participate in a gift economy. By doing so, we depart from traditional models of payment that take on board social estrangement—the scene of transaction taking place across a great distance by strangers who wish to remain anonymous—from the start and throughout. In our actions, we give the lie to the economic assumption that human beings aim, above all, at maximizing their own rational self-interest. This claim, I’ve found, is patently false, and “getting a good deal” shows us how small human beings have become once they’ve spent much of their lives withdrawing from each other. Giving and receiving freely is, it turns out, one of the more elemental ways in which we as human beings revel in our mutual dependency.
It took me a while to reach this point in my philosophical life. I’ve tried out many payment models, charged high rates (as much as $250/hr.) and low (a cup of coffee), but not without feeling as though I weren’t leading a fully integrated life. And I don’t know of any other models apart from a gift economy that promise to put us so lovingly back in touch with each other and more at home with the world. This has come as a beautiful surprise.
In a gift economy, I don’t stipulate terms or conditions; I don’t draw up contracts or send out invoices; I don’t issue reminders. Instead, I invite us to give freely and openly to each other. That is all. Early on, I ask conversation partners what they’re able to give wholeheartedly in order to contribute to our philosophical lives together. Some pay weekly or monthly or quarterly; some pay more at some times, less at others; some don’t pay at all but write lovely notes or letters, drop packages in the mail, smile, send thank you’s, offer chickens. In the past, I’ve had to let go of those individuals who had made large payments but weren’t able to give much of themselves, and I’ve had to say good-bye to those who’ve expected quite a lot but offered very little. Both were miserly in spirit, wounded in many ways, and set apart from social life; neither made for good company. But I’ve also found that for most of us who’ve arrived intact, living well is a wellspring whose essence is to give and give forth lovingly. I’m still surprised we can live this way.
My conversation partners and I are, in short, learning, together, how to offer right words and right actions as well as how to become more generous over time and with each conversation. We are learning, most of all, that we can lead flourishing, radiant lives without being possessed by or by possessing others, the kinds of lives in which money can be “alchemized” into something higher, more fitting, more lasting, and good.
For a philosophical account of how I arrived at a gift economy, see here. For a better understanding of how a gift economy works, see here.
Further Reading
Andrew Taggart, “Counselling: Putting Lives in Order,” The Philosophers’ Magazine.
—. “The Life Need of Philosophy,” Huffington Post.
—. “Models for Post-University Life,” Inside Higher Ed.
—. “Our Failure of Imagination,” Inside Higher Ed.
—. “Letter Writing as Spiritual Exercise,” Philosophical Practice 6.3 (2011), 856-68.
More Queries?
You can learn more about my philosophy practice by
- perusing my Philosophical Counseling Archive.
- reading through the Essays at Provisional Answers (which I’ve included below).
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Some Essays at Provisional Answers
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What does it mean to lead a philosophical life?
Sometimes it means sitting with a conversation partner who’s mourning a loss. Sometimes, telling a good joke and laughing. Sometimes, proceeding rigorously through a Socratic dialogue. Sometimes, sitting in the silence. Sometimes, stopping to marvel at an old man’s hat being picked up by the wind and deposited in his hand. It means, I suppose, finding god in all the small things.
What do we do in philosophical counseling?
We stroll. My philosophy practice, that is, is best likened to a stroll in the park. We aren’t in a hurry to get somewhere but neither are we whiling the day away. Amid the time set aside for leisure, we have conversations in the park, over wine, through email, via Google Docs, and so on. Pausing to look back sometime later, we can say, and with good reason, that we’ve gotten somewhere together. How nice that is.
Is philosophical counseling covered by medical insurance?
No, it’s not covered. Because, according to my understanding, philosophical counseling isn’t connected to or concerned with the categories of “mental health” or “mental illness,” I don’t think it should be covered by medical insurance. The practice of philosophy is education for the soul; the final end is excellence in life.
Where do we get together?
I’m living on the Upper East Side in New York City; we get together there but also just about everywhere. A few of my conversation partners are living in New York; most are living elsewhere–on the West Coast, somewhere in the Midwest, in the UK, and in Europe.
With conversation partners living in New York, I like to meet in coffee shops, restaurants, parks, and gardens. It should be a welcoming space that is at once public and intimate. We have conversations through letter exchange and over Skype. I also welcome some of my longer-term conversation partners into my home.
With those living elsewhere, I like to have conversations over Skype, through email, and via letter correspondence. We may read the same things together or sit with the same thoughts or mull certain things over. We’re trying to find as many ways as we can to keep examining our lives, to keep becoming better acquainted with ourselves.
How does philosophical counseling differ from psychotherapy?
There are some questions to which, in virtue of the way they are formulated, there can be no good, appropriate, or right answers. This is one of those questions. Nietzsche says somewhere that the one who must explain himself is already in the wrong. A wise man, faced with this sort of question, would either know to remain silent, would make a non sequitur (“Here is a cherry blossom.”), or would invite you to walk with him this way and look at the world anew.
A cherry blossom or a different view? Someone who comes to philosophy wants not to be fixed or cured or mended, for she is not broken or infirm or bedraggled; she wants, rather, to become virtuous, wise, and just. For this person, who is perhaps bored with life, who sees the modern world as destructive of many good and luminous things, who is perhaps missing a way of being in the world, or who is perhaps not whole but longs to be so–for this person, the vision of a good life looms large. She only wants an invitation to set out on a philosophical journey. She only wants an extended hand.
How does philosophical counseling differ from life coaching?
Once again, we’re faced with a puzzling question, a non sequitor, with two different orders of activity. A different tack, more direct: philosophy and coaching, we might say, are like daybreaks and push-ups, for what philosophy calls into question, coaching takes for granted. Life coaching, that is, operates on the assumption that ‘the client’ already has some goal in mind (Health, Financial Success, Worldly Ambition, Tedium) but is unsure how to reach that goal or feels as though she lacks the ‘willpower’ or ‘motivation’ to do so. Life coaching seeks to better equip ‘the client’ to make something ‘useful’ of himself. In sharp contrast, philosophical counseling is concerned with re-examining the very ends we’ve set for ourselves. Is this the right final end, or should I set my course according to some other end? How is it best to live?
What is the highest aim of philosophical counseling?
In a word: radiance.
