[Julius Tomin, an unemployed philosopher, writes an
open letter to next week’s 18th World Congress of Philosophy in Brighton (The Times Higher Education Supplement,
August 10, 1988, p. 10)]
Dear Philosophers,
May I allow myself to bring the subject of
unemployment to the attention of the world congress? The capacity of human
society to create time for free activity, and thus for philosophy, has been of
interest to philosophers since the time of Socrates, Plato, and Aristotle; its
degeneration into a machine for the mass production of disposable human beings
became a central preoccupation of Marx.
Marxist philosophy indeed offers a radical solution to
the problem; it offers freedom as the culmination of human progress, brought
about as a result of a consciously pursued ‘historical necessity’. Yet, the
societies established under the influence of Marxist philosophy have shown that
dependence on ‘historical necessity’ does not promote free activity. Real
progress in this domain seems to require the free endeavour of individuals, of
philosophers, of society as a whole.
Philosophy has claimed schole, that is free time for free inquiry, as its birth-right. In
exchange it presented mankind with treasures of thought for each generation to
appropriate. It is in the interest of society, of its cultural well-being, to
provide philosophers with the free time needed for the task. And if society as
a whole loses sight of this, philosophers worthy of that name have no excuse
for doing likewise.
The work needed to appropriate the heritage of
philosophic thought has presented philosophers through the ages with an
indispensable activity independent of the vagaries of political systems and job
markets. If true to itself, philosophy can generate freedom, intellectual and
moral self-reliance, being-for-others as a precondition for truly
being-for-oneself; it can generate hope where unemployment sows despair and
turn the waste of human potential to benefit.
The climate of academic philosophy today must be
questioned from within this perspective. Are graduates of philosophy prepared
to stand on their own feet as philosophers, even if struck down by
unemployment? Is not philosophy presented to them in a distorted form so that
they readily discard it the moment they cannot gain a living from it? Wherever
it takes effect, such a distortion must affect the roots of academic philosophy
itself, and ultimately disqualify it from its place in higher education;
philosophers themselves become dispensable, surviving at universities, if at
all, by the grace and favour of politicians, who keep them as a mere cosmetic.
To underline my point, let me cite classical philosophy – that branch of
philosophy that more than any other seems to be confined to centres of academic
excellence.
Academics in the past did a splendid job in opening
the gates to a fuller appreciation of ancient philosophic thought – we have
excellent lexicons, grammar books, critical editions of the texts, commentaries
on Plato’s and Aristotle’s works. Never since ancient times has there been such
an opportunity for a comprehensive and immediate understanding of the Greek
philosophic texts as there is now. Yet, classical philosophers based at our
universities are today so far removed from enjoying direct access to the
original texts that an immediate understanding of the Greek text seems to lie
beyond their horizon. How could this state of affairs have arisen?
Ancient Greek is a dead language, but it is a human
language none the less; the only way to learn it adequately is through Greek
literature. One of the great assets about mastering Ancient Greek is that it
can be done only through reading and re-reading Plato and Aristotle, Herodotus
and Thucydides, Aristophanes and Euripides … Hesiod and Homer in the original. The
language is absorbed by us in proportion to our acquiring the rich heritage
within which it is preserved and which it discloses to us. A wide reading of
Greek literature is thus an absolutely prerequisite medium for adequate
understanding of Plato and Aristotle. But what is the approach to Ancient Greek
in our schools? Students are drilled in vocabulary and grammar, not as a means
to the understanding of the texts directly in Greek, but as tools to mastering
the translation of prescribed, selected texts.
Apart from the reward of good marks and their tutor’s
praise, such labour is practically meaningless, given the range of translations
of the classics with which past generations of academics have endowed us. Many
years of energy are invested in a discipline whose end results are graduates
and academics for whom the direct reading and immediate understanding of the
text in the original remains beyond their reach.
And yet, our custodians of classical philosophy do set
out to present to their students a comprehensive understanding of Plato and
Aristotle as part of the curriculum. Such an understanding, based on a
fragmentary experience of the originals complemented by a load of secondary
literature, must of necessity fail to meet any real confrontation with the
totality of Plato’s or Aristotle’s texts.
Each subsequent generation of students is less able to
find its way to an authentic apprehension of Plato and Aristotle, and thus
becomes less qualified still to challenge its teachers; students are
encouraged, if not forced, to spend most of their time with their teachers’
interpretations, and with the secondary literature which their teachers have
themselves imbued. If ever the dominant interpretations are questioned from outside
the academic structures, then the whole body of classical philosophy closes
ranks in self-defence – frustrating discussions, exercising its monopoly on
academic publications and lecture rooms.
Is there any inherent necessity governing this
unfortunate development? Any classical philosopher in East or West may reflect
on his or her work, and ask whether it is not the academics themselves who in
this way are the losers. Is such drudgery worth their pay, if they lose sight
of the only worthwhile reward, namely an understanding of the subject they
teach? They can reverse their course. Although years of conditioning have
habituated their brains to translate the moment their eye falls on the original
text, it is surely time to start again, differently, to dare to read and read,
to break through to a direct understanding of the texts.
Such a radical reversal must have far reaching
consequences. The new approach would entail sharing it with students, for whom
the subject would thus be opened as a lifetime’s endeavour, not to be embraced
or discarded according to the fluctuations in the job market. In the present
academic and social climate in East and West one must face the eventuality of a
growing number of unemployed classical philosophers, deeply devoted to their
subject that in its essence requires a life-long pursuit. To provide them with
elementary conditions for decent human existence would be the duty of society,
and it would be the duty of universities to impress the situation on
politicians of the day. Of crucial importance would be a continuing contact
with employed academics, profoundly stimulating to both sides.
Concretely, in classical philosophy, seminars would
have to be opened, where Plato and Aristotle would be read and discussed in the
totality of their work, seminars frequented by employed, yet open to unemployed
classical philosophers. Furthermore, unemployed philosophers would have to be
given the possibility to publish the results of their work and thus present a
genuine challenge to their employed colleagues.
As an unemployed philosopher, may I be granted
permission to participate at the 18th World Congress of Philosophy?
I should like to attend.
May I voice one more request? I came to Britain from
Czechoslovakia eight years ago, at the invitation of King’s College Cambridge
and Balliol College Oxford. The Czechoslovak authorities granted me permission
to stay abroad for five years. I had hoped to spend those five years at British
and American, French and German universities, in active contact with classical
philosophers and with students of philosophy. The object of my stay was to
return home enriched and strengthened for the task of overcoming the gap
between the official and unofficial philosophy in my country. Subjects such as
classical philosophy cannot be pursued as befits them in the ‘underground’,
however much support such an ‘underground’ might attract from abroad.
It took me seven months in Oxford to realize that the
Master of Balliol knew what he was saying when he told me after my arrival that
there was no place for me in the British academic establishment. I realized
that by refusing to give up my approach to philosophy, and to classical
philosophy in particular, I was committing myself to a lifetime of
unemployment. I decided to return home. At that point the Czechoslovak
authorities deprived me of my citizenship.
Would the congress support my demand for the
restoration of my Czechoslovak citizenship? The matter does not concern myself
alone; the freedom to travel, the freedom to communicate ideas, to challenge
each other freely in our approach to philosophy, across the frontiers of states
and ideologies, is essential for philosophers in any civilized country,
including Czechoslovakia.
It is exactly twenty years since the attempt to
create, in Czechoslovakia, a free society within a socialist framework was
interrupted by the military intervention of five Warsaw Pact countries. Each
day of the week in which the 18th World Congress of Philosophy takes
place is an anniversary of the days on which Czechs and Slovaks faced Russian
tanks in massive non-violent resistance – until our kidnapped leaders were
returned from Moscow to Prague. Since then our rights and freedoms have been
eroded step by step. Insisting on the right of Czechs, whatever their
persuasion, to leave the country and to retain their citizenship would make a
significant contribution towards healing some of the wounds inflicted on my
country.
Sincerely yours,
Julius Tomin
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