The issue rose in a recent conversation with a close relative of mine: “philosophy is not necessary for life”, said the relative, in a somewhat disdainful tone.
It is important to notice that, in the context of this conversation, the word “philosophy” was indeed used with a huge degree of liberty, and might be approximately translated as “those weird things that you people who write in notebooks are constantly writing in your notebooks, and which do not have the least immediate, straightforward and tangible application in everyday life”.
It’s been some time now since those days in which I used to be proud of being “of the intellectual type”, but I have not fallen into the trap of the contrary stance, just as wrong. It is true, I constantly write things down, but not all of them are unpractical. I write from the most sublime thoughts about human fraternity, to reminders to purchase a baguette on my way home. I have found that writing things down is a wonderful way of imprisoning them and putting an end to their harassment; and besides, did a pear tree ever feel ashamed for producing pears?
Anyways, back to our discussion, it had a really sudden ending when my relative discovered that I was no opponent at all. I willingly admitted that it was true: “philosophy” is not necessary for life. I do believe it. It is not. Not even a little. Not at all.
In fact, that is at the same time the greatness and the curse of every human kind: we can take almost anything. We can reduce the circle of things required to make a living to absolutely scary minimums (in fact, that is what most of the world population is forced to do). We suffer, but we keep on living. Taken to the extent, I remember all those terrible stories about musicians and inventors locked up in concentration camps who figured out mental methods to carry on with their works, in the hope that they would leave that place one day… they could fail, but nothing in this world could keep them from trying.
Those guys kept on with their lives under terrible deprivations. They could take it. But, was it quality living? I don’t think so.
Far from those dramatical extents, I think that the need for “philosophy” has to do with that. All of we have a limited portion of time in this planet. We can go from day to day, from meal to meal, without asking any question, without trying to find out. But asking questions, the simple fact of asking, can provide more quality to our perception, and enrich that limited frame of time we’re made of.
Being curious can also cause a lot of trouble, so I understand that it is not for everybody; many people is just fine using prefab habits, going with the social flow, hiding oneself in the misleading security of the number (misleading because, in the moment of your death, no matter who you are, you are always going to be on your own). I can only speak for myself and, in my case, you bet it is worth it. Or rather, I cannot avoid it. I’m a pear tree, that’s all. And I’ll be glad if some of my pears are nice and someone else can taste them,but don’t get me wrong: if I were in the classical desert island, I would give them anyway. I cannot avoid it.
So what about you? What kind of tree are you? What are your fruits?
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The key, if you ask me…
