I AM, THEREFORE I THINK

There came a time when I was still in university that I had to make a choice: major in English or Philosophy. And since I liked to think as much as I liked to write (and since I absolutely despised the head of the English Department), the choice seemed simple.

Besides, I had no intention of getting my degree anyway. After all, I was learning more working for a film distributor than at the classes I nipped out to attend at nearby Loyola. And the real reason for going to those was to keep from going to Vietnam.

Now, you didn't see a lot of job openings in the paper for philosophers, so most of the people I met in class were obviously headed for employment at other universities teaching other people who wanted to teach philosophy in other universities... and so on and so on.

But there were a few, more interesting people - like Ilka, the tall, Teutonic blonde who introduced me to the crazies in Loyola's Drama Department or that dark-eyed girl who moonlighted at a restaurant on the other side of Michigan Avenue as a waitress and belly-dancer. 

Still, on the whole, the philosophers-in-training were a pretty boring lot.

If I'd expected stimulating discussion and debate, I was sadly mistaken. And when one of those sullen note-takers did catch fire from some spark the professor had generated, it could prove to be more of a nuisance than anything else. 

I remember one character whingeing on about the problem of identity. 

"Who am I?" he'd moan, obviously never expecting an answer but perfectly willing to share the pain of his doubt with the rest of us. "I mean, who am I?!"

This went on for a number of days, until I could stand no more.

"You really want to know?" I finally asked him. And he looked shocked that I should even try to tackle such a weighty issue but managed to nod his assent.

I leaned close and spoke in a whisper.

"You're the one who's asking 'Who am I?' And now that we've settled that, will you please shut up!"

It may have been the most profound bit of philosophizing I ever did, but I will admit it's not the best philosophical argument I've heard. That was delivered by a professor at the seminary, an evil old bully named McPharland (who naturally became known as "Spanky").

Spanky liked to pace the floor with his thumbs stuck proudly in his Jesuit sash (which I always thought was meant to keep their knuckles from getting scratched on the floor). And he'd purse his lips and drone on in Latin (as if we didn't have enough to worry about!). He'd carefully explain the tenets of each new branch of philosophical thought and then gleefully demolish them with cunning arguments.

And we'd sit and take notes and wait for the day when he'd get to the subject of Solipsism, that school of thought which insists that nothing exists outside the thinker's mind, that what we call reality is nothing more than a product of our own imagination. 

"Let him try to argue with them!" we thought.

But when the day came, Spanky surprised us all by suddenly slipping into English to tell a remarkable story.

He and a friend (a professor at the University of Chicago and an avowed solipsist) were having lunch at the Palmer House. And when the waiter brought them their martinis, Spanky calmly reached across the table, picked up his friend's drink, drank it down, then started in on his own.

His friend sat in stunned silence for a minute or two before demanding, "What the devil do you think you're doing?!"

To which Spanky calmly replied, "Don't ask me! You're the one who's making all this up."

It is the only thing I remember of all the things he said, because (I think) it's the only thing he ever said that was worth remembering. And in the years that followed, I've used that line of argument to great effect.

I've met my share of philosophers, too - and in some of the strangest places: at a tiny, rural post office, behind the wheel of a cab and over the counter of a diner, just to name a few.  In fact, you might say that some of my best friends are philosophers.

And if you were considering becoming one yourself, there are one or two things you should remember. 

You're going to have to develop some sort of camouflage to hide your work. And you'll have to have another source of income, as well. 


Because, as we all should know by now, thinking rarely pays. And it can be very dangerous.