I’m not terribly sentimental, but May 15 marks the first anniversary of Humaning is Hard, But Philosophy Can Help, and the occasion seems to call for a bit of reflection.

I launched this project rather quietly. A sabbatical semester spent writing a book reminded me how much I actually do like writing when I have something to say. And with greatly reduced work responsibilities, I realized I have plenty of things to say. I’d lost touch with the writer side of me in the busyness of job and kids. But—even after spending a whole morning working on the book—I kept coming up with post ideas, so I thought why not.

This Substack project has become important to me in ways I didn’t anticipate, feeding me in ways academic philosophy never has. I was motivated mostly by the desire to keep writing and by the big-picture thoughts I articulated in my first post (copied below), but secondarily by the need to “build a platform” if I wanted to get the book published.

I’m no longer sure I want to do what it takes to get the book published, because my other responsibilities and the need for self-care keep me from putting a lot of energy into growing this—blog? newsletter? what are we calling these?—and doing the other sorts of hustling apparently required to get published outside of academia. Still, one year in and without great exertion on my part, as of yesterday there are 119 subscribers and 236 followers, and at least 70% of the subscribers and almost all of the followers are people I don’t know in real life. Honestly, I’m pretty happy with that. I’m just doin’ my thing, and hey, a few people want to read what I write. That’s pretty cool.

I now think of this blog as the main outcome of my sabbatical despite the existence of a 90,000-word manuscript about individualism and relationship. So thanks for being here, friends. I’m grateful for your interest.

Here, then, are my thoughts when I started this project.

A beginning

May 15, 2024

I am a philosopher. I can’t help it. Though I’ve sometimes wrestled with this identity, I wonder about things and when I hit a philosophical question, I stop and try to answer it as best I can. That’s what it means to be a philosopher in a casual sense, the sense in which everyone is sometimes a philosopher. I pursued this all the way through to earning a Ph.D. (which, let’s be honest, is one of the times I wrestled with my philosophical identity), so I’m also a philosopher in a professional sense. Now I get to teach other people to wonder and think things through too. Particularly my kids, but also people who pay me to do it.

Søren Kierkegaard wrote in Either/Or that “Experience shows that it is not at all difficult for philosophy to begin. Far from it. It begins, in fact, with nothing and therefore can always begin. But it is always difficult for philosophy and philosophers to stop.” My kids will tell you that this is true (both parts).

The pandemic and then a process of program “prioritization” at my institution has made me think a lot less about academic philosophy and a lot more about philosophy in everyday life. It’s been there all along, but now I’m paying more attention.

I see it when my daughter wrestles with whether to hang onto some old toys she definitely no longer plays with, but doesn’t want to pass along to someone else. She’s weighing different values, and needs a name for the value of those toys to her: sentimental value. What’s that, exactly? And is it “real”?

Philosophy comes up when my other daughter asks—she did this knowingly—“Is it ever okay to help someone who doesn’t want to be helped?” Even the silly online debate about whether a hot dog is a sandwich is philosophy.

Years ago I had a (short-lived) philosophical conversation with my son when he wanted to understand if monsters were real. Philosophy can always begin. Not with nothing, contra Kierkegaard—with questions. Which start with paying attention to what needs to be made sense of.

This habit of spotting philosophy in everyday life caused me to go big and write a whole manuscript about how our views of human nature shape our views of ethics, and how if we get the former right, we get the latter right too. It isn’t published yet. I’ll say more about that down the line—right now I’m introducing this blog.

Part of why I’m paying more attention to philosophy in everyday life is that for four short years, our department’s curriculum was centered around public philosophy. That curriculum has been supplanted for practical reasons. But it was rooted in the conviction my colleagues and I still hold that philosophy is good for people both as individuals and as a public. It’s useful in guiding lives and policies, yes—philosophy is born from the fact that being human comes with mysteries and dilemmas. But also, I (we) contend, it’s just good. How or why it’s good is hard to name. It’s interesting for its own sake, it adds depth, it enriches.

Some of you who’ve known me for decades know that I used to write on a regular basis. That practice slowed and eventually stopped when I found it too hard to write on top of professoring and parenting. So I don’t know how long I can keep this up, but we’re going to give it a trial run for the summer. A post once a week that does a little “everyday” philosophy, or that reflects on philosophy or the liberal arts, or perhaps whatever is on my mind—which isn’t likely to be too far from either of those.

This is Humaning is Hard, But Philosophy Can Help.

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