I have a bachelor’s degree in philosophy, which is, admittedly, a bit embarrassing. The only real career path in that field is to get a PhD and become a professor, so you can teach the next generation more philosophy. It’s an eternal cycle of philosophers training philosophers in the art of training philosophers. As time goes by, you start to wonder if you’ve been part of some elaborate academic Ponzi scheme. It’s like Enron, but with more Plato and far fewer yachts and cocaine parties.
Each new generation of philosophy professors passes down theories and debates that have been rehashed for centuries. What more can one say about Socrates that hasn’t been said in the past two thousand years? Yet we strive onward, determined to outdo one another, because that’s what academics are: petty megalomaniacs who each believe they are the smartest in the room, all while serving hors d’oeuvres to the people in the room with all the money and power. In academia, each generation adds more layers of complexity to our already overburdened set of knowledge. In turn, we pretend to understand what’s being added and attempt to place our own mark on the subject, because if we’re not contributing, then what are we even doing there?
It’s like an elaborate inside joke, except the punchline is student debt.
I don’t know what possessed me to think philosophy was worth studying. In hindsight, it was painfully obvious there was no money in it. I dare you to name one rich philosopher. Even Socrates didn’t make a dime, and he had the advantage of being first. The poor guy couldn’t even score a book deal, and in the end, he was forced to drink hemlock. But let’s be honest—he was a philosopher, so drinking poison was probably a better career move than living with the regret of choosing philosophy in the first place.
When people ask if I’m happy with my philosophy degree, I always nod and say, “Oh, absolutely! It really helped me improve my writing skills.” That’s my go-to line. But honestly, I’m not even sure that’s true. Sure, we wrote a lot of papers—long, philosophical ramblings that even the professors couldn’t understand—but I could’ve achieved the same thing sitting at a Starbucks with a notebook and a five-dollar latte, with a net gain of fifty thousand dollars or so.
Really, the only take away from my years of study was that people don’t like to look stupid in front of others. So, of course, I took advantage of this fact. When it came to writing papers, I’d crank up the academic pomp and flair, as if I were René Descartes himself reborn. If I could confuse the professor just enough, they’d assume I was some kind of philosophical prodigy. Instead of calling me out on my nonsensical ramblings, they’d nod thoughtfully and give me high praise for my ‘insight.’ It turns out the key to academic success is not knowledge but how well you can make others question theirs.
It goes without saying that my parents were not exactly enthusiastic about my life choices. They expected me to become a doctor, a lawyer, or at the very least, a functioning member of society—anything other than whatever this was. In an attempt to reassure them, I mentioned that I was in good company, as many great philosophers also led modest lives. After all, Diogenes lived in a barrel, so compared to him, I’m doing great. But when I offered this knowledge as consolation, they didn’t seem comforted, especially as they handed over yet another check for my monthly rent.
These days, when people ask what I studied, I lie. I tell them I have a bachelor’s degree in Equine Breeding or some other nonsense. That usually piques their interest—until they realize that all you can do with that degree, assuming you can even find a job in such a niche market, is spend your days giving handies to horses, while rich people look on and cheer. For what they get paid, one would likely be better off applying their skills in some less conventional setting, like under a bridge or an alley behind a 7-Eleven at twenty bucks a pop. At least it would be steady work, and there’s always high demand. I mean, it’s less embarrassing than admitting to studying philosophy.