The Hostility of Philosophy

For a philosophy student, the classroom is equivalent to a battlefield.  Students are soldiers, some decorated with prerequisites and scars of arguments past, some fresh sophomores in unfamiliar territory.  Every semester future lawyers, politicians, theologists and professors dig themselves into deep, desk-made trenches and prepare for the course-long battle.  The weaponry is the single uniting aspect of the obscure major.  You must be armed with a sharp tongue and a strong will to have any chance of survival or a passing grade.

That being said, the first day of school is a war zone before the first shot is fired.   

As a somewhat experienced philosophical combatant, I know that seat placement is crucial to success.  You want to sit with like-minded comrades while being able to easily face your opponents.  But unfortunately due to the chaos known as Sacramento State parking, I arrived to my Philosophy of Law class just in time to get the last remaining seat.  Sitting front and center, I was in a terrible position to establish allies or assess potential challengers.

After roll, it didn't take long for the first grenade to detonate.  The professor briefly mentioned the current Manhattan controversy of building an Islamic Community Center near Ground Zero, and arms instantly shot up like bullets.  

As each student was given their soap box, veins popped out of necks and sweat furiously dripped from foreheads.  We sat on the edges of our seats and eagerly interrupted each other.  

I rapidly turned my head from side to side trying to keep up with the argument, but with my bad seat, I became a little dizzy.  Finally I turned around to face the scene and saw the classroom from an onlooker's perspective.  I saw a group of young passionate people attacking one another for the sake of attacking.  I questioned that maybe we were not all passionate about religious freedom or New York real estate; maybe we were just passionate about proving someone wrong.  

 

A short forty five minutes later the professor held up a white flag and insisted that we go over the syllabus. For the remainder of the class, students sat with their arms crossed and scowls securely in place. 

I left the classroom in a cloud of confusion.  For the first time I was unsure about my choice of study.  I didn't want to spend my parents' money just so I could fight with my classmates and become more hardheaded.  I knew that if I tried, I would never be a casualty of the philosophy department, but did I really want to perfect my stubbornness?  

My scholastic day wasn't over yet.  I still had Philosophy of Language to go.

I got to my second class early, finding the perfect seat in the back and next to a familiar face from the previous class.  I shared my thoughts about being suddenly uneasy towards philosophy.  My peer responded with some enlightening words.

"Being stubborn is what makes us who we are," he said.  "We become philosophy students not because we want to prove someone wrong, but because we want to figure out what's right."

The light bulb quickly flashed above my head.  Yes, a philosophy classroom is often brutal, ugly and emotional, but  the search for truth usually is.  I realized I wasn't drawn to this major so I could make enemies, but so I could find more people like me: people who fight tooth and nail for their opinions and never cease fire.  

I know now my studies will always be an uphill battle, but at least I know what I'm fighting for.