The following are the first words after the preface in the book I am using in my classes at St. John’s University this semester:
“Man has been philosophizing for more than twenty-five centuries, but the net result of his persistent efforts is a multitude of contradictory philosophical systems. While the men of positive science marvel at the astonishing fruitfulness of their own, relatively young field, and pity — or mock — the poor philosopher, every century sees at least one genius come forward with a new philosophy. Man appears unable to stop philosophizing; he cannot give up philosophy. The mockers do not seem to realize that laughing at philosophy itself is a kind of philosophy, albeit a bad kind. The funeral oration of philosophy somehow always transforms the speaker into a reincarnation of the unbeloved corpse.”
The words are from “A First Introduction to Existential Phenomenology” by William A. Luijpen and Henry J. Koren (University of Duquesne, 1969, 243 pp.). A few pages later, the authors write, “Authentic philosophy is an attempt to give a personal answer to a personal question through a personal struggle to remove the obstacles preventing understanding” (p. 11).
This semester, perhaps more than any other in the many years I have been teaching philosophy, I have been urging and encouraging my students to make the philosophy I teach and that they are studying their personal philosophy. This is not an easy task for them. I recognize that, and I have to make philosophy relevant in their lives. My course is the students’ introduction to philosophy. I think I have come to see in new ways that each student brings his or her own background to the course. It appears that some students are better prepared for the course than others. I still believe strongly that the course and the truths it presents may change the students’ lives. That is my constant hope.
Early in my teaching career, I had a vivid example of how what I presented in class could be received in many different ways, at various levels. In a course I was teaching, there was a student sitting in the front of the room, obviously enjoying the class, exceptionally enthusiastic about what I was presenting. After a few weeks into the course, I spoke to him after class. I said, “Joe, it is clear to me that you are excited about the course and are being stimulated by the truths that I am presenting. I wish I could have the same effect on those four students in the back of the room who seem completely disinterested.” Joe responded, “I am 27 years old. Those four students are probably about 17 years of age. If I had taken this course when I was 17, I probably would have found it uninteresting. Now at the age of 27, I think it is terrific.”
I have come to believe that a person can take a philosophy course too late or too early. If one of my students invited his or her great-grandmother, who is 98 years old, to enroll in one of my courses, that lady might be taking the course too late. She might not be able to hear me, perhaps unable to see me clearly, unable to pay attention for an hour, and might lose interest quickly. There is no one in my present classes who is taking my course too late. Are some students taking the course too early? That is possible. Perhaps being 17 is not the ideal age to study philosophy.
My job, which I love, is to present important truths in a way that a 17-year-old can appreciate. That is my challenge: teaching 17-year-old students their first philosophy course. Can I connect with them? Can I help them to love what they are learning? Can I somehow transfer my excitement and enthusiasm to them? At the end of the course, when I ask the students to evaluate the course and to evaluate me, I may get some idea of how successful I was in trying to help the students broaden and deepen their horizons. I am thinking of some of the great teachers I have had. Can I figure out what made them great, and can I somehow learn from them and their success?
As I reflect on my vocation as a priest-professor of philosophy, I realize how fortunate I am. What a privilege it is to work with young students and to serve them! I hope I never stop being grateful.
I have to end this column now, because I have to prepare tomorrow morning’s lecture on truth and tomorrow afternoon’s lecture on freedom!
Father Lauder is a philosophy professor at St. John’s University, Jamaica. His new book, “The Cosmic Love Story: God and Us,” is available on Amazon.com and at Barnes & Noble.