What do I mean by “philosopher, artist, awakener”?
A manifesto of identity as aspiration
In the spring of my 11th grade year, my English class had just read Reading Lolita in Tehran. We watched a video in which the author of that memoir, Azar Nafisi, described herself as “reader, writer, teacher.” My teacher then had us think about what three words we would use to sum up who we were and then write those words on a piece of paper to be posted in the classroom.
Many of my classmates included words such as “soccer player” or “violinist.” My chosen descriptors were “philosopher, artist, awakener.” It was the very first time I strung those words together to describe myself. Several years later, the phrase has stuck with me as a way of describing who I am — and who I want to be.
But what do I mean by “philosopher, artist, awakener”?
I am a philosopher in the original sense of the word: a lover of wisdom. A seeker of truth, but more than that, someone who must hold their desire for clarity and certainty against a reality of knowledge being always provisional, blurry, uncertain. I don’t have extensive training in the academic field of philosophy, though I am familiar with some of the ideas of canonic Western and Chinese philosophers, in some cases from reading original texts. I do want to read and learn more, but not to then be socially recognized as “a philosopher.” Being a philosopher, to me, is earnestly aspiring to be one, while understanding that I won’t ever, one day, declare in the perfect tense, “I have mastered philosophy.”
I’m not saying that reading philosophical literature is irrelevant to being a philosopher in this sense, as it definitely is relevant to me. Studying the ideas that have been foundational or revolutionary in intellectual history can help give me tools and perspective to think upon philosophical inquiries myself. But one could also read philosophy and think oneself a philosopher for doing so, while being blinded by one’s bookish expertise or erudite pride. And one could practice keen observation of living in search for wisdom and gain much more than thinkers enwebbed in well-worn trails of intellectual convention.
Fundamentally, it is the individual journey of deeply questioning and meaning-making that leads one to true, resonant knowledge. It is not a solitary journey: books may be your companions; people, both friend and stranger, young and old, can be, too. Confucius said: I walk with three strangers, and among them is my teacher. What then if you walk in a forest buzzing with life? Non-human organisms have their wisdom as well, garnered from millennia of interdependent thrival. My point is, books are a wonderful resource, but they are not — solely — the key to philosophy. To be a philosopher is to commit to the ever-inquiring journey for truth and meaning.
I am first and foremost a philosopher, as the will to meaning1 is the most foundational force in my psyche. My journey of meaning-making is what drives everything else that I do, including create.
By “artist” I refer to more than just my skills in any particular craft. Artistry is a way of being: practicing sensory awareness and appreciation in the everyday and interweaving beauty and meaning through creation. As an artist, I pursue excellence in my chosen craft but do not confine myself within it: being an artist is, for me, more than being crafty. My thoughts on this are strongly influenced by Romanticism, but are also distinct in this way: my end goal is not Art in itself, but rather a better understanding of myself in the world.
There is a quote I like of Hermann Hesse that expresses essentially what I mean:
To follow the way of the poet, not simply to practice the use of language but to learn to know oneself more profoundly and more accurately, to advance one’s individual development farther and higher than the average of mankind succeeds in doing, through setting down unique and wholly personal psychic experiences, to see better one’s own powers and dangers, to define them better - that is what writing poetry means to the young poet, long before the question may be raised as to whether his poems perhaps have some value for the world at large.
Hermann Hesse, from “Letter to a Young Poet”
Art can indeed have value for the world at large: it can galvanize social movements for justice, and it can open up for people something of themselves that they did not know could be. My belief is that what is most galvanizing for people as a whole is what is most authentic and meaningful to oneself. Now, I know from experience that fixation upon authenticity can actually backfire; in my perfectionistic honesty, I paralyze my further becoming. Being an artist with the sensibility of Hesse’s poet means seeking self un-self-consciously, keeping in mind that so-called mistakes are not wrong, but rather signs pointing towards my next stage of growth. Being an artist is more than just art: it is to be a composer of life, always looking towards the next stage of awakening.
I remember one of my classmates in that English class, upon seeing my descriptors, said that instead of “awakener,” I could call myself “woke.” I rejected the suggestion, as the two words had distinct meanings: “woke” describes a person who is already awakened, but an “awakener” is a person who seeks to awaken themself and others.
To be an awakener is to bring the spirit of the philosopher and of the artist upon the mission towards the social good. Since childhood, I’ve been enamored with the work of educators and spiritual healers, those who endeavor to help fellow humans discover their powers within. Not everyone may take to what is traditionally called “philosophy” or “art,” but everyone has their own journey to make, and everyone has their own mission to discover.
My classmate’s suggestion of “woke” originates from African-American Vernacular English, or AAVE, as an adjective meaning “alert to social injustice and, in particular, racial injustice.” I may be more aware of social and racial injustice now than before, but I am still prejudiced, I still engage in actions that are racist, classist, ableist, or otherwise discriminatory, I still have more awakening before I may become “woke.” The work of freeing those who are most marginalized in our society is fundamentally the work of freeing human: you and me and all.
Without this larger goal in mind, we risk only perpetuating hierarchy and oppression: Barbies oppressing Kens, people of color hating white people or one another rather than white supremacy, glitzy rainbow capitalism instead of anti-capitalist liberation. Hierarchies are so deeply ingrained in our systems: we are traumatized and so we retraumatize everywhere. Awakening cannot just be the knowledge of Light, but also the healing to open up to it, absorb it, and share it.
My triad of self-descriptors thus is not merely a description of who I am, but who I aspire to become. By naming myself “philosopher, artist, awakener,” I may bring to light the irony of pretense versus reality2: when I think myself philosopher but consider questions not thoroughly enough, when I believe myself artist but lose touch of the poet’s journey, when I assume myself awakener but perpetuate social ills and internal disharmonies. Each of these three perspectives on living also help to balance each other, so that I may not overly worship thought, beauty, or action.
Does this essay bring up for you thoughts, questions, reactions? Leave a comment and let’s converse :)
I was fascinated with psychology and psychoanalysis as a young teen, and Viktor Frankl’s The Will to Meaning and Man’s Search for Meaning — the former a technical account of his theory and practice, the latter an immensely popular memoir documenting his experiences and psychological observations in the Auschwitz concentration camp — strongly influenced my thinking. “Will to meaning” is a concept that is meant to contrast with Freud’s “will to pleasure” and Adler’s — or alternatively Nietzsche’s — “will to power.”
Recently it occurred to me that the Socratic method, of which I became a passionate believer later in elementary school, and the therapeutic practices of psychoanalysis had a lot of similarities: they both could be described as a sort of spiritual midwifery (the metaphor usually used in relation to Socrates), bringing out of a person what was already latent within them. With a little web-research, I then found this fascinating paper that further investigates the connection. Essentially, the author argues that the true Socratic method, rather than the cross-examination that the phrase is often used to describe, is actually the unearthing of irony between pretense and reality. When Socrates asks “What is justice?”, he is really asking, “Among all the people who call themselves just, is there a just person?” The various therapeutic practices under the umbrella of psychoanalysis similarly endeavor to help a person to see the contradictions and absurdities in their psyche in order to then seek to resolve them.