Reflections Inspired by Feeling

Philosophy should be weaving a web, not forging chains. It should establish connections rather than draw chasms; it should move toward a more open world rather than bury itself in a closed cave.

So the philosopher does not want, before himself or before others, to draw a trench or dig a pit, pressing for a decision: jump down—are you coming over, or not coming over?

Philosophers like to probe and reflect, but they never force.

By probing, I mean that when we step into a new world, we are not content to linger at the threshold, but must also gaze into the far distance, then move forward—and keep going;

by reflection, I mean that after we have traveled a long journey, we occasionally look back, count the road we have walked and the scenes we have seen, erect some monuments, record some accounts, or return once more to some place, to test another fork in the road.

By forcing, however, I mean that right now, on the spot, you must make a hard judgment: advance or retreat, left or right…

On a journey, decisions are made by intuition and inclination; one keeps past things in mind with care, looks ahead with the eyes, and leaves the road beneath one’s feet to one’s feet.

When philosophers walk, they do not keep their heads bowed to the ground, still less do they fret anxiously over the stumbles underfoot; rather, they always lift their eyes forward, glancing left and right from time to time. They not only enjoy the scenery around them, but are by no means safer than those who walk along trembling with their heads down.

A philosopher is someone worth relying on. Yet he is in no way as solid and dependable as a huge boulder or a great tree—they are so sturdy, and leaning on them is so steady that there will not be the slightest wobble. But there are two problems: first, they do not move, and thus become a bondage that brings you to a halt; second, once they begin to tremble, there is the danger of total collapse.

A philosopher, by contrast, can only be a reliable companion. Like a permanent-brand 28-inch bicycle, or a Going vessel, if it stops moving, it no longer seems at all dependable; a motionless bicycle has usually already fallen over, and a motionless ship has usually already run aground. Only when it is moving forward, only when it is swaying left and right and creaking, does it seem reliable; only then can you trust that it can accompany you toward an unknown distance. Even if it is occasionally flung off and lands on the ground, there will be no mountains collapsing or the earth splitting apart.

While many people’s confession of love requires only three or four words, some people’s requires the chanting of several lines of poetry, a philosopher’s confession of love requires a lifetime of writing and weaving. But an unfinished web is still a web, and it may at any moment begin to serve its purpose.