In the last year as I approached the end of my education at the University of British Columbia, I found I was often telling people that the biggest thing I learned in my philosophy degree was: “all I know is I know nothing.” Borrowed from Plato (and slightly paraphrased), this expression was my way of saying that I found in my philosophical education more questions than I found answers. In fact, I often felt perplexed that so many of my peers felt comfortable espousing opinions with such confidence while I so frequently sat in class absorbing counterarguments that made me doubt all I felt I knew when I had initially entered the classroom. In a way, invoking that expression was my way of couching my insecurity at how few answers I felt I had come to throughout my studies. After all, it seemed, what was the point of getting a degree in the field that attempts to address life’s biggest questions if I couldn’t come to any answers for myself? It was far easier, in that respect, to quote an ancient philosopher with my tongue planted firmly in cheek than to really consider what I learned in my philosophical training.
It’s not an uncommon thought among philosophy undergraduate students that our education is so valuable, in part, because we walk away from it with robust and well-justified belief systems. At our impending graduation ceremony, many of my peers will be walking across the stage as devout utilitarians, committed effective altruists, uncompromising animal rights advocates, and so on. When I get up to accept my diploma, I worry that the only thought I will be married to is an intense desire not to trip off the stage.
As I stew in the liminal space between having finished my final exams and waiting to collect my parchment on graduation day in a few weeks, I have been marinating on that question: what did I learn in my philosophy degree? In this question, I’m not thinking about the content of my education (I could expound at great length on the merits of deontology versus consequentialism or my favorite theories of feminist metaphysics) but, rather, what I am walking away with; what, from my degree, has shaped me? There are plenty of ideas I feel skeptical of or am warm to, but what hills am I willing to die on? Not to be overly philosophical here, but maybe the question is the answer.
There is another reason I was drawn to reciting “all I know is I know nothing”: one of the best things about the study of philosophy is finding out that you are wrong, that what you think you know doesn’t actually hold the weight you once thought it did. Throughout my degree, I have had such a strong distaste for fellow students who stubbornly and dogmatically cling to their ideas, refusing to waver long enough to listen to a counterpoint. That approach to philosophy has always rubbed me the wrong way because, too often, those students study philosophy to find out why they are right. I think the best students of philosophy are those who study it to find out why they are wrong.
Philosophy is like chess, in many ways. There is almost always a countermove to any argument you may make and anticipating those countermoves before they are lobbied against you is an art form. In order to respond to an opponent, though, you must first listen to them. That means that any time you want to prove your point, you must sincerely consider the weaknesses of your stance. To be confident that you are correct, you must sit in the discomfort of all of the ways that you might not be. To speak assuredly requires listening intently, and listening to understand (rather than listening to quickly respond) is an art form, too.
Throughout my degree, I have reveled in being wrong. Every time I was wrong was a time I learned something. Every time I was wrong was a time I could believe something with more confidence because I had gone through the exercise of understanding that idea inside out and backwards. Every time I was wrong was a chance to recalibrate, to strengthen my stance, and to be more right on the next approach. Every time I was wrong was an opportunity.
If this is the biggest thing I learned in my degree in philosophy, I think it was an education well spent. What a beautiful lesson it is, that making mistakes is an essential and inextricable part of learning. How profound it is that we can best appreciate a concept by thinking both with and against the idea in question. How different our politics would be, how different our world would be, if everyone could engage in such deep listening, if everyone could learn to love being wrong, and if being wrong was the same as being open.
As I walk away from my degree, instead of feeling shame in the volume of questions unanswered, I am choosing to feel inspired by having learned the path to answering questions at all. I have learned to critically think and question and poke and prod and postulate and shrug my shoulders and quote Plato every once in a while. I have learned very much by knowing very little. “All I know is I know nothing.” Maybe the paradox of it all is that, by knowing nothing, one knows everything.
*Note: To any philosophers reading this and raising an eyebrow at the epistemic implications of my fondness for wrongness… I saw that coming. And I think you might be right.
May all people be as wise and reflective as you! You inspire me.
My favorite line: "I have learned very much by knowing very little." I too like to imagine a world where there is more humility and deeper listening - oh the possibilities!! Thanks for sharing your musings.