Philosophers and Novelists

Philosophers and Novelists

Some professional novelists are amateur philosophers (too numerous to list). There are many philosophical novels. The same goes for poets, playwrights, and short story writers (also song writers). Fiction has room for philosophy. But there are very few professional philosophers who are amateur novelists (or professional ones). Philosophers seldom write fiction on the side. Why? Is it because they don’t read fiction and don’t like it? That may be true of some but certainly not all. Are they just too busy? Hardly. I think the answer is that they don’t have the talent or inclination or skill set. They are just no good at it. The way they normally write doesn’t equip them with the skills of a fiction writer. Their prose is too dry, abstract, and inhuman. Their minds are not cut out for it. There are exceptions, but they prove the rule. Sartre’s fiction is in service to his philosophy (Nausea is an existentialist novel), and anyway he is not a typical academic philosopher (he never published in Mind). He only published one novel. Iris Murdoch is the great counterexample: she is a fine much-published novelist and she taught philosophy at Oxford. But she is better described as a novelist who also writes philosophy—she gave up teaching philosophy after a few years (and also never published in Mind). I happen to think she is an excellent philosopher, as well as novelist, but she is hardly an orthodox analytical philosopher—her philosophical books are not classic Oxford philosophy, and no one ever offered her a job in a philosophy department. What we don’t find is a typically accredited academic philosopher who is also adept at writing novels. We don’t find anyone good at both. No one who publishes in Mind also publishes comic novels or romances are even adventure stories. It is as if one ability excludes the other.

The only exception I know of is me—in the whole history of philosophy. Kant wrote no comic fiction or lyrical poetry. Hume was a fine writer but didn’t venture into the horror story. Descartes never tried his hand at song writing. Russell, it is true, penned a couple of short stories, but they were sorely lacking in novelistic qualities (yet he was close friends with Joseph Conrad). All these people could write up a storm, but fiction eluded them. There is no one of whom it could be said that they were genuinely able philosophers, writing about mainstream philosophy, and also accomplished writers of non-philosophical fiction—who possess bothabilities. Except me. I have published two full-length novels, Bad Patches and The Space Trap, as well as a couple of short stories (and written many more), and even composed song lyrics (as well as some poetry). To me there is nothing strange or strained about this; it comes naturally. Nor do I just recycle my philosophy in my novels; they aren’t about philosophy at all. They are comic novels about sex, money, and art, and marriage, boredom, and emigration. I keep philosophy out of it. I write dialogue and descriptive passages, describe feelings and actions. I don’t go all intellectual in my novels. I aim to shock and amuse. I write down-the-line people-centered literary fiction. I dip into the demotic. I go for the jugular. You couldn’t tell from reading my fictional stuff that I am a philosopher by profession. Why only me? I don’t know. I could have written a lot more fiction, but I decided against it for practical reasons; I have the chops, as they say. I would say I am better at philosophy, but then I have put a lot more time into it. I am genuinely puzzled about my uniqueness in this respect.

However, the main point I want to get across is this: philosophy would look very different if the two talents went together. Philosophical prose is generally heavy lifting, short on humor, reader-unfriendly, and often mind-numbing. It would be a lot easier to get through if the writer had some literary talent. Imagine an introduction to philosophy by Kingsley Amis! Imagine Flaubert on philosophical logic! Imagine Nabokov on the analysis of knowledge! Oscar Wilde on aesthetics! Jane Austen on skepticism! The list goes deliciously on. Why do I write philosophy the way I do and no one else does? Because I’m a novelist. I don’t go over the top with the lyrical and lascivious, the sex and violence; but the traces of it are there—I give the reader literary treats to keep him or her humming along. I venture to suggest that this possible world is better than our drab and dreary actual philosophical world: philosophy would be more enjoyable, engaging, accessible, popular. We philosophers might even make some money! We might get on TV, go on philosophy world tours, headline with rock bands, have a good time (I’m exaggerating for effect). Large sections of the population would read us and idolize us. The world would be a better and more intelligent place—if only we could write more appealing prose! If only we had a better sense of poetry and pizazz; if only a philosophy text read like Lolita. Okay, that’s asking a lot—maybe John Grisham would do, or Elmore Leonard. Really, a philosophical training in philosophy should include a creative writing component. There should be a prize for the best written philosophy book of the year. Wooden coma-inducing lumpen prose should be called out for what it is. Above all, we must stop thinking that good philosophy must be written like a medical report or a government paper. At the very least, philosophers should read some great prose stylists and try to absorb their methods, starting with Oscar Wilde, Max Beerbohm, and P.G. Wodehouse (later you can tackle Nabokov and George Eliot).[1]

[1] It’s not enough to think like a laser, you also have to write like a dream—as someone once said about someone.