Mohamed Reda

“The perils in the way of the evolution of the philosopher are in truth so manifold today one may well doubt whether this fruit can still ripen at all. The compass and tower-building of the sciences has grown enormous, and therewith the probability has also grown enormous that the philosopher will become weary while still no more than a learner, or that he will let himself be stopped somewhere and ‘specialize’: so that he will never reach his proper

height, the height from which he can survey, look around and look down. Or that he will reach this height too late, when his best time is past and his best strength spent; or damaged, coarsened, degenerate, so that his view, his total value judgement, no longer means much. Perhaps it is the very refinement of his intellectual conscience which makes him linger on the way and arrive late; he fears he may be seduced into dilettantism, into becoming an insect with a thousand feet and a thousand antennae, he knows too well that one who has lost respect for himself can no longer command, can no longer lead as a man of knowledge either, unless he wants to become a great actor, a philosophical Cagliostro and pied piper of the spirit, in short a mis-leader. This is ultimately a question of taste even if it were not a question of conscience. In addition to this, so as to redouble his difficulties, there is the fact that the philosopher

demands of himself a judgement, a Yes or No, not in regard to the sciences but in regard to life and the value of life – that he is reluctant to believe he has a right, to say nothing of a duty, to come to such a judgement, and has to find his way to this right and this faith only through the widest – perhaps most disturbing and shattering – experiences, and often hesitating, doubting, and being struck dumb. Indeed, the mob has long confounded and confused

the philosopher with someone else, whether with the man of science or with the religiously exalted, dead to the senses, ‘dead to the world’ fanatic and drunkard of God; and today if one hears anyone commended for living ‘wisely’ or ‘like a philosopher’, it means hardly more than ‘prudently and apart’. Wisdom: that seems to the rabble to be a kind of flight, an artifice and means for getting oneself out of a dangerous game; but the genuine philosopher – as he seems to us, my friends? – lives ‘unphilosophically’ and

‘unwisely’, above all imprudently, and bears the burden and duty of a hundred attempts and temptations of life – he risks himself constantly, he plays the dangerous game…”
― Nietzsche