Ellie Levenson

Knowing that I know nothing about philosophy, except what I gained from a teenage reading of Sophie's World , the editor of this magazine set me a challenge: Try Philosophy in 30 days, by Dominique Janicaud, which was supposed, in thirty short chapters, to set me on the right route.

It was indeed a challenge, because I rarely remain interested in any one subject for 30 days on the trot. But I needed a hobby, some kind of activity, and as the intro to the book emphatically told me: “Philosophy is not a dogma, a doctrine or a secret wisdom intimated at by gurus … philosophy is an activity.” And, well, any activity that lets me sit in an armchair and say “shh, I'm thinking” sounded good to me.

Perhaps the editor has a grudge against me. Why else would he commit me to reading a chapter of such utter drivel every day for thirty days? This wasn't philosophy. It was the kind of sentimental say-nothing-but-pretend-to-be-profound bollocks that Paulo Coelho would be writing if he ever gave up on fables and started on text books.

Maybe I should have been forewarned however by the line in the introduction which said that “[philosophy is not] the private fiefdom of experts on university salaries or working for ‘think tanks'.” After all, I used to work in a think tank and I now work for a university. But I did diligently read a chapter a day. Here are the highlights.

Lesson one

My first lesson told me what philosophy isn't. “Becoming a philosopher doesn't involve passwords or a magic formula. There's no tattooing or baptism involved here. There's no need for mass hysteria, for invoking gods or spirits; philosophers don't go in for charismatic trances, ecstatic cries or chanting.” This is disappointing – I go back to daytime TV which has all of the above in spades.

Lesson two

Beware of gurus. Though I do not know it by this point, I suspect this includes the writer of this book.

Lesson five

philosophy should be written with a small p. A bit like p iss p oor excuse for a p hilosophy lesson. Whatever happened to “I think therefore I am”? Or “i use lower case letters, therefore i am”?

Lesson six

This is more like it – a discussion on whether Marilyn Monroe was beautiful. Apparently this is philosophy – asking “what is beautiful?” and “what is beauty?” Turns out in that case that I, and the rest of my peers, have been philosophising since the age of about twelve, when I first picked up a glossy magazine.

Lesson eight

Building on lesson six, we are told that Socrates warns us “all that is beautiful is difficult”. Does this mean that the more difficult I become the more beautiful I become? I resolve to ask ex-boyfriends.

Lessons nine and ten

The gist, I think, of these two chapters is that every philosopher needs a nickname. Hegel was called “the old man”. I name myself “the difficult one”.

Lessons twelve and thirteen

It is good to ask questions, says Janicaud. Such as “why do butterflies have wings?” and “why is the sky blue?” I add to this “why would anyone persist with this patronising book?” I persist…

Lesson sixteen.

This lesson looks at the question of whether there is a God. And more importantly, if there is a God why does he make good people read such bad books?

Lesson twenty-three

And then we get to Nietzsche. Perhaps, I thought, I would finally be told specifically what someone thought. No, says Janicaud, he won't explain Nietzsche, not even how to pronounce his name. Read it yourself he says. It's better for you.

Thirty days I tell you, and then not even to be told how to pronounce Nietzsche. Reader, I tried. I diligently read a chapter a day. I was ready to think when called upon, but the book never did so.

The day after the first draft of this book was finished, the author died. Which is a shame, but the fact there was only one draft I think is telling. Nothing like a death to help one get published after all. But oh dear, all the compassion in the world wouldn't make me recommend this book.

I found this book dull, tedious and dreary, worthy of little but contempt and ridicule. But as Blaise Pascal wrote, “to ridicule philosophy is really to philosophise.” So perhaps it worked.

Ellie Levenson is a freelance journalist and part-time lecturer at City University, London.

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