Where Western Philosophy Resides

How university philosophy emerged in Europe and the problems it posed

In the history of Western philosophy, certain schools of thought—such as the German idealism of Hegel and Schelling—have come to be known as "classical philosophy." The founder of this idealism, Kant, is seen almost as a lawgiver. And where there are strict laws, there is also the classical form. Certain movements—empiricism, positivism, and sensualism, for instance—also created their own classics, works in which these teachings were presented in their most comprehensive and systematic form.

Medieval philosophy—both Patristics and Scholasticism—had its own classics: the texts that were subject to commentary. Scholasticism, for example, commented on Aristotle, whom it referred to simply as “the Philosopher,” much like how we might cite Pushkin by saying, “in the words of the poet.”

We will discuss all these eras and schools of thought in this book, so there is no need to fear if some of the terms used to describe philosophical traditions are unfamiliar. In due course, we will explain everything in detail. For now, something else is of greater importance: in a certain sense, all of Western philosophy is classical, because there has not been a single significant thinker within it who did not ground their conclusions in such a way that others could replicate, reproduce, or accept their arguments as brilliant. And even when philosophers are debated or disagreed with, it is because philosophy, in its pursuit of knowledge, constantly moves forward.

At first glance, it may seem easy to define what the West is: these are the lands that were once under the dominion of the Roman Empire or the states that arose from its remnants. This explains why Brazil, a former Portuguese colony, is considered part of the West, but Japan and South Korea—despite their achievements in science and technology—are not. Here, we distinguish the legacy of the Roman Empire from that of the Arab Caliphate or the Japanese Empire. Yet, we would not consider India or African nations part of the West, even though they were once colonies of Western powers. This is because, both in colonial and post-colonial times, they were developed as fundamentally distinct from the West. Russia, on the other hand, belongs to the West as a full participant in Western politics, though, if one were to consider the art of many of its regions, it would not be perceived as Western.

In their time, the Mongols, having adopted much from the Chinese, brought to us a postal system far better organized than anything in the West, yet this superior system would never be called "Western," despite its efficiency.

It is also difficult to categorize Georgia, Armenia, Israel, or Christian communities in the Middle East as part of the West, because questions immediately arise about what links this less distinctly Western culture with the broader Western world in terms of systems of knowledge production or art.

So what, then, makes the West the West?

If we look at universities in India or Africa, particularly the philosophy faculties, we will see far more similarities with the West than differences. This suggests that Western philosophy is, essentially, university philosophy. Some might object, pointing out that certain notable philosophers—such as Ficino or Leibniz—were not directly associated with universities but established their own academies, or that figures like Schopenhauer and Nietzsche (whom we will also discuss in detail) eventually withdrew from academic life to live privately.

Many thinkers, starting from Thales of Miletus—the first ancient philosopher of nature—to contemporary figures like French President Emmanuel Macron, were successful public figures, serving as ministers, advisors, or even entrepreneurs. And though some of them taught and had disciples, they saw no need to systematically teach their philosophical achievements.

In Russia, prominent philosophers like Vladimir Solovyov in the 19th century or Alexei Losev in the 20th did give university lectures, but they lacked the freedom to choose their courses and were left unprotected from attacks by colleagues, often forcing them to take long breaks. This happened because Russian universities lacked theological faculties.

In the West, free-thinking philosophers could clash with theologians but still addressed them as arbiters. For example, for the non-confessional Heidegger, the stance of the great theologian Rudolf Bultmann (1884—1976) on the factuality of Gospel events was significant.

For the most part, Russian philosophers were independent lecturers, influencing audiences through their writings rather than systematic teaching. This raises doubts about the university's role as the center of philosophical thought.

The position of philosophy within the university itself could also be understood in different ways. In the medieval model, which persisted with some modifications until the early 19th century (though the colleges created during the Counter-Reformation, blending elements of secondary and higher education, were an alternative to the university), the philosophy faculty served as preparatory for the other three faculties: theology, law, and medicine. In other words, philosophy was seen as a general education, cultivating skills in thinking, reasoning, and inquiry that would later be useful in one's chosen profession.

This understanding of philosophy is still present in modern American universities, where analytic philosophy prevails. Analytic philosophy focuses on logic and emphasizes the limitations of language in the proper formulation of philosophical questions, along with the need for critical examination of any judgments. Students of philosophy can later pursue graduate studies in business administration or law, and for them, strict logic and the ability to navigate linguistic pitfalls are essential. They must avoid mistaking the nuances of language for truth—otherwise, a lawyer might succumb to arbitrary interpretations of the law, and a businessman might misread a situation by relying on immature metaphors.

In the medieval university, however, philosophy encompassed all natural sciences, so even today, scientific knowledge can be considered part of philosophical knowledge.

Friedrich Schlegel (1772—1829), one of the founders of German Romanticism, believed that philosophy, residing at the heights of the spirit, should stand at the pinnacle of university education. Let students finish various faculties, but at the end of their studies, they need a course in philosophy to understand that their education was not in vain, and that the concepts and modes of thought they learned are not only relevant to their profession but also to the understanding of the world as a whole and their interaction with it. This ideal has been partially realized in our country: graduates with degrees in physics, chemistry, or philology sometimes pursue graduate studies in philosophy.

In some countries, like France, higher education is a continuous process of professional development, so general philosophical education occurs in the final years of secondary school. If one specializes in philosophy at the university level, it is not a specific question that is researched but rather the skills of public argumentation are mastered, addressing various foundational and historical aspects of philosophy to demonstrate to any panel that one is a top-class professional, not only in one's field but in thought itself. As a result, contemporary French philosophers are often highly erudite, skilled in public speaking, and aspire to influence contemporary thought and even politics.

In most European countries, philosophy is a university specialization: graduates of philosophy faculties become teachers, consultants, or writers. But this does not mean that students from other faculties pass by philosophy. They take courses either in philosophy itself or in related disciplines, such as general psychology, film theory, or methods of historical research.

Students in technical disciplines can well choose, for example, the history of science within the broader context of cultural history, the philosophy of nature, or the practice of dialogue. In Russia, students of any discipline are required to study philosophy, although the content of such courses may not encompass all philosophical questions. Essential components of these courses include a brief history of world philosophy, including Eastern thought; the primary issues of philosophical theory as formulated by classical German idealism (such as spirit and matter, consciousness and self-consciousness, thought and language, among others); and modern philosophy of science.

In some countries, such as Germany, philosophy departments see themselves as a bridge between the natural sciences and social knowledge. Only philosophers can confidently distinguish the laws of nature from the laws governing society. In the United Kingdom, philosophy is regarded as a partially experimental field, conducting experiments not only with nature but also with thought itself. In France, philosophers within the humanities pay particular attention to how philosophy teaches one to achieve goals with minimal resources: when one has neither a laboratory nor a production facility but only paper, pencil, and the ability to speak before an audience.

Regardless of the specific model of philosophical education within a university, the influence of a philosopher is never limited to their immediate students. It extends indirectly across the entire university. This influence might manifest as the lively interest of colleagues in the achievements of philosophers, the shaping of curricula, the structuring of student activities, the raising of provocative questions for discussion, or the impact on the culture of debate throughout the institution. In any case, the university becomes the central place for philosophy, its home and its laboratory. It is within the university that philosophy becomes "Western," even if it is the philosophy of Confucius or Avicenna (Ibn Sina). Here, it is transformed into something to be articulated, debated, paraphrased, contested, and applied. No longer simply reverently passed down from teachers to students, dictating a way of life, it becomes part of the university culture, which includes debate, persuasion, wonder, and doubt.

We have already mentioned terms such as "the philosophy of Confucius," "the philosophy of nature," or "the philosophy of law." Such expressions are understandable within the context of Western philosophy but would have been unintelligible to ancient or medieval thinkers, or to those within the Arab tradition. To us, these are branches of philosophy: a discipline so powerful that it has absorbed the teachings of both Plato and Confucius; that it can study law and art as distinct fields; and that it can even address the philosophy of human relationships or complex social systems. Everywhere, philosophy has something to say. In antiquity, however, these phrases would have been understood differently. "The philosophy of law" would not have meant philosophical theorizing about law, but the capacity of law to embody philosophy; just as, for example, "the philosophy of politics" would have indicated not the philosopher's view on politics, but the ability to construct politics on philosophical foundations, as Plato did. The "philosophy of man" would not have referred to the study of human beings, but to each person's capacity to live as a philosopher. It is in this sense that within Christian circles, "philosophy" could be synonymous with a virtuous or monastic life. The university, with its lectures, disciplines, and research programs, forever altered the meaning of the word "philosophy."

Unlike other medieval corporations with their guild secrets, the university was an open corporation, accessible to anyone who could pass the examinations. In this way, the university became the first place of scientific publicness. This publicness did not always please everyone: for Renaissance humanists, it seemed crude, and for the royal courts of a new Europe, it was too conservative. Thus, various academies emerged as alternatives to universities, offering freer intellectual circles where one could be bolder than within the university setting.

In Italy, for instance, academies often had humorous names, such as the Academy of Bran in Florence, founded in 1583. These academies had their own customs and rituals. The Royal Society of London, established in 1660, stood at the forefront of the new natural sciences, recognizing no authority except that of experiment. Those dissatisfied with university teaching based on books created academies and laboratories. Louis Pasteur's laboratory, founded in 1887, as shown by the contemporary historian of science Bruno Latour, was successful not because it achieved excellent results in fighting diseases, but because it was structured not like a university but like an office, thus easily interacting with state bureaucracy. But the key point is that the university was a public space, and to explain what this means, I will offer an example.

In the 2000s, a young researcher wrote about shopping malls as public spaces: anyone can come there, find entertainment, and simply socialize without making any purchases. To this, an older colleague countered that shopping malls are not as free as they appear—designed to entice people into buying, they trap and control visitors' movements and are far from ideal for free interaction. Even the placement of chairs and lighting encourages brief interaction, urging visitors to focus on shopping. In essence, both are correct, but they view the issue from different angles, based on personal experience or that of their respective cities. For the young researcher, what matters is how youth can appropriate this foreign space, perhaps sitting at tables meant for dining and using them to exchange lecture notes. For the older colleague, a long-time professor, what is important is the notion of discipline everywhere—whether in the university or in the mall. However, in the university, these norms are directed toward the pursuit of truth, whereas in the mall, they serve the commercial interests of the organization.

It is worth noting that for both debaters, the mall is a place where students might appear, and they think more about students than about other visitors, albeit in different ways, reflecting different understandings of the relationship between students and this space.

The medieval university, without doubt, was a public space, the most open place in the city, where students from all nations and backgrounds could be found. The unity of this public space was maintained through the culture of disputation: medieval debates during dissertation defenses or between professors could last several days, although more commonly they concluded by sunset, following the biblical injunction to reconcile before the sun sets. Anyone could attend a disputation or a lecture, and in this openness, professors saw themselves fulfilling the apostolic mandate to give an account of one's faith to anyone who asks.

The notion of the university as a public space is also reflected in the word "campus," first used at Princeton University, founded in 1746 in America. "Campus," literally meaning "field" in Latin, referred in ancient Rome to the central part of the Forum, where various temples and shops surrounded an open area free for any discussions or debates. Similarly, at Princeton, in the center of the various faculty buildings was the campus, where representatives of different specializations could meet and discuss both scientific and administrative matters.

Thus, the university is not merely a place where some teach and others learn. It is a place of "modernity" in the sense that knowledge is not only preserved as a once-discovered conclusion, but is something that can be applied here and now, regardless of the original intentions of the one who discovered it. To clarify this thought, I offer another example. In one discussion, an art historian was outraged by a comment from an art connoisseur who admired the effect of linear perspective in Renaissance works. The professional art historian pointed out that for the Renaissance painter, the subject matter was paramount, while perspective remained a technical tool. The devout artist thought of the Annunciation, not of the convergence of lines on the horizon.

But can we say that a work of art contains only what the artist intended or evaluated? Or does our present-day engagement with the artwork also hold meaning? Throughout the ages, universities have housed both "antiquarians," conservatives who allowed things only the meanings originally invested in them, and "modernists," creative thinkers who examined how meanings function in the present moment. These people are divided by everything, yet united by one thing: critical thinking. Nothing is accepted naively until we understand the principles under which it operates and the conditions in which it can or cannot exist.