A Retort to the St Andrews Smarty Pants

Carving a path through a conversation with your average St Andrews know-it-all seems difficult at first. Their cold demeanour seems impenetrable. They speak down to us from fortresses built out of the endless books they’ve supposedly read, gates closed to all except those who speak their deceitful tongue. Smug and self-assured attitudes guard the keep’s entrance, spewing impossible riddles. Annoying caveats and pedantic remarks keep conversation from flowing. Most irritating is the verbose slurry of philosophy forced down our throats. So how do they all understand each other so well? My thirst will be quenched through tasting the source of their fountain of knowledge: the Youtube Homepage.

Joseph Crawhall, Pigs at the Trough, 1884.

With the advent of social media platforms like YouTube, philosophy and literature have become more accessible than ever before. This has sown the seeds for a new generation of ‘intellectuals,’ who have sprung up and extended their tendrils into the crevices of higher education. Nowhere is safe from the writhing lips of these smarty pants, who champ at the bit to trample anyone who can’t keep up with their high-paced references into the mud. Like a stubborn weed, this group all share the same root. It is through the shared consumption of media that they have grown into a monoculture, speaking in tongues that only those plugged into their corner of the internet can understand.

Channels like Unsolicited Advice or Alex O’Connor offer a crash-course in every flavour of wisdom you could want: Buddhism, Theology, Romantic Literature, Nietzsche, Freud — the list goes on. A 30-minute video is a great way for anyone to take a filtered sip from the fountain of knowledge and forget the bizarre meanderings of early twentieth- century thinkers. My qualm doesn’t lie here. Instead, it is the homogeneous slop which the Algorithm churns that is poisoning conversation. How many of us have really drawn upon the scheming tactics of Machiavelli? How many trials have we really had narrated to us by Kafka? Did you hike down the mountain with Zarathustra? I think not. Despite this, a cannon has formed in circles across campuses, which celebrate the vague silhouettes of the same philosophers they are all supposedly experts in.

It is idealistic to think that there is a solution to the problem of algorithms deciding which philosophers come in and out of favour. It is especially lamentable because of the style of philosophy which has emerged as a result of the environment formed by algorithms. It would be trite to explain the impact which algorithms have had on moving the overtun window back towards the right, but I would contend that the breadth of this damage is easily recognisable in the philosophers so many idolise. Like in many other spheres, a misunderstood version of the past has become cool and trendy again, offering a sanctuary for ‘traditional’ thought. That is why the rising popularity of stoicism or romanticism is so detestable. It is a retreat which tugs on our sympathies for a nostalgic past full of eccentrics in funny suits, or rugged statesmen in togas. 

By claiming a full understanding of philosophy in our youth, we sacrifice an integral part of university discourse, which is the admittedly uncomfortable chafing friction of learning from one another. How are we supposed to cultivate fresh thought with ground salted by a monoculture we refuse to let go of? Philosophy has become fashionable and, therefore, socially competitive. It is advantageous to be able to throw up a few concepts at the average Joe. But I smell the scent of Alex O’Connor’s pre-digested vomit that you retch up at me. I have eyed you at the trough, eyes glazed and snout down in the bobbling blue light slop. The fountain of knowledge which you drink from isn’t some elusive spring; it's a diluted gruel spoon-fed by a faceless algorithm.

Image from Wikimedia Commons