Strawson III? On writing for gratification of outsiders in philosophy

Author's name (parents' draft). Terence Rajivan Edward (now Doctor)
Dialogue on names (fictional): "Now why do you want a name?" So that my works can be identified - that is one reason. "You need a number really."
Author's name (my first draft). 0161__Rajivan
Abstract. This paper is an attempt to imitate Sir P.F. Strawson’s style. It raises the question of whether philosophers should write for the gratification of outsiders with little knowledge of philosophy. I distinguish between readers seeking literary pleasures, even if the ideas expressed are not new, and readers seeking new ideas. I point out the advantages of being able to communicate to people in neighbouring specialisms at the same time and hopefully being able to better achieve fair evaluation because one will be valued by a reader who is excited by one’s ideas regardless of social hierarchy and fashion.  But I also point out disadvantages: obviously it makes the communication of complicated or subtle or nuanced points difficult; the uninitiated reader may not be able to distinguish a small step from what was before and an ingenious leap; and it usually does not help enhance one’s long-term prospects of staying in the philosophy curriculum.
Draft version: version 2 (v2 3 October 2026 removed "a" before "fear", first sentence of abstract edited; v1 26th September 2025, early draft)
PDF available at: https://philpapers.org/rec/EDWSIO

"Please put a poem first
As my literary efforts are cursed"


1
This essay contains reflections on a theme which has surely been the subject of contemplation for some centuries, though no extended treatment is known to me. The theme can be approached from the direction of how doctrines about value known as utilitarianism apply to the writing of philosophy itself. The end aimed at by the version known as act or total utilitarianism is the greatest happiness for the greatest number, and it would seem to require us to produce texts oriented towards the immediate gratification of readers little acquainted with the discipline. I shall not approach the theme from this direction. It can also be approached from the direction of the interaction between philosophical traditions. We think of ourselves as members of the long British tradition of philosophy, which numbers Locke and Hume as prominent figures, and more recently Russell. This tradition belongs to a broader tradition conveniently referred to as Western philosophy, which contrasts with, amongst other traditions, Chinese and Indian philosophy. The open-minded reader belonging to a tradition naturally has some curiosity about other traditions, about for example the extent to which philosophy in continental Europe shares our own focus on questions of meaning, about what inquiries preoccupy philosophers further afield and what conclusions, if any, inquirers elsewhere have arrived at. But he who examines the works of another tradition, even if fully qualified in his own, differs significantly from the working member of that tradition. The fully-fledged member will be immersed in the intricacies of debates within that tradition, whereas what the philosopher outsider typically hopes for is a taste of what that tradition has to offer, before returning to works of his own tradition and its characteristic concerns.

Is it advisable to write for the outsider too? What advantages are there in doing so and what disadvantages? The question is surely not new, but unaware of previous extended treatment of it, I hope I can be forgiven for any repetition of what others already know. Before proceeding to identify two advantages and then in turn two disadvantages, perhaps a third, I shall make a distinction which, though idealized, seems necessary if we are to have any rational discussion of the topic.


2
The philosophers of the Western tradition since Socrates at least have not only been thinkers, inquirers into philosophical questions, but also writers. Many of them display pleasing literary gifts; two already named, Hume and Russell, are numbered amongst the finest writers of prose in the English language. France too has its share of philosophers who are honoured as masters of le bon mot. Here we come to a distinction that is of central importance, even if idealized. We imagine our readers as interested in philosophy, and in the analytic tradition, interested in argument. But the foreign reader who turns to the works of our tradition may be principally seeking literary satisfactions. Commonplace thoughts are forgiven on the condition that the wording is pithy or elegant or has some touch by which it rises above plain speech. To comprehend such a reader, think of how you must have felt upon hearing a brief saying which captures the essence of your discourse, for instance "It's who you know, not what you know" to describe the familiar observation that a person’s set of social connections determines who got the job, rather than knowing how to do the job. In contrast to this literary reader, there is the foreign reader who is ideas-oriented. It is new ideas that awaken their interest and they hope for something novel and of value to report back to their peers, even if plainly said.

        The distinction drawn involves some idealization. In reality, the ideas-oriented outsider requires communication with some literary flourish, which goes beyond what is expected in a field where most members are focused on content as opposed to form. The literary reader, meanwhile, will tire of stale ideas only. I do not myself see how one can rationally treat this topic, however, without some distinction along the lines introduced, and below I shall focus on the ideas-oriented outsider.


3
Writing for the gratification of a foreigner to one’s tradition brings with it at least two advantages, or seeming advantages. One is that by doing so there is a set of other readers to which one can thereby communicate. We are even disposed to presuppose that writing for this audience will ensure that one’s texts are readable to all other audiences. Here it is one particular other audience to which I shall draw attention. This is the specialist in another field of philosophy, the systematic general philosopher who contributes to numerous fields being increasingly rare in our time. The fellow specialist is, naturally, immersed in the literature of his specialism, with precious little time left to acquaint themselves with developments beyond it. One has the advantage of being able to let them know of developments in one’s own specialism, as one addresses the reader beyond the tradition both sets of specialists share. A second advantage is the promise of fairness. What is prized within a tradition may be affected by hierarchies and fashions that are irrelevant to what is actually of value in philosophy, an effect that we may describe as distortion. The perspective of the outsider promises to reduce distortion, and all men of good sense and talent who are new to a tradition, in that they lack a family history there, have taken care to ensure their ideas are available to those less initiated into the tradition. Nevertheless, writing for the uninitiated brings disadvantages, the most obvious of which is that it impairs the communication of complicated or subtle or nuanced points.


4
A further disadvantage concerns the evolution of philosophical content. Some ideas are but small steps from what came before. Others are large leaps and to the few who make these leaps in ways that we value, we attribute the description of genius. In our own time, the genius of our field is generally agreed to be Ludwig Wittenstein. We can say this from a position of thorough acquaintance with what came before and the extent of the transformations his ideas brought about. When reading beyond our tradition, however, we have little sense of what came before and what came after and indeed are lost without a body of historical scholarship, which we ordinarily regard as distinct from the pursuit of philosophy. I shall take, as an example, the definitions provided by the German philosopher Carl Schmitt, whose philosophy currently enjoys popularity in China. The sovereign, we are told, is he who decides on the exception, while politics itself is about the friend-enemy distinction. These unfamiliar perspectives are clarified thus: the legal system of a nation, in some circumstances, ought to be suspended to better deal with a source of trouble for it, the principal source of trouble that preoccupies Schmitt being an enemy to the nation’s way of life. The sovereign is that person or body of persons who is able to suspend it. I have read texts making Schmitt’s thinking available to uninitiated readers such as ourselves; unfortunately these texts do not remark on the extent to which there was a prior discourse within Schmitt’s German tradition about suspending the law, to which he added pithy formulations. "Should we always follow the law?" has, to my ears, the sound of a standard examination question set at any elite college.


5
I shall end this essay with an observation which some may experience as identifying a disadvantage, and one which may prove the most troubling of the three. The word “culture” is used in two senses, one to refer to the customs and shared beliefs of a people and the other to refer to the body of finer achievements about which we believe people in the society ought to know. We include the achievements of philosophy amongst these, though the technical nature of various recent achievements reduces their availability. Many of us who work in philosophy and other departments of culture select topics which we believe to be of enduring interest and hope to make enduring contributions. For example, one philosopher chooses to work on the definition of causation, evaluating when one event can be said to cause another, while another philosopher chooses to work on what is bound to be a long-term paradox of aesthetics: concerning how we respond with emotions such as fear to fictional works although these reactions seem irrational, given that they are known fictions. In addressing the outsider, we may hope to further enhance our long-term prospects, but the evidence that it does beyond a few cases of genius is almost nothing.

        The history of philosophy includes a number of lesser figures whose writings are still readable but who have lost their place on curriculums. Closer to our own day is the case of F.H. Bradley. The Ethical Studies he wrote early in his long career can still be read with pleasure and profit today. It is not only a source of ideas; it also possesses a style which is Bradley’s only remaining claim to fame in our own day. Below is a sample:
"Betaking ourselves, therefore, to the uneducated man, let us find in him, if we can, what lies at the bottom of his notion of moral responsibility. What in his mind is to be morally responsible? We see in it at once the idea of a man’s appearing to answer. He answers for what he has done, or (which we need not separately consider) has neglected and left undone. And the tribunal is a moral tribunal; it is the court of conscience, imagined as a judge, divine or human, external or internal." (1876: essay 1)
Bradley’s writing is sure to exhilarate readers uninitiated into our specific tradition of philosophy, yet his texts are now languishing unread. I must unfortunately end with a warning: those who set philosophy curriculums are not such readers and it is they who largely determine who amongst us will continue to be read, beyond the few historians of the discipline.


References
Bradley, F. H. 1876. Ethical Studies. London: Henry. S. King & Co.
Strawson, P.F. 1919-2006. Collected writings.
Zheng, Qi. 2016. Carl Schmitt, Mao Zedong and the Politics of Transition. New York: Palgrave Macmillan.