Hot Topics: Philosophy in the Sauna

Take #1: Perhaps all good philosophy starts with a neck massage

Start the clock

I never imagined to find deep insights about the nature of philosophy among a bunch of sweaty, hairy men. I mean, I have been to many philosophy conferences and witnessed my fair share of heated academic discussions, often, though not always, dominated by men, sometimes with a beard. But here I mean really hairy, and really sweaty.

For a number of months now, I have been frequenting a sauna in a local, charity-run gym. I am a female philosopher and poet, in my 40s, coming to terms with the vagaries of academic and creative life, increasingly concerned with bone health and finding inner peace. I was not expecting anything but polite mutual ignoring, even though this is a British sauna and so all remain dressed anyway (in bathing suits, shorts, sometimes T-shirts).

To my surprise, I found some naked truths about approaching philosophical conversations that academic philosophers perhaps ignore at their peril – or, at any rate, to the detriment of a philosophy that wants to contribute to public life. Philosophy seems to work better when seeing humans for what they are: that is, at base, socially organised primates – and it works best if it is understood as a caring enterprise. Oh, and it really seems that ideal forms are actually not that helpful.

Philosophy as battle vs. philosophy as grooming

If you are reading this and are familiar with academic philosophy, then you are also familiar with the martial arts philosophy has become. No more musing, no more writing of philosophical plays or dialogues, at least not in the core arena of the discipline. We battle over truths, even when we are arguing about the nature of ‘truth’ (though I always like to remind myself that ‘truth’ and ‘truce’ share an etymological heritage, whatever your theory).

I suppose there is nothing wrong with martial arts and disciplined battling. However, controlled sparring and concern for rules in combat quickly go out of the window once people leave the seminar room. I think it is fair to say that this kind of disciplined philosophical attitude has not percolated into public culture. To the contrary, often when people discuss philosophical topics – the life worth living, the existence of (which) god, humans and the rest of the biosphere, the nature of justice –, it all turns into a bloody shit show if not, actually, and increasingly, war.

Academic philosophy is also a lot about privilege. Yes, it has managed to extend the privilege to some of its minorities. But the whole business of raising your voice to address an important issue is still a privilege – and I can’t help but agree to some extent, because of course it is, for instance, a privilege to me that you are spending your time reading this.

Anyway, there I was, a half-naked academic philosopher, coyly fumbling the green rubber band off my wrist to spread my big toes, just as my massage therapist had advised I do to, late in life, do something about my deformed feet. I have stopped wearing high heels a long time ago. Not just because my feet ache, but also because I was uncertain about coming across as too female in the male space of academic philosophy. I really hoped nobody would see me. Doing that thing with the rubber band, I mean. In philosophy, it is all about being seen.

I perked up my ears as my co-sitters started sweating over questions of the good life. The first exchange I witnessed was innocuous enough, two big males conversing about health and food. But in no time, they approached the ethics of eating meat (or if not that, what then, and how to go about moral self-licensing). The conversations I witnessed after that regularly dealt with questions of love, meaning in life, the value of personal relations, how to raise children well and so on.

Most of the time, I was the only woman in the room. Often, these conversations started with one male giving another a neck massage, you know, reaching from the top bench to the one below. Behaviours I am not sure even the partners and children to these men would expect them to perform. I mean to say: It was somehow touching.

And it conveyed to me the picture that philosophy could work differently, perhaps this is even how philosophy used to work in the past – as a space of (male?) intimacy and essentially as a form of … grooming. Good grief, no, not that kind of grooming. Just the wholesome ways of acknowledging one another as embodied creatures, with real worries and felt hopes, that is typical for us primates. Importantly, these philosophical sauna sessions are still not about exchanging pleasantries or tip-toeing around potentially hurt feelings – they cut to the chase. But nobody is ever truly a looser – as long as you are admitted socially (and not in virtue of your smarts).

Perfection as conversation stopper

I say that: that what counts is social integration, and if you only push your conversationalist gently enough, your concerns will be answered and advice is generally sensible and measured – and we will come to the importance of status and body language in subsequent posts –, but I found one thing that is not only not welcome but an outright conversation stopper: perfection.

One night, I had already been looking forward to another session of sauna-goers debating hot topics, but I was quickly disappointed. When I had entered the small wooden cabin, the chances at a good conversation had been high: key figures were present. If you wonder whether I name them for my observations, I do – I suppose I could ask them for their names, but I prefer to go Jane Goodall style, just that I use names from the history of philosophy.

So, half the school of Athens was already assembled, but then: In walks an Adonis type of man. Young, handsome, well-defined body, perfect feet! Plus, he was wearing a rather untypically small speedo. At which point I immediately thought to myself: “Who does that?” And in an instance, every other body fell silent.

What point is there in dispensing wisdom in the presence of a specimen who seems to have it all? And nobody would dare to touch him. He sat down next to me, closed his eyes, perhaps contemplated the nature of the universe, who knows. But he wouldn’t share one thing. What do they say in the arts? Perfection is boring. Ideal forms. My ass. I hesitated, again, for a moment, to put my rubber band around my toes. But then I did.

Time is up

Perhaps, then, all good philosophy starts with a neck massage, or, if not that, then at least with loosening up a little, being more approachable, earnestly interested but still able to laugh at our flaws. We are already, as a species, taking ourselves far too seriously. If philosophy only adds to that, we’ll never get beyond endless heated debates.

PS. Being the eternal ape appreciating appreciation, I hope you enjoyed this post – even if you disagree. There is more where this came from, and I look forward to sharing with you about hearing Shakespeare in the sauna, how to manoeuvre discussions of the meaning of life, and how 21^st century politics functions as another kind of conversation stopper.

However, in the next weekly posts from now until early August, I am going to shift my focus from my fellow primates to other and wild living animals and cover the public philosophy and poetry project “Philosophy in the Wild: Finding Hope in Mixed Communities”. Expect a series of posts and interviews on anything from cultures developed and shared between dolphins and humans to bringing insights from peace and conflict studies to human-wolf-relations or philosophising with so-called uncharismatic species - and much more.