Doing Philosophy: An Introduction to the Philosophy of the Human Person

CHAPTER 1: DOING PHILOSOPHY

LESSON 1.3

If questions “move” in an imperfect spiral—that is, in a repetitive manner that goes

deeper and deeper—then where does the everyday, commonsensical view that questions “move”
in a line come from? What is the basis for the view that questions are only important insofar as
they provide answers, that the whole point is to get from Point A to Point B? Why is it natural
for us to think that asking questions about questions, or asking questions without answers, is a
waste of time? The answer to these questions has two parts:

The first part of the answer has to do with the history of knowledge. Thanks to the efforts
and works of past thinkers, key advancements in science and technology, the invention of the
printing press and of other ways to share information, as well the formalization ad establishments
of educational systems—we now have, quite literally, a comprehensive and solid collection of
shared knowledge, made up of all sorts of facts and data about reality, that can easily be accessed
by almost anyone. In other words, humanity already knows quite a lot about reality, many of the
questions that needed asking have already been asked and answered in the past, and so when we
ask questions today, we don’t genuinely ask questions, we don’t personally internalize of
thematically problematize the things about which we ask. Today, instead of genuinely asking
questions, we merely utter interrogative sentences, we say sentences that end in a question mark,
and these interrogative sentences serve as prompts or signals for answers that have already been
given beforehand.

The difference between uttering interrogative sentences and genuinely asking questions
can be seen in how young children ask questions. When young children ask something, they
really mean to ask about that something that is the object of their question, precisely because the
answer to the question they’re asking about isn’t known to them yet. Imagine a four-year-old at
the zoo, seeing, say, a dolphin for the first time. The four-year-old might mistake the dolphin for
a fish, because she may have already been taught about fish, and so she might point at the
dolphin and say “Fish!”. Her dad might correct her and tell her, “No sweetie, that’s a dolphin”,
which, in turn, might lead the four-year-old to ask, “What’s a dolphin?” Her dad, if he were
prepared (because, let’s be honest, sometimes the questions of young children catch us off-
guard), may be able to answer his daughter’s question well— “A dolphin is an aquatic
mammal”—or, if not, he may give an incomplete answer that somehow might justify his
daughter’s curiosity—“Uh, basta, a dolphin is not a fish.”

(You can imagine that the four-year-old would probably ask even more questions: “But
what does ‘aquatic’ mean? “What is a mammal?” “How do you know the dolphins are not fish,
Dada? Because they look like fish to me.”)

So now our imaginary four-year-old “knows” what a dolphin is. Or to be more precise,
she now has an answer to the questions “What is a dolphin?” The next time she encounters the
question—maybe an older relative asks her about it when they talk about their trip at the zoo, or
maybe she sees photos of dolphins in a book and ask herself about them—she won’t completely
ask the question anymore. At best, she will probably use the question as a prompt, a signal, that
will allow her to refer or connect to the answer in her memory: “A dolphin is an aquatic
mammal.” “Basta,, a dolphin is not a fish.”

Historically, then, we are like our imaginary four-year-old who has already been
“informed” about the nature of the dolphins. Thanks to the history of knowledge, we now have
established and specific answers to many questions that we may ask. Some of these answers are
better than the others, granted, and having answers about reality does not necessarily mean truly
knowing reality, but still—we have answers. This is why, today, question-asking is usually
reduced to a hollow version of itself, that is, to merely forming and expressing sentences that
happen to end with a question mark.

The second part of the answer, which build on the first part, has to do with our culture
today. Not only do we already know quite a lot about reality, we also have technologies to make
access to what is already known about reality easier and faster. The internet, social media,
television, radio, print—all these turn “asking-question,” “finding answers,” “being informed”,
knowing,” and “learning” into processes that are so easy that is no longer necessary to think
about them.

Let’s return to our imaginary four-year-old. She is, like many if not all of you, a digital
native. That means that she was born and is growing up in a time when the internet and other
forms of digital technology already exist and are already in use. Our four-year-old, then, has a
different attitude and approach toward knowledge and information from those of individuals
from older generations, precisely because she now has more tools which she can discover and
learn.

Let’s go back to the question “What is a dolphin?” If a four-year-old from an older

generation—that is, from a time when the internet and other forms of digital technology were not
available—asked her dad about dolphins, her dad would either bring out an encyclopedia or any
other books about animals and look up dolphins or take his daughter to the zoo. He might also
encourage her to ask her pre-school teacher about dolphins, or perhaps, with some luck, to ask
their dolphin-expert distant relative (Hey, it’s possible!)

If a four-year old digital native asked her dad about dolphins today, however, her dad
would surely still have the options listed above, yes, but he would also have the option to simply
go online and help his daughter look up dolphins on the internet. This option requires less time
and effort, and it also produces more answers and results. As such, the latter option is more
desirable than the former. So between bringing out a big book or going to the zoo or asking a
teacher or asking an expert about dolphins, and simply trying “dolphins” in a search box on the
internet with guaranteed answers, the dad of a four-year-old digital native would probably just
rely on the internet to help his daughter find out more about dolphins.

Our imaginary four-year-old, then, like many if not all of you, is growing up in a time
when there are “question-asking” options that are easier and faster and, more importantly, slowly
becoming the norm, the default. It has eve reached the point where we no longer think about the
other options for “question-asking” that are available. It has become second nature to, whenever
we need to find something out, search on the internet on our mobile devices. This is our culture
today: one that prizes instant results and ease of use; one that is concerned with whatever is fast,
whatever is new, whatever is “trending”; one that suffers from “FOMO” or the “fear of missing
out.” Put differently, it is a culture obsessed with being in the know, with staying updated, and
with finding answers. As such, it is a culture that has forgotten how to ask questions.

Our culture today, dominated and shaped by the internet, and digital technologies, has
reinforced the neat and linear view of questions that is historically rooted in the already formed
and established body of knowledge shared by all. In other words, not only do we know quite a lot
about reality, it is also the case that this shared collection of facts and data is now readily
available and quickly accessible online and through other forms of media technology—and we
know it, we take advantage of it, we benefit from it. Put differently, the answers have already
been figured for us and have been made very, very easy for us to find. Such a set-up overlooks
the questions that made those answers possible, or if it pays any attention to questions, it pays
attention to questions in relation to their corresponding answers.

Philo challenge!

The next time you have a question, try not to use the internet or any form of digital technology to find
your answer. Instead, take the time to properly formulate your question, and do your best to genuinely
ask it—by reflecting, journaling (Write in longhand!), praying or meditating, exploring, reading books,
or talking with others.

From this subsuming of questions under answers arises every day, commonsensical view
of questions as a neat and linear process, which, in turn, makes possible presumptions about how
questions work. This is why it’s natural for us to think that the question is similar to Point A in
an itinerary, similar to a starting point. This is also why we feel the need to go to Point B, the
answer as quickly and efficiently as possible. And since Point B has already been plotted for us
and is within view, thanks to the history of knowledge and to our current culture, it no longer
makes practical sense to remain in and with Point A, to not move from the starting point, to
spend time on and pay attention to Point A. With all the answers out there for us to find, why
bother wasting time on questions, right?