AWAKEN TO CONCIOUS LIVING, an ad for the Toronto School of Philosophy on the subway promised in larger-than-life capitals.

Being a new arrival in Toronto, it made me think the city must be an outrageously bohemian capital for there to be a school solely dedicated to philosophy: the dissection of reality, as I understood philosophy to be. And that school has such a wide reach that subway advertising was the most effective method of reaching prospective pupils – future students, ready to question the nature of their existence, and they just happen to be riding pubic transport. What kind of intellectual utopia had I moved to, and could I walk among them although my proverbial stature is no match for their apparent might?

The ad promised,“the school goes beyond ‘armchair philosophy’ and offers a setting for conscious self discovery.”

The first class

“Know thyself,” our teacher seamlessly carried on from the ad, before asking, “Why did you come to the school of philosophy?”

A hand shot up instantaneously. “I have social anxiety disorder. Speaking in groups makes me so anxious.” The group of 20 people half-heartedly listening suddenly got interested. “Speaking right now is really hard for me.”

Although this didn’t seem to be addressing question, or even adequately address why she felt it necessary to tell a group of strangers that she was scared to death of speaking to groups of strangers, the group of strangers responded in turn that she was doing fantastically, and they would have had no idea about her anxiety because she was doing so well.

Wisdom loving

Philosophy is the love of wisdom, the class was taught. What makes someone wise, we were asked. Answers popped up around the room. Calm, someone said. Another, fair. Informed, balanced, and pure and variations on like all made appearances at some point. Think of the wisest person you know, the class was implored. There was a heavy weight of a room full of people collectively thinking OPRAH.

The exercise

Each week, the class was taken through what is (cultishly) called The Exercise. Really, it’s just meditation, but at the SoP, it’s The Exercise. Rest your hands in your lap, then individually and systematically focus on each sense: touch. Smell. Taste. Sight. Hearing. Simply rest in this great awareness for a few moments, the instructions read. Or, ya know, in layman’s terms, ‘Just sit still’.

The cult of philosophy

The inference to a cult didn’t end with The Exercise. As people who were just starting at the School of Philosophy, we were ‘level one’. The servers in the cafeteria were level four, and in line with apparent level four curriculum, were sequestered to working in the cafeteria in order to become acquainted with servitude. The school, meanwhile, remained acquainted with free labour.

Beauty

There’s beauty in everything, the class was taught in another lesson. Or, beauty is in the eye of the beholder. See some beauty in something this week, the class was instructed.

I responded well. There was a person I work with that shat me. To tears. I looked at him. Not just with my eyes looked at him, but looked at him. Through him. Sure, I thought, there’s beauty there. Not physical beauty specifically, though I could see how someone could find him attractive once I took a step back from my preconceptions. Inner beauty. He meant well. To me, he may have been an annoying prick, but there was honourable intent in his endless whining. He was trying to help me when he could have been bitching me out to anyone who’d listen behind my back. That was beauty. He has it.

“I saw beauty,” another classmate offered after I shared my ultimate break though. “My good salad bowl,” she told us. “I only bring it out when I’m hosting a dinner party. Why is that?, I thought. So I ate my salad out the good salad bowl all this week.”

Reasoning

Much like a cult, people began to resign from personal ownership of their problems. The school offered an alternative to making tough decisions by yourself: levels of reasoning. Take it one step higher, the school taught. Is it best for the individual? If so, is it best for the family? The dilemma was propelled through society, humanity and the universe to reach a conclusive answer. Sound reasoning, to be sure. Class, discuss.

“I have a problem,” proffered one lady, who’d be fairly silent until this point. “I have a delivery coming by courier tomorrow. They say they can only tell me they’ll be at my house between 9am and midday! I have to be at work!”

Philosophising about what was learnered

The 10-week semester culminated with a bonus week where the class was invited to demonstrate to the class what they had learnt from the school. If not directly, evidently they were informed they could offer an abstract demonstration.

Salad bowl lady brought a bowl of salad for the class to share.

As per every single statement he had made in the class that semester, a man stood up prefaced, “I’m a graphic designer.” He continued, “But I’m also a spoken word poet. I’d like to perform for you all.” Which he did, before handing out copies of his CD to each classmate.

Spoken word poet man had a talent for such things, but this was no requirement to contribute. Another man performed a song that he had performed at a friend’s wedding to great adulation from the other class members.

I feel it’s necessary to explicitly point out that these are demonstrations of what was learnt at the school of philosophy: spoken word poetry, off-key singing and salad.

I didn’t partake. I didn’t take part: because my ‘skill’ is writing. If I were to deliver an honest opinion to the class, I would have spoken about the notion ‘know thyself’. I now know myself, I would have begun, enough to know that I do not belong to the same category of broken that has encouraged the rest of the class to attach to this quasi-religious course with such gusto.

I’m glad I didn’t take that opportunity though. While the School of Philosophy didn’t dissect any fabric of the meaning of reality, it did expose a societal fabric that showed that, despite the flawed execution, these people were only trying to dissect their own reality. It’s not up to myself to take that away from them.

Toronto School of Philosophy

29 Madison Avenue, Toronto

416 960 4833

www.schoolofphilosophy.ca