If I could, I would have given myself to art

 If I could, I would have given myself to art. Instead, I am stuck with the language of analytic philosophy: hard, metallic argumentation. Premises and conclusions interlock with one another like a mathematical proof. Clarity becomes a crutch, and interpretation is cut out like a surgeon debriding a wound. 

I have no intention of degrading the value of my philosophical education. But when one is moved by a piece of art, we cannot help but yearn to understand the one who created it. It is like the ancient scientists, who, upon reflecting in awe on the vastness of the night sky, looked to God. And the opposite is true -- when art does not appeal to us, we cannot help but pity its maker. But such is all creation: it offers a glimpse into the strange (and beautiful?) mind of their creators. 

Philosophy used to be a thing of beauty. But the big questions have all been filed away, and grumblings over definitions and obscure subjects run academia. I mourn how we have abandoned the more interesting subjects: Does ethics exist? How should one respond to the possibility of God? And if his thesis does not appeal to us, how then should we act? 

We used to answer these questions as the classical writers would: through prose. There is no doubt that the cold arguments of the great analytical philosophers have advanced the cause of exploring knowledge. But something is missing -- a piece of soul, or the narrative of someone living out these thoughts -- that might scintillate with the reader. Instead, we have debate bros. 

The Catholics were correct to emphasize evangelism through aesthetics. The grand cathedrals, the detailed robes steeped in millennia of tradition, the murals of stained glass, the choir and chant. All of these reflect the character of their creators. A beautiful piece of art reflects a certain attitude towards it. Either one chooses to be Michelangelo or one decides to be a debate bro.  That, I think, is the central question of the modern philosopher.