The case for Siberian philosophy
by Viacheslav Kudashov
Editorial Precis: A movement to acknowledge and promote a Siberian brand of philosophy has been growing in Russia through the past several years. In 2014, V. S. Diev, A. V. Ivanov, and V. I. Razumov formally articulated this movement in an article titled “Siberian Philosophy” in the Bulletin of the Omsk University. In this essay, Viacheslav Kudashov—who heads up the Department of Philosophy at the Siberian Federal University—brings this movement to the notice of Anglophone public worldwide; in the process, he peers deeper and critically into the movement’s context, highlighting its pitfalls as well as potential. Kudashov concludes that the project of Siberian philosophy would succeed if it is pursued as an introspective search for wisdom rather than a hankering after externalist recognition and status.
As a project, “Siberian philosophy” was originally proposed in 2014 as a formal association of Siberia-based individuals actively writing about philosophical topics. This proposal was collectively floated by V. S. Diev, A. V. Ivanov, and V. I. Rasumov in an article titled “Siberian Philosophy” in the Bulletin of the Omsk University. Mindful of the vastness and diversity of Russian geography as well as culture, these writers were driven by the belief that there was both a need for, and a benefit to, understanding the region of Siberia philosophically—as much as to developing a branch of philosophy reflecting that understanding.
For Siberia to cultivate and nurture its own philosophy, these authors argued, would require it to harness its own—uniquely regional—empirical resources for reflecting upon themes in nature, economics, politics, and so forth. In that endeavour, Siberia was not simply to apply approaches and frameworks developed elsewhere; rather, it was to contribute qualitatively to philosophy writ large. All in all, these authors envisioned the project of Siberian philosophy to enrich philosophy’s problem fund—and to capably obtain new non-trivial generalizations and clarifications of the discipline’s very foundations and value priorities.
When I think somewhat practically about the notion of Siberian Philosophy, I can’t help but imagine it in terms of a creative intellectual centre that would open up fresh opportunities and pathways through the vast network of centres dedicated to Russian and other types of regional philosophies globally. Here, we should bear in mind that the individual level of philosophizing is merely the most obvious one—exemplified predominantly in personalistic, existentialist teachings; it is, however, not the only one. There are at least two other levels on which philosophy is articulated: dialogical and network.
The dialogical level of philosophizing refers to discussions that are always present in the philosophical discourse: These discussions may be verbal or explicit—or they may be hidden references in philosophical works to other people's ideas, commentaries, and interactions. The third, network, level of philosophizing may be best understood in reference to Randall Collins’ book The Sociology of Philosophies: A Global Theory of Intellectual Change (Belknap Press: 2000). In that book, Collins shows that philosophy—quite like other intellectual enterprises—is not only the work of individuals but it is also a social or collectivistic undertaking; indeed, he insists that philosophy is predominantly a non-individualistic process and outcome. Departments, faculties, circles, magazines, and publishers are the nodes and centres of philosophical networks—and the philosophers and their works are mere moments in these networks’ evolution.
Echoing that type of understanding of philosophy as an intellectual enterprise, Nikolai Rozov of Novosibirsk has advocated turning Siberia into a key node of the global philosophical network. Rozov’s proposal draws from Moscow sociologists M. Sokolov and K. Titaev’s conceptual framework of "provincial and native science.” According to this framework, scientific communication is a conversation; in this conversation, provincial philosophy hears only what is happening in the capitals—globally recognized centers of research—which rarely and unwillingly reciprocate it. Such a philosophy seeks to join the capitals via “pilgrimages”: internships, conferences, attempts to gain a foothold, etc. What provincial philosophy mainly does is to apprehend ideas and terms radiating out of the capitals, and to try to apply them locally.
Inasmuch as provincial philosophy is all ears for the proceedings in the capitals, it speaks only to itself—at best discussing region’s ancient teachings; outsiders do not even register it. While nurturing many small-town groups with their own authorities, this type of philosophy remains outside international intellectual flows—even though it may remain in contact with national philosophical capitals (which would be Moscow and St. Petersburg for Russia). In this context, metropolism is reflected in a dense network of interactions among the centres located particularly in North America and Western Europe; these centres send out their "missionaries" (qua visiting professors) to the world's intellectual provinces—which happen to be the main scientific centers of China, India, Japan, Turkey, Brazil, and Russia. Western philosophers rarely penetrate further than that.
Under these circumstances, “provincial” and “indigenous”/“native” philosophies appear to represent two different strategies to gaining and retaining scientific recognition. “Provincials” receive recognition from one another; they also compete among themselves for the knowledge of (and participation in) latest ideas brewing in the capitals or Western intellectual centers—as well as for foreign grants and international projects, etc. “Indigenous” or “native” philosophers also receive recognition from one another—but they compete among themselves for the privilege of carrying forward local traditions; for being able to present themselves as local intellectual authorities; for exclusive ties to local administrators; and for the privilege of developing concepts and programs for their cities and regions. Neither the provincial nor the indigenous/native path promotes a metropolitan mentality among the rank and the file—simply because their works remain neglected externally, particularly in the “capitals.” The metropolitan centres (or capitals) remain only marginally interested (if even that) in the “provincials” because of the permanently secondary nature of the latter’s ideas; the “indigenous” or the “natives,” meanwhile, are not heard at all—and are often not even suspected of being in existence whatsoever!
Krasnoyarsk philosophers
Philosophers in Krasnoyarsk are mostly provincial loners guided by diverse topics and methodologies. One might suggest that while Siberian philosophers worship various gods, they come together periodically to perform the necessary rituals of educational and scientific activities—which remain the source for their incomes anyway! In other words, it is the external, formal factors—say, those related to professional activities and academic affiliations—that force these philosophers to come together at all as a community.
The university system relates to this philosophical community mainly through the bureaucratic criteria of scientometrics, which it employs to evaluate the philosophical activities and their resultant outputs. To the bureaucracy, quantitative and verifiable parameters are of primary importance; the meaning of the philosophical output is of the least interest. The university rewards only that which it could verify—academic hours and scientific publications, for example; it is not capable of judging quality.
The practical problem concerning Siberian philosophers is that they do not read or quote one another. While procrastination and information overload are two key culprits behind that problem, there is a third culprit that also needs to be identified. An individual Siberian philosopher’s attempt at narrowing the range of materials that she may undertake to study is slanted by the scientometric system’s over-dependence on English-language bibliographic databases—such as WoS and Scopus—which push her further toward and into zones where she has even smaller probability of being noticed and read. Under these circumstances, what are the odds that Siberian philosophy acquire the features of intellectual metropolism, that it become an intellectual centre of global repute—attractive to “pilgrims” as much as to representatives of recognized philosophical capitals?
If philosophy in Siberia is continued to be organized along the network principle, then it would reinforce the individual philosopher’s desire to participate in the obligatory rituals associated with winning personal audibility and recognition—and his sense of his own rightness. That this would be the case would have to do with the fact that formal hierarchical institutions significantly influence the Siberian philosophers via material incentives as well as sanctions. The foregoing situation is aggravated by the fact that, while depending on and cherishing the material rewards offered by the institutions, philosophers in Siberia do not feel emotionally recognized at the institutional level. Indeed, emotional recognition for Siberian philosophers remains restricted to interpersonal communications that they may occasionally receive as individuals.
In the existing system of publically ritualized rewards, peculiar “strokes” tend to serve as institutional moments of emotional recognition for Siberian philosophers—motivating them to communicate with one another with pleasure. The network mode envisioned for Siberian philosophy may systematize further precisely that sort of an arrangement—something that is apparently foreshadowed by the annual Siberian Philosophical Seminar. That would be a positive outcome of the implementation of the network model for Siberian philosophy.
Another positive outcome of the pragmatic—network-mode—project of Siberian philosophy may very well be that philosophical interventions get to gain authority and prestige in a culture that traditionally dismisses them as a “science of reflection” or “science of the meaning of life”. For there is no doubt that, as a brand (if one were to use the prevalent marketing terminology) philosophy has had little going for it inside Siberia: It remains culturally unpopular and unprestigious. But we must also keep in mind that Siberia is not generally rich in well-known cultural brands anyway. From that viewpoint, a Siberian philosophical network may indeed be successfully created and placed within famous networks—an enterprise that might, in turn, increase its cultural status within Siberia while also enhancing the overall prestige of Siberia itself.
The pitfalls of envisioning Siberian philosophy in terms of the network model
Having said that, we must recognize that “nativism” and “provincialism” are not only speculative ideal types or abstractions of behavioral models, but they are also value orientations. To the extent that the network model hinges on those notions, it does not merely explain Russian science’s structure but it also reinforces the insignificance of everything that is not metropolitan (globally or nationally). Ergo, one could easily apprehend in M. Sokolov and K. Titaev’s framework a value conclusion, an implicit message, an appeal by the “natives” to accept and integrate into the metropolitan discourse. But once we adopt the colonial-educational language that hierarchically ranks "capitals", "provinces", and "indigenous communities", we make it difficult for us to even imagine horizontal network relations—the creation of which is otherwise the aim of the project of Siberian Philosophy. By accepting such a system of values as a guide map for Siberian philosophers, we risk strengthening the hierarchy that has been imposed on us.
For Siberia to aspire to be a philosophical “capital” on the terms pre-articulated by the established capitals would only encourage the region’s “audible” scientists to migrate to the latter while further reducing the value of those that stay put or are left behind. The capital-province relations themselves would only gain in strength, constantly reproducing the centre-periphery relations within the philosophical landscape. One may already notice this sort of an intellectual colonialism being played out in Siberia through periodic replications of “metropolitan” thematic agendas. Within the framework of this “metropolitan-provincial-native” discourse, attempts at engaging philosophically with the “capital” inevitably boil down to an ingratiating search for the capital’s approval; they thus turn out to be attempts at winning “significance” for the capital.
The way out of the network model
If Siberian philosophy sets out to seek external relevance—while sacrificing its relevance to the region itself—then it is more likely to completely lose itself than either to discover anything groundbreaking or to “find” itself. Therefore, the pragmatic project of letting Siberia nurture its own philosophy makes sense only if the coercive framework of “provincial-native” discourse is abandoned. Here we must not lose sight of the fact that contemporary philosophers—like the monks of a declining monastery—remain concerned about their own status among the laity (“popularization of science”) and among other monasteries (reputations enjoyed by scientific schools, approaches and circles). But these “monks” also remain preoccupied with the economic status of their monasteries (“scientific infrastructure”); observance of rituals (formal manifestations of scientific work—such as publications and conference participation rates); internal hierarchies (academic titles, degrees, and informal authority).
As it happens, these secondary, worldly concerns have come to overshadow the monastery’s original goal—which was supposed to be for the monks to focus on taming their own passions (ignorance and arrogance, for example) in service to the Creator (knowledge of nature, society and man). Humility has given way to a hankering after the splendour of worldly glory. And while reflecting on their depressing position, the monks nevertheless seek the Creator’s permission to enrich themselves and to gain greater influence and prestige. Along the way, they keep squabbling about what they lack: strict observance of rituals (the requirement of conformity with scientific methodologies); relations with Rome (talking with the "capital"); and respect for other monasteries (network connections within philosophy). In other words, this sort of a “secularization” of philosophy has reduced it to one or another of its aspects—social, economic, or political—which are then misperceived as its value-oriented cognitive activity.
Given the above challenges, what might be the way out for Siberia’s aspiration to its own philosophy? In my opinion, instead of trying to put itself on the path of either nativism or provincialism, Siberia must choose the third path: of intellectual service and humility. This third path would require Siberian philosophy to stop hankering after recognition, prestige, and power—and to focus, instead, on a search for truth, knowledge, and virtue. This third path mandates that we begin to appreciate the fact that knowledge does not exist for the sake of the scientific community; but it is the scientific community that gets to be formed around the search for knowledge. This path further mandates that we appreciate the fact that winning an audience and access to intellectual resources can neither be the goals nor the means for philosophical pursuit; on the contrary, those presumed goals or means generally tend to follow scientific activities qua their fruits!
Manifesting itself in the awareness of the possibility of intellectual error, intellectual humility generates openness; forces constant self-revision; discourages arrogance; encourages respect for others’ opinions; and makes one fearless in the face of intellectual disagreements. A philosopher can only succeed if he is able to continue as one regardless of whether he has an audience; whether he has infrastructure built around him; and/or whether he has the privilege of social recognition. If the project of “Siberian Philosophy” is to be realized, then it is imperative for its dreamers to not lose sight—in their social quest for status, prestige, and resource—of the paramountcy of the “love of wisdom” in the philosopher’s universe.
Viacheslav Kudashov is currently working on a book titled Complex Systems: Integrity, Hierarchy, Identity. He also offers consultancy services in higher education in Russia. One of his recent publications is an article titled "The problems of language and academic adaptation of international students in Russia.”
—Copyedited by Piyush Mathur—