Abstract

Philosophers have no time. They are tired with philosophising. They doze off or even die of fatigue over yet another review, opinion, article, translation of works of an English-speaking philosophical genius, publishing and editing of a book. They are exhausted by the obligatory teaching, bored with listening to conference papers, depressed by defences of post-doctoral theses, hopeless against plagiarism, out-of-breath chasing credits, worn out by English articles, crumpled and ill-treated by institutions, tired with maintaining and co-creating them, jaded by the speed of information transfer, weakened by the absence of lively thought, knackered by the number of graduates and languid due to their quality, depressed by discord, exhausted by the continuous game of getting lost and finding oneself in science and the Academy. In this ruffle, shabbiness and depletion they undertake with difficulty yet another fight for philosophy, in which they often represent the lost cause and happen to be merciless to each other, sometimes they give up and even moan. Their tiredness is accompanied by heavy steps and sluggishness. Barely alive they keep on living. Somewhere they find the energy, they live for something, serve something. In the article, following the smartest of philosophers, Socrates, and his defence speech, the speech in defence of his life, we explain where the philosophers find the energy, what they live for and what, often in contradiction to their own declarations, they serve.