Last month I was invited to attend a new discussion group in Brighton called ‘Philosophy in Pubs’. It promised to encourage ‘philosophical enquiry in a relaxed atmosphere’, so on a pleasant Sunday night I ventured to a small pub on the outskirts of town, and found the place surprisingly lively. 
We were divided into groups and set about discussing the assigned topic ‘Happiness – what makes the good life?’. The question has plagued philosophers for thousands of years, from the sophists to the existentialists, so there was potential for philosophical scrutiny, but the discussion quickly became a very different kind of philosophical exchange. The focus was on what made us, as individuals, happy, and the questions posed to our group were aimed at extracting what we found important in life and what we do when confronted with situations that might make us unhappy. It was ego-centric and driven by therapeutic rhetoric. It was philosophy Jim, but not as we know it.

The same can be said of Marek Kohn’s new book, a self-proclaimed piece of ‘popular philosophy’. Kohn rightly points out the little word that forms his focus, ‘Trust’, has become a hallmark of public life; an elusive relation that wields power beyond those who seek to acquire it. Trust shapes the fortunes of governments and of the individuals who participate in them; it governs public policy like no other ambiguous concept (except perhaps happiness). Yet the most intuitive definition of trust feels very close and personal, something we might share with close friends and family. Yet it must be further reaching than this, given it seems to crop up in so many wildly different circumstances. So what is trust all about?

Kohn is less interested in discussing what ‘trust’ actually means. In the opening chapter he declares he is more interested in ‘what trust feels like’, and begins by claiming that it is a word that ‘has the gift of warming the heart and dissolving its tensions’. Kohn proceeds to give a pleasant guided tour of the issue at hand via brief stops at political science, philosophy and even radical psychology. For all the ambiguity, such a multi-disciplinary approach brings along, it works well to highlight the role of trust in a number of fields, whilst staying readable and moderately engaging.

But it is this scattered approach to philosophising that is so often the downfall of the popular philosophers. Unlike in Ancient Greece, in which the idiot Athenians were told by Socrates that they were wrong over and over again until they said something the great thinker thought of himself, popular philosophy tends to present a set of ideas for the readers perusal and encourage them to pick the ones that might help them in everyday life. Alain de Botton, the darling of the popular philosophers, perhaps embodies these characteristics so readily with titles such as The Consolations of Philosophy and How Proust can Change Your Life. Yet others go even further. The truly awful Michael Levy produces titles such as Point of Life and Worry Causes Wrinkles, only to be described in one particular review as ‘somewhere between Immanuel Kant and Erasmus’. I had the misfortune to read Point Of Life, and I can say with some conviction that the Critique of Pure Reason it ain’t.

This perception of what it is to be philosophical permeates further than self-proclaimed popularists. Today, philosophy is frequently coupled with the aims of the new age and the spiritual. This ancient academic practice is thought to be something that can help us to live our lives and provide a thoughtful solace from the stress of the every day. An anecdotal example can be found in any local library. If there is a section on Philosophy, usually alongside an Introduction to Wittgenstein will be a host of volumes regarding self-help and life management. I’ve found TV hypnotist Paul McKenna alongside Spinoza’s Ethics, and Plato’s Phaedo accompanied by books on how to quit smoking. Philosophy’s place in popular culture today is centred on self-improvement and egoism; this demeans the potential of philosophical enquiry whilst enforcing the idea that academic philosophy is completely inaccessible.

But, there are many introductory texts that prove invaluable when approaching a new thinker or school of ideas. The ‘A Very Short Introduction’ series is written by experts, and so provides a focused and cohesive route into many of even the most challenging texts. The books don’t force any kind of purpose onto the ideas they are explore, but rather view them as pieces of philosophy pure and simple, not forcing them to be helpful or conclusive.

So here is the big problem with Kohn’s book: the overall argument is unworkably broad. Had it been more focused we may have found some exploration of why such philosophically ambiguous terms are today forming such a large part of our political rhetoric. Why is it that we measure political competence through such internally-oriented language? Why is there a need to write about ‘trust’ in a political context at all?  Any substantial analysis of the issue is ignored as Kohn bypasses scrutiny in order to force the conclusion that – in his publishers words- ‘if we understand what makes trust possible…then we will live better lives in a fast-moving, fast changing, global society’. This fluffy and reassuring conclusion is drawn from premises built up from terms that Kohn himself has failed to pin down.

Admittedly, Kohn’s book is a subtler example of therapeutic philosophy than some recent additions to the canon. Yet it still makes the fatal mistake of pursuing optimistic and ‘helpful’ conclusions at the expense of good, old-fashioned philosophical scrutiny. Even ‘popular’ philosophy has to do justice to the ideas it attempts to portray, and Kohn casts his net so wide that this becomes impossible. Any philosophical work that lusts after broad appeal must be wary of appeasing the reader with real life conclusions that in everyday philosophy remains elusive. Philosophy, like any academic discipline, is not good for you and it is hard work. Best of all, it does not have the answers.