“How can I face death?”
“How can I make my marriage last?”
“How can I have better conversations?”
These are questions humans have been asking for an age – probably since before writing was invented – and which most people will spend a good chunk of their lives pondering.
Often, they’ll turn to religion, spirituality, phony self-help books or other outlets to help them, but nothing quite seems to satisfy.
Image credit: supplied
Enter The School of Life, a six-month-old cafe and classroom cited at the Southern Cross end of Bourke Street.
It’s a clone of a British institution of the same name started by philosopher-writer Alain de Botton eight years ago, in London.
The Melbourne school is just the second in the world, but it’s since been followed by spinoffs in Paris, Amsterdam, Perth and other locations.
“We’re a practical school of philosophy,” says director Kaj Lofgren.
“Somewhere people can go to explore modern, everyday human concerns, in a lighthearted accessible form, but with deep, rigorous philosophical content driving it.”
This approach, the school claims, is the best way to solve these life’s knottiest questions. All we need to do is increase our emotional intelligence, something that can be achieved by applying the findings of rational philosophers; people who’ve closely examined the way humans think and behave.
Lofgren cites a 1920s figure, Theodore Zeldin, who argued the best conversations are those in which we say something totally new; something we’ve never said before.
Think about that for a second.
It seems to ring true, but can it really help us have a better conversation with a boring boss, or a belligerent relative?
Perhaps. But that’s lightweight stuff, really.
Conversation can be practised; most people only get one shot at death, and a couple at marriage.
How, then, can anyone be qualified to prepare others for the end of life, or prolong a relationship?
Everyone’s situation is unique, after all, composed of different people, pressures, attitudes and resources.
“I don’t know if anyone is really qualified to answer questions like ‘How to face death?’ or ‘How to make love last?,'” Lofgren admits.
“But what our faculty is really well trained to do is guide people to ask even better questions than they came into the room asking.”
It sounds spookily like group therapy; that maudlin activity most of us learnt about through American media.
“Hi, my name is Randy, and I’m here because I can’t stop wetting the bed … ”
Thankfully, the classes at the School of Life aren’t much like that.
They do involve intimacy, emotion and plenty of group talk, but the whole process is guided by writers, teachers, philosophers, academics, psychologists and psychiatrists, with robust philosophical literature at their back.
“It’s a very participatory approach,” Lofgren says.
“The faculty members are more enlightened facilitators than they are teachers. They’re incredibly well-read on the philosophers that we talk about and the cultural references we have.
“Their job is really to allow people to express themselves and talk about these human concerns in a deep and meaningful way.”
The small, birch-panelled “classroom” that adjoins the School of Life cafe is dominated by bookcases crammed with their user manuals; books by Alain de Botton and other authors, with titles such as Art as Therapy, Life Lessons from Nietzsche and How to Age.
Photo: supplied
It’s in this unassuming space, Lofgren says, that people truly let go, once the heavy curtains are drawn and they’re cut off from the outside world.
“I’m constantly surprised when I’m sitting in a class with somebody that I haven’t met before – we may not even have exchanged names – with how deep and open the conversation quickly becomes.
“We might be talking about love and loss, and suddenly people are talking about a miscarriage they had, or that their marriage is failing.”
He says strangers are often a better choice than loved ones for mulling over difficult issues, no matter how counter-intuitive it might sound.
“All of us have experienced a conversation where somebody has said something surprising, and perhaps a bit deeper than you expected, and I think you often find yourself reciprocating.
“We think there’s power in those big conversations with strangers.”
