A few years back during my visiting stay at Cambridge (which was a dream fulfilled, may I add), I hosted a dinner party for my colleagues in the History and Philosophy of Science (HPS) department. The food was abysmal. Even the wine struggled to redeem the evening, given that I was a penny-pinching doctoral student. But the conversation? Electrifying. It was one of those rare nights when half-truths clashed like gladiators, and the room buzzed with intellectual bloodlust.
Somewhere between the second bottle of red and a poorly timed cheese course, I finally blurted out the heretical thought I’d been nurturing during my stay at Cambridge. Philosophers, I said, need to start caring—actually caring—about what scientists think of them. Publish in scientific journals, I pleaded, or resign yourselves to irrelevance. Otherwise, we’re just playing with ourselves. Philosophical masturbation, if you will.
The reaction was instantaneous and vehement.
“Scientists don’t dictate what philosophy ought to be!” someone shot back. Another colleague leaned forward, her tone dripping with disdain: “Do you really think our work needs their approval?”
The coup de grâce came from a quick-witted philosopher at the end of the table, who raised his glass and said with a smirk, “Philosophical masturbation. Now there’s an apt metaphor.”
What struck me wasn’t just their disagreement—it was their indifference. Scientists, they insisted, could be ignored, dismissed, or humored, but certainly not prioritized.
Now, let’s get one thing clear: I’m no innocent bystander in this intellectual brawl. I straddle two worlds, philosophy and science, with a foot planted firmly in each. This dual allegiance makes me a bit of an oddity. My peers see me as a traitor in both camps. Philosophers tell me I’m too beholden to scientific whims, while scientists, squinting at my abstract musings, ask, “How is this even useful?”
But here’s the thing—and this is where I’ve planted my flag: If HPS isn’t improving the way scientists think or work, then what, exactly, are we doing? What’s the point of our clever analogies and labyrinthine arguments if they never leave the echo chamber of philosophy departments or journals?
It’s not that philosophy lacks value. On the contrary, every scientist engages in it, knowingly or not. The moment they start interpreting data or drawing theoretical conclusions, they’re wading into philosophical waters. The problem? Most scientists are hopelessly ill-equipped to navigate those waters. This is where philosophy could—should—step in. Not as an aloof critic wagging a finger from the Ivory tower, but as a collaborative partner, extending a hand of partnership against the great epistemic unknown.
Unfortunately, that’s not what I see happening. Too many HPS scholars are content to hover on the periphery, crafting esoteric papers that will never reach a lab bench. And when I suggest a more integrated approach, I’m met with the same tired refrain: “Why do you care what scientists think?”
Albert Einstein captured the heart of this problem when he wrote in 1944: “A knowledge of the historic and philosophical background gives that kind of independence from prejudices of his generation from which most scientists are suffering. This independence created by philosophical insight is—in my opinion—the mark of distinction between a mere artisan or specialist and a real seeker after truth.”
Then we, as philosophers, pose the proverbial question of why? The answer: because science needs us. And if we’re honest, we need them too. For all our intellectual dexterity, philosophers have a tendency to overinflate our importance while underestimating the practical utility of our work. If we want to stop spinning our wheels, we need to get serious about bridging the gap.
That means meeting scientists on their turf. It means publishing in their journals, adopting their vernacular, and demonstrating—not just theorizing—how philosophy can elevate their work. Philosophy doesn’t need to reinvent itself; it just needs to reengage.
And let’s not pretend that collaboration is a one-sided affair. Science benefits when it takes philosophy seriously. Without philosophy, science risks becoming a blunt instrument, wielded without consideration for its broader implications. Philosophy, when done right, adds depth, nuance, and context. It’s the difference between running blindfolded and charting a deliberate course.
At the risk of stretching this metaphor too far, let me propose an alternative to philosophical masturbation. Call it intellectual procreation—a partnership where ideas cross-pollinate, producing something greater than the sum of their parts. But for that to happen, philosophers need to step out of their self-imposed exile and start speaking the language of scientists. It’s not about pandering. It’s about proving the value of philosophical inquiry in tangible, concrete ways.
So, to my fellow HPSers: the next time you’re tempted to dismiss scientists as philistines or pragmatists, remember this. We’re not just engaging in an academic parlor game: we’re part of a larger intellectual ecosystem. And if we want philosophy to matter, we’d better start acting like it rather than pretending to be cool—which philosophers are really freakin’ good at.
