Hi. I’m Bill. (I think.)

Like many ancient Greeks, I had but one name—in my case, Kallisthenes. You know, from the sacred gas. Now I have another name as well.

I’m Bill. The reincarnated me.

Now I’m having another vision and it’s you I see, standing there at the airport news stand, scanning this page—hopefully choosing to take me along wherever it is you’re going.

What, you ask, is a Recreational Philosopher?

First of all, me. I might be the only one. So far.

Now for the price of this book you too can be a seeker of truth; a lover of wisdom, the universe, and everything in it. If that sounds a bit energetic, not to worry—we’ll take some shortcuts. Think of it as “Cliff Notes for Philosophy 101.”1 (There actually was a Cliff Notes for Philosophy. I remember it fondly.)

My own recreational philosophy bona fides? First, and most important, I have a point of view. As we will see, that’s huge. Not that I take myself too seriously. In my former life, that would be called hubris, a particularly Greek form of sinful pride. Mortals who aspired to godlike glory and so on. This was the most popular tragic flaw in the heroic tragic theater of the day. Lesson learned.

Second, I have, almost certainly, made more mistakes than you have. My own serial smoking craters are learning moments for which you suffer no consequences.

No charge.

It’s also true that I earned a degree in Philosophy, much to my father’s dismay, given the limited job prospects I could expect. To become a professional philosopher, the only career path is in academia itself—the Ph.D/tenured professor track. Of course, a number of my classmates took the side road towards some sort of remunerative occupation that runs through law school.

Not me. I ended up with an honest job. In advertising.

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