For a man whose name is immediately associated in the public conscience with philosophy and who has given the world books with titles such as ‘The Consolations of Philosophy’, Alain de Botton is surprisingly wary of being labelled as a modern day philosopher. When I asked whether he saw himself as a latter-day Plato or simply as a writer who drew upon philosophers and their writings, his response was immediate and emphatic stating that he was ‘certainly not just a philosopher’ and that his writings rely upon ‘film, art and architecture’ as much as they rely on philosophical tracts. Moreover, despite the fact that de Botton did a Master’s Degree in philosophy at King’s College London and began a PHD in French Philosophy at Harvard, he is at pains to distance himself from the academic definition of a ‘philosopher’, asserting that ‘according to the academic profession, I am not a philosopher’.

This denial of a particular academic background serves de Botton as it both allows him to write books which are self-professed in their attempts to be ‘relevant’ to modern readers and also serves his critics who are eager to dismiss him as a light-weight; peddling books which one Guardian reviewer described as offering ‘obvious, hopeless or contradictory advice culled from great minds’. This is a debate which de Botton seems more than ready to get involved with and to confront his critics in the press and in academic circles. He claims that his style of thinking and writing was partially inspired by his ‘deeply disappointing’ time at Cambridge University where he was ‘extremely badly taught’ by lecturers who had ‘lost their spark’. He was particularly anxious about the seeming inability of many academics to justify their own work and their derisory attitude towards those who sought to make fields of academic endeavour of interest to the wider public.

‘According to the academic profession, I am not a philosopher’

In particular de Botton see his ‘work as a response to the academic panic at the mention of being “relevant”‘. Indeed de Botton welcomes the challenge of making philosophy popular and relevant and thus seems to transcend traditional academic snobbery. One of the unifying stylistic themes of all his writings has been a willingness to put ‘great’ writers and thinkers (e.g. Kant, Stendhal, Montaigne) to work on the mundane concerns of modern living such as popularity, relationships and traveling.

Depending on your perspective, this tendency to intellectualize all of the modern world’s pitfalls with the help of long dead classical philosophers is either refreshing or purely gimmicky.

However, your reaction to much of de Botton’s work will ultimately depend on how tolerant you are of his energetic enquiries into the most banal aspects of modern life. This was evident in the reaction to his latest work ‘A Week at the Airport’ written following a week spent as a writer-in-residence in Heathrow Terminal Five. Upbeat as ever, de Botton described his time there as ‘great fun’ and characteristically described his observation of the workings of the airport as ‘an exercise in ethnography and anthropology’.

Inevitably, the more skeptical critics took a rather more jaundiced view of de Botton’s book dismissing it as little more than a PR stunt performed on behalf of BAA. This is essentially the question that lies at the core of de Botton’s writings: whether the places, routines and activities of the modern world are worthy of inspection and philosophical analysis. If the reader thinks they are then de Botton’s work is exciting, and at times even revelatory. If not, then the whole business becomes meaningless and a tad self-indulgent, leaving you to sympathize with Charlie Brooker’s dismissal of de Botton as a ‘slap-headed, ruby-lipped pop philosopher who’s forged a lucrative career stating the bleeding obvious’.

In the meantime de Botton’s ongoing success and popularity have meant that there is little need for him to defend his works and the thinking behind them. Instead he has been able to focus on what is perhaps the central idea of his work: the extent to which it is possible to live a ‘happy’ and fulfilled life. I use apostrophes because de Botton openly said that he was ‘uneasy about the notion of happiness’ and was ‘more attracted to the word consolation’. This preference of ‘consolation’ to ‘happiness’ is perhaps the nuance which sets de Botton apart from all the other cultural thinkers and trend spotters who endlessly dissect every aspect of the modern world.

‘Humans are inherently ungrateful creatures’

De Botton does not essentially believe that the modern world provides any more or any fewer opportunities for ‘happiness’ but it was simply the case that contemporary society had more time to worry about whether it was happy or not in way which our predecessors did not. Thus recognizing that ‘humans are inherently ungrateful creatures’, de Botton doesn’t seek to inform his readers how to become happy but rather to reconcile them to the disappointments and anxieties of modern living; to console them with the wisdom and thinking of those who have come before us.

De Botton’s constant enquiry into all aspects of the modern world and his endeavour to understand our reactions to it makes his books interesting. In a country such as England which is preoccupied to a great extent with the past and considers the present to be an altogether unfortunate situation, de Botton insists on revealing the profundity, and at times the beauty, of the modern experience. All the trappings of modernity have the potential to be explored and their greater significance considered; accordingly de Botton’s books include, amongst other things, meditations on the beauty of electricity pylons, the mystery of transport terminals and reflections on what it means to say ‘I love you’.

For de Botton, modernity is to be embraced rather than feared. Modern architecture is ‘a hobby and a love’ and he is involved in the project Living Architecture, which builds modern houses that are then rented out to members of the public. This is the niche that de Botton seems to be carving out for himself in the public mind: that of the casually intellectual optimist exploring everyday emotions and experiences and finding within them a kernel of philosophical consequence that reignites our interest for the modern world.

I have a disturbing finding for Cherwell readers: naked ambition, so embarrassing to the Oxford student psyche, actually pays off. All those pushy people who are so annoyingly keen to run what are essentially pretend institutions at Oxford – the Union, this newspaper, clubs, whatever – are not all going to get the comeuppance you might think they deserve later in life. They’re going to end up running things for real.

I base this on the fact that the exact people who ran pretend things when I was at Oxford – I was at St John’s, a little over two decades ago – have ended up being the people who actually run very real, very big institutions now.
Like running London – as in Boris Johnson, President of the Union back then. Or being BBC Political editor – as in Nick Robinson, back then editor of a student magazine. Or potentially running the whole country – as in another of my contemporaries, David Cameron.

Why make this point ?

Because Cherwell reminded me today that with Boris, his sister Rachel (now editor of posh magazine The Lady), Toby Young (author of How to Lose Friends and Alienate People) and others, I contributed to a precociously self-satisfied 1987 book called the ‘Oxford Myth’, which Rachel edited.

My chapter was about ambition – a breathlessly superficial overview of the self-promotional activities of late 1980s students in drama, journalism, film and politics. My thesis – no doubt because I had read a couple of existential novels – was that it was fear of anonymity that drove a certain group to thrust themselves into limelight of any kind. Their motives were profile first, and philosophical substance a distant second, my chapter suggested.

Two decades later, with much of that youthful ignorance beaten out of me by the constant enlightenments and knockbacks of a media career, I would dearly like to be able to provide readers with the schadenfreude of everyone I highlighted having failed dismally, after that brief career phosphorence on Oxford’s extra-mural stage. But not a bit of it.

If anything, a revisit to that book just confirms the myth that Oxford actually was, and probably still is, a ticket to a career fast-lane, and your leaders of today’s Oxford’s student activities will go on to take major roles in the country at large as well.

Whether that’s a good thing, I’m not so sure. Out in the real world, there are plenty of equally talented people working at ordinary

British universities (I’m on the board of two, and I know this at first hand) with a lot fewer resources at their disposal, and a lot less access to the real levers of career success.

But as a student you can only work with the Oxford brand as you find it. You could have a deliberate career strategy of ditching cynicism about university activities which relate to the career you might ultimately want to follow. Be completely un-British about student media, arts and politics in your enthusiasm, your engagement and frankly self-publicising zeal. It might very well pay off, The Oxford myth is a misnomer, because Oxford’s access to the fast lane is still real and it starts with what you did here out of hours.

And what to make of that privilege ?

Well do some good with it. Remember that line the dying Tom Hanks character has at the end of ‘Saving Private Ryan’ to Matt Damon’s Ryan, for whom so many have died to make safe: ‘Deserve it.’

Whether you like Johnson and Cameron or not, the fact is that the endless reprinting of the Bullingdon Club photos in the press are unfair. Both really have eschewed their Eton/Oxford privilege to focus real policies on helping the underprivileged, not the elite.

Many of the most self-promotional of my generation went on to become socially aware and effective; ground-breaking investigative journalists, AIDS experts, climate experts. If you make the Oxford Myth something you can deserve as well as benefit from, then maybe ambition is OK after all.

Alex Connock is Chief Executive of media group Ten Alps Plc.

This week’s apparent coup, catalysed by the incendiary email sent to Labour MPs from former Ministers Patricia Hewitt and Geoff Hoon, has been derided from all sides – both Left and Right – as another example of Gordon Brown’s weak leadership and his inability to control a divided party in the crucial months before an election. The case against the agitators is obvious: they have exposed the deep dissatisfaction with Gordon Brown even within his own party, yet done so in such a cack-handed manner that no credible alternative has stood to replace him. However, in retrospect, its impact may not have been nearly as bad for the Labour Party as some have argued.

The first reason why the coup might well prove an unexpected boon for the Labour party is that it has provided a crucial opportunity for the centrists in the cabinet to assert themselves. In the febrile few hours between the release of the letter to the general public, and the eventual announcements of ministerial loyalty to Mr Brown, several key concessions were eked out. Brown is seen by his supporters as a man of principle, and by his detractors as a relentless Stalinist. Either way, most would agree that once his mind is set on an idea, he is largely intractable on the issue. Over the past few months, Brown has had his ear bent increasingly by the overbearing Ed Balls, an old ally from Brown’s Treasury days. With Ed Miliband, another of Brown’s key collaborators, effectively sidelined by his role in writing Labour’s next manifesto, the insidious influence of Balls has been able to grow.

It is Balls who is seen as behind the publicised drive from Labour to “sure up the core vote”: by directing policy announcements and soundbites towards the less-well-off. This move is ostensibly reactionary. It represents an inward-looking Labour party, shying away from the Middle Classes who Tony Blair so successfully wooed with his brand of aspirational socialism. A party that seeks to represent the country should do so by appealing to as wide a selection of the public as possible. Contrary to the contentions of those who favour the Balls strategy, this is possible to do without compromising Labour’s values of social justice and equality of opportunity. Blair showed that it is possible for the Middle Classes to care about those who are less well off than them, and today’s Labour party should not be afraid of doing the same.

The coup allowed Jack Straw, a man who has seen more elections than most in the cabinet, and the irrepressible Peter Mandelson, amongst others, to steer Brown away from this regressive and highly damaging electoral policy. It barely mattered that the coup itself never looked like getting off the ground. The point was that Brown and his inner-circle were sufficiently panicked in the period immediately after Hoon and Hewitt’s announcement that they granted the wishes of the Cabinet’s centrists. Some might suggest that it is a mark of Brown’s diminution in power within his cabinet that he was unable, this time, to exact the endorsement of his colleagues on pain of dismissal, in the manner that he did after James Purnell’s resignation last year.

‘Hoon and Hewitt’s actions have ended up not so much as creative destruction, but rather causing a controlled forest fire.’

But this is precisely where the genius of the Hoon/Hewitt coup lay. By creating a storm in a teacup, they were able to give dissatisfied senior Ministers an opportunity to exact their demands from Brown, without fear of any recrimination. Because the coup itself was so low-key, Brown had no ability to strong-arm key Ministers into rushed statements of loyalty. The upshot of this is that Labour’s election strategy has been wrested from the clutches of Ed Balls and back towards the centre – where Labour stands most chance of success.

The second benefit of the coup is that it effectively puts paid to the prospect of any further leadership challenges prior to the election. The waters have been tested, and found to be distinctly lukewarm. Given the lack of support for the prospect of even an internal leadership ballot, it is inconceivable that any of Brown’s rivals would now launch a further attack. Gordon Brown can now concentrate on running the country, and fighting an election campaign.

The coup itself might have ostensibly appeared a damp squib, but the positive reverberations may continue to be felt well into the new year for the Labour Party. Hoon and Hewitt’s actions have ended up not so much as creative destruction, but rather causing a controlled forest fire. The momentary mayhem instigated by their letter has avoided any future challenges in the run up to the election, and in fact enabled Labour’s centrists to steer the party back towards a far more intelligent electoral strategy – whether they meant it to or not.

1963 may well have been the year it all happened for Philip Larkin. But what of the loss in British prudishness which that year was also supposed to have heralded? Last year saw a nominee for the position of Professor of Poetry, Derek Walcott step down from the race, his chief rival – and indeed the eventual victor, Ruth Padel – having surreptitiously leaked stories of past sexual indiscretions to the press. Although Padel may have subsequently resigned, the position remains tainted, and electoral reforms are proposed for early 2010. Since the days of the banning of Lady Chatterly’s Lover and The Well of Loneliness, the often pornographic content of novelists’ and poets’ literary works has become widely acceptable. In light of the controversy surrounding the last contest for the Professor of Poetry, it seems that the acceptance of the actions of the authors themselves has some way to go.

“when did a priapic tendency count against someone being a celebrated poet”

The email in question, it emerged in May 2009, informed reporters of six pages detailing Walcott’s alleged actions in a book imaginatively titled “The Lecherous Professor”. Sure, it looks like Walcott, in the 1970s, did make some completely inappropriate comments to female students. But hang on a minute, when did a priapic tendency count against someone being a celebrated poet? Though Walcott has come under strong criticism for his libidinous ways, he is certainly not the first writer to whom this has happened. We hardly need to look far back into our literary past to see that rather than being the shameful exception, this is rather the norm with as regards our greatest poets.

Take the Romantics for example. Whilst at Trinity College, Cambridge, the “mad, bad, and dangerous to know” Byron began a relationship with a 15 year-old choir boy John Edelston. His adult life was embroiled with numerous scandals, including an affair with the married Lady Caroline Lamb. He was also reputed to have sired the daughter of his half-sister Augusta Leigh. In 1810, he is said to have offered £500 for a twelve-year old girl. This was turned down. In 1815 he left England altogether, after rumours of incest and sodomy were circulated.

The fate of Letitia Elisabeth Landon (better known as L.E.L) might perhaps be seen as a counter-part to Byron’s colourful life and death. Her poetry in the 1820s achieved critical acclaim, but she was hamstrung by accusations of having had pre-marital sex. Her suicide in 1838 is seen as a result of the anguish suffered in virtue of this.

“So far from being a mark of shame, these types of allegations ought to be a badge of honour for poets”

Perhaps the most notorious poetic figure to fall foul of public prudishness was Oscar Wilde. A famously-flamboyant bisexual, his time at Magdalen College was spent adorning his room with peacock feathers, sunflowers and lilies – rather than engaging in the more traditional “gentlemanly” endeavours of rugby or cricket. A fellow student wrote that Wilde’s poetry “eclipses masculine ideals [and that] under such influence men would become effeminate dandies”. In the end, Wilde’s downfall was brought about by the father of one of his male lovers. After fighting an ultimately unsuccessful libel case against the Earl of Queensbury, he was imprisoned for two years hard labour, after being convicted of “gross indecency” with other men. Wilde had originally taken offence at Queensbury’s leaving of a calling card at Wilde’s London Club, describing him as a “Posing Somdomite” [sic].

So far from being a mark of shame, these types of allegations ought to be a badge of honour for poets. That doesn’t mean that Walcott shouldn’t be admonished for his inappropriate comments and actions to female colleagues and students in the past. There’s nothing to show that Walcott continues to hold derogatory views towards women; the position might be different if he did. The real point is that sexual dalliances shouldn’t be seen as precluding someone from being held in poetic esteem.

Ruth Padel may well be an accomplished poet. It’s a shame she decided to use such disgusting tactics to depose her closest rival. And it’s an even greater shame that they almost worked.