My interest in philosophy began during my junior year study abroad program, an unexpected turn from my original path. Before then, I was fully committed to becoming a mechanical engineer, studying at the Georgia Institute of Technology with single-minded focus. Determined to secure strong internship opportunities, I filled my first two years exclusively with courses in my major. The only exception was German, which I studied in preparation for a year at the Technical University of Munich—a place I believed to be the best in the world for my field.
I did not learn much about mechanical engineering at TUM due to my poor German skills. I ended up spending most of my time chatting with students from a wide range of disciplines. I was fascinated by the conversations about history, politics, law, art, literature, and philosophy. Because I knew almost nothing about these subjects, I felt like a child listening to thrilling tales of discovery in a new world. And like a child, I took those stories seriously. When I returned to Georgia Tech, I immediately began taking courses in the humanities. Unfortunately, I could only fit a few classes into my schedule before graduating.
While my time in Munich had planted the seed for my eventual pursuit of philosophy, another important factor was a small “existential crisis” I had just before finishing my degree. I wasn’t sure what I truly wanted to do afterwards. The most natural option seemed to be going to graduate school for mechanical engineering, but I quickly realized I couldn’t bring myself to write a sincere application letter—I simply had no genuine interest in continuing. For the first time, I began to reflect deeply on what I really wanted to do, and more importantly, what I wanted to devote my life to. That reflection led me to a big question, one that would become the backbone of my journey into philosophy: What is a meaningful life? At the time, I couldn’t answer it, but I came up with a curious little argument: either I will answer the question or I will fail to answer it; if I answer it, I will be happy; if I fail to answer it, I will still be happy (because I was going to spend my life trying to answer it). Although I didn’t yet know that this reasoning was called a “constructive dilemma,” it was enough to convince me to pursue philosophy in graduate school.
It took me four years to complete the “transfer” into philosophy. I began in the Graduate Liberal Studies program at Duke before moving on to the terminal master’s program at Georgia State University. In many ways, it felt like starting over as an undergraduate in philosophy, though all of my courses were at the graduate level. The process was challenging and daunting, but my fascination with the field and the countless formal and informal philosophical conversations with professors and fellow graduate students carried me through. During this period, I benefited greatly from the freedom to explore philosophy broadly without the pressure to specialize. I absorbed ideas ranging from metaphysics to applied ethics, from analytic to continental traditions, and from Western to Chinese philosophy. Engaging with such diverse and so-called opposing approaches forced me to reflect on what philosophy is and how I should practice it. My interest in philosophical methodologies was reflected in my master’s thesis, in which I examined two strikingly different approaches to ethics: Kant’s metaphysical approach and Butler’s naturalistic approach.
I eventually specialized in Chinese philosophy and virtue ethics. One reason was a kind of reverse culture shock. Having grown up in China, I was struck by how little I actually knew of my own tradition. I was familiar with the names of the great thinkers, but I had scarcely engaged with their works. As I began to read them, I felt a persistent hunch that the Chinese approach to ethics is significantly different from the mainstream approach in Western philosophy. My doctoral work can be seen as an attempt to articulate that hunch. This task proved difficult, in part because of the tension between demonstrating the distinctiveness of the Chinese tradition while still staying in conversation with mainstream approaches. It was only toward the end of my seventh year that I began to glimpse a possible way forward. Whether it will ultimately succeed remains uncertain. It seems I only discovered the beginning of my philosophical project at the very end of graduate school.
Now, as I approach graduation once again, I find myself in a new “existential crisis”— or perhaps a new opportunity to reflect on what I want to do next. It took me some time to recognize the difference between a master’s program and a doctoral program: the latter demands a level of professionalization that I fail to achieve. This forces me to think about what I can do afterwards. Fortunately, the years I’ve spent studying ethics across different traditions have helped me realize that my deepest interest is not in answering the question, “What is a meaningful life?” but in actually living a meaningful life. Professional philosophy may be one path toward that goal, but it is not the only one. What else can I do? I carry this question with me onto the job market. It is a question I must answer in order to write a sincere job application letter.
So far, I have been applying mostly for teaching-focused positions because the valuable opportunities to teach at GSU and Duke helped me see my passion for it. I enjoy interacting with students both inside and outside the classroom, and I take great satisfaction in the “research” that goes into preparing a course. I like to think about what to teach and how best to teach it. More recently, I’ve begun to ask myself where and whom I most want to teach. Should I aim for an elite university or a community college? Should I teach in a large city or in a rural community? Could I teach at a high school, or even just run reading groups for “amateurs?” I will stop bothering you with all these personal questions I still need to wrestle with. You have been more than kind and patient in following me to the end of my story.
Botian Liu
Botian Liu is a Ph.D. candidate in philosophy at Duke University, completing his dissertation under the supervision of David Wong. His central research question is: How can we become better people? To address it, he brings different traditions and disciplines into constructive dialogues. His dissertation focuses on Aristotle and early Confucians including Kongzi, Mengzi and Xunzi. Teaching is also an essential part of his academic life. He is passionate about sharing the joy of doing philosophy with individuals from all backgrounds.
