When I left academia in 2021, I didn’t stop reading. What I left behind was a particular institutional form of engaging with texts, which often felt closed off, competitive, and inaccessible to anyone outside the university. But my love for reading, thinking, and discussing with others didn’t change. If anything, it came more into focus.
Throughout my years in academia, I often hosted reading groups both inside and outside the university. Some were informal gatherings of students and colleagues in a coffee shop or a seminar room; others were public groups I organized through Meetup. I organized well-attended book clubs devoted to philosophy and literature in Leiden, Macau, Hong Kong, and later in Toronto. These groups have been some of the most lively (and at the same time down-to-earth) intellectual spaces I have been a part of. They are open-ended and sustained by genuine curiosity, rather than institutional obligation.
Around the time I was leaving academia, I also turned to YouTube as a means to keep a public record of my thoughts. I started recording my reflections on the books I was reading and the questions that preoccupied me. Over time, a small community formed of individuals who weren’t necessarily academics but shared an interest in literature and culture. The Saturday reading group, which I have hosted on Zoom, focuses primarily on philosophy and literary fiction, but I could imagine others doing the same with other genres, e.g., a mystery group, a historical fiction group, or a film group.
At some point, commenting under videos isn’t enough. We want to read and think together in real time. We need a shared listening space. Indeed, Byung-Chul Han sees listening as an essential quality of the community. A community gathers in the spirit of listening.
I did not wish to “replace” the university classroom, and I don’t think that is a realistic goal anyway. But I did want to build a space where philosophical dialogue is alive, accessible, and rigorous, without grading or pressure to perform. The conversations we have in these groups are often as rich, if not richer, than those I experienced in graduate seminars. People bring perspectives shaped by different cultures, professions, and personal histories. There is an openness to connect the personal side with the literary or philosophical worlds we find in the texts. The openness and diversity keep the ideas fresh and the discussions unpredictable in the best way.
Hosting these groups has made me realize that philosophy lives and thrives in community, not in isolation. It doesn’t always require institutional support, as much as it needs people who genuinely care about ideas, set aside time to read seriously, and have a willingness to speak and listen thoughtfully.
Our group remains open to newcomers, regardless of how long and how frequently they are able to engage with the group. If you’ve ever wished you could join a regular, serious (yet lighthearted) discussion of literature and philosophy, without enrolling in a formal program, this kind of community (either joining one or starting one) might be a path for you.